by Mary Maxwell
CHAPTER 12
After our conversation about Amelia Felton and Ken Ballard, Dina headed back to the CCPD Headquarters, leaving me in the office at Sky High with a string of Google search results detailing the signs and symptoms of strychnine exposure. When I heard the front door chime several times in a row, I decided it was time to get back to work.
Harper rushed over to greet me with a big smile when I walked into the dining room.
“Ready for your next one?” she asked.
“My next one?”
There were six tables of customers. They were all enjoying lunch and lively conversation, with the exception of a glum-faced man sitting alone at a table near the front windows.
Harper turned slowly so that her back was to Mr. Grumpy.
“See the guy in the green sweatshirt?” she said quietly.
I smiled. “I do.”
“He asked for you by name.”
“As opposed to what?” I teased.
Harper’s mouth sloped into a tight grin. “Don’t you even think about it,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I talked to that man for five minutes, and do you know what?”
I shook my head.
“I’m pretty sure that he’s trying out for the Guinness Book of World Records,” she said. “The category is Worst Breath Ever!”
“Oh, boy,” I replied, heading for the man sitting alone. “Sorry about that. I’ll take it from here.”
Within the first few seconds, I learned two things about Mr. Grumpy. His name was actually Calvin Cartwright. And Harper was absolutely spot-on about his halitosis.
“Can we go somewhere private?” he asked.
“My office is available,” I said, gesturing toward the entryway. “It’s just down the hall.”
His eyes rotated slowly toward the front door. “How about the cab of my truck?” he suggested. “It’s quiet, not too messy and there aren’t any listening devices.”
“Why don’t we step onto the porch?” I said. “It’s also clean, and I can guarantee that there are no hidden microphones.”
He cleared his throat. “Hundred percent for sure?”
“You have my word on it,” I said. “Would you like anything to drink before we go out?”
“You got any rum?” asked Calvin. “I like those tropical drinks with the pineapple and everything.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We don’t actually serve alcohol.”
“No sweat,” he replied. “I’m off the clock and heading home. My wife got me a bottle of Bacardí for my birthday last week.”
As we moved from the dining room through the front door, I wished him a belated happy birthday.
“Thanks a bunch,” he said. “We got pretty lit, me and my wife. Then we ordered a pizza. And then we made prank calls to my brother’s house.”
I smiled, feeling a strange blend of delight and sorrow. I’d never met the man before, but he seemed like a big teddy bear with the worst case of bad breath in the history of civilization. When he sat in one of the rocking chairs on the porch, I went to his left since the breeze was blowing in the opposite direction.
“Okay, Mr. Cartwright,” I said. “What can I help you with? A special order for the family? Maybe a celebratory cake for your friends at work?”
He frowned. “I don’t like the people that I work with. They’re all toads and sprockets.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, too. But you must’ve come by for a specific reason.”
He glanced around quickly. I imagined that he was checking for the telltale signs of eavesdropping equipment, audio amplifiers and hidden microphones.
“You’re the one that helps the cops, right?”
“Don’t we all?” I asked. “I mean, as citizens of Crescent Creek?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. I live down in Frisco. I’m just here doing a job for my brother-in-law’s hardwood floor company. We’re refinishing all of the original oak in a building that some rich guy’s converting into luxury condos downtown by the bank.”
“Understood,” I said. “And to answer your original question, I do some consulting work for the Crescent Creek Police Department now and then.”
“Like the dead lady?” he said. “The Felton case, right?”
“Possibly.”
“Well, somebody at Red Hancock’s bar told me that I should come see you,” he explained.
“You’ve been to The Wagon Wheel?”
“Pretty much every night since my crew got to town,” he replied. “They stock my favorite rum.”
“Good deal,” I said. “Why did Red suggest that you come see me?” I paused for a brief moment. “It was him, right?”
Calvin smiled. “He told me that you’d figure it out pretty quick, too.”
I tapped my forehead. “Super computer up here,” I said. “Fast, efficient and loaded with more useless trivia than you’d ever hope to find in one location.”
He made a face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Never mind,” I said. “I’m a little goofy by this time of day. We start pretty early around here.”
“Yes, you do.” He knit his fingers together and pressed them against his legs. “This is a little bit…uh, you know something? I’ve never snitched on a soul in my entire life. Not when I was a kid, not now. But I saw Amelia Felton and Ken Ballard arguing the day that she died, fighting like a couple of crazy people, right out in public. I was in my truck, so I’m pretty sure that they didn’t see me.”
“Are you certain it was Amelia and Ken?” I asked.
He nodded. “Couple of locals told me so.”
“Okay,” I said. “What were they arguing about?”
“She wanted to get back together with him,” Calvin said. “He kept talking about why he ended their relationship. Saying that she was crazy and unstable. Telling her that he needed somebody who wasn’t going to fly off the handle every sixty seconds.”
“Is that a direct quote?”
