Inherit the Word (The Cookbook Nook Series)

by Gerber, Daryl Wood

  My aunt leaned in to me. “Tito asked me for a reading yesterday. It was all very positive.”

  Rhett trailed the contestants. From his spot at the judges’ table, he gave me a discreet wave. I considered telling him about David, but I didn’t want to spoil my mood. The good news was, however, that I was ready to move on. Two years was long enough to mourn. I stroked the quartz pendant, silently thanking my aunt for her gift.

  The event got under way. Mitzi made a classic croque-monsieur, the same sandwich Natalie had planned for the first day of competition, with ham and cheese and a béchamel sauce. Tito, who couldn’t hide his delight that Mitzi was playing it safe, came up with a food truck–style grilled cheese that involved macaroni, cheese, bacon, and peppers. The judges interviewed the contestants and sampled the sandwiches. A half hour later, they made their determination.

  The mayor rose to address the audience. “And this year’s Grill Fest winner is”—she paused for effect—“Tito Martinez.”

  Wow. I had seen it coming, but wow.

  “Are you kidding me?” Mitzi spun to her right. She looked ready to deconstruct. “Sam?”

  I perused the crowd and didn’t spot him.

  “Sam!” Mitzi yelled, clearly panicked.

  “Has anyone seen Sam Sykes?” Mayor Zeller asked.

  A woman waved her hand. “He left about twenty minutes ago.”

  Another woman added, “I saw him entering the Word right before I came here.”

  Mitzi moaned. “No, no, no. This is all her fault.” She groped beneath her cooking station for her purse. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait, Mitzi,” the mayor said. “Show a little decorum. Shake Tito’s hand.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Mitzi drank in huge gulps of air. “No, I don’t have time.” She dashed to the door.

  I raced after her and caught up with her beside her Mercedes. “Mitzi, slow down. I don’t think Sam is having an affair with the bank teller.”

  “Of course he’s not.”

  “But you said her.”

  “Not her,” she said. “He’s planning to run off with her.”

  “Her, who?”

  “Natalie’s daughter.” Mitzi whipped open the door.

  “Ellen?” I said. “No, you’re wrong. Ellen thinks of Sam like a father.”

  “As always, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mitzi scrambled into her car and started to pull the door closed. I grabbed the handle. She tugged. Man, she was strong. I released my hold. She ground the car into reverse, then tore out of the parking lot.

  Mayor Zeller hurried to me. “What’s going on?”

  “Mitzi is jealous. At first, she believed Sam was having an affair with Natalie as well as another woman in town.” I hesitated. Actually, the latter wasn’t confirmed. Flora had provided that tidbit of gossip. What did it matter? “Now, Mitzi thinks that . . .” I paused again. Mitzi hadn’t said Ellen’s name. She’d said I was misguided. Had she meant Norah? What if Norah had come to Crystal Cove to be with Sam? I couldn’t fathom how they could have met. On the Internet, perhaps. Norah said that was how she had reconnected with her sister. Had Natalie found out about Norah and Sam’s relationship? Maybe she’d demanded that Sam end the affair. Maybe Norah didn’t want her mother butting into her business; she rebelled and killed her mother. Willie found out. He threatened Norah and promised to reveal all to Mitzi. In retaliation, Norah killed Willie. No, that wasn’t possible. She had an alibi. She was at the drive-through coffee shop with Bebe. Could she prove it? Would the drive-through person remember her? Did Norah have a receipt for that purchase with a time stamp on it?

  I ran into the shop and told my aunt that I was going to the Word. I asked her to get hold of Cinnamon and send her to the diner. A hint of the apprehension that I’d felt earlier resurfaced. Was Cinnamon okay? “And if you can’t find her, call Dad.”

  As I sprinted to my VW, the mayor trailed me. “I’m going with you.”

  Chapter 29

  PARKING ON THE Pier on a Thursday wasn’t too difficult. On a weekend, forget about it. As I pulled into a spot, I saw Mitzi racing across the pavement toward the boardwalk. A woman in her fifties wearing high heels was no competition for a long-legged, almost-thirtysomething in sandals. I caught up with her. Mayor Zeller lagged behind.

  “Mitzi,” I said, darting in front of her and blocking her progress. “Don’t go off half-cocked. You can’t be sure Sam is having an affair with Norah.”

