Fudging the Books (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 4) Read online

  “You. Know.” Simon spit out the words. He shifted the wine bottle to his other hand.

  Did he intend to cudgel me with it? If so, I needed a weapon, pronto. A pencil sharpener sat on the cluttered desk. It would make a fine blunt object. Even a sharp pencil had some merit. The pair of children’s scissors were worthless.

  No, calm down, Jenna. Simon hasn’t made a move toward you. The wine bottle is probably getting heavy. Control the conversation.

  “You look tired, Simon. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? Let’s chat tomorrow after you’ve rested up.”

  “You called Coco.”

  Aw, heck. Did Coco phone Simon and alert him to my suspicions? What universe of denial was she living in?

  “You were staring at me,” he added.

  “I already apologized.”

  “Something I was doing at the chalkboard made you suspect me.”

  I had to give him credit. He was good at reading me.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  No way. I was not blabbing that the note cards he had been holding triggered a memory. That I pictured the mess of cards on the floor at Coco’s shop. That when he wiped his hand on his pant leg—

  “You didn’t expect me to show up here, did you, Jenna?”

  Nope. Not in a million years.

  “I left Vines, but I doubled back,” he went on. “You didn’t see me reenter the bistro. I heard you call Coco.”

  Hooray. She hadn’t phoned to warn him. It was wrong of me to even jump to that conclusion. But, wow, Simon had taken craftiness to a whole new level. How had he hightailed it out of the bistro and returned to where I couldn’t see him? Did it matter?

  “You know,” he repeated.

  I sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to relent. “Yes, I know. You killed Alison Foodie because she decided not to publish your book. That made you mad. Actually, it made your wife mad, and she shamed you into doing something about it. For your mother’s sake. Before your mother dies.”

  “My mother.” Simon said the word with such disdain.

  Mama’s boy popped into my head. Neil wasn’t the only one.

  “Coco told me your book is good. It’s about your great-grandfather. It includes some of your mother’s recipes. Why did you need Coco’s recipes, Simon?”

  “My mother’s weren’t enough.”

  As I had surmised.

  “Alison wanted more,” he hissed. “She said cookbooks aren’t simply about the pictures and the historical accounts. They’re about the recipes. I couldn’t wrangle any more of my mother’s or even my grandmother’s recipes out of my sister. She has control over everything. She hates me. She wants to see me fail.”

  A fleeting concern about Rhett, off to see his mother, darted through my mind. I pushed it aside. No matter what was wrong, he would survive. He was a survivor.

  So was I.

  “Simon, tell me about Coco.” I had to keep him talking while I figured out a plan of escape. With the cats. “You envied the relationship she had with her mother and her grandmother, didn’t you?”

  Simon didn’t respond.

  “You seduced Coco. You knew how needy she was for your love.”

  He kept mute.

  “Your fatal mistake, Simon, was when you swiped a recipe that Coco had already published in a previous book. Alison realized it. She called you on it. What I don’t understand is why kill her? Why didn’t you admit you made a mistake and move on?”

  “I did admit it. Weeks ago. We agreed to pull some recipes, start fresh. But last Thursday, Alison texted me. She said she couldn’t follow through. She said I couldn’t be trusted. She vowed to tell others. My reputation. It would be ruined. I couldn’t have people thinking I was a phony and a liar. Rage overtook me. I was insane.”

  “Uh-uh. An insanity plea won’t work. You mapped out your plan to kill Alison long before she came to town. You registered your wife for the conference to get her out of town. Then you set up an alibi with Coco. That was pretty clever.”

  He smirked.

  “You brought champagne to your tryst. You’re a wine bistro owner. Coco was a regular at Vines. You knew what champagne did to her. Just in case the champagne didn’t make her sleepy enough, for the pièce de résistance, you suggested a bath.”

  Simon shifted the wine bottle to his other hand. His dominant hand. Uh-oh.

  I glanced again at the desk. How about a letter opener as a weapon? That would be poetic justice. Stab the person who stabbed Alison. Too bad it was out of reach. My purse, which I’d set on the floor while dealing with the cats, was heavy and would pack a punch, but I’d have to bend over to reach it. If I did, the back of my head would make a perfect target.

