Fudging the Books (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 4) Page 23

  “I have to go with the flow,” Bailey said. “It’s not what I planned, but—”

  “Whoa!” I yelped.

  “What?”

  I stared at the maps in my hand as an idea formed.

  “What?” Bailey repeated.

  “He said she wasn’t home.”

  “He who? Which she?”

  “She admitted as much.” A line on the topmost map swooped downward and ended at a big red X. I flailed my fistful of maps at Bailey. “X marks the spot.”

  “What spot?” Bailey cried. “Will you please make sense?”

  I plunked into a chair beside the table and laid down the maps. I stabbed the X. “She must have known about Old Jake’s sleeping habit.”

  “I repeat, she who? What are you talking about?” Bailey perched on one of the other chairs. “Speak English.”

  “Neil Foodie said Ingrid wasn’t home at four A.M. Ingrid said she was driving around, and maybe she was, but I think she planned, or plotted, if you will, to kill Alison. It wasn’t spur-of-the-moment. She wanted to be a partner at Foodie Publishing. Alison kept dangling the carrot, but she never drew up a contract.”

  “If Ingrid is to be believed.”

  “Right.” I grabbed a piece of construction paper and a crayon from the supplies on the table and explained my theory while drawing my own kind of map, outlining where and when Ingrid went on the night Alison was murdered. “Ingrid and Alison argued after the book club meeting. Alison fired her.” I wrote The Cookbook Nook on the map. “Ingrid went back to Wanda Foodie’s house.” I added WF house. “I imagine Ingrid sulked at first, then she got angry. Steaming mad. That’s when the idea to kill Alison must have come to her. She went to Vines for fortification.” I drew a line from WF house to Vines.

  “Ingrid ordered a bottle of wine, but she only drank a glass; that was enough to solidify her resolve. She returned to Wanda’s to give herself an alibi, but Wanda Foodie was already asleep, and Neil was out of the house.” I quickly explained that he was the pot-of-doubloons thief. “So, to cover the time span, Ingrid claimed she went for a spin.” I drew a line that doubled back to WF house and another that zigzagged around Crystal Cove. “Ingrid said she nearly ran into Old Jake, which made him drive off the road.”

  “She forced Jake off the road?”

  “No, that’s just it. She didn’t. I’ll bet she learned through the grapevine that Jake often pulls to the side to rest his eyes, as he says. It’s common knowledge. It’s no big deal. He’s never hurt anyone. Except Jake didn’t fall asleep that night.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw him at the café. He was having his monthly meal with Dad. I asked him about the incident. He said he knew for a fact that he had not been run off the road or dozing because he drank three cups of coffee to stay awake so he could see the Victory pull into the bay.” I flashed on the mess at Sweet Sensations. “Could it have been Ingrid who turned Coco’s shop topsy-turvy?”

  “What? What? What?” Bailey squawked sounding like a macaw stuck with a one-word vocabulary.

  Oops. I hadn’t told her about the break-in yet. I recapped last evening.

  Bailey spanked the table. “That’s all Detective Appleby did? Make a report? Sheesh. Why didn’t Coco call me?”

  “She did. You, um, didn’t answer. You and Tito . . . I would imagine . . .”

  Bailey scruffed the back of her neck. “Talk about feeling guilty.”

  “Don’t. Coco wasn’t in danger. It was vandalism, pure and simple. Or at least I thought so. Now I’m wondering whether it could have been a deliberate message.”

  “Why would Ingrid tear up Coco’s place?”

  “Because she was angry at Coco. She knew Coco had Alison’s ear. Coco was her prized cookbook author.” I paused. “You heard Ingrid lash out at Coco at the crime scene. She said Alison was making cuts to Coco’s latest manuscript. Coco denied it. Maybe Ingrid believed Coco had drawn the line with Alison: Enough with the hypercritical copyeditor. Either Ingrid goes or I go. Coco had, after all, pursued another publisher.” I flashed on the multiple recipes open on Alison’s computer. “What if Alison had Coco’s older recipes on her computer screen because she was revisiting Ingrid’s editing work? What if she determined Ingrid was being unduly harsh on Coco?”

