Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) by Daryl Wood Gerber Page A

doctor’s house?”
    “At ten P.M. , I returned to work and discovered a pet missing from its confine. Mrs. Hammerstead’s Havanese. The dog’s a sneaky little thing. He can open any cage. I didn’t want to tell my boss. I might lose my job. I spent two hours looking for him. When I found him, around midnight, I took him back to the clinic.”
    “And then you went home?”
    “No. My husband hates when I disturb his sleep, so”—Emma hesitated—“I walked.”
    “Why?”
    “I needed time to—” She slurped back something that sounded like tears.
    “Time to what?”
    “Think.”
    “About?”
    “Something.” Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper.
    I inched closer. Why was she being so evasive?
    “Where did you walk?”
    “Anywhere. Everywhere. The beach. The road. I browsed shop windows.”
    “All night?”
    “Yes.”
    We had a few homeless people in Crystal Cove. The weather was moderate, which made it an ideal place to tuck in for the night. But Emma had a house. And a husband. What had stirred her so much that she walked all night? Had she killed Pearl? Was she trying to fashion an alibi?
    “You didn’t go home in the morning,” Cinnamon said.
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I . . .” Emma clicked her tongue. “I drove up to see my mother in Santa Cruz.”
    “Your husband said he called her. She hadn’t seen you.”
    “She was lying. She knew I . . . I needed time.” More slurping.
    “Here’s a tissue.” I heard Cinnamon pull a Kleenex from a box. Emma blew her nose. “Let’s go back to your last minutes at Dr. Thornton’s home. Did you and the doctor argue?”
    “What? No.” Emma sniffed. “Look, she was alive when I left.”
    “I have something to show you. Do you recognize this?”
    Emma gasped. I ached to peek through the break in the drapes and see what Cinnamon was holding, but I held back.
    “Is this your wedding ring?” Cinnamon asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “There’s an inscription and the date of your wedding inside. Care to revise your statement?”
    Emma started crying again. “Yes, it’s mine. Where did you find it?”
    “I think you know,” Cinnamon said, revealing nothing, leaving me hanging. “We wondered why Dr. Thornton was sprawled across the fire pit. That prompted me to do a search of the ashes. My people found your ring.”
    Why would Emma’s ring have been in the ashes?
    “I was”—Emma hiccupped—“asking Pearl for advice.”
    “About your marriage.”
    “I wanted to leave my husband.”
    “Is that all?” Cinnamon said.
    Emma didn’t respond.
    I imagined the scenario on the patio. Pearl probably told Emma to keep a clear head and wait until morning to address her problem. But Emma wouldn’t listen. She was upset with her husband for whatever reason. She tossed her ring into the fire pit. Pearl tried to catch it. I paused. No, that wasn’t right. Pearl wasn’t burned on any part of her body. She had fallen or lain across the fire pit after the ashes cooled. I was missing something.
    “Talk to me, Mrs. Wright,” Cinnamon said. “You’re not telling me everything. You wanted to leave your husband for what reason? Did he cheat on you?”
    Emma remained silent.
    “Did he abuse you?”
    “No.”
    “Did he threaten you in any way?”
    “No. Edward is kind. He adores me. It’s . . . I . . . I was in love with Pearl. I needed to know if she felt the same.”
    I gasped.
Knock me over with a feather.
Realizing Cinnamon could have heard my outburst, I quickly covered by saying, “Ow, Tigger, don’t scratch me.” Poor little guy was halfway across the shop dallying with an elderly customer who came in every day to give Tigger an ear scratch. My outburst must have put Cinnamon on alert. Her voice dropped to a whisper. So did Emma’s. I glanced around the shop. Bailey was tending to customers. No one was looking in my direction. Curiosity getting the better of me, I dared to creep closer to the curtain.
    “I’ve loved Pearl