He snickered. “It wasn’t hard to hear everything they screamed. In fact, full disclosure, I hit the record feature on my phone after the first five minutes. I figured my wife would get a kick out of the fight because she’s always going on about how some couples never argue and some fight like cats and dogs all the time.”
“Do you have the recording with you now?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s back at the motel. I was so nervous about coming over here that I completely forgot my phone.”
“No problem,” I replied. “But I do have a suggestion.”
“Sure thing,” he said.
“Have you already shared this information with Detective Kincaid at the Crescent Creek PD?”
His eyes darted to the floor. “No,” he mumbled. “She intimidates me too much. I met her through the real estate guy who’s handling the condos. A bunch of us were out for pizza one night. The detective and the real estate guy knew someone else in our group.”
I nodded. “If you’ve already met Detective Kincaid,” I said, “that’s even easier. I know that she’d appreciate hearing this directly from you. And as far as Dina being unapproachable, don’t you worry about it. She may appear tough and bulletproof, but that’s because she prefers to maintain an aura of invincibility.”
He smiled. “You think so?”
“I know so!” I told him. “Dina and I have been friends forever. She looks and sounds scary sometimes, but she’s a marshmallow under that tough armor and unwavering confidence.”
“Alrighty then,” Calvin said. “I’ll swing by the motel, get my phone and head on over. I can play her the recording and let her listen to the argument between Amelia and Ken.”
“That sounds like a plan, Calvin,” I said. “I appreciate you taking time to come and talk to me. I know that Dina will be even more grateful to hear what you have to say.”
“I hope so,” he muttered. “Before I go, can I ask you one small favor?”
I smiled. “Anything at all.”
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br /> “Would you please not tell anyone that I was intimated by Detective Kincaid?” he asked. “I wanted to be fully honest with you, but I do have a reputation to look out for with the other folks on my crew.”
CHAPTER 13
I was out the door twenty minutes later with my purse, my phone and a box of mint chocolate chip cookies that Patty Fletcher was expecting by two o’clock. Since she lived near Ken Ballard’s CPA firm, I decided to make the delivery before going on to Ballard, Kellogg & Culpepper.
After I reached Patty’s house and rang the bell, she heaved open the front door with such force that it hit the entryway wall with a thunderous clunk.
“What are we going to do?” she shrieked. “There’s a serial killer! First Amelia and now Ken!”
I held out the bakery box from Sky High Pies.
“What’s that?” Her face resembled a Picasso masterpiece: one eye open, one closed, the nose slightly cockeyed and the mouth twisted like a corkscrew. “Is that for me?”
I smiled. “It’s the two dozen mint chocolate chip that you ordered yesterday morning.”
After a breathy sigh, her face began to resemble its normal appearance rather than a cubist painting.
“Well, would you look at that!” She took the box of cookies and cradled it in one arm. “Thank goodness that you still have your wits about you, Katie! Half the town is going bonkers now that the word is out about the Strychnine Stalker.”
I cringed at the epithet. “So there’s a name for it?”
“I heard it at Muriel Pinkman’s house.” She pointed to the north. “I was there last night for the Happy People Social Club potluck.”
I’d been invited to join the monthly group by several women. But after working at Sky High all day, the idea of making small talk, listening to gossip and eating hotdish creations with a bunch of loquacious women seemed too much like my day job.
“You should come sometime,” Patty added. “We’d love to have you in the tribe!”
I acknowledged the remark with a big smile before steering back toward her comment about Amelia Felton and Ken Ballard.
“Who mentioned the…” I didn’t want to deepen her anxiety by repeating serial killer or Strychnine Stalker, so I went for a less volatile option. “…uh, the tragic news about Amelia and Ken?”
Patty’s nostrils flared. “Tragic news! It’s more than that, Katie! It’s a calamity! It’s a horror show! I mean, if you want to face facts, we could be staring down the barrel of Armageddon if the police don’t catch this culprit soon!” She stopped, knocked back a few breaths of fresh air and went on. “After all, two people have been poisoned in the past few days. And one of the ladies at the potluck said it’s been confirmed that a list was found with forty-four names on it! Forty! Four!”
“I don’t believe that’s correct,” I said.
“Which part?” she asked. “That there’s a list or that it contains that many names?”
She nearly dropped the box of mint chocolate chip cookies. I suggested that we step inside for a moment so she could put away the goodies and maybe sit down and catch her breath.
“I love that idea,” she said, waving me through the door. “I was on my feet for hours last night helping Muriel do the dishes after everyone else went on their way. You know, that Sally Slocum has a bad habit of getting tipsy at social events. I thought she was going to start throwing punches when some of the ladies tried to get the car keys out of her hand so someone else could drive her home.”
“So there were fireworks at the end of the evening?” I asked.
Patty laughed. “The end? She was snockered when she arrived, Katie. The fighting almost broke out right when she waltzed in the door and started yelping about the Strychnine Stalker and how we were all going to die and it was the end of the world.”
I followed her into the living room and took a seat on the sofa while she settled into a rocking chair with the box of cookies in her lap.
