He went back for Desiree, who had finished with Anton and was going in search of J.P., but Mackenzie cut her off. He isolated her in the parking lot. They struggled. Maybe he hit her. Her head could have slammed against the passenger window. At the crime scene, Cinnamon said Desiree had received a blow to the right side of her head. Next, Mackenzie hauled Desiree to the beach and strangled her. The sculpting came easily to him. How many times had he practiced making his Triton merman cake sculpture? In a matter of minutes, he finished the job.
He didn’t worry about signs of his having been there. I would bet, if he had preplanned everything, that he knew Old Jake would wipe out evidence. He returned to his van, drove Sabrina to the Winnebago, and woke up beside her in the morning. He pretended that they had screwed their brains out. She was none the wiser and too embarrassed to say anything.
I wanted to telephone Cinnamon and share my theory, but first I needed to corroborate it. Sabrina might not remember everything, but she might recall snippets. I set Tigger on the floor and strode to the laundry basket. I found the skirt I had worn the day Sabrina and I chatted in the parking lot, and I retrieved the business card she had given me. I dialed her number.
Sabrina answered on the first ring. “I can’t talk.”
Then why the heck did she answer the phone? I hated when people did that. Let the call go to voice mail, for heaven’s sake. I heard a male whispering in the background. Maybe her boyfriend had flown up from Los Angeles to make up after their faux dissolution. Did I care if I was interrupting? Not in the least.
I said, “This is important.”
Sabrina groaned. “Okay, go ahead. What?”
I told her my theory that Mackenzie Baxter was the Gay Blade. He killed Desiree because she had reneged on a promise to boost his career. He plotted out Desiree’s murder and drugged Sabrina to use her as his alibi. “That’s why you passed out that night.”
She mumbled, “Uh-huh,” throughout my spiel, totally disinterested.
“You need to go to the police and tell them anything you can remember. Please say you’ll do that, sooner rather than later.”
She grunted and said, “Promise.”
I disconnected and dialed Cinnamon’s cell phone.
“Chief Pritchett,” she answered.
“It’s Jenna Hart.”
“What do you want?” she said, sounding as testy as Sabrina.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Hang up,” a woman shrieked in the background.
“Mother, please, police business comes first, and you—”
“That’s not police business. I saw the display. I know who it is. Hang up.”
Cinnamon muttered, “Can I call you back, Jenna?”
I told her not to bother. The information I had wouldn’t translate well over the phone anyway. I was heading for the precinct. I added that Sabrina Divine was on her way, too. “She has news you’ll want to hear.”
Cinnamon promised to be on the lookout. I hung up wondering about her family dispute. At least my father and I were getting along. No blowups. No drama. In fact, I saw blue skies ahead for us.
Tigger circled my feet, tail twitching. I checked his water, nuzzled his ears, and said, “Back soon.” I grabbed my purse and raced to the front door.
When I opened it, Mackenzie barged inside with Sabrina in tow. Her hands were tied in front of her. Without losing his grip on Sabrina’s upper arm, Mackenzie shoved me in the chest. I careened to the floor. Scrambling like a crab, I fumbled to find my footing. I bumped into the sofa.
Using the back of the couch for support, I thrust myself up. “How . . . why . . .”
“You know why, my friend. I heard everything you said to Sabrina.”
Shoot. Mackenzie was the man who had been whispering in the background when I’d phoned Sabrina. She had wanted to cut me off at the beginning. Mackenzie must have prodded her to respond, hence her groans and moans.
“Sweet Sabrina and I were on a date,” he continued. “I was taking her for a midnight swim, but you interrupted.”
A midnight swim that she was not meant to survive, I realized.
“I’m sorry,” Sabrina said, rapid-fire. “After we talked in the parking lot, I thought about the night Desiree died. Mackenzie was so friendly. Why? He was never into me. That’s when I remembered he had cozied up to my drink at the Chill Zone Bar, and I knew what he’d done. He had dropped in a pill. After talking to you, I went to his Winnebago to confront him—”
“Shut up,” Mackenzie ordered.
