inside and flipped through the first few cards in the pile in front of him. Two soups, three desserts, and a main course. “This is a random bunch of recipes.”
“They look random to you. Like most women, you’re not geared toward numbers. I’m sorting the recipes by how many ingredients they have. The ones in that pile all have seven. I figure when I run out of the ones with five ingredients, I can just cross out two lines in these recipes.” He beamed at her like a teacher who’d just explained subtraction to a second grader.
She counted to five before replying. “I would have located some simple recipes for you. We could have cooked them together. You didn’t give me the chance.”
“You’ve been gallivanting for the last twenty-four hours. I couldn’t wait any longer.”
True. She’d left him on his own since yesterday morning. “You haven’t cooked anything for seventy-odd years, and now you want to start yesterday. What’s the rush?”
“Well, I’m not getting any younger.”
“Don’t play the age card with me. You have something up your sleeve.” Possibly to do with that paper he’d hidden under a pile when she came in. Today she couldn’t spare the time to find out what he was up to, not with a murder charge hanging over Monique. Val walked behind his chair toward the kitchen and the back staircase. “Any calls for me while I was gallivanting?”
Granddad pointed to a stack of recipes on index cards. “You know why I put that pile of recipes aside? They all have stuff in them I don’t recognize. Sofrito. Tempeh. Kofta. What kind of food is that?”
Changing the subject wouldn’t work with her. “Did I get any calls, Granddad?”
He sniffed. “Yeah. Gunnar. He reserved a tennis court for four-thirty today.”
Granddad wouldn’t have even mentioned that call without her pressing him on it. He was still poring over her recipe collection when she left the house.
She drove to the Bayport police station. The chief could see her in half an hour. While waiting for him, she reported on last night’s road incident. The gray-haired officer who took down her information wanted to know as much about her actions as the other driver’s. Had she perhaps cut off the SUV, blown her horn, or gestured? The officer concluded the interview by giving her a handout with tips on dealing with road bullies.
Chief Yardley fetched her from the reception area. “Let’s go outside. I was about to take a break anyway.” He led her out a back door to a small yard enclosed by a chain link fence.
She followed him to a bench shaded by a white oak. “I saw my cousin last night. She told me she’d burned the racket at Nadia’s house.” Val leaned against the back of the wood bench.
He took out his pipe and sat down next to her. “She tell you anything else?”
“That she didn’t kill Nadia. Monique is a good person, Chief. Right now she’s under a lot of stress, which explains why she set that fire.”
He opened a leather pouch containing tobacco. “Doing something under stress is okay. Lying to the police about it two days later isn’t.”
“She’s ashamed of what she did. That’s why she didn’t tell me or the police at first. That doesn’t mean she’s a murderer. Is she a suspect?”
“She’s guilty of starting a fire on someone’s property. That much we know.” The chief filled his pipe. “We’re still gathering evidence about the murder.”
Val could guess what evidence they’d like to find to clinch the case against Monique. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the racket at the murder scene wasn’t shaved with the hatchet you found at Monique’s, was it?”
“It was carved exactly the same way as the burned racket, but with a sharper tool.”
“Doesn’t that mean someone else did it? She’d have used the same hatchet.”
The chief drew on his pipe. “Not necessarily. Maybe she had a hard time carving the first racket. Her hatchet was old and dull, so she bought a new
“They look random to you. Like most women, you’re not geared toward numbers. I’m sorting the recipes by how many ingredients they have. The ones in that pile all have seven. I figure when I run out of the ones with five ingredients, I can just cross out two lines in these recipes.” He beamed at her like a teacher who’d just explained subtraction to a second grader.
She counted to five before replying. “I would have located some simple recipes for you. We could have cooked them together. You didn’t give me the chance.”
“You’ve been gallivanting for the last twenty-four hours. I couldn’t wait any longer.”
True. She’d left him on his own since yesterday morning. “You haven’t cooked anything for seventy-odd years, and now you want to start yesterday. What’s the rush?”
“Well, I’m not getting any younger.”
“Don’t play the age card with me. You have something up your sleeve.” Possibly to do with that paper he’d hidden under a pile when she came in. Today she couldn’t spare the time to find out what he was up to, not with a murder charge hanging over Monique. Val walked behind his chair toward the kitchen and the back staircase. “Any calls for me while I was gallivanting?”
Granddad pointed to a stack of recipes on index cards. “You know why I put that pile of recipes aside? They all have stuff in them I don’t recognize. Sofrito. Tempeh. Kofta. What kind of food is that?”
Changing the subject wouldn’t work with her. “Did I get any calls, Granddad?”
He sniffed. “Yeah. Gunnar. He reserved a tennis court for four-thirty today.”
Granddad wouldn’t have even mentioned that call without her pressing him on it. He was still poring over her recipe collection when she left the house.
She drove to the Bayport police station. The chief could see her in half an hour. While waiting for him, she reported on last night’s road incident. The gray-haired officer who took down her information wanted to know as much about her actions as the other driver’s. Had she perhaps cut off the SUV, blown her horn, or gestured? The officer concluded the interview by giving her a handout with tips on dealing with road bullies.
Chief Yardley fetched her from the reception area. “Let’s go outside. I was about to take a break anyway.” He led her out a back door to a small yard enclosed by a chain link fence.
She followed him to a bench shaded by a white oak. “I saw my cousin last night. She told me she’d burned the racket at Nadia’s house.” Val leaned against the back of the wood bench.
He took out his pipe and sat down next to her. “She tell you anything else?”
“That she didn’t kill Nadia. Monique is a good person, Chief. Right now she’s under a lot of stress, which explains why she set that fire.”
He opened a leather pouch containing tobacco. “Doing something under stress is okay. Lying to the police about it two days later isn’t.”
“She’s ashamed of what she did. That’s why she didn’t tell me or the police at first. That doesn’t mean she’s a murderer. Is she a suspect?”
“She’s guilty of starting a fire on someone’s property. That much we know.” The chief filled his pipe. “We’re still gathering evidence about the murder.”
Val could guess what evidence they’d like to find to clinch the case against Monique. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the racket at the murder scene wasn’t shaved with the hatchet you found at Monique’s, was it?”
“It was carved exactly the same way as the burned racket, but with a sharper tool.”
“Doesn’t that mean someone else did it? She’d have used the same hatchet.”
The chief drew on his pipe. “Not necessarily. Maybe she had a hard time carving the first racket. Her hatchet was old and dull, so she bought a new
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