A Set of Sisters: A We Sisters Three Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Melissa F. Miller

wended

Pat was standing near the bar with a handful of freshly picked mint and a white marble mortar and pestle. Ah, he was just muddling mint for a drink.

I sort of figured Pat was meeting his mistress, but I nearly fell over when I saw who came striding into view and grabbed Pat in a long, tight embrace. “Is that … Antonio Santos?” Felix asked.

“In her divorce preparations, Mrs. Patrick hired an attorney, a forensic accountant, and a private investigator to see if she could come up with any grounds to nullify the prenuptial agreement that Mr. Patrick made her sign. The private investigator found out about Mr. Patrick’s homosexual affair with Mr. Santos. Mrs. Patrick apparently decided to blackmail her husband with the evidence of his relationship and force him to agree to spousal support notwithstanding the existence of the prenup.”

But testing showed the oil had been added to a partially consumed bottle of 2007 merlot found near Mrs. Patrick’s body in her dressing room.”

He said it as if it were a no-brainer: Record sales down? Marry a movie star. “Then what’s so hard to believe?” “That he’d allow her to blackmail him—or that he’d resort to killing her. That’s not dad’s style. He doesn’t shy away from a fight.”

“Like you said, your dad isn’t exactly a shrinking violet. But he lived a closeted life for who knows how long? The most reasonable explanation is that he wasn’t sure how his sexuality would affect you. And if the protective shell he’d worked so hard to create was threatened … I don’t know, Felix. I don’t have kids. But I understand the instinct to protect them can be overwhelming.” My eyes actually filled with tears as I thought of Felix’s father denying his own sexuality to protect his son

The quiet, spotless space with its gleaming appliances and wide expanse of counters looked completely different in the pre-dawn light, approached from the rear stairs as a well-rested overnight guest rather than through the employees’ entrance as a harried, if highly paid, worker bee.

“Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. I think I’d notice. I hope I would, at least.” She laughed at that. Sage’s laugh is infectious—sunny and real. Before I knew it, I was laughing, too.

Let’s take advantage of the fact that Chip and Muffy want to present the picture of the All-American family at the press event.” “Having a nanny is un-American?” “Attachment parenting consultant,” she said, correcting me out of habit. “Even better.” She arched an eyebrow. “Apparently, their media consultant thinks my presence would alienate Chip’s base.”

“Right. Nothing interesting in your life. Accused of murdering your movie star boss, canoodling with her smoking hot son, and flirting with the police officer assigned to investigate the case. Just another ho-hum weekend in the life of a holistic chef, huh?”

canoodling

“But it’s what Mom always used to say when you were making out with Thor Martin down on the dock instead of practicing your violin like you were supposed to be. So I figured it fit.”

Sage was the quintessential middle child, focused on personal relationships and connections. You know that friend you have who knows everyone and is always putting together Friend A, who needs to buy a house, with Friend B, who just happens to be selling one? And if they find they need a realtor or lawyer or building inspector, no worries, she’s friends with one? Yeah, that’s Sage. In addition to her network of friends, she maintains our family ties, too.

“We have to own our decision. And using our energy sending negative vibes into the universe directed at Mom and Dad isn’t really helpful.”

“You think I’m judgmental. Is that what all that hippy-dippy lingo is getting at?”

“You have a finely developed sense of right and wrong,” she answered, the consummate diplomat. Something ab...

He’s pretty young—and spoiled. And he’s had a couple of pretty nasty shocks in the past couple days. He’s probably a little emotional. But, at his core, he’s a decent guy.”

He had a pretty short fuse—especially where Amber was concerned—and he did have some irritating rich boy habits.

That’s all. I’m saying be careful—as a friend.” He spoke in the very measured, careful tone people used with volatile nut jobs. It did nothing to calm me down. In fact, it had the exact opposite effect.

“I’m employed by the record label. But when I’m not driving around vocalists and musicians, I’m at Pat’s disposal. And, now, apparently Felix’s.”

“He told me if I went to music school that was it. He’d disown me and cut me off. He told me I was going to UCLA to study business administration. So that’s what I did.”

I’ll produce serious music.” He said it with all the conviction of a twenty-two-year old who’s never had to consider the realities of the market. His idealism made me feel ancient. The long months of reviewing the resort’s balance sheets and coming up with increasingly desperate promotions to keep that sinking ship afloat had left me cynical.

“I hope your family business works out better than mine,” I blurted without stopping to think about what I was saying.

