Death of a Crabby Cook

Author:Penny Pike
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Tired from the day, I headed for the RV around eleven and fell into its welcoming bed after barely pulling on the Cinderella pajamas Aunt Abby had bought me. I’d offered to spend the night in the house with her, but she’d insisted I get a good night’s sleep. She’d promised to do the same. When I left her, she was still sitting at the counter, jotting down notes and sipping wine, tomorrow’s potpies waiting in the fridge to be finished.

I startled awake at seven fifteen, when my phone played “It’s a Small World.”

My first thought was that Dillon had returned.

“Aunt Abby?” I said into the phone.

“Come here! Quick!” she said. Goose bumps rose on my arms.

Grabbing my robe, I hurried over to the house and let myself in through the unlocked sliding door at the back.

“Aunt Abby?!”

My aunt was sitting at the kitchen island where I’d left her the night before. She was wearing the same green warm-up suit and fuzzy socks, and her mascara had left shadows beneath her eyes. Her curly red hair was a little flatter than usual, and there was an imprint of inked letters on one cheek. Spread around her were several dozen recipe cards.

“Your phone call scared me,” I said to Aunt Abby, patting my chest. “What’s up? Is Dillon back?” I glanced around the kitchen and dining area.

“Sit down,” she said calmly, patting the other stool.

I pointed to her face. “You have something on your cheek.” I took a detour and headed for the cupboard, then pulled down two mugs. One read “Drink Coffee. Do Stupid Things Faster with More Energy,” and one read “Be Nice to the Lunch Lady. She Knows How to Poison Your Food.” Filling the cups, I reheated the coffee in the microwave and brought them to the counter. I grabbed a paper towel and moistened it, then handed the towel to my aunt. She rubbed the side of her face so much that she smeared the ink, making one cheek look sunken and bruised.

“You haven’t been to bed all night, have you?” I asked, sitting down and surveying the spread of recipe cards. The ink on the cards matched the ink on her cheek.

“I couldn’t sleep. Too worried about Dillon and too worked up about finding the killer.” She swiped at her cheek again. “I guess I dozed off at some point.” She picked up the pen and wrote something on one of the recipe cards. I’d never seen her look so excited about a few ingredients.

“Have you been writing recipes ever since I left you last night?”

I took a sip of coffee and set the cup down.

“Careful!” Aunt Abby said, pulling a card away from my mug.

Touchy? It sounded like my crabby aunt needed this coffee more than I did.

“You need to get some real sleep, Aunt Abby. Aren’t you supposed to head over to the School Bus soon? Why are you sitting here writing recipes?”

“These aren’t exactly recipes,” she said cryptically.

I picked up one of the cards.

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