A Corpse in a Teacup Read Online Free PDF Page A

when. The usual.”
    He had the drill whining before the guy knew he’d hung up. He smiled. Nothing like easy money.

Chapter Four: M for Mystery
    Tuesday flicked on the lights in The Mulberry Cat Café. Located in upscale, picture perfect Larchmont Village, the Cat was the current PBS in Los Angeles. The Place to Be Seen.
    “Grab our table, Holley, I’ll be there in a minute.”
    Tuesday threw her keys and tote bag on the counter and filled the kettle for hot water. The only time she was allowed to enter the kitchen, Chef Marco’s sanctum sanctorum, was on Mondays to make Holley’s tea. And that only after a humiliating lecture in front of the staff from the chef about not touching anything and being sure to clean every speck of dirt she deposited on the counter and floor. Tuesday made it a point to steer clear of the chef during her work hours. She wasn’t afraid of his temper; Tuesday was quite capable of speaking up for herself. However, she didn’t want his harassing energy infecting her readings.
    The kitchen staff made tea for her clients who scheduled readings after lunch or the Cat’s famed Champagne High Tea. She did not do readings for the dinner crowd. Male customers usually scoffed at her profession. The one evening she and Natasha had tried it, wives and girlfriends clearly were too intimidated by their partners’ teasing to give it a whirl. The two intrepid customers that night who braved the scoffing left huge tips in addition to the jacked up fee, which was why Tuesday wanted to try night time readings in the first place. She was disappointed to lose the extra money, but realized she made up for it in volume during the day when the lunch crowd encouraged each other to try a reading. Holley walked to the corner table that was reserved for Tuesday. It overlooked the sun drenched back patio and she watched the hummingbirds at their feeders while she waited for her reading.
    Tuesday p icked the Cat’s special herbal blend with cinnamon and orange, thinking it would calm her agitated client, as well as offer a variety of bits and pieces that might display some clues in the bottom of the cup.
    Frankly, Tuesday did not fully accept Holley’s story. LA was full of characters who lov ed to prank the innocent, and that’s what this sounded like. Young actresses such as Holley with stars in their eyes instead of a head on their shoulders became targets for cynical types who sucked them into schemes just for a laugh. Or, more sinister, for their money, offering contracts with a nonexistent agent, for instance, for a fee.
    T uesday decided that Holley’s dilemma sounded like the work of a discredited producer who once sent a contract to a girl who had just arrived in Los Angeles. On fancy letterhead, it purported to sign her up for the lead in a film with George Clooney. It outlined his next movie, Ocean’s Twelve. The girl signed the contract and returned it to the scoundrel, oblivious to the fact that the movie had been made years earlier and was already on Netflix. Then, to her bottomless humiliation, in the fog of imagined glory, she promptly posted a video announcing the news. The video went viral and she slunk out of town when it became a joke on late night TV.
    Yeah, T uesday decided as she put a cozy over the teapot and took the tray over to Holley, her client needed calming down. Maybe her cup would predict some exciting news that would take her mind off this threat nonsense.
    She poured the tea for Holley, who sweetened it with two sugars and some lemon. After tasting it, she added a third sugar. Tuesday gave her the no-no sign. “You need calming. Sugar will ramp you up. I keep telling you honeybun. Sugar is the enemy of good health. I never let it enter my system.” Under the table, Tuesday crossed her fingers.
    As Holley sipped her tea, Tuesday tried to take her mind off the scary phone calls.
    “So tell me how things are going on the aliens set. Are you about ready to wrap up