Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) (11 page)

“Maybe,” Katie said, “Trisha stole the Thorntonite to see if she could turn evil into good.”

“Or maybe she decided to experiment in black magic,” Bailey countered.

I shook my head. “Not very conservative.”

Bailey glowered. “Just listen, both of you. Perhaps Trisha wanted to see if she could make her mother come around to her way of thinking. She took the Thorntonite, ground it into a potion, and
poof
”—Bailey clapped her hands like a magician—“she magically coerced someone to murder her mother.”

“Whoa.” Katie held up a hand. “That’s not the direction I was heading at all.”

“Hold it.” I mirrored the raised hand. “Let’s try a whole new angle. What if someone else with a grudge against Pearl believes herself to be a
real
witch and stole the Thorntonite to do what Bailey said?” I replayed my aunt’s and my morning visit to Pearl’s house. “Aunt Vera couldn’t see what it was about the setting that had bothered her. What if she wasn’t remembering something she had viewed but something she intuited? Like pervasive evil.” I thumped the table. “Come to think of it, I felt something was off, too, right before Trisha Thornton caught us snooping.”

Katie tapped her head. “Oho! You’re getting the gift.”

“I am not. No way. But don’t you ever get a feeling? A tingling sensation?”

“That’s it! That’s the gift,” Katie said. “My mother has . . .
had
 . . . the gift.” Her mother was suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s. Katie’s father, a harsh man on the best of days, couldn’t handle the disease. He only visited Katie’s mother at the assisted-living center once a year, on her birthday. Katie wiggled her fingers. “There’s all this spiritual energy flowing around Crystal Cove. You’re picking up on it.”

“Uh-uh,” I said. “I don’t believe it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Jenna.” Katie hugged herself and wriggled in place. “Stop fighting whatever is going on inside you. It’s a gift. Embrace it.”

Bailey mimicked Katie. “Yes. Embrace it.”

“It’s not a curse,” Katie said.

“Spirit of the wine bar.” Bailey threw her hands overhead like a traveling-show healer. “Fill Jenna with the sight.”

“Cut it out.” I batted her hands.

“It’s not a curse,” Katie repeated.

“I don’t think of it as a curse.” I didn’t. I thought it was insane, idiotic, and totally outside the realm of possibility. But not a curse. “We’re done with this discussion.”

My pals tried to bring up the subject two more times before we said good night for the evening.

When I arrived home with Tigger, I was wired. Silly made-up ditties coursed through my head:
Curses and witches and pumpkins, oh my!
Why? I don’t know. Maybe it was the fact that Katie, Bailey, and I had talked about potions; maybe it was the fact that I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything other than tidbits from the cheese platter while Katie and Bailey chowed down on Italian salads loaded with salami, garbanzo beans, and olives. Why hadn’t I eaten more? At least some protein? A chicken breast or steak would’ve been a good choice. I hadn’t because my appetite had flown the coop when we started talking about curses and the spiritual energy floating around Crystal Cove.

Well, it didn’t matter. I would eat now.

I tore into the kitchen, fetched Tigger a snack, and then, intent on practicing my skills at making food for the Halloween party, I opened one of the cookbooks I’d toted home:
Ghoulish Goodies: Creature Feature Cupcakes, Monster Eyeballs, Bat Wings, Funny Bones, Witches’ Knuckles, and Much More!
How hard could it be to make a bag of dirt or a cup of worms? I stumbled onto a page that was filled with tips, one of which caught my eye:
Don’t drive yourself nuts.
The author suggested, when throwing a party, to have fun and to be willing to ask for help. I couldn’t do the second right now. “You’re not quite a sous chef,” I said to Tigger. “Are you?” He meowed.

However, taking the
fun
suggestion to heart, I flipped to a section in the cookbook highlighting candy.

In the mood for something salty but sweet—so much for protein—I found
Boo-rific Seed Brittle
. I felt a moment of panic as I gathered the ingredients. I didn’t have pumpkin seeds, but I had sunflower seeds; they would make a good substitute, right?

With kitchen mitts protecting my forearms and hands, I boiled the sugar, water, and corn syrup. As I stirred the bubbling concoction with a wooden spoon, I thought of the Shakespeare play I’d acted in during my senior year of high school. I had wanted the part of Lady Macbeth, but I ended up cast as one of the three witches. Lady M went to Sloan What’s-her-name, as all the starring roles had. No one could compete with full-of-herself Sloan, who left Crystal Cove to make it on Broadway. The last I heard, she was in a touring company. Not everyone wound up a star. In the opening scene, we witches stood around a huge black pot chanting, “Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

The memory zinged me back to my conversation with Katie and Bailey at Vines. Was there a real witch among the Winsome Witches, one who was practicing some kind of dark magic? Did I believe real witches existed? Perhaps one of the witches murdered Pearl to gain control over the other Winsome Witches. Except what kind of control could she wield, more fund-raising?

