by Louise Lynn
Hazel didn’t know what it meant, though she had a feeling her mother would say something about the inn being haunted, like she always did.
“It’s not ghosts,” Hazel said.
Her mother waved her hand in the air like she was tossing the thought aside. “Of course not. I wasn’t going to say ghosts. This is a completely different scenario. And it involves spies. Obviously. They’re always murdering each other with cyanide.”
Hazel wrinkled her nose. “Spies usually kill themselves with cyanide. And, this isn’t a James Bond movie. Nor do I think Monica Lopez was a spy.”
“You can never tell these days. Or maybe a spy killed her. Did you think that?”
Hazel honestly hadn’t thought of that, mostly because it was ludicrous. “The woman was the local news anchor in Reno, why would a spy want to kill her?”
Maureen gave a knowing nod. “Oh, yes I think I remember her. Pretty, but too much makeup? Although most newscasters do wear too much makeup. Even the men. It’s just odd,” she said and shook her head. “But I change my theory. It probably wasn’t a spy; though I would say it has something to do with her job. Maybe she was on to something, and she got killed for it? I seem to remember some scandal on that station a few months back. Something related to the police, and the bride was involved.”
Hazel was ready to come up with a retort, but that suggestion wasn’t as ludicrous as her mother’s other suggestions. “That’s not a bad theory, for once. But I have no idea if it’s true or not. And I don’t think the Reno PD killed her.”
“Hmm, no, I wouldn’t put the blame on the police, but—oh! You wouldn’t remember since it happened right after you were born, but this does remind me of the Tylenol murders. Cyanide was used in that case too,” her mother said, her glasses catching the light and shining.
Hazel had heard about that case, but she didn’t know the details—only that someone had poisoned bottles of Tylenol and put them on store shelves. The case was responsible for the tamper proof seals all medicine came with nowadays.
Her mother’s eyes took on a new gleam as they reached the Lakeside Inn, and Hazel had an idea that Esther wasn’t the only thing that brought Maureen Hart rushing down here.
“Is it gorgeous enough to be so exclusive?” her mother said in a dismissive tone as they stepped inside.
Hazel shrugged. “It’s quite lovely, though not as ornate as something like the Rockwell Manor or as exclusive as the Castle.”
“Well, I don’t see what the big deal is. The gardens are fine, but as you said, they don’t compare to some of the larger properties. I think the owners are just trying to stir up interest by making it invitation only. You’re right, nothing is as secretive as the Castle.”
She noticed her mother’s eyes trailing over the wallpaper and the sconces— probably original—located every few feet along the hall.
Several of the guests were huddled into groups in the parlor, crying or whispering among themselves. Hazel also noticed there were deputies there keeping an eye on everyone so no one could slip away.
She didn’t see Esther anywhere. Or Violet.
“That’s assault, and we can press charges,” a man cried—the voice all too familiar.
Maureen and Hazel’s eyes met, and they turned toward the noise, ducking out into the patio where Hazel had enjoyed tea the day before.
Raj stood in front of Esther, his usually handsome features dipped into a dangerous frown.
A shorter man stood in front of him, with gray hair and a bushy mustache. Monica’s father, if Hazel remembered correctly. “She baked the cake, so she killed my daughter. Arrest me if you want, but she needs to go to jail too,” the man said, and his voice broke.
Deputy Simmons rushed out right after Hazel arrived and pulled Monica’s grieving father away.
“Why aren’t you arresting her?”
“Probably because she didn’t do it,” Maureen said and stared daggers at the man. “We’re terribly sorry for your loss, but my daughter didn’t kill anyone. And the police are trying to find out who the real culprit is, so it would behoove you to act in a manner that helps them do that, don’t you think?”
Hazel was sure the man would’ve said more, but for Deputy Simmons’ presence. So, under the deputies guiding hand, he stepped back inside.
