“Aw, it’s a mom cat,” Lee said, giving it a quick scratch behind its ear.
“Kittens,” I said eagerly, before I could stop myself. What was I thinking? This was an alley cat, probably feral. Except there wasn’t an alley outside the door, just another building. Fine, she wasn’t an alley cat, but still, I didn’t need a kitten, for God’s sake.
But the cat was friendly, with very pretty, attentive blue eyes. And Derek wouldn’t have picked her up if she hadn’t been clean. Her fur was mostly white, but her face was black and she had a few black spots scattered across her back and on all four paws. She looked like she was wearing four little black boots. I mentally named her Bootsie.
“She’s well fed and cared for,” Derek said, holding her up for a cursory examination. “But there’s no collar. I wonder if she has a place to go home to.”
“I hope she’s not homeless,” I said.
“We’re working here, people,” Lee groused.
But she’d already revealed her soft marshmallow center, so I just smiled and kept my mouth shut. She and Inspector Jaglom got back to the business of examining the body and the surrounding area for possible clues.
Derek reluctantly set the cat down outside and closed the heavy door to keep it out.
Bon chance, Bootsie, I thought, feeling a little sad that I wouldn’t get a chance to see the pretty mom cat’s kittens.
Derek noticed my look and gave me a sympathetic smile. There he went, reading my mind again.
“That knife is ridiculous,” Inspector Lee said as she knelt near the body. “It’s huge.” She gingerly clamped the tips of her fingers around the end of the knife handle while the CSI guy leaned over and held a large evidence bag open for her.
“It’s heavy, too,” she added as she slid it into the bag.
Jaglom snorted. “I think that blade was bigger than my head.”
Lee glanced over at her partner. “And that’s saying a lot because we all know you’ve got a big head.”
Jaglom pushed a thick strand of curling gray hair off his forehead. “My wife says a big head is a sign of wisdom.”
“Your wife should be a stand-up comedian.”
He chuckled. “She keeps me laughing.”
For the next ten minutes, I stuck close to my unobtrusive spot near the swinging door, watching the detectives work when I wasn’t scrutinizing every visible inch of the room in search of some spot where Baxter might have shoved the cookbook. There were cupboards and shelves everywhere, but they all seemed to be taken up by equipment or utensils or dishware.
With Inspector Lee occupied, I tiptoed along the back wall and carefully began opening the sliding cabinets. A stack of large stainless-steel bowls took up one entire shelf. I checked inside the bowls, but there was no book box hiding there. The other side held three extra food processors. The next cabinet revealed more large white plates on the bottom shelf, salad plates on the top.
I was growing discouraged. It was possible that the book was in here somewhere, but I remembered Baxter’s reaction to receiving Savannah’s gift earlier that night. It was beyond dismissive. Baxter had been downright contemptuous of the book and couldn’t seem to get it out of his hands fast enough. Considering that response, why would he take the time to find a protective hidey-hole for a book he didn’t want in the first place?
I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he had flung the book across the room or tossed it on a wet counter.
So where was it? Had the killer taken it as a token or a prize? Had one of the other chefs casually lifted it with plans to keep it? Or did one of them have an even stronger reason for wanting the cookbook?
Did the book contain something valuable? I considered the recipes I’d read so far and rejected that idea.
But what about the intrinsic value of the book itself? Rare, unique, wonderful. How could anyone leave it behind? But not everyone loved books for their own sake. Maybe the killer had grabbed it to sell for quick cash.
I thought of Kevin’s visible reaction to seeing the book. She’d certainly had her eye on it. Had she stolen it? I hoped not. Because right now, I was fairly certain that whoever had taken the cookbook was also the person who had killed Baxter.
I finally left the detectives to their business and wandered out to the bar to keep Savannah company. She had fallen asleep again with her head resting on her arms, so I whispered her name a few times.
She opened one eye and saw me. “I’m so exhausted.”
“I know, Bugs.” I sat on the barstool next to her. “Bad enough that you’ve been on your feet all day, but then you had to go through the trauma of finding Baxter dead. I blame myself for not forcing you to come home with us earlier.”