Four cuts too many, p.1
Four Cuts Too Many, page 1
THE MAIN SUSPECT
“There’s something obviously still bothering you. You’ve laid out lots of theories, but you don’t sound convinced about any of them. From what you’ve said, besides Grace, you’ve got lots of possible suspects for Harlan and Chief Gerard to look at. Right?”
“In a sense.” Sarah held up her fingers as she ticked them off. “They should consider anyone who was on the floor when Grace and I got there. That would be Wanda, Franklin, Chef Bernardi, Fern, Nancy, Dr. Williams, and the people who waited to be interviewed in their offices who I don’t even know. The same holds true on the tenure issue, because most of the faculty is working its way toward tenure.”
Sarah put her hands back on the table. “I don’t think I have enough fingers to count everyone. When I add in family, there’s Wanda, but also Wanda’s biological mom, Dr. Martin’s new wife, Lynn, and Kait. There might also be someone at the retirement home who has a connection to Dr. Martin that I haven’t discovered yet. Someone mentioned that because of Kait, they considered Dr. Martin to be part of the Sunshine Retirement Home family.”
“That’s a long list of potential suspects. Surely Harlan can find enough motivation for most of them to raise doubt if Grace is arrested or tried. What’s really bothering you? What’s going on in your head?”
“I have to admit that if I were Chief Gerard and I was committed to following the money and the blood, Grace would be my primary suspect too ...”
Books by Debra H. Goldstein
ONE TASTE TOO MANY
TWO BITES TOO MANY
THREE TREATS TOO MANY
FOUR CUTS TOO MANY
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
FOUR CUTS TOO MANY
Debra H. Goldstein
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
THE MAIN SUSPECT
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
RECIPES:
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Debra H. Goldstein
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
The Kensington logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3221-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3222-4 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3222-7 (ebook)
In memory of April Autrey Deal
In appreciation of Fran Godchaux
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A random sentence or phrase is usually the springboard for my writing. Sometimes, words don’t flow. For weeks, although I knew what Four Cuts Too Many was going to be about, I couldn’t find my way into the book. Frustrated, I looked forward to a long-planned beach weekend with two friends, April Deal and Fran Godchaux.
People debate beach or mountains, but the beach is my haven. Looking at water relaxes me. Many of my best writings were done at the beach. I was positive once we arrived, I’d find my magic sentence.
I didn’t.
Two days into the weekend, I was still staring at sand, white capped waves, and a blank page. April joined me on the condo’s balcony and, as we watched a beautiful sundown, we began to talk about the knives, cooking, and murders my protagonist, Sarah Blair, would encounter. When April laughingly mentioned a rhyme that she’d jumped rope to as a child, “Went upstairs to get my knife. Made a mistake and stabbed my wife,” I had my opening.
The remainder of the weekend was perfect. My writing went well, and April, Fran, and I walked, laughed, ate, and relaxed. Two weeks after we returned home, April unexpectantly died. This book, which she helped trigger into being, is dedicated to her memory.
The other dedication is to Fran Godchaux in appreciation for her always being there. At different times, she’s been my sounding board, beta reader, proofreader, sister from another mother, and true friend. A dedication can’t nearly express my appreciation and gratitude, so I repeat it here.
There are several other people I must acknowledge for helping make Four Cuts Too Many more than an initial rhyme. Susan Mason helped me understand various knives and cuts and was kind enough to refrain from chuckling at my lack of culinary knowledge. Lee Godchaux was a master beta reader. Barb Goffman and Lourdes Venard read and edited early versions—pointing out the holes and inconsistencies I needed to address. My agent, Dawn Dowdle, once again helped make Four Cuts Too Many a better book. My sincere thanks to each of them.
Finally, a nod and hug for my husband, Joel, who, during the stay-at-home stage of the pandemic, put up with my cooking and the time I devoted to Sarah’s adventures.
CHAPTER 1
Went upstairs to get my knife. Made a mistake and stabbed my wife. Sarah Blair hadn’t thought about that horribly worded jump rope rhyme in twenty years. What was worse, she realized, was that most of the jumping rhymes her mother taught Sarah and her twin sister, Emily, had been violent. Sarah doubted the idea of sending children out to play in rhythm to Lizzie Borden’s axe and whacks would be considered politically correct today, but landing on them at the right moment certainly was fun then.