  “It’s all Natalie’s fault,” she said, not denying my claim.

  “Natalie?” Did Mitzi, in her deranged state, believe Natalie had sicced her daughter on Sam to woo him away from Mitzi? Get real.

  “Let me go,” she said.

  I wasn’t holding on to her.

  When she realized that, she dodged me and barreled past the customers waiting in line at the diner. “Out of my way,” she yelled.

  I thought of the oft-misquoted line: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” attributed to Shakespeare but really a line from The Mourning Bride by William Congreve. Had Mitzi, driven by misguided insanity, killed Natalie?

  I charged up the stairs after her while bandying about a second notion. Was Mitzi really nuts, or was she faking it so she could publicly humiliate or possibly slay her husband? I remembered asking Sam whether Mitzi owned a gun. He hadn’t said no. Was she packing now?

  Mitzi barked at Rosie the waitress, “Where is he? Where is my Sam?”

  Ellen and Norah, who were talking between themselves, stopped and stared. So did customers.

  Rosie hitched a thumb toward the kitchen. Mitzi rushed in that direction. I hurried after her. By this time, the mayor, huffing and puffing, caught up.

  “Heavens,” she muttered.

  Ellen and Norah bustled into the kitchen behind us, each asking, “What’s going on?”

  We found Sam sitting at a table at the rear of the kitchen. A ledger lay open in front of him. His laptop computer, its screen filled with a spreadsheet, sat to one side. Beyond the book and computer stood a glass of soda and a plate filled with a burger and fries.

  “Sam,” Mitzi said.

  Sam raised his chin. His eyes went wide. He slapped the ledger and computer closed and leaped to his feet, knocking over an overnight suitcase that sat on the floor.

  Mitzi yanked a pearl-handled gun from her purse and aimed. Even though I’d anticipated her possessing a weapon, I gasped. Everyone did. Ellen shooed her sister and the kitchen staff out of the area. Norah didn’t budge. The others fled.

  In my previous job, I had been a problem solver. I think-tanked ideas on a regular basis. I scoped out our competition and figured out how to wage a better campaign. What could I do, right here, right now? I couldn’t wrestle Mitzi for the gun. It might fire; a bullet could hit someone. I couldn’t sneak up on her. She seemed as alert as a fox and as crazy as a loon. I fiddled in my pocket for my cell phone and surreptitiously pressed Resend on the last number I’d dialed—the precinct. Would someone be able to listen in on the confrontation? Would my father or Cinnamon or even the Moose get here before this turned deadly?

  In a decisive tone, Ellen said, “Mitzi, put away the gun. Please. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone.” I was impressed. Maybe Ellen’s involvement with FEW was helping her grow a backbone. Her sister, usually the dominant one, was ashen.

  Mitzi wavered, but she didn’t stow her weapon. She waggled it.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Ellen said.

  “Him.” Mitzi pointed the gun at Sam. “The two-timing jerk.”

  Sam held up his hands. “Mitzi, babe, what’re you saying?”

  “Don’t speak, you . . . you . . . You’re planning to run away”—Mitzi pivoted and pointed the gun at Ellen—“with her.”

  So I hadn’t guessed right about Norah; Ellen was Mitzi’s target, after all. Shoot.

  No. Don’t.

  “You abandoned me at the Grill Fest because she lured you here,” Mitzi went on
.

  “I needed help with the books,” Ellen said. “Honest. With Willie gone . . .” Her eyes misted up. “I asked Sam to stop by. He’s being attentive.”

  “Liar.”

  C’mon, Jenna. Ideas. Pronto.

  “Mitzi,” I blurted out, “the real reason you’re upset is because you’re not sure who Sam is involved with.”

  “I’m not involved with anyone,” Sam said.

  “It’s got to be someone. Why else are you out of money all the time?” Mitzi said, reiterating the same complaint she had made at the grocery store.

  “You give Sam an allowance, don’t you, Mitzi?” I said, vamping.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s for both of us,” Sam protested. “For our household expenses.”

  “But you never seem to make it stretch,” Mitzi said.

  “In this economy—”

  “When we got married,” Mitzi continued, cutting off her husband, “my business manager warned me to keep our accounts separate.”

  “You have your own business manager?” I asked. Sam had to feel pretty emasculated in that scenario. “Do you have a prenuptial agreement, too?” My boss at Taylor & Squibb had drawn up a prenup when he’d married a child bride of twenty-two. Good thing he had. Their marriage had lasted two years.

