A Corpse in a Teacup by Cassie Page

reading. There was an big aftershock from the earthquake, and I closed up and left for an appointment.” She was uncomfortable naming the client.
    Tuesday admired Jameson’s skill at getting it all down. Tuesday ended up with mostly gibberish when she tried to use a small keyboard.
    “Who was your appointment with?”
    Tuesday couldn’t see the relevance , but answered anyway. “Doctor Darla.”
    “And she is?”
    Tuesday explained Doctor Darla and her therapy practice.
    Jameson squinted at her. “You mean you were playing in the sand?”
    “Well, I would have if it weren’t for the earthquake. And it’s play therapy, not just playing.”
    “Like with a pail and shovel? And that ’s therapy? You pay for that?”
    Tuesday realized she had massacred her description of Doctor Darla’ s work and changed tactics, going directly to the matter at hand. “I don’t know what happened to the cat. Holley said it was here this morning.”
    Jameson did a double take. “Miss Wood was here, too? At the scene of another crime?”
    Snap. That’s why she didn’t want to identify her client as Holley. It could heap more suspicion on her. “You have Holley at the scene of Ariel’s murder? When did that happen?”
    “Not at the scene, but she’s definitely a person of interest. And no one has declared it murder. Let’s not start rumors. Now tell me what you know about the missing cat.”
    Tuesday didn’t have to wonder why a homicide detective was investigating the theft of a second rate piece of sculpture . The Mulberry Cat Café was so high profile that Tuesday had no trouble imagining Natasha’s political clout. She could easily convince the PD to send a top-notch team. She told Jameson what she knew about the cat, which was not much. While she was talking, a call came in for the detective. She walked away to a quiet corner. Both Natasha and Tuesday saw the look of surprise on her face. She hurriedly finished her call and whispered in Butel’s ear.
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt this investigation. I’ll get back to you.”
    Natasha went running out into the street after the detective. “What about my cat? And where’s Marco? Doesn’t he know he vill have customers to feed in half an hour?”
    Tuesday knew the detectives had no interest in Natasha’s cat. She was close enough to Jameson to overhear the hurried information she passed on to her partner. They’d been summoned to something more important than a missing piece of badly blown glass. Ariel Cuthbert’s autopsy.
    Tuesday ducked, narrowly avoiding Marco’s fillet knife sailing towards her head.
    “Natasha,” she yelled, sidestepping the knife as it ricocheted off the refrigerator and clattered to the floor at her feet. “Killing me isn’t going to make Marco appear!”
    Natasha paused her knife throwing act to let loose with a string of Russian that Tuesday assumed was the equivalent of English four letter words, all aimed at Marco’s manhood and what she’d like to do it.
    “Where is he?” she shouted, stabbing a pricy Ambrosia melon with a ten-inch chef’s knife and then carelessly throwing it in the sink.
    Rowena had arrived. She stood behind her boss cringing at the desecration of Marco’s expensive, cherished and now ruined tools of his trade. It was Rowena’s job to keep the stainless steel sharpened to surgical precision and make sure each knife was housed in its protective sleeve when not in use. She snatched the butcher knife and cleaver and hid them behind her back before Natasha could do more damage.
    Tuesday sympathized with Natasha’s hysterics . Not about the glass cat, but it was time to open the doors and the upper case Cat had no chef. She also wondered why she was caught in the middle of the Cat’s problems. She wasn’t even a full-time employee.
    Rowena blurted out, “Maybe he’s having his car fixed. He told me the brakes were bad.” She looked uneasy as though speaking to the Café’s owner was a supreme