Inherit the Word (The Cookbook Nook Series)

by Gerber, Daryl Wood

  “I heard,” she said in a monotone as she picked up a culinary mystery and flipped through it. “Oh, they have recipes.” She brought one to the checkout counter along with one of the featured cookbooks particular to this month’s local events. As she set down the pair, I noticed she had nearly chewed her fingernails down to the nubs.

  “How are you doing?” I said.

  “Okay.” She rubbed both arms above the elbows.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No. Sort of. A little off, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  Ellen pressed her lips together. Tears pooled in her eyes. “She died in the alley?”

  I nodded. “I don’t know why she was out there.”

  “Business, probably. A private phone call. Who knows?” Ellen sighed. “The police said they have suspects, but they wouldn’t name names.”

  Neither would I.

  “As I was passing out flyers earlier,” I said, “I noticed that you didn’t close the Word.”

  “We can’t. Food will go bad. The loss would be too great. And the regulars. They all want to pay their respects. I . . . well . . .” She shook her head. “I’m the acting owner, so I can’t let them down. I’ve got to do all the ordering and such.”

  I recalled Bailey’s assertion that whoever inherited Natalie’s estate might be the killer, but I couldn’t believe Ellen had murdered her mother. She seemed so fragile. “You were at the diner when it happened, weren’t you?”

  “No. Today’s my day off, so I took my daughter to the park at the south end of town.”

  Huh. I could have sworn Natalie had said that her daughter and son-in-law couldn’t come to the competition because they were working. Perhaps she had lied because she was embarrassed to say she didn’t have her daughter’s support.

  “The police questioned me,” Ellen said. “They asked for my alibi, like you did.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. I don’t mind. In time, everyone will want to know. This town, like all small towns, thrives on gossip. I’m not sure the police believe me.” She moved to her daughter and tucked the blanket under the girl’s neck, then returned to me. “No one saw me at the park. It was empty.”

  “Because it’s a school day.”

  “Exactly. The park is loaded with kids and parents on the weekends.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you come to the Grill Fest?”

  “Mother’s wishes.” The words had bite to them. “She told me never to come to the first round of the competition. She thought I would bring her bad luck.” Ellen’s voice caught. “Bad luck,” she repeated. “I’d say being murdered is bad luck, wouldn’t you?” Tears trickled from her eyes. She brushed them away with a knuckle. “I always did what she said. Always. If only this time . . .” She surveyed the shop, letting the regret hang in the air.

  “I’m so sorry. I heard she could be rigid.”

  “Rigid?” Ellen blinked. “No. Firm. There’s a difference. I felt no animosity. Ever. None whatsoever.”

  I remembered a line from Shakespeare: The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Something in Ellen’s words didn’t ring true. “Would your sister agree?”

  “My sister? Who told you about her?”

  “Chief Pritchett. I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  “She’s older.”

  “She’s on her way to town, right?”

  Ellen bobbed her head once. “Why were you talking to the police?”

  “I had a theory to share. About Mitzi Sykes.”

  “Mitzi.” Ellen almost spit the name. “She hated Mother. She wanted her husband Sam to stop working for her. I think she envied my mother’s relationship with Sam. They were such good friends. I wouldn’t put it past Mitzi to have murdered Mother.”

  “Ellen. Hon. There you are.” Ellen’s husband, Willie, strode into the shop wearing surfer shorts. His Hawaiian-style shirt flapped open, exposing his chiseled chest, slick with oil. A thatch of hair drooped across his forehead. I’d seen Willie at the beach on numerous occasions. Despite his slightly crooked nose, he had never appeared so rakishly handsome. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  He strode to her and draped an arm around her shoulders. How sweet that he cared so much, I mused, until Ellen whispered, “How worried could you have been? You went surfing.”

  “A quick one.” He matched her hushed tone.

  “Did you drop by Die Hard Fan, as well?” Ellen said, referring to a sports memorabilia shop in town. She attempted to fetch something from his back pocket. “Is that a receipt?”

