by Joyce Tremel
CHAPTER FOUR
I was frozen in place, not sure what happened. A woman screamed. Several people hollered to call 911. Others started clicking away with their cell phone cameras. I snapped out of my stupor and ducked under the barrier, making my way to the judges’ table, where Jake was on his knees beside the critic, feeling his neck for a pulse. One of the off-duty police officers who was working security pushed his way through the bystanders while talking into his portable radio. My stomach lurched when I reached the fallen man. His face had been red before, but now it was a dark cherry color and his lips had turned a sickening bluish purple. Jake was already doing chest compressions, but I didn’t think it would help.
Within minutes, paramedics arrived along with several police units. The medics took over from Jake and we moved out of the way. They worked on him for what seemed like forever, but in the end Reginald Mobley was pronounced dead.
Despite the heat, I shivered. Jake already had his arm around me and now he pulled me close.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I just can’t believe it. He was fine one minute, then boom. No warning at all.”
“It happens like that sometimes.”
Randy Gregory and Cory Dixon wove through the crowd to where we stood. “Is it true?” Randy said. “Mobley’s dead?”
“See for yourself.” Jake pointed to where medics and police officers stood.
“Oh man,” Cory said. “That’s great news.”
“I bet you’re glad, Max,” Randy said.
“Glad?” I felt a flash of heat in my cheeks. “How can you say that? A man is dead. I didn’t like him much. As a matter of fact I didn’t like him at all, but I’d never wish anyone dead. No, I’m not glad.”
Randy shrugged. “I’ll be happy for both of us, then. I have no sympathy for that jerk.”
Cory stared at his feet. “I only meant it’s great we don’t have to deal with him anymore.”
Jake nudged me. “Look.”
Two of the officers on scene were stringing crime scene tape around the area of the judging table. I wasn’t surprised. It was standard procedure. They’d want to keep the area clear until someone from the medical examiner’s office arrived to take the body away. There would also be an autopsy, since the death was so sudden.
Another officer came over and ordered everyone who’d been watching the competition to move to the open tent where the kitchen had been set up so they could get statements. I wondered why the uniforms didn’t just take everyone’s name and phone number and let everyone go. They could get statements later. Maybe they were being extra careful because of who the dead man was.
“I can’t stay,” one woman complained. “I have to be at work in half an hour.”
“Call your boss,” the officer said. “You’re gonna be late.”
“How long do we have to stay there?” a man asked.
The cop’s answer was “As long as it takes.”
The complaints continued long after all fifty of us were stuffed under a tent that had room for only thirty at most. And the fact that there were only half a dozen chairs made things worse. Randy and Cory told the officer they had arrived after Mobley died and hadn’t seen a thing. We backed them up, so they were permitted to leave.
Jake and I stayed near the edge of the tent, not only because it was cooler there, but so we could see what was going on. I called Mike to tell him what had happened, but the word had already reached him. I asked him to close up the booth and take any remaining beer back to the pub. We’d start fresh tomorrow. If we were out of here by then, that was.
I saw my dad arrive with a detective I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t unusual for detectives to investigate when someone died suddenly, but I was beginning to think there was more to Mobley’s death than we thought. First we’d been sequestered, then crime scene tape went up, and now detectives were here. Individually, it didn’t mean anything, but all three together was a little out of the norm. I told the officer who was babysitting us that my dad was one of the investigators. He either didn’t believe me or didn’t care, because he wouldn’t let me leave. At one point I spotted Ginger Alvarado standing with her arm around a tall woman with long platinum hair wearing a hot pink sundress. Every once in a while the woman dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. I wondered if this was the current wife. What did Dwayne say her name was? Melanie? No, it was Melody. Marshall Babcock and Leonard Wilson were nearby, too, and already talking to my dad and the other detective.
Tired of standing, I found a tiny patch of grass in the gravel just outside the tent and sat down. The officer gave me a look, but didn’t say anything. I guess as long as I was sitting, I couldn’t escape. I’d been seated for only five or ten minutes when Marshall pointed in this direction, and my dad and the other detective headed our way. Thank goodness. I got to my feet and motioned for Jake to join me.
Dad bussed me on the cheek and shook hands with Jake. “Are you all right, sweetie?” he said to me.
“I’m okay,” I said. “It’s just such a shock.”
The other detective cleared his throat.
“Sorry,” Dad said. “This is Vincent Falk.”
Vincent Falk was the epitome of the perfect TV detective, or at the very least, a model for GQ. His charcoal suit looked expensive, as did the gold cuff links attached to a shirt that was the whitest I’d ever seen. He wore a red patterned tie that had to be silk. I wasn’t an expert in these things, but I did have five brothers. His blond hair was cut and styled so perfectly it made me wonder how many cans of hair spray he used in a week.
“Vince is new to the department and I’m showing him the ropes.”
Dad smiled. Vince did not.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
He didn’t reply—only nodded, then looked at Jake. “I understand the victim was eating your hamburger when he collapsed.”