Get real, Jenna.
I moved the boiling brew off the burner and stirred in the butter and sunflower seeds. The recipe asked me to cook the mixture for another five minutes. As I did, I inhaled. The smell was sweet yet salty. Heavenly. Precisely what I was in the mood for. Tigger roamed the kitchen floor, weaving in and out of my ankles begging for another tidbit. I was pretty sure he was hoping to score human food. Not a chance.

I tossed him another kitty treat, then added the requisite baking soda to the pot. Next, I poured in the vanilla, remembering to stand back because the author warned that the vanilla would make the concoction
spit
. It did. Thanks to the kitchen mitts I’d donned, none of the hot liquid scalded me. Yay! I stirred the pot one more time before pouring the candy onto a baking sheet greased with butter.

While it cooled, I decided to take a walk on the beach. Tigger begged to come along. How could I refuse?

The cool air hit me with a punch, the good kind. I kicked off my shoes and raced to the ocean’s edge. A full moon peeked from behind a cluster of clouds. Soon, it emerged fully and cast a path of golden light across the ocean, right to my bare feet.

“Isn’t it pretty?” I whispered to Tigger. He nuzzled my chin with the top of his head.

A flash of light caught my eye. South of me, a bonfire came to life. Crystal Cove allowed campfires, but the town didn’t create fire pits. Beachgoers had to dig their own pits and provide their own wood.

The group surrounding the fire whooped with glee, and then they grasped hands and started to dance in a circle.

I drew nearer. The dancers were girls, all dressed as fairies. Their wispy skirts blew in the breeze; their wiry wings flounced behind them. One raised her voice above the rest and chanted words that sounded like an incantation in another language. Her fellow fairies cackled. They raised their arms, still connected by the hand, overhead.

The one doing the reciting broke free. She brandished a wand. At the top of her lungs, she yelled, “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!”

Like a group of kindergartners playing Ring around the Rosie, the group of women all fell down and burst into hysterics.

Oddly enough, seeing them making light of something so grave made me shiver. I tucked Tigger close to my chest and thought of Pearl and her fellow witches again. Yes, they came together once a year for a good cause. Yes, it was all in fun.

Except this year it wasn’t.

What if one witch considered herself or himself a real witch? What if she . . . or he . . . had admitted as much to Pearl in a therapy session? Had the killer murdered Pearl to protect the secret?

I
AWOKE
F
RIDAY
,
cranky and edgy. My aunt didn’t show up at work. I called; she didn’t answer. She did leave a message with Bailey that she was fine and safe and I shouldn’t worry. Yeah, like that would help. I went through the day worried about her and her psychic blockage while still wondering who could have killed Pearl. Eating only greens and protein and downing glass after glass of water didn’t seem to help my mood. Bailey suggested caffeine. I refused to indulge. I hoped a good night’s rest would do the trick.

But it didn’t. I woke up Saturday feeling much the same.

Giving in, I fixed one of the strongest cups of coffee I had imbibed since college days. No sugar. No cream. No half-caf concoction. Pure, unadulterated caffeine. Bailey would have been proud. I downed the entire contents of my cup and whispered, “Ahh.”

Tigger, who was nibbling his tuna, gave me a curious look.

“Just on the mend, bud.” In ten seconds flat, my body felt energized—okay, sure, it was fake energy, but I was enlivened—and the cobwebs in my mind started to dissolve. Requiring even further stimulation, I turned on the local news. I never did that in the morning. I liked to start fresh, with no input from the outside world, but today was different.

Instead of the top story covering an event in Santa Cruz or Watsonville, the reporter focused on Crystal Cove. Our mayor was concerned about the increase in bonfires on the beach. She insisted the cooler weather had something to do with the surge, but because the area was drier than usual . . .

I switched off the television, my buoyant mood gone in a flash. My thoughts flew to what I had seen the night before last on the beach. Were those dancing, giddy girls merely having fun, or were they taking witchcraft to a whole new level? I reflected on what Bailey had suggested at Vines that night. Was one of the Winsome Witches a real witch? Was Trisha Thornton practicing alchemy? Was Pearl dead because of some incantation Trisha had cast?

Before taking my morning run/walk, I did what Katie had advised the night we went to Vines and I called UC Santa Cruz because, in the wee hours of the morning, I’d remembered that an old college friend worked in the administration office. Yes, it was a weekend day and offices were closed, but I had her cell phone number, and I knew she was an early riser. The phone rang a few times. On the fourth ring, I reached her voice mail. After her message, I said hello and asked how she was doing. I added that we needed to catch up. Then I launched into my query. I wanted to find out all I could about Trisha Thornton and whether it was possible for Trisha to get into a lab on the campus premises by herself. Without a key. While on probation. I asked whether, if Trisha had stolen in, there was any way to corroborate her presence, like perhaps security camera footage? I ended by begging my friend to call me as soon as she could.

