Four Cuts Too Many

Book 4: Sarah Blair Mystery

by Debra H. Goldstein

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

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 . . .
 
 Includes quick and easy recipes!
 
“The Sarah Blair mysteries are such a perfect blend of wit, fun, intrigue, and mouth-watering food descriptions that cozy fans will be eager for another helping.”
—Ellery Adams, New York Times bestselling author

 

Release date: May 25, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Went upstairs to get my knife. Made a mistake and stabbed my wife. Sarah Blair hadn’t thought about that horribly worded jump rope rhyme in twenty years. What was worse, she realized, was that most of the jumping rhymes her mother taught Sarah and her twin sister, Emily, had been violent. Sarah doubted the idea of sending children out to play in rhythm to Lizzie Borden’s axe and whacks would be considered politically correct today, but landing on them at the right moment certainly was fun then.

As she waited on the wood bench in front of Carleton Junior Community College’s culinary arts building for Grace Winston to finish teaching her knife skills class, Sarah let her mind wander to some of the other rhymes and scary fairy tales her mother read the twins. It was better exercise than repeatedly checking the time.

Sarah wished Grace would hurry. She sent her a quick text and waited. Benches hewn from oak trees might be interesting to the eye, but this one certainly wasn’t comfortable. Plus, she was getting hot from sitting outside in the bright sun for the twenty minutes since Grace’s class should have ended.

Still no message on her phone. She leaned against the back of the bench, trying to find a comfortable spot. When Grace, Chef Emily’s sous-chef, announced to Emily and Sarah she’d been hired as an adjunct by CJCC to teach a knife skills class, Sarah hadn’t believed her. Considering Sarah’s knife drawer was filled with the black plastic ones that came with her takeout dinners, she couldn’t fathom there were enough knives and cutting methods for a semester-long class.

Scoffing at her ignorance, Emily and Grace had taken Sarah into the Southwind Pub’s kitchen and enlightened her on the art of the knife by deftly demonstrating various cuts. By the time they finished, Sarah still couldn’t tell the difference between dicing, mincing, or cuts with fancy names like julienne, brunoise, or chiffonade, but she’d been properly impressed by their knife skills. It gave Sarah a better idea of how they used them when preparing food at the two restaurants, Southwind and the Southwind Pub, Emily and her boyfriend, Chef Marcus, co-owned.

She wondered if Grace had changed her mind about their meeting. She hoped not. After all, Sarah was here now, instead of at work, because of Grace’s urgent whisper to her yesterday during a celebration held at the white-tableclothed Southwind restaurant. “Please, can we meet tomorrow somewhere away from the restaurants to talk?”

Sarah had quickly agreed for two reasons. First, it seemed that whatever Grace wanted to talk about was important, but secretive, because Grace obviously wanted to ensure Emily and Marcus didn’t hear what she had to say. Apparently, Grace didn’t equate Sarah as being an equal partner in Southwind because her interest was only tied to the building’s ownership.

The other reason, which she knew Grace was unaware of, was that during yesterday’s celebration, Sarah saw Grace slip out of Southwind’s front door, cross Main Street, and walk up the sidewalk to Jane’s Place. Sarah’s antenna for trouble had instantly shot up. Not only was Jane’s Place Southwind’s chief competitor in Wheaton, Alabama, but its scheming owner, Jane Clark, was Sarah and Emily’s biggest nemesis, personally and professionally.

Where was Grace?

Hopefully Grace was okay and simply hadn’t seen Sarah’s text. Sarah stared at the building’s front door, wishing Grace to come through it. Nothing. Apparently, wishing couldn’t speed up her future any more than Sarah could change her past.

Almost two years ago, at age twenty-eight, instead of marking her tenth anniversary, Sarah got divorced because Jane, or “the bimbo” as Sarah preferred to refer to her, broke up Sarah’s marriage to Bill Blair. Surprised and shattered, Sarah began a receptionist/secretarial job in Harlan Endicott’s law firm and regrouped with the only thing she got out of the divorce: RahRah, her Siamese cat. Now, feeling more secure and because Harlan had prodded her, she’d recently begun thinking about her future.

