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

since the day I met her,” Emma continued.
    “Were you her patient?”
    “No. She and I met while working on the Winsome Witches luncheon. I was so inspired by her. She was such a giving person. I’ve never had feelings like that before. Ever. My husband . . . He doesn’t understand me like Pearl did. I didn’t want to hurt him, but what could I do? Deny what was turning me inside out? I wanted to be with Pearl for the rest of my life.”
    “What happened next?” Cinnamon said. “After you told her.”
    “She said in very clear terms that she was not in love with me, nor would she ever be. I told her I could make her love me. She said I was transferring or something like that.”
    Doctor-patient transference. A common incident.
    “I said she was wrong, and I’d prove it to her. I took off my ring and hurled it into the fire. She tried to catch it but missed. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Then she said I shouldn’t have done that. She said she didn’t feel the same about me. She never would. She was in love with a man. She wouldn’t tell me who.”
    “And that made you mad.”
    “No, not mad. I was embarrassed. My heart was pounding so hard. I ran out.” Emma wept loudly. “After that, I couldn’t go home. You understand. I couldn’t face my husband. I still love him, too. I couldn’t hurt him like that. So I went to work. And then, in the light of day, I realized I had to talk to somebody—not my husband—so I went to see my mother.”
    Had Edward found out about Emma’s yearning anyhow and gone to Pearl to confront her? Was he the one who killed her?
    “Pearl said I had to come to grips with reality. Around nine A.M. this morning, I came back to Crystal Cove, but I had to eat before confronting my husband.”
    “Why didn’t you call him?”
    “I know it was bad of me. He must have been worried. But I didn’t want to say anything wrong on the telephone.”
    Inexplicably, I felt as if someone were giving me the evil eye. I turned just in time to spy Pepper marching toward me. How did Bailey miss seeing her enter? How did I miss hearing her thundering footsteps?
    Pepper gripped my arm. “What do you think you’re doing, Miss Snoop?” I tried to wrench free. Man, she was stronger than I assumed. She propelled me forward, through the stockroom curtain. “Cinn,” she said to her daughter. “Look who I found listening in on your conversation.”
    Cinnamon’s gaze blazed into me. My cheeks stung with guilt. “What did you hear, Jenna?”
    My mother often warned my siblings and me that spying on people would get us in trouble. I was never certain whether she was equating being a childhood sneak to whatever it was my father did for the FBI. My siblings and I were pretty sure uncovering secrets were part of his job description. Finally, I admitted, “Everything.”
    Emma moaned.
    “Do you have any questions of your own?” Cinnamon said with a bite.
    I knew she was being sarcastic, but come to think of it, yes, I did have some questions. “Emma, you said you went searching for Mrs. Hammerstead’s Havanese after you left Dr. Thornton’s house. Did anyone see you?”
    “I wasn’t paying attention,” Emma said. “Ho-Ho responds to a dog whistle. I was blowing it.”
    Pepper said, “Was that you near Azure Park around eleven P.M. ?”
    All of us turned to face her.
    Pepper shrugged. “What are you staring at? You know I take late-night walks.”
    A few months ago, on one of her infamous walks, she claimed to have seen me herding my friend—the celebrity chef who was killed—to the beach. Her statement, until she rescinded it, nearly implicated me in that murder.
    “I heard someone yelling,” Pepper went on. “The person was all crouched over. I couldn’t make out the face. Was that you? You were wearing a yellow shirt.”
    “Sweater.” She gestured to her top. “Yes, that was me. Thank you for noticing.” Emma hurried to Pepper and clutched her hands.