I didn’t need to hear more. I knew what had gone down. Fearing exposure, Mackenzie took Sabrina hostage. While I attended the Four C’s meeting to track down Cinnamon, he must have deliberated about what to do with Sabrina. I called as he was carrying out his plan. I dug into my purse for my cell phone.
Mackenzie knocked the phone out of my hand. “Not a chance.” He took hold of the front of my lacy sweater and tugged me around the end of the couch. He propelled Sabrina into the sofa. “Stay.” She slumped back, her head against the cushion. At the same time, Mackenzie pulled me close. “Now the question is, what to do with you?” His breath reeked of sour food and fury.
“First, you might consider mouthwash and deodorant.”
He backhanded me.
My cheek smarted something fierce, but I refused to surrender. “Can’t take criticism, huh?”
“Quiet, woman.”
“Need me to obey? Need silence to think? Maybe you’d like to go outside? It’s real quiet out there.”
He growled.
What in the heck was I doing? Why was I provoking him? Because I was downright scared. I needed a weapon. I scrutinized the area beyond Mackenzie. All I saw was a tray of freshly baked cookies. Could I feed him into submission?
Focus, Jenna.
A recipe box. Utensils. Knives. How could I reach a really sharp one of those?
“The police know everything,” I lied, wishing Cinnamon would come looking for me when I didn’t show up at the precinct but knowing she wouldn’t. Her mother would convince her I was a sheep that was crying wolf.
“Sit.” Mackenzie heaved me onto the sofa beside Sabrina.
She groped for my hand; I gripped hers as I scanned the room for an item closer than knives to subdue the maniac who paced between the coffee table and us. To my right: the picture frame, a lamp, and the answering machine. To my left: the art easel, paintbrushes, and items on the Ching cabinet. The fire poker wasn’t close enough. I would never get that far before Mackenzie attacked.
“Desiree upset you,” I said, channeling my therapist’s calm tone. If only I could recall the words she had used to hypnotize me.
“What Desiree did was inexcusable,” Mackenzie said. “She made a promise. I was supposed to become her partner.”
“Partner?”
“We were soul mates.”
“No way. You weren’t her lover.”
“At first, I was.”
“But you’re gay,” I said. “You’re nickname was the Gay Blade.”
Realization dawned in his eyes. “So that’s how you figured out who I was. You saw Radical Cake Battle. Well, get this, I’m not gay.”
“You’re not?”
“The producers wanted different, unusual. They wanted flair. I wanted a chance.”
I released Sabrina’s hand. “I get it now. You met Desiree on the set. You made a play for her so she would feature you on her show.”
“Women, such as Desiree, go for a sex machine.” He smirked. His nasty grin turned into a grimace. “But she led me on. First, she hired me as her errand boy. She told me where to go and what to say. To her, I was no more than a puppet. When she discovered I was a licensed masseur—”
“Why are you a masseur?” I asked. That detail had perplexed me.
“An up-and-comer still needs a day job. Desiree added that task to her to-do list. I didn’t mind. I enjoy touching a beautiful woman’s body.”
My skin crawled.
Mackenzie bent forward, hands on his knees, and breathed into our faces with acidic venom. “However, when Desiree withdrew the promise, claiming she couldn’t risk putting an unknown like me on her show or her audience might think less of her, she said it all with a smile, and I thought too bad for her. She didn’t have a clue what I would do if crossed.” He reached forward and stroked Sabrina’s left breast. “Same as you, I imagine.”
Sabrina mewled. Tigger leaped onto the couch, hissed at Mackenzie, and jumped into Sabrina’s lap. Though her hands were bound, she clutched Tigger fiercely.
“Desiree didn’t think once about me,” Mackenzie continued. “She didn’t consider what an appearance could do for my career. Her heart was ice. That night—”
“The night she died,” I inserted.
“I saw her sweet-talking Anton. She flirted. She touched his hand and ran her fingers up his arm. Man, you should have seen him. The dolt was bug-eyed in love.” Mackenzie snorted. “J.P. was the same way. Desiree devoured men as easily as if they were road kill. But not me.”
“Stop it,” Sabrina cried. “Desiree was a good person.”