Raj turned back to Esther, who was currently wiping a smear of pink frosting out of her hair. Her white catering blouse was covered in chocolate crumbs of what looked like an exploded baked good.
Hazel had an idea what had happened. “He threw a cupcake at you?”
She could tell Esther was trying to hold up under this, but her bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes. I’ve never—I’ve never been attacked with my own cupcakes before. Or accused of killing someone,” she said.
Raj wrapped a strong arm around her. He was only a few inches taller, but it was enough for Esther to lean into his shoulder and squeeze him back.
“Oh dear, this is what I was afraid of; you know how people get in the wake of tragedy. Suspicions fly everywhere, and whoever was closest to the victim is all of a sudden a suspect. I know exactly what it’s like, and I’m here to take you home, Essie,” their mother said and rubbed her shoulder.
Esther nodded and gave Raj a watery smile. “Thank you. I need to go pick up Ruth and head home but–”
He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Get some rest, and if you need anything, call me.”
Hazel followed her mother and sister out to the car. The parking lot was full, and Hazel hoped none of the guests knew which car was Esther’s, because they might deface it as well.
“Where is Violet?” Hazel asked as they climbed in Maureen’s hatchback.
Esther look appalled with herself for a moment, and shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she left the broom closet with you.”
That wasn’t good. Hazel thought Violet was going to return to Esther.
Had the girl run off again? Hazel thought with a sinking pit in her stomach.
“Oh, she’s around somewhere,” Maureen said. “She showed up at the house to tell us about Esther. And then I took her back here. You didn’t know?”
Hazel let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “No, and she’s not supposed to run off.” Though, she was talking about a teenager here.
Maureen Hart grinned as she started her car. “Ruthie was very interested. She wanted to come down and help solve the case too, but I told her that her mother probably wouldn’t like that, so she’s back at the house with your father.”
Hazel caught a glimpse of Esther’s exasperated expression as they pulled away, and she knew she was going to have to talk to Violet about running off on her own— again—but for now, she still needed to find Candace Stratford.
As soon as Hazel stepped back inside, Deputy Simmons apologized for Mr. Lopez’s behavior. “He retired to his room, but I don’t know if we can do anything about the rumor swirling about your sister,” the man said and gave Hazel a heavy frown.
She nodded.
She figured as much, which meant they had to find the real culprit sooner rather than later. Not only did they have a ticking time limit when likely suspects left the state, but now she needed to clear her sister’s name.
Even if none of the law enforcement thought she did it, the court of public opinion was bad enough, which Hazel understood from experience.
“I know. Have you seen the station manager, Candace Stratford?” she asked.
Deputy Simmons nodded brightly. “I did. She was headed to the bar.”
Hazel raised an eyebrow. Mace Daily said he was going to the bar as well, and Hazel was surprised there was still an open bar considering the circumstances. But, if it was already paid for, it probably didn’t matter. Nor did Pablo Santos seem to be in the state of mind to shut it down.
Hazel peeked into three different rooms before she found the one she sought. It had probably initially been a study meant for the menfolk to t
alk about politics and business while they smoked cigars and sipped their scotch. Nothing much had been changed, design-wise, from the dark mahogany walls to the thick leather chairs paired off in each corner. Though, she guessed the bar itself was a newer addition.
It was small and had a couple of stools in front of it. Candace Stratford stood rather than sat, her long, thin legs on display, and she swirled the alcohol in her glass.
Mace Daily was there as well, and Hazel stopped in the doorway and strained to hear their hushed whispers.
“Come on; you had to know. She couldn’t keep a secret,” Mace hissed.
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” Candace said in a way that implied Monica was plenty good at keeping secrets. “And no, she never told me. She only said it was going to help her get away from my two-bit station.”
Mace slammed his glass against the bar, and Hazel was surprised the glass didn’t shatter with the force. “I’m not going to be overshadowed by her, even in death. So, does this mean I get the solo newscaster spot?”
