Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) (16 page)

“I meant
I
had to make a grocery run.” Aunt Vera twisted a strand of hair at the nape of her neck. “
I
”—she stressed the singularity of the word a second time—“was out of milk. I can’t stand dry cereal in the morning.”

“No, no, no, Vera Hart.” Maya waggled a finger. “You can’t slip out of this one. You said
we
.”

“This discussion is over.” My aunt straightened her spine.

“Hmpf.” Maya’s mouth twisted with frustration. She got the message; Aunt Vera was not going to answer.

Maya returned to the subject of gardening. The others joined in, arguing the wonders of herbs.

I nudged my aunt to the side and whispered into her ear. “Were you with Greg that night?”

“I already told you, I won’t discuss personal matters.”

“What about Bingo? Do you think she’s lying about her whereabouts?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“You seemed dubious of her alibi. Emma told me she saw Bingo in her shop that night.”

“Maybe so. I didn’t see the light on, but Bingo wouldn’t lie.”

I mentioned Emma’s concern that Bingo was a nurse in her prior career. She would know how to wield a syringe.

“Bingo wouldn’t have killed Pearl. She’s a kind soul. But this discussion has piqued my interest. I’m going to get to the bottom of things, no matter what. Pearl deserves my devotion.”

“Not to mention, you deserve to be proven innocent.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I am innocent. Cinnamon knows that.”

For a woman in her sixties, she was very naïve.

“By the way,” Aunt Vera went on, “if I didn’t mention it before, I have my own theories.”

“Like what?”

“Listen up.” My aunt rejoined the conversation at the table, cutting off yet another round of basil-trumps-rosemary as far as hardy herbs were concerned. “Ladies, do you think the murder weapon could have been something other than a hypodermic needle?”

“Like what?” Maya asked. “How else could you transmit poison?”

“Via an open wound,” Bingo said.

“Like a scratch?” Maya said. “Made with, let’s say, a nail?”

“How about an old record needle?” Emma suggested.

“Or a sewing needle,” Bingo offered.

Aunt Vera nodded. “Something that could make a pinprick similar to the prick of a hypodermic needle.” My aunt addressed me. “Do you happen to know what kind of poison was used?”

“Why would I—”

“You listened in at the crime scene, dear.”

I squeezed my lips together and felt my cheeks warm. If Aunt Vera had seen me, had the others observed me, too? “I don’t know, and I wouldn’t venture a guess. That’s private police information.” I scanned the room for Pepper. She was glowering at me. Did she know what we were debating? Would she call her daughter and claim I was overstepping boundaries? Would Cinnamon arrest me for obstruction? I could not do jail time. Not only didn’t I look good in orange—peach was fine—but on a daily basis I need blue skies and open spaces.

“C’mon.” My aunt squeezed my arm. “We’re in this together. We want this crime solved as much as the police do.”

“Aunt Vera, please. Cinnamon Pritchett is very good at her job.”

“Pearl’s death should be avenged.”

Bingo said, “You’re right, Vera. We should help solve the case.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Maya cut in. “Listen to Jenna. She’s a voice of reason. The police are doing their job. Let’s stick to what we’re good at. We’re entrepreneurs, not investigators.”

“But we’re Winsome Witches,” Emma chimed.

“Enough of this chatter,” Maya said. “It’s giving me—all of us—the heebie-jeebies.” She slipped a hand inside Bingo’s arm and pulled her aside. “By the by, Miss High Priestess, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question about today’s schedule.”

As they moved to the far side of the table, Aunt Vera cozied up to me. “What do you think that’s about?”

“I’d say Maya was just trying to defuse the situation.”

Maya lifted a program from the table and displayed it to Bingo, who pulled a pair of glasses from her clutch purse to read. I flashed on Bingo exiting Pearl’s house when Aunt Vera and I had arrived to snoop around the backyard. Had she really left her glasses at the house, or was she the murderer, and had she gone there to gather what evidence she might have dropped? If only I could visualize the crime scene inch by inch.

Bingo peeked at her watch and said loudly enough for all to hear, “I had no idea of the time. We’ve got to get a move on.” She handed the program back to Maya and hurried toward the dais.

Seconds later, Bingo welcomed the crowd and everyone took their seats.

