Book Retreat Mystery 07 - Murder in the Cookbook Nook

by Ellery Adams

  “Not much privacy in a hotel lobby,” interrupted Fox. “I just came over to tell you that there will be a finale, and it’ll happen tomorrow. Ty will be directing as planned.” He clapped his nephew on the back. “And I’m going to stay to make sure the show finishes and to present the winner with his or her prize.”

  Jane arched her brows. “Have you found suitable accommodations?”

  Fox smirked. “They’re not exactly close, but yes. Come on, Ty, we’ll let them get back to their private conversation.”

  Ty smiled at Jane and saluted the sheriff and trailed off after his uncle.

  “If I had the authority to shut down the show, I would,” the sheriff said.

  Jane hated the note of defeat in his voice. Had she known the true cost of hosting Posh Palate with Mia Mallett, she would have put their proposal in the shredder.

  Because of that show, a man lost his life. Another man had been burned. Mrs. Hubbard’s cookbook nook had become a crime scene. Antique porcelain, passed down by generations of Stewards, had been broken beyond repair. Roger’s shop had been burglarized. And to top it all off, the sheriff believed that he’d failed the citizens of Storyton.

  Jane understood how he felt. How often had she replayed the events of the past few days and wondered what more she could have done to protect her guests?

  Protect them by planning for the next disaster, a niggling voice whispered.

  “The show has to go on,” she told Evans. “Not because they say so, but because the finale might be our only chance of catching Chef Pierce’s killer.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  In a hushed voice, Jane said, “There’s another familial twist you need to know about, but I can’t tell you here. Let’s move to the surveillance room.”

  Sheriff Evans stood up and grabbed his hat. “At least there’ll be coffee.”

  Jane smiled warmly at him. “You work tirelessly to keep our town safe. You deserve more than coffee, which is why Butterworth has a food trolley waiting for you.”

  At this, the sheriff brightened. “The good man knows how much I love Mrs. Hubbard’s bacon rolls. Two or three of those, and I’ll be a new man.” He waved his hat at the other end of the lobby. “Lead on, Ms. Steward. I’m ready to hear your twisted tale.”

  * * *

  When Jane got home that evening, she didn’t have time to clean the house before book club. She had to settle for stashing clutter out of sight and wiping off the dining room table.

  Luckily, the boys were having a sleepover with Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia. This was a book club night tradition. While Jane socialized with her friends, Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia shared stories and laughter with the twins.

  Jane loved that her sons would have a mental scrapbook filled with memories of nights like tonight. She knew that when the twins were older, they’d see a fishing hat, a chess set, or a model train and think of Uncle Aloysius. And they’d forever associate dresses with wild patterns, vintage cameras, hard candy, and the scent of rosewater with Aunt Octavia. They’d remember the hours they’d spent with their relatives as some of the best of their lives. Jane wished those hours would never run out. She wished they could go on loving one another ad infinitum.

  Jane was carrying a pile of comic books to her sons’ room when a familiar voice called from downstairs. “It’s me! I just wanted you to know that I was here.”

  A few minutes later, Jane entered the kitchen to find Eloise arranging wildflowers in a jug.

  Jane took in her gleaming countertops. “Did you clean?”

  “A few sprays here and there. Which plates do you want to use?”

  “Forget the plates,” Jane said. “Let’s open a bottle of wine instead. I have so much to tell you.”

  Eloise laughed. “Why do you think I really came early? I’ll open the wine. You get changed.”

  Jane took a quick shower and pulled on a loose-fitting cotton sundress. She gathered her hair into a messy bun, ignoring those strands still clinging to her damp cheeks. She decided not to bother with makeup. It was too hot, and the Cover Girls were her closest friends. They wouldn’t care if she wore blush or mascara. They’d just see Jane, their tired, hungry, book-loving friend.

  Their friend with the dry lips, Jane thought, searching her bathroom drawer for the moisturizing lipstick she bought at Storyton Pharmacy a few weeks ago. She’d liked the floral design on its packaging and that the name of the peachy-pink hue was Steel Magnolia. Jane supposed every Southern woman liked to think of herself as a steel magnolia, and she was no exception.