From her spot near the doorway, Hazel saw the woman turn and give Mace a level stare. “Solo newscaster? No. We’re going to replace her, and I already have someone in mind. An up and comer, not a has-been,” the woman said with so much disdain Hazel could practically feel it in the air.
Mace’s eyes burned. “Has-been? Me? You’ll regret that. Especially when I find out what she was up to and use it to jump ship just like she was going to,” he snarled, spun, and walked away.
He pushed past Hazel as if she weren’t even there—none of the Mace Daily signature charm he’d shown earlier.
There was definitely trouble in Denmark, though Hazel wasn’t quite sure if she understood what that trouble entailed.
She waited a few beats after Mace left to approach the bar. The woman tending it was small and petite and raised an eyebrow in Hazel’s direction. “What can I get you?”
Hazel felt judged. And, she was pretty sure if she were that bartender, she’d be judging people for drinking at a wedding where the bride was murdered as well.
“Seltzer water, I’m parched,” Hazel said.
The bartender raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t say a word. A moment later she handed Hazel her glass.
“I will have you know I’m not an idiot, like Mace,” Candace Stratford said and hooked Hazel with that same level stare she’d given her news anchor.
Hazel blinked. “I never said you were an idiot.”
“Good, then you can get straight to the point. No, I didn’t have anything to do with Monica’s death. Is that good enough for you?”
Hazel frowned at her drink and took a long sip. The bubbles tickled her nose pleasantly. Maybe having an actual gin and tonic would help the conversation with this woman, but she couldn’t risk it. Especially because alcohol tended to make her sleepy, and this was going to be a long night. “I’m just–”
“Just the photographer, right? Despite what you may think, we do get news about your sleepy little town from time to time, especially with several high profile murders in so many months. You didn’t think that would make the news? Of course it did. And the Cedar Valley Post has a website. The little town photographer has been featured quite a number of times solving murder after murder. So, do you work for the police?” Candace said, baring her stunningly white teeth.
Hazel shrugged. How had this turned from her questioning the woman, into the woman questioning her? That had never happened before. “No, but I sort of stumble on these things.”
Candace Stratford let out an indelicate snort that didn’t suit her demeanor at all. “Stumble upon murders and killers? No, I don’t think that’s the case. Whatever your modus operandi is, just know that I wasn’t involved.”
Hazel nodded slowly. “Okay, so you weren’t involved. Who else had motive to want Monica dead?”
“In case you didn’t catch all of our hushed conversation, her fellow anchor had a pretty good motive. He’s been gunning for a solo spot for years. Thinks if he got her out of the way, he’d have the spotlight all to himself. Idiot. Of course, he can’t have it. He couldn’t carry an hour of news. He can barely read from the teleprompter without stumbling over his words half the time,” Candace said and shook her head. She threw back the rest of whatever alcohol was in her glass. The ice clinked, and she slid it back across the bar. “More, please.”
Hazel thought about that for a moment. Was Mace Daily smart enough to poison a wedding cake? Well, he did have that suspicious conversation with Violet about it, and inserting poison into the wedding cake wasn’t exactly rocket science either.
Though if cyanide was the poison, where would he have gotten it? She should’ve asked her mom more about it, Hazel realized.
“Oh, believe me, we’re looking into him, but you were hovering near the cake during the reception. Quite close, in fact,” Hazel said.
Candace’s lips spread into a broad smile. “Was I? Did you catch that on one of your many jaunts around the room with your camera?”
Hazel shrugged. The woman wasn’t giving away much information, so Hazel figured she’d do the same thing.
“If you have proof of me poisoning the cake, out with it, otherwise it sounds like circumstantial evidence.”
Hazel pinched her lips shut and decided to change directions. That might get something out of her. “I heard the contract negotiations between you and Monica weren’t going well. She wanted to leave for a bigger station?”
