“Now my boyfriend’s in a heap of trouble.”
“Your boyfriend?” Did he kill Pearl? I returned to Bailey’s assumption that Trisha, not Emma, had created some kind of potion using the Thorntonite to coerce someone to commit murder. Had Trisha lured her boyfriend into the plot?
“He’s getting kicked out of school, all because of me.” She huffed. “No, not because of me. Because of you. Sticking your big fat nose into my affairs.” For the record, my nose was of the small, ski-jump variety. “You! Always squirreling around looking for clues.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I sell cookbooks,” I countered, not to be sassy but because I was petrified and didn’t know what else to say. Or do. Normally, I would have taken my father’s advice and run. But Trisha had me hemmed in and my feet felt like lead. Where was the fight-or-flight adrenaline that I had read about in stories?
She wriggled one hand out of her pocket. I flinched. Did she have a weapon? She wagged a tissue at me. I breathed a tad easier, but only a tad.
“You’re not making friends at the police precinct, by the way.” She dabbed her nose with the tissue. “There are a couple of people down there who are not happy about your sleuthing.”
Like who? I wanted to say, but I didn’t have to. I knew. Maybe I should write a book titled How to Make Enemies and Not Influence People. Dale Carnegie, watch out.
Trisha slurped back a tear. “I wasn’t supposed to be on campus that night. My boyfriend let me in.”
“You really were there?”
“Aren’t you listening?” she shrieked. “Yes, I was there. It was all caught on security footage. Time-stamped.”
“You said there were no witnesses.”
“I didn’t want to get Sean in trouble, but now he is. Big-time. Because of you.”
“I’m sorry. Truly.” I held out my hands, palms up. “Did you really go there to work on a cure for diabetes?”
“Yes,” she said with such vehemence.
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but the fact that she hadn’t punched me or mauled me yet was giving her some credence. “Your mother told my aunt you were taking a year off. Did she know you were on probation?”
“Yeah, she knew all right.”
“For cheating?”
“I didn’t cheat. I . . . I was caught with some illegal substances. I’m clean, now. I’m in a program.”
“Did your mother find out the night she died?”
“Oh no. Way before that night. That’s why she put me on an allowance. That’s why we fought. If I messed up, which I did a lot, she made it very clear that I had let her down. Straight As? Forget it. Graduating college with honors? Ha!”
“The drugs?”
“Look, no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”
“You don’t sound like you liked her very much.”
“I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I killed her. Didn’t you hear me? I have an alibi. A solid alibi. On camera. With time-stamped footage. Just so you know,” Trisha went on, “if I’d wanted to kill my mother, I wouldn’t have used poison. I would have strangled her.” She shook clenched hands in front of my face. “I’d have twisted the life out of her just to shut her up. Her and all her advice. She couldn’t seem to help herself. She always told me what I should do. Like she knew. Like she had the perfect recipe for how to live life. Get off drugs. Clean up your act. Take responsibility.” Tears welled in Trisha’s eyes. Spent, she dropped her arms to her sides, and then as if she didn’t know what to do with her arms, she wrapped them around her body.
I let a long moment pass before I said, “I don’t think you hated your mother, Trisha.”
“I did.”
“Yet you wanted to find a cure for her.”
She gazed at me.
“Trisha, was your boyfriend with you the whole time?”
“What? No. He let me in and . . .” She made a fist with one hand and smacked it into the palm of the other. “Uh-uh. No way.” The fire returned to her eyes. “He did not kill my mother. You will not pin this on him.”
“The rock that is missing from your father’s collection. You’re the only person who could have taken it.”
“That’s not true. Mrs. Davies could have. That woman has sticky fingers. Did you know she swiped an expensive brooch of my mother’s? I’m sure of it. I scoped out her stuff, looking for it. I thought it might be buried beneath all those newspaper articles Davies keeps. Dear Abby–type crap. It seems Davies wrote the stuff in London. Her photo is on every one.”
I remembered thinking Mrs. Davies’s hands looked afflicted with writer’s cramp.