At the same time, Emma’s cell phone buzzed inside her purse. She answered and her mouth turned down in a frown. A couple of times she said, “Yes, of course.” She ended the call and gazed at each of us. “Emergency. A vomiting cat of a shut-in client. I’ve got to go. I . . .” She glanced at the dais where Bingo stood. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Go, dear,” Aunt Vera said. “The handmaiden doesn’t need to lift a finger at this function.”

“Thank you so much.” Emma dashed out of the ballroom.

Using a microphone, Bingo began to tell a happy tale about Pearl and how she’d founded the Winsome Witches, while waiters started delivering glorious-looking appetizer salads of mixed greens topped with cold grilled vegetables, fresh herbs, and toasted pumpkin seeds.

Despite the noise, I leaned toward my aunt and said, “I forgot to tell you. The other day at the Black Cat Parade, Emma told me she heard Pearl and Bingo arguing on the haunted tour. Bingo warned Pearl to keep quiet about her secret.”

“Secret?”

“How much do you know about Bingo’s past?”

“Enough.”

“The other day, when she drew a tarot card, the Nine of Swords, you didn’t see anything.”

“I was blocked.”

“What if you didn’t see anything because you didn’t
want
to? On that card, a person wakes up in bed from a bad dream. What if the card was trying to reveal Bingo’s nightmarish past to you?”

My aunt petted my hand. “Jenna, sweetheart, you don’t believe in all this hoodoo voodoo.”

“Whether I do or don’t, this whole affair has me spooked. Tell me the truth. Bingo lost someone close to her, didn’t she? She moved here soon after. Was it a man? A fiancé? Do you know anything about him?”

My aunt grew quiet. “Bingo is my friend.”

Maya drummed the table with her fingertips. “C’mon, sugar, spill.”

“You’re listening in?” Aunt Vera said, somewhat miffed.

“Honey, I have eagle’s ears. C’mon. Tell Jenna what she wants to know. What was it Agatha Christie said? Every murderer is someone’s friend, isn’t that right?”

Aunt Vera shook her head. “I promise you, Bingo’s secret is not worth killing over.”

Maya winked. “Let us be the judge of that.”

M
Y
AUNT
WAITED
while a waiter delivered a cheddar-filled popover to each bread plate, then said, “Bingo was set to be married years ago. It didn’t work out. Her fiancé left for college and never called her again. He’s the one who gave her the nickname.”

“After a dog?” Maya said.

“After the interjection
Bingo!
, meaning you’ve got it.” My aunt touched her nose and pointed at Maya. “He said he knew the moment he met her that she was the woman for him. She was ecstatic.”

“She doesn’t know why he never contacted her?” I asked. “Did he die like—”

“Don’t.” Aunt Vera’s expression turned inward. She fiddled with her napkin. Over thirty years ago, a man left her at the altar. He married someone else the next month. He and his wife didn’t have any children, so he hadn’t married the woman because she was pregnant. My aunt never found out the reason why he abandoned her because he died within the year. His death was the reason she sought ways to communicate with otherworldly spirits.

Maya looked from my aunt to me and back to my aunt. “That’s it? That’s Bingo’s secret? A guy dumped her? Why would Bingo care if Pearl revealed that?”

“Did something dire happen to him?” I asked.

“Truly, I don’t know,” Aunt Vera said. “Jenna, are you sure Emma isn’t lying about Pearl and Bingo arguing?”

“She seemed adamant.”

Maya clucked her tongue. “There’s a lot going on with Emma. Are y’all picking up that there is trouble in marital paradise? Has the chemistry disappeared between her and her man? Speaking of chemistry, you won’t believe what I heard earlier today about Pearl’s daughter.”

“Trisha is on probation at college,” I said. “Supposedly for cheating, though I hear she is a straight-A student, and she might be on probation because she uses drugs.”

“My heavens. I had no idea,” Maya said. “But, no, that’s not my story. A client came into The Enchanted Garden, and we were talking about the Thorntonite that was stolen from Pearl’s house.”

I gasped. “You know about that?”

“Honey, that housekeeper has a big mouth. Don’t they all? Anyway, my client said she believes Trisha stole it.”

“Why?”

