Inherit the Word (The Cookbook Nook Series)

by Gerber, Daryl Wood

  “What’s your favorite costume ever?” Katie asked.

  I didn’t have to think long. “Glinda, the good witch of the north.”

  “I remember that one. It was so cool.” Katie and I had been lifelong friends, with a few years off during college for bad behavior—mine, for not keeping in touch. We reconnected a few months ago when I hired her for the position of chef at the Nook. “You had a crown and wore a bubble from the top of your head to your waist.”

  I’d looked a bit like a see-through beach ball. Fortunately, my mother possessed enough foresight to cut air holes into the bubble so I could breathe. My crown, which was coveted by my peers, glistened with jewels—stones my mother had gathered on a local hiking trip.

  “Don’t you love this inn, by the way?” Katie said.

  “I do. It’s got good vibes.”

  “Aha. So, you do believe in woo-woo stuff.”

  I cut her a wry look. “No, I don’t.”

  “Do, too.”

  “Don’t.”

  Crystal Cove was established back in the 1800s. The Crystal Cove Inn, one of the original establishments in town, was a charming bed-and-breakfast made of stone and wood. The grounds reminded me of an estate right out of a Jane Austen novel. Like all of Crystal Cove, which ran along the coast and rose into the hills behind, the inn was painted white and sported a red-tiled roof. The hillside behind the inn boasted forests of Douglas fir, oak, and maple trees. The inn’s gardens were filled with azaleas and hydrangeas, though none were in bloom in October. Nestled beneath the plants were masses of blue asters, autumn crocus, and assorted wildflowers.

  Katie gestured to the crowd. “Don’t you adore all the witches’ costumes? Everyone looks so festive.”

  Each participant, whether at the luncheon or the faire, was asked to wear a decorative witch hat.

  A pair of women in matching silver witch hats stopped by our booth to purchase a specialty cookbook we had stocked for Halloween: The Unofficial Harry Potter Cookbook: From Cauldron Cakes to Knickerbocker Glory—More Than 150 Magical Recipes for Wizards and Muggles. Who could resist dining on pumpkin pasties and treacle tart?

  The larger woman said, “My nephew is going to love this. He’s so into Harry Potter.”

  “Isn’t he twenty-five?” her friend asked.

  “He wasn’t a reader until Harry came on the scene. He bought each book the day it came out. You never outgrow your first love of books.”

  How true, I thought. I had devoured the Potter books. Spoiler alert, but Ron and Hermione getting married . . . who’d have guessed?

  I slipped one of the shop’s bookmarks and a list of our upcoming special events inside the book, offered the ladies a candy from Katie’s assortment, and bid them Happy Halloween. The women moved on, giggling like schoolgirls.

  An hour later, after I served our three hundredth visitor, I needed a break. Also, I wanted to check in on my aunt, who was giving tarot readings at the far end of the garden. I asked Katie if she would mind tending the booth. She was delighted. The assistant chef that she recently hired was working out great, she confided. She didn’t have to return to the café for at least a half hour.

  “You’re sure?” I said.

  “Absolutely. I can go it alone.” She grabbed one of the salt shakers and spritzed salt over her left shoulder.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “For luck. Other than the broken mirror, no other bad things have happened, but”—she winked—“one can never be too careful.”

  • • •

  I FOUND AUNT Vera sitting at a table set beneath the shade of an elderberry tree giving tarot card and palm readings. She didn’t have ESP, but she loved providing people with possibilities. Though she typically wore a caftan and a turban, my aunt had gotten into the spirit of the event by donning a purple witch costume and purple hat adorned with antique lace and silk flowers. Of course, she was also wearing her phoenix amulet. She never went anywhere without it. Her table looked fabulously exotic, covered with a rich purple cloth, on top of which sat a crystal ball surrounded by an array of polished glass stones and tarot cards.

  With her face fixed in concentration, Aunt Vera addressed a woman whose hand she was holding. “He’s going to love you forever,” she said.

  “Really?” Bingo Bedelia was one of my aunt’s longtime friends. She got her quirky name in what my aunt described as a lengthy but funny story; her real name was Barbara. “You swear?”

  “On the cover of one of your dusty old bibles.”

  Bingo was the owner of Aunt Teek’s, a popular antique and collectibles shop near the center of town. She was also the second-in-command for the Winsome Witches’ event. With her ruby red hair pulled off her face and her black witch hat pitched back off her forehead, I couldn’t help but notice Bingo’s very prominent, knobby chin—what many called a lantern jaw.

  Bingo frowned. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “You know I wouldn’t.”

  Bingo, like my aunt, had never married. Neither was a spinster, just unlucky in love. I didn’t know if Bingo had been jilted as a younger woman or whether she had lost the love of her life. My aunt had suffered a double whammy.

  “Look here. Your love line is strong.” Aunt Vera drew her finger along Bingo’s palm. “I assure you, he knows you are a treasure.”

  Bingo spied me and flushed the color of her hair. “Hello, Jenna. Are you listening in?”

  “Trying to catch some tips,” I quipped.

  “Whatever you do, cherish your man.”

  I had, but he died. There was a handsome guy in town I was interested in, a former chef who switched careers and now owned a sporting goods store. We’d only known each other a short time, but I sizzled with desire whenever I was around him.

