Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Mary Jane Maffini
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it gets more indirect light, it’s just going to get worse.”
Tolstoy was sorry to see him go.
Josey showed up so soon after Sarrazin’s departure that I could only surmise she had been hiding out behind a tree. Perhaps studying since, once again, it turned out to be a study day. Where were all these sunny June study days when I’d been chained to a desk at school?
“You know what I think would be sexy, Miz Silk?”
“What?” I gulped.
“Breakfast in bed. With homemade waffles and maybe peaches. And fresh orange juice with champagne. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“It would. Of course, I have no idea where you’d start with something like that.”
“Try here,” she said and handed me a fresh batch of cookbooks from the library. I took them to the lumpy sofa as she headed into the kitchen with a package to install a spice rack. I didn’t like to ask where she’d gotten it. What do I know about product placement?
I was working my way through the latest pile of cookbooks and looking forward to The Wacky World of Waffles. A tap on the window caught my attention.
I looked up from my spot on the sofa to see Hélène Lamontagne’s attractive nose pressed against my living room window. She doesn’t bother with the door since I rarely answer it, but Hélène is one of the few people I am always glad to see.
I hoisted myself off the lumpy sofa and headed for the door.
“Fiona!” she said, sweeping into the room. “Oh là là.”
“Oh là là?”
She wiggled her shapely eyebrows. “I heard.”
“Um, heard what?” Did she think I was a murderer too?
“About your book.”
“You mean the...?”
“Of course. Is there another book?”
Certainly not my great Canadian novel mouldering quietly in the middle drawer of my battered desk. No one would ever oh là là over that.
“No. Where did you hear about it?”
“It is all over the village, Fiona. Spreading like a feu de forêt. In both official languages. You have almost but not quite replaced Rafaël and Marietta as the most interesting topic of the day. Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
I flopped onto the sofa again and groaned. “Because I didn’t want to talk about it. It’s a new project, and I’m not wild about the idea. What do you mean it’s all over the village?”
“Well, what did you expect? In a town like this...” She shrugged beautifully, being French and all. “Surely you remember the last time. Oh mon dieu. Where is your furniture?”
“It’s been borrowed. Are you sure? All over the village?”
“Certainement, by now it will be halfway to Hull. Or Ottawa.”
“And I only told three people.”
“And I noticed that I was not one of them. That was not very nice of you, Fiona. I like to be on top of things in St. Aubaine.”
“Next time I’m not telling anyone anything.”
“But why are you not happy? The timing for this new book could not be better.”
Josey stuck her head around the corner. Hélène smiled fondly at her.
“Hi, Miz Lamontagne,” Josey said. “Miz Silk has to write a sex cookbook. But she doesn’t have anything to cook with.”
Hélène flashed me a glance.
“Not my fault,” I said. “She was here when the call came in. She spoke to my agent. Anyway, it’s not really that.”
“I believe it’s an erotic cookbook,” Hélène said. “So much more elegant, n’est-ce pas?”
“I guess so,” Josey said. “Does it make a difference what you call it?”
“But of course, Josée. Every woman has her little secrets to keep some spice in her life.”
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