Spoiled Rotten Read Free Page A

order, Louise strolled to the back of the store and opened the door to the enameled reach-in. She lugged out a hefty block of white cheddar and dropped it onto an enormous wood block. Until now, I hadn’t realized how hefty she was becoming herself. Wearing a wine-coloured wraparound dress made of clingy jersey and elasticized around the middle, she looked like a two-hundred-pound blood sausage. The neckline of the dress was gaping at the crossover, revealing a cotton white slip like the kind my grandmother used to wear.
    Smoothly, as if it were soft ice cream, she sliced a kilo from the chunk of hard cheese and started to wrap it in brown waxed paper. The door opened behind me, jangling the bells hung from its frame. Louise launched into her routine.
    â€œHello my friend … oh!” she abruptly went silent.
    I turned to see a badge held out for us to read; a big man with a wide chest, not heavy or fat, but solid as a brick wall, stood in the doorway behind me.
    â€œSorry to interrupt you, ladies. I am Detective Winn. If you don’t mind answering a few questions, I won’t be long.”
    I tried to brush past him as if he weren’t speaking to me, too, but he stepped directly in front of me, blocking my exit.
    â€œCould I get your name, too, please, ma’am?” he asked.
    Ma’am? When did I go from being a miss to a ma’am? Besides, judging by his mildly receding hairline, this guy looked about the same age as me, although something told me he was in way better shape. I’m thin, well, mostly. Lately I’ve been starting to spread out in various directions. Nevertheless, I gave it the old college try for him. I sucked in my stomach and fluffed my hair. The policeman stared down at his notepad, smirking slightly to himself and suddenly I felt ancient. Some days I looked much younger than my years, others, not so much. Maybe it was the earrings. I never liked these earrings, too big, like miniature crystal balls. I was throwing them out the second I got home. He coughed and I realized he was staring at me.
    â€œMy name is Elizabeth Walker, Mr. Winn,” I announced crisply.
    The day was warming, causing him to remove his jacket. He slung it casually over one shoulder and rolled up the sleeves of his powder-blue shirt, leaving tan, muscular arms exposed. I was compelled to touch his forearm, but sensibly refrained.
    â€œThat’s Detective Winn, Ms. Walker. My officer posted at the alleyway entrance tells me that you’re picking up an order.”
    He stopped, waiting for me to jump in with details. I didn’t, but I did have the urge to touch his arm again.
    He asked, “Do you live in the area, Ms. Walker?”
    â€œIt’s Liz, and no, I have a restaurant close by though. It’s called Walker’s Way.”
    The smile faded and his eyes went dark.
    â€œJust a few blocks away from here,” I added. “South of Chinatown,”
    â€œI know where it is,” the stern-faced policeman said flatly. “My wife and I had our last meal there. She told me she was leaving me after the first course. We didn’t get to the second.”
    I winced. First dates, proposals, fiftieth-anniversary celebrations, and breakup dates. I’ve seen it all. I wanted to tell him that it could have been worse.
    A woman followed her husband to the restaurant one evening and confronted him at his table. She screamed at the lying bastard (her words not mine) for ten minutes while his mistress slunk away and hid in the washroom. The customers, utterly fascinated by the free side show and motivated by the “better him than me” philosophy, continued to drink. Liquor sales soared that night.
    Somehow, I didn’t think this little anecdote would make him feel any better and kept quiet.
    â€œI understand you buy your meat supplies from Superior Meats. Is that why you’re here today?” the detective inquired.
    â€œYes, our meat order didn’t