Although Sarah wasn’t ready to give up her daytime job, nor did she know what she exactly wanted to study, she’d decided to go after the college degree she’d turned away from to marry Bill. She thought a night class or two at the community college would be an easy way to shake off the rust she’d gathered by not being a student since her high school graduation. Sarah decided to give Grace five more minutes before running by the admissions office to pick up a current class catalog before she went to work.

“Hey, Sarah!”

Sarah raised her head and looked in the direction her name was being shouted from. Grace was bounding down the building’s front steps.

Stopping in front of Sarah, Grace struggled to catch her breath. “I’m so glad you’re still here. I was afraid you were going to leave!”

Sarah stared at her. Grace was a mess. Unlike how everything about Grace was usually crisp and clean, random strands of her curled Afro escaped from her hairnet, and she’d traded her standard impeccably white chef’s jacket for a red-and-white—speckled apron. Looking more closely at the apron, it dawned on Sarah its red stains didn’t follow a pattern. They were random dots and splotches.

“You’re covered in blood!”

Grace looked at the places on her apron where Sarah pointed but didn’t say anything.

Not sure why Grace wasn’t answering her, Sarah prodded her. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, a knife went awry this morning. I somehow cut myself.” Grace held up her hand so Sarah could see it was bandaged.

The center of the clumsy bandage was darkening. “Grace, you’re bleeding!”

Grace stared at her hand, as if seeing it for the first time. “I thought it had stopped.”

“Apparently not.” Avoiding the arm with the bandaged hand, Sarah grabbed Grace’s other arm. As she pulled Grace onto the bench, she scanned the arm she held to make sure that none of the color or lines associated with Grace’s farm-to-table sleeve tattoo were from another wound. They weren’t.

Sarah picked up her purse and rummaged in it until she pulled out two large Band-Aids. “Hold out your hand, palm up.”

While Grace simply stared at her weeping hand, Sarah tore open the Band-Aids and repeated her command.

This time, Grace obeyed.

Sarah bent over Grace’s hand and carefully crisscrossed the two Band-Aids to cover the existing bandage. Finished, she shoved the discarded bandage backings into the pocket of her pants. “Keep pressure on your palm. Hopefully, that will stop the bleeding.”

Grace kept her face turned toward her hand but didn’t immediately move. Finally, she placed her good hand over the injured one and pressed against the bandage.

“Grace, what happened?”

Without letting go of her hand, Grace met Sarah’s gaze. “Dr. Douglas Martin. He’s what happened.”

“Who’s Dr. Douglas Martin? And why did he cut your hand?”

Grace blinked and again glanced at her hand. “Dr. Martin didn’t cut my hand. I did. He made me do it.”

“How?”

Grace wasn’t the type of person who’d hurt herself because someone told her to. There had to be more to this story.

“Dr. Martin is the new interim chairman of the culinary program. If it gives you a better idea about him, Malevolent Monster is what the faculty calls him behind his back. He’s known for surprise visits and scathing critiques. This morning, he made one of his unexpected visits to my classroom. He shook my students and me up so much, my hand got sliced.”

Knowing she’d get the rest of the details in a moment, Sarah honed in on Dr. Martin’s nickname. “Malevolent Monster?”

“Yes. Some people think he’s evil.”

“Why?” Evil wasn’t a word Sarah imagined was used often in a college setting to describe a member of the faculty, especially one in a management position. In Sarah’s mind, calling someone evil was quite a pronouncement.

Instead of answering, Grace checked her bandage as she eased off from applying pressure to her hand. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she looked at Sarah. “Like I said, he enjoys making surprise visits.”

Sarah tilted her body to be closer to Grace. “How does that make him evil? Don’t most department chairs visit classrooms?”

“They do, but remember Dr. Martin is only the interim chairman. The hospitality chairman, Dr. Williams, and other faculty members who evaluate or give teachers constructive criticism do it in a gentle manner. That’s not Dr. Martin’s style. He consistently makes scenes or rides roughshod over staff and students.”

