Like it or not, every time I shut my eyes, the whole scene flooded back in high relief, every detail distinct and sharp. Melanie. The bathtub. The bathmat. The towels. The blow-dryer.
Wait. The blow-dryer. I sat up straight.
“What?” Dan asked. “What are you remembering?”
“That blow-dryer isn’t Melanie’s.”
Dan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t know if she’s married, but you know what kind of blow-dryer she uses?”
I ignored the blatant skepticism in his voice. “Melanie had curly hair like mine.”
“So?”
“No self-respecting curly-haired woman would use a blow-dryer without a diffuser if she used one at all, and Melanie respected herself plenty. Trust me. That was not her blow-dryer.”
He shrugged. “So it was the hotel’s.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Still . . . “Why was it plugged in then? She wouldn’t have used it.”
“I don’t know, Rebecca.” He sighed. “Honestly, you know as much as I do at this point.”
“What do you think happened?”
Dan sighed again. “I have no idea at this point, Rebecca.” He leaned forward to look me right in the eye. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You are a witness. In fact, you’re barely that. You’re just the person who found the body. This has nothing to do with you, and there is absolutely no reason for you to get involved in any way. Understood?” His eyes had gone laser-beam bright and a muscle twitched in his jawline.
I leaned back, slightly affronted. “I know. This isn’t like what happened with Coco.”
He leaned even farther forward. If this kept up he’d be in my lap, and then the gossips of Grand Lake would really have something to talk about. “There was no reason for you to get involved the way you did with what happened to Coco either, Rebecca. You’re a civilian. Not a detective. Not a police officer. You’re a chef. Stick to the kitchen.”
I’ll admit it, that stung a bit. I got it. I had almost gotten myself killed, but I was also pretty certain that Coco’s killer would never have been caught if I hadn’t intervened.
Sometimes it takes a chef to sniff out what’s rotten in a kitchen.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kernel of Truth is Kristi’s first book with Berkley Prime Crime. She has been obsessed with popcorn ever since she first tasted the caramel-cashew popcorn at Garrett’s in Chicago. If you’ve never had it, you might want to hop on a plane and go now. Seriously, it’s that good.
Kristi lives in northern California, although she was born in Ohio like the heroine of Kernel of Truth. She loves snack food, crocheting, her kids, and her man, not necessarily in that order.
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