Chapter 12
W
HEN WE RETURNED
from the memorial to open The Cookbook Nook for the afternoon, a flock of customers were already standing in line to enter.
“Are we having a sale I don’t know about?” I said as I fished keys from my purse.
Bailey grinned. “I think folks are excited about the Grill Fest. I heard many on The Pier talking about it.”
Of course. The competition would resume in an hour.
“Lots of people came early to purchase cookbooks that have good companion recipes for grilled cheese,” Aunt Vera said.
“Like chips or French fries,” Bailey said then clicked her fingers. “Jenna, that reminds me, we’ve got a cookbook with a name you’ll love:
French Fries.
Two words. That’s it.”
She was right. That was my kind of title. Short and to the point. Don’t get me wrong. I could memorize litanies, if necessary, but
French Fries
. . . didn’t that say it all?
“On the other hand,” my aunt said, “customers might have come because they found out that Katie has spent hours putting together new sampling platters.”
I grinned. “Whatever works.” As a former advertising executive, I understood the power of free
anything
.
I opened the door, and customers shuffled inside. Tigger, who had been sleeping on the chair in the children’s corner, leaped to the floor, flicked his tail, and made a beeline for the stockroom. He was a people-liking cat, but a massive incoming crowd could be overwhelming.
As I slid behind the counter and prepared the register for sales, I dialed Katie on the intercom and let her know we had returned. She promised treats in less than five minutes.
True to her word, Katie showed up with a three-tiered platter of cheese panini, each mini-sandwich grilled to perfection. I hurried to her, the flavorful aromas stirring my appetite. One selection, made with a specialty cheese called No Woman, a zesty cheese laced with Jamaican jerk spices, had me craving more.
“I’ve put all of these on the menu,” Katie said to customers who joined us in the hallway. “I added some grilled cheese go-with snacks, too, using recipes I pulled from
The Everything Kids’ Cookbook
.”
“You must have been reading our minds,” I said. Or we had been reading hers. I peeked at Aunt Vera and mouthed:
ESP?
She tittered. I faced Katie. “I’ve thumbed through
Everything Kids
. All the recipes look delish. I’ve got to try the nutty caramel corn. But what an extraordinarily long subtitle:
From mac ’n cheese to double chocolate chip cookies—90 recipes to have some finger-lickin’ fun
. Whew!” I recalled a few of my advertising clients, back when I was working at T&S, who would grow supremely frustrated when we pitched extra-long slogans. Like me, they had wanted easy-to-remember, two-word phrases.
“May I address the crowd?” Katie said.
“Sure.”
“Hey, everyone.” With her sizeable height, her toque in place, and her arms raised overhead, Katie looked huge and fearsome until she smiled, and then any observer knew there was no one sweeter and less terrifying. “Come into the café after the competition, and if any of you are interested, next Saturday we’re going to offer a cheese class at the café in honor of the Grill Fest, so sign up now. We have a special guest as the teacher. There will be taste testing involved.”
Customers murmured their appreciation.
Before I could return to my post by the register, Katie nabbed me by the elbow. “Uh-uh, not so fast. Our local cheese monger from Say Cheese Shoppe passed on teaching the cheese class. She has a sick grandmother.”
“Then why did you offer—”
“Because I want to have the class. I think it’s good promo for the shop and café to be known as an educational place. So . . .” She grinned. The Cat in the Hat couldn’t have looked sneakier. “It’s your job to ask Rhett Jackson if he will teach it.”
“What? No way.” I flashed on Rhett’s and my encounter on the sand after my near miss with the sedan. I’d run away
.
What a dope. “Ask him yourself.”
“But you have the inside track with him. He’s hot, hot, hot for you, and you’re hot, hot, hot for him.”
Was I?
Yes, yes, yes.
Then why did the notion make me feel guiltier than all get-out? Because I hadn’t solved the mystery that my husband had left me. I needed to do so before I could move on. I loved a good puzzle, just not in my personal life.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” I pivoted to return to the shop, but Katie gripped me again and held me back.
“I’m not done.”
I scowled at her. “No, I will not ask Rhett on a date.”
“Did I ask you to? I have much more crucial needs. I need gossip. What’s the scoop from the memorial? Who did you talk to? Who seemed desolate and who didn’t? I’m a hound. Feed me.” She bayed softly.
I laughed and said, “Help me rearrange the furniture, and I’ll tell you.” As we moved bookcases and set up chairs, I filled her in on my thoughts.
“Do you really think Mitzi could have killed Natalie?” she asked. “In so short a time?”
“Anyone who was in attendance at the first round of the Grill Fest could have.”
“I think whoever killed Natalie knew she had gone out for a quick smoke.”
“Exactly.” Numerous times, I had pieced together the time line for Wednesday in my head. The competition started. We went on break. Nearly ten minutes passed. The fire alarm sounded. Soon after, a fireman discovered Natalie’s body.
“Anyone who wasn’t in attendance could have killed her, too,” Katie said. “Like that older daughter you mentioned.”
“Norah just arrived in town,” I said, though I did have doubts about her. She seemed to be fashioned out of galvanized steel.
“And Natalie’s son-in-law,” Katie said.
I agreed. Willie. Not my favorite person. “Do you remember that science experiment we had to do back in grade school?”
“Your disintegrating onion fiasco?”
I nodded. The teacher had asked us to pick an item and record its growing process for weeks. Dumb me, I had chosen to put an onion on a long toothpick, hover it over water, and observe. An avocado seed could sprout, right? The onion didn’t. It decayed layer by layer until all that was left at the center was a rotten yellow core. That was the beginning of the end for me as a budding scientist. Maybe that was one reason why I was so tentative in the kitchen.
