I slid into a stool, gratefully accepting thetarte flambéeshe’d saved for me. One bite of the creamy Alsatian flatbread, and I groaned.
“So good.”
“It is,” she agreed, all matter-of-fact. “Your guests liked it too.”
Yourguests, notours. She’d been skeptical of my income-generating ideas from day one, but this was the twenty-first century. I had a château to maintain without a family fortune or crew of servants.
I munched quietly away, watching her chop vegetables for soup.
Bene wandered in just then, and Madame Picard pointed at him with a knife.
“Out of my kitchen.”
He stuck up his hands. “Just looking for a snack.”
“You just had lunch,” Madame protested. “A big lunch that you devoured like ravenous wolves.”
“Ravenous lions,” he corrected earnestly.
She waved the knife again. “Out.”
He gave her his best lost puppy look — er, lost cub? — with wide, sad eyes, but she didn’t relent.
“Out, I said.”
His hurt expression said,Hey, that works with everyone else.
Ha. Not with her.
He slunk away without another word.
A minute later, an idea struck me. I took another huge bite oftarte flambée, grabbed two scones, and raced after Bene.
“What’s that?” Madame called after me.
I winked. “A bribe.”
It took me a good five minutes to track Bene down. The building was that big, with multiple staircases and hallways to disappear down. Eventually, I found him sunning himself on the south lawn.
“Bene,” I called.
He cracked one eye open, then closed it. “What?”
“I need help.”
“I’m busy,” he said, not bothering to open his eyes.
Obviously.
I used the reset trick that worked like a charm with fifth graders. “I need help.”
He yawned a mighty lion yawn, letting his teeth extend. “Help with what?”
I crossed my arms. “Help with the house.”
He snorted. “You mean, thechâteau.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m trying not to sound pretentious. Besides,houseworks better thanchâteau.”
