The Gossiping Gourmet: (A Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 1) (Murder in Marin Mysteries) by Martin Brown Page B

rise to
Alma’s expectations, or take a significant step down in her social hierarchy.
Either use this opportunity to show that his column could serve as the swift
hand of justice, or risk losing his most important readers and his biggest fans.
    Then a thought occurred to
him: who might have witnessed the fight and/or its aftermath?
    Late Monday, he called Bea
Synder, a walking who’s who of Sausalito volunteers. He asked her who lived on
Bulkley next door to, or close by, the Randolphs. Once he heard about Clarice
and Oscar Anderson, he asked Bea if they were active on any of the town’s
volunteer committees. Bea thought for a bit, and recalled their helping the
library foundation prepare for the community garage sale.
    Moments later, Warren was busy
mixing up his irresistible cherry-fudge brownies.
    In all likelihood, Oscar and
Clarice Anderson would never realize how helpful they had been. They had never
read Warren’s weekly column. Instead, when the Standard hit their
mailbox every Wednesday, they would give the front page a quick glance, and
then drop the paper in their recycling bin.

    Random chance plays a
powerful hand in every life. If, for example, Beatrice, Ethel, or one of the
other Ladies of Liberty had observed what Clarice Anderson witnessed at nearly
one o’clock on a Sunday morning, the Sausalito gossip tree would have lit up by
noon the following day.
    But the Andersons were a
quiet couple who had lived in Sausalito since 1970, raised two children, and
were strict adherents to the school of minding your own business.
    Early on Tuesday, the
Andersons were surprised to find Warren Bradley on their doorstep with a
platter of cherry-fudge brownies.
    “Warren, this is so nice of
you! Why the unexpected visit?” Clarice asked, as she welcomed him into their
house.
    “Bea Snyder and I were
talking about how helpful the two of you were in organizing those stacks of
used books for the community garage sale last month, and I just thought it
would be nice if I made you a batch of these yummy treats.”
    Oscar and Clarice said,
nearly in unison, “Then you must stay and have a cup of tea or coffee with us.”
    Warren fussed, as though he
didn’t want to put them to any bother, but it was an invitation to sit and chat
for a while that he had hoped for. Hopefully, he thought as he entered their
ancient living room, the Andersons were not in bed with their hearing aids off,
missing the entire incident.
    Over tea, they tasted
Warren’s creation. Both of the Andersons agreed that the brownies were
absolutely delicious.
    Clarice asked, “Warren, would
you be kind enough to share the recipe? They’re just divine!”
    Warren hesitated for a
moment, as though he was sharing something of great value. “They’re an old
family recipe…but alright, my dear. I’ll send you an email with it. But,
please, keep it just between us.”
    Of course, this was all a
charade. The recipe came out of a stack of old copies of Bon Appetit magazines that were housed in the storage room of the Sausalito Library. 
    Niceties aside, Warren
prodded them with a line he had dreamt up while standing over his stove,
whipping up the chocolate sauce topping for his cherry-fudge brownies. “One
thing I love about this part of Bulkley is how quiet it is up here.”
    “Well,” Oscar said, “Not
quiet all the time.”
    “Why, Oscar, whatever do you
mean by that?”
    Oscar and Clarice looked at
each other, as if wondering who would speak first.
    Clarice decided to enter the
void. “Sunday morning, past midnight if you can believe that, we had quite a
bit of excitement up here! Oscar was asleep and I was sitting up trying to
finish an old Agatha Christie Miss Marple murder mystery when I heard
what sounded like shouting coming from next door.”
    “Oh my,” Warren said. “What
was that all about?”
    “The Randolphs were having
one helluva fight,” Oscar said. “We both got up and went to the window to see
what was going on.”
    “A