Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) (21 page)

B
EFORE
RETURNING
TO
The Cookbook Nook, since I was on a mission to find out the truth about everything—including my own secret admirer mystery—I swung by the Play Room Toy Store. Where else would my secret admirer have purchased a Slinky? Online at eBay, possibly, but the owner of the toy store sold retro toys. He often put them in his window displays. He wasn’t at the store. The ancient clerk couldn’t remember anyone in the past few months having purchased a Slinky, other than the new jumbo rainbow version.

Frustrated but not beaten, I proceeded to The Enchanted Garden. The salesperson, a thick woman nearly twice Maya’s size in height and stature, reweaved her waist-length braid as I explained my dilemma. My secret admirer must have purchased the green-glazed pot filled with herbs here. No other shop in town sold such beautiful garden items.

“No, ma’am,” the clerk said. “I don’t remember anyone purchasing a gift like that.”

“Is Maya here?”

“Yes, ma’am, but she doesn’t want to be disturbed when she’s”—she waved the tip of her braid like a wand—“doing her magic.”

“Her what?”

The clerk beamed; her smile was infectious. “You know, doing that voodoo that she
do
so well.” She wiggled a finger. “She’s out in the hothouse working on the potions demonstration that she’s giving at your store on Wednesday.”

I thought of the prized mushrooms Maya grew in the hothouse and hoped she didn’t plan to use any of
those
in her presentation.

“Say,” the clerk went on. “I just remembered, we used to sell those glazed pots you were asking about. They were sort of passé. We haven’t carried them in years.” She leaned forward in confidence. “You know, maybe Lover Boy bought the pot way back when and planted it with herbs from his own secret garden.”

Swell. I had established that the admirer was a hoarder. He had a Slinky and an out-of-date glazed pot to give out as love tokens. What else did he have? Trolls and pet rocks? Who was this guy? He certainly wasn’t going to win my heart with his loony advances.

Putting the affair from my mind, I returned to the shop. The rest of the afternoon sped by. Because it was already Monday again, we had to do cash tallies and book orders, and restock the shelves, and then, of course, there was taste testing for the café. I loved taste testing. Katie had made an assortment of candies from the
Handcrafted Candy Bars
cookbook Bailey had raved about. Man, was she ever right. The dark chocolate–dipped almond-coconut bar was downright sinful.

A half hour after closing, Bailey, Katie, and I, with Tigger tucked into my big tote, headed to Azure Park. The park was the largest in town, about two square city blocks of grass, oak trees, and boxwoods, and it was within walking distance of Fisherman’s Village. Monthly, the park featured live music. Nearly the whole town showed up. People camped out on blankets or brought picnic sets. Because the nights grew cooler in October, people also came loaded with coats, scarves, and gloves.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I said as we arrived. The sun had set; the moon hadn’t yet risen. Stars were beginning to sparkle in the twilight. Event planners had strung lights around the park and had set up a bandstand-style stage at the north end. I shrugged into my denim jacket and buttoned the buttons.

“Who do you think will win?” Bailey said. At tonight’s event, the mayor would hand out the awards for the best window displays as well as decorated pumpkins.

“The owner of Play Room Toy Store,” I said. “He always wins.”

“Look,” Katie pointed. “There’s your aunt.”

Aunt Vera was sitting at a portable picnic table with none other than Deputy Appleby. So much for my aunt staying home and resting. Where was Nature Guy Greg? Was I wrong about him and
Vee
? Aunt Vera and the deputy seemed to be playing mahjong, a game I would never learn in even one of its varieties: Chinese, American, and more. A college friend had tried to teach me. I could distinguish between bams, craks, and dragons, but I couldn’t get the hang of passing around tiles to get a complete hand. Nor did I have the patience. I wouldn’t learn to play bridge, either. To relax, I preferred a good book or a walk on the beach and, now, cooking.

