Foodie Files Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Christine Zane Thomas

  “Hey! Brock, Kara,” Marcus roared. “We need you two over here.” The paramedics rushed over. But before they did anything, Luke’s eyes fluttered back open.

  He took long, deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said. “Could everyone please stop looking at me like that. It’s nothing. It’s just my throat feels like it’s on fire.” His right hand massaged his throat as he struggled to get back up through Marcus’s protests.

  “I don’t care what he says,” Marcus told them. “You need to get him to the hospital. Something’s not right. I think George was poisoned. And Luke, here, is the proof.”

  “He did mouth-to-mouth on George,” I chimed in.

  “Exactly.” Marcus nodded. “Oy.” He called over the lone police officer who’d been studying his phone by the wall. He hadn’t paid much interest to the scene since George’s body had left the room. “You need the cops here—the detectives. There’s been a murder.”

  6

  The small crowd that still occupied the ballroom, which had been subdued since George’s death, began to murmur once again. Several people attempted to leave, only to be stopped by the young officer. His name tag read K. Clarke. He had strawberry red hair that was shaved close to his scalp. And he was nervous and unsure.

  “Our detectives are on the way,” he said, holding his palms up to stop the couples pressing toward the door.

  “I don’t have time for this,” one man said.

  “You’ve got time,” Marcus shot back, “this thing wasn’t supposed to be over for hours.”

  This caused even more raucous outcries and curses.

  “Everyone, please return to your tables,” Mara said. “We’ll get this all sorted out shortly.”

  I noticed her Southern accent was almost nonexistent.

  To Officer Clarke’s word, two detectives strode in a few minutes later. Two men I knew well. Behind them were several other men in uniform.

  “People, stay in your seats. And don’t touch anything,” said Detective Burley. “Not until we figure this all out.”

  “Officer Clarke,” Detective Javier Portillo called, “can you catch us up? We heard someone here died and another’s being rushed to the hospital. You suspected foul play?”

  The young officer made no attempt to wipe the bewildered deer in headlights look that appeared on his face. He stared blankly at the detective until he was saved by Marcus.

  “Sorry, fellas, Marcus Knight, I’m a paramedic in town.”

  “But not tonight,” Detective Portillo said, pointing out Marcus’s getup. “Tonight, it looks like you’re some sort of gangster.”

  “That’s right. I’m here on a date.”

  Marcus gestured toward Kate and Detective Portillo glanced our direction. When our eyes met, he smiled shyly at me. That was the Javier Portillo I knew. I gave him a slight head nod in acknowledgement. I had no smiles in me, though my insides smiled seeing him again. It had been months since I helped solve the murder of Jessica Hayes—although my efforts might have hindered the investigation as well. And though I’d tried several times to “accidentally” catch him at the local coffee shop, The Java Hutt, those efforts had been fruitless. He’d either changed his routine—or maybe he was avoiding me.

  Marcus continued to tell the detectives what happened and then his theory. Both men nodded along, not asking many more questions.

  “All right. Who’s in charge here?” Javier finally asked loudly, addressing the whole room.

  Mara stood up. “Me. That is, Mara Murdock. I’m the general manager of Bentley’s Estate. George, the owner, is who passed away.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Do you mind stepping over here for a moment, so we can discuss what happened?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you,” Mara said. “I was out of the room, momentarily taking care of some behind the scenes business. We were all getting ready to perform.”

  “I saw it,” our table partner, Patrick spoke up.

  “Me too,” a woman from the table behind George’s said.

  Still others raised their hands like it was elementary school.

  “Okay, okay,” Detective Burley said, pacifying the eager lot of do-gooders offering their help. “Everyone stand up. Grab your personal effects. Leave anything that didn’t come with you. From this row of tables back, go to that library in the front of the house. Again, don’t touch anything. This half will go with me to the formal living room across from it.”

  Detective Burley led the way, still speaking. “An officer will come around to each group and get a statement.”

  “We need all of you to stay put,” Javier directed the people who’d been at table one with George. Suzi gave me a mournful wave.

