Murder Under the Covered Bridge by Elizabeth Perona Page A

preparation except for sampling.
    Since it was nearing two o’clock, they made a quick stop at the Dairy Queen on the way out of Clinton and ate in the truck while listening to songs from the 1950s.
    The stately home Mary Ruth was using for the week was in an old, historic section of Rockville. Being the county seat for Parke County, Rockville had a number of homes that dated back to the turn of the twentieth century, but few of them were as grand as the Mansfield Estate, an Italianate home on Market Street that also had a carriage house and a gardener’s cottage on the grounds. Inside, the house had been renovated several times, most recently to add a state-of - the-art kitchen and modern bathrooms to six of the ten bedrooms.
    There were four unrecognized cars in the driveway, so Jonathan had to park on the street. “Do you know what’s going on?” he asked Francine.
    â€œNo,” she said. But she suspected Charlotte was up to something.
    They rang the front door bell even though they could have just walked in. It wasn’t like the owner was there. But with the extra cars, Francine thought it be better to announce their entrance. Plus, she couldn’t get used to entering a house this nice without asking for permission.
    â€œOh, it’s you.” Charlotte seemed disappointed when she opened the door. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel she’d carried with her.
    â€œYou were expecting someone else?”
    â€œUmmm. No. Just surprised to see you back so soon.”
    Jonathan wiped his feet on the mat before entering. “We’ve been gone a couple of hours.”
    Francine admired the wide staircase in front of them and the balcony that surrounded the second floor above them. “I don’t think I could ever get used to making a grand entrance into this place.”
    â€œThis is some house.” Charlotte leaned back to admire the high ceiling.
    Francine did likewise. The ceiling was plaster and had a significant amount of crown molding around the walls. A large chandelier with what looked to be a hundred flame-shaped light bulbs hung from the center.
    Mary Ruth came in from the kitchen, clad in her pink catering apron. Francine still did a double-take when she saw how Mary Ruth’s clothes now flattered her body. She’d lost almost fifty pounds thanks to her Bucket List item and the hiring of a personal trainer. It was probably the reason she showed none of the exhaustion she had earlier from the tense morning in the food booth.
    â€œI have to say, you do have friends with impeccable taste,” Francine told her.
    â€œAnd money,” Charlotte added.
    Mary Ruth laughed. “Friends of friends, not friends. But it’s good to have people who are fans of my food.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “C’mon back. The last of what we’re making for tomorrow is in the oven.”
    Francine wrinkled her forehead. “How did you accomplish so much in such a short period of time?”
    â€œTwo things. One, Marcy persuaded me that I really didn’t need to make that much more food, that shortage only made my food more desirable. We did the scones, cookies, and cakes today, leaving us only the cinnamon rolls to bake in the morning. The donuts, of course, we fry as needed.” They followed her around to the back side of the staircase where they entered the kitchen through a swinging door.
    â€œI imagine this is where the butler and servants used to come to get the food from the cook when the house was first built,” Francine said. She held on to one of the swinging door and fingered the wood grain. She wasn’t sure if the doors were original, but they looked like could have been used in the early 1900s, when food have been plated in the kitchen and then whisked away to the formal dining room for serving. “What’s number two?”
    Mary Ruth ushered them in. “I added staff.” Besides Alice, who was working