As she waited on the wood bench in front of Carleton Junior Community College’s culinary arts building for Grace Winston to finish teaching her knife skills class, Sarah let her mind wander to some of the other rhymes and scary fairy tales her mother read the twins. It was better exercise than repeatedly checking the time.
Sarah wished Grace would hurry. She sent her a quick text and waited. Benches hewn from oak trees might be interesting to the eye, but this one certainly wasn’t comfortable. Plus, she was getting hot from sitting outside in the bright sun for the twenty minutes since Grace’s class should have ended.
Still no message on her phone. She leaned against the back of the bench, trying to find a comfortable spot. When Grace, Chef Emily’s sous-chef, announced to Emily and Sarah she’d been hired as an adjunct by CJCC to teach a knife skills class, Sarah hadn’t believed her. Considering Sarah’s knife drawer was filled with the black plastic ones that came with her takeout dinners, she couldn’t fathom there were enough knives and cutting methods for a semester-long class.
Scoffing at her ignorance, Emily and Grace had taken Sarah into the Southwind Pub’s kitchen and enlightened her on the art of the knife by deftly demonstrating various cuts. By the time they finished, Sarah still couldn’t tell the difference between dicing, mincing, or cuts with fancy names like julienne, brunoise, or chiffonade, but she’d been properly impressed by their knife skills. It gave Sarah a better idea of how they used them when preparing food at the two restaurants, Southwind and the Southwind Pub, Emily and her boyfriend, Chef Marcus, co-owned.
She wondered if Grace had changed her mind about their meeting. She hoped not. After all, Sarah was here now, instead of at work, because of Grace’s urgent whisper to her yesterday during a celebration held at the white-tableclothed Southwind restaurant. “Please, can we meet tomorrow somewhere away from the restaurants to talk?”
Sarah had quickly agreed for two reasons. First, it seemed that whatever Grace wanted to talk about was important, but secretive, because Grace obviously wanted to ensure Emily and Marcus didn’t hear what she had to say. Apparently, Grace didn’t equate Sarah as being an equal partner in Southwind because her interest was only tied to the building’s ownership.
The other reason, which she kne
Where was Grace?
Hopefully Grace was okay and simply hadn’t seen Sarah’s text. Sarah stared at the building’s front door, wishing Grace to come through it. Nothing. Apparently, wishing couldn’t speed up her future any more than Sarah could change her past.
Almost two years ago, at age twenty-eight, instead of marking her tenth anniversary, Sarah got divorced because Jane, or “the bimbo” as Sarah preferred to refer to her, broke up Sarah’s marriage to Bill Blair. Surprised and shattered, Sarah began a receptionist/secretarial job in Harlan Endicott’s law firm and regrouped with the only thing she got out of the divorce: RahRah, her Siamese cat. Now, feeling more secure and because Harlan had prodded her, she’d recently begun thinking about her future.
Although Sarah wasn’t ready to give up her daytime job, nor did she know what she exactly wanted to study, she’d decided to go after the college degree she’d turned away from to marry Bill. She thought a night class or two at the community college would be an easy way to shake off the rust she’d gathered by not being a student since her high school graduation. Sarah decided to give Grace five more minutes before running by the admissions office to pick up a current class catalog before she went to work.
“Hey, Sarah!”
Sarah raised her head and looked in the direction her name was being shouted from. Grace was bounding down the building’s front steps.
Stopping in front of Sarah, Grace struggled to catch her breath. “I’m so glad you’re still here. I was afraid you were going to leave!”
Sarah stared at her. Grace was a mess. Unlike how everything about Grace was usually crisp and clean, random strands of her curled Afro escaped from her hairnet, and she’d traded her standard impeccably white chef’s jacket for a red-and-white—speckled apron. Looking more closely at the apron, it dawned on Sarah its red stains didn’t follow a pattern. They were random dots and splotches.
“You’re covered in blood!”
Grace looked at the places on her apron where Sarah pointed but didn’t say anything.
Not sure why Grace wasn’t answering her, Sarah prodded her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, a knife went awry this morning. I somehow cut myself.” Grace held up her hand so Sarah could see it was bandaged.
The center of the clumsy bandage was darkening. “Grace, you’re bleeding!”
Grace stared at her hand, as if seeing it for the first time. “I thought it had stopped.”