“And he visited your classroom today?”

“Yes, to my surprise. I figured, because I’m only an adjunct, he’d ignore me or wouldn’t drop into my classroom until later in the term.” Grace again turned her attention to her bandage. She picked at the side of one of Sarah’s added bandage strips, where it was curling up.

Watching her, Sarah wished Grace would leave her hand alone. Sarah was relieved to see the stain no longer was spreading. “From what you’re saying, I don’t understand why you and the other faculty members think he’s evil.”

“It’s because of the deliberate state of turmoil he’s creating. Teachers and students don’t know what to expect, except that someone or all of them are going to be humiliated. That’s why they’ve nicknamed him the Malevolent Monster.”

Sarah sat back, reflecting on Grace’s comments. “Sounds like he’s into control and power plays.”

“Exactly. He’s the culinary program’s interim chair, but he makes no bones that he is the heir anointed to move up the food chain as the college expands the culinary and hospitality programs into a full-fledged department. He’s making everyone in his area jump through hoops for fear he won’t bring them along with him.”

Sarah furrowed her brow as she pointed at Grace’s bandaged hand. “But your main job is at Southwind. This is only a side gig. Why would you let him bother you so much that you cut yourself?”

Grace peered to the sides and behind the bench before bending toward Sarah. In a low voice, she hurriedly said, “I was distracted when the Malevolent Monster went after one of my students. His behavior to the student was uncalled for.”

Sarah crossed her arms and made herself give Grace time to continue her story. She knew mere distraction wouldn’t have resulted in a cut like this one.

“You remember how Emily and I explained to you that my knife skills class is an introductory course that covers all types of knives and possible knife cuts?”

Sarah nodded.

“Most of my students are in a culinary-related degree program, but I also have a lot of students who are majoring in non-culinary topics.”

Sarah knew she would never sign up for a knives class. It would be the last elective she’d ever consider. “Why would a non-culinary student take a course about knives?”

“A few think it will be an easy class that fits into their schedules. Two told me they are in the criminal justice program and believe it will help in their future work to understand the ins and outs of knives.”

Sarah muffled a chuckle. “Sounds like they want to know where to put a knife in and out of.”

Grace didn’t react to Sarah’s corny joke. “Anyway, because this was just the second class of the semester, I was giving an overview of the different knives we’ll be using by holding up a knife, having different students identify the type of knife it is, and then having that student help me demonstrate its use by cutting up different types of cheese.”

“That sounds fairly simple.”

“It was an easy lesson plan until Dr. Martin interrupted my class just after I’d called one of my students, Franklin, to the front of the room. Before I could say anything, Dr. Martin faced off in front of Franklin, grabbed two knives, waved them in the air, and asked him which one Franklin thought could do more damage.”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“Not to Franklin. He’s one of those criminal justice kids I mentioned. I’m convinced he really signed up because of a girl. He’s made sure to sit at the same prep table with her both times. Anyway, when Dr. Martin held up a small deboning knife and a giant bread slicing knife, Franklin stared at them for so long you could almost feel the other students praying the correct answer to him.”

“Did he pick the right knife?”

“Of course not. He went with size and picked the bread knife. The class let out a collective sigh as Dr. Martin dramatically thrust the diminutive knife, one strong enough to separate meat from bones, toward him. I doubt Dr. Martin’s jab would have reached him, but Franklin got rattled and instinctively reached for the blade of the knife as it came toward him.”

“Not a good idea?”

“Not by a long shot. Deboning knives may be slim and small, but they’re super-sharp. Knowing exactly how wicked that kind of knife is, I put my hand out to prevent Franklin from grabbing the blade. I knocked his arm hard enough to keep him from touching the blade, but I caused Franklin to bump into Dr. Martin’s outstretched hand. Dr. Martin lost his grip on the knife and it flew up in the air.”

“And you caught the knife?”