  “Hold it.” Bailey raised a hand. “There’s one flaw to your theory. Ingrid didn’t know Coco was going out that night.”

  “Maybe she did.” I pictured the three of us having drinks at Vines after the book club meeting. Simon and Coco had flirted. I didn’t realize that was what they were doing at the time. Did Simon contact Coco later? “Ingrid went to Vines after us that night.” I jabbed the crayon on the word Vines on the map. “What if she overheard Simon on his cell phone setting up the tryst with Coco?”

  “Oh, that’s good. That makes sense.” Bailey nodded. “So Ingrid went to Coco’s and watched her leave.”

  I added Coco’s house to the map. “Maybe she even saw Dash hanging around, taking photographs.”

  “When all was clear, Ingrid went inside.”

  “Right. The door was unlocked. Alison didn’t turn around when Ingrid entered because she could see Ingrid’s reflection in the darkened window. She didn’t feel threatened. Ingrid grabbed the shears, stabbed Alison, and drove around for a few hours, hoping to establish her alibi.”

  “That settles it.” Bailey spanked the tabletop again. “I’m going over to Wanda Foodie’s house to confront Ingrid.”

  Chapter 24

  BAILEY LURCHED TO her feet. Both cats startled and yowled. Bailey didn’t seem to care; she darted to the sales counter to fetch her purse.

  “Wait.” I bolted off the miniature chair and nabbed Bailey by the elbow. “Let’s call the precinct.”

  “And get the same runaround Coco got from Detective Appleby last night?”

  “Cinnamon will listen.”

  “No, she won’t. Not to theories. She needs facts.” Bailey slung her purse over her shoulder and sprinted toward the exit. “For Alison’s sake, I’ve got to make sure Ingrid doesn’t get a foothold with Wanda Foodie.”

  “She won’t have a shot at taking over the company. Neil is onto her.”

  “But Wanda isn’t.” Bailey tore out the door.

  Actually, Wanda was; she didn’t think Ingrid could handle the pressure of running Foodie Publishing, but my opinion wouldn’t make my pal change course. I stared after her, wondering what I should do. Bailey was usually rational, but not always. I remembered a time at Taylor & Squibb when an ad campaign for Beat the Heat lemonade was in full cycle. Bailey, who was in charge of monitoring television, magazine, and Internet campaigns, went on a rampage, from cubicle to cubicle, yelling at everyone because a station had messed up airing the ad. She felt responsible. Beat the Heat, the first product from a local start-up company, was a product she believed in. Everyone, from the big boss down to me, assured Bailey it wasn’t her fault, but she lost it. Fond feelings for the company’s president might have been involved. After her scream fest, she buried herself under a blanket for nearly a week. I couldn’t let her go off half-cocked now, could I?

  Aunt Vera entered the shop. “Hello, dear.” The draped folds of her red-and-black caftan billowed behind her.

  “Perfect timing,” I said and rushed past her to apprehend Bailey. I nearly bumped into my father.

  “Perfect timing for what?” Dad asked.

  I quickly explained the situation. I shot a finger at Bailey’s retreating figure.

  Aunt Vera said, “Don’t go yet. Let me do a reading for you.”

  My father wagged a finger. “Don’t stall her, Vera. Go, Jenna. No time to waste.”

  Wow. Wow. Wow. Did my father just jump to my defense?

  “I saw that young Lake woman packing a car,” my father continued. Wanda Foodie’s house wasn’t far from m
y father’s. “Go!”

  I paused. “Why are you two together?”

  “We went to breakfast,” my father said. “We’re starting a new tradition. Once a week, every Thursday.”

  Something quivered at the pit of my stomach. My father was a person of habit, but my aunt was not. For her to set a regular date with my father made me leery. Was she sick? Was Dad? Were they trying to make the most of their last days together?

  Gack, Jenna, stop it. Don’t overreact.

  “Is everything okay?” I said.

  My father grinned. “Yep.”

  “Your health is good?”

  “Yep.”

  I looked to my aunt. “Yours, too?”