“Apparently not.” Avoiding the arm with the bandaged hand, Sarah grabbed Grace’s other arm. As she pulled Grace onto the bench, she scanned the arm she held to make sure that none of the color or lines associated with Grace’s farm-to-table sleeve tattoo were from another wound. They weren’t.
Sarah picked up her purse and rummaged in it until she pulled out two large Band-Aids. “Hold out your hand, palm up.”
While Grace simply stared at her weeping hand, Sarah tore open the Band-Aids and repeated her command.
This time, Grace obeyed.
Sarah bent over Grace’s hand and carefully crisscrossed the two Band-Aids to cover the existing bandage. Finished, she shoved the discarded bandage backings into the pocket of her pants. “Keep pressure on your palm. Hopefully, that will stop the bleeding.”
Grace kept her face turned toward her hand but didn’t immediately move. Finally, she placed her good hand over the injured one and pressed against the bandage.
“Grace, what happened?”
Without letting go of her hand, Grace met Sarah’s gaze. “Dr. Douglas Martin. He’s what happened.”
“Who’s Dr. Douglas Martin? And why did he cut your hand?”
Grace blinked and again glanced at her hand. “Dr. Martin didn’t cut my hand. I did. He made me do it.”
“How?”
Grace wasn’t the type of person who’d hurt herself because someone told her to. There had to be more to this story.
“Dr. Martin is the new interim chairman of the culinary program. If it gives you a better idea about him, Malevolent Monster is what the faculty calls him behind his back. He’s known for surprise visits and scathing critiques. This morning, he made one of his unexpected visits to my classroom. He shook my students and me up so much, my hand got sliced.”
Knowing she’d get the rest of the details in a moment, Sarah honed in on Dr. Martin’s nickname. “Malevolent Monster?”
“Yes. Some people think he’s evil.”
“Why?” Evil wasn’t a word Sarah imagined was used often in a college setting to describe a member of the faculty, especially one in a management position. In Sarah’s mind, calling someone evil was quite a pronouncement.
Instead of answering, Grace checked her bandage as she eased off from applying pressure to her hand. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she looked at Sarah. “Like I said, he enjoys making surprise visits.”
Sarah tilted her body to be closer to Grace. “How does that make him evil? Don’t most department chairs visit classrooms?”
“They do, but remember Dr. Martin is only the interim chairman. The hospitality chairman, Dr. Williams, and other faculty members who evaluate or give teachers constructive criticism do it in a gentle manner. That’s not Dr. Martin’s style. He consistently makes scenes or rides roughshod over staff and students.”
“And he visited your classroom today?”
“Yes, to my surprise. I figured, because I’m only an adjunct, he’d ignore me or wouldn’t drop into my classroom until later in the term.” Grace again turned her attention to her bandage. She picked at the side of one of Sarah’s added bandage strips, where it was curling up.
Watching her, Sarah wished Grace would leave her hand alone. Sarah was relieved to see the stain no longer was spreading. “From what you’re saying, I don’t understand why you and the other faculty members think he’s evil.”
“It’s because of the deliberate state of turmoil he’s creating. Teachers and students don’t know what to expect, except that someone or all of them are going to be humiliated. That’s why they’ve nicknamed him the Malevolent Monster.”
Sarah sat back, reflecting on Grace’s comments. “Sounds like he’s into control and power plays.”
“Exactly. He’s the culinary program’s interim chair, but he makes no bones that he is the heir anointed to move up the food chain as the college expands the culinary and hospitality programs into a full-fledged department. He’s making everyone in his area jump through hoops for fear he won’t bring them along with him.”
Sarah furrowed her brow as she pointed at Grace’s bandaged hand. “But your main job is at Southwind. This is only a side gig. Why would you let him bother you so much that you cut yourself?”
Grace peered to the sides and behind the bench before bending toward Sarah. In a low voice, she hurriedly said, “I was distracted when the Malevolent Monster went after one of my students. His behavior to the student was uncalled for.”
Sarah crossed her arms and made herself give Grace time to continue her story. She knew mere distraction wouldn’t have resulted in a cut like this one.
“You remember how Emily and I explained to you that my knife skills class is an introductory course that covers all types of knives and possible knife cuts?”
Sarah nodded.
“Most of my students are in a culinary-related degree program, but I also have a lot of students who are majoring in non-culinary topics.”
Sarah knew she would never sign up for a knives class. It would be the last elective she’d ever consider. “Why would a non-culinary student take a course about knives?”
