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

I thought you were going back to D.C. for work.”
    “I did go, and then decided to take some time off this week. I drove here straight from a meeting.”
    That explained the suit. Val gave Granddad an I-hope-you’re-satisfied look. “My grandfather saw you at the town dock Saturday night. You and a guy with a mustache.”
    “Right. We were supposed to go night fishing. The captain canceled the trip because of rough water.”
    Granddad stroked his chin. “Can’t say as I blame him. He’d have to swab the deck after you weekenders upchucked into the wind.” He ignored Val’s glare. “What line of work you in, Gunder?”
    “Gunnar. Accounting.”
    “Business must be slow for you to take off when you like. You got your own firm?”
    “Not yet, though I may before long. For now, I have a government job and a lot of accumulated leave.”
    “That so?” Granddad crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “What part of the government?”
    Gunnar looked amused at the inquisition. “Treasury. Internal Revenue Service.”
    Granddad ran his finger under his collar and stared at the porch floor. If Val were an IRS auditor, she’d take his body language as a “tell” and comb through his tax returns.
    She wiped sweat from her forehead. Why was she thinking about taxes when she had a murder and a missing cousin to worry her? “Gunnar, I know my grandfather recruited you to drive me to my cousin’s house, but I can drive myself.”
    “She doesn’t want to impose on . . . I mean . . .” Granddad trailed off. He must have known he’d given Gunnar an opening and couldn’t think of a way to retract it.
    Gunnar smiled at Val. “You’re not imposing. I can’t check into my B&B yet anyway, and I’d enjoy your company.”
    Her spirits, in the dumps since finding Nadia dead, lifted slightly. “Thanks. Let’s go then.” She grabbed her bag from the hall.
    Her grandfather acted as if she’d included him in her “let’s go.” He followed them to the curb and eyed Gunnar’s red Miata. “I guess some people don’t need a practical car.” He glanced at his Buick parked in front of Gunnar’s two-seater.
    Uh-oh. Val guessed what he’d say next, suggest they all drive together in the behemoth Buick. Bad enough that he set her up with Gunnar. Now he would chaperone her too. She touched his shoulder. “I’ll call you from Monique’s. I know you’re concerned about . . . things.”
    His eyes locked on hers. “Less concerned than I was, but take care.”
    She took his words as acceptance, though not approval, of her leaving with Gunnar. Granddad turned back toward the house.
    Gunnar held out the car keys to Val. “Why don’t you drive? You know the way.”
    Six months ago she would have grabbed the keys to a sports car with no second thoughts. “You drive. You know your car.” And if you knew me, you wouldn’t trust me with it.
    Val directed Gunnar along side streets to avoid the traffic in the historic district. She watched his right hand cup the gearshift, the dark hairs curling over his cocked wrist. Something stirred in her. While his face had rough patches, that hand looked smooth and deft.
    She pointed to a row of shops at the edge of town. “You see the art gallery there? It used to be my grandfather’s fish market. From seafood to seascapes, Bayport’s history in a nutshell. Once upon a time the folks here built ships and caught oysters. Now they cater to weekenders decorating vacation homes.”
    “The shops changed, the small-town atmosphere didn’t. People like your grandfather still feel at home here. By the way, I enjoyed meeting him.”
    She didn’t hear any sarcasm in his voice. He couldn’t have missed the negative vibes Granddad had beamed at him. “You saw him in high curmudgeon mode. I wish I could tell you he isn’t always like that, but I’d be lying. Turn left at the next intersection. Once we’re on the peninsula, you’ll have a view of the Chesapeake. Bayport, despite its name,