  “Yep,” she said as briskly as my father.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” they said and exchanged a look.

  “Uh-oh. Is this weekly powwow intended to discuss me?”

  “Darling,” Aunt Vera said. “That sounds entirely paranoid.”

  “Though astute,” my father said.

  “Swell.” I didn’t have time to ask why they were chatting about me. They were family; they would discuss my fate forever.

  Eager to divert the conversation from me, and feeling somewhat puckish, I said to my aunt, “By the way, that darling, delectable Detective Appleby wants to have a chat with you.”

  She gawped. “When did you see him?”

  “At Sweet Sensations, after it was trashed.”

  “Trashed?” my father said. “How could you not tell us that the moment we walked in?”

  “Later!” I ran after Bailey while yelling over my shoulder, “By the way, the deputy’s mother reads tarot, too! It’s fate.”

  “Jenna, wait!” my aunt yelled to no avail.

  I stopped Bailey before she could hightail it out of the parking lot in her Toyota RAV4. “I’m going with you.”

  “Get in.”

  She didn’t give me time to put on my seat belt before roaring forward.

  We arrived at Wanda Foodie’s in less than eight minutes. Ingrid Lake was, indeed, piling her things into a yellow taxi. She gave a pillow a shove, tossed in a dark blue overnighter, and headed back up the path without closing the door to the car.

  Bailey and I parked in a hurry and snaked up the winding brick path. The front door hung open. We walked inside and found Ingrid returning to the foyer with a wheeled suitcase. She shrieked and braced a hand on the antique console abutting the wall. The ceramic vase of silk flowers teetered.

  Ingrid steadied the vase then shimmied to her full height and dusted off her pencil skirt. “You startled me.” Her lips moved; her teeth didn’t. She balled her hands into fists.

  Bailey took a step toward her, looking feistier than all get-out.

  Ingrid crowded back against the console. “What’s your problem?”

  “Where are you going?” Bailey asked.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Ingrid, dear, who’s here?” Wanda Foodie appeared in the hall from the direction of the kitchen. She was carrying a china cup set on a saucer. The liquid in the cup was steaming. As before at The Cookbook Nook, she seemed fragile. Her face looked puffy from crying. “Oh, Jenna and Bailey, it’s you. Come in. Sit down.” She gestured languidly toward the living room. “Did you come by to send Ingrid off? Would you care for some coffee or tea?”

  I shook my head and remained in the foyer. “We’re not staying, but thank you. We came to speak with Ingrid.”

  “What about?”

  “Her alibi for the night Alison was killed doesn’t hold up.”

  “Oh my.” Wanda teetered. Her eyes grew moist.

  I hated to bring up her daughter’s murder again, but until the case was solved, she would have to find the courage to face facts.

  “Let me explain.” Bailey reiterated Old Jake’s account as if she had been the one to hear it directly. “Care to revise, Miss Lake?” Her tone was just shy of take-no-prisoners.

  “I told you”—Ingrid scowled at Bailey and then me—“I was with Wanda. Watching television and then—”

  “Were you?” Wanda squinted, as if trying to remember.

  “You fell asleep.”

  Wanda yawned and covered her mouth with the back of her fingertips. “Yes, I probably did. What did we watch?”

  “CSI.”

  “My favorite.”

  “I know,” Ingrid said. “You chose it. I prefer food shows.”

  Wanda yawned again. Neil’s claim about his mother’s health zipped through my mind and summoned a previous thought about how similar Wanda and Alison were. I said, “Wanda—”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Did Alison have narcolepsy, too?”

  “What do you mean, too?” Bailey cried.

  I recapped Neil’s account. Was it possible that Alison hadn’t defended herself from an attack because she had fallen asleep at the computer keyboard? If so, anyone—not just Ingrid or Coco—could have sneaked up on her.

  “Is the ailment hereditary?” I asked.

  Wanda hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Does Neil have a form of it? He zones out, though he won’t admit it.”

  Wanda frowned. “I don’t believe so. He’s simply overworked. It’s my fault.”

  Ingrid set a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “What a crock,” Bailey sniped. “You knew. You counted on her falling asleep so she would be your alibi.”

