Sifting Through Clues

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “Poor Tina.”

  “I had no idea she knew so many colorful words.”

  Bailey finished arranging items on the buffet table she’d covered with a striped tablecloth and joined us. “Should I give her some advice?”

  “No,” my aunt and I said in unison. Prior to meeting Tito, Bailey hadn’t had the best luck with men.

  “Ha-ha. I get the hint. Dear Abby I’m not.” Bailey did a teetering pirouette. “How do you like my new smock dress? I’ve gotten so big, I can only fit into my ultra-stretch maternity leggings.”

  “It’s darling,” I said. “The blue goes with your eyes.”

  “Do I look as big as a house?”

  “You look fashionable.”

  Bailey scoffed. “That was tactful. Hey, I could use some help setting up the shop for this afternoon’s event.”

  Our local librarian, Darian, was going to lead a book club. Yes, whenever I saw her or even thought her name, the lyrics of the charming song from The Music Man cycled through my mind: Marian, Madam Librarian. Like the character in the musical, Darian Drake was an attractive, no-nonsense woman. Unlike her fictional counterpart, she preferred to dress simply in slimming suits with her blond hair secured at the nape of her neck. A month ago, she had assigned the book selection Aftertaste for today’s event. It was a culinary novel about a female chef’s fresh start in life and love. All visiting book clubs had been alerted to the choice.

  I lifted a stack of aqua blue cookbooks from the rear counter. “Bailey, where would you like me to put these?” To celebrate the event, I had ordered two dozen copies of The Little Library Cookbook: 100 Recipes from Your Favorite Books, an enchanting edition featuring recipes like porridge from The Secret Garden and crumpets from Rebecca, written by a self-proclaimed book lover and book hoarder.

  “How about on the buffet?”

  “Ooh, cookies,” I said. “Yum.” Katie had made an array of cookies, each decorated with a different colored icing and inscribed with an author’s name. I snagged the Agatha Christie cookie and set it on a napkin by my purse—for later.

  “If you like those,” Bailey said, “just wait until you see the other goodies Katie is supplying.”

  Together, Bailey and I shifted the portable bookshelves to the exterior borders of the shop, and then she and I arranged folding chairs.

  When we were halfway done, Tina blazed through the front door. Her face was streaked with tears. She said, “I’ll be right there. I just want to freshen up.” Seconds later, she emerged from the stockroom with her makeup reapplied and the bow of her blouse retied. “Men,” she muttered as she whipped open a folding chair. “Can’t trust them as far as you can throw them.”

  “Yes, you can,” Bailey said.

  “No, no, no.”

  I hated to see Tina disillusioned at such a young age, but better to go into a relationship with eyes wide open. I hadn’t been wise to my deceased husband David’s antics. I’d paid the price.

  “Where should I put this?” Tina held out the gift basket we were presenting to one attendee. It was filled with items from the shop: two cookbooks, an apron, a spatula, and more.

  “Set it beside the roll of raffle tickets on the sales counter,” I said. “Next to the sign Bailey made.” Each attendee could purchase up to five raffle tickets. Proceeds would go to the library.

  For the next hour or so, I tidied the shop, all the while pondering whether I would call Cinnamon, as Katie had suggested. Ultimately, I gave in. Like before, she wasn’t available, so I left a message. Rather than say I was worried about her and her mother, I asked if my father had talked to her. After all, she’d wanted his input. After last night’s discussion, he had quite a lot to impart.

  Around two thirty, Katie brought in a service cart filled with platters of snacks: cinnamon madeleines, muffins, bite-sized cakes, and mini fruit tarts. She set the platters on the buffet table and said, “I’ll be right back with the coffee and tea services.”

  “Bailey, you weren’t kidding about the array of goodies,” I whispered.

  “Told you.” She winked at me. “I’ve got my eye set on one of those madeleines.”

  “Don’t eat them until the party starts,” Katie warned and bustled off, whistling along with the latest tune that had come up in the queue, “Love’s a Mystery” by the Pretenders. Luckily, Tina, in her given state of snit, wasn’t paying attention to the mushy lyrics. If she were, she might have burst into tears.