  Willie grabbed her wrist to prevent her. “Don’t.” He immediately released her.

  “Who’s watching the diner with you gone?”

  “It’s cool.”

  “No, it’s not. We have obligations.”

  “Chill.” Willie offered a quirked-up smile. “I put some servers in charge of the place. It does them good to have more responsibility. You know that.” He eyed the books on the counter and glanced at Ellen. He slipped his arm around her waist. “Are you planning on buying books, hon?”

  A silent moment passed between them. Ellen flinched.

  Then she said, “Jenna, I hope you didn’t expect me to buy books today. I don’t know what I was thinking bringing them to the register. I’m in a fog. I’m not myself, you understand.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep them on hold.”

  “No need to do that.”

  “Okay. I can always reorder if we’re out of them the next time you stop in.”

  Ellen picked up the books and returned them to their messy but rightful places. When she rejoined her husband, he said something more. She fetched the stroller with her daughter and gave me a little wave. “Bye, Jenna. Thanks for listening.”

  As they exited, I heard Willie ask what we had talked about. Ellen gave a shrug with one shoulder.

  Aunt Vera emerged from the stockroom. She gestured at the exiting couple. “That was interesting.”

  “You heard?”

  “Heard and saw. I was peeking through the split in the drapes.”

  I said, “Granted, they lost their mother and mother-in-law, respectively, but the dynamic—” In frustration, I dinged the bell that sat on the counter. “I’m not imagining things, right? He pinched her to coerce her to put the books back.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Do you think they’re tight on cash? Ellen had been concerned about him visiting Die Hard Fan, as well.”

  “Funerals can be costly.”

  I couldn’t help revisiting Bailey’s theory that whoever stood to inherit Natalie Mumford’s wealth was the killer. Death would be mighty convenient if, say, a couple with a young daughter needed money. “Aunt Vera, what can you tell me about the Mumford family?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She nestled into a chair at the vintage table. I ambled to a chair opposite her and sat as well. Tigger raced to my feet and pounced on them, backed up, and pounced again. I had taught him to play this game whenever I wore my fuzzy slippers at home. Because I was only wearing flip-flops on my feet, his sharp claws stung my bare toes like you-know-what.

  I scooped him into my lap and kneaded his belly with my fingertips. “You served on a couple of Crystal Cove committees with Natalie, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “What was she like?” I fitted together pieces of a grilled cheese jigsaw puzzle that sat unfinished on the table.

  “Customers at the diner loved her. Council members adored her, too. She got things done. No pulling punches with her. She told you what she felt. No filter.”

  “Like Martha Stewart.”

  “Like many thriving businesswomen.”

  I grinned. “Like you.”

  “Very much like me. However, there were whispers. She was a taskmaster with her staff and her daughter.”

  “I’ve heard the same.” I finished all the edge pieces of the jigsa
w puzzle, which formed the crust of the grilled cheese. Then I started in on the centermost area, which was going to become an image of gooey Brie. “Natalie moved here eight years ago, right?”

  “Yes. Ellen was seventeen. The older sister, Norah, chose to stay in the east.”

  “Norah. Pretty name. I never knew about her. Were she and her family close?”

  “Natalie never talked about Norah. I think the girl might have chosen sides.”

  “You mean she opted to stay with her father?”

  “I assume so. According to Natalie, he was passive-aggressive. He’d say one thing then do another just to irk her. She was always so direct.”

  I thumped the table with my palm. “That’s it. That’s what has been bothering me about Willie. He’s passive-aggressive. He didn’t outright tell Ellen what to do, and yet I’m certain she bows to his will. A pinch here, a command there. I knew a young woman at Taylor & Squibb who suffered in silence for years.”

  “Relationships are complex, as you well know.”

  Tigger mewled. I scruffed his head and set him back on the floor. He bounded to the sales counter and leaped from floor to stool to countertop so he could play hide and seek with the cash register. He hid behind the spindle of bookmarks and peeked out. The old National didn’t budge. Tigger pawed the drawer and hid again. Still nothing.

