Read Online By Cook or by Crook (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) by Maya Corrigan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maya Corrigan
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Sudden death is a terrible thing, but not as bad as a prolonged, painful death.” She sighed.
Val waited while Mrs. Z took off her gold-rimmed glasses and wiped away a tear. Nadia’s death had apparently reminded her of someone else’s passing, someone close to her. “I assume you didn’t know Nadia, or you wouldn’t have mistaken me for her.”
“I talked to her for the first time last night. I finally decided to sell my house and called her right away. I was afraid if I waited until morning, I’d change my mind again.”
Mrs. Z might have been the last person Nadia spoke with, aside from the murderer. To find out more about that call, Val would have to improvise. On the phone with Maverick’s mother, she’d avoided a blatant lie. Now she saw no alternative. “I was trying to reach Nadia last night myself, but couldn’t get through. She may have been on the phone with you. What time did you talk to her?”
“Around nine-thirty, but I don’t understand why you didn’t get through. Her phone has call waiting. She put me on hold to take another call.”
“Oh, that wasn’t me. I called her later than that.” One lie always leads to another.
“She may have had company by the time you phoned. After she took that other call, she sounded rushed. She said she was expecting someone at her house any minute.”
Val’s pulse quickened. Perhaps the call interrupting Mrs. Z’s conversation had come from the murderer making sure Nadia was alone. Once Val told the police what she’d just heard from Mrs. Z, they could trace that call and possibly solve the case.
Val poured herself a glass of iced tea. “I’d really like to have your recipe for the macaroons if you’re willing to share it.”
“Of course. Recipes are meant to be shared, and I know this one by heart.”
Val pulled out the paper Gunnar had given her with his cell phone number and jotted the recipe on the back. It was simple enough she could have remembered it. It even met Granddad’s criteria, only five ingredients.
She stood up and thanked Mrs. Z for the tea, the cookies, and the recipe, leaving out what she was most grateful for, the information about Nadia’s phone calls.
Mrs. Z walked her to the door. “Nadia came highly recommended. Are you also a real estate agent? I sure could use one.”
“Sorry, I don’t work in real estate, but I’ll ask my friends if they can recommend anyone.”
Val climbed into her Saturn. She would, of course, tell Chief Yardley about Maverick’s lie and Nadia’s visitor, but why rush it? She was on a roll and might dig up even more leads. Time to focus on the murder weapon. Where would someone get an antique racket? Bayport had plenty of antique shops, most too upscale to deal in old sports equipment. Val bypassed the historic district and drove to a cluster of secondhand stores off the main drag at the edge of town.
The salesclerks at Cobweb Corner and Must Haves didn’t know the stock. She spent half an hour poking through the junk in each place before concluding that both shops had plenty of cobwebs and must, but no wood rackets.
When she asked about antique rackets at Old ’N Things, the bearded owner tucked his thumbs into his red suspenders. “We don’t got any. They ain’t rare enough to be valuable or new enough to be useful. Folks keep ’em in garages and attics in case their grandkids wanna use ’em.”
A teenaged clerk shifting crockery on a shelf turned around. “I saw a bunch of those rackets at Darwin’s Sports. Hanging up near the ceiling. Decorations, I guess. You want directions to the place?”
“Thanks. I know where it is.” But she’d never noticed the décor in Darwin’s store.
She knew him as the club’s part-time tennis pro and the only person she’d ever met who went by a single name like a rock star. Calling himself Darwin beat using the name his parents had foisted on him, Darwin Darwin.
Val parked her car two blocks off Main Street in front of Darwin’s
Val waited while Mrs. Z took off her gold-rimmed glasses and wiped away a tear. Nadia’s death had apparently reminded her of someone else’s passing, someone close to her. “I assume you didn’t know Nadia, or you wouldn’t have mistaken me for her.”
“I talked to her for the first time last night. I finally decided to sell my house and called her right away. I was afraid if I waited until morning, I’d change my mind again.”
Mrs. Z might have been the last person Nadia spoke with, aside from the murderer. To find out more about that call, Val would have to improvise. On the phone with Maverick’s mother, she’d avoided a blatant lie. Now she saw no alternative. “I was trying to reach Nadia last night myself, but couldn’t get through. She may have been on the phone with you. What time did you talk to her?”
“Around nine-thirty, but I don’t understand why you didn’t get through. Her phone has call waiting. She put me on hold to take another call.”
“Oh, that wasn’t me. I called her later than that.” One lie always leads to another.
“She may have had company by the time you phoned. After she took that other call, she sounded rushed. She said she was expecting someone at her house any minute.”
Val’s pulse quickened. Perhaps the call interrupting Mrs. Z’s conversation had come from the murderer making sure Nadia was alone. Once Val told the police what she’d just heard from Mrs. Z, they could trace that call and possibly solve the case.
Val poured herself a glass of iced tea. “I’d really like to have your recipe for the macaroons if you’re willing to share it.”
“Of course. Recipes are meant to be shared, and I know this one by heart.”
Val pulled out the paper Gunnar had given her with his cell phone number and jotted the recipe on the back. It was simple enough she could have remembered it. It even met Granddad’s criteria, only five ingredients.
She stood up and thanked Mrs. Z for the tea, the cookies, and the recipe, leaving out what she was most grateful for, the information about Nadia’s phone calls.
Mrs. Z walked her to the door. “Nadia came highly recommended. Are you also a real estate agent? I sure could use one.”
“Sorry, I don’t work in real estate, but I’ll ask my friends if they can recommend anyone.”
Val climbed into her Saturn. She would, of course, tell Chief Yardley about Maverick’s lie and Nadia’s visitor, but why rush it? She was on a roll and might dig up even more leads. Time to focus on the murder weapon. Where would someone get an antique racket? Bayport had plenty of antique shops, most too upscale to deal in old sports equipment. Val bypassed the historic district and drove to a cluster of secondhand stores off the main drag at the edge of town.
The salesclerks at Cobweb Corner and Must Haves didn’t know the stock. She spent half an hour poking through the junk in each place before concluding that both shops had plenty of cobwebs and must, but no wood rackets.
When she asked about antique rackets at Old ’N Things, the bearded owner tucked his thumbs into his red suspenders. “We don’t got any. They ain’t rare enough to be valuable or new enough to be useful. Folks keep ’em in garages and attics in case their grandkids wanna use ’em.”
A teenaged clerk shifting crockery on a shelf turned around. “I saw a bunch of those rackets at Darwin’s Sports. Hanging up near the ceiling. Decorations, I guess. You want directions to the place?”
“Thanks. I know where it is.” But she’d never noticed the décor in Darwin’s store.
She knew him as the club’s part-time tennis pro and the only person she’d ever met who went by a single name like a rock star. Calling himself Darwin beat using the name his parents had foisted on him, Darwin Darwin.
Val parked her car two blocks off Main Street in front of Darwin’s
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