  “Nice lipstick,” Eloise told Jane. She then pointed at the glass of white wine on the island. “That’s yours. I’ll pour mine after I get Betty’s dish in the oven. She can’t make it tonight.”

  Reaching for her wineglass, Jane asked, “What happened?”

  “Bob dropped a beer keg on his foot this afternoon. He kept complaining about the pain, so Betty took him to Doc Lydgate. The doc told Bob to elevate his foot for the rest of the day, which means Betty has to work. But she said that nothing would keep her from coming to the finale tomorrow.”

  Jane poured wine for Eloise. “And with everything she has going on, she still made a dish to share? That woman is amazing.”

  The theme for tonight’s meeting was chef memoirs. Each Cover Girl had selected a chef, read his or her memoir, and prepared one of their dishes. Eloise had volunteered to coordinate the menu.

  “Otherwise, we’ll end up with five desserts,” she’d said.

  Though Jane was fond of dessert, she was excited to try new savory dishes. And when she read Betty’s note describing her version of Anthony Bourdain’s Gratin Dauphinois, Jane knew that tonight’s meal would be unforgettable.

  “Think of a toast while I fire up the grill,” Eloise said.

  Just then, the doorbell rang, and the rest of the Cover Girls spilled into her house. They swooped into Jane’s kitchen like birds seeking a place to land, filling the space with movement, sound, and color.

  After depositing a pitcher of iced tea on the island, Violet gave Jane a hug. “Aren’t you a picture of summertime?”

  “Not compared to that pitcher of tea. What’s in it?”

  “Lemon juice, Bacardi, a little sugar, and mint leaves. It’s Emeril Lagasse’s Lemony Spiked Sweet Tea. His Essential Emeril isn’t classified as a memoir, but it’s the most personal cookbook I’ve ever read.” Violet’s expression turned dreamy. “Someday, I’ll eat at one of his restaurants.”

  “Yes, you will,” Jane said before turning to greet Mabel, the owner of La Grande Dame Clothing Boutique. “We missed you this week.”

  “I had a ball shopping for new fabric, but that drive to Atlanta gets longer and longer every year.” Mabel removed the plastic wrap from a platter of sliced tomatoes. “I’m so happy to be sleeping in my own bed again. You know you’re old when you start traveling with your own pillow and coffeemaker.”

  Jane placed a set of serving tongs next to Mabel’s platter. She’d made Nigel Slater’s Tomato Salad with Coriander Mayonnaise after reading the memoir Toast.

  “Grill’s ready,” Eloise told Jane as she grabbed a covered baking dish from the counter and scurried back outside. She was preparing tonight’s entrée, Eddie Huang’s Cherry Cola Hanger Steak.

  Not only had Eloise loved Huang’s memoir, Fresh Off the Boat, but she’d also binge-watched the television series. Last week, Jane had overheard Lachlan telling Sterling that he didn’t understand why Eloise found the sitcom so entertaining.

  “I just sit there and listen to her laugh. That’s all the entertainment I need,” he’d said.

  Since Jane’s shrimp only needed a few minutes on the grill, she arranged plates, napkins, and flatware at one end of the center island and lined up tumblers for Violet’s spiked tea. She then carried her shrimp skewers outside. Her recipe, Suya, was an adaptation of Nigerian street food by Kwame Onwuachi. Jane had read Onwuachi’s book, Notes from a Young Black Chef: A Memoir, in two n
ights and couldn’t wait to serve one of his dishes to her friends.

  Jane placed her skewers on the grill.

  As they began to cook, steam rose into the air. Eloise inhaled a plume and her eyes widened. “They smell spicy!”

  “The rub has ground peanuts, ginger, bouillon, and lots of cayenne pepper,” Jane said, There was a sizzling noise and flames flared around Eloise’s steak. Jane took a step back to avoid the heat.

  Eloise put a hand on Jane’s arm. “I can cook your skewers. You don’t need to be out here with the grill and the flames and all that.”

  “I’m okay,” Jane said. “If I just concentrate on food and my friends, the bad stuff fades away.”

  “That almost sounds like a toast.”

  Jane took the shrimp off the grill and carried it to the kitchen. A few minutes later, Eloise came in with the hanger steak.

  “Landon Lachlan is a lucky man,” said Mrs. Pratt. “Not only is his future wife lovely, kind, and smart, but she can cook a mean steak too.”

