At the far end of the kitchen, Mrs. Lawrence was working at the sink. Her back was to me when I entered the long, tiled room. 

 

Without her notice, I crept between the rows of stainless steel work stations, scanning the countertops for remnants of this evening’s dinner preparations. Every surface had been wiped clean; every dish had been washed and stowed in its proper place. Her kitchen was spotless. 

 

Tipping my head below the appliances, I found nothing but a thin layer of dust– and even less in the way of evidence.

 

In the fridge: fresh bread, raw vegetables, and a big bowl of chili stew. Just in case, I secured the contents for further testing.

 

(Searching the Kitchen did not cost you an Investigative Hour.)