Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Maxwell

  “Well, I’m beginning to suspect that you’re right,” said Caldwell. “I took a look at the surveillance video from the hospital. There’s no doubt that Tim England visited Singer’s room that night. And after he left, a nurse checked on the guy and he was fine. A short time later, however, another individual entered the room. When the nurse returned in something like fifteen minutes, Singer was dead. He’d been suffocated with a pillow. The poor guy was so weak from everything he’d been through—the poison and medications and all the rest—I guess there was no way he could fight back.”

  Caldwell delivered the news in a calm, straightforward manner. It sent a chill through my body—knowing that someone had smothered Delmar Singer while he was helpless. The detective kept his eyes on me as I shivered slightly before taking a deep breath.

  “Who was it?” I asked finally.

  “Good question.” He reached into his pocket. “I’ve got the hospital video on my phone. Do you mind taking a quick look? Since you’ve been doing some poking around into the situation, I thought maybe there’s a chance you could identify the person.”

  “I don’t know if I can help,” I said. “I’ve never met Viveca’s brother or anyone in his life besides Delilah and a couple of people from his AA meeting.”

  Caldwell smiled. “It’s worth a shot. You’ve got ten years of experience as a PI, Kate. There’s always a chance you might notice something that I missed, especially since you haven’t been staring at CCTV footage from three different cases like I have.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m happy to help in any way possible.” I waited while he fiddled with his phone. “Do you have any initial suspicions about who it might be?”

  Caldwell shrugged. “Besides Delilah?” he said. “I mean, she has a record. She knew the victim. And she’s gone missing.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” I scoffed. “You don’t really think she’s the killer do you?”

  Caldwell held my gaze for a few seconds without answering the question. “Here’s what I do know for sure,” he said finally. “After Tim England left Singer’s hospital room, a second individual—we believe it was a woman—gained access. We have video of her, but she keeps her head down so you can’t see her face. I just thought…” He paused as the screen on his phone flared with a black-and-white burst of static and the hospital corridor appeared. “Okay, this is about ten seconds before she comes into view.”

  We both watched as a hospital attendant pushed an empty wheelchair across the screen. Then a set of elevator doors opened in the distance.

  “Here she comes,” Caldwell said. “You can’t miss her.”

  As I watched the footage, I saw the distinct silhouette of someone step off the elevator. Squinting at the stark contrast of the image—everything was dark, granular shapes against a shimmering white background—I concentrated on the person’s attire. Then my hand instinctively covered my mouth as I recognized the floppy hat and patchwork coat from Delilah’s apartment.

  “What is it?” asked the detective.

  “That coat and hat were at Delilah’s,” I whispered as the person on the screen walked toward the camera. “And you’re right,” I said. “They keep their head down so you…” I stopped talking while the individual turned into Delmar Singer’s hospital room. “It’s like they knew where the surveillance camera was located,” I said. “The way they kept their face turned to the right and…” I felt a faint flutter in the back of my mind, like my subconscious had noticed something in the video. “Can you rewind that and play it again?”

  Caldwell nodded silently before complying with my request.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes, go ahead.” I followed his finger as it tapped the screen. “There were a couple of other things I wanted to see a second time,” I explained. “I think maybe I recognized something else.”

  While the video played, I focused even more intently on the flickering images: the hospital attendant, the empty wheelchair, the elevator doors and then the person in the floppy hat and patchwork coat.

  “Okay!” I said. “Can you stop it right there?”

  Caldwell quickly tapped the screen and the image froze with the person turning toward the room where Delmar Singer—recovering from the first attempt on his life—was just seconds away from being suffocated with a pillow.

  “The Chuck Taylors,” I said, squinting at the shoes on the shadowy figure’s feet. “I’ve seen those before, too.”

  I kept my eyes on the high-top shoes with thunderbolts drawn on the toes.

  “In Delilah’s apartment?” asked Caldwell.

  I shook my head. “I saw them last night,” I answered. “At Tick-Tock Donuts.”

  Caldwell raised one eye. “Who do they belong to?”

