Shredding the Evidence Read online

  Shredding the Evidence

  The denizens of Crystal Cove are salivating over the upcoming Food Bowl Week, when local chefs offer some of their best and most imaginative creations in bite-size portions all over town. Bookstore proprietor Jenna Hart is hungry to sample as many of the delicacies as she can, but when she stumbles onto the dead body of a local food reporter and learns that her best friend’s husband is the primary suspect, she’ll have to summon the appetite for a side dish of sleuthing to prove his innocence.

  Jenna knows the ambitious and aggressive reporter, who was strangled at a fitness center with her shredded restaurant reviews scattered around her, left behind a long list of potential suspects. As she begins piecing together the scant clues, she uncovers illicit ties between the victim and a local newspaper owner, a spurned would-be lover, and a host of disgruntled restaurant owners not a bit torn up by the critical reporter’s demise. And with a solution so close she can almost taste it, Jenna turns up the heat on the culprit, realizing too late that she’s the next course on the murderer’s menu . . .

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Shredding the Evidence

  Daryl Wood Gerber

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  Copyright © 2020 by Daryl Wood Gerber.

  Cover design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-950461-43-1

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Recipes

  Books by Daryl Wood Gerber

  About the Author

  Cast of Characters in the Cookbook Nook Mysteries

  Bailey Bird Martinez, assistant at shop

  Bucky Winston, husband of Cinnamon Pritchett and a firefighter

  Cinnamon Pritchett (Winston), chief of police

  Cary Hart, Jenna’s dad, owns Nuts and Bolts

  Flora Fairchild, owner of Home Sweet Home

  Gran, Gracie Goldsmith, regular customer, now assistant at the shop

  Jake (Old Jake) Chapman, wealthy retiree

  Jenna Hart, co-owner of Cookbook Nook and Nook Café

  Katie Casey (Landry), chef at Nook Café

  Keller Landry, Katie’s husband, ice cream entrepreneur

  Lola Bird, owner of Pelican Brief

  Marlon Appleby, deputy

  Pepper Pritchett, owner of Beaders of Paradise

  Rhett Jackson, owner of Intime and Jenna’s fiancé

  Tina Gump, former assistant at the Cookbook Nook

  Tito Martinez, Bailey’s husband, reporter at Crystal Cove Courier

  Vera Hart, Jenna’s aunt and co-owner of Cookbook Nook and Nook Café

  Z.Z. Zoey Zeller, mayor of Crystal Cove

  Additional Cast of Characters

  in

  Shredding the Evidence

  Alexa Tinsdale, fitness studio owner and personal trainer

  Audrey Tinsdale, wife of Eugene Tinsdale

  Brianna Martinez, Bailey’s daughter

  Eugene Tinsdale, Crystal Cover Courier owner/editor

  Harmony Bold, wedding planner

  Kylie Obendorfer, reporter at Crystal Cove Courier

  Marigold Martin, Midge’s daughter

  Midge Martin, owner of Shredding, a restaurant

  Min-yi, Katie’s ten-month-old adopted daughter

  Mrs. Garofalo, receptionist at Crystal Cove High School

  Principal Baker, principal at Crystal Cove High School

  Reynaldo, assistant chef at Nook Café

  Sasha Appleby, Marlon Appleby’s adult daughter

  Savannah Gregory, baker at Latte Luck

  Shari Gregory, owner of Latte Luck and Savannah’s mother

  Steven and Sue Appleby, Marlon Appleby’s adult son and his wife

  Viveca Thorn, Alexa Tinsdale’s assistant

  Chapter 1

  “Help, Cinnamon!” I shouted. “I can’t stop.”

  Cinnamon Pritchett skated in front of me, grabbed me by the shoulders, and jammed her toe stops into the ground. “Breathe, Jenna. Toe stops. Remember? Toe stops.”

  “Yes,” I said, teeth chattering. It had been ages since I’d skated. Catching a downhill had nearly done me in. “Why did I think it was flat along the coast?”

  Cinnamon laughed. “Nothing in the area is flat.”

  “The ocean is.”

  We lived in Crystal Cove, California, a seaside community consisting of three crescent-shaped bays. A range of modest mountains defined the eastern border and trapped ocean moisture, blessing our sweet community with a temperate Mediterranean climate. The boulevard that ran parallel to the ocean was rife with shops and restaurants. On the southernmost end of town stood the Pier, a boardwalk boasting carny games, a theater, and other fun activities. That was where we’d been going until I nearly took a header.

  “Next time you say we need to bond,” I rasped, “let’s go for coffee at the Nook.”

  With my aunt, I owned the Cookbook Nook, which was a culinary bookshop, and the adjoining café. The Nook Café was known not only for its fabulous meals but also for its midmorning and afternoon treats. It was a perfect spot for a get-together, sans injuries.

  “Doesn’t a scone sound good?” I asked.

  “Nope. Now that I’m pregnant,” Cinnamon said, “I need to work doubly hard at keeping my weight down.”

