When it comes to murder, there's no need to mince words . . .
Sarah Blair gets an education in slicing and dicing when someone in culinary school serves up a main corpse in Wheaton, Alabama...
Between working as a law firm receptionist, reluctantly pitching in as co-owner of her twin sister's restaurant, and caretaking for her regal Siamese RahRah and rescue dog Fluffy, Sarah has no time to enjoy life's finer things. Divorced and sort-of dating, she's considering going back to school. But as a somewhat competent sleuth, Sarah's more suited for criminal justice than learning how many ways she can burn a meal.
Although she wouldn't mind learning some knife skills from her sous chef, Grace Winston. An adjunct instructor who teaches cutlery expertise in cooking college, Grace is considering accepting an executive chef's position offered by Jane Clark, Sarah's business rival--and her late ex-husband's lover. But Grace's future lands in hot water when the school's director is found dead with one of her knives in his back. To clear her friend's name, Sarah must sharpen her own skills at uncovering an elusive killer...
It’s a Dog’s Life, but Sometimes I Wish it Were a Cat’s
by Fluffy (and Debra H. Goldstein)
I have nothing to complain about. Last year, George Rogers rescued me from the streets, where I was running and hiding scared of everything and everyone. Realizing how traumatized I was, he cleaned me up and loved on me. He’d take me on my leash everywhere, proudly introducing me as his little fluff ball. That’s why he named me Fluffy. I’d bark and he’d smile even more.
I was happy living with George until he was badly hurt and had to go to the hospital, rehab, and a senior citizen home that doesn’t permit pets. Luckily for me, his friend, Maybelle Johnson, took it upon herself to have her daughter, Sarah Blair, take me into her home. Sarah treats me very well. Like George, she constantly pets me, keeps me clean, and feeds me healthy food. Sarah also makes sure George comes over to visit me periodically. What more could I ask?
This isn’t sour grapes, but sometimes I’d like to be living the life of Sarah’s Siamese cat, RahRah. I adore RahRah, but make no mistake about it, he is living the proverbially “life of Reilly.” Sarah doesn’t seem to know it, but he rules the house. He’s got his favorite spots to stretch out and catch sun rays, he knows exactly how to rub her leg and purr for extra treats, and if he does something that is a definite no-no, like walking across the bar using his tail to make the hanging glasses tinkle, she picks him up and hugs him.
When I got here, RahRah made it clear from day one that he is the alpha animal in this house. RahRah plays with me, but if he decides he’s had enough, that’s it. I could challenge him, but I don’t want to. I adore him. RahRah never interferes with my bed or with Sarah petting me nor does he seem to mind when she takes me for long walks or uses me as a decoy in her sleuthing. The one time I was sick, he kept checking on me. I do like his place in the kitchen, but if the worst thing about living with RahRah is having to move from his spot on the linoleum when he wants it, I guess I can handle that. It’s nice to be in a home where I’m wanted and loved.
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