Mackenzie shot a finger at her. “Open your eyes, little sister. She squashed you as if you were a gnat. Day in, day out.”
“No.”
“Go ahead. Lie to yourself.”
Tears welled up in Sabrina’s eyes.
“I called Desiree,” Mackenzie went on, “and asked her to come to the bar so we could talk. I was giving her a second chance—more than she gave me. When she arrived, she had it out with you and then she caught sight of Anton, so she snubbed me. I knew what I had to do. What I had planned all along. I had to kill her. Seeing you made it that much easier. I had roofies in my pocket.”
As I had guessed. “Why would you carry those with you?” I asked.
“I told you. I enjoy sex. I’m always prepared.”
“To dominate.”
“If that’s what it takes.” Mackenzie grinned. “Sabrina had problems. Everyone knew it. I slipped her a roofie. She was slurring her words in minutes.”
“You stowed her in your van and returned to the bar.”
Mackenzie stopped in front of me and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re a smart one.”
“I do my best.”
“Typical Desiree, she forgot all about me. I followed her out.”
“And nabbed her in the parking lot. You hurled her into the van.”
“She fought, you’ll be glad to know. She came at me fast.”
“You shoved her into the passenger window, which knocked her out.”
“I drove to the beach, carried her to the shore, strangled her, and molded her into one of my beautiful creations.”
I could hear him talking to her throughout: I need you to obey, my friend. Obey, obey, obey. “Wait, you had sand-sculpting tools. You stole the trowel from my store. You preplanned everything.”
Mackenzie leered. “It was a stroke of luck having the sand-sculpting contest in town. I thought making a mermaid was a nice touch. The woman no man can have. An ice princess, like Desiree. The hook was a stroke of genius, don’t you think?”
“About the hook. Where did you get it?”
“Desiree sent Gigi and I to Bait and Switch to do some recon about taking a hike. Turns out, Gigi has an itchy finger. She pinched the hook as well as a few shiny lures.”
“You’re lying. The clerk that works there said all hooks were accounted for.”
“You went looking?” His gaze sharpened. “Clever. But the kid was wrong. Good guy that I am, I slipped into the stockroom and messed up all the hooks to cover for Gigi.”
“You stowed two hooks in one box.”
“Others had three. Some had none. If you were the clerk, wouldn’t you have given up trying to make it right?” He shrugged. “What can I say? I had that job at one time. Doing inventory sucks.”
“Big risk.”
“The risk was worth the reward. That night—that fateful night—I remembered Gigi had hidden the hook in the base of the stylist kit she left in the Winnebago. Adding the hook to my creation, well, it was an innovative idea, don’t you think? I drove back to the trailer with Sabrina, tucked her in for the night, swiped the hook, and returned to the beach. I added the hook and waited beneath a palm tree until I was certain Old Jake had swept up my footprints. The guy was ponderous but a perfectionist, I’ll give him that. Now, enough talking.” Mackenzie began pacing again. Four steps left, four steps right, back and forth, as if he was trying to make a decision. He halted. “It’s time.” He fished in his pocket and retrieved a bottle of pills. “You two are going to take a tandem swim. Jenna.” He aimed a finger at me. “Fetch a glass of water. Be quick about it.”
Was that how he intended to handle us both, by drugging and then drowning us? No way.
Mackenzie resumed pacing. As he passed by, I glimpsed the stack of cookbooks on the coffee table. I dove for them and snatched the top two, a Cook’s Illustrated and Mark Bittman’s hefty hardcover, How to Cook Everything: The Basics. I swung at Mackenzie’s head. Not an ace in the softball batting department, I connected with his shoulders. He stumbled forward. I flogged him again, attacking his spine, his shoulder, his arm. Whack, whack, whack. Beating an old mattress couldn’t have sounded duller.
He scrabbled on hands and knees toward the Ching cabinet. He clawed to a stand and got hold of the Lucky Cat. He hurled it at me. My insides clenched as a memory of David presenting me with the statue flashed before me. In the nick of time, I caught the statue—I wasn’t so bad as an outfielder. I set it aside, and refocused on Mackenzie, aka Macbeth, the messenger of death.
