Inherit the Word (The Cookbook Nook Series) by Daryl Wood Gerber Page B

altar. Nearly thirty years passed before she was ready to try opening the shop again. With me.
    “The weapon, Jenna.”
    “What about it?”
    “It was my panini grill. An old one I brought from home. I planned to take it and other kitchen items to the Goodwill store. The items were sitting on the ground outside.”
    “Are you kidding?”
    “I told the police. One of our staff corroborated my story. Are you okay?” Katie gripped my arm. “You look pale.”
    “I feel pooky. I’ve got to get some fresh air.”
    “Why don’t you go around town and pass out flyers telling everyone the café will be open again tomorrow?” Katie suggested. “Tell them I’m planning an extra special menu for the occasion. It’ll be right out of Julia Child’s
Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
Her famous Veal Prince Orloff will be one of the items.” She kissed the tips of her fingertips. “Ooh la la. Drop a few hints.”
    “Will do.”
    Katie screwed up her mouth as if she were afraid to ask me a question.
    “Spit it out,” I said.
    “What’s going to happen to the Grill Fest?”
    “The mayor decreed that it would continue. She assured me that Natalie would have wanted it to go on.”
    “Re-e-e-ally?”
    “I know. Ick, right?” Natalie had reveled in slaying the competition for eight straight years. Now she was the one that had been slain.
    When I returned to the shop, Bailey reappeared. She had touched up her makeup, so she looked better but not refreshed.
    “What’s up?” She latched onto me. “You look like a woman on a mission.”
    I told her my plan.
    “Let me join you. Vera, you can hold down the fort, right?”
    My aunt didn’t answer. She seemed to be transfixed by the site of a Tower tarot card, which many considered an ill omen. Lightning and chaos spewed from the top of the image.
    I slipped beside her and whispered, “Are you okay if we leave?”
    “Too-ra-loo.” Usually she said that phrase with a light heart. Not this time.
    The late-afternoon sun beat down on Bailey and me. Thankfully I had remembered to apply sun block. I was blessed with the Hart family’s olive skin, but even olive skin can burn.
    While dropping off flyers at the glitzy shops in the all-brick Artiste Arcade, Bailey said, “If you ask me, one of Natalie’s family killed her. She was making big bucks at that diner. Have you seen the traffic?”
    “I’m sure Cinnamon is looking into who will inherit Natalie’s estate.”
    “Not if her grump of a mother has any say. Pepper thinks my mom is guilty with a capital
G
. Dagnabbit, but that woman is as bitter as hemlock.”
    I couldn’t remember ever hearing Bailey say anything stronger than
dagnabbit
. If she was furious, she would simply say the word louder. But saying it meant she was perking up. “Don’t worry about Pepper,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Cinnamon has her mother under control.” They’d had a mother-daughter argument a few weeks ago. If rumors were true, Cinnamon had told her mother to stop trying to run her life and go fly a kite. I think she also ordered Pepper to make peace with me. A week later, Pepper ventured into the shop and bought a discounted Martha Stewart cookbook. It was a start.
    “What else could be a motive?” Bailey said. “Sex? Politics? Rock and roll?”
    “Your mother insinuated that the chef who resigned made a pass at her.”
    Bailey flicked her hand. “Nah, not him. He was as gentle as a lamb and about as gay as they come.”
    “He’s gay? Then why would your mother say that?”
    “That’s my mom. An instigator. She leaked the notion so others would latch onto it.”
    “Any reason the chef might have wanted Natalie dead?”
    “I doubt it. Natalie doubled his pay. And didn’t you hear? Mom said, according to Natalie, that the guy took a better gig in Las Vegas. The guy was all about
things
. He loved having money in the bank. Speaking of banks, any news on that safety deposit box key David left you?”
    I shook my head.