“What about the experiment?” Katie said.
“That’s what Willie reminds me of.”
“Shallow and no substance.” She bobbed her head. “You should give your two cents to Chief Pritchett.”
“I’m afraid she’ll want a dollar.” I laughed and said, “Chairs.”
After setting out twenty chairs, I dusted off my hands and noticed Katie toying with the ties of her apron.
“What?” I asked.
“Um, was that ice-cream-pedaling guy at the memorial?”
Before leaving for the memorial, I had told Katie about my chat with Keller Carmichael at The Pelican Brief Diner. “I can’t remember seeing him. Why?”
“No reason.”
I bumped her with a hip. “Out with it. Are you sweet on him?”
“Maybe.”
“You should let him know.”
“He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. I’m gawky and—”
“You’re not gawky.”
“I’m awkward anywhere outside of the kitchen.”
So is he
, I wanted to say, but feared a rebuke from her. If she liked the guy, then, like most women, she would defend her man to her last breath.
Katie glanced at the heirloom pocket watch pinned to her chef’s jacket. “Hoo-boy. Time flies. I’ve got to move those portable grills into the shop before the contestants arrive. See you.” She dashed away.
A half hour later, contestants and more spectators arrived. The judges entered as a trio and stood to one side, chatting among themselves. Rhett nodded in my direction. I mimed that I needed to talk to him later. He acknowledged with a thumbs-up gesture.
The hunky fireman entered after the judges. Like a gentleman, he had opted out of the competition so there would be two eliminations even though the primary round was never completed—Natalie, by her untimely death, being the first elimination. Polite applause welcomed him. He smiled and took a seat in the audience. A handful of women swooned audibly.
Flora strolled in behind him. She was clad in a black beaded sweater over black trousers and looked ready to dominate. So much for declaring herself least likely to succeed. The baby-faced teacher and the lanky librarian followed her. Both appeared eager to win.
Tito, in a loud shirt and jeans, moved to the center cooking station. Yesterday, the
Crystal Cove Crier
had posted an article written by Tito as a tribute to Natalie. His flair for prose filled with humor and wit surprised the heck out of me. Tito flourished a recipe card at the crowd. “This is the one,
amigos
. The recipe to beat.”
Mayor Zeller winked and said, “I’ll be the judge of that.” The spectators laughed. The mayor added, “We’re waiting on a couple of other contestants. When they move inside, we’ll begin.”
I spied Mitzi signing autographs outside the store. For the event, she had changed out of her funereal black and donned yet another red suit, this one with sequined lapels. I didn’t have a signature color. I liked to wear hues that reflected my mood. Mitzi pulled a lipstick from her clutch purse and swathed her lips in a color that matched her suit, then checked her image in the window and strutted inside. I surveyed the swelling crowd for her husband, Sam. He stood near the back of the shop talking into his cell phone. Friday was a workday for many, after all.
A minute later, Mitzi moved inside and joined Tito at the center cook station. She placed a bottle of water and a recipe card on the counter and then tucked her clutch into the cubby below. As she rose, she bumped her head on the cook station. She popped to a full stand and, giggling, waved to the audience like a pageant contestant. “I’m fine. Just clumsy. Welcome. I’m so glad you all—”
Lola rushed in appearing frazzled, her silver hair spikier than normal and her breathing staccato. Mitzi offered a nasty glare, but Lola missed the look. She seemed to want to be anywhere but the competition. She caught hold of her daughter by the sales counter. Bailey said something and patted her mother’s shoulder, then ushered her to the station next to Mitzi’s.
I hurried to them and gave Lola a hug. “Go get ’em.”
The mayor strolled in front of the cooking stations while banging the bottom of a saucepan with a wooden spoon.
Gong.
The group hushed. “Welcome, everyone, to round two. I’m sure you all just attended the memorial for Natalie Mumford, and we’re sorry she is no longer with us, but as we all know, life marches on. And so shall we.” She closed her eyes briefly, as if in prayer, then opened them, faced the contestants, and held out a hand. “Recipe cards, please.” Although each contestant had submitted a list of ingredients yesterday in order for our kitchen to have them on hand, Katie had asked to review each recipe today before the competition started, in case a contestant had omitted an item from his or her list and Katie had to scrounge at the last minute.
“This feels wrong,” Lola murmured.
Bailey frowned. “Mom, don’t weird out. I’m sure you included all your ingredients. You’ve made a Grilled Cheese Tuna Tornado hundreds of times.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I said, “No one else is going to die, if that’s where you’re headed.” A deputy was stationed in the alley, another on the café patio.
Lola shook her head. “What I’m trying to say is, should I be doing this?”
Mitzi leaned in and muttered, “Feel free to leave. You won’t be missed.”
We ignored her.
“Don’t be nervous, Lola,” I said. “It’s merely a contest. My mother often told me, ‘Winning will never make you better than anyone else.’”
“No, I mean it.” Lola stamped her foot. “Out of respect for Natalie, should I be doing this?”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Mitzi hissed. “In fact, why are you allowed to compete if you’re a suspect in a murder?”
Bailey gasped. So did I. What was that expression:
Toads and diamonds
? I remembered it from an old French fairy tale by Charles Perrault. The good sister helped a fairy, so the fairy blessed her by making diamonds fall from her mouth whenever she spoke. The bad sister rebuked the fairy, so the fairy cursed her with toads. Mitzi may have looked her best, but she wasn’t at her finest. Did I smell alcohol on her breath?