“She’s a hoarder,” Trisha continued. “I’ll bet she has the rock, too. Some place. She’s just waiting to pawn it so she can send more money back to her mother in England. I think the woman is hard up.” Trisha sniffed. “I remember how mad Mom was when I told her about the brooch.”
I didn’t know if Trisha was to be believed. She could have stolen the brooch herself and blamed the housekeeper. “Do you practice alchemy?”
“Are you nuts? I would never do experiments with rocks.”
“Someone saw you.”
“Someone’s lying.”
“You were pouring something over rocks, making them bubble.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you think I’m a witch like in Macbeth?” Give the girl two points; she was well read. “I’m nowhere near a witch. I wanted nothing to do with that whole phony-baloney stuff my mother did. I did not work with rocks. I only work with plants. I’m planning on being a plant physiologist. I’m studying the morphology of plants, their structure, and the phytochemistry as it pertains to ecology and medicine.”
Whoa. The multisyllabic words spilled out of her with such confidence. But I wasn’t going to let that stop my interrogation. “The woman who saw you said you were practicing alchemy at her house. With her daughter.”
Trisha swore under her breath. “That’s Mrs. Paxton for you. Who did she tell, Maya Adaire? They’re thick as thieves. Mrs. Paxton is always overreacting. Her daughter and I were not doing alchemy. We were doing a high school science project about the reaction between vinegar and baking soda. It creates chemical volcanoes.”
The door to my aunt’s house opened. Aunt Vera stepped onto the porch. “Jenna, is that you?” She held a hand over her eyes to block the glare of the porch light.
Trisha didn’t stick around. She bolted off. Seconds later, I heard a car sputter to life.
Breathing high in my chest, I raced to my aunt’s house. She ushered me inside. Tigger leaped into my arms. His chugging calmed me.
Aunt Vera closed the door and twisted the lock. “What happened out there? Who was yelling?” My aunt was once again dressed in a caftan, this one covered in blue sequins. She had clipped her hair in pin-curl fashion around her face. Though she looked agitated for me, she seemed more at peace than she had in days.
I told her about Trisha. “Despite her weird behavior and her hatred for her mother, I don’t think she killed Pearl.”
My aunt laid a hand over her heart. “Thank heavens. I didn’t want it to be her.”
“You didn’t?”
“Pearl adored Trisha.”
“Trisha doesn’t think so.”
“But she did. Pearl talked glowingly of her. If she was hard on Trisha, it was only because she saw such potential in the girl.”
“Enough about Trisha. How are you?” I grabbed her hand. Steady as a rock. “You look amazing. Was someone here?” I detected the faint hint of a man’s cologne. “Greg?”
“Greg?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why on earth would he have come here?”
“The two of you. You’re dating.”
My aunt shook her head. “We were dating for a nanosecond.”
“It’s o
ver?”
“We didn’t have enough in common.”
“What about the Coastal Concern?”
“A shared interest, nothing more. He likes hiking and fishing and spending hours on the sand. He’s not into food. I don’t believe he’s ever looked inside a cookbook.” She tinged crimson. “The sex was good, don’t get me wrong, but I quickly realized I didn’t want to go into my golden years wishing I were younger so I could hold on to him.”
“Then who was here?”
“Deputy Appleby. He came to check on me.” She chuckled. “Actually, I think he was trying to see if you were home.”
“Me?”
“I think he’s interested in you.”
“No way.”
“Way.” She buffed my shoulder. “He’s not half bad. In fact, he’s quite charming. He plays a mean game of mahjong. Did you know he’s a widower?”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but can we not discuss him?”
“Whatever you say, dear. Tea?”
“Sure.”
Aunt Vera moved into the kitchen. As she put up a pot of water to boil, she motioned at the deck of tarot cards on the table. Three were turned over. The Three of Swords, the Two of Cups—reversed or upside down—and the Hermit. What a trio. Now, as much as I didn’t believe in any of this stuff, I knew my aunt did, and from what I remembered, the Three of Swords—with swords piercing a giant heart, rain cascading from the clouds, and a hint of sunshine behind the clouds—represented the end of a relationship that might be pretty new. The Hermit card was self-explanatory; it represented a time of isolation and perhaps reflection. The reversed Two of Cups, which depicted two lovers flipped on their heads, signified a mutual parting of ways.