  Eloise blushed with pleasure. “Tell Jane about your dessert, Eugenia.”

  Mrs. Pratt was more than happy to oblige. “I read Ruth Reichl’s My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes That Saved My Life, which is part memoir, part cookbook. Eloise already knows this, but I was so moved by Ms. Reichl’s story of how food and cooking helped her recover from a major setback that I immediately ordered Save Me the Plums. Her voice is relatable. So are her recipes. For example, I wanted to make her Nectarine Galette, but nectarines aren’t in season. But her recipe called for any unripe stone fruit, which meant I could use peaches. My peaches were so unripe that the twins could have played catch with them.”

  The women laughed.

  “How’s Roger doing?” Jane asked.

  Mrs. Pratt shook her head in bewilderment. “He’s taking the robbery in stride. I’d be furious—I am furious—but he prefers to focus on the sales he made and the new people he met. And guess what? Your resident writer was one of these new people. I wasn’t in the shop when she came in, but Roger said that she knows a lot about antiques. She offered to put him in touch with a friend who owns an antique shop in Oyster Bay. Her friend will introduce Roger to auctioneers and pickers. Roger is thrilled to bits.”

  Jane smiled. “My impression is that Olivia Limoges is a very generous person.”

  “I hope she drops by the bookshop soon. I’m dying to meet her,” Eloise said.

  Violet glanced from Eloise to Jane. “Will she be at the finale?”

  “Yes,” said Jane. “I’m glad you brought that up, Vi, because I need to talk to all of you about tomorrow.” She gestured at the colorful array of food on her kitchen island. “But first, we eat! Mabel? May I pour you some tea?”

  “Please, and thank you. I can’t wait to try these beautiful dishes,” Mabel exclaimed.

  Eloise put a spoonful of Betty’s creamy, cheesy potatoes on her plate. “I hate that Betty’s missing this. We should pack up the leftovers for her and Bob.”

  The other Cover Girls were quick to agree.

  As the women filled their plates with tomato salad, grilled shrimp, potatoes au gratin, and cherry cola hanger steak, they listed all the things they needed to tell Phoebe and Anna when they returned to Storyton.

  Over dinner, the friends savored the delicious food and talked about cookbooks, recipes, and kitchen disasters. These stories grew more elaborate as the meal progressed, and by the time they put down their utensils, the room had grown warm with laughter.

  “Violet, just how much Bacardi is in this tea?” Mabel asked.

  “I did exactly what Emeril told me to,” insisted Violet. “Should I make more?”

  Though Jane hated to put a damper on the mood, she said, “I need to talk to everyone about tomorrow, and if I have one more glass of that tea, I’ll be under the table. Why don’t I brew some coffee?”

  In the kitchen, the Cover Girls moved with practiced efficiency. Mabel packed the leftovers, Eloise loaded the dishwasher, Mrs. Pratt dished out servings of her peach galette, Jane started the coffeemaker, and Violet set out cream and sugar.

  As was their custom, the women had coffee and dessert in Jane’s living room.

  “How did you make unripe fruit taste like the freshest peaches I’ve ever had?” Violet asked Mrs. Pratt.

  Mrs. Pratt feigned humility. “I just followed Ruth Reichl’s recipe.”

  Eloise used her fork to point at her plate. “It looks like a simple, rustic dessert, but it tastes like sugared sunshine. You added that magic, Eugenia.”

  “She’s right,” Jane said. “The cook makes the recipe. Look at Mrs. Hubbard. Her food is full of love. She’s been such an important part of my life, which is why I was so taken with the idea of having famous chefs visit Storyton Hall. I liked the thought of my friends, family, and guests watching that kind of magic happen. The money wasn’t too shabby either, but that wasn’t what inspired me. I was inspired by the Storyton Hall kitchens. It’s not just the amazing food. It’s the energy. The marriage of art and chemistry. The passion of the cooks. The way they create from the heart.”

  Eloise squeezed Jane’s hand. “We wanted to experience all of that too. What happened to Chef Pierce isn’t your fault. People are unpredictable. There’s no telling how your guests will behave.”