After a brisk run and a brisker shower—seriously cold showers could be incredibly beneficial and healing; they improved circulation, boosted white cell activity, and balanced hormones, all of which I needed—I dressed in a peach-colored shift, had a quickie power breakfast of scrambled eggs topped with Parmesan cheese and a side of fruit, and then gathered up my sweet kitty and hurried to The Cookbook Nook.

I switched on our music loop, which was food-related. The first in line was “Bread and Butter” by the Newbeats. That got me singing and made me forget the edginess I had felt for the past two days. I settled at the table in the children’s section of the store and began flipping through kiddie cookbooks, trying to decide which covers to turn outward to lure customers. The spine of a book didn’t always do the job. Not all of the books in stock were Halloween-themed, but I didn’t care. What mother could resist a title like
Fairy Tale Feasts: A Literary Cookbook for Young Readers and Eaters
? The book was more than a collection of stories and recipes. In it, the author and her daughter encouraged young readers to be creative storytellers themselves.

Bailey entered and gave me a wry look. “Planning on auditioning for
You’ve Got the Beat
anytime soon?”

“Not a chance.” Although I loved to croon, my voice wouldn’t get past round two hundred in a competition on the popular television reality show. I had breath issues, a music teacher once told me. I didn’t care. I continued to sing.

Bailey plopped into a chair opposite me and eyed
Fairy Tale Feasts
. “Booklist gave that cookbook thumbs-up for its easy language and whimsical illustrations.”

“Rightly so.” I opened to a page. “How can you pass up a recipe for stone soup made with a real stone?”

The telephone at the sales counter rang. I handed the book to Bailey and said, “Make this area shine today, would you? It’s a weekend day. Families will be flocking in.” I dashed to the phone and answered. “The Cookbook Nook.”

“Jenna?” It was Rhett. How I loved the sound of his voice. He, I imagined, could carry a tune. “I was wondering if you were free Tuesday.”

Would I sound too eager if I screamed
Yes!
at the top of my lungs? “Perfect.” I didn’t yell. I had learned a modicum of composure in my previous career. “Where will we go?”

“On a hike with a group of day trekkers, and we’ll finish at my place. I’ll cook.”

I gulped.
His
place. I hadn’t visited his cabin yet. It was located at the top of the mountain, near a lake. Rhett said it was peace personified. “Sounds lovely.”

“Super. I’ll pick you up at ten in the morning. Do you have good walking shoes?”

“Flip-flops are out?” I joked.

“Definitely.”

“I’ll dust off my best tennis shoes.”

When I hung up, I was giddy with excitement. What was it about Rhett that turned me on so much? His eyes—
yes
. His slightly crooked but sexy smile—
uh-huh
. The confident way he walked, arms hanging easily by his sides, chin held high—
definitely
.

Bailey leaned on the counter with her elbows. “Was that lover boy? You’re looking all goggle-eyed and dreamy.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” She batted her eyelashes with fervor. “What’s up?”

“He asked me on a date.”

“You’ve been on a few already. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s for the entire day. Hiking and ending with dinner at his house.”

“Ooh la la. His house? Good for you. You’re taking the plunge.”

“No, I’m not.”

She bobbed her head. “Next thing you know, he’ll invite you to meet his mother.”

Not likely. Not until he and his family had mended fences. I had to admit I wanted to meet them. A girl could learn so much from a guy’s family, and let’s face it, I wanted to dine at Intime again, this time knowing the owners. Imagine what specialties I might score from the kitchen.

A silver-haired older woman with glistening eyes and a vibrant smile entered the store with four middle schoolers. “Ooh, look at this place. It’s a cookbook shop. Hey, my little loves, did you know Gran collects cookbooks?”

“No, Gran,” the tallest of the children said.

“Well, I do. Tons of them.” Gran removed her fuchsia-colored shawl and draped it over her arm. “We’re going to become regulars here. Why hasn’t your mommy told me about this shop? Bad mommy.” She ushered the children into the rear of the store. “Wait until you see all the cookbooks I have in the boxes that were delivered to the house. From church bazaars and all sorts of charitable organizations.” She waved at Bailey and me. “Do you have cooking classes?”

“We do,” I said.

“Goody. For children, too?”

“Indeed. The next children’s class is in three weeks, right before Thanksgiving.” We didn’t want kids to come to the candy-making class. Too dangerous.

“Perfect. I just moved to town, hence the boxes.”

“At least fifty,” one of the children said.

Gran laughed. “It took a bit of arm wrestling to get me to move, but now that I’m here, I love Crystal Cove, and your store is going to become my new home.” She told each of the children to pick something, then went to browse for herself.