  Cinnamon was four months pregnant and didn’t show a whit. At the start of our skate, she’d announced she was with child. I was thrilled for her. She and her adorable fireman husband had been trying since the day they got married. Pushing forty, she was no spring chicken in baby-bearing years.

  “I’ve been eating like I’m having quadruplets,” Cinnamon groused. “I never used to be hungry. I could go all day on an energy bar. But now?” She released me. “Good to go?”

  “Yes. Toe stops. Got it.” I adjusted the strap on my helmet and drank a sip of water from the bottle I carried in a bottle holster. “Race you back.”

  “You’ll lo
se.”

  Cackling, Cinnamon tore off. I tried to keep pace but failed. I knew I would. I had no delusions about being a speed skater, and she had been skating since she was a girl. When taking midday breaks from her job as our chief of police, Cinnamon would often skate around town. Not many people knew she was off the clock then. Some felt a loop of skating was her way of keeping an eye on the locals.

  “Speaking of weight,” Cinnamon said, slowing her pace so she could skate beside me as we neared town, “how is—”

  “Faster,” a woman barked. “Faster, Priscilla. Watch out!”

  I whirled around just in time to miss being plowed down by a trim woman in leggings and a black-and-white T-shirt featuring a crossword puzzle. Behind her ran Kylie O, the thirty-something food critic for the Crystal Cove Courier. The O stood for Obendorfer, which was a mouthful. If my surname had been that instead of Hart, I’d have shortened it to a single letter, too.

  “Sorry, Jenna.” Kylie slowed near me. “Got to keep up the pace.” She also wore leggings, but her black-and-white T-shirt featured a raccoon and read I work out so I can eat garbage. Her locket bobbed as she jogged in place. So did the timer hanging around her neck. “Keep going, Priscilla. Don’t slow down.” Kylie sprinted off.

  Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “Who knew a runner could be dangerous? As I was saying, speaking of weight, how’s Bailey doing with hers?”

  “She’s got five pounds to go.”

  Bailey, my childhood pal and coworker at the bookshop, had given birth over six months ago, but she hadn’t lost all the weight she’d put on. She was not happy about that, but she was madly in love with her daughter, Brianna, who resembled Bailey with short spiky hair and big eyes and an affinity for brightly colored clothing; the clothing was Bailey’s doing, not Brianna’s, of course.

  “Bailey should skate with us,” Cinnamon suggested.

  “She will, once she finds a steady babysitter.” The search for someone reliable had been endless. Bailey’s mother, Lola, was pitching in when she could, and Bailey, who had switched to half days, was bringing Brianna to work for her morning shift. I loved having the baby there. She was so easygoing. No tears. No squalling. She lit up whenever Bailey read books to her, cookbooks in particular. Something about the word teaspoon made Brianna giggle nonstop. Plus, she adored Tigger, my rescue ginger cat, who nuzzled her whenever he got the chance. Luckily, she wasn’t allergic to him.

  “How’s Tito doing?” Cinnamon asked.

  “Great.” Tito was Bailey’s husband. “He adores Brianna.”

  “No, I mean work-wise. I heard Eugene Tinsdale is having financial difficulties at the paper and might be retiring. Does that mean the newspaper will fold?”

  Eugene Tinsdale owned the Crystal Cove Courier.

  “I don’t think so.” Tito was a stalwart reporter for the Courier. When we’d first met, he’d been stubborn and mulish and hard to like, but then he’d met Bailey and had turned to mush. “As far as I know, Eugene is looking for a buyer.”

  “Is Tito interested?”

  “Doubtful. He doesn’t have the funds, and he likes being a reporter.”

  Cinnamon swerved into the parking lot of Fisherman’s Village, the quaint two-story shopping mall where the Cookbook Nook and Nook Café were located, and drew to a perfect stop on the cobblestone.

  Me? I nearly took another header. I tried my toe stops, but they skidded. To save myself, I grabbed hold of a column. My feet kept going. I slid down the poll and landed on my rump. “Well, that was elegant, don’t you think?” I chuckled. My ego was more bruised than my behind.

  Cinnamon bit back laughter and helped me up. “Got to be careful on irregular surfaces.”

  “Fair warning.”

  “What’s going on up there?” Cinnamon hitched her chin.

  A lot of customers were climbing the stairs to the second floor of the mall.

  “The Cameo is screening episodes of Shredding over the next few days.” The Cameo, a petite movie theater, usually showed classics, but this week it was offering a binge-worthy selection of foodie television shows as well as foodie-themed movies.

  “What’s Shredding?” Cinnamon asked.

  “Where have you been? It’s a popular cooking show featuring Midge Martin. It’s named after her restaurant. Midge tapes the show once a week in San Francisco. You must have eaten at her place. You like salads.”

