I sat on the bench underneath our favorite tree in the inn’s front yard. This was my rendezvous point with my grandmother—where we did most of our scheming, plotting and mission planning. We could be sure there was no one listening out here, and we could keep an eye on the front of the Gossip Inn while we were at it.
Gamma hadn’t arrived for our “meeting” yet, so I waited, watching as birds swooped between the trees, the heat building the closer we got to the afternoon. The lunch service prep would start soon—I didn’t have much time before I’d have to get to the kitchen and help out Lauren.
“Look alive, Charlotte,” Gamma said, talking into my ear.
I managed not to jump. “Did you have to do that?”
“You’re losing your edge,” she replied. “We may not be in the ‘business’ any more, but we have to maintain a level of professionalism. One never knows when an old ‘friend’ might pay a visit.”
Gamma was referring to the many enemies she’d gathered during her years as a spy. She had, so far, evaded attention. Nobody expected the most decorated spy in the NSIB’s history to be hiding out in an inn in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, Texas.
“Right,” I said. “In my defense, I have been keeping fit.”
“By fit, do you mean how many cupcakes you can fit into your mouth at once?”
“Sassy.”
“Truthful,” Gamma said, then rounded the bench and sat down. She patted me on the leg. “I’m just looking out for you.”
My grandmother was rarely affectionate, and I smiled at her. “I know.”
“So.” Gamma smoothed her hands over her skirt, ensuring that it covered her knees appropriately. She was the picture of grace when she wasn’t in black spy gear. “Tell me about Brenda Tippett’s death.”
News traveled fast in Gossip—I hadn’t been explicit about why I’d wanted to rendezvous underneath the tree when I’d sent Gamma the text.
I told her everything I’d witnessed, and showed her the picture of the muddied boot prints that were at odds with the dry flowerbeds, recounted the kitchen’s appearance, including the key lime pie and water, the state of the victim, and Brenda’s red cheeks.
“Red cheeks, you say.” Gamma tapped her chin. “A flushed face.”
“Poisoning for sure.”
“Remember the last time, Charlotte. One must learn from one's mistakes.”
“I know, but this seems obvious. And I saw her corpse in full this time.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Gamma fell silent, frowning.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I’ll have to do some research on this,” she replied. “It’s interesting, that’s all. What do you make of it, Charlotte? I’m intrigued to hear your opinion.”
“I think I probably shouldn’t get involved. I wasn’t hired to solve a murder, but to find a recipe book,” I replied. “But the temptation… Oh, man, you should’ve seen Goode’s face when he arrived on the scene. He was enraged that I was there.”
“Enraged?”
“Well, not enraged. He was doing that sarcastic, annoying—”
“Set aside your crush on the obnoxious detective for a moment, Charlotte.”
“Crush!” I spluttered for a few seconds. “Crush? You can’t be serious, Georgina. Him? He’s a— And me? I’m a— I wouldn’t—”
“Stop. You’re only making this worse for yourself.”
I swallowed. “Anyway,” I said, trying to ignore how hot my cheeks had grown. I’d been through enough with my ex-husband, and with my ex-boyfriend. I didn’t need more man trouble. “Anyway, I should focus on the mystery of the recipe book.”
“It might be that Brenda was murdered for the book. If it contained the winning recipe from last year, as Mrs. Bijon claims, there’s motive. The baking competition does have a $5,000 grand prize.”
“For baking a pie?”
“Apparently, it’s a rigorous competition with several stages of elimination. They televize portions of it.”
“We’ll have to stay out of the way if that’s the case.”
Gamma nodded. “You have three suspects for the theft of the recipe book, and I’m already conducting research on them. But I believe you should add another name to the list.”
I didn’t have to ask whose. “Glendaree Bijon.”
As if summoned from the nether by the mere mention of her name, the woman herself strode from the front of the inn, paused on the porch and lifted a hand to her forehead, shading her eyes as she scanned the inn’s grounds.
She had changed out of her ridiculous bronze kaftan and opted for a silver one instead. Who knew wardrobe changes were a requirement when preparing for a baking competition?
“She might’ve taken her revenge on Brenda for stealing her recipe book,” I said. “Or for allegedly stealing the recipe book. She’s got a temper.”
“Agreed.”
Glendaree spotted us sitting under the tree—no rest for the wicked—and strode down the front steps, her kaftan whipping out behind her like a silvery tail. She strutted like she was on a catwalk, her glittery eye make-up practically blinding.
“You!” She stopped in front of us. “You were meant to be a professional!”
“Beg pardon?” Gamma arched an eyebrow at her.
“I’m talking to Miss Smith, not you,” Mrs. Bijon snapped, turning on me again. “I hired you to do a job. To find the thief and my recipe book. Not go out to Tippett’s house and discover her dead body.”
“I went to interview a suspect you named,” I replied, calmly. “She was dead. That’s interesting, don’t you think, Mrs. Bijon?”
“No, it’s not interesting in the slightest, unless you’re hiding my recipe book somewhere underneath that disgusting outfit.”
I had on a pair of plain blue jeans and a sleeveless blouse. “There’s no need to get personal, Mrs. Bijon. I’ll find the thief and your recipe book. Rest assured.” Interesting that she was so unconcerned about Brenda’s death, though.
“You didn’t even look around for the recipe book in her home, did you?” Mrs. Bijon replied.
“I found a corpse, Mrs. Bijon. A crime scene. I had no choice but to call the police. Where were you this morning?”
“I was at an appointment in town. And nevermind that! She might have been hiding the recipe book in her home! What if the police found it and took it in as evidence? What if I never get it back? I paid you the first half of your fee, Smith. I expect results.”
“Quiet,” Gamma said.
Mrs. Bijon opened her mouth and snapped it closed. Clearly stunned by the interruption and my grandmother’s harsh tone.
“You won’t speak to one of my staff in such a manner,” Gamma said, then flicked her fingertips at Mrs. Bijon. “Go back to the inn and wait for your lunch. Now.”
“How dare you. I will have you—”
“Now.” Gamma gave her the icy stare that struck fear into the hearts of full-grown men. Criminals.
Mrs. Glendaree Bijon didn’t stand a chance under that scrutiny. She tucked her silvery kaftan tail between her legs and hurried back toward the inn, not daring to look back.
“Annoying woman.”
“She had a point,” I said. “I need to get back to the crime scene. Poke around. See if I can find anything the police haven’t. What if the recipe book was actually there and I missed it because I was doing the right thing?”
“You’ll have to wait for them to release the scene,” Gamma said. “You don’t want to tamper with evidence.”
I was irritated at the thought of Goode getting information I didn’t have, but my grandmother was right. Disturbing a crime scene would get me in trouble and potentially expose my grandmother’s position here in Gossip.
We had to be careful.
And I had to figure out who had stolen the recipe book. Besides, if I returned to Brenda’s home, I might find a few clues that related to the murder. And if those just happened to fall into my lap, why shouldn’t I use them to figure out who’d killed her? It would be doing Goode a favor, and keeping my favorite town in Texas safe.