  “There are so few good ones,” Bingo added. “Mine”—recently, Bingo had become engaged to a darling pastor everyone in town called Reverend—“is such a sweetie pie. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  A plump forty-something woman sneaked up behind Bingo and grabbed her shoulders. “You’d die.”

  Bingo shrieked.

  The woman, Pearl Thornton, cackled; her black witch hat made her hair appear as white as snow. “Did I scare you, Barbara Bedelia?” Pearl was a therapist in town—mine, as well as others’. I was meeting with her to learn coping skills. Being a widow, at any age, isn’t easy.

  “You know you did. And you’ll call me Bingo, if you know what’s good for you.” Bingo pulled free of my aunt and shook a finger at Pearl.

  “Or what?” Pearl teased.

  Bingo popped her finger as if pulling a trigger. “Bang, bang, bang.”

  Pearl laughed heartily. So did Bingo. She wasn’t angry. How could she be? She and Pearl were dear friends. Pearl was the Head Priestess of the Winsome Witches.

  “Do you need me for a prep meeting?” Bingo asked.

  “No, relax. Enjoy.” Right after Pearl’s husband died, she founded the Winsome Witches and wrangled her friends to participate. I don’t think anyone had foreseen what a huge success the annual event would be.

  “Are all of you ready for the”—Pearl rested the tip of her finger to her mouth—“haunted walk tomorrow?” She teetered a bit. “It’s going to be spoo-oo-ooky.” The event planners had scheduled an evening tour to visit Crystal Cove’s historic sites. “If you don’t watch out, someone might”—she wiggled her fingers in Bingo’s face—“scare you.”

  “Stop it.” Bingo batted her friend’s fingers away. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Pearl appeared off-balance.

  Suddenly, she clutched her chest. Her eyes widened. She gasped for breath. Without warning, she crumpled to the ground. Bingo, who had been a nurse before she moved to Crystal Cove to open her dream shop, crouched beside Pearl. She grabbed her wrist. Just as she pressed two fingers against Pearl’s throat, Pearl bolted to
a sitting position. Bingo fell backward on her rump.

  Pearl laughed uproariously. “I’m not dead, you goon.”

  Bingo’s mouth fell open. “Why you—”

  My aunt leaped to a stand and said, “What on earth?”

  Pearl continued to laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s almost Halloween.”

  “Pranks are for April Fools’ Day,” Bingo said.

  “C’mon. Can’t anybody take a joke?”

  “Dying is no joke,” Bingo said.

  “Of course it’s not,” Pearl stammered. “But you mimed pulling a trigger a second ago, and I thought—”

  “You could have given us all a heart attack.”

  “But I didn’t, and it’s just . . .” Pearl’s mouth drew into a grim line. Her gaze turned serious. “I apologize. I’m emotionally punch-drunk, that’s all. I—” She hesitated.

  “Out with it,” Bingo said.

  “I just learned the results of some tests. I’ve been diagnosed with Type II diabetes. I know it’s not life-threatening. It’s all about having the right amount of insulin in my system, but the report sounded so stark. I’ve never watched my weight. I should have”—she patted her plump stomach—“but I haven’t. I simply needed to do something to lighten my day. I didn’t mean to frighten you so much. Forgive me?” She reached for Bingo’s hand and squeezed.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Bingo said.

  “Of course. I’ve started my medication, and I’m taking the advice I give to my patients. Positive thinking.” She eyed me. One of her favorite mantras was: All things level out in time. She lumbered to her feet and offered a hand to Bingo, who accepted.

  Bingo brushed off her dress and said, “Come with me. Let’s get a cup of tea, and I’ll fill you in on some dietary tips. Number one, remember that stress can raise glucose levels.” The pair walked off, arm in arm.

  My aunt turned to me and kissed me on both cheeks. “Well, that was fun. Not.”

  I laughed. “I have to say I was shocked that Pearl would do something, well, as irrational as that.”

  “Medical surprises can turn a person’s world upside down.” Aunt Vera glanced at her watch. “My, my. Time flies when you’re having a ball. Speaking of which, I’ve been cleaning up at my table. I’ve earned over three hundred dollars for the cause.” She was charging a dollar per palm or tarot card reading. “How about The Cookbook Nook booth?”

  “We’re doing great. The Harry Potter cookbook, as expected, is a bestseller, and we’ve sold tons of herbal potion books. I think everyone attending is drawn to the mystical.”

  “Wonderful. Now . . . as long as nothing else goes wrong . . .” Her face, normally radiant with hope, turned grim.

  A chill ran through me. “Why would you say that?”

  “A moment ago, when Pearl arrived, I got the worst feeling.”

  A breath caught in my chest. “What kind of feeling?”

  “I was all itchy, and the light up here”—she tapped her temple—“went extremely dark.”

  “Maybe you were sensing Pearl’s prank.”

  Aunt Vera nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Silly me.” She kissed her fingers and tossed the imaginary kiss to the wind, something I’d seen her do all of my life. She said it was a good way to return bad energy to the universe.

  In spite of her gesture, an uneasy feeling surged through me. Desperate to shake it off, I said, “It’s a good thing no more mirrors have broken.”

  My aunt rapped the table. “Knock on wood.”