“I guess it’s because I grew up as one of those weird, homeschooled sisters named after the herbs. I was always hyperconscious of what people in town thought of us,” I said. “You’re not a little girl anymore, Rosemary. Don’t worry about what people think of you. It’s none of your business.”

it was easy enough to be so cavalier when you were the only son of a Hollywood power broker.

‘poor little rich boy with no friends’

Her veiled hostility toward him struck me. He’d said she hated men, but it seemed as if she mainly hated him. It was an attitude I hadn’t noticed before Felix and I became involved.

Alton Brown was midway through his explanation of brining. I just love the way that guy marries science and food.

ceviche was one of those big-bang dishes that are super-easy to prepare but have a huge impact.

“You also get ill?” I looked at him in surprise. “Yes.” “You’re very empathetic, yes? A compassionate soul. My mother was the same way.” His voice was gentle, almost reverent. “Hmm.” I didn’t feel like getting into the science of mirror neurons at the moment, so I just nodded my agreement with a beatific smile.

“Notorious, infamous, famous, whatever—this town thrives on celebrity. It’s all the same.” She was shaking her head at me.

Pride goeth before the fall and all that.”

I rubbed my forehead and tried to come up with a polite way to tell her she was an idiot without sounding hubristic, if that’s even a word.

he stared at me. I stared back. “I had a bacon cheeseburger two hours ago, dude. Cut me some slack.” He laughed so hard I thought he was going to choke. “Sorry,” he said, taking a swig of his craft beer. “What’s so funny? That I ate a burger?” I could only imagine the false impression this guy had of me. “Well, yeah, that’s funny, too. But I can’t believe you just called me ‘dude.’ I would have expected Detective Dude.” I smiled despite myself. I guess we both had some false impressions to get past. “Fair enough.”

Occam’s razor isn’t meant to be used to solve crimes for crying out loud. It’s a scientific principle that holds that when there are competing hypotheses of equal predictive ability, you should choose the one that makes the fewest assumptions,”

“Okay. That’s another thing. Given my knowledge of chemistry, I could have easily poisoned both Amber and Felix without leaving a trace.” “Don’t repeat that.” He leaned forward, all tense and serious. “Do you understand me? You might think that the logic of a statement like that will convince people of your innocence, but it will have the exact opposite effect.”

I’m unemployed and unemployable.” He belly laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Then he wiped actual tears—tears of laughter—from his eyes and caught his breath, “Sorry. That’s cute. This is Hollywood, Rosemary. It’s not like the rest of the world. Your notoriety makes you a hot commodity. Do you mean to tell me your voicemail isn’t full of people wanting to interview you, turn your life into a movie of the week, and have you wear their latest fashion design?”

“Well, let me give you a piece of free advice: you need to strike while the iron’s hot. Capitalize on your fame, or infamy, now. Because your fifteen minutes are probably almost up.”

“I’m sorry to bother you but I need to get my recipes off the kitchen iPad. I need them for my new job.” I smiled impersonally. “Oh. Really? My dad didn’t mention anyone calling to check your references,” he said in a stiff, weird-sounding voice. Spoken like a true trust fund kid—as if I would ask Roland Patrick for a reference.

“You know what? To hell with this. There are plenty of girls who’d love to be with me. You really don’t know your place.”

‘Botulinum Toxin Applications in Medicine: Miracle Poison’?

Botulinum toxin is serious stuff. Produced by the bacterium Clostridium botulinum, the toxin is highly poisonous and just happens to cause botulism, a type of food poisoning that resulted in vomiting, paralysis, and sometimes death.

And Alayna was no dummy. She was the second ranked student in her night division program and had mentioned she was thinking about applying to medical school. Medical school. The textbook.

“Rosemary’s Gravy, A Special Occasion Catering Service, will provide a mouth-watering, memorable meal for special events ranging from an intimate party to a gala affair.”

“I’d keep it short and sweet. Just go with Rosemary’s Gravy.”

They’d get a kick out of having the killer chef cater it.”

“You know, I’m not a complete douchebag.” “I don’t think you’re a douchebag at all. I think you’re”—I paused to consider whether I wanted to be completely honest with him and decided I did—“a spoiled trust fund baby who doesn’t view anyone who works for a living as his equal.” His head snapped back like I’d slapped him. I quickly added, “I don’t think it’s entirely your fault. You grew up filthy rich. It’s what you know.” “Jeez, Rosemary, I think I’d like it better if you did think I was a douchebag,” he mumbled.

It was true, I couldn’t fault him for being an out-of-touch one percenter. And he was a reasonably decent guy—just not boyfriend material. Having him as a friend would make Los Angeles that much more palatable.

He’s a user. When he’s done with you, he tosses you away like a dirty napkin.”