Read Online Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) by Daryl Wood Gerber - Free Book Online

two crimes must be connected,” I said. “The sapphire’s missing, and—”
    “Jenna. All of you. Stop. Please.” Cinnamon herded everyone into the living room, warned us to stay put, and then returned to the EMTs, who were still examining Pearl’s body.
    The Moose—his real name was Marlon Appleby—approached her. I heard Cinnamon ask about the cause of death. The lead EMT pointed to the redness I’d noticed on Pearl’s arm. I heard Cinnamon say, “A toxicology test will have to be run.”
    Had someone injected Pearl with poison or something she had an allergic reaction to?
    Cinnamon directed the Moose—Marlon—to bag the cocktail glass and take pictures of what was evidently shaping up to be a crime scene.
    My aunt started to cry. “Pearl was the inspiration for the Winsome Witches. What will happen to the group and all the fund-raising we do?”
    I encircled her with my arm. “The group will continue. You have each other to carry out Pearl’s wishes.” Better question: what would all of Pearl’s patients and her daughter do without her?
    As if thinking of Trisha conjured her up, she barged into the living room. Her hair was frizzed out around her face like a fright wig. She inched her crocheted purse higher on her shoulder. “What’s going on here?”
    “Your mother,” Aunt Vera said. “She’s . . . dead.”
    “No way.”
    Mrs. Davies pointed.
    Trisha raced past us toward the patio. “Mother? Mom?”
    Cinnamon sprinted to the French doors and blocked Trisha from progressing while introducing herself.
    Trisha tried to dodge around her. “My mother. I have to go to her.”
    “There’s nothing you can do,” Cinnamon said.
    “No-o-o!” Trisha keened.
    Cinnamon’s voice turned supremely gentle. “I need you to stay in here. Can you do that?”
    Trisha sniffed back tears but nodded. When Cinnamon released her, Trisha’s purse slid from her shoulder as she folded in on herself. “She’s really dead?” She looked up, her eyes pinpoints of worry. “How did she die?”
    “We’re not sure. We’ll be running tests.”
    “How can you not know?”
    “It’s complicated. She was sick. There’s no obvious evidence of foul play.”
    Trisha gasped. “Do you think she was murdered?”
    I said, “Chief, is it possible someone injected her with something?”
    Cinnamon scowled at me. “Trisha, when did you last see your mother?”
    “At the party.” Trisha’s eyes widened as realization hit her: she was being interrogated. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you think. Yes, we fought. They all saw me. But I stormed out. I left the house.”
    “Hold on,” Maya said. “You ran off with a backpack on your shoulder. Where is it now?”
    “Why do you care?” Trisha hissed.
    “A very expensive sapphire seems to be missing,” Cinnamon said.
    “The sapphire is gone? We were burgled?” Trisha blew out an angry breath. “I warned Mother to install an alarm system, but do you think she listened to me?”
    Mrs. Davies sidled up to Cinnamon. “The display case isn’t busted. Someone opened it with a key. Whoever did it must have known that if the glass broke, it would set off an alarm. Trisha knows where the key is kept.”
    Trisha’s face grew hateful. “You think I took the stupid rock, you wicked shrew? Don’t be ridiculous.”
    Cinnamon didn’t say a word. That kind of patience was a rare commodity.
    “Fine,” Trisha said, the silence spurring her to talk. “Here’s the truth. I didn’t leave right away. I went up to my bedroom to drop off my backpack and change my clothes. My backpack is still there. Search it. You’ll see. The sapphire is not in it.”
    Cinnamon set her subordinate on the task.
    Minutes later, Deputy Appleby returned carrying the raggedy backpack. “Is the sapphire a big blue-gray rock?”
    “About the size of a baseball,” I offered.
    “It’s in here.” He handed the backpack to Cinnamon and then returned to the patio.
    “Uh-uh, no way,” Trisha