  “I actually saw two different pairs.”

  “So?” He nodded. “Who was wearing them?”

  “Jake Breen,” I answered. “And I saw the other pair in the women’s restroom, on somebody in a stall.”

  “Okay,” Caldwell said. “Did you see her face?”

  I shook my head again. “No,” I answered. “I don’t know who it was, although I think I know who it was.”

  “Do I have to guess?” he asked.

  “No, but I want to see if I can confirm it before I tell you,” I said. “Can we get back to Jake Breen?”

  Caldwell smiled. “Do we have to?”

  “What’s his story?” I asked.

  “Low level con man, occasional drug dealer and well-known stooge around Aurora and Lakewood. He’s pretty much avoided Denver proper until very recently.”

  I listened as Caldwell described Breen’s list of misdeeds. He was arrested for shoplifting at the age of twelve, landed in juvie when he was sixteen and cooled his heels for a year at the Arrowhead Correctional Center in Cañon City as an adult for selling stolen goods.

  “That was the last time he demonstrated sheer stupidity,” Caldwell explained. “It’s also where he met Ambrose Winstead, a real piece of work who we suspect taught Breen a few things about pulling bank jobs.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “Are you telling me that Breen has robbed banks but hasn’t been arrested?”

  Caldwell frowned. “He’s a suspect in three heists in the past two years. And the guy’s crafty; his alibis have checked out so far, but it’s only a matter of time. He’ll get sloppy at some point and we’ll be there to punch his card.”

  “How recent was the last robbery you think he pulled?”

  “Very recent,” Caldwell answered. “Remember the ten grand we found in the freezer at Delilah’s apartment?”

  I smiled. “It came from a bank robbery?”

  “A town called La Junta,” he said. “South of Colorado Springs.”

  “I know La Junta. My nana had friends there. I went down once during summer vacation when I was a little girl.”

  “Well, we’re pretty sure Jake Breen took the same drive,” Caldwell said. “Although he didn’t go with his grandmother. We believe that he went with Anton Hall, Toby Wurlitzer and Delmar Singer.”

  As Caldwell described his theory about Breen and the other men robbing the bank in La Junta, I imagined a few possible reasons that Viveca’s brother might have been targeted with the poisoned cupcakes. When Caldwell finished, I shared a couple of my theories.

  “Maybe Tim England overheard something in the hall outside his apartment,” I suggested. “Or maybe he saw them carrying the loot from the bank into Delmar’s place.”

  Caldwell shrugged. “Or maybe it’s unrelated,” he said. “Jealous lover, workplace grudge, bad-tempered loan shark. There are plenty of reasons for sending a box of poisoned cupcakes to someone.”

  “Okay, sure,” I said. “But you are one-hundred percent certain that Tim wasn’t involved in the bank robbery, right?”

  “How about ninety-nine percent?” Caldwell joked. “His band was in Minnesota when the La Junta bank was hit. There are dozens of pictures online that show him with fans and club promoters all ov
er Minneapolis.”

  “In other words, he has an alibi?”

  “Rock solid,” answered Caldwell. “Between his Twitter feed, the band’s Instagram account and a series of panting blog posts by one particular female fan, Tim England was nowhere near La Junta when the Pueblo National Credit Union was relieved of two-hundred thousand in crisp, marked bills.”

  “But you suspect that Jake did the job with Anton, Toby and Delmar?”

  A thin smile appeared on Caldwell’s face. “Look at you,” he said. “On a first name basis with four dangerous criminals.”

  I smirked. “Is it possible that Delmar Singer tried to pull a fast one on his buddies? Maybe take off with some of the cash? But when they found out, they decided to kill him and frame my neighbor’s brother for the murder.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Caldwell said. “But the plot you just described takes a certain kind of finesse that Jake Breen doesn’t usually bother with. If he thought Delmar was trying to pinch some of the robbery proceeds, he’d go over, knock on the door and plug him with a single round right between the eyes.”

  “Okay, but what if—”

  “Besides,” Caldwell added, “we’ve got a witness that saw Tim England pick up the box of cupcakes, look inside and then offer them immediately to Delmar Singer.”

