Page 26 of So Bleak

Marcus’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply.

"We also have you not only refusing to speak to us but also assaulting my partner with a deadly weapon."

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” Marcus muttered. “I was just mad.”

“If I had a nickel for every killer who said that,” Michael said.

“Were you mad at Eleanor Crestwood and Harold Grimes?” Faith asked.

“Of course I was,” Marcus said, lifting his hands as far as the shackles would allow. “They were going to ruin my reputation.”

“If you’ll forgive me for being rude,” Faith replied, “A Taste of Versailles looks like it’s seen better days. Are you sure your reputation wasn’t already ruined?”

Marcus stiffened. He had terrible control of his temper. “Yeah, it has. And it was going to see better days again. I had finally figured it out. I had a new menu, a hip menu, something Philly’s never seen before. I was going to bring French cuisine back to the forefront in this hillbilly town, and those two assholes were going to ruin all of that.”

“Hillbilly town,” Michael repeated. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone say that about Philly.”

“That’s because you’re not a connoisseur of fine dining,” Marcus said with a handsome helping of contempt. “If you were, you would know how utterly bereft this area is of anything resembling class.”

“Really? We just came from a Michelin star Italian place yesterday.”

“Italian.” Marcus prepared to spit, and Turk growled. He thought better of it and contented himself with saying, “Italian food is for peasants.”

“Ah. So you mean Philly doesn’t have a good French restaurant.”

“I have a good French restaurant. But getting people here to understand that is like trying to teach the French language to a horse. They just stare at you with their cow’s eyes and ask if you sell chicken tenders.”

“So are they cows or horses?” Michael asked.

“So you felt that your new menu was going to revitalize your business,” Faith interjected before they could get any more off track, “and you felt that Miss Crestwood and Mr. Grimes were going to negatively impact that effort.”

“Yes!” Marcus said forcefully. “They were writing this bullshit about my menu. Crestwood said something about me being a toddler trying to mimic my mother’s cooking and Grimes said that my food tasted like it came out of a cardboard box and I had misread the directions.”

“Ouch.”

“Yes, ouch. And it’s bullshit. We’ve been busy every single night.”

“Didn’t look busy earlier,” Michael said.

“I said we’ve been busy every night. The brunch is just to help us pay the bills until dinner gets to where it needs to be. And it was getting there. Damn it, I was so close! But between those assholes publicly shaming me and your circus today, I’m ruined. For sure this time.”

“Let’s talk about that,” Faith said. “You say they publicly humiliated you. But both of them were killed before they had a chance to publish their articles.”

“Yeah, good thing,” Marcus scoffed. “Or A Taste of Versailles would have been closed when you two showed up.”

“Exactly our point,” Michael said, unfolding his arms and walking closer. “It’s a very good thing for you that those two were murdered. Now, considering your cheery personality and outstanding self-control, I know it’s a long shot, but”—he leaned over until his face was inches from Marcus’s—“Did you kill them?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No! I didn’t kill them!”

“You said they publicly embarrassed you,” Faith said. “How so?”

“They were vocal about their dislike. If they had something to say, they could have told me privately.”

“So you could swear at them and tell them to get out of your kitchen?” Michael challenged.

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