“She has a daughter who used to be friends with Trisha. She knows Trisha pretty well. She said Trisha is wound tighter than a sofa spring. We talked about Trisha’s plans. Who knows whether she’ll have any if she goes to jail?”

“I’m not sure she will go to jail,” I said. “Chief Pritchett seems to be buying Trisha’s alibi.”

Maya clucked her tongue. “She might change her mind when she hears this. I’m sure you know that one of the main focuses at UC Santa Cruz is sustainable agriculture. Why, there are so many vintners and environmentalists that come out of that school, it’s mind-boggling. Trisha double-majored. In food science and environmental science.”

“I thought she was a chemist,” I said.

“They go hand in hand.” Maya nodded in rhythm as she spoke. “Y’all know where I’m going with this. Trisha knows how to use a hypodermic needle, and, well”—she took a sip from her water glass—“it turns out, Trisha, according to my client, is also fascinated with rocks.
Fas-ci-nated
. Many times the woman has seen her daughter and Trisha doing experiments on rocks, dousing them with vinegar or baking soda and the like. One time she caught Trisha teaching her daughter how to grind and polish stones. So, tell me, why did Trisha cry foul and call those rocks of her father’s evil?” Maya spanked the table. “To divert suspicion from herself, of course.”

We chatted about Trisha for another few minutes, each of us theorizing about her guilt, but when the live auction started, we tabled the discussion and paid attention.

Bingo and the literacy chair, a dark-haired Bulgarian beauty, worked the room into a frenzy. By the end of the first segment, every attendee was chanting:
Going, going, gone!
I bid on an assortment of children’s books that included some of my favorite titles—
The Indian in the Cupboard
,
Matilda
, and
Stuart Little
—and I won. Rhett and Tito vied for an autographed copy of a Bobby Flay cookbook that I had worked hard to acquire for the event; Tito snagged it. Maya was the victor in a bid for an autographed set of Harry Potter books.

Moments after I collected my stack, I realized if I didn’t go to the restroom, there was no way I was going to be able to take a bite of the French silk fudge cake dessert. It looked rich and creamy and was topped with a dollop of whipped cream—one of my all-time favorite things. I even liked whipped cream straight from a spray can into the mouth. Who didn’t?

A line had formed outside the ladies’ room. I stood at the end and checked my cell phone for messages. One was from Bailey asking when I would return to the store. She’d had a run on Halloween aprons. We had purchased a dozen orange ones with cartoon-style witches riding brooms. The artwork reminded me of the opening segments for the TV show
Bewitched
. Each was inscribed with the words
Whisk me away
. Adorable. The other message was from my father, who wrote that he’d spoken to my aunt, and she was fine—as if I didn’t know. He then asked if I needed help for my upcoming Halloween party. He happened to be a good cook. I was able to answer both texts before the line moved. Minutes later and thoroughly relieved, I strolled to the mirrors to reapply lipstick. I was standing by my lonesome when the door to the lounge opened and Maya hurried in, sneezing.

“Are you all right?” I said.

“I think I’m catching a cold. It’s your aunt’s fault.” She shuffled past me to a pretty floral Kleenex box and plucked a tissue from it. “If only she hadn’t insisted on taking all that syrup made with artificial dyes.” She blew her nose.

“Aunt Vera said you gave her a potion to cure her. Can’t you take that?”

“Sugar, once the damage is done, it’s done. Potions can soften the impact, but they can’t eliminate what has started to fester.” Maya blew her nose a second time, then sidled next to me.

My nose twitched at the odor emanating from her. I knew the smell from my college days and open-air concerts. Lots of students smoked marijuana. I opted not to. I wasn’t a Goody Two-shoes, I just didn’t like smoke of any kind, and the oily, herbal scent of weed made my stomach turn.

“What?” Maya said, catching my reaction via the mirror.

“Did you just take a toke outside?”

Maya’s eyes widened as if she wanted to deny it, but she didn’t. A Cheshire cat grin spread across her face. “Just one hit. I thought it might help with whatever this cold thing is.”

“You do look a little jaundiced.”