I placed Tigger on the floor, then gripped my aunt’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “You can do readings again.”
“I suppose I can. That’s my life in a nutshell.” Aunt Vera gathered up the cards. She closed her eyes as she solemnly shuffled the cards, not in the typical bridge fashion, more shimmying them together so the cards never bent.
“Can you do another reading and get a feeling about who killed Pearl?”
“Sadly, I can’t. And my crystal ball is out of order.”
“You’re mocking me.”
She winked. “Who do you suspect?”
I told her about Bingo’s alibi, corroborated by Dad, and my concerns about Edward and Emma. “I can’t figure out for the life of me why Maya would want Pearl dead.” Though saying her name out loud made me wonder if her initials, not Marlon Appleby’s, were the MA in Pearl’s datebook. Had she been a patient? Did she, like so many others, have a secret to hide? “Also, Trisha tried to implicate Mrs. Davies.”
“The housekeeper? There might be something there. Pearl hinted at having helped the woman out of a scrape.”
“Trisha said the woman has sticky fingers. She stole a brooch from Pearl.”
“Maybe that was the final straw for Pearl, and they argued.”
“Would Davies know how to wield a hypodermic?”
“Darling, don’t you think anyone could do it? There are how-to instructional videos everywhere on the Internet nowadays.”
Chapter 25
WHEN I ARRIVED at The Cookbook Nook the next morning, I found another gift. This one was a paperweight in the shape of two infinite hearts with the words Infinite Love tooled into the metal. A big orange balloon looped with black ribbon was tied to the paperweight. At the knot of the balloon was a note: To my love. SA.
Secret Admirer. Even I could decipher that cryptic message.
I marched into the shop and jiggled the gift. “Does anyone know who is leaving these?”
Bailey and my aunt had beaten me to work and were busy relocating bookshelves to make space for the magic and potion demonstrations. Over fifty people had responded to our flyers and Internet newsletter saying they wanted to attend. The store was going to be packed, but I wouldn’t turn anyone away.
“Got me,” Bailey said. “Just so you know, that wasn’t outside when I came in.”
“Then how could you not have seen who left it?” I didn’t mean to sound snarky, but the phantom gift giver was starting to get on my nerves. I had one mystery to solve. I didn’t need two.
“Are you suggesting I wouldn’t tell you? Puh-leese.” She swatted the balloon. “How very Halloween. It’s sweet.”
“It’s got to stop.”
Bailey pinched me. “Forget about it and help us rearrange the furniture.”
Tito knocked on the door frame. “Buenos dias, señoritas.” He strutted into the shop. “I hope I am not too early.”
I whirled around. “The presentation doesn’t start until ten, Tito.”
“Aha, then I have plenty of time to set up.”
“Set up what?”
“I am your magician.” He hoisted a black leather bag. “Your man had to cancel, so he asked me to replace him.”
“You? Do magic?” I didn’t mean to falter, but truth be told, Tito didn’t strike me as the suave and magical type.
“I have hidden talents.” Tito flapped his hand and a bouquet of silk flowers materialized. He offered them to me, head bowed, not making eye contact. “For you. A most beautiful lady.”
Something triggered inside me. I glanced from the flowers to the infinity loop I was holding. Hadn’t it appeared magically, too? No way. Tito was not the secret admirer.
He moved past me to Bailey. “For you, presto.” He shook his hand and a card popped into it. “Hmmm. No, that is not right.” He chuckled—amusing himself—then flicked the card onto the vintage kitchen table and repeated the move. Up popped a single fake rose. “Perfecto.” He pressed it into Bailey’s hand. “A rose by any other name.”
She thrust it back at him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Ah, but you must. It is bad luck to refuse a gift.”
Bailey snarled. “Fine. Sure.” She took the rose and flung it on the sales counter. “Bad luck comes in threes.”
Tito, whose ego was so strong that he could probably endure having his feelings hurt by ten girls at the same time, set his bag of tricks down and rubbed his hands together. “I am here to help.”
