Read Online Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) by Daryl Wood Gerber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daryl Wood Gerber
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core. Pearl had convinced me that I couldn’t have done anything to prevent his death. Suicide victims rarely revealed their plans ahead of time.
Aunt Vera said, “Do you really think Trisha could have killed her mother?”
“I don’t know what to think. The police will find the truth. Look at Cinnamon, still gathering evidence.”
Cinnamon had donned gloves and was crouched down inspecting everything from leaves to dust. She signaled for Deputy Appleby to take another photograph.
“What about a memorial?” my aunt asked.
“I’m sure you’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report,” I said. “It’ll be a while until the department is willing to release the body.” I paused, nearly gagging at what I sounded like. I wasn’t a professional. I shouldn’t know—or think I know—as much as a policeman when it came to murder. Three murders in three months. My stomach turned sour.
“Trisha says she saw Emma with Pearl,” Aunt Vera whispered. “But what if somebody else showed up after Emma? In that case, I suppose anyone could have killed her, including all of us.”
Her comment caught me off guard. Was she right? I surveyed the others in the room. Trisha stood in the far corner, talking to someone via a cell phone. Hadn’t she said last night that she couldn’t get the darned thing to turn on? Had she stolen not only the sapphire but also some cash to reinstate her account? The housekeeper had moved into the foyer and was dusting. Her mouth was turned up in a pained smile. Maya, who was coughing through tears, stood near the large plate-glass window peering at the yard. Bingo lingered at the French doors. She seemed to be assessing everyone, too, one by one, and I swear, she looked victorious.
Chapter 6
W HEN I ARRIVED at the shop later, I found another gift on the doorstep—a miniature pumpkin with an intricate black cat drawing painted on it. The attached note read:
You will soon know of my love for you.
What the heck? This was a joke, right? I set the pumpkin on the counter and continued about my business.
For the remainder of the morning, all the gossip in The Cookbook Nook teemed around Pearl’s murder. Had her daughter killed her? Was one of her clients a murderer? Had a Winsome Witch done her in? I knew the often-asked questions when it came to murder investigations, but one unrelated question continued to plague me: had I, by my return to Crystal Cove, cursed the town? Guilt gnawed at me. I felt I needed to do something to fix the problem, but what could I do? Leave? Return to San Francisco? Move to Antarctica? I liked penguins.
Picking up on my anxiety, Tigger, my sweet kitty, sought me out. I cuddled him for a while, and then to keep my mind and hands occupied, I set about carving a pumpkin. Not the pumpkin left by the secret admirer. A big pumpkin about fifteen inches in diameter. Bailey joined me.
After a half hour of silent carving, Bailey held up a smaller pumpkin she had been working on. “What do you think?”
I choked back a snort. “Really? One tooth?”
She jutted her chin, obviously peeved. “I think he’s cute. What have you carved?”
I twisted my pumpkin—like hers, he was grinning, but mine had a little more bang for the buck. I’d given him bright eyes, bushy eyebrows, hair, ears, and a bow tie.
She gawked. “Guess I missed Pumpkin Carving 101 in college.”
“Blame my mother.” She had loved carving intricate designs in pumpkins like castles or leafless trees or the word
boo
in a jeering mouth. “You do know there’s a citywide pumpkin contest in addition to the Spookiest Window Display contest, don’t you?”
She moaned. “How can I compete with yours?”
“You don’t have to. We’re a team. Did you see the array of pumpkins in front of Aunt Teek’s? I think one is a cutout of the Bates Motel from
Psycho
. I’ll bet Bingo used a pattern.”
“Cheater.”
A while later, as I was arranging pumpkins outside the entry, Tito, the reporter for
Aunt Vera said, “Do you really think Trisha could have killed her mother?”
“I don’t know what to think. The police will find the truth. Look at Cinnamon, still gathering evidence.”
Cinnamon had donned gloves and was crouched down inspecting everything from leaves to dust. She signaled for Deputy Appleby to take another photograph.
“What about a memorial?” my aunt asked.
“I’m sure you’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report,” I said. “It’ll be a while until the department is willing to release the body.” I paused, nearly gagging at what I sounded like. I wasn’t a professional. I shouldn’t know—or think I know—as much as a policeman when it came to murder. Three murders in three months. My stomach turned sour.
“Trisha says she saw Emma with Pearl,” Aunt Vera whispered. “But what if somebody else showed up after Emma? In that case, I suppose anyone could have killed her, including all of us.”
Her comment caught me off guard. Was she right? I surveyed the others in the room. Trisha stood in the far corner, talking to someone via a cell phone. Hadn’t she said last night that she couldn’t get the darned thing to turn on? Had she stolen not only the sapphire but also some cash to reinstate her account? The housekeeper had moved into the foyer and was dusting. Her mouth was turned up in a pained smile. Maya, who was coughing through tears, stood near the large plate-glass window peering at the yard. Bingo lingered at the French doors. She seemed to be assessing everyone, too, one by one, and I swear, she looked victorious.
Chapter 6
W HEN I ARRIVED at the shop later, I found another gift on the doorstep—a miniature pumpkin with an intricate black cat drawing painted on it. The attached note read:
You will soon know of my love for you.
What the heck? This was a joke, right? I set the pumpkin on the counter and continued about my business.
For the remainder of the morning, all the gossip in The Cookbook Nook teemed around Pearl’s murder. Had her daughter killed her? Was one of her clients a murderer? Had a Winsome Witch done her in? I knew the often-asked questions when it came to murder investigations, but one unrelated question continued to plague me: had I, by my return to Crystal Cove, cursed the town? Guilt gnawed at me. I felt I needed to do something to fix the problem, but what could I do? Leave? Return to San Francisco? Move to Antarctica? I liked penguins.
Picking up on my anxiety, Tigger, my sweet kitty, sought me out. I cuddled him for a while, and then to keep my mind and hands occupied, I set about carving a pumpkin. Not the pumpkin left by the secret admirer. A big pumpkin about fifteen inches in diameter. Bailey joined me.
After a half hour of silent carving, Bailey held up a smaller pumpkin she had been working on. “What do you think?”
I choked back a snort. “Really? One tooth?”
She jutted her chin, obviously peeved. “I think he’s cute. What have you carved?”
I twisted my pumpkin—like hers, he was grinning, but mine had a little more bang for the buck. I’d given him bright eyes, bushy eyebrows, hair, ears, and a bow tie.
She gawked. “Guess I missed Pumpkin Carving 101 in college.”
“Blame my mother.” She had loved carving intricate designs in pumpkins like castles or leafless trees or the word
boo
in a jeering mouth. “You do know there’s a citywide pumpkin contest in addition to the Spookiest Window Display contest, don’t you?”
She moaned. “How can I compete with yours?”
“You don’t have to. We’re a team. Did you see the array of pumpkins in front of Aunt Teek’s? I think one is a cutout of the Bates Motel from
Psycho
. I’ll bet Bingo used a pattern.”
“Cheater.”
A while later, as I was arranging pumpkins outside the entry, Tito, the reporter for
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