“Captain Rye must have a lot on his mind,” I told Snowflake. “What do you mean?” Wilson asked. “I mean, your cooking.” I shooed the cat off the counter and started unloading the veggies into the sink. “Whenever a case is causing you trouble, you plan a meal that involves much, much chopping.” He denied it, but I insisted it was true. “I play pool to solve problems, you chop celery.” “Risotto doesn’t have celery. And besides, you like vegetables.” I set the cutting board in front of him and handed him the onion. “Enjoy!” I stepped away to work on the champagne, and Wilson started chopping. “Is Dr. Yikes making a habit of visiting you every day?” he asked. “Every other day.” I set a glass in front of him and took a seat at the counter. Snowflake hopped on my lap, and we watched him chop asparagus. “She’s anxious we find the killer.” “You tell her your theory?” “I hope that’s okay?” Wilson agreed the superintendent of schools probably needed to know.