Bailey pointed toward the stockroom. “Get the six-foot foldable table.” When Tito disappeared from view, she rolled her eyes at me. “Really? Tito, a magician? Do you think we can make him vanish into thin air?”
I giggled. “Let’s give him a chance. We’ve both agreed that we like his reporting style. Maybe he’ll grow on us. Besides, we made a promise to our customers. Lots of children are coming. They’re expecting a magician. Even a bungling one will do the trick. By the way, you don’t think—” I held up the infinity loop and inclined my head toward the stockroom.
“Tito? Ha! Not likely. If he is, why wouldn’t he just say so?”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s a bit of a—”
“Braggart.”
“Not to mention he doesn’t have that much romance in his little pinky.” I tossed the infinity loop with the attached balloon onto the sales counter to be dealt with at another time.
“On the other hand,” Bailey went on, “maybe he is the secret admirer, but he’s scared if he admits it, you’ll bite his head off.”
“Yeah, I’m so scary.” I wiggled my fingers in her face and said, “Boo!” followed by, “Get real.”
An hour later, the shop was ready for the crowd. We had stocked a number of magic-titled books on a table, including The Disney Magic Kitchen Cookbook and Magic Foods: Simple Changes You Can Make to Supercharge Your Energy, Lose Weight, and Live. In addition, we had included kid-related fiction. One that tickled me was a Magic School Bus story called Food Chain Frenzy. Kids could learn facts about the ecosystem as well as eating habits. Cool, right? For fans of Maya’s potion lesson, I’d included The Spice and Herb Bible, a practical ref
erence guide from a revered spice merchant. For our book club fans—numbers of them had responded to the invitation—I had stocked copies of The Book Club Cookbook, which included recipes and food for thought from a variety of books, like hot cocoa and chocolate fondue from the whimsical Chocolat. Tasty!
In the breezeway, Katie had set out caramel popcorn balls using the same recipe she had made a few days ago. Each was wrapped in pretty orange cellophane to be given out as gifts to all that attended. She had also baked miniature magic cupcakes. Half were double dark chocolate with gold-foil icing adorned with magician hats or canes. The other half were blueberry cupcakes topped with whipped vanilla frosting and decorated with tiny bunnies in tuxes. For a snack, I had feasted on one of the dark chocolate cupcakes. Besides Tootsie Rolls, I adored dark chocolate. Not being proud, I begged Katie for the recipe. I wanted to serve them at my Halloween party. She suggested I use a simple buttercream frosting instead of making the more difficult gold foil. Who was I to argue?
“Tito,” I said. “We’re nearly ready.”
Tito, who stood in the breezeway dining on the sweets, said, “Coming.” He had added a red cape and a magician hat to his ensemble and looked almost handsome. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
I glanced at my watch and hurried to Bailey. “Has anybody heard from Maya?”
“I’m here!” Maya rasped as she raced into the shop carrying her black Burmese cat and what looked like a picnic basket. “Sorry I’m late. My blow dryer went on the fritz. My hair is a shambles. If I hadn’t clipped it up, I would look like I’d been plugged into a light socket.” She unloaded the basket, and the Burmese tried to scramble out of her arms. Coughing, Maya struggled to hold on to him while she pulled a bejeweled leash from her pocket. A tissue and a slip of paper flew out with the leash. She rushed to retrieve them, but the cat wouldn’t comply. “Bootsie, hold still.”
“I’ve got it.” I picked up the fallen items. On the paper was scrawled the number for a Dr. Singh. As I handed the items back to her, I said, “Maya, are you okay?”
“My darned cold is worse. This doctor’s concoction is downright fabulous.” She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, it’s not that fabulous. It stinks to the high heavens, but it works. It’s a real cleanser. He makes it in a gorgeous antique mortar and pestle. You’ve got to see him at work some time. Pure artistry.” She wiped her nose, stuffed the tissue and paper back in her pocket, and bustled to the table we had set up for her and Tito. She secured her Burmese to a leg of the table and cooed for him to be a good boy. The cat didn’t look pleased, but he settled down.
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