  “I did not know,” Ingrid protested.

  “You had to.” Bailey spoke like Ingrid did, through tight teeth. “Alison was conscientious. She would have warned you to be on alert in case her mother needed help.”

  “Alison didn’t. I swear.”

  Bailey shot a finger at Ingrid. “Your eyelids are fluttering. You’re lying. If Alison didn’t tell you, Neil did.”

  “Neil never tells me anything.” Ingrid spit out the words with such venom that I wondered again whether there had been a relationship between them. Had they dated and broken up? Was that why Neil was so adamant that Ingrid not be able to buy the company?

  Bailey pressed on. “When you went to Coco’s house that night, you counted on Alison being dead to the world.”

  I winced at her choice of words.

  “I did no such thing,” Ingrid shouted. “I came home and then I went to Vines, and . . .” Ingrid swung her gaze between Bailey and me. “I wasn’t lying when I said I drove around, but—”

  “You lied about running Jake off the road.” I jutted a finger.

  Ingrid threw up her hands. “I needed something concrete. Who would believe me otherwise?”

  “You’re right about that!” Bailey snapped. “Especially now that you’ve put in a bid for Foodie Publishing.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “You want to buy the company?” Wanda blurted.

  Ingrid looked ruefully at the woman who had put her up for a week. “No, Wanda . . . Mrs. Foodie. I mean, yes, I want to, but Neil won’t let me.” She glowered at Bailey and me. “Do you honestly believe I would kill Alison so I could make a run at the company? Get real.”

  “You didn’t know Neil would stalemate you,” I said.

  Ingrid smirked. “That’s true. I have to admit I was surprised he had a say in it. I thought Alison would have cut him out of any portion of her estate. She hated him.” Ingrid glanced at Wanda, who looked as if Ingrid had mortally wounded her. “It’s true. He hated her, too. He said—” She cut herself off.

  “What did he say?” I asked. “Are you and he involved?”

  “Involved? Ha!” Ingrid sniggered. “Neil and I went out one time to a comedy club because a friend of mine was the main attraction. Neil got snockered.”

  “He doesn’t drink,” Wanda said.
>
  “Sure he does. He’s rather sloppy. He starts running off at the mouth. Let’s just say he was not complimentary about Alison.”

  Wanda’s hand shook. The cup and saucer rattled. She reached out with her other hand as if groping for something to steady herself.

  I guided her to a ladder-back chair on the far side of the console and said, “Sit.” I took the cup and saucer from her and set it on the console. “Do you want some water?”

  Wanda shook her head. “Go on, Ingrid, tell us everything.”

  “There’s nothing more to tell.” Ingrid shrugged. “Neil and Alison were not allies. Leave it at that. It doesn’t matter now. Neil gets the business. He’ll run it into the ground.”

  I said, “Neil claims you would do the same.”

  “I wouldn’t. I have a head for business, and a passion for what I do.”

  “And a bent for being persnickety when it comes to editing,” Bailey sassed.

  “It’s not a crime to seek perfection.” Ingrid ran her fingers along the lapel of her suit jacket. “If that’s all, I’m leaving.”

  “I’m calling the police,” Bailey said.

  “Go ahead. You have no proof that I killed Alison, which I didn’t.”

  “Don’t move.”

  Ingrid cocked her head. “Are you planning to cuff me?”

  “I would if I could.”

  Bailey would, too. I’d never seen her this aggressive. Without taking her eyes off Ingrid, she pulled out her cell phone and stabbed in 911.

  I eyed Ingrid’s suitcase. “Where were you planning to run to?”

  “I wasn’t running.” Her chest heaved with the exertion. “I was heading back to the city. I have to downsize. Without a job—”

  “Did Neil fire you?”

  Wanda said, “He wouldn’t dare,” and reached for Ingrid’s hand.

  Ingrid didn’t budge. “It’s all right, Wanda. This will be my fresh start.”

  Not if she was in jail, I thought.

  A deputy arrived in minutes. Bailey, brimming with steam, filled him in. Ingrid, still professing her innocence, went willingly to the precinct.