  Minutes later, Darian, dressed in a chic tan suit and broad-brimmed sunhat, strolled in. She shifted her hefty briefcase from one shoulder to the other.

  I crossed to her. “Welcome. Thank you for doing this.”

  “My pleasure.” She removed her sunhat and fluffed her hair. “Silly things, hats. But we have to keep our faces covered nowadays, don’t we?”

  “Yes, indeed. By the way, I love the library’s book tent on the boulevard. The dolphins with the glasses are hysterical.”

  Darian grinned. “Our adorable mayor suggested it. She’s got such a great sense of humor.”

  “Yes, she does.” Z.Z.’s sense of humor was even sharper now that she was dating Jake.

  “Oh, I see a couple of my patrons. Give me a moment.” Darian joined a couple of book club attendees who were browsing the front display table and chatted for a moment before crossing to Katie, who was setting out white china teacups. “Nicely done, Katie.” She gave her a friendly hug. “So pretty. Exactly what I’d hoped for. You and I are kindred spirits.” She hailed me. “Jenna, where do you want me?”

  I ushered her to the children’s corner. We’d set up a lectern in case she needed it. “Would you like some water?”

  “Sure.”

  As she pulled all sorts of handouts from her briefcase, I fetched a glass of ice water for her. Then I moved to the antique kitchen table to break apart the jigsaw puzzle, just in case any of our customers wanted to toy with it.

  At a quarter to three, Pepper and Hank strolled into the shop. He smoothed the front of his tweed suit and took off his fedora, revealing a thick head of silver hair.

  “This way, sweetheart,” he murmured and held out his hand to Pepper.

  Even though she was wearing what she referred to as her power dress—a blue sheath beaded masterfully at the neck and hem—she appeared nervous. She was chewing her lower lip. Was she still a suspect? Had her daughter made any headway in the investigation? I waved to her. She responded listlessly. Hank whispered in her ear and guided her to a folding chair. She sat, pulled a book from her tote bag, and started thumbing through it.

  Darian approached them and extended her hand to Hank. “Nice to see men attend a book club event.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said.

  Pepper gazed up at Darian, and a moment of annoyance crossed her face. Was she worried that our local librarian was flirting with Hank? She needn’t be. Darian was married to a well-respected professor at UC Santa Cruz.

  Sensing her gaze, Darian said, “Pepper, lovely to see you, too. I’m so sorry about, well, you know, everything.” She twirled a hand. “You can’t possibly be a suspect despite what everyone is saying.”

  Pepper opened her mouth but no words came out.

  Darian cut a look to the right. “Excuse me. Another gentleman is joining us.”

  I wondered if I should comfort Pepper but changed my mind when Hank sat beside her and took hold of her hand.

  “Welcome,” Darian said as she greeted the handsome clerk who worked at Dreamcatcher. It’s so nice of you to come.”

  Sunlight streamed in behind him and highlighted his lean physique. Women in the shop discreetly peeked in his direction. A couple of them gawped. Again, I pictured him in one of my Olympic commercials, maybe a javelin thrower or a high jumper.

  “What’s your name?” Darian asked.

  “Alastair Dukas.”

  Alastair. Of course. Now I remembered. He’d asked Aunt Vera to tell his fortune a couple of weeks ago. He’d lef
t quite pleased.

  Darian said something more and gestured to the chairs. Alastair nodded but proceeded to browse the store.

  Bailey scurried to me. “Why is he here?”

  “To join the book discussion, I presume.” I pointed out the copy of Aftertaste tucked under his arm.

  “He doesn’t look like a reader.”

  “What exactly does a reader look like?” I asked.

  Bailey glowered at me. “Have the police delved into his history? Ivy rebuffed him. Maybe he killed her,” she said and reiterated a theory we’d raised at my father’s. “He relocated here a year ago. Maybe he followed Ivy from the city. What if he was stalking her?”

  I put a hand on my pal’s shoulder. “Calm down. What’s got you in a tizzy?”

  “That guy waltzes into town and gets a job at her shop, and a year later she’s dead. Don’t you find that suspicious?”

