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

went to the precinct myself, and I begged and pleaded with Chief Pritchett. I told her that, seeing as the alarm could have been triggered from the alley and Katie had discarded the weapon the day before, our store should not be penalized. Cinnamon agreed. It probably helped that I offered her a single-card tarot reading.”
    Harrumph. Couldn’t Cinnamon have told me when I called that she was allowing us to reopen? Granted, being cleared to open didn’t free me of the guilt I felt. Natalie had died on our watch, right outside our kitchen.
    “You’ll never guess what card I turned over.” Aunt Vera winked. “The Lovers.”
    The Lovers is the sixth trump or Major Arcana card in a tarot deck. It represents the obvious: a relationship or temptation.
    “Cinnamon flushed pink,” Aunt Vera said.
    “Do you think she’s in love?” Bailey asked.
    “Or hopeful.”
    I doubted that receiving a positive fortune had anything to do with Cinnamon’s decision to let us reopen, but why spoil my aunt’s lovely mood? She did a sultry cha-cha across the floor, her caftan swishing around her ankles. She once told me that in her younger years she had been quite a dancer. I’d taken a few ballroom dance lessons in college and had wanted to take more with David; we had never gotten around to it.
    Aunt Vera said, “An officer is on the way over to remove the yellow crime-scene tape. I’ll tell Katie.”
    “I’ll go,” Bailey said.
    I bet she hoped to sneak a cup of coffee.
    As Bailey headed down the hallway and my aunt retreated to the stockroom, Natalie’s daughter Ellen entered the shop with her adorable two-and-a-half-year-old daughter tucked into a stroller. The girl, who was sound asleep, had masses of curls and the longest eyelashes.
    “Are you open?” Ellen said. Though the temperature hovered in the sixties, she was bundled in a mid-calf-length black coat and wore a cashmere scarf around her neck. Her cheeks were blotched with tears, her lips devoid of color. I didn’t have the courage to tell her to wait to enter until a policeman removed the tape in the café. She had to be curious about where her mother had died.
    “Come on in.” Rather than pounce on Ellen and drub her with questions, I nestled onto a stool beside the counter and watched. As she always did, Ellen set the stroller in the rear near the children’s section, then she wandered through the store from display table to display table. “Sorry for the mess,” I said.
    “Did the customers do this?”
    “The fire alarm went off. The place was evacuated.”
    “I heard,” she said in a monotone as she picked up a culinary mystery and flipped through it. “Oh, they have recipes.” She brought one to the checkout counter along with one of the featured cookbooks particular to this month’s local events. As she set down the pair, I noticed she had nearly chewed her fingernails down to the nubs.
    “How are you doing?” I said.
    “Okay.” She rubbed both arms above the elbows.
    “Are you cold?”
    “No. Sort of. A little off, I guess.”
    “I’m sorry about your mother.”
    Ellen pressed her lips together. Tears pooled in her eyes. “She died in the alley?”
    I nodded. “I don’t know why she was out there.”
    “Business, probably. A private phone call. Who knows?” Ellen sighed. “The police said they have suspects, but they wouldn’t name names.”
    Neither would I.
    “As I was passing out flyers earlier,” I said, “I noticed that you didn’t close the Word.”
    “We can’t. Food will go bad. The loss would be too great. And the regulars. They all want to pay their respects. I . . . well . . .” She shook her head. “I’m the acting owner, so I can’t let them down. I’ve got to do all the ordering and such.”
    I recalled Bailey’s assertion that whoever inherited Natalie’s estate might be the killer, but I couldn’t believe Ellen had murdered her mother. She seemed so fragile. “You were at the diner when it happened,