  We exited the room, then found our way to an antique sofa in the library. Several cliques had formed. Each table had bonded and were now huddled close while only one person at a time spoke with an officer.

  “Where is he?” Kate tapped away on her phone. Knowing Kate, she was on the job, attempting to get a camera man out here. “We could still make the Ten O’Clock, if he hurries.”

  Well, that settled that. Marcus joined us a minute later. “Luke’s doing better. I got one of my buddies to ask over the radio.”

  That was a relief. With all the shock already, my body wasn’t prepared for any other bad news.

  “They’re making him stay the night. He’s in room 210, if you want to go see him.” I nodded, not fully aware that the statement was addressed solely to me.

  “You really think it was poison?” Kate asked Marcus. She was still distracted by her phone.

  “I think it’s the most likely thing—after what happened to Luke. At first I thought it was just cardiac arrest.”

  “It was definitely foul play,” Patrick chimed in. He and Greg hovered behind the couch.

  “Okay, then. Ready to solve tonight’s crime?” Kate pulled out the investigation sheet from the party.

  “Kate! You weren’t supposed to bring anything with you,” I said, shocked.

  “It’s a piece of paper. Or should I prance back in there—where they are investigating a murder scene—and say, ‘Sorry, fellas, I needed to put this back.’ No thank you!”

  Kate scribbled George’s name at the top of the sheet where it read, victim. Then she wrote poison beneath that. Then Kate tapped the pen, as though unsure of what to write next.

  “All right, Miss Investigative Genius,” Marcus raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, “where do we start?”

  “At the beginning,” Kate said.

  “That is usually the best place,” Marcus agreed.

  “The beginning,” I said, remembering. “Wasn’t Mara kicking George’s son out when we got here? I’d put him on the top of the list of suspects.”

  “But if he was getting kicked out,” Patrick said, “then why would he be a suspect? He wasn’t even here.”

  “Ah, but it’s poison,” Marcus gave me a wink like was surprised I was good at this, “poison can take minutes, hours, or even several hours to act. He could very well have done something.”

  “I’ll give you that, but my money’s on the bartender, Johnny or whatever,” Patrick suggested. “He was in charge of cocktails. What better way is there to poison someone? It’s already poison. Gah, he made ‘em strong.”

  “But he had people there at the bar the whole time.” It was Greg’s turn to put in a theory. “I’m guessing it was that Mara lady. She passed out the last round of drinks. Plus, she’d be the one with a motive. They could have had a strained business relationship—owners and general managers never get along.”

  “That’s true,” Kate agreed. “But who was that with George earlier?”

  “Suzi?” The thought of Suzi as a suspect caught me off-guard.

  “Yeah,” Marcus approved of the suggestion. “Didn’t I see her get their drinks?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, a little flustered. “I guess so. But that doesn’t mean she did it.” I really didn’t like the idea of Suzi b
eing a suspect. Not on our list. Not on anyone’s list.

  “Just because you know her,” Kate said, “doesn’t mean we can count her out.”

  “Okay, well, is there anyone else?” I asked, hoping for another, more culpable, name.

  We thought for a minute but were clearly stumped.

  “I think that’s a good list,” Marcus finally said. “George’s son, Johnny, Mara, and Suzi.”

  I snapped a picture of the sheet of paper. Maybe tonight I’d bring my bulletin board out of retirement. If anything, I wanted to clear Suzi’s name from that list, if only for my own benefit.

  7

  “Mind if I ask you all some questions?” Javier was a sight for sore eyes—I was afraid we were going to be questioned by Detective Burley.

  Javier was as unlike his partner as was possible. The blue-eyed detective was average height and build, maybe six-foot tall, maybe a little less. His skin was less tanned in the winter, more olive. Detective Hank Burley was burly. He was heavy set with curly brown hair that didn’t so much as frame his face but instead mushroomed away from it.

  Kate folded our suspects list and stuffed it inside her purse. The quick wink she shot me had two meanings, I knew, because Kate was fully aware of my schoolgirl crush on the detective.