  What else could I use? Think, Jenna.

  “You tiptoed out,” I said. “You went to Coco’s house. It was just around the corner from Nature’s Retreat.”

  Simon stepped toward me. There were tons of books to my right, but none readily accessible. Shoot.

  I said, “You saw Alison inside the house. Alone. You slipped inside.”

  “No. First, I spotted Dash. Loitering outside. Snapping photographs like a fanatic paparazzo. Loser.” Simon sniggered. “So I waited. When he left and I finally got to make my move, lo and behold, Alison was asleep at the computer. I’m ashamed to say it was like child’s play. It couldn’t have been easier. I felt like a tiger with a kitten.”

  Tigger and Hershey hissed in unison.

  “I entered the house, grabbed the scissors—”

  “After you killed Alison,” I cut in, “why didn’t you delete the recipes off the computer?”

  “I tried to, but she had so many darned files open. I erased at least a dozen. Then I heard a sound. I thought Dash had returned. I ran.”

  “You cleared Alison’s phone of text messages.”

  He didn’t contradict me.

  “You trashed Sweet Sensations so you could put the recipes back in the box. You knew that if Coco ever came to her senses she would realize you had arranged the affair to provide yourself with an alibi. If you put the recipes back, it was one less loose thread.”

  “Smart girl.” He slinked toward me.

  I inched backward. “I should’ve figured something was up when your wife started hovering over you, not letting you out of her sight. She even went bird-watching with you. She loathed bird-watching.”

  “She hates pretty much everything I do. I make her sick.”

  “Speaking of sick, Coco was ill the night Sweet Sensations was trashed. She got nauseous right after she flew upstairs to talk with you that afternoon. She threw up in her purse. Come to think of it, your wife was ill that same night. Did you give them something that upset their digestion so they’d be out of your hair while you trashed the candy shop?”

  Simon sneered. “Arsenic is so easy to get your hands on. Slipping it into a piece of cheese was easy. I didn’t give either enough to kill them.”

  I cringed. The man had no shame.

  “And now for you.” Simon hoisted the bottle of wine, ready to strike.

  “Wait!” I squeaked. “I called Chief Pritchett.”

  That made him pause.

  “I told her about the duplicated recipes.”

  “Liar.”

  “She’s checking out Alison’s computer right this minute. She said she’d call me back. If she doesn’t reach me—”

  “Dead men tell no tales. Arrr.”

  Man, I hated Pirate Week.

  “Enough parrying.” Simon swung at me.

  I ducked and pivoted. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied the box of pirate décor. The four-foot-long, three-masted metal galleon with the lethal-looking bowsprit was poking out of the top. I leaped to it and pulled the ship free. I swooped around and, wielding the ship like a sword, lunged at Simon.

&nb
sp; He raised the bottle of wine as protection.

  I shoved the bowsprit beneath and into his chest. The tip didn’t penetrate, but Simon careened backward and plunged to the floor.

  Hershey dashed at him. Claws bared, he bounded onto Simon’s face and latched on. Tigger, taking his cue from his former enemy, did the same, landing on Simon’s groin. Simon yowled at the top of his lungs.

  Serves you right, I mused.

  I wrenched the bottle of wine out of his hands, planted a foot on his abdomen, and wielded the bottle with a two-handed hold. “Don’t move!”

  The front door squeaked open. “Jenna?” a man called.

  “Rhett!” I’d never been so happy to hear his voice. I mean, I had, but considering the situation . . .

  The front door banged shut. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t dare lose my hold on Simon.

  “In here!” I yelled.

  Rhett pushed through the drapes and drew alongside me. He gazed down at my quarry. “What the—”

  “He killed Alison.” I quickly recapped Simon’s confession.

  Rhett bent down, nudged Hershey off Simon’s face, and landed a punch squarely on Simon’s jaw. Simon’s head rocked to the left. His eyes fluttered closed. Out for the count. Too bad his count wasn’t anything like Alison’s.