Beyond my aunt and her escort, I saw Cinnamon walking beside Bucky. No public display of affection, I noted. They weren’t even holding hands. I also caught sight of Bingo and the Reverend. They seemed almost entwined and looked completely in love. With my father’s testimony, I truly believed Bingo was innocent; she had no reason to kill Pearl and I doubted she had drugged my aunt. She had come clean to me about her past. Had she told her fiancé the story? Had he helped her contact the former fiancé? I hoped she would be able to keep the guy from posting the nude photos on the Internet. She didn’t deserve to be punished for silly choices she had made as a teen.

Bailey and I laid out our blanket. I set Tigger on a corner and warned him to stay. He wasn’t a roamer. He turned in three circles, clawed, stretched, then plopped down and went to sleep. Katie unpacked the picnic basket she had brought. Included in the feast were wine, cheese, salami, freshly baked sourdough bread, and an assortment of vegetables paired with her delectable dill sour cream dip.

“Simple fare,” she said humbly. “For dessert . . .” She set out an assortment of bonbons. “The pumpkin pecan chocolates are mouthwatering.”

I went for a backward dinner—dessert first. I downed a bonbon, agreed with her assessment, and said, “What’s on tonight’s musical slate?”

“The stylings of The Quartet.” Katie was wearing a shiny orange tee and matching jacket over black trousers. She had even donned makeup and added a sparkly bow to her hair. “Boy, I can’t wait.”

“Who, pray tell, make up The Quartet?” I asked, as if I didn’t know. Rumors abounded that Katie’s boyfriend had started a band.

“Keller and five of his pals.”

“That makes six.” I held up fingers, showing I could do the math.

Katie grinned. “They didn’t think The Sextet had the same ring.”

“What do they sing?”

“Old standards. Four-part harmony. The extra two guys offer vocal percussion. No instruments. Prepare to be blown away.”

Bailey rolled her eyes and mouthed:
Geek.
I slugged her.

“Whoa,” Bailey said, slugging me back. “Get a load of those.”

Four people dressed up in colorful goblin costumes traipsed alongside the crowd toward the bandstand.

Katie said, “I think the one leading the pack, the really short one with the purple cowl and big green ears, is the mayor.”

I grinned. “The creature does have a familiar jaunty gait.”

The mayor took the stage and tapped a live microphone. “Testing, one, two, three.”

Out of nowhere, a spotted owl swooped low across the stage. The mayor, clumsy in her garish costume, spun around so hard she stumbled off the stage.

The audience let out a collective gasp.

Bailey shuddered and moaned.

I gripped her arm. “Are you okay?”

“If you see an owl during the day, there will be a death close to you,” she intoned as if under a spell.

“Stop that,” I ordered. “It’s nighttime. Shake it off. Where do you get all these silly superstitions?”

“My mother. My friends.”

“Not me.”

“I’m fine,” the mayor announced, scrambling to her feet. “Please welcome The Quartet!”

Bailey poured each of us a glass of wine as The Quartet took the stage, all six of them. The audience hushed. We never knew what to expect at these musical outings. One time a talented maestro led a high school band, and they sounded as glorious as the Boston Pops. Another time, we had three legendary rock stars who could barely hold a tune.

Keller picked up the microphone and, solo, cackled like a ghoul. When the crowd hushed, he sang the opening words to “The Monster Mash.”

People roared their approval.

During the chorus, the entire sixsome sang. Then Keller pointed the microphone at the audience, which responded in kind. It was a rousing success.

The set consisted of more Halloween favorites, including “Superstition” and “Ghostbusters.” The group finished with a speedy version of “Thriller.” People who knew the “Thriller” dance leaped to their feet and strutted along, Bailey, Katie, and I among them.

When the music ended, the mayor hurried to the stage. “Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” She waggled a gold statuette. “The winner of the Crystal Cove Halloween pumpkin-carving contest is . . .” Someone offstage beat a tabletop like a drum. “It’s a tie between Play Room Toy Store and Home Sweet Home, and the winner of the best window display is . . . ”

I knew the pumpkin I had carved wasn’t the best. Bushy eyebrows and a spastic grin. Big deal. I would take more time next year when I got into the groove of being a shop owner. But our window display was top-notch. I crossed my fingers.

