A Cookbook Conspiracy by Kate Carlisle

could anyone leave it behind? But not everyone loved books for their own sake. Maybe
     the killer had grabbed it to sell for quick cash.
    I thought of Kevin’s visible reaction to seeing the book. She’d certainly had her
     eye on it. Had she stolen it? I hoped not. Because right now, I was fairly certain
     that whoever had taken the cookbook was also the person who had killed Baxter.
    I finally left the detectives to their business and wandered out to the bar to keep
     Savannah company. She had fallen asleep again with her head resting on her arms, so
     I whispered her name a few times.
    She opened one eye and saw me. “I’m so exhausted.”
    “I know, Bugs.” I sat on the barstool next to her. “Bad enough that you’ve been on
     your feet all day, but then you had to go through the trauma of finding Baxter dead.
     I blame myself for not forcing you to come home with us earlier.”
    “It’s not your fault,” she said.
    Wasn’t it? I wondered. It seemed to be my karma to come across dead bodies lately.
     And I wasn’t even sure I believed in karma. Wasn’t it like payback for something I’d
     done in a previous life? Whatever it was, finding dead bodies was getting to be a
     habit with me. And more and more frequently, the people I loved became collateral
     damage.
    After another ten minutes, Lee and Jaglom walked back into the bar. Inspector Jaglom
     apologized to Savannah for keeping her waiting.
    “That’s all right,” she said. “I know you’re busy taking care of Baxter.”
    “Thanks for your understanding. Would you mind coming with me now to answer some questions?”
    “Are we going to the police station?” she asked again. She was so tired, she sounded
     like a naive young girl.
    “No, no. Let’s just find a quiet table on the other side of the room.”
    “Okay.” As she slid off her stool, I noticed her shivering, so I grabbed my coat and
     handed it to her. “Here, put this on.”
    “Oh, thanks, Brooks.” She tossed it over her shoulders, pulled it tight around her,
     closed her eyes and sighed. “So much better.”
    My crazy bald sister could be outspoken, judgmental, and crabby as hell. But right
     now she looked so vulnerable, it almost broke my heart.
    “May I sit with her?” I asked Jaglom. “I promise I’ll be quiet.”
    He thought about it for a moment. “Sure.”
    I took her hand, and we followed the good-hearted inspector to the far corner of the
     room. He picked out a table for four and sat down across from us with his notepad
     open in front of him.
    “So you’re a chef,” Jaglom began. “That must be an interesting way to make a living.”
    “I love it,” she said. “My specialty is vegetarian cuisine.”
    “Ah. Now, I know that’s a healthy way to eat,” he said, patting his round stomach,
     “but I’m more of a burgers-and-fries man myself. Probably obvious, right?”
    Savannah smiled and I wanted to hug him.
    “Now, Savannah, can you tell me what happened tonight? After the restaurant closed,
     who else was here besides you and Mr. Cromwell? Just start wherever you want and I’ll
     interrupt you if I have a question.”
    Savannah recounted everything she’d told me and Derek earlier. Jaglom stopped her
     often to ask her to repeat something or toclarify something else. She named all the chefs and brought up what Baxter had said
     about the fish knife. She remembered some details she’d left out of her explanation
     to me and Derek.
    Suddenly the front door was shoved open, causing us both to jolt.
    “What the hell?” Inspector Jaglom muttered, then relaxed as two techs wheeled a gurney
     into the restaurant. “It’s just the team from the medical examiner’s office.”
    “Hear we’ve got a pickup,” one of the guys said, and the other one snickered. I could
     tell they were a regular laugh riot around the morgue. A serious-looking woman walked
     in behind them and waved to Inspector Jaglom. I figured she must be an assistant medical