“What else did Sally have to say?” I asked.
Patty pursed her lips. “About the serial killer?”
I nodded.
“Well, she said that she was in the drug store yesterday morning when she overheard two women talking in hushed voices. If you know her at all, this will not come as a surprise, but while the women were having what most normal people would realize was a private conversation, Muriel snuck around the store and came down the next aisle. Then she eavesdropped on the unsuspecting women while they talked quietly.”
“Were they discussing Amelia and Ken?” I asked.
Patty nodded. “They were indeed,” she said. “And according to Sally, they were talking about a note found with the poisoned corn dogs and—”
“I’m sorry, did you say it was corn dogs?”
“I did,” she said. “Corn dogs laced with strychnine. And the Strychnine Stalker has already struck twice, right? So that means two down and forty-two to go!”
CHAPTER 14
A light rain was falling by the time I pulled into the parking lot at Ken Ballard’s certified public accounting firm on San Juan Street. Dark gray clouds had been swirling and simmering overhead since morning, so I’d grabbed the hooded jacket that my parents sent for my last birthday as I left Sky High earlier. I quickly slipped it on after climbing out of the car to try and stay dry between the parking lot and the entrance to the office building.
“Good afternoon!” said the young woman behind the front counter when I stepped through the door. “Welcome to Ballard, Kellogg & Culpepper!”
I’d seen her around town a few times, but we’d never met. After I introduced myself, she told me that her name was Jackie.
“Are you Jackie Holt?” I said.
She nodded. “Guilty as charged. Why do you ask?”
“Ken was just talking about you last week,” I said. “He told me that someone new had taken over the switchboard and accounting duties.”
Her face flared with a pale pink. “It’s a weird combination, but I like to keep busy.”
“Isn’t it hard to do the books with the phone ringing all the time?”
She shook her head. “Piece of cake. Not to mention that I talked Ken into a rollover feature that sends some of the incoming calls to an answering service.”
I smiled. “Clever. How’s that working for you?”
“Like a charm,” she replied. “The person at the answering service is awesome.”
“Well, good for you, Jackie! I’m surprised that Ken agreed to the changes. He’s always seemed like the kind of guy who would resist altering a system that’s already in place.”
She laughed. “I know, right? But he’s been like a different man since he stopped seeing that awful woman.”
I didn’t know if she was talking about Amelia Felton. But I didn’t want to get into a deep dive since she was technically responsible for answering the company’s main phone line and two lights were already flashing on the console.
“Do you mind letting Grace Santiago know that I’m here? I talked to her briefly this morning. She’s expecting me to stop by.”
“She just went out for a quick minute,” the woman said. “She told me that someone was coming in, so I guess it’s you!”
“Guess so,” I said, smiling at the slightly befuddled grin on her face. “And I don’t mind waiting out here.” I glanced at the grouping of brown leather chairs in the corner of the lobby. “I can check email and do a little Google searching.”
She was on her feet in a flash, gesturing toward a wide corridor at the back of the lobby.
“You’ll be more comfy back in Grace’s office,” Jackie said. “She’s got a memory foam chair that’s to die for!”
“That sounds nice.”
“Better than nice,” she said over one shoulder. “It’s like a slice of heaven with a cherry on top.”
When we reached Grace Santiago’s office, Jackie stood to one side and told me to make myself at home.
“If I do that,” I said, “you’ll find candy
wrappers and cookie crumbs everywhere.”
Her face lit up. “You’re preaching to the choir, that’s for sure. My apartment is the exact same. I dropped an Oreo the other day and it rolled under the sofa. When I got down on my hands and knees to look for it, I found two twenty dollar bills just tumbling around under there.”
“That sounds like a nice surprise,” I said.
She nodded in agreement. “The best kind, by far!”
“It’s never happened to me,” I said. “But I’m glad that someone has that kind of luck.”
She shrugged; there was a shy quality to her personality that was reflected in her bashful demeanor and stooped posture.
“Anyway,” Jackie said, inching toward the door. “I’d better get back up front. You’ll find an envelope there on the coffee table. Grace wanted you to have whatever is inside.”
I looked down. A business envelope sat in the middle of the table. It had the company’s logo in the upper left corner and my first name artfully lettered in the center.
“Okay, I’m going now,” Jackie said. “I put my mother on hold when you walked in.”
“Oh, no! Please tell her that I’m sorry to have interrupted your conversation.”
She grinned. “You didn’t. My mother calls at least twice a day to make sure that I’m still gainfully employed.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. “A mother looking out for her daughter.”
Jackie rolled her eyes. “Hardly! She’s a mother who wants to get repaid for the thousand bucks that she loaned to her daughter.”
The phone rang in the lobby, echoing down the hall like a gentle reminder for Jackie that her presence was requested by yet another caller.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she said skittering out of sight.
Once she was gone, I opened the envelope, removed a pale blue note card and felt a quiver of excitement race through me as I read the Post-It that Grace had attached: