Free Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) by Daryl Wood Gerber Page B

course, a couple of dandy children’s fiction books including
Angelina’s Halloween
and
Scary, Scary Halloween
. The cost had run about a hundred dollars, but I figured it was worth the investment because the basket would attract tons of eager-to-win shoppers.
    At 6:00 P.M., after closing The Cookbook Nook, I moved to the display window area to set the gift basket among the books.
    Aunt Vera rushed past the window with her turban tucked beneath her arm. Her hair looked ironed to her head. The folds of her caftan fluted out. Even through the glass, I could hear the copious strands of beads around her neck rattling like old bones. What was up?
    She raced into the shop and let the door slam behind her. “Oh my,” she cried. “I’ve lost them.”
    I’d never seen my aunt so flustered. I dashed to her. “Lost what?”
    “My powers. I can’t see the future. Not a whit.”
    Honestly, I believed she made up everything. Was I mistaken?
    “My eyes are fuzzy. My head is swimming with confusion.”
    “Sit.” I forced her into a chair beside the vintage kitchen table. I pushed aside the unfinished jigsaw puzzle of wine bottle corks—we always had a foodie-themed puzzle in progress—and I gripped her hands. “Where have you been? I thought you were at the precinct.”
    “I was, but I left there and went with Bingo to her shop. She needed my support.”
    I didn’t ask why she hadn’t called me. It was obvious she was distraught.
    “How could I say
no
?” my aunt continued. “Bingo is the new Head Priestess. There’s so much to do. She needed calming and asked me to predict her future, but Jenna, I couldn’t read her aura.” Her face turned into a mask of pain. “My power is gone. My channels are blocked.”
    “Aunt Vera.”
    “Stop. I know you’re not a believer, but I am. Truly. Next, I tried reading her palm. Nothing. I couldn’t make sense of even one line. I had a deck of tarot cards with me and asked Bingo to withdraw a card. She did, and I got nothing. Nothing. I—” She pulled a pack of tarot cards from the pocket of her caftan. “Draw one.”
    “No.”
    “Do it. Please. Don’t doubt me. Try.”
    I obeyed. I drew the Devil card. It was upside down. I gasped.
    “Inverted,” Aunt Vera said. “Not so bad. The Devil card is not as frightening as you think. When reversed or inverted, the card reminds you that a situation that may seem to be trapping you is an illusion. It’s not real. You have options, and help from family and friends is always available.”
    I gestured with my pinky. “There. You see? You have nothing to worry about. You can tell the future.”
    “That’s not the future. Tarot cards provide data. Simple facts. I get nothing else. No vibes.” She wiggled fingers beside her head. “I don’t know what situation you’ll be facing. It was the same with Bingo. I was blank. It’s because of my anger. Anger at this whole affair. Anger that Pearl is dead. Anger that I can’t do anything about it. I’m not the angry type, Jenna.”
    Maybe my aunt’s blockage was being caused by something else. Was Bingo guilty of murder? Was her aura so black that my aunt didn’t dare break through?
    Stop it, Jenna, you don’t believe this stuff.
Yet . . .
    I said, “What card did Bingo draw?”
    “The Nine of Swords.”
    I knew the card. A man sat in bed with nine swords lined up on the wall behind him. He was draped with a checkerboard quilt. In the course of my relationship with my aunt, I had learned the meaning of many of the cards. The Nine of Swords signified that the person had reached a realization of just how bad a situation was, essentially waking up from a nightmare. The quilt signified that he had been playing a game with himself. He had to take responsibility. “What did you say?”
    “Not a word. I couldn’t interpret. But I felt fear. Right here.” She tapped her solar plexus with three fingertips.
    “That means you’re getting something.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m