Deadly Intent Read Online Free Page B

will you, Brady? Compliments of the house. And tell them I’ll be by later to wish them a happy anniversary.”
    Brady immediately snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and repeated Abbie’s instructions. “Oh,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes. “I almost forgot. Your admirer is here.”
    Abbie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I have an admirer?”
    “Oh, don’t play innocent with me, you wench. You know darn well I’m talking about Professor Higgins. He couldn’t make it for lunch today, so he came for dinner. And of course, he insisted on sitting at his usual table. I had to do a little reshuffling, but I figured it was worth the trouble, being he’s such a good customer.”
    Abbie had no difficulty spotting the dapper, retired professor sitting in the small alcove. Oliver Gilroy, who had left his native England fifteen years ago to teach English literature in the U.S., was a charming man with an appreciation for fine food and everything that made life pleasurable. In a roomful of people, he didn’t particularly stand out. He was small and slender with neatly combed gray hair and the kind of features that were quickly forgotten. He was, however, somewhat eccentric, always arriving at the restaurant at the same time every day—twelve noon—requesting the same table and always ordering the same wine, an Australian chardonnay, regardless of what he ate.
    It was true that he seemed to have grown fond of Abbie, but she suspected that this show of affection stemmed more
    from her resemblance to his daughter, whose picture Abbie had seen, than a romantic attachment. It was his good manners as well as his refined British accent that had prompted Brady to nickname him Professor Higgins, the unforgettable character in My Fair Lady.
    “I think he brought Ben another present,” Brady whispered.
    Abbie’s gaze stopped on the miniature wooden rail car beside the professor’s wineglass. Now that he was retired, Professor Gilroy was able to devote more time to an old passion—trains, which he painstakingly built from prefabricated kits. After finding out Abbie had a young son, he had brought Ben a Big Boy locomotive he had just completed. He had followed that present with a log buggy, a livestock car, a gondola and several freight cars.
    Although Abbie had tried to discourage him, he continued to add to Ben’s collection, claiming he would do so until Ben had a complete set of the Southern Pacific Railroad, one of the professor’s favorites.
    She would stop by his table during her rounds later on, and since she knew he was fond of cream puffs, she would ask Brady to fill a box of his favorite pastries to take home with him.
    Brady let out a chuckle. “Nothing like buttering up the child to impress the mother, eh?”
    “For God’s sake, Brady, will you stop it? The man is old enough to be my father.”
    “So what? He’s well educated, not bad-looking, wealthy, from what I heard. And it’s not like you couldn’t use a little romance in your life.”
    Abbie made a face. “Thanks for reminding me.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Yes, you think I lead a dull life.” She gave him a playful tap on the arm. “Let’s put that creative mind of
    yours on something that will really pay off—like that roast duck for table one.”
    By eleven o’clock, the last satisfied diner had finally left, the staff was gone, and the kitchen was as immaculate as it had been that morning. Alone in the empty dining room, Abbie stood at the cash register, counting the day’s receipts. Fourteen thousand dollars. Not bad for a Monday night.
    Reaching under the register, she took out the pouch she used to make her daily deposits at the bank. As she slid the money into it, her gaze swept over the deserted room. Even now, after three years as the owner of Campagne, she always experienced a feeling of pride at the realization of all she had accomplished in such a short time. Circumstances, rather than choice, had dictated the path