“What was that?” Lauren asked, pausing as she dished bacon onto a silver platter.
“I believe that’s what they, in the business, call a rage-filled scream,” I replied, heading for the swinging kitchen doors with their porthole windows.
“There’s been a lot of screaming the past few days. I hope it’s not catching,” Gamma put in, following me out into the dining area.
As usual, the room was packed with the Gossip Inn’s guests. But unlike usual, a woman stood in the center of the room, her fists on her hips, glaring around as if she was a queen who had been offended by her loyal subjects.
Glendaree Bijon in high dudgeon. Man, I’d had a feeling that this week was about to take a turn for the worse.
“You’re lucky I don’t report you all to the police,” she said, casting her arms wide. Today, she wore a shimmering bronze kaftan, her hair curled tight against her scalp. Bangles clacked up and down her arms and oversized earrings tugged on her earlobes. “If you don’t own up to being a witness to this crime, I will ensure that you are prosecuted as an accessory!”
“Mrs. Bijon,” Gamma said, and that practiced calm was back in her tone. “You appear to be disturbing my guests. Kindly resume your seat. Breakfast is about to begin.”
“How can I possibly eat breakfast when this horror is unfolding before my eyes?” She gave Gamma an imperious stare.
“I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about, Mrs. Bijon,” Gamma said. “There are no ‘werewolves’ on the premises and—”
“I’m not talking about werewolves,” Glendaree scoffed. “My recipe book was stolen two days ago and no one has done anything about it. I demand justice!” She glanced at me, surreptitiously, likely believing that the look would go unnoticed. But I caught it.
Mrs. Bijon was up to something. Color me intrigued.
Gamma had noticed too and pressed two fingers to my elbow, indicating that I should take the lead.
“Your recipe book was stolen?” I asked.
“Yes,” Glendaree said, lowering her voice. “As last year’s winner of the Tri-State Baking Competition, my competitors will stop at nothing to prevent me from claiming the top spot again this year. That recipe book was my secret weapon. A Bijon family heirloom containing my winning recipe for key lime pie. It’s unbearable that it’s fallen into the hands of a thief. An enemy. Someone who wants to see me fail.”
“I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Bijon. But this is the first we’re hearing of it,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell us that your recipe book was stolen sooner?”
Glendaree’s torture expression shifted to one of shock for a millisecond then back again. Oh, you’re hiding something all right. “Because I thought the police would be able to handle it, but Detective Goode at the station has proven to be an inept fool. I took my problem to them and he was assigned to my case. He has done nothing to find the perpetrator. Can you believe that?”
I shook my head but didn’t answer.
Glendaree stared at me, expectantly, but I waited. The longer I remained silent, the higher the pressure weighed on her to fill in the gaps.
“If I don’t find that recipe book, I’ll just, well, I don’t know what I’ll do. I need it to perform in the Tri-State Baking Competition.” She withdrew a flowery handkerchief from her kaftan sleeve like a magician. She dabbed underneath either eye.
“I wish we could help you, but—” I started.
“You can!” Glendaree practically yelled it. “I know I’m not a resident of this town, but in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve heard a few things.”
“Such as?” Gamma asked.
“My friends in town tell me that if I have a problem, then you, young lady, are the woman I should talk to. Is that correct?”
Now, how on earth had she learned that within a span of a week? I was Gossip’s “fixer”, the person people came to when they needed a problem handled without police involvement. But the folks in town, while they enjoyed gossiping, tended toward keeping that gossip in town circles. They excluded outsiders. And this was Glendaree’s first time in town.
Something’s fishy about this.
It had been so quiet lately. Any opportunity to annoy Detective Goode was also a plus. The new officer had gotten on my nerves more than once already.
“Sure,” I said, at last.
Glendaree clasped her hands together, smushing her moist handkerchief between her palms. “I will pay you for your services, of course. Whichever rate you think is fair. All I care about are results, you know. I want the perpetrator tracked down and brought to justice. And I need my recipe book back desperately. The competition is mere days away. Please, please, you’ve got to help me, Miss Smith.”
No way had Glendaree remembered my name. Every bit of this was suspicious, and I lived for that, if I was honest with myself.
I considered the proposition, aware of my grandmother’s presence at my side. She was calm, watching, but I knew her well by now. Gamma would want me to check this out, if only to prove that Glendaree was up to something.
And while I was at it, I could find out how Jessie Belle-Blue had gotten on the judging panel. Between baking and the new ghost tours set to start this week, there wasn’t much else to do. Besides, kibble wasn’t cheap, and any extra money I brought in would help my grandmother.
“All right,” I said, quietly, aware that some of the other guests were watching and desperately trying to overhear the conversation. “I’ll take your case. We’ll talk about it after breakfast.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Miss Smith. Thank you!” She took my hand and clutched it, squeezing it tight. “I just knew you would find it in your heart to help me.” She fluttered her long lashes at me before tottering off to the table in front of the dining room windows.
“I assume you’re going to find out why she’s acting so strangely,” Gamma said.
“You can count on that.” We headed back to the kitchen to fetch the serving dishes and start the breakfast service. Questions broiled in my mind.