RED, GREEN, OR MURDER - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Chapter Three
“This was a usual thing?” Estelle asked.
“What, the burrito?” I stepped closer to the table, careful not
to touch anything. “Sure it was. You know that George shared my
superior taste in food. Today I was supposed to have lunch with
him, and I would have stopped at the Don Juan to pick up the
grub.” I shrugged helplessly. “Turns out that I couldn’t make it.
I talked to him on the phone a couple hours ago, maybe a little
longer. He said he’d have the restaurant send over take-out.”
“He called you, then?”
“Well, he might have. Like I said, my phone rang but I was
indisposed, sweetheart. I didn’t answer it. When it became clear
that I was going to miss our lunch date, I called him.” I pointed
at the chair pushed in at the end of the table. “My spot.”
“Was there a particular reason for today?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Don’t think so. Just as good a day
as any. Actually, I think Thursday is soup day from the Senior
Citizens. George said soup is for sissies.” I thrust my hands in
my pockets. “Here lately, he was getting meals-on-wheels from
them, but he complained about that.” I grinned at Estelle. “Gotta
have something really worth living for once in a while.”
She nodded at that deep, philosophical thought as if she
understood perfectly. Maybe she did. But Estelle had never
eaten a burrito grande in her entire life—I’d bet the farm on it.
Not with her waist line. She wouldn’t know the pure pleasure of
having about a million calories settled comfortably behind the