Chapter 8: The Pepper Problem

Becca's POV

I bought three pepper shakers because none of them looked right beside our duck.

The seller promised that at least one belonged to the same set.

I carried them home wrapped in yesterday's newspaper and considerable optimism.

Tate was making coffee when I put the bundle on the table.

He looked at it, then at the lone duck between our places.

"Has it called for reinforcements?" he asked.

I unwrapped the first shaker and stood it beside the salt.

It was a duck twice the size of ours, with a top hat.

The pepper poured from holes beneath its tail when Tate tipped it.

He examined our original duck, which had the same unfortunate arrangement.

"A family resemblance," he said.

I moved the larger duck aside and unwrapped the next candidate.

That one was a pepper mill shaped like a windmill.

Its little sails turned when I ground pepper into my open palm.

I kept turning them while Tate waited with his coffee.

Nothing came out until I held the object upside down.

A dark heap landed on the table instead of my hand.

He brought a cloth without asking why I had paid for it.

That was kind enough to make the third package feel much heavier.

Inside it sat a little ceramic egg marked PEPPER in clear black letters.

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