Candace Stratford took another long sip of her drink and shrugged. “I hate contract negotiation time. Everyone thinks they can squeeze more money from the station—as if they’re the most important thing in the newscast. You know what the most important thing is in the newscast? The news. Not the people reading the teleprompter. But, they act like they all have doctorates in something, and very few of them do. But yeah, Monica was aiming for a bigger paycheck or getting out of Dodge. Reno wasn’t a big enough town for her. She had ambition.”
Hazel raised a brow. “You two sound a lot alike. I mean, you are a station manager, so I can’t imagine you don’t have any ambition.”
The woman turned to face Hazel. “Oh, I’m plenty ambitious. But I also know when I have it pretty good, and right now I have it great. And Monica, she was doing excellent for her age, and yet she wanted one of the big cities—L.A. or New York—but they’re way above her pay-grade. Yet, she couldn’t see that,” she said and shook her head.
“So did she sign the contract for another year or not?” Hazel asked.
“No, she didn’t sign. Not yet, and I wouldn’t kill her for it. In fact, getting rid of Monica saves me a lot of money. I didn’t kill her, but I was ready to let her walk. See how she liked being out of work for a while. Then she’d come crawling back, and I’d offer her half her former salary. And if she were smart, she’d take it,” Candace said, finishing the rest of her drink.
Hazel didn’t know how many drinks Candace Stratford had downed, and she wondered if the alcohol loosened her tongue. “But Monica being dead is beneficial to your station, right?”
Candace laughed. “Dead or alive, it wouldn’t have mattered. She was going to let her contract lapse. And she was bragging about some new job she got, though she wouldn’t give anybody the details. She acted like it was in L.A. or San Diego, but I haven’t heard any rumblings of them hiring lately. Nor do I see why they’d hire a small-town girl from Reno anyway. You know, Pablo renewed his contract, so I’m not sure how that would have gone over with the newlyweds.”
Hazel stood up straight. That was interesting. And something she hadn’t heard before. “Pablo renewed his contract and was going to stay on your station for another year, but Monica didn’t?”
Candace shook her head. “Oh no, contract negotiations happen every five years. Palos signed on for five, just about a week before the wedding. Maybe they didn’t talk about this sort of thing, or they had some other plans, but he wasn’t going to take a chance on her finding a ne
w gig. As far as I can tell, no one but me would’ve kept her on with her attitude.”
Hazel’s brow wrinkled. Maybe her mother was right, and Monica had been onto something. Something that she thought would’ve helped her get a bigger job.
Then, like a load of bricks, Hazel remembered the phone call she’d heard Monica have the night before. It sounded threatening, but Hazel had no idea who was on the other end of the call. Though the number would be on her cell phone. Wherever that was. She hadn’t asked Sheriff Cross about it yet.
“How was their relationship from what you saw of it?”
Candace shrugged. “Well, Pablo has the patience of a saint to be able to put up with her, if you ask me. But he did it. For whatever reason. And he seemed like he looked forward to the wedding, but I’m not sure about Monica herself. She’d been distracted lately. I mean, she always showed up to work and did her job because she was a professional; no matter how much of a pain. But when she wasn’t in the studio, she was always running off on errands. Even Mace knew something was up,” she said and rolled her eyes.
Hazel had a feeling that Candace Stratford didn’t take anything Mace Daily said particularly seriously. “What did he think Monica knew?”
“Well, little Miss Eavesdropper, why don’t you ask Mace Daily?”
Hazel frowned. She wasn’t sure he would tell her if she asked right out, for one. “I’m asking you. If you didn’t do it, shouldn’t you want to find the real killer?”
Candace laughed. “Honestly? I don’t care who killed her. They got a thorn out of my side, and if you find him or her, I’ll shake their hand. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said, and stepped away from the bar.
Hazel watched her sashay out of the room, and a pit opened in her stomach.
Shake a killer’s hand?
Yeah, that woman was a nasty piece of work.
But she had given Hazel a new lead, and a pressing need to find out where the murderer acquired the cyanide.
She knew just who to ask.