  “Yes, but Sam didn’t mind,” Mitzi said. “Why are you always out of money, Sam? Who are you spending it on? Tell me, who?”

  Sam scanned the room. His gaze fell on Mayor Zeller.

  Mitzi pivoted. Her face flushed a hotter shade of red; her nose twitched. I flashed on a routine I had seen in a Three Stooges movie. I wasn’t a fan of the comedians, but David had begged me to watch one of their flicks. Slowly I turned . . . step by step . . . inch by inch. Was Mitzi faking this act of lunacy? She said, “Why did you come to my house the other night after the competition, ZZ?” Mayor Zeller took a step backward, obviously threatened.

  “I asked you a question!” Mitzi shouted. “Why did you come over?”

  “I . . . I was worried about you,” the mayor stammered. “You had lost control of your senses. You threw cheese at the other contestants, for heaven’s sake.”

  “You and Sam.” Mitzi aimed a finger at her husband and then the mayor. “I see the truth now. You two are an item, aren’t you? How did I miss the signs? You killed Natalie to keep him for yourself. Admit it.”

  Chapter 30

  “NO, MITZI, THAT’S simply not true.” Mayor Zeller turned winter white. She gazed at the crowd in the diner’s kitchen and zeroed in on me. “Jenna, help me. Sam and I have never been involved. Ever.”

  “You can’t fool me, ZZ,” Mitzi went on. “I wasn’t planning on being home that night.” She edged closer. “I had a dinner to cook for the owner of the Aquarium by the Sea, but my hairdo wasn’t working and my skin was dry. I was home, reapplying lotion, but I wasn’t supposed to be. Did you come over to meet Sam on the sly?”

  Mayor Zeller sucked in air. “No.”

  Sam said, “Mitzi, babe—”

  “Hush up, Sam.” Mitzi ogled the mayor. “Your dear friend Natalie found out you were having an affair with my Sam. Isn’t that so, ZZ? You killed her so she’d keep quiet.”

  Mayor Zeller flapped a frantic hand. “Stop this insanity, Mitzi. Do you hear what you’re saying? I was with everyone outside The Cookbook Nook the day Natalie was murdered. Remember, the alarm went off?” She pumped her hand as if pulling the alarm’s handle.

  “I don’t recall seeing you,” Mitzi said.

  How could she have? Two witnesses had spotted her near the rear of the café. I revisited my theory that Mitzi had killed Natalie. She’d had enough time to throw the alarm. She knew Natalie was a smoker. Was she casting all this suspicion on the mayor as a diversion?

  “Natalie had a moment of conscience, didn’t she, ZZ?” Mitzi continued to stalk her prey. “She threatened to tell me about the affair.”

  “No.” The mayor worried her hands together. “Somebody do something. Stop her. Please. Your husband and I did not have an affair. Sam, tell her.”

  “I’ve tried,” he said. “She always thinks I’m having an affair. You’re not the first she’s accused.”

  Mitzi ignored him. “Why did you want Sam, ZZ?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “You did. You do.” Mitzi’s hand started to shake. I was convinced more than ever that she had a drinking problem. Any second she could fire the gun accidentally.

  Think, Jenna. What would Cinnamon or Dad do? I scanned the kitchen for a weapon to take down Mitzi. The place was filled with them: knives, sauté pans, trays. All out of my reach. I checked out the prep table: a salad bowl, tongs. Where was a weighty object when I needed one?

  Mitzi continued her taunt. “You’ve always had eyes for Sam, ZZ. I can see. I’m not blind. You’re sexy and scheming.”

  The mayor sputtered. She knew, as did everyone present, that an Ewok was sexier than she could ever hope to be.

  “I will not share him with you,” Mitzi said. “Not my sensitive Sam.” She glowered at her husband. “How could you continue to screw around on me after all I’ve done for you?”

  “Mitzi, babe. I am not having an affair with Mayor Zeller. I’m innocent. So is she. Let’s go home. We’ll talk.”

  “I know you didn’t stay at the MONEY conference, Sam. I put a tracker on your car.”

  Aha! I knew it. Mitzi had used GPS.

  “I did stay,” he argued. “I was there all day.”