  Watching my cat come up dry, I said, “Bailey’s right. Money could be the motive for Natalie’s death. Cinnamon said that Ellen and her sister stand to inherit Natalie’s wealth. What if Willie thought getting rid of his mother-in-law would put that wealth in his pocket a little earlier?”

  “Why Willie?”

  “I can’t see Ellen committing murder. She said there was no animosity between her and her mother.”

  “Wouldn’t you, in this instance?”

  “I guess so. She doesn’t have a strong alibi. She was at the park with her daughter.”

  “Hmm.” Aunt Vera tapped the table. “Playing devil’s advocate, what if there isn’t any money, ergo, no inheritance? As you well know, it’s not easy running a business. We’re not making much profit here.”

  “Yet.”

  “I’ve got money and you’ve got a partnership, but we’re not rolling in it. Perhaps the diner, though it’s busy, isn’t making as much as it needs to survive.”

  “Other than money, why kill Natalie Mumford?”

  Katie waltzed down the hallway carrying a platter. “Hungry?” She displayed the platter, which was set with three kinds of cheeses, a pot of honey, and slices of fresh fruit.

  “Where’s Bailey?” I asked.

  “Pigging out on ice cream.”

  Uh-oh. Perhaps caffeine would have been the better choice. I know how she liked looking slim and trim.

  “This is all I could whip up until the police take down the tape, but it’s coming down as I speak. Hooray. Thank you, Vera.” Katie’s sizeable chest heaved as she pumped her fist. “Boy, am I raring to go. Think we can get the word out to locals that we’re open? Is it too soon for propriety? The kitchen staff and waitstaff are on their way in, in case.”

  I glanced outside. Although the police were long gone, a number of people stood in the parking lot staring and pointing at our store. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Propriety or no propriety, we have customers. However, our clientele might be made up of the morbidly curious hoping to get a glimpse of something.”

  “Nothing to see.” Katie set the platter on the table beside the puzzles. “By the way, taste this cheese. Tuscan Tartufo. So delicious. I’ve been communicating online with a cheese shop owner in Ohio who suggested I serve it with this honey.” She spread thimblefuls of honey on two wedges of pale yellow cheese and handed them to us.

  I downed mine in one bite and moaned with pleasure.

  “To die for, isn’t it?” Katie nestled into another chair. “I’m thinking we should start serving trios of cheeses as appetizers and desserts.” She eyed the jigsaw puzzle, which I had abandoned. “May I?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “So what are you two talking about?” She broke apart the puzzle and started putting corners and sides together as I had. “I don’t see any tarot cards, which means Vera isn’t telling you a quickie fortune.”

  I filled her in on Ellen and Willie’s recent visit.

  “That Willie. He was a few years ahead of us in school.” Katie was up to date on all the residents in town. I remembered the day we hired her. Aunt Vera had said: That girl is good for gossip. She knows everyone at bookstores, libraries, shops, you name it. Having never left Crystal Cove, Katie had her finger on the pulse of insider information. “Willie was a bit of a Romeo. Romancing this and that girl. Got kicked out of college for cheating.”

  “Cheating on what?” I asked.

  “His final exam in economics. I think he learned his lesson, though. He might not have finished college, but he cleaned up his act. He’s worked steadily. A variety of jobs. Mostly restaurants. Within days of the Mumfords arriving in town, he swooped in and won Ellen’s hand. They married less than a year later.”

  “She was so young.”

  “Her mother was against the marriage, but Ellen went full steam ahead.”

  “Do they only have the one daughter?” I asked.

  “Yep. Willie dotes on that girl. I’ve seen them at the petting zoo and the aquarium.”

  The Aquarium by the Sea, a beautiful establishment endowed by a widow, offered all sorts of educational children’s programming.

  “I’ve see them around town, too. He runs with her in that stroller,” Katie added. “Very attentive.”

  “Do you think being a good dad speaks to his character? I mean, do you think he’s too nice to have killed his mother-in-law to get his hands on her estate?”