“Aunt Teek’s,” the mayor announced.

Cheers from the crowd. It was the first year Play Room Toy Store didn’t make a clean sweep.

As the winners approached the stage, Bailey leaned in to me. “Speaking of Aunt Teek’s, if Bingo Bedelia didn’t kill Dr. Thornton, who did?”

I told Bailey and Katie about my aunt’s foray into Bingo’s store and how Maya, Emma, and Bingo walked in on her.

“It couldn’t have been Emma who drugged the tea,” Bailey said. “I mean, I know she had a deep, dark secret, but it’s out, so what reason would she have to harm your aunt? And I’ve seen her with animals. She’s so loving.”

“It doesn’t look like Emma’s husband would agree with you.” Katie hitched her head.

Edward was sitting by himself on a blanket, one bottle of water, one sandwich, obviously alone.

“That doesn’t prove anything. Emma could be working,” I said, although I had to admit, Edward looked pretty forlorn. A memory flashed in my mind. I had seen the initials
EW
in Pearl’s datebook. Emma mentioned that Pearl had warned her about doctor-patient transference, which indicated she had been a patient, but did that rule out Edward? Had he seen Pearl professionally, as well? If he had, that might explain why the doctor would have allowed him into her home the night she was killed. He could have found out earlier from Emma about her love for Pearl and, incensed, gone to Pearl’s house to eliminate her from the equation.

Bailey flicked my arm with a fingernail. “Where did you go? What are you thinking?”

I told them.

Katie said, “No, it can’t be true. I go to Dr. Wright. He’s a good dentist.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t a killer,” Bailey said.

“Ew. Ick.” Katie waved a hand. “Jenna, what about Maya? Maybe she has a secret she’s hiding. Are you sure she didn’t put the poison in your aunt’s tea to keep her from finding out?”

“Maya didn’t have opportunity. She went to the restroom. She was also the one who followed my aunt and honked, trying to get her to pay attention to the road.”

“I still think Trisha is the best bet to have hurt your aunt,” Bailey said. “I know she wasn’t at Aunt Teek’s, so she couldn’t have drugged Vera, but you intimated that it’s possible Vera wasn’t drugged. Did they do a tox screen on her? Do they know for sure?”

I wasn’t certain.

“Look, your aunt is nervous. She’s lost her powers. She has every right to feel anxious, maybe even woozy.” Bailey stabbed the blanket to make her point. “Trisha Thornton has need of cash. She has loans to pay. Maybe she killed her mother because she believed her mother’s estate would be settled quickly. Don’t forget, she and her boyfriend were upset that your aunt was snooping around UC Santa Cruz. What about the rock that’s missing?” Bailey sipped her wine. “What if Trisha stole it and pawned it so she could have enough money to bribe someone at college to clean up her record and readmit her?”

Katie didn’t agree. “Why not steal the entire set then?”

“Because Trisha banked on the housekeeper, Mrs. Davies, not noticing one portion missing.”

“Oho!” Bailey laughed. “What about Mrs. Davies? You know, the butler did it, except in this case the housekeeper did it.”

I glowered at her.

“Okay, just making light.” Bailey grinned. “Back to Trisha. Call your buddy at UCSC again and see if she’ll give you at least a financial update.”

Knowing Bailey wouldn’t let up until I obeyed, I fetched my cell phone and dialed my friend.

She surprised me by picking up after one ring. We chitchatted for a second, about her husband, her dog, and The Cookbook Nook. She promised to stop into the store soon.

Then I said, “You must have gotten my messages. Can you answer any of my questions?”

She didn’t respond.

“Does Trisha owe money to the school?” I begged.

Finally she said, “Jenna, look, I’ve talked to the police. If it helps, I was able to convince them that they should chat again with the girl. You were right to ask about the security camera.” She hung up.

I looked at my pals and grinned. A security camera meant either someone did see or didn’t see Trisha on campus. Either way, her alibi was in question.