  “A witness?”

  He nodded. “An elderly woman who lives on the same floor, Eleanor Sanderson. She was going out with her dog at the same time that Tim scooped up the box of goodies. When he saw the cupcakes, he first called out to the Sanderson woman. She declined the offer, but stayed in the hallway long enough to see Tim knock on Singer’s door and give the box to Delmar. Then both men went into their respective apartments and Eleanor took Duke out for a walk.”

  “Duke’s the dog?”

  Caldwell smiled. “Your sleuthing skills are, as always, first-class, Kate.”

  “I knew a dog named Duke once,” I said. “A former runway model in Chicago had an Airedale. She was a jazz aficionado, especially Duke Ellington.”

  “Got it,” he said. “I don’t know if Eleanor Sanderson likes jazz, but I do know she’s an impeccable eyewitness.”

  “And she gave a statement that essentially lets Tim England off the hook for Delmar’s murder?”

  “Part of it anyway,” Caldwell said. “Between what she saw in the hallway at the apartment building and the time frame for Tim’s visit to the hospital, he’s not involved with Delmar’s death.”

  “How did Singer end up in the hospital in the first place?” I asked. “If he took the cupcakes and went inside his apartment, did he collapse there?”

  Caldwell shook his head. “From what we can piece together, Delmar ate one of the poisoned cupcakes right away. During the next little bit, he consumed the others. There was so much of that solvent stuff in the frosting that he started to feel the effects within eight hours, which is when he stumbled across the hall in the middle of the night and collapsed outside Tim England’s door.”

  “And Tim heard the commotion?”

  Caldwell smirked. “Have you heard a description of Delmar Singer? The guy weighed close to three-hundred pounds. I imagine half the people in the building heard him slam against Tim England’s front door when he fell.”

  “And you said only eight hours passed between the last of the cupcakes and when he collapsed?”

  Caldwell nodded.

  “Doesn’t it usually take longer?” I asked. “I remember reading about a case that involved a woman who tried to kill herself with acetonitrile. Her husband found her eleven hours after she drank the stuff. Lucky for her, they were able to remedy the poison before she died.”

  “I imagine it depends on how much you ingest and the usual factors like body size, gender, current health, pre-existing conditions and—”

  The sound of a quacking duck suddenly erupted from his pocket.

  “Sorry about that!” Caldwell’s face flushed pink as he retrieved his phone again and silenced the noisy bird. “That’s my reminder that I have a call with the district attorney’s office.” He glanced at his watch. “I should go out to my car so I can check in with them.”

  He got up and slid the phone back into his pocket.

  “Thanks for your time, Kate,” he said. “I’m sorry if I disrupted your day by showing up unannounced.”

  I waved away the apology. “After the morning we had, an interruption is a welcome thing.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll bring Madelyn to Crescent Creek for a long weekend after we get back from her brother’s wedding. Then we can both indulge in some of your baked goods and a cup of real coffee.”

  “You’re welcome anytime,” I said. “I’m glad you finally made it up to see our little slice of paradise.”

  “You’ve got that right. When I took the job in Denver, I wasn’t sure how I’d like Colorado after ten years in New Orleans. But it’s even better than I expected.”

  I followed him to the door and onto the front porch. At the top of the stairs, he turned and the smile on his face brightened.

  “I know you want to help your friend’s brother, but Jake Breen and his boys are bad news. Why don’t you let us handle the rest of this?”

  “Oh, I will,” I said. “I just want to satisfy my own curiosity about a couple of things.”

  “Such as?”

  “If someone did try to kill Tim,” I answered, “maybe it was just a sideshow to Jake Breen’s bank robbery scheme. Or maybe it’s something entirely different.”

  Caldwell smirked. “You’ve been watching too much television, Kate. That kind of thing doesn’t happen all that often in the real world.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not, but I want to check it out anyway.” He kept looking at me, but he didn’t say a word. “Besides,” I continued, “investigating crime is in my blood. Once I get started trying to unravel a new case, I’m like a dog with a bone.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “No cracks, please,” I said. “That’s an unfortunate comparison. Maybe it’s more like what they say—you can take the woman out of the PI business, but you can’t take the PI business out of the woman.”