“Yes, he was,” Jake said.
“I’ll need to see where you prepared your food.”
I noticed he said I and not we. “Why?” I asked.
Vince ignored me. “Show me where.”
I looked at my father. His face was a blank, but his jaw was clenched, which told me he wasn’t happy about something. My guess would be his new partner.
Jake led the detective and my dad through the overcrowded tent to the table where he’d been working. Two teenage girls sat cross-legged on top of the plastic banquet table.
Vince approached them, giving the two a dazzling smile. “Would you young ladies mind sitting somewhere else? We need to work here.”
The girls blushed and jumped to their feet.
“Thank you very much,” he said. “I appreciate it.” He smiled again and they giggled as they walked away.
So, Vince could be charming when he wanted to be. Just not with us. As soon as the girls were out of sight, he turned back to Jake. “Where is everything you used today?”
“Right there in the cooler.”
Vince pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and began slipping them on.
My dad finally spoke up. “Vince, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I’m following protocol. I’m not bending the rules because you know these people.”
“They’re not just people.”
“That’s my point.” Vince snapped the wrist of the glove as he finished putting it on. He pawed through the contents of the cooler, which took all of about five seconds. There was only plastic wrap that had held ground beef, some empty containers where the vegetables had been, and a couple of jars of assorted spices. “That’s all there is?”
“That’s it,” Jake said.
“I’m going to take this for processing,” Vince said.
I expected Dad to say something. When he didn’t, I spoke up. “What exactly is going on here? Why do you need our cooler? What does any of thi
s have to do with Mobley having a heart attack?”
Vince looked at me with a smug smile on his face. “Because it wasn’t just a heart attack.”
“Vince.” Dad’s voice was sharp. “That’s enough. Take the cooler and I’ll meet you at the car.”
The detective clamped his mouth shut, snatched up the cooler, and stalked out of the tent. He reminded me of one of my nieces when they didn’t get their way.
Jake shook his head. “That guy’s got issues.”
I was angry. “Where does he get off treating us like that?”
“I’m sorry about that,” my dad said. “Vince is a little intense.”
“You think?” He needed to do better than that.
“Let’s go back out where we can talk.” He didn’t need to add “without anyone eavesdropping.”
Jake and I followed him out of the tent. There were now two vehicles from the medical examiner’s office and half a dozen techs where Mobley had collapsed. “Why so much activity for a heart attack?” Jake asked.
“We won’t know for certain yet,” Dad said, “but it appears the victim didn’t die of natural causes. He may have been poisoned.”
I can’t say I was surprised. Not only because of Vince’s last statement, but there was way too much activity for a medical issue. Mobley had been murdered. The image of his cherry red face and blue lips came to mind. I tried to recall what poison or poisons would cause that. I had a master’s degree in chemistry, but it had been more than a few years since I’d used the knowledge for anything other than brewing beer.
Dad continued. “He may have ingested cyanide.”
I did a mental head slap. Of course. Cyanide.
All of a sudden it hit me why Dad’s new partner was so cold to us. He considered us suspects. Mobley collapsed while eating Jake’s contest entry. And I had a chemistry background. “That explains Vinnie the Viper’s attitude, then.”
Dad kept a straight face, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t let him hear you call him that.”
“How did you get saddled with him?” Jake said.
“It’s a long story, which we don’t really have time for right now.” He glanced over to where Vince stood talking to one of the crime scene techs. “He’s a good cop. This will be his first homicide, so he’s a little too gung ho. He’ll settle down eventually. I hope.”
* * *
Let me get this straight,” Candy said. “That poor excuse for a food critic died while he was eating Jake’s hamburger.”
“
It was late in the evening and we were sitting in Jump, Jive & Java, the coffee shop across the street from the brew house. The festival was supposed to end at nine, but given what had happened and the police presence, Ginger decided to close down earlier. After Jake and I packed up, we returned to the brewery. The events of the day had taken a toll on us and by the time we filled our staff in on what had happened, we were both exhausted. When Jake dropped me off at my loft, he reminded me we had planned to trade vehicles. I had totally forgotten about it. His parents were coming in from Florida for a two-week-long visit, so he took my Corolla to pick them up at the airport in the morning. It worked out perfectly, since I needed the truck anyway to haul the kegs to the festival.
I thought about going straight to bed after I fed my kitten, Hops—a gray tabby that I’d adopted two months ago. Despite being tired, I couldn’t settle down, and I ended up pacing the floor in my living room for half an hour. When Hops pounced and attached herself to my leg for the third time, I peeled her off and took a walk. By the time I reached Butler Street, Candy was just locking up the bakery and together we headed across the street.
The coffee shop was owned by my good friend Kristie Brinkley, who, by the way, had nothing in common with the supermodel other than they were both gorgeous. Kristie “with a K,” as she liked to say, looked more like Halle Berry—if the actress wore dreadlocks. Kristie changed the color of her hair more often than some people changed socks. Today’s color was a deep purple. I liked it, but there’s no way I’d have the nerve to wear it myself. I’d keep my black pixie, thank you very much.