  “My sweet husband is a devotee of steak and barbecue.” Cinnamon winked. “Those are the places we go for dates. For the Food Bowl, we’ll be taking in the All Star Barbecue.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  Our quirky mayor made it a point to create theme weeks for Crystal Cove, which thrived on tourism. The more themes the merrier. For nearly a week, from Thursday to the following Tuesday, restaurants and independent chefs were celebrating our annual November Food Bowl. It was one of Crystal Cove’s greatest and most attended celebrations. Throughout the event, many of the restaurants in town were offering specialty meals.

  “Rhett and I are planning on going to the barbecue event, too,” I added. “Five barbecue chefs dishing it up in one venue sounds like heaven.” Rhett was my fiancé and part owner of a new bistro, Intime.

  I’d set a schedule, with and without Rhett. Tomorrow, I would go to Intime, which would be open to the public for the first time and would be offering a seven-course meal with wine pairings. On Friday night, Bailey and I would tour Buena Vista Boulevard, our main drag, which would be open only to pedestrians so people could taste wares from pop-up vendors. On Saturday, Rhett and I would stroll the Pier, which was featuring appetizer vendors, and then we’d return to town to dine on barbecue. On Sunday, restaurants would focus on family meals; my family would skip that night to enjoy our weekly meal. On Monday, the Nook Café was dishing up six hours of lunch choices. And on Tuesday, the final night, the Pelican Brief Diner, which belonged to Bailey’s mother, Lola, was featuring a prix fixe fish fry. Lola had invited chefs from all over the Central Coast to participate. They would serve the event on the restaurant’s rooftop.

  “I’ve got to get these skates off before I break my neck,” I said.

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Cinnamon steadied me so I could bend down and remove my skates. “Between you and me, I’d prefer attending the More Bubbles Brunch.”

  The brunch was being held at the Crystal Cove Inn, a charming bed-and-breakfast and one of the original establishments in town. Pairings of champagne with cheese, meats, omelets, and desserts were on the menu.

  “Of course I won’t be able to imbibe,” Cinnamon added. “But I’m sure they’ll have mock mimosas.”

  “Maybe we could do a ladies morning out,” I suggested. “On Tuesday. My day off. Think you could swing it?”

  “I’m on duty for the next six days straight. I won’t have a morning to spare.”

  “C’mon. Get your deputy to cover you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  When Cinnamon and I had first met, we were at odds. She thought I was guilty of murder, and I didn’t trust her because she was officious. Over the years, thanks to the fact that my father had been her mentor, way back when, we’d bonded and become friends.

  “If you can’t do the brunch,” I said, “see if you can break free on Monday evening. I’ll be going to Shredding for its Food Bowl. I promised to take Bailey. They have a blue cheese and bacon salad to die for, and I heard Midge is going to make a shredded tandoori chicken salad.”

  “Sounds good.” Cinnamon glanced at her watch. “Oh, gosh, it’s late. Gotta go.” She blew me a kiss. “This was fun.”

  I unlocked the front door of the Cookbook Nook and strolled inside. Tigger, the adorable ginger cat who had introduced himself to me the day my aunt and I were remodeling the shop, charged me. Before heading off for my skating adventure, I’d dropped him at the store. “Yes, I’m back, fella. I didn’t abandon you.” I caressed his head, stowed my skates and paraphernalia in the stockroom, changed into a pair of capris, a pumpkin-colored
sweater, and sandals, and returned to the register.

  As I was sorting ones and fives, I heard a whimper and searched for the sound. Bailey, in a blue peasant blouse over jeans, was crouched by the display window.

  “Whoa. Did you slip in before me?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “What are you doing here so early?”

  “Brianna couldn’t sleep.”

  The baby was lying on a colorful blanket-style play gym, an arc of animal-shaped toys dangling overhead. She was reaching for the critters and missing—hence the whimper. At six months, she was starting to understand failure.

  “Why did you lock the front door?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want customers coming in”—Bailey brandished a hand—“especially while I was dressing the display case with unwieldy tools.”

  Beside her on the floor lay a dozen items, including an orange rotary cheese grater, a yellow veggie slicer, a red food processor, a stainless steel mandoline, an old-fashioned potato peeler, and half a dozen sharp knives.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Food Bowl week is challenging. I can’t do something that will represent all the tastings in town, so I settled on shredding and chopping gadgets, you know, to go with the binge-watching upstairs and to complement Midge’s upcoming demonstration.”

  On Saturday at noon, Midge and Chef Katie, the chef at the Nook, were going to give a class for our customers showing how to shred with confidence. They planned to make a variety of salads, appetizers, vegetarian pizza, and more.

  “What else do you think I should add?” Bailey asked.

  “How about The Chopped Cookbook?” The full title was The Chopped Cookbook: Use What You’ve Got to Cook Something Great. It was written by the Food Network chefs and featured some delectable recipes, including salsa-marinated skirt steak soft tacos and chilled peanut chicken noodle salad. Thinking about food made my mouth water. A protein shake for breakfast wasn’t cutting it. “And since we’re nearing Thanksgiving, let’s get in the spirit and add some fall leaves, those beautiful brown paisley oven mitts, the ceramic turkey cookie jar, and the magnetic ceramic turkey salt- and pepper shakers.”