Murder Is a Piece of Cake by Elaine Viets

star costume with
     bustier and thigh-high boots.
    “You get to wear costumes on campus,” Josie said. “But you won’t have the afternoon
     party now that you’re in middle school.”
    “Parties are for babies,” Amelia said. This was her first year at that lofty level.
    When they got home, Amelia had finished her homework, chased her cat, Harry, and texted
     her friend Emma (not necessarily in that order), then announced she was making chicken
     and dumplings for dinner.
    Josie was amazed that her daughter seemed to enjoy cooking. Amelia was at the kitchen
     counter, expertly cutting the shortening into the flour with two knives, an old-fashioned
     method Jane had taught her.
    Josie pulled two plates out of the cabinet and Amelia asked, “Isn’t Ted coming over
     for dinner?”
    “Can’t make it tonight,” Josie said. “He called and said he had a sudden emergency
     at the clinic.”
    Amelia looked disappointed. “He loves my chicken and dumplings.”
    “Once we’re married, you two can cook together every night,” Josie said. “I’ll do
     the eating, for better or worse.” She smiled, but Amelia didn’t notice. She was slowly
     adding the milk to the dumpling mixture with the concentration of a chemist.
    “There,” Amelia said. “Perfect. Not too lumpy or too watery. Ted’s gonna be sorry
     he missed these.”
    She dropped spoonfuls of dumpling dough on top of the chicken and vegetables, then
     covered the pot tightly. “Now, it has to stay that way for fifteen minutes,” she said.
     “No snooping, Mom. That’s why your dumplings are tough and soggy.”
    “No, it’s not,” Josie said. “I didn’t inherit Grandma’s cooking gene.”
    “You sound proud of that,” Amelia said.
    “I’m not,” Josie said. “I’m proud of you.” Amelia had an adorable flour smudge on
     her nose, but Josie didn’t dare say anything in case it triggered another sulk. Hoping
     for a taste, Amelia’s striped cat sat at her feet, ears up, tail curled in a question
     mark.
    Josie reached down and scratched his ears. “No people food, big guy,” she said. “Ted
     says it’s not good for you.”
    “What kind of emergency did Ted have, Mom? Another dog hit by a car?”
    “Not this time,” Josie said. “A cat ate the ribbon on a balloon. Ted has to remove
     it.”
    “Stupid owner letting ribbons near her cat,” Amelia said.
    “Ted says it wasn’t Cath Hoffner’s fault,” Josie said.
    “Cath? The lady who lives down the street?” Amelia asked. “With the cute little girl
     Kristyn?”
    Josie took the butter dish out of the fridge and set it on the table next to the bread
     and milk. “That’s her,” she said. “Cath also has an orange tabby named Audrey.
    “Her daughter brought home a party balloon on a curly ribbon. Cath thought she’d tied
     the balloon high on the banister, but the cat got it anyway. She heard Audrey throwing
     up and saw the ribbon hanging out of her mouth. Cath rushed her to the clinic. Ted
     x-rayed the cat and said Audrey ate several feet of ribbon. She needs surgery to remove
     it. Ted told his partner, Chris, he’d handle it.
    “Cath said she’d pay for it. She feels bad her cat ate the ribbon. Ted says you’d
     be shocked how many people abandon their sick pets because they don’t pay the vet
     bills. That’s how he got Festus and Marmalade.”
    “That’s how Grandma got her dog,” Amelia said.
    “Stuart Little really did have a stupid owner,” Josie said. “He told Ted to put him
     down—a perfectly healthy dog—because he didn’t want to pay the vet bill. Ted refused
     and Grandma took him. He’s been a good dog.”
    “I’m glad Harry doesn’t eat things he’s not supposed to,” Amelia said.
    Harry jumped up on the table and began licking the butter. Amelia giggled.
    “Hey!” Josie said. “You know better, cat!”
    Harry stared at her with saucer-sized green eyes, then slid snakelike off the table.
     Josie caught him. “Time-out,