“Ka-ching,” Bailey whispered.

I swatted her arm.

“No kidding. Did you see that shawl? That’s a
shahtoosh
, made from the wool of a chiru.”

“A what?”

“A type of antelope from the snowy white mountains of Tibet. A
shahtoosh
is the softest, warmest shawl ever and the most expensive, sort of like Manolo Blahnik shoes for the shoulders.” Bailey tapped my hand and whispered, “You know, Gran, or whatever her name is, reminds me of your aunt. Too bad Vera didn’t have children. She would have had a gaggle of them with her at all times. Speaking of which, where is your aunt?”

“Hasn’t she checked in today?”

“She did at eight
A.M.
, but it’s nearly ten.”

My worry sensors went on high alert.

“Yoo-hoo.” Katie rounded the corner with a plate of mini muffins. “Look what I’ve got. Apple spice with mascarpone frosting. Quite delicious, with an extra spritz of nutmeg.” She joined us at the sales counter. “Jenna, you haven’t eaten, I can tell.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Not enough. Another protein breakfast?” She clucked her tongue. “C’mon, you’re salivating. Take one.”

I peeled off the muffin wrapper and popped the morsel into my mouth. “Love it. The texture is fabulous, but now I need a glass of milk.”

“Coming right up.”

As Katie started toward the breezeway, Maya, the owner of The Enchanted Garden, raced into the store and straight to the counter. Her slim body looked even leaner in skintight leggings and rib-clutching T-shirt. Her curly tresses flew wildly about her face. “Help!”

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“My cat. Boots.” The black cat with no white markings. Maya outlined him like she was participating in a game of charades. “He’s gone.” With her Southern drawl, the word
gone
stretched into three syllables. “Missing. Disappeared.”

“Maybe he’s helping take care of a litter.”

“Boots is a
he
, not a
she
,” Maya snapped, then quickly covered her mouth. “I apologize, y’all. I didn’t mean to holler. I hollered, didn’t I? It’s just that he’s never left before.”

Katie said, “Are you feeling all right, Maya?”

“You mean other than scared out of my mind?”

“Sometimes cats leave their owners when they aren’t feeling well, even over something as silly as a cold, and well, you’re hoarse.”

“You would be, too, from screaming after him. I need help. Is Vera here? Maybe she’ll be able to sense where he is.”

Honestly, some of my aunt’s clients relied too heavily on her powers that weren’t really powers. She gave them confidence; she calmed them down. Then, in time, whatever it was that irked them seemed to dissolve. It was what she liked to call
emotional
magic.

Without waiting for an answer, Maya tore to the stockroom. Bailey leaped out from behind the sales counter to block her. Only employees were allowed in the stockroom. And cops with suspects.

Maya yelled past her, “Vera?”

“She’s not here,” I said.

“Where is she?”

“Running late, I assume.” I tried to put the unease that had surfaced moments ago from my mind, except I couldn’t. Where was Aunt Vera? She was never this, well, unpredictable.

“Please, can you call her?” Maya begged. “I need to find Boots. The Black Cat Parade is this afternoon. He’s got to win. He’s so . . .” She threw her arms open wide. “So beautiful. So special.”

I glanced at Tigger, who had found his way to the group. He meowed. “Yes, you’re beautiful and special, too,” I cooed.

“But not as singular as Boots,” Maya said.

I don’t know. I thought Tigger was singular with the white tuft of hair down his chest, and the tawny color of his stripes was like none I had ever seen on a ginger cat.

“Boots is going to win this year,” Maya went on. “He didn’t win last year, but he’s destined to snare the prize this time. He’s bigger and so much more handsome than he was. From the point of his ears to the tip of his tail. I’ve been feeding him all organic food. Raw tuna. Homemade treats.”

Not everyone ascribed to the raw diet for cats. First, it was hard to maintain—I, with my limited kitchen skills, would fail miserably—and second, I had heard that too many germs could pass through cats’ systems and, thereby, infect little kids who might touch them and put their fingers into their mouths after an affectionate cuddle. But I wasn’t the vet. I wouldn’t dare attempt to educate another cat owner.

“Hello-o-o,” Emma called from the doorway. “Where’s my adorable Tigger?” She shuffled inside in a sort of crouch, arms outstretched. “Are you ready for your s-h-o-t-s?”

Tigger couldn’t spell, but he could read body language, and he was having none of it. Could he remember Emma taking him for his DRCC/FVRCP vaccination? In addition, he needed a rabies vaccine and possibly a FeLV/FIV vaccination. But that would be the end of them for a long time. He dashed to the rear corner, ducked under a chair, and poked his nose out.

“C’mon, Tig-Tig,” Emma said and clucked her tongue.