“Thanks. Have a good afternoon.” I study the book. It’s A Hundred Ways to Use Poison in Fiction.
Huh. Brittany must’ve ordered this one. I had no idea we sold it.
I flip through the pages, amazed at all the bizarre ways writers have found to off their victims. And who knew simple plants could be brewed up to kill? Way back in Roman times, people knew how to do this? I had no idea.
The bell tinkles above the front door, ripping me from my fascinating reading. It’s Mary from the beauty shop. “Hey, there.” I toss the book aside and stand to greet her.
Cooper, excited at making a new friend, dashes toward Mary and sits. I’ve taught him to politely lift a paw rather than rushing new people. Because unbeknownst to my little doodle, not everyone is going to instantly love him the way he does strangers.
Mary smiles and kneels to his level. “Who’s this?” She shakes his paw. When he rolls onto his back, she gives him a rub all over.
Then, again, he’s excellent at begging for attention.
“Cooper. Sorry if I interrupted your meeting with Pattie earlier.”
Mary stands and rolls her eyes. “Pattie’s a cheapskate. Seriously, she makes you measure how much shampoo and conditioner you use on each customer. And she makes me count to fifteen when I rinse to save water.”
“Water conservation isn’t a bad thing.” I suspect there’s more to the story, but I won’t push. “What happened at school, and how can I help?” She obviously wants my assistance, or she wouldn’t be here.
“Written tests. The bane of my existence.” Mary flops onto a couch and sighs.
I sit next to her. “Did you tell your instructors you do better with verbal exams?”
“No.” She crosses her arms. “I thought culinary school could be a new start. A place where everyone doesn’t know I’m a freak. Maybe cooking would be a way to feel equal. But then I forgot about the exact nature of baking, my inability to always keep numbers and measurements straight, and I ended up right back to where I started. My classmates and teachers think I’m dumb.”
“You’re not dumb. Or a freak. I know how smart you are.” My heart hurts for Mary, just like it did when she struggled in elementary school. “Can you still draw?”
Mary nods. “I don’t do it as much as I did before, but yeah. Do you think I should pursue art instead of cooking?” Her face falls as if I’ve told her the world is about to end.
“No. I think we should use drawing like when you were little. And I think you need to come clean with your instructors. I bet they’d be happy to help. Once you’re in a real kitchen and can learn visually, you’ll do great.”
Mary sits up straighter. “How is drawing going to help with recipes on tests?”
“It’s like when you were younger. We’d read the material to you, and you’d make notes and squiggles that you’d understand. You aced your verbal tests. Let’s try it.” I get some paper and a pen from behind the register and hand it to her. “So, if I said a recipe calls for three cups of sugar, how would you draw it?”
Mary was always a fast sketcher, and in no time, she’s drawn three drinking cups on the paper and a pack of sugar like you’d see in a restaurant.
She says, “If it was a half a cup, I’d only fill it halfway with water.”
“Makes sense. What if the recipe called for three ounces of chicken broth, though?”
Mary smiles. “Since liquids are in ounces, this might work!” She holds up a drawing of three chickens in a swimming pool.
Not what I would have expected, but if it works for her, then good. And I have to smile at how cute the chickens are. Mary is an exceptional artist. “That’s amazing. Why don’t you go home and make yourself a legend of visual measurements, then come back? I’ll call out some recipes, and we’ll see how it works.”
“I will. Thanks, Sawyer.” She starts for the door, but stops. “I almost forgot.” Mary turns around and says, “Pattie lied to you earlier.”
I stand up, my curiosity piqued. “About what?”
“She said she gets supplies in Monterey on Saturdays, but that’s not true. She gets all our supplies from a big beauty warehouse in LA. I know because she makes me unpack it all and put it away.”
This is strange. “Could it be something special she buys? Something she wouldn’t have you unpack. Like expensive scissors?”
“Nope. I’m the chief minion, and Pattie likes to make me do all the menial work.” She shrugs. “The other hairdressers love that Pattie is gone every other Saturday, though, because they get to take her appointments. It’s our busiest day.”
“Have you said anything to the other hairdressers? Asked what they think?”
Mary grimaces. “I hate to say because it’s gossip, but they think she’s secretly seeing someone new. Mostly because she’s been nice to them for a change.”
Another secret affair? I can’t take many more here. “Pattie’s single. Why would that be such a big deal?”
“They think she would’ve said something—unless he’s married.” Mary wiggles her brows. “I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the help, Sawyer.”
I lift a hand to say goodbye and then sink onto the couch again. Why wouldn’t Pattie have just said she was meeting a friend in Monterey. Why lie to me too? That makes no sense.
It seems all three of the talent show judges have some sort of secret. Did one of them commit murder?
Chapter 7
While stirring the base of what I’ll call Sawyer’s Surprise on the stovetop, my thoughts go back to the one thing we know for sure about Tina’s death—we don’t know what actually killed her. The doc said he was stumped by the initial results and will look to her lab work for answers. Madge