S
LEEP
DIDN
’
T
COME
easily for me. When I drifted off, I dreamed a nightmare that shook me to the core. I often experienced vivid dreams. Over the years, I’d learned that creative people remembered their dreams better than most. But this one was ridiculous. It could have been written by Shakespeare or, better yet, Stephen King. On an autumn night, people in ghoulish costumes chased each other through a pumpkin patch. I ran after Trisha Thornton demanding
the truth and nothing but the truth
. Someone—a masked man, my secret admirer—hounded me. As he sprinted after me, he flung herbs. I knew, deep in my soul, that if any hit me, I would be drugged by a love potion and swept under his spell.

I woke heavy-headed and vowed, yet again, to foreswear eating chocolate at night, this time moving the timetable up to after dusk
.
I would have to see if I could keep my promise in the weeks to come. I owed it to my sanity to be vigilant.

Eager to start my day on a cheery note, in less than a half hour, I exercised, dressed, and dropped Tigger at Aunt Vera’s. She had been more than amenable to taking him. Though I knew she wouldn’t admit it, after booting out Deputy Appleby—she needed her space—she felt slightly vulnerable; worry flickered in her eyes.

A half hour later, Rhett picked me up for our date.

“Tough night?” he said as he maneuvered his Ford truck around a tight curve of the road.

“I only had one glass of wine. Too many sweets were the culprit. I tossed and turned.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

I shook my head. “I forgot to.”

“I’ve got an antidote. Reach in the backpack. Grab the string cheese. It’s a good balance for a sugar high. Or you can eat a protein bar.”

I sorted through the pack that sat at my feet and pulled out two tubes of string cheese and a bottle of water. Minutes later, after downing the snack, I felt steadier.

When we reached the trailhead, Rhett drove into a parking area. We were meeting up with a group of people. Some would trek to what was known as the Hell Hole, a claustrophobic cave site near the Moore Creek Preserve. Others, like us, would divert and hit the two-mile hike that provided incredible vistas of the ocean. I told Rhett there was no way I was going into the spooky cave with the daredevils. I had seen pictures. The passage was so narrow that chests and noses hit walls.

“The hike today should do you good,” Rhett said.

“Just being with you will do me good.” I grinned, then eyed the rest of the group that had formed. About a dozen people. “Hey, isn’t that Edward Wright?” I pointed. A tiny shudder shimmied down my spine.

Rhett nodded. “He’s the leader of the group.”

“Is Emma joining us?”

“I don’t see her.” Rhett placed a hand at the arch of my back and guided me forward.

“How well do you know Edward?” I asked. Was it the fact that he was a dentist that gave me the willies? Or was it something about his lanky Nordic look? He reminded me of any number of killers in James Bond movies. Katie liked him, and Emma said that he adored her.

“He’s a nice enough guy. A die-hard caver.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“He takes amazing photographs of stalagmites and stalactites.”

“Because they remind him of teeth?” I joked.

Rhett chuckled.

“All right, everyone, let’s move out,” Edward commanded. He wasn’t wearing a hat or visor. His shoulder-length blond hair gleamed in the sun.

The coast of California offered some of the most scenic hiking in the world. The terrain was lush and emerald green. The bays and oaks provided plenty of shade.

Along the way, we stopped to rest. Some of the hikers scoured the area for raw gemstones. Edward picked up a rock and buffed it with the sleeve of his shirt. He handed it to another trekker, a twenty-something woman in a big floppy hat. She smiled flirtatiously. He smiled, too, though the smile was tight—no exposed teeth—and his gaze was downright flinty.

Another chill ran through me. I itched to know more about Edward, specifically whether he had been Pearl’s client. I revealed my need to Rhett.

He rubbed my shoulder. “Please don’t. I’m not comfortable with you grilling him.”

“I’m not going to
grill
him, but admit it, there’s something different about him.”

“There’s something atypical about all cavers.”

Exactly.

I drew near to Edward and the young female trekker. Her mouth was moving. Rhett, doing his best to hide what I had to imagine was exasperation with me, held back.

