After breakfast…
“Shouldn’t we have this conversation in privacy?” Glendaree asked, patting her gray curls and casting her disparaging gaze at my grandmother.
I’d requested that Gamma sit in on my interview with the new “client” to put more pressure on Glendaree. I had my suspicions about her already, and as a spy, I’d learned to pick up on strange vibes. And on the weird vibe-o-meter, Glendaree was hitting a solid 10.
“We are in privacy.” I gestured to the egg-yolk yellow walls in the dining room. The guests had left the gorgeous glossy tables with their crystal vase centerpieces over twenty minutes ago.
“I mean…” Glendaree nodded to my grandmother. “Is this how you usually conduct business?”
I withdrew a pen from my apron along with my mini-notepad and tapped them both on the table. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bijon, I was under the impression that you needed my help?”
“I do.”
“Then surely you trust me to do a good job,” I said.
“Yes. Of course. I believe you’ll find the maniac who took my beloved recipe book.”
That’s a strange way to put it. “Then you’ll have to trust my processes,” I said. “Including involving Mrs. Franklin in this conversation.”
“Fine,” she said, after a beat. “But you have to admit that it’s rather strange.”
As strange as wearing a bronze kaftan to breakfast?
Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly fashion forward. “Now,” I said, opening my notepad and uncapping my pen. “Talk to me about what’s going on. You said your recipe book was stolen two days ago?”
“Yes.” Glendaree allowed herself a final shift of eyes toward my silent grandmother. “Yes, two days ago. From my very room in this very inn.”
“And you’re staying in the Lavender Room,” I said. “Is that correct?”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
“When did you first notice that the recipe book was missing?”
Glendaree interlaced her fingers and rested them on top of the table. “It was when I got back from dinner at the Hungry Steer, this horrible little barnyard themed restaurant. I don’t recommend going there.” She shuddered, delicately. “I returned and my bedroom door was ajar. I didn’t think anything of it until I found that my dressing table had been opened and my recipe book was missing. I immediately reported it to the police.”
I noted down the information, keeping my private thoughts from the page. She hadn’t thought anything of her door being ajar? Suspicious.
“All right,” I said. “And what did the police say?”
“That they would get to the bottom of it. But they refused to take fingerprints. They didn’t even come to the crime scene, for heaven’s sake. I’m starting to think they aren’t taking this seriously.”
Gossip was a small town. There wasn’t much going on apart from the occasional theft, domestic dispute, and petty crime. A guy like Goode, who liked to get involved in everything, would’ve been here in a heartbeat if it gave him an opportunity to investigate something.
And to annoy me. Slow heat crept up my throat. The last time I’d talk to Detective Aaron Goode had been different to say the least.
“What’s wrong? You’ve gone red.”
“Nothing,” I said. “Back to the recipe book. You’re saying it was stolen because of the Tri-State Baking Competition, yes?”
“What other reason could there possibly be? I’m the star baker. The woman who won the last competition, and people know that I keep my best recipes in that book. They’d do anything to get their hands on it if it meant sabotaging me.”
“Right. So it stands to reason that the thief is one of the contest’s entrants, correct?”
“That’s what I believe.”
“Then who do you think might’ve done this?” I asked.
Glendaree immediately started listing off names. “There’s Kaley Wren, Colton Harrison, and my main suspect,” she said, “is Brenda Tippett. The runner-up in last year’s competition. Mean little witch of a woman who always wears mauve. Mauve!”
“Brenda’s a Gossip resident,” Gamma said, quietly. “She lives on Brewer Lane.”
I noted the names down, drawing a line under each of them, and adding the extra information for Brenda Tippett. “Is there anything else you can tell me about that night? Anything unusual that happened?”
“No,” Glendaree said. “That’s everything I can think of. Please, you’ve got to find my recipe book. If someone uses my key lime pie recipe to win, I’ll just die!”
A flair for the dramatic or a foreboding omen? You never knew in Gossip. Regardless, I had my suspect list and my starting point.
It was time to do what I did best. Poke the bear.