“That’s not the worst of it,” I said. “Someone poisoned him.”
Kristie shook her head, making her braids sway back and forth. “That’s not good.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real Einstein?” my ninety-two-year-old friend Elmer Fairbanks said. He didn’t mince words about anything or anybody. He had made himself part of our book group at the library, and since then he’d been a permanent fixture at either the bakery, the pub, or here.
“We know you’re not,” Candy said to Elmer. The two of them were always at odds. Most of the time it was good-natured. I think they just liked to argue.
“What happened next?” Kristie asked.
I filled them in, including the part where Vince Falk took our cooler.
It was Elmer’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t like it. That detective—your pop’s new partner—reminds me of a CO I had once.” Elmer was a World War II vet who had served with the 101st Airborne. “Tried to railroad one of my buddies for something he didn’t do.”
“There are much better suspects,” I said.
“Maybe,” Elmer said. “But I’d bet the victim wasn’t eating any of their food when he keeled over.”
“Who are the other suspects?” Candy asked.
I sipped my mocha. “His ex-wife for starters. She actually threatened to kill him.”
Candy tapped her Steeler-decaled fingernails on the table. “Who all heard the threat?”
“Half the festivalgoers,” I said. “Mobley was heading for the table where the judges were sitting and his ex had latched onto his arm. He shook her off and told her she wasn’t going to get any more money from him. He laughed and asked if she was going to threaten to kill him again.”
Kristie leaned forward. “What did she say?”
“That he’d be very sorry.”
“That’s not a death threat,” Elmer said.
“Maybe not,” I said. “It was more the way she said it. Apparently she threatened him before. And money is always a good motive.”
“Who else do you suspect?” Candy wanted to know.
I ticked off a list that included half the brewers and restaurateurs in town. It was a long list.
Elmer finished his decaf. “Looks like you got your work cut out for you, missy.”
“And time is of the essence,” Candy said.
I reached for one of the caramel pecan brownies Candy had brought. “What do you mean?” I bit into the brownie and stifled a groan. It was heavenly—dense, moist chocolate drizzled with gooey caramel and sprinkled with chopped pecans. The perfect combination of chocolate and caramel. And the pecans were a nice addition. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. With everything that had gone on, neither Jake nor I had thought about eating dinner. I licked my fingers and took another brownie.
Elmer and Candy talked at the same time. Candy rolled her eyes and Elmer said, “Go on, ladies first. No one can say I’m not a gentleman.” He looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Of course, I know she would’ve kept talking anyway.”
Candy ignored his remark. “Here are the facts. Reginald Mobley collapsed eating the hamburger Jake made. Mobley gave you and Jake a hard time yesterday and wrote that terrible thing in the paper this morning.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t all about me. He criticized several of us.”
“Let me finish,” Candy said. “That detective took your cooler. The one that Jake had all his cooking stuff in.”
“Plus the ones from the other four chefs who prepared their food at the same time as Jake.”
Candy gave me a look for interrupting her again. “I’m just saying that we need to find who did this before either you or Jake ends up in the hoosegow.”
I laughed at her choice of words. “I seriously doubt either one of us is going to jail. When they test everything, they’ll see we had nothing to do with it.”
“Maybe so,” Candy said. “But I’m not leaving it up to chance, and neither should you. I’ll ask around and see what I can find out about Mobley, his ex-wife, and some of the others you mentioned.”
By morning, she’d probably have a dossier on all of them. I’d attempted numerous times to discover how Candy was able to ferret out so much information all the time. She could find out anything on anybody—and I was sure it wasn’t only from gossiping with the neighbors. Every time I asked what kind of work she’d done before she became a baker, her answer was always “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” I’d dreamed up a scenario that she’d been a spy or a secret agent. Part of me hoped it was true. I’d be disappointed if I was wrong.
“Are they going to cancel the festival now?” Kristie asked.
I shook my head. “I thought they would, but Ginger Alvarado—the woman who organized it—made an announcement that even though we closed early tonight, the rest of the weekend would continue on schedule. Her city councilman husband convinced the mayor that the city would lose a lot of revenue if they shut it down.”
Elmer pushed himself to his feet. “I bet your pop wasn’t happy about that.”
“I haven’t talked to him tonight, but I’m sure he’s not going to like a couple thousand people tramping all over a crime scene.” I didn’t say it, but his new by-the-book partner would hate it even more. The thought made me smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vincent Falk stood on the sidewalk outside the brew house peering into one of the front windows when I arrived at five thirty the next morning. He turned when he heard me approach. His white shirt and navy pants looked freshly starched and his blue paisley tie was so tight I didn’t know how he could even breathe. “I was told you were always here early,” he said. His tone made me feel like he didn’t think I was early enough. It was well before I usually arrived, but I wanted to brew a batch before the festival.