“Really?” she said, midconversation. “You like rocks, and yet you don’t believe in alchemy?”

“I like caving,” Edward said. “There’s a distinction.”

“Alchemy is all the rage around here,” the young woman said as she admired the facets of the buffed stone. “It’s the ability to transform base metals into noble metals.”

Edward shifted feet. “I don’t believe in hoodoo stuff.”

“It’s not hoodoo, silly.” She batted his arm. “Alchemy isn’t a religion.”

“It’s about magic and myth, isn’t it?”

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Edward offered a cruel grin.

Silence fell between them giving me the opportunity to cut in. “Edward, I’m Jenna.”

“She’s with me, Edward,” Rhett said, shoring up the space behind me. I appreciated the protective warmth of his body, not to mention the mental support of his presence, even if he didn’t totally agree with my intent to ask Edward a couple of questions.

“Hey, Rhett, good to see you.” Edward jutted out a hand. They shook amiably.

I said, “Your wife drives my cat around.”

“You have a wife?” his female companion said.

“No,” Edward sputtered. “I mean, yes.”

The woman rushed to another group of female rock collectors. She started talking animatedly, probably saying Edward had led her on. Hadn’t she noticed the wedding ring on his left hand? He hadn’t removed it.

Edward picked up another rock and cleaned it with his sleeve. “I saw you at the Black Cat parade, Jenna. You own the cookbook shop and the ginger kitten.”

“That’s me.” The guy took enough care to note what kind of cat I owned. How bad could he be? On the other hand, his jaw was ticking with tension. I said, “I see you’re into rocks. Rhett tells me you photograph them.”

Rhett added, “Edward has put on a couple of exhibitions.”

“Really?” I tried my best to act like a fan. “There are some special rock collections in the area. Have you ever viewed the Thornton Collection?”

Edward didn’t respond.

I said, “That’s a nice rock you’re holding.”

“This isn’t for me,” Edward said. “It’s for Emma. She likes to collect raw garnet. It’s her mother’s birthstone. January.”

I recalled Bailey coming up with the theory that Trisha Thornton had ground stones and turned them into a potion to coerce someone to kill her mother. Was it as absurd a notion as it sounded? What if it was Emma, not Trisha, doing the grinding?

“I overheard part of your conversation with the young woman.” I jutted a finger; the woman was still eyeing him with hostility. “Do either you or Emma practice alchemy?”

Edward dropped the rock as if it were hot and brushed off his hands. “I don’t know much about minerals. Only stalactites and stalagmites.”

“Explain the lure of caving to me,” I said.

He stretched his back and rolled kinks out of his neck. “It’s all about negotiating the pitches and squeezes. Drinking in the way caves formed. Discovering their age. It can give a guy quite a rush.”

“Or a girl.”

A faint smile graced his hard mouth.

“I hear caving is an extreme sport nowadays,” I said. “Are you a risk taker?”

“I don’t throw caution to the wind, if that’s what you’re asking. Caves can be dangerous places. Cavers have to be aware of flooding, loose rocks, and physical exhaustion.”

Rhett retrieved the stone Edward had discarded. He popped it up and down on his palm. Had he sensed the same thing I had? Edward was growing increasingly tense. He was holding something back. Rhett said, “Have you explored a lot of caves?”

“I’ve hit nearly all the ones in the western states. Black Chasm, Lake Shasta Caverns, Boyden Cave. I hope to explore all the caves in the U.S. After attacking America, I’ll go international, starting with Europe and then Africa.”

“Does Emma explore with you?” I asked.

“Emma and I . . .” He hesitated. “Look, you’re prying. I get it. You’re my wife’s friend. Are you a witch, too?”

“Emma’s not—” I paused. “Were you seeing Dr. Thornton as a patient?”

He cocked his head. “That’s a non sequitur that ranks right up there with
nosy
. Why do you want to know?”

“The initials
EW
are in the doctor’s datebook.”

