Read Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) for Free Online

abrupt halt. “Can y’all hear me?” She motioned to a lush pot of herbs. “In this pot you will spy sweet basil. Sometimes it’s known as St. John’s wort. It’s often used in protection spells. In addition to basil, you might notice hyssop, peppermint, and sassafras.”
    Emma said, “Sassafras is used in root beer.”
    “That’s right,” Maya responded. “By the way, witches often decorate their herb pots with unrefined gemstones like bloodstone and tiger’s eye.” She held a finger to her mouth and said, “Shh. That’s insider information. As a side note—”
    My aunt cleared her throat and twirled her finger. “Wrap it up, Maya. You’re losing them.”
    Maya laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s a bad habit of mine. Too much information.”
    “Eek,” a woman in the crowd shrieked.
    A large, ebony-colored cat bounded through the tour members and lurched at Maya. It stopped at her feet, and then, as if reconsidering, it leaped upward. At Emma. She caught the cat just in time and wedged her thumbs beneath its forearms.
    “There, there, Boots,” Emma said, while scratching his ears. “What spooked you?”
    “He probably saw a ghost,” Maya retorted.
    I recognized the cat. I’d seen him around The Enchanted Garden on previous occasions. I couldn’t tell if he was a Bombay or Burmese, but he had no markings on him. Certainly no white
boots
, as his name inferred. I glanced at Maya, who was twirling a curl of her hair, a gamine smile tugging at her lips. Had she enticed Boots to dash in and scare everyone?
    “Poor little guy,” Emma cooed.
    Rhett leaned into me. “He’s not so little. Looks to be about twenty pounds.”
    I giggled, then turned to Emma. “He sure seems to like you.”
    “Only because I’ve been carting him back and forth to the vet for the past few weeks for treatment. He’s got hot spots on his rear legs, and he keeps licking them.”
    “Where was I?” Maya said. “Oh, right. For the farewell—” She paused, distracted by something to her right. “Oh no you don’t.”
    While we’d been chatting, the rowdy teenage girl and her girlfriend started tiptoeing toward an exit door at the rear of the garden shop.
    Maya sprinted toward them and blocked their exit. She raised her arms overhead. “Do not touch that handle. Pooh-pooh.” She blew out bad air. “Whatever were you thinking? You always exit through the door you came in. It’s a Southern tradition.”
    Emma said, “I thought that was an Irish superstition.”
    “Whatever it is, you simply don’t do it. It has something to do with entering and leaving this life as a good person, and y’all want that.” Maya steered the group toward the front, offering a few more words about herbs as we moved. When we neared the exit, she said, “Thank you for coming. As you exit, take the small pots of rosemary I planted for you. Set them to the right of your front door if you want to keep witches away. Unless you don’t believe. It is, after all”—she chuckled—“just a superstition.”
    Outside the shop, a whistling wind kicked up. The teens, who were now wound up to a frenzy, howled along with the wind and hurled their teeny pots of rosemary on the ground. I wasn’t one to believe in superstitions, but as the clay shattered, the evening’s light mood and good vibes vanished, and I shivered with fear.
    On the bus ride to Traveler’s Tavern, Rhett couldn’t stop laughing about the crowd’s reaction to the black cat at The Enchanted Garden. As we climbed off the bus, he said, “Working down at The Pier, you won’t believe the superstitions I’ve heard.”
    “Like?”
    “Don’t whistle on board a ship. Don’t leave port on Friday. Don’t bring a banana on board.”
    “A banana?”
    “Don’t even wear yellow on a ship.”
    I giggled. “Darn. Yellow’s one of my favorite colors.”
    “You two, get a move on,” Aunt Vera said. “No dilly-dallying.” She pushed me toward the front of the old