  “If someone gets hurt tomorrow, it’ll be entirely my fault.” Jane set her dessert plate aside. “Originally, there were supposed to be two challenges. The third contestant is meant to be eliminated at the end of a quick challenge in the morning, but that’s been nixed. Now, all three chefs will compete in front of a live audience. Everyone here bought tickets for that event, but if you’re up for it, I’d like you to be much closer to the action.”

  Mrs. Pratt shimmied with glee. “I like being close to the action.”

  “Hear me out, Eugenia. This could be dangerous,” Jane warned.

  Mabel raised a hand. “Hold up. I heard about Chef Pierce, the fires, and the message on Dew Drop’s costume, but isn’t the sheriff’s department handling the investigation?”

  “Yes. The problem is, there isn’t enough evidence to make a murder charge stick, or to convince the killer that it’s in her best interest to confess. If we can’t help Sheriff Evans find that evidence before the chefs and the TV people leave two days from now, then the woman who killed Chef Pierce may never answer for her crime.”

  Violet looked shocked. “Woman?”

  “Settle in,” said Jane. “I’m going to tell you a story about a young woman who went down the wrong road. She can’t be allowed to continue on this path, no matter how sorry we might feel for the little girl she once was.”

  Jane picked up her coffee cup, intending to take a quick sip before continuing. The cup was halfway to her mouth when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll see who it is,” said Eloise, jumping up from her chair.

  Half a minute passed, and the Cover Girls waited in silence.

  When Eloise didn’t come back, they started exchanging nervous glances.

  “I’ll go see what’s going on,” Jane said.

  In the hall, she opened the front door to discover Eloise and Olivia Limoges on the stoop, chatting away like old friends.

  Eloise gave a guilty start. “Were you waiting for me?”

  Olivia showed Jane the bottle in her right hand. “I came by to give you this, but when Eloise mentioned Run for Cover, I couldn’t help talking shop with her. I’m sorry.”

  Jane sensed the other Cover Girls behind her.

  “Is that the writer?” whispered Violet.

  “We should invite her in,” hissed Mrs. Pratt.

  Jane hesitated. She wanted to end the evening by asking her friends to help her catch a killer. If Olivia Limoges joined them, Jane would have to include her in the plans.

  She decided to let instinct be her guide.

  “Please come in and meet my friends. We have coffee and dessert, and I’m about to tell a very interesting story.”

  Olivia pres
sed the bottle of prosecco into Jane’s hands and smiled. “I don’t want to intrude, but I do love a good story. And I have a feeling that yours is worth hearing.”

  Chapter 17

  Aunt Octavia was in the lobby, dressed in her Sunday finery. As usual, she was waiting for Jane and the boys to arrive. And as usual, they were late.

  Hearing the impatient beat of Aunt Octavia’s cane, Jane rushed over and apologized for being late. Her great-aunt didn’t respond, and her mouth was set in a deep frown. When hugs from the twins failed to dislodge the frown, Jane knew they weren’t the only ones in the doghouse.

  “Where’s Uncle Aloysius?”

  “Fishing.” Aunt Octavia injected the word with venom. “Apparently, he feels closer to the Lord out on the lake than he does at church. Apparently, the way folks cough, blow their noses, rustle candy wrappers, and sing off-key is distracting. What a load of horse manure.”

  Jane couldn’t remember a time when Uncle Aloysius hadn’t attended church service with her great-aunt. In such a small village, his absence would be noted, and Jane suspected that Aunt Octavia was more concerned about making excuses for her husband than his level of piety.

  “Can we go fishing too?” Hem asked.

  Fitz nudged his brother. “No. The Robersons and Hofers are paying us for their jam today, remember?”

  Aunt Octavia lumbered to her feet and pointed the tip of her cane at Hem. “I thought you liked your Sunday school teacher?”

  “We do,” said Hem. “But we like hanging out with Uncle Aloysius more.”

  Ignoring the look of warning on his mother’s face, Fitz said, “And we like his stories better than our teacher’s. Uncle Aloysius is twice as old as Mrs. Carver, so he’s twice as smart.”

  “Like you,” Fitz added for good measure.

  Aunt Octavia’s expression softened, and Jane suggested they get going before they missed the opening hymn. Fitz and Hem helped Aunt Octavia into the back of Sterling’s favorite car, a fully restored 1970 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, and played a round of Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who got to sit up front.