Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser by Kathleen Delaney

and you, Mark.” He nodded in Mark’s direction, but it was Frank who preened. “And so far everything seems quiet in the kitchen. I was at the last dinner Otto did and that was a disaster. I was afraid this one might be too. I told Sabrina, but she was determined. So far, so good.”
    “What do you mean, a disaster?” I asked.
    “Our Otto does have a temper.” Jolene had been sipping the wine with enthusiasm and was looking a little flushed. “I ought to know; I’ve been to just hundreds of his dinners.”
    “And did you give him hundreds of kind reviews?” There was something in Frank’s tone that made both Dan and me do a double take.
    Ian Applby smiled at Jolene. “Miss Bixby is kind even when the review isn’t. I’ve had the pleasure of reading many of her articles and am extremely flattered that she’s here tonight.” Jolene simpered, and Mr. Applby went on. “Otto’s temper is legendary, but manageable, when he confines it to the kitchen. Only sometimes…the last dinner of his I attended, he came storming out of the kitchen, insulted the host and several of the guests, then walked out. His staff managed to get the main course and the dessert on the table, but you can imagine.”
    “How does he get anyone to work for him?” asked Dan. He looked down at his plate as if he couldn’t believe it was already empty.
    “The only one I know who has stuck more than one night is Larry Whittaker,” Mr. Applby told him.
    “Right,” Dan said, eying my half full salad plate. “Larry Whittaker. You going to eat all that, Ellie?”
    I silently exchanged plates with him.
    “How is everything?” Sabrina appeared, her smile looking somewhat strained. She leaned over Mark’s shoulder, giving it a little pat. I didn’t think her question was confined to the food.
    “Wonderful. Just wonderful,” Aunt Mary told her. “It’s all so pretty, and the food is…well, I thought I was a good cook, but now I know what it means to be a chef.”
    I gave Sabrina a thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure she noticed. She was too busy whispering instructions to a waiter who was removing plates. She paused only long enough to glare at Frank and pat Mark once more before saying, “The main course is lamb. It’s wonderful. I managed to sneak a taste in the kitchen. When Otto’s back was turned, of course.”
    “How is Otto behaving?” asked Mr. Applby, his tone tinged slightly with apprehension.
    “Otto.” Sabrina’s smile turned grim. “That man is a scourge upon the earth. I don’t know how Larry stands it. I’d have run him through with a carving knife by now. But he is a genius.”
    She took a bottle from a passing waiter and poured refills into all of our glasses. No one lifted one but Jolene.
    “A genius? Not quite. Good, sometimes, but never great,” Frank said. He carefully swirled the wine in his glass, then picked it up and held it to his nose.
    “Frank is right,” gushed Jolene, who had already polished off half of hers, not bothering with the subtleties of aroma. She handed a waiter her untasted ahi. I heard Dan quietly moan. “And I’m just sure it’s that wicked temper of his that keeps him from greatness. Don’t you think so, Mr. Carpenter? Or may I call you Carlton?”
    “I would be honored,” Carlton said, leaning toward her again. Ian Applby, who had been watching all of this, looked pained. Dan looked like he was going to laugh. I kicked him in the ankle. Softly, of course.
    Sabrina paused to whisper in my ear, “It’s going to be a long night,” then followed the last waiter through the door leading to the kitchen. Mark sighed, pushed back his hardly touched salad plate, and stood. He picked up his glass, struck it with his knife, and waited while the chime hushed the conversation throughout the room.
    “Ladies and gentlemen. Please let me welcome you all to Silver Springs Winery and thank you for coming. Many of you have been to dinners with the winemaker at Silver Springs before, so I am