Inherit the Word (The Cookbook Nook Series) by Daryl Wood Gerber Read Free Book Online Page B

the rails, acting up and committing juvenile-style crimes, my father, who had a history with Cinnamon’s mother, stepped in to offer support. When Cinnamon showed an interest in the law, my father steered her back to Crystal Cove. Long story short, he now cared for her like a daughter.
    My father hurried to Lola and put his hand on her elbow. “Put the knife down, darling.” Another big shock for me . . . Recently, I’d learned that my father and Lola were dating. My mother would’ve been happy that my father had found someone, especially Lola. She and Lola had been good friends. “You’ve got plenty of staff to do the cooking,” Dad said. As always, he was as tranquil as a summer sea.
    Lola turned to him, her blue eyes wide with dismay. “How did you hear? You weren’t at the competition.”
    “I arrived at The Cookbook Nook late. I’m so sorry. Of all days to have a run on T-nuts.” After retiring, my father, who didn’t need money because his FBI analyst work had filled his coffers to overflowing, had purchased a quaint hardware store; he opened the shop when he cared to.
    “I didn’t do it,” Lola said.
    “I know.” He stroked the nape of her neck. “Everyone in town knows you didn’t.”
    “Not her.” Lola eyed Cinnamon.
    “Hush, Lola.” The mayor emerged through the archway. “Don’t say another word. I’m going to represent you.” She, like Lola, was also a licensed lawyer; however, her clients were mainly real estate purchasers, not criminals. Not that Lola was a criminal. She wasn’t.
    “I don’t need you, ZZ,” Lola said. “Besides, you can’t. That would be a conflict of interest. You’re my friend.”
    The mayor wagged a finger. “Only a fool represents herself.”
    “What is this, a convention?” Cinnamon said. “Everyone out.”
    Lola gazed at the burgeoning crowd. Suddenly, as if doused with awareness dust, the lines in her forehead smoothed out and she stood taller. With a command befitting a judge, she said, “Chief Pritchett is right. Out, everyone, otherwise I’ll have the health authorities on my case. Out. Chief Pritchett, my office. Please.” She whipped off her prep gloves, tossed them in the trash beside the sink, and marched from the kitchen.
    Near the hostess desk, I caught up to Cinnamon. “Lola didn’t do this.”
    Cinnamon paused and held up a hand. “I respect your passion, but I heard about the argument between Lola and Natalie in front of the Word the other day.” One of her colleagues must have filled her in after I left the crime scene.
    Bailey joined us. “Natalie Mumford was the one who was livid.”
    I concurred. “Lola was making light. She always does. She never holds a grudge.”
    Cinnamon muttered something under her breath. As she entered the office, the feeling of apprehension that hit me earlier returned. The office seemed as stark as a prison cell: one desk fitted with a blotter and an in-and-out box, a chair, a file cabinet, a couple of pictures of Lola with her staff or with Bailey, and one lonely wooden totem of fish going upstream that Bailey had carved at Girl Scout camp. Lola stood beside the metal desk, arms by her sides, chin raised defiantly.
    I said, “Chief, I’m guessing you’ve got something more on Lola, something other than supposition and your mother’s biased statement, or you wouldn’t be here.”
    “We have a document.”
    “A document?” Bailey bleated. “What kind of document?”
    At Taylor & Squibb, I was the lead for the Legal Easy campaign, a do-it-yourself approach to law. In each ad, a ghostly paper assaulted a Scrooge-like man. Each paper was scrawled with his signature. An image of a confession signed by Lola floated before my eyes.
    Bailey said, “Mom, do you know what document the police found?”
    Lola nodded. “That’s what we were discussing when all of you barged into the kitchen.”
    “What is it?” Bailey looked as if she was trying to brace herself for the worst.
    “A letter of