  “Not until now.”

  “You need to tell Cinnamon.”

  Okay, now I was certain the universe was conspiring against me. I said, “She isn’t returning my calls.”

  “You should track her down. Buy her a coffee. Console her. Give her a shoulder to cry on.” Bailey screwed up her face. “Maybe not cry. I doubt she cries. Ever. But perhaps you could offer a receptive ear and then—”

  “Whoa.” I planted a fist on my hip. “Did Katie and Aunt Vera put you up to this?”

  “To what?”

  “All of you, including my father, want me to confront Cinnamon.”

  “I didn’t say confront. I said console. There’s a huge difference in those two words. First of all, one’s seven letters and the other is eight, and there are lots of different letters.”

  I snorted.

  “C’mon,” Bailey coaxed. “It must be hard for Cinnamon being the only woman in the department.”

  “There are a number of other women.”

  “Not her equal.”

  “I’m not her equal, either.”

  “But you’re her friend. Reach out to her. Her mother’s innocence is at stake, and a murderer is at large.”

  “Jenna!” Crusibella swept into the shop, the ruffled collar of her chiffon jumpsuit wafting. “Thank heaven you’re here. You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

  “About the event?”

  “About last Friday night. No matter what you heard going on between Ivy and me, we were friends. True friends. I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her.”

  She had claimed to be innocent at the crime scene, too. Was guilt making her feel the need to repeat herself?

  Chapter 9

  “Vera!” Crusibella rushed past me and plopped into a chair at the vintage table. “Thank you for making time for me.” She tapped her nails on the top. “I’m ready for my reading.”

  I blinked. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person she’d wanted to see.

  Aunt Vera joined her and patted her hand. “Breathe, dear. We can’t start until the book club concludes. I told you to come in around five. Patience is a virtue.”

  “But the early bird gets the worm,” Crusibella sassed.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” Darian said from behind the lectern. “Let’s get started.”

  The shop had filled with regular patrons and a number of new faces. I stood at the back of the room with Bailey. She whispered to me, “That exchange with Crusibella was weird.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Do you think she protest-eth too much?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Okay.” Darian raised a copy of the book selection. “Who loved it?” Half the hands shot up. “Did anybody hate it?” One hand. “Why do you think that was? I’m curious.”

  The blowsy woman who’d disliked it—not someone I recognized—said, “It took too long to get into.”

  “But once you were into it, did you enjoy it?” Darian asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “The book claims to be a novel in five courses,” Darian said. “Let’s find out why, shall we?” She handed out the materials she’d brought in her briefcase and resumed her place at the lectern.

  For the next hour, she led the audience through the questions included at the back of the novel. Z.Z. and Gran, who had come in just before the meeting started, seemed to have the most opinions. Hank chimed in occasionally. Pepper rarely looked up. Alastair, surprisingly, was well versed on certain aspects of the book, particularly how the food and its preparation were a stand-in for emotions. Even Crusibella, despite her eagerness to have my aunt tell her fortune, entered into the discussion; she had read the book when it had debuted.

  After the book club disbanded, the activity in the shop was incredible. Tina and I worked nonstop at the sales counter, ringing up sales and packing books into gift bags. I noticed Aunt Vera dove right in with Crusibella.

  By the time the tarot reading concluded, I was dying to know whether the reading for Crusibella had hinted at signs of innocence or guilt. Unfortunately, I was too embroiled with a customer to break free. And then when I was chatting with a book club member from Texas about the copies of Texas Eats: The New Lone Star Heritage Cookbook that they’d preordered—a deeply personal cookbook filled with anecdotes and recipes from all over the state—Aunt Vera left for the evening.

  “Rats,” I muttered to Bailey as we were closing the shop.

  “Relax. You’ll find out what she gleaned tomorrow. In the meantime, contact Cinnamon.” She pecked me on the cheek and, cradling her baby bump, hurried off to meet her husband for dinner.

  As I was locking up, Katie sent me a text saying she absolutely had to see me.

  I said to Tigger, “I’ll be right back, buddy.”

