The Mystery of the Scrambled Eggs

Trent Marshall volunteered to make lunch. He and Darcey were visiting Darcey’s mother, Betty Anderson, at the Pines, her ancestral home in Northwest Louisiana’s Sabine Parish.

He made scrambled egg sandwiches for everyone, which, of course, included five year old Kelli and Ivy Ford, the woman who became Trent’s surrogate mother when his own parent died unexpectedly young.

Betty took a bite of her sandwich.

“This is interesting,” she said. “What spice did you use, Trent?”

Trent laughed.

“You’ve been hanging out with detectives long enough, Betty,” he replied. “You figure it out.”

Listening to the conversation, Ivy left her sandwich lying on the plate.

Betty took another bite.

“This is delicious, Ivy,” she said.

“I don’t care,” Ivy said. “I don’t eat nothing if I don’t know what it is.”

Betty thought for a moment, letting the flavors linger on her tongue.

“Cinnamon,” she said, victoriously. “You put cinnamon in the eggs.”

Trent laughed.

“Now you’re a real food detective,” he declared.

“Well, all right then,” Ivy said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

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