Grace shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t have been smart. I was just hoping it wouldn’t hit any of us. When it clanked on the floor, I thought we’d been lucky. Apparently, though, it hit me. The blade was so sharp it sliced my hand quickly and deeply before I felt any pain or saw blood.”

“Now I understand why you said Dr. Martin was the one at fault.”

Grace grimaced and raised her hand. “He didn’t even acknowledge I was hurt. He was too busy screaming.”

“At the student or you?”

Grace made a face and tilted her head away from Sarah. “At the situation. When my hand deflected the knife’s fall, the blade nicked Dr. Martin.”

Imagining the scene in her mind, Sarah tried not to laugh but couldn’t contain herself. It seemed like a comedy of errors that would make a good TV farce. In between giggles, she managed to say, “The case of the rogue knife?” As her mind raced through more possible titles, Sarah lost it again. When she got control of herself, she asked if he’d been injured badly too.

Grace held up her good hand, as if to motion Sarah to stop, but gave up and began laughing too. “He was barely cut, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way he carried on. Apparently, the drop of his spilled blood fanned his anger at Franklin even more.”

Swallowing, Sarah stopped laughing. “That’s terrible.”

“It was. Dr. Martin dabbed his arm with the first thing he could reach, while he continued screaming viciously at Franklin, who was apologizing profusely. In the meantime, because my hand was now bleeding so freely, some of the other students were helping me.”

“What about Dr. Martin? Surely, by then, he could see you needed medical attention?”

“I have no idea if Dr. Martin noticed my hand or the students helping me. Either something in the hallway caught his eye or he realized how out of control he was, because he abruptly stopped screaming and stomped out of the room.”

“Without even trying to help you? What was so important he could possibly have ignored how badly you were bleeding?”

“I don’t know.” Grace waved her hand. “Another student, Wanda, stepped forward and applied pressure with a towel, while a third ran to get our full first aid kit. When she got back with the kit, I dismissed class while Wanda bandaged my hand. You can imagine how fast most of the students fled the classroom. I doubt it was a full minute before Franklin and Wanda were the only ones left with me. They offered to help me clean up the room, but I told them it wasn’t necessary. I wanted to get down to meet you, so I said I’d take care of everything myself later.”

“You should have taken them up on their offer.” From the cut’s position, Sarah couldn’t help wondering if the wound was going to interfere with Grace’s prep work at Southwind.

“I should have. The minute they left, before I had a chance to leave, Dr. Martin came back.”

Sarah leaned forward. “Do you think he was waiting in the hallway for the students to leave?”

“I don’t think so. Surely, if the students ran into him, I’d have heard them talking. What I can tell you is that today I learned his nickname is well deserved. He spent the next fifteen minutes chastising me about my ability to control my students and my personal life. He told me he couldn’t see how he was going to be able to let me continue instructing this class, as I obviously lacked the experience and qualities necessary to teach in his program.”

“But ... well ...” Sarah tripped over her words before getting the right ones out. “It was an accident. After all, he got cut too. Why did he get so bent out of shape over an accident?”

“I have no idea. I’ll tell you this: He ranted and raved so loudly, I’m sure everyone on the floor heard him.” Grace stared at her feet. “And I’m sure they heard me too. I couldn’t help myself. I was so mad at what he said, I could have strangled him. Instead, I let him have it with both barrels.”

“You did?”

Grace met Sarah’s gaze. “Yes. I know he’s my boss and I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t. Instead, I told him he was out of line and neither the students nor I deserved this kind of treatment from him. I also yelled something like if he kept behaving this way, he shouldn’t be surprised if someone didn’t punch him out—or worse.”

“After you sounded off, what did Dr. Martin do?”

Grace looked at the ground. “I don’t know. I left him there sputtering while I walked out of my classroom and came to meet you.”

“You what?”

“We both needed to cool off, so I left.”

Sarah stared at Grace, speechless.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Grace shook her head, causing more wisps of hair to escape her hairnet. “I was so proud of being invited back to teach at my alma mater, despite only having six months of practical experience since I earned my degree, but now, I probably no longer have a job.”

