By Cook or by Crook (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) by Maya Corrigan Read Free Book Online Page A

personality far better than her given name, Charity.
    “Because she wants her to ferret out the culprit, and of course, I’m first on the list.” Monique glanced back at Gunnar, who was pressing buttons, texting a return message. “Who is that guy? How long have you known him?”
    “I met him Sunday night. We played mixed doubles. He’s visiting from Washington and—” Val broke off as Gunnar approached them.
    “I have to head to town now.” He jotted on a scrap of paper and handed it to Val. “My cell phone number. I’ll come back to pick you up. Call me when you’re ready.”
    “Don’t bother driving all the way here again,” Monique said. “I can drop Val off when I run errands in town.”
    He nodded, agreeing more quickly than Val liked. She watched him leave with mixed emotions. Now she wouldn’t have to mince words when she told Monique about Nadia’s murder, but she’d looked forward to riding back with him. Who’d summoned him to town? The fishing buddy who looked like a pirate, or someone else he knew in Bayport?
    The heat from the asphalt driveway penetrated the soles of Val’s sandals. “My feet feel like dough baking on a pizza stone. Let’s go inside and talk.”
    While her cousin carried shopping bags to the bedroom wing, Val phoned her grandfather from the family room adjacent to the kitchen. She told him she’d located Monique and would hitch a ride back to town with her. No hurry, Granddad told her, he was going out to dinner with a friend. She’d have pressed him for details if she hadn’t been so anxious to talk to her cousin.
    Monique collapsed onto the sofa next to Val, slipped off her sandals, and put her feet on the kidney-shaped coffee table. “What’s up?”
    “Nadia is—” Words stuck in Val’s throat like muesli without milk. “She’s . . . dead.”
    Her cousin’s mouth dropped open. “Dead? A heart attack, or what?”
    “She was murdered. Last night. In her house.”
    Monique clapped one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach, looking as if she was fighting nausea. “Murdered in Bayport? I can’t believe it. You think you’re protecting your kids by keeping them out of cities, but no place is safe anymore.”
    Shock had narrowed her focus. A murder near her sanctuary. Her children at risk. How long before Monique, the photographer, widened her lens and saw the risk to herself?
    Monique stood up and wandered as if in a trance to her retro kitchen. Its knotty pine cabinets and laminated counters belonged on the set of a 1950s sitcom. Nostalgia for the past didn’t interfere with her passion for the latest appliances. Her fingers danced over the surface of the espresso-latte-cappuccino maker. The contraption had enough dials, levers, and buttons for a cockpit. It might even fly. Right now it was revving up, grinding beans.
    The coffee fragrance apparently woke Monique from her daze. She leaned against the counter. “It’s terrible about Nadia. Too many maniacs with guns out there.”
    Val joined her at the kitchen counter. “Maniacs with guns aren’t the only people who commit murders. You had a grudge against Nadia and made it public. You might end up a suspect.”
    Monique flinched as if Val had thrown ice water at her. “You think I killed Nadia?”
    “Of course not. I just want to warn you that the police will have questions.”
    “I have nothing to hide. I’ll be glad to answer their questions.”
    Typical Monique. Whenever they were behind in a tennis match, she showed similar bravado. But Deputy Holtzman made a more formidable opponent than any they’d met on the court. “It won’t be a cakewalk, Monique. The deputy who—” A chirp from the cordless phone on the counter interrupted Val.
    Her cousin grabbed the phone. “Hi. . . . Val just told me. Isn’t it awful?” She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s Yumiko.”
    The club’s tennis manager. The news about Nadia had obviously reached the club. While Monique