Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Cookie
When I pulled up to Grandma Evelyn’s small white house, the scent of toasted almonds and almond extract drifted out through the open screen door. But when I stepped into the kitchen, the scene was far from peaceful.
Lila was already there.
She was standing at Grandma’s pantry, wearing an elegant cream silk jumpsuit, holding a vintage leather-bound notebook with yellowed, dog-eared pages.
Grandma’s master recipe book.
Six decades of original, handwritten pastry recipes, handwritten notes from Grandma’s mother, and secret spice ratios that several local bakeries had offered thousands of dollars to buy over the years. Grandma had always refused to sell. That book was our family heirloom.
“What are you doing?” I barked, slamming the screen door shut.
Lila jumped, nearly dropping the book, but recovered her smug composure within a split second. She tucked the notebook into her oversized designer tote bag.
“Just borrowing a little family history, darling,” Lila smiled, her eyes glittering with cold malice. “Since Evelyn here is so fond of giving *free gifts*, I figured this would be the ultimate heirloom to pass down to our future children. Mark said it was fine.”
Grandma stood by the oven, holding a hot baking sheet of almond crescent cookies with oven mitts, her face pale. “Lila… that book was my mother’s. I promised it to Jenna when I pass.”
“Oh, please,” Lila scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “What is Jenna going to do with it? Heat up microwave dinners in her tiny studio apartment? I’m having the recipes digitized for a boutique lifestyle cookbook I’m launching next spring. It’s called *The Vance Heritage Table*. You’ll get an acknowledgment in the fine print, Evelyn. That’s more publicity than your little kitchen has ever seen.”
She was stealing Grandma’s life’s work to publish it under her fake identity.
“Put the book back on the shelf, Delilah,” I said, my voice dropping an octave.
Lila froze.
The color drained from her lips so fast it looked as if she had been struck across the face. Her designer sunglasses slipped an inch down her nose.
“What did you just say?” she whispered.
I took a step toward her, crossing my arms. “I said, put the book back on the shelf. Or should I ask Darren Cole how much he thinks that leather notebook is worth in Cook County bankruptcy court?”
For three seconds, absolute terror flashed across Lila’s face. She looked at me not as an annoying little sister, but as an executioner holding an ax.
Then, her sociopathic instinct kicked in. The terror hardened into pure, vicious spite.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Jenna?” Lila hissed, lowering her voice so Grandma couldn't hear clearly from across the room. “You think you can dig up some old dust from Chicago and scare me away from a two-million-dollar estate?”
“Mark’s house is worth four hundred thousand, not two million,” I said.
“Mark’s house is sitting on eight acres of rezoned commercial land right next to the new highway interchange,” Lila sneered, leaning in close so her breath hit my cheek. “A developer offered him one point eight million last month. Mark was too stupid to sell because he wanted to keep the family land. But once I own it on Monday? The bulldozers roll in by Friday.”
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
Mark hadn't told me about the commercial rezoning. Lila hadn't targeted Mark randomly. She had found out about the land deal before she even matched with him on that dating app eight months ago.
“You’re sick,” I whispered.
“I’m practical,” Lila smiled, unzipping her purse and casually sliding Grandma’s recipe book deeper inside. “And there is nothing you can do about it. Who is Mark going to believe? His gorgeous, devoted bride who is carrying his future? Or his jealous, bitter sister who tried to ruin his wedding over four hundred dollars of butter?”
She reached out, grabbed one of Grandma’s freshly baked almond cookies off the cooling rack, took a delicate bite, and then threw the rest directly into the kitchen trash can.
“A little too much almond extract, Evelyn,” Lila called out sweetly over her shoulder. “Make sure the next batch is edible. See you at the country club tonight at six. Don’t dress like a hobo.”
She swung her bag over her shoulder and strutted out the door.
Grandma dropped the baking sheet onto the stove with a loud clatter, burying her face in her hands. “Jenna… what is happening? What did she mean about the land?”
I walked over to the counter, my hands completely steady now. The anger was gone. In its place was cold, surgical clarity.
“Grandma,” I said, putting my hands on her trembling shoulders. “Did you make a backup copy of your recipe book like I asked you to last year?”
Grandma looked up, sniffing, and slowly nodded toward the pantry. “The photocopy binder is in the bottom drawer behind the flour sacks.”
May you like
“Good,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Because Lila just took the bait. And tonight at the rehearsal dinner, we’re going to give her the first course of her wedding feast.”
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