  Hershey joined Tigger at his lower-region post. The two nuzzled chins.

  Rhett caressed my face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted one more kiss before I left town.”

  As he leaned in, I heard the front door whoosh open and bang closed.

  Bailey yelled, “Jenna!”

  I pushed apart from Rhett and cried, “In here!”

  Bailey rushed into the stockroom, followed by Tito. Bailey gaped at Simon. “What’s going on? Is he . . . Did he . . .”

  I nodded. “He murdered Alison. What are you two doing here?”

  Bailey smirked. “Tito missed seeing Hershey.”

  The cat heard its name and sprinted to Tito. He bounded into the reporter’s arms.

  The front door to the shop opened again. Footsteps pounded the floor. The drapes split apart.

  Cinnamon Pritchett took in the scene, drew her weapon, and aimed it at Simon, who was rousing and moving his jaw. “Is there a party I wasn’t invited to?” she quipped. “Jenna, how many times have I told you to answer your cell phone when I’m calling?”

  I grinned at Simon. “Told you she’d check up on me!”

  Chapter 29

  CINNAMON HANDCUFFED SIMON, read him his rights, and marched him out of The Cookbook Nook. He demanded a lawyer. Cinnamon promised to comply, but she warned him his prospects of being set free in his lifetime were between nil and none.

  The next day started out busier than ever. Before opening the shop, the delivery guy showed up with the balance of items we had ordered for Valentine’s Day: cookbooks, fictional foodie books, red- or pink-themed kitchenware, aprons, and decorations. Thank heavens. The special day was a mere two days away. Customers would be frantic to purchase the best, most unique gift for their loved ones.

  Bailey nabbed the pink heart-shaped sun catchers and hung them in the display window. Sunlight shot through them. Rays of pink light radiated across the shop. Perfect.

  I arranged groupings of spatulas and mitts and salt shakers and pepper mills on tables already filled with Valentine-themed books. I set a Ghirardelli Chocolate cookbook on a metal cookbook holder that had an adorable heart-scrolled top, and placed The Sweet Book of Candy Making: From the Simple to the Spectacular—How to Make Caramels, Fudge, Hard Candy, Fondant, Toffee, and More!—perhaps the longest title I’d ever read on a cookbook cover—on another cookbook holder. It was more of a technique book than a recipe book, but who couldn’t use help with technique? Namely, me! I hung a couple of retro red polka-dotted aprons on the hooks by the front door. I stood there for a moment, fingering an apron, which reminded me of the apron my mother used to wear. Where had it gone? Did my sister have it? I decided to buy one for myself and plucked it off the hook.

  “Sale!” I announced.

  Bailey laughed.

  Aunt Vera had thought ahead and stocked up on a couple of Wilton classics like the heart-shaped Bundt pan and heart-shaped springform pan. She’d also found a darling decorative heart pan by Nordic Ware with a tooled bottom. A single-layer chocolate cake would look fabulous baked in it. In addition, she had remembered to purchase do-it-yourself kits for children so they could make their own bookmark valentines using felt, glue, and paper clips. Quite clever. Tigger had his nose and one paw in the box with the kits.

  “Tig-Tig, no!” I chirped.

  Tigger offered an impish look. At times, I think he believed he was invisible. Silly cat.

  I was setting up the register for the onslaught of customers we expected when Coco hurried into the shop carrying a shopping bag from Sweet Sensations. Her makeup was perfect, her cotton candy–pink dress stylish to the max. Her eyes welled with grateful tears. “I heard about Simon. I can’t believe it. I simply can’t. But if it’s so”—she batted the air with her free hand—“then it’s so. The bigger fool am I. I brought you something.” She pulled a pink-beribboned box out of her shopping bag. “One for you.” She thrust it at me and pulled out another. “Bailey, this is for you.” She fetched a third. “Vera, for you.”

  “For me?” my aunt said. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Coco’s eyes twinkled. “I saw you rubbing your amulet on my behalf.” She slung the bag over her forearm. “They’re truffles. White chocolate raspberry.”