“Don’t think like that. Remember the nickname you said the faculty has for Dr. Martin. There’s got to be evidence of a pattern of this type of behavior that you can take before a board at the college. I’m sure Harlan will help you. In fact, if anyone has something to worry about, it’s Dr. Martin. From what you’ve said, not only has he riled everyone up through verbal abuse, he’s put students in danger. Like you said, someone might go further than mere words next time.”

Grace brushed back a stray hair falling into her eye. Her hand touched her hairnet. She pulled it off. “Why didn’t you tell me I was still wearing this?”

“I thought it added to your campus ambience.”

Grace flicked the hairnet at Sarah, making sure it didn’t touch her. “Ugh! Anyway, that’s why I’m late. I’m so glad you waited.”

“I told you I would.” Sarah didn’t think it was worth mentioning she had thought about leaving.

“Do you mind coming back inside and talking to me while I put things away? Even if Dr. Martin fires me, I want to leave my room in order.”

“Well, you know how I feel about kitchens, even teaching ...” Because Grace obviously wasn’t on the same wavelength as her humor today, Sarah changed her tack. “No problem, as long as I don’t have to do anything that resembles cooking.”

“It’s a deal. While I put things in order, you can nibble the cheese the students and I cut before I hurt my hand. Don’t worry, none of that is tainted.”

Grace stood, as did Sarah. With a slight bow and sweep of her arm, Sarah motioned Grace to go before her up the building’s front marble steps.

Inside the main entrance, Grace took a quick turn to the right, stopping in front of a stairwell door. “My classroom is on the third floor, nearer the stairwell than the elevator.”

“Lead away.”

Grace pulled open the door and started up the stairs.

Sarah followed, immediately unable to quite keep up with Grace’s pace. For someone who thought she was in pretty good shape, Sarah realized she didn’t do stairs very often and should probably add it to her exercise program, if she ever created one. She decided it might slow Grace down a step or two if she asked her to explain the real reason Grace requested this meeting. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind besides Dr. Martin?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“That wasn’t why you asked to speak to me alone, yesterday.”

Grace laughed. “It’s Jane, but my concerns from yesterday may not be as major as they seemed then.”

Even knowing the topic would be Jane, Sarah struggled to keep her voice civil. “Did she make you another offer?”

Grace rounded the first landing with Sarah at her heels. “Yes, but ...”

Sarah stopped on the step below the landing. “Are you going to become her executive chef?”

“Oh, no. I turned that down. It was something else Jane wanted me involved in that I wanted to discuss with you.”

Relieved but confused, Sarah joined Grace on the landing. “What was it?”

Grace resumed climbing the stairs. “Like I said, it seemed like a big problem yesterday, but, after the events of today, what I wanted to talk to you about is probably moot.”

Grace yanked open the door to the third floor. The door rapped against the wall. Sarah slid by it before it slammed shut again. Immediately, she became aware of a buzzing sound in the hallway. Ahead of her, Grace strode purposely toward a doorway in front of which several people were crowded. What Sarah had thought was a buzz was the sound of their chattering voices.

She instinctively quickened her step to catch up to Grace who, seemingly oblivious to the people in the hall, made a beeline for what Sarah presumed was Grace’s classroom. Before Sarah could work her way around the other onlookers and catch up to Grace, she saw Grace’s path into the classroom blocked by a young man clad in gray cargo pants and a long-sleeved blue collared shirt. Reaching Grace’s side, Sarah observed the shirt had the college’s insignia on the sleeve of his right arm, the one he held stretched across the open doorway, effectively blocking Grace from entering the classroom.

“Franklin, what’s going on in my classroom?”

The young man lowered his eyes, but not his arm. Realizing this might be the student Grace had just told her about, Sarah stared at him, trying to see if she recognized him. She didn’t. She felt certain that if she’d ever seen him around the Southwind Pub or the higher-end Southwind restaurant, she would have remembered his almost crew cut and six-pack ab look.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Winston. There’s been a problem. No one can go in or out until the campus police and paramedics arrive.”

Grace tried again to go around him, but, holding . . .