Snippet from WHISKING UP WHODUNITS
The oven breathed hot air on Emma as she slid a tray of cookies onto the metal. She sighed as her glasses fogged up, a usual occurrence. “Exactly the look I’m going for—blind baker,” she muttered, wiping them on her apron.
Amber, perched on a stool, chewed the chain of her necklace like it was a piece of gum, something she often did when anxious or bored. “You know, you’re the only person I’d wake up for at this hour. The sun’s not even up, but here I am, ready to supervise.” She grinned, the creases of her cheeks showing off her heavy application of concealer.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay, Miss Supervisor. I’ll pretend I don’t know the real reason you’re here this early.” Which was that Amber’s insomnia was in high-gear, and she needed a distraction.
“Are you going to help or just sit there?” Emma asked, taking a tray of hot cookies from the second oven.
“Sit here.” Amber smiled coyly. “And admire you.” She leaned in to examine the cookies, the scent of vanilla and chocolate wafting off them. “You know I fantasize about cooking up beautiful meals like you do. I think I’ll be able to relax and create something splendidly delicious but then comes reality. I’m over here overwhelmed and irritable because my kitchen is a mess, and there’s no room for me to work. The oven’s aggravating my menopause, and my husband’s just about had enough, so he forbids me from ever cooking again and orders a pizza or comes here for a meal, you know.” She laughed, fanning herself with her hands. “Even just watching you stresses me out sometimes.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You are so dramatic.”
Amber shrugged. “I’m just honest.” She looked toward the door that showed off Emma’s wild garden—a mix of flowers, herbs, and an array of vegetables. “I heard your granddaughter is arriving today. How old is she now? Eleven?”
“Sixteen,” Emma corrected.
“Sixteen? Wow, I blink and there goes years.” She wiped the saliva on her necklace onto her shirt collar. “I suppose you talked to your daughter to arrange it?”
“Only briefly.” Emma’s fingers clenched her dirty apron.
“So, she sends you her mini-me, but won’t come visit herself?” Amber’s tone was critical.
“Bella’s busy. She’s a single mom now and running her own business baking cakes.”
“Well, I suppose she can’t hate you that much if she’s followed in your footsteps.” Amber shrugged and dabbed her red-stained lips with a napkin.
Snippet from KILLER IN THE MARGINS
The kitchen was as hot as a furnace, but worse than that was the negative energy brimming all around me. I could feel the stress, the anger. Josh was flipping the burgers as fast as he could go, but my boss wasn't happy. He was screaming at him from the other side of the kitchen, telling him he better hurry up or Friday would be the last day he saw a paycheck.
“Whatever, Freddy. You’d drown without me,” Josh said, his tone nonchalant. But his hands twitched, and I knew he wanted to fling that spatula straight at Freddy’s head.
I focused on pinning the orders to the wall, trying to tune them out.
“Why do you have to go so slow, Jessica?” Freddy barked.
My heart flip-flopped in my chest. I swallowed hard, ignoring the prickling sensation running up and down my arms.
“I’m going!” I shot back, grabbing a serving tray of water and ditching the kitchen like it was on fire.
The dining area was far less chaotic, but Freddy’s words echoed in my mind, replaying like a horror film.
I struggled to focus. My body felt loose and unsteady, like a fish flopping on dry land. Chill out. He’s just stressed. It wasn’t personal. Let it go. The kind of thing my sister would say. But it didn’t help. I couldn’t get a grip.