  He laughed. “Who says that?”

  “I’m not exactly sure who ‘they’ are,” I said, adding air quotes. “But I do believe they’re absolutely correct.”

  We sat in silence as Caldwell contemplated my wobbly defense. I added a few more things about my intentions for one final sleuthing expedition into Denver. I told him that I wouldn’t cross any lines. I promised not to overstep any boundaries. And I assured him that I would get in touch immediately if I learned anything that I thought might be useful for his investigation of the La Junta bank robbery or either of the murders.

  “Okay, sure,” Caldwell said when I finished. “But can I ask you to promise one more thing?”

  I smiled. “Of course,” I said. “What’s that?”

  “Just watch your back, Kate.”

  “Absolutely,” I promised. “I’ll watch my back, my front and both sides.”

  Caldwell shook his head, laughed and clambered down the stairs. I stood and watched until he disappeared around the corner. Then I went back inside, poured a cup of coffee and headed for my office to finish the bookkeeping for the week.

  CHAPTER 38

  My slice of German chocolate cake and I were sitting comfortably on the sofa in my apartment when the phone rang and VIVECA ENGLAND flashed on the screen. I reluctantly put down the fork and answered the call.

  “Hey, Viv. How are you?”

  She squealed loudly before repeating my name at a rabbity pace like an anxious child. “Kate!” she gushed. “Oh, Kate, Kate, Kate!” She inhaled loudly and a man in the background told her to calm down. “You’re not going to believe this!”

  “Try me,” I said, my ravenous eyes still glued to the wedge of cake.

  Viveca laughed brightly. “Take a guess!”

  I wasn’t in the mood for games. And I wasn’t in the mood for silliness. I was in t
he mood for a slice of German chocolate cake and an episode of Modern Family before climbing into a hot bubble bath.

  “Kate?”

  I licked a smudge of frosting from one finger. “Can you give me a clue?”

  “Guess who’s sitting at my kitchen table?”

  “Brad Pitt and George Clooney?”

  She groaned. “My brother and Delilah!” The squeal that followed was so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear until she stopped. “They got here about an hour ago! I saw that your car was gone, so I figured we’d wait until you were home to tell you the good news!”

  I put my plate on the coffee table. “Are they okay?”

  In a rush of excitement, Viveca told me that Tim and Delilah were fine. After the incident with the poisoned cupcakes and Delmar Singer’s murder, they decided to get out of Denver for a few days. In the mad dash to leave town, their phone chargers had been left behind. When the batteries died, they were essentially off the grid for the remainder of the trip.

  “It’s really that simple!” Kate added. “I mean, isn’t that amazing? I’ve been worried the whole time that something bad had happened to them, but they were camping and fishing.”

  I dipped my finger in the frosting. “Lucky them,” I said, quickly depositing the dollop of sugary paradise in my mouth.

  “It’s the best thing ever!” she chirped cheerfully. “They’re going to stay here with me for a few days, just until things at the apartment cool off a bit more.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I said.

  “I thought so, too,” Viveca agreed. “Do you want to come over for a glass of wine to celebrate?”

  I stared at the mouth-watering wedge of cake. I looked down at my bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers. And then I listened as Viveca repeated the question three times in a rat-a-tat tumble of breathless exhilaration.

  “I’ll be right there,” I said. “Give me five minutes to change my clothes.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Tim England was even more handsome in person. He was a slender man with tousled light brown hair, a stubble-covered chin and the most radiant hazel eyes I’d ever seen in my life. He also looked the part of the indie musician: a few tattoos, a trio of thin leather strips knotted around one wrist, weathered jeans, a faded denim shirt and battered black brogues. When I came through the kitchen door at Viveca’s he was perched on the counter, swigging from a bottle of beer and watching Delilah as she flailed her arms overhead and clomped across the linoleum floor in her bare feet.