“Makeup helps.” She giggled while unlatching her purse and accidentally bobbled it. The contents toppled onto the counter. “Oops.” Out fell a couple of tubes of lipstick, a face powder compact, a bottle of pills, a lighter, and plastic-wrapped toothpicks—the kind you get at restaurants. “What a klutz.” She scooped the items back into the purse, retaining the compact. “You won’t tell a soul, will you? Just between girlfriends, I grow the weed. For medicinal purposes. The night Pearl died, I lied about being home. I was really tending to my crop. If only I’d stayed around and helped Pearl clean up after the party.” She blew her nose again, then tossed the tissue into a wastebasket. “I haven’t told the police, of course. How could I?”

“Some people get licenses to grow marijuana if it’s for medicinal purposes. You do potions. I would imagine you could do the same.”

“Don’t get me started.” She waved her hand. “Talk about the Dark Ages when it comes to that. I’ve applied for a license. Who knows when the state will bless me with its approval? A cousin who lives in Hawaii got his license lickety-split. But don’t worry, if I need to corroborate my whereabouts, I will tell the police that a client stopped in to make a purchase. Of course, they’ll expect a name, which will cause a snag, because I won’t ask my client to vouch for me.”

“Because it’s illegal,” I finished.

“You got it.” Maya sighed. “Everyone has secrets.” She applied powder around her nose where the tissue had rubbed off her makeup and plopped the compact into her purse. “Why, even your aunt has secrets. She thinks we don’t know, but some of us do.”

“Know what?”

“That she’s dating that hunky Greg Giuliani. He’s a whole bunch younger, but she doesn’t give a hoot. Thank heavens Pearl didn’t find out. She would not have been happy to learn that little tidbit.”

“Why?”

“Because Pearl had the hots for Greg, too. Didn’t you see him sit down at the head table?”

I hadn’t noticed.

“Pearl invited him to attend the luncheon with her. She was so excited about the prospect. I remember the first time your aunt dragged Pearl to attend a Coastal Concern meeting. She went kicking and screaming, but she told me later that it changed her life. She had found the man of her dreams. Who knew two good friends would be interested in the same man?”

Who, indeed?
Worry fluttered like bats inside my stomach. If Cinnamon Pritchett found out about this bit of gossip, would she think my aunt killed Pearl to get rid of her competition? Would Cinnamon arrest my aunt and never let her out of jail?

*   *   *

BREATHING HIGH IN
my chest, I returned to the ballroom in search of Aunt Vera. I needed to nab her and fill her in, but I was too late. She was on the dais receiving a gavel from Bingo.

“All right, everyone, now the fun begins,” my aunt said. She pounded the lectern. A witch in a lavender hat decked out with cascades of lavender flowers approached the podium. She handed a glittery envelope to my aunt. “Four nights for two at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, plus airfare,” Aunt Vera said, reading from the envelope. “And, this just in, the donor has added two tickets to the latest Cirque du Soleil show. The opening bid will start at one thousand dollars. Do I hear one thousand?”

Someone in the back of the room shouted, “One thousand.”

“Two,” another attendee yelled.

Aunt Vera said, “Two. Do I hear three? Three thousand?”

At that point, the bidding proceeded with lively enthusiasm, rising by two hundred dollars every few seconds. The winner paid five thousand dollars for the trip. Pockets were running deep.

At the end of the final round of the auction, a crowd of winners swelled toward the dais. I couldn’t get within fifty feet of my aunt. At least Cinnamon Pritchett had not arrived with a posse to arrest her. Yet. So I waited. And waited.

When I finally reached her, I seized her by the elbow and escorted her to a private corner.

“What’s wrong, Jenna?” Her face was etched with worry.

I explained.

“That settles it,” Aunt Vera said.

“Settles what?”

“I told you I’m going to investigate, and investigate I shall.”

“All I want you to do is talk to Cinnamon. Be open. Tell her everything. Did Pearl know you were dating Greg? Was she angry?”

“Of course not. She had no interest in him.”

“Maya says she did.”

“How could she possibly? Pearl and Greg didn’t have a thing in common. No, Maya’s wrong.” Aunt Vera spun me around and propelled me toward the exit. “Go back to the shop, dear. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll put an end to this nonsense.”

As I headed out, I saw Greg Giuliani striding toward my aunt with a big smile on his face.

She gripped his hands and said something. His expression grew grim. After a moment, he nodded.

Without warning, I felt like I had sunk chin-deep into quicksand. I could barely breathe.