Talia picked up Crystal’s empty glass and carried it into the kitchen. Martha shot her a look. “What’s up with those two?”

“I haven’t a clue, Martha.” Talia absently dumped out the ice cubes and stuck the glass in the commercial dishwasher. Skimming her gaze over the kitchen, she still couldn’t believe how much larger it felt after the renovations she’d done this past spring. With Martha’s help they’d redesigned the floor plan. The kitchen gained an extra twenty-four square feet of work space, while the sleek new chairs and fresh paint in the dining area gave it a roomier, more open look.

Martha measured out three tablespoons of chipotle paste and mixed it into the slaw. “Like I said before, that shop is cursed.”

“Now, Martha, you know that’s nonsense. Just because . . .” Talia’s thoughts drifted off, and she gave an involuntary shiver.

“Because the last proprietor was murdered? When she’d been there barely a month?”

Talia gave Martha a stern look. “That doesn’t mean the shop is cursed. Crystal and Audrey have done a wonderful job with The Fork and Dish. Besides, there’s no such thing as a curse.” She went over to the work table, where she’d left her own Flavor Dial. Was Martha right? Was it simply another half-baked idea designed to entice the public to spend?

She picked up the wheel with her left hand, and with the fingers of her right hand she skimmed the names. Cardamom, cinnamon, cloves . . . on and on through the alphabet until she reached vanilla bean. With the exception of lavender, they were all spices she kept on hand.

With a sigh, Talia set down the wheel. Okay, she’d use it for the contest. But after that it would probably get shoved out of sight on a top shelf somewhere. Maybe Martha was right about the Flavor Dial.

But she wasn’t right about the curse. Audrey was having problems, that’s all. Who didn’t have personal problems?

But curses? That was just crazy talk.

Wasn’t it?