  “I need names, please, before we get started,” Javier said, all business. “Marcus Knight, I already have your statement. I know you two—Kate McAllister, and Allie Treadwell. And you two are?”

  “Patrick Howard.”

  “Greg Robbins.”

  “And what can you tell me about what happened to Mr. Wilson?”

  “I didn’t really see what happened,” said Greg. “He was alive, and then he wasn’t.”

  “Well, I saw a bit more than that,” Patrick interjected. “See, George did this toast. I thought maybe he was nervous. He was sweating and a bit out of breath. Then he sat back down, and it looked like he had a seizure. He just fell over, convulsing. That was it. I’ve never seen something like it in real life. Oh, and then this fella—” Patrick put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, “—he did CPR for a bit. I guess you know what went down after that.”

  Javier cleared his throat and focused on his notebook as he jotted down notes.

  “Thanks for your time, Patrick, Greg. The uniformed cops will get a look at your driver’s licenses and let you out.” Javier pressed his lips together, giving Kate and I a trepidatious look. “Now, you two. I know y’all are going to give me something good.”

  “I saw the whole thing happen,” I blurted out. “Well, not everything—but a lot. Let’s see, George seemed fine when Luke and I talked to him earlier. In here, actually.”

  “Luke?” Javier asked.

  “The guy at the hospital,” Marcus told him. “The one who helped do CPR.”

  “Ah.” Javier nodded.

  “My date,” I admitted.

  Javier’s pen faltered on the notepad. “All right, go on,” he encouraged.

  “George was getting a drink. He was nervous about the party.”

  “Suzi got the drinks for them,” Marcus interrupted.

  “Right, Suzi got their drinks.” Like my first interview with the handsome detective, I began to get clammy. I’d already put the one person in a bad light that I didn’t want to put there. “Anyway,” I said, trying to change the topic, “George got flushed after he had a drink or two. Something was off. When he was at the table before his toast, he was lethargic. It seemed like he was having trouble even breathing.”

  “So, that was before the toast?” Javier asked.

  “Allie, how did you pick up on this?” Kate asked.

  “I was worried about him, about tonight. I wanted this to go well just as much as he did. You know how I get.” Just thinking about this all over again made tears stream down my face. I wasn’t sobbing, per se, but leaking from my eyes and nose.

  Kate patted my arm. “I know.”

  When I finally looked up, Javier shifted on his feet uncomfortably, almost like he’d wanted to console me—or at least that’s what I wanted him to be thinking. “Now, Miss McCallister, is there anything you’d like to add?”

  “I think Miss People Watcher, here, covered it.” Kate squeezed my hand. “But would you like our suspect list?”

  “You have a suspect list?” Javier shook his head with a smile. “Of course you do. Hand it over.”

  Kate found the piece of paper and offered it to the detective. She managed to look like she was presenting him with the prize in a game show.

  “Right now,” Kate said, “we are looking at Mara Murdock, the bartender, Suzi, and George’s son, what was his name again?”

  “Blake,” I said, remembering Mara saying it as she shooed him away.

  “Blake?” Javier questioned.

  “Mara kicked Blake out as we arrived at the party.”

  “Got it.” Javier scribbled feverishly in his handy-dandy little notebook. “Well, thank you for the information. Y’all are also cleared to go home. If you think of anything else, I know at least one of you has my number.”

  The way he said it, it was almost like he insinuated I should have called or text him in the last few months. If only he knew how many times I’d deleted a novel’s worth of text before not hitting send.

  The chandelier was lit brightly, making the night sky look pitch black with no stars. The air was crisp and cool. Gooseflesh prickled on my shoulders as we stepped outside. Down from the porch a few officers were huddled in their jackets, one blew foggy breath, the others were smoking cigarettes.

  From here, and with this bitter cold, Marcus’s truck looked so far away. But ever the gentlemen, he whipped off his coat and slipped it over Kate’s shoulders. The two began down the porch steps when something, or rather, someone caught the periphery of my eyes’ attention.

