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

that,” I said, though I was. Deeply concerned. “Did you return to your shop? From this vantage point, you might have had a bird’s-eye view of anyone who entered the café.” For a nanosecond, I pondered whether Pepper might have motive to kill Natalie, but I couldn’t come up with a reason. Pepper wasn’t a competitor; she was a judge. And she and Natalie wouldn’t have vied for the same men. Only recently had I found out that Pepper carried a torch for my father. Long story, but it was part of the reason she hadn’t embraced my return to town.
    “Yes, I could see,” Pepper conceded.
    I happened to know that Pepper, whenever her shop was empty, stood vigil by the windows, peering out. I would prefer to sit in a chair and read a book. During lull times, I had been browsing culinary mysteries about a domestic diva, a coffee store owner, a Key West food critic, and more. The downside? The more I read, the hungrier I became.
    I said, “Okay, you could see, but were you looking?”
    “I was.” Pepper hurried to add, “For a moment. After I used the facilities.”
    “And did you see anyone? Like Mitzi Sykes?”
    “Now that you mention it.”
    My pulse kicked up a notch. “On the porch of the café?”
    “I saw her heading for the steps to the ocean.”
    Rats. Mitzi hadn’t headed to the alley. Pepper’s account put an end to that theory.
    “However,” Pepper added, “I didn’t see her descend the steps.”

Chapter 6

    E LATED TO HAVE drummed up a suspect other than Lola, I rushed inside The Cookbook Nook to the sales counter, grabbed the telephone receiver, and dialed the precinct. At Taylor & Squibb, my boss had loved whenever I wore my creative hat and my juices were flowing. The most unique work, he said, was a result of inspiration and boldness. I asked for Chief Pritchett. When Cinnamon answered, I spewed out my discovery. Mitzi was a much better suspect, I told her. Her motive? To knock off the competition. I gave details of Mitzi sightings when the fire alarm had gone off.
    “Jenna,” Cinnamon said sharply. “Stop.”
    How I hated that tone. “No.” I refused to buckle. “Mitzi lost to Natalie for eight years in a row, and let’s not forget about last year’s YouTube fiasco. That could make anybody snap. And if Mitzi was already suspicious of her husband having an affair . . .”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “She was seen acting suspiciously outside the bank.” I filled her in about Mitzi’s spying adventure.
    “You’ve been a busy girl.”
    “Lola is innocent.” I crossed my heart and hoped to die, not that Cinnamon could see the gesture, but the move was something I had done since I was little. “By the way, did you track down the chef?”
    “Yes. He is in Las Vegas, and he has a solid alibi.”
    “Did you find out who will inherit Natalie’s estate?”
    “Family members. All aboveboard. A standard will.”
    “Members, as in plural?”
    “Ellen Mumford has a sister.”
    “Where is she?”
    “On her way to town.”
    “And Natalie’s ex-husband?”
    “Have a good night.” Cinnamon hung up.
    So much for our budding friendship. I would have to tread softly and remind her along the way that communication was becoming a lost art. I envisioned a tongue-in-cheek public service ad campaign that might convey the message. It involved a woman rapping her knuckles on her friend’s forehead, maybe like the V8 commercial.
Yoo-hoo, anybody home?
The bottom of the screen would be emblazoned with:
Talking. It’s good for the soul.
    Thankful that my sense of humor had returned, I decided to get to work on straightening up the store. Aunt Vera was gone, but I had enough energy to power a thousand klieg lights. So did Bailey. She chose the children’s corner. I went straight to work on the displays. Tigger bounded between us.
    A half hour later, Aunt Vera bustled in waving a piece of paper. “Yahoo,” she sang. “We’re set to reopen tomorrow. I decided to be proactive. I