Inherit the Word (The Cookbook Nook Series) Read Online Free PDF

contest. Katie helped. Though the contest would be held in the shop, we had closed the café because Katie and her staff wanted to watch the proceedings. Katie thought she might swipe some of the recipes, her prerogative, seeing as The Cookbook Nook was the host for the event. With Aunt Vera and Bailey’s help, we rearranged furniture, put out folding chairs, and relocated the roller-footed bookstands from the center of the shop to the sides. Afterward, we wheeled in four portable cooking stations, each set with two burners.
    At 3:00 P.M. , I wedged open the front door of the shop and let in the eight contestants. A horde of customers, eager to get inside, already stood in line.
    Natalie Mumford, drenched in a floral perfume, crossed to the left-center cooking station, set her cell phone on the console, stowed her tote on the shelf beneath, and tugged on the hem of her blue suit jacket. Then she squared her shoulders and waved like a beauty queen at people peering in through the shop’s windows. My aunt confided to me that Natalie was superstitious; she wore the same outfit at every competition. I understood. Back in college, I wouldn’t take a test if I hadn’t donned something white. Superstitions are silly, but I didn’t fault anyone for having them.
    Bailey’s mom, Lola, clad in a hot pink sweater and snug jeans, wasn’t to be put off by Natalie’s choice of stations. She joined Natalie at the left-center console and gave her a broad-beamed
I’m-gonna-win-this-time
grin. Natalie responded with an equally sassy smile. A moment of panic flitted through me as I imagined the two of them going at it like Helena and Hermia to win the heart of the handsome Demetrius in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Or worse, going at it like female mud wrestlers.
    Please, please
, I prayed.
Be civil, you two.
    Mitzi Sykes, the eight-time runner-up and costar of last year’s YouTube spatula fiasco, strode to the end station closest to the sales counter. Though Mitzi was at least fifty years old, she didn’t look a day over forty, with her savvy hairstyle, svelte shape, and ultra-smooth skin. She pulled a water bottle and a recipe card from her oversized purse. As she scanned the recipe card, her lips moved. I wondered if the mayor of our fine town had warned Mitzi and Natalie to behave. Maybe the mayor was secretly hoping for a reprise? Some claim that even bad publicity is good publicity.
    Four more contestants entered, including Flora Simple who was a local shop owner wearing a hand-beaded outfit, a hunky fireman who was the poster model for the fire department, a baby-faced teacher, and a lanky librarian.
    Tito Martinez, our local reporter, an irksome, full-of-himself man, entered last and was forced to take the position at the cooking station closest to the exit. He didn’t seem to mind. While twirling a key ring around his index finger, he said, “It matters not where I stand. I will cook circles around all of you. I am the fittest and most prepared.” Like I said, irksome to the max. He sniggered like a middleweight fighter egging on his opponent. The muscles of his chest pressed against his black silk shirt; his cocoa, canine-alert eyes blazed with serious intention. He pocketed his keys with overly dramatic flair, then set a leather-bound book on the countertop beside his burner. “I will be making a
muy especial
grilled cheese.” Tito loved to throw occasional Spanish phrases into his speech. “From my personal recipe collection,” he added.
    His
personal
collection? Like
he’d
created them? I nearly laughed. Last month, he claimed that every recipe he owned came from his dearly departed
abuela
—
grandmother
.
    “You’ll go down first, Tito,” Natalie said.
    “Over my dead body,” he replied, messing up the metaphor, which caused the corner of his mouth to turn up in a snarl and start to twitch. The poor guy would be lousy at poker.
    “All right, all right.” Our mayor, in a burgundy suit that underscored her