  “Hey! Do you two mind if we stick around a bit longer?” I asked. “I need to talk to Suzi.”

  “Fine with me.” Kate sighed, her fists clenched in frustration. “We missed the Ten O’clock. I called off the dogs. Terrell’s going to meet me here in the morning for a live broadcast.”

  “Dang,” Marcus said, “that guy owes me ten bucks. I was hoping we could square up.”

  “Keep dreaming,” Kate said flatly. “Here, let’s wait in the truck.” She shrugged off Marcus’s coat, and before I could protest, wrapped it around my shoulders. Then the two of them were off down the hill toward the gravel lot, which was now almost empty.

  Suzi was wrapped in a shawl, rocking alone in one of the handmade rocking chairs on the porch. She stared off toward the crescent moon on the horizon but wasn’t paying it or anything any attention. Her eyes were red, and tears still marked her cheeks. George’s death had really begun to sink in, and Suzi was drowning.

  “Suzi,” I said softly. “Are you okay?” I found the next rocking chair and scooted it closer to hers.

  “No. But thanks for asking. He was murdered, Allie. Poisoned.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “The lumpy detective asked me where George got his drinks. So, I told him. I got them. Allie, you should’ve seen the look he gave me.”

  “They don’t know you,” I said. “Trust me. Detective Portillo will get this sorted out.” I gave Suzi another look. She was in a right bad state. “Do you need a ride home or anything? Are you going to be all right to drive?”

  “I’m fine.” She sniffled. “Thanks for offering. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here tonight.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. The cold seeped into the coat, and I was shivering—at least until a commotion before the front porch steps cured them momentarily.

  “George Wilson is my father. This is my house. You need to let me up there.” I peered into the darkness where the three officers had barred Blake Wilson from entering.

  One of the officers spoke into the radio on his shoulder, and a minute later Javier stepped outside. Blake was allowed up to the porch. He hardly resembled the an
gry man I saw escorted out of the building earlier tonight. His color was drained. His eyes were red, and his hair was a wreck. I could see why as he combed through it with two hands as if to rip some of it out.

  “Where is he? What happened? I need answers.” Blake directed his questions to Javier but his emotions were meant for the world around him.

  “Sir, I need you to calm down,” Javier said firmly.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Suzi said under her breath. She turned and whispered to me, “I almost forgot. He and George had a quarrel before the evening started.”

  It was then Javier caught sight of the two of us.

  “One minute,” he told Blake. “You mind waiting inside the hallway?” He directed the boy through the door, then walked over toward us. “What are you still doing here?” he asked us. “Go home. It’s been a long night. It’s only going to get longer. Leave us, and let us do our jobs. Oh, and Suzi, we’ll be in touch.”

  My heart sank with those words.

  8

  In all of the turmoil and the time since dinner started, Marcus had sobered up. And he insisted on driving, despite my generous offer to cover the duties.

  It didn’t help that Kate wasn’t exactly on my side either. “Allie, have you ever even driven a truck this big? Your right tire hugs the curbside in your little compact. In this truck, well, it’d be on the curb.”

  “I can’t help that I like to steer clear of oncoming traffic.”

  “No, no.” Kate waggled a finger at me. “You can help it. You just won’t. Marcus is fine to drive. Trust me.”

  “Okay,” I huffed, getting in the backseat—alone this time.

  I wasn’t paying much attention to all the unnecessary turns the truck made. Instead, my mind focused, processing through the clues. I’d come into the night prepared for a mystery—I might as well try to solve it, right?

  Because Johnny mixed the drinks, he had the easiest chance of poisoning a drink. I guess it could’ve been the food, the soup maybe, but the chances of that seemed slim. The drinks seemed an obvious choice. And George said he never drank. I remembered, again, the way he struggled to swallow that first drink—the one Suzi had served him. Then Mara delivered drinks before the toast. She, too, would have had the chance to poison his drink. But wasn’t he already looking off?