  When I entered the café, I was pleased to see it was packed with diners. Lit candles at the centers of the tables provided a warm glow. Chatter was muted but steady. I spotted Hank and Pepper sitting by the window and paused. Uneasily, she fussed with the collar of her dress and pulled at the seams around her torso. A waitress delivered two entrées to the table and left. Hank took a sip of his white wine. Pepper idly ran a finger up and down the stem of her glass.

  I approached them and eyed their food. They had ordered the same dish but hadn’t taken a bite. “Is everything all right with your meal?”

  “It just arrived,” Hank said, his voice upbeat. “Looks delicious.”

  “Good choice,” I said. “Halibut with lemon citrus beurre blanc sauce is one of Chef Katie’s specialties.”

  “Have you eaten?” he asked. “Sit with us.”

  “I have a meeting in the kitchen. Katie summoned me.”

  “You look quite pretty in that color,” he went on. “It really brings out your eyes. I have the perfect hat to go with that outfit. Provence-style in nougat.”

  “Thanks, but I only wear hats when I’m riding my bicycle or walking on the beach.”

  “We all need to keep our faces covered nowadays,” he warned. “The sun is so damaging. You wouldn’t want your gorgeous skin to suffer, would you?”

  Was he flirting with me? Did Pepper have a right to be worried? No, of course he wasn’t. He was twice my age. I was reading more into his charming delivery than necessary. “Are you feeling all right?” I asked Pepper. She appeared to be lost in thought, not paying attention to our conversation.

  “Mm-hm. I just wish . . .” Her voice drifted off.

  Just wished what? Wished she could curl into a ball until the murder was solved? Wished she could turn back the hands of time and Ivy would still be alive?

  “You’re innocent,” I said. “Your daughter knows that.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Pepper nudged her wineglass aside. “Just in case, I’ve retained a lawyer.”

  “Really?”

  “Per my daughter, I have a solid motive and a flimsy alibi.”

  “But you’re her mother.”

  “Pfft. The law comes first.” Pepper clicked her tongue. “At least she hasn’t slapped me in jail yet.”

 
“Do you want my advice?” I asked. When I’d first met Cinnamon, I was the main target on her radar. She thought I’d killed a celebrity chef who had been my college roommate. Over the course of her investigation, she realized I could never have done what she’d accused me of. “Stay low. Don’t rile her. And let her do her job. The truth will out.”

  “The truth.” Pepper slapped the table with her palm. “Cinnamon should believe me one hundred percent, but does she? No. She says she has to weigh all the evidence.”

  “Does she have any evidence that points to you?”

  Hank said, “If she did, she’d arrest Pepper, wouldn’t she?”

  “I think so.” I addressed Pepper. “Impartiality makes Cinnamon good at what she does.”

  “I know,” she murmured.

  “I don’t think she believes you’re guilty,” I went on, “but she is worried about you. She’s—” I stopped short of saying she was pounding down pancakes.

  “She should be,” Hank said, his voice sharp. “People are shunning Pepper. It’s horrid. Her business has decreased at least twenty-five percent since the murder, even though all these book clubs have come to town. Do you want to know where they’re going? To Home Sweet Home. Can you believe it?”

  Pepper sucked back a sob. “Oh, Jenna, this . . . this . . . ostracism is crushing me.”

  “Ostracism,” Hank repeated. “Great word.”

  I cut a look at him. Now was not the time for a vocabulary pat on the back. He blanched under my gaze and sipped his wine.

  Pepper pursed her lips. “Look, Jenna, I’ve told Hank and I’ll tell you. It’s common knowledge that I didn’t like Ivy. She wasn’t a nice woman, to me anyway, and I did believe she was homing in on Hank—”

  He clasped her hand. “I told you, darling—”

  “I know you said you weren’t interested in her, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t have her stealth tracking system aimed at you.” Pepper gazed at me. “I’m sorry she’s dead, but I didn’t do this. Please help Cinnamon solve this, Jenna. She’s too close to it. She’ll listen to you.”

  I barked out a laugh. My aunt, my father, Katie, Bailey, and now Pepper . . . all with the same opinion.