  “Whoa. No. I never said that. I wouldn’t trust Willie as far as I could throw him. There’s something off about him. All muscle-bound and pompous.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. Did you know he went surfing on the afternoon of his mother-in-law’s death?”

  “Exactly.” Katie tapped her temple. “He’s not entirely top-notch in the brain department, and I’ve seen him at the restaurant. He’s sort of, you know, mean to the staff. Very subtle. Very hush-hush.”

  Very passive-aggressive, I thought. My skin crawled.

  Chapter 7

  WHEN THE POLICE declared us open for business, although it was officially closing time, we allowed people inside and sold more than our daily average of cookbooks and doodads. An hour later, I headed home with Tigger. I made a sweet omelet using a simple recipe from Mark Bittman’s latest, How to Cook Everything Vegetarian: Simple Meatless Recipes for Great Food, a cookbook my aunt had suggested. Afterward, I cleared the kitchen table and eyed the Tupperware box that held the pieces of the broken porcelain cat. With the flurry of activity surrounding Natalie’s murder, I had neglected addressing my own drama.

  I popped open the box and peeked inside. The broken cat looked like a muddled mess. I put on a mixed jazz CD and then I grabbed a cutting board and a tube of superglue and started to piece together the cat, its rear end first. Tigger circled my ankles as if asking: What’s up? I cooed that I was taking care of business. Fortunately, when the Lucky Cat shattered, some of the pieces remained large. I felt confident I could reassemble the entire thing. However, as the statue’s belly began to take shape, my hands started to shake and my insides quivered. Feeling vulnerable and lonely, I fetched the necklace with the key that David had given me and whispered, “Where is the secret box you belong to? What will I find inside?”

  As I asked the questions, I flashed on an incident when I was a girl. I had sought out my father and found him in the master bedroom closet. He was stowing something in a safe hidden beneath the floor. I asked what he was doing. He said that he was hiding his passport. He said it was a secret, and I couldn’t tell a soul. He added, quoting Ben Franklin, Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead. Then he chuckled.
Little did I know that he was revealing a part of his life to me. As an FBI analyst, there were times he had donned a different persona. My mother had known. None of us kids had. Thinking about that incident, I wondered whether David, with what I now considered his secret life, had installed a keyed safe somewhere in our apartment? He had lived there by himself for two years before I moved in with him. I never noticed a safe. I’d never thought to ask.

  I glanced at the clock on the kitchen stove—9:30 P.M. I dialed the tenant who had sublet my apartment in the city. The woman, recently divorced, answered after the second ring.

  “Hey, Jenna,” she said. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “You were?” My aunt would advise me to never dismiss an ESP moment. “Why?”

  “I was online hoping to buy my sister a cookbook. She likes spicy food.”

  I sighed. Online. Everyone was buying online nowadays. I said, “Try Susan Feniger’s Street Food: Irresistibly Crispy, Creamy, Crunchy, Spicy, Sticky, Sweet Recipes.” I remembered the title—another long one—because it had made me laugh. Bailey had shown me the book a couple of weeks ago. I loved the cover picture of the author-chef. She was so open and playful that I’d wanted to meet her. “And don’t forget we sell cookbooks online through our store, too. No shipping charges if you purchase more than fifty dollars’ worth of items.”

  She chuckled. “Silly me. I knew that. Will do. Why are you calling?”

  I explained.

  “Hold on,” she said and set the receiver down. I heard her plodding through the apartment. Cabinet doors opened and shut. Drawers, too. Slide, click, slam. After a few minutes, my tenant returned to the phone. “I can’t find a thing. Not under a mat. Not in a closet. Not behind a painting. I even checked under the sink in the bathroom. Sorry.”

  I thanked her and hung up and rubbed the key like an amulet, urging it to give me answers. It didn’t, of course. So I called Bailey.

  She answered in a hyper-chipper voice. “Hey, girlfriend.”

  “Still off caffeine?”

  “Yep, and I have more energy than that teensy train in The Little Engine That Could. Who knew?” She was talking faster than a car salesman. “What’s up?”