“How did you—” He paused. “No, I wasn’t a patient, but Emma was. She—” His eyelid started to twitch. His nostrils flared. A guy I worked with at Taylor & Squibb suffered the same ailments whenever he asked for a sick day . . . and he wasn’t sick. “You know, don’t you?”

I nodded. “I do.”

Rhett said, “Know what?”

I whispered Emma’s secret in his ear. His eyes widened.

Edward said, “Emma filed for divorce.”

I gawped. Emma had told me she intended to stay married to her husband.

“I don’t want her to leave,” Edward went on. “I want to work on the marriage. I love her.”

“Enough to kill your rival?”

“I didn’t—” Edward sputtered. “Emma told me Pearl—Dr. Thornton—rebuffed her. I’ve asked her to reconsider.”

“You’d stay married knowing her true feelings?”

“For better or worse. That was the vow we took.” He shifted feet. “Look, just to set the record straight, I’ve told Chief Pritchett everything. She asked me for my alibi. It’s rock solid.”

I bit my lip.
Rock
solid? Did he really say that?

“I was at a meeting with a bunch of other cavers.”

“People saw you?”

“They couldn’t miss me. It was my slide show. My photographs. I was the presenter. Eight
P.M.
to midnight. I guess that’s why Emma thought she had time to talk to Pearl. She didn’t kill her, either.”

“How can you know for sure? You were busy.”

“True. But I know her. She’s not capable.” He glanced at his watch. “Time to go.” He scudded his boots, one at a time, across a boulder to rid the soles of pebbles and debris and then raised a hand overhead. “Okay, everyone, let’s get going.”

As he moved on, I glimpsed the debris left behind. The raggedy leaves made me think of the crime scene. Leaves had clustered around the legs of the chaise lounge where Pearl was found. Where had they come from—Pearl’s garden, or had someone like Edward tracked them in?

*   *   *

RHETT AND I
spent the next few hours of the hike drinking in the views of the ocean. He asked how I knew about Emma’s love for Pearl. I told him I was a curious soul and I had good ears, honed from hours of listening in at my boss’s door whenever he was making a new hire. I wanted to know ahead of time with whom I might be working. Rhett warned me not to anger Cinnamon. He had experienced her wrath from a front-row seat. I assured him that she and I were friends; she knew how passionate I felt about justice for Dr. Thornton as well as for my aunt.

After a while, Rhett and I tabled the discussion and turned our conversation to safer topics like how much we both liked to travel and where we hoped to go. I had yet to visit the British Isles. Rhett wanted to visit Ireland. I was eager to go to Paris for a second time. I loved the artwork and statuary there. Rhett wanted to see Egypt, if it was safe, so he could explore the pyramids. I wanted to travel to exotic islands where I could sip mai tais and read, read, read. Rhett wanted to tour Italy and taste the flavors of every province.

At dusk, we wound up at his cabin. We entered through the garden in the back. He wanted me to view the rows of fresh vegetables he had planted before the sun disappeared completely and the light grew dim. The garden was luscious and wild, like him. His tomatoes were on their last legs. He had thriving autumn plants like Jerusalem artichokes, scallions, beets, and spinach. For herbs, he had planted oregano, lemongrass, rosemary, and more. Barrels of annual flowers stood among the perennials.

He let me help him gather items for supper, but he wouldn’t let me assist with the cooking. Smart man. I was invited to sit at the granite counter dividing the kitchen from the living room and sip wine while watching his handiwork. As I savored appetizers of pears wrapped with prosciutto paired with a glass of pinot noir, I took in my surroundings. His home was very male with a leather couch, an overstuffed reading chair, and Shaker-style furniture. A floor lamp stood beside the chair as well as a stack of at least thirty books. The décor included a television, but it wasn’t one of those huge HDTVs. The kitchen was the room to which Rhett had devoted most of his attention. Copper pots hung from a rack. Utensils and oven mitts were plentiful. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase beside the Wolfe double oven was jam-packed with cookbooks that even I, a cookbook store owner, coveted. Many were autographed first editions.