He leered and headed for the redbrick fireplace. I couldn’t let him reach the poker. I snared Chef Anne Burrell’s cookbook and hurled it. The book clocked Mackenzie in the kidneys. He pitched forward. His head slammed into the mantle. He slumped to the ground.
Sabrina didn’t miss a beat. She lunged from the sofa and threw herself on top of him. “Call the police,” she yelled as she pounded him, double-fisted, and uttered curse words I hadn’t heard in years.
Chapter 27
CINNAMON PRITCHETT RESPONDED in lickety-split time. She marched in, as crisp as her uniform, her mouth grim, her gaze searing. I was relieved to see that her cranky mother was nowhere in site. On Cinnamon’s heels followed paramedics and deputies. Cinnamon ordered them to tend to Mackenzie and mark the crime scene, then she herded Sabrina and me to the kitchen table.
I related the evening’s events.
“How did he get on the Radical Cake Battle show?” Cinnamon asked.
“He was raised in a small town on the coast of Oregon,” Sabrina said. Apparently as Mackenzie drove her to the beach, he had regaled her—his captive audience—with his history. “Baking ran in his family. His parents expected the same career path from him. But he wanted something more than running a two-bit, small-town bakery. He was good with tools, so he auditioned for the show and wowed them with his axe work.”
Cinnamon said, “When Desiree reneged, why didn’t he seek out another opportunity?”
“Because Desiree promised him stardom. And . . .” Sabrina licked her lips.
I leaped to my feet and filled a glass with water from the tap. I handed the glass to Sabrina. She drank in gulps.
“And . . .” Cinnamon prompted.
“Because he was in love with her. He wanted her approval.” Sabrina shook her head. Moisture glistened in her eyes. “If only I had caught on. I hate men. All men. My boyfriend, his wicked friends. Mackenzie.” Sabrina ground her teeth. “Poor Desiree. Yes, she was imperious and domineering and she could anger the most patient of people, but she didn’t deserve to die. She could be very loving and generous. She gave money to a women’s shelter, of all things.”
“And not you.” Cinnamon drummed her fingers on the table. Didn’t she believe Sabrina?
“What do I care? The shelter needs the money more than I do. I can get another job, another bo
yfriend. I can start over.” Sabrina sucked back a sob. “Des . . . can’t . . . ever.” She slurped down the rest of her water and slammed the glass on the table. “I’m pitiful. I should’ve seen . . . I should’ve—”
I petted her shoulder. “You couldn’t have prevented this. Mackenzie Baxter was demented.”
“I know,” she whispered.
I scowled at Cinnamon.
She offered a just doing her duty shrug then said, “Read Mackenzie Baxter his rights.”
“I’m free to go?” I said, before realizing I had nowhere to go. I was home.
“You’re innocent. I already told you that.”
“Please alert your mother.”
“No need. My mother has no say over anything in this town ever again.”
Cinnamon’s terse words had to have something to do with the fight I had interrupted earlier when I’d called, but I didn’t have the guts to ask details. Had the argument been about me? Did it matter? Another time, another day.
“Jenna,” my aunt yelled from outside. “What are all the police cars . . .” Aunt Vera skidded to a halt in the doorway and raised a hand to her chest. “Oh, dear. I knew it. I sensed it.”
Chapter 28
AS SABRINA DEPARTED with a deputy, she vowed to inform me when J.P. and she set the burial date for Desiree. She still wanted to take a memorial hike. I promised I would do my best to attend.
The next morning, while sitting on the porch eating my breakfast of toast with Taleggio cheese and jam, the realization hit me that I had stopped enjoying life two years ago. With David gone, I had believed there was nothing left to live for, but I was wrong. I was not yet thirty. I could be happy, right here in Crystal Cove, spending time with family and friends and breathing in the salt air. As I lifted a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, I remembered a celebratory date with David at the Fairmont Hotel. We clinked glasses of champagne to commemorate my new job at Taylor & Squibb, and he said: To your wonderful new life. May it be everything you ever wanted.
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