The Murder Before Breakfast

How it begins

The murdered man gave breakfast three stars.

Nell found the review at six forty-five.

He was not due to eat until eight.

She read it again while the kettle warmed.

Eggs disappointing. Service too attentive. I do not expect to return.

"Rude," she told the toaster.

At seven, Simon Dale arrived for his usual tea and unwanted newspaper.

He had retired from the police but continued to inspect the sugar bowl as if someone might have tampered with it.

Nell showed him the review.

"Perhaps he means yesterday."

"We were closed yesterday."

"Scheduled post?"

"He booked this morning."

Simon adjusted his glasses.

The reviewer's name was Martin Vale.

Nell watched the change in his face.

"You know him."

"Knew. Professionally."

"That sounds expensive."

"It was."

The kitchen door opened.

Her assistant stood very still.

"Nell. There's somebody in the private dining room."

"Already?"

"He isn't eating."

Nell put down the phone.

The dining room had been locked all night. She had the key on a ring attached to her apron. Simon looked at it before she did.

They crossed the corridor together.

Martin Vale sat at the table nearest the window.

His coat was folded neatly over the chair.

There was no breakfast in front of him.

On the white plate lay a small blue rating card.

Three stars.

Nell stopped in the doorway.

"Don't touch anything," Simon said.

"I know."

From the kitchen came the smell of toast beginning to burn.

It was an ordinary smell, familiar enough to make the room feel less ordinary.

Nell looked at the empty plate.

Then at the review still glowing on her phone.

Service too attentive.

Behind her, the breakfast printer began producing an order.

Two eggs. Tea. Table four.

Martin Vale had apparently decided to return after all.

Nell saved the receipt before the printer could produce anything else.