  “My favorite,” I said.

  “I know.” She turned to leave.

  I said, “Coco, wait.”

  She spun back. The tears that she had been keeping at bay seeped from her eyes.

  “We’re always here for you.” I gestured between my aunt and Bailey. “Anytime you want to talk.”

  “What I want to do is go through life with eyes wide open from now on.”

  “What about your next cookbook? What’s going on with that?”

  “I don’t know. Time will tell. One mustn’t crave what one can’t have.” She said it so wistfully. Had she found the slogan in one of our mini inspirational books? “And now I must get back to the shop. We’re overrun with orders.” She hugged us and raced away.

  Soon after, a number of the cookbook club women, including Lola, the mayor, and Pepper showed up, each eager to hear what had happened.

  Pepper was quite vocal about how she had never trusted Simon. His shifty eyes had tipped her off.

  Lola told us Gloria had already put Vines Wine Bistro on the market. She hated the place. The mayor believed Gloria would move to the Wine Country to take care of Simon’s aging mother. There was a huge population up north that needed an exercise guru.

  “So much for stand by your man,” Bailey quipped to me.

  I knuckled her and said, “I’m sure she’ll return for the trial.”

  “I’ll make you a bet.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “But honest.”

  Bailey guided the book club ladies to the table holding the new Valentine’s Day books, and I returned to the sales counter.

  I was plunking in a stack of five-dollar bills when Wanda and Neil Foodie sauntered into the shop. I cut around the counter and hurried to Wanda. She gave me a hug. Neil hung back.

  “Jenna, dear,” Wanda said. “You have been such a godsend. Thank you for figuring out who killed my Alison.”

  “Bailey was as much a part of the solution as I was.” I gestured to Bailey. She left the group of ladies and joined us.

  Wanda hugged her fiercely. “Alison adored you.”

  “And I adored her,” Bailey said.

  “I’d like the two of you to be the first to know, we’re
keeping the business.” Wanda reached for her son. He sidled toward her. “C’mon, Neil, get over here. Don’t be shy, son.”

  He moved beside her.

  Wanda brushed her hand along his shoulder and down the top few buttons of his shirt. Primping. “Neil came up with the brilliant idea to hire someone already in the publishing business to run it.” She petted his cheek.

  Neil blushed.

  “Dash recommended the woman to us,” Wanda went on. “She’s a New York editor who wants a quieter life and smaller responsibilities.” Wanda grabbed her son’s hand and squeezed. “She adores Dash, so he’ll continue to be part of the team.”

  “What about Ingrid Lake?” Bailey asked. “Will she become a partner in the firm?”

  “We’ll have to see.” Wanda glanced at Neil. “She’s a good girl. A little uptight.”

  “A little?” Neil jibed.

  Wanda tsked. “Ingrid needs some grooming.”

  “Which mother has decided to do.” Neil rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t worry. She is not taking the place of your sister,” Wanda assured him. “No one can.”

  “And you, Neil?” I asked. “What are your plans?” If Vines was closing and he couldn’t take a day job because of his mother’s illness, where would he work at night?

  “Neil,” Wanda said, answering for him, “will be going back to school. If he wants to be a performer, he needs more training. There’s a wonderful stand-up comedy teacher in San Jose.”

  Wow. Wanda was supporting her son’s dream to become a comedian? I said, “Doesn’t Neil need to tend to you?”

  Neil eyed his mother. “She won’t let me. She’s hiring a day person.”

  Wanda beamed. “My son shouldn’t be bound to me by a ball and chain. He should be encouraged to follow his soul. I did. His sister did.” She released his hand. “Well, girls, I must tell the mayor. She’ll want the full scoop.” Wanda steered Neil to the book club clique.

  Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Close a door, open a window.”

  I agreed. “Expect rainbows at the end of rainstorms,” I added, quoting something my mother used to say to me.

  Aunt Vera sidled up to Bailey and me while brushing her hands free of remnants of cardboard boxes. “Bailey Bird, you have something you want to say.”