  “Why do you continue to hurt me so? When I found out you borrowed my gloves, did I call you on it? No. I even moved the coat back to the right hook in the diner. And don’t get me started about the car trash. All for you. I do it all for you. But what do you do? You fool around with ZZ and Ellen and Norah. Who else?”

  Mitzi continued to rant, but I couldn’t hear her as the words she had let slip replayed in my mind. She had moved the coat? To the right hook? That meant she presumed Sam had left a coat on the wrong hook. Of course. Mitzi was talking about Ellen’s coat. The maid at the motel had seen the murderer wearing a knee-length black coat. The coat was long on Ellen; it hit her at mid-calf. Mitzi and Norah were about the same height as Ellen. But Sam was taller; the coat would have been shorter on him. He’d dressed like a woman to kill Willie. Had he murdered Natalie, too?

  I thought of what Mitzi said about the gloves and the car trash, her words forming a picture the same way the edges of a jigsaw puzzle defined the center.

  “The gloves.” I whirled to face Sam. “Mitzi said you borrowed a pair of her gloves. Were they her prep gloves?” Mitzi, being a home chef, probably had tons of gloves. “No, she wouldn’t have minded losing a pair of cheap prep gloves. You borrowed her facial gloves, didn’t you, Sam?” The ones she uses for her nightly ritual. “I’ll bet they’re expensive. That would tick her off.”

  “Mitzi is missing a pair of her facial gloves,” Mayor Zeller cut in. “She was counting them the night I showed up at her place. She was one pair short.”

  Mitzi was obsessive about her beauty treatments. Sam had said so himself.

  Sam shook his head. “Babe, I never took your gloves. I know how precious they are.”

  “You wore them when you killed Natalie,” I said. “Mitzi realized what you’d done when she found the gloves in the car trash.”

  “Me?” Sam sputtered. “Kill Natalie? You’re off your rocker.”

  Was I? I flashed on Sam and Manga Girl and what Lola, my father, and I had discussed last night at dinner in relation to David. Suddenly a string of mnemonic words came to me. I glanced at the ledger in front of Sam. Rhett told me that Willie had looked perplexed while reviewing the ledgers. What if Mitzi’s sensitive Sam, like David, was a schemer? What if he was skimming money from his clients? Not just from Mum’s the Word but from all of his clients? What if he was stowing all that money in a special account at the bank? What if Natalie found out? On the day Natalie and Lola argued at The Pier, Natalie had asked Sam if everyth
ing was all right. She had wanted to know if something had been bothering him lately. She’d said he seemed distracted. When she teased him about not balancing the books if he was feeling a little off, she winked. What if she was discretely warning him that she knew he was skimming? A few days passed before she wound up dead. She could have confronted Sam. He would have denied any wrongdoing, or maybe he admitted his guilt and said he would fix it. Maybe Natalie even forgave him. But Sam didn’t believe her. He started planning how he would kill her. He established an alibi by signing up for the conference. Midday, he returned to town. When the Grill Fest took a break, he struck.

  I shared my theory out loud. “You did what my husband did, Sam. You moved funds from various accounts. You siphoned money into an account of your own. Natalie figured out what you were up to. Tell me if I’m warm.”

  Sam kept mum.

  The day Natalie died, the woman at the knitting shop had seen a person in a UPS uniform. If Sam had dressed up as a woman, maybe he had dressed up as a deliveryman, too. I said, “I bet you look good in brown, Sam.”

  “What are you talking about?” he hissed.

  “You donned a uniform to sneak anonymously into town. You stole down the alley. You knew Natalie would be there for a smoke.”

  “No way.” Sam rubbed the nape of his neck with frustration. The action made me remember the moment when I’d run into Sam and Mitzi at the grocery store. Sam scratched his neck, supposedly because he couldn’t remember where his money had disappeared to. When he caught me looking, he quickly dropped his arm. I’d noticed a rash on his neck. What if it wasn’t a rash? What if it was a cigarette burn?

  “You hate cigarettes, Sam,” I said, trying out a theory. “You call them coffin nails because your mother died of cancer.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I’ll bet you told Natalie she shouldn’t smoke, but she didn’t attack you for nagging her. She lashed out when you pulled a gun on her. Natalie was a fighter, wasn’t she? She scorched you on your neck with the tip of her cigarette. There’s a mark, right beneath your shirt collar.”