A Lime To Kill: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 1

by Summer Prescott

  “It appears that Mr. Downey did not have a heart attack, but an extreme reaction to a toxin in his blood stream. The hospital ran some labs and the results looked suspicious, so we ran them by our forensics team. They found a chemical compound that shuts down lung function. Mr. Downey essentially died of asphyxiation.”

  “I don’t understand…that makes no sense,” Marilyn said, shaking her head.

  “He was poisoned,” the detective said flatly. “We traced the lethal substance back to a key lime filled strawberry that was purchased from your store.”

  Marilyn’s mouth fell open into a silent O of surprise. Cortland watched her intently, trying to gauge her reaction. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again when nothing came out.

  “Do you have video feed in the shop, Ms. Hayes?” the detective asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Her voice was shaky. “No…I don’t”

  “Do you know if any of the neighboring shops do?” he persisted.

  “No, I don’t think so, but really I have no idea,” she said, in a daze.

  They sat silently for a moment, Marilyn gazing at her hands that were clasped together in her lap. Cortland stared at her, shifting in his chair.

  “Where you were when Mr. Downey became incapacitated?” he asked, tapping his pen on the pad in front of him.

  Marilyn looked up from her hands, torn from her reverie. He was looking at her so intently that she felt for a moment as though he could see her very soul, and she noticed for the first time how handsome he was. He had a strong jaw and eyes were like velvety chocolate. His shirt was wrinkled and his tie was askew, which did nothing to diminish his striking good looks.

  “Ms. Hayes?” he prompted.

  “Call me Marilyn,” she murmured absently. “Um…yeah, sorry,” she said, giving herself a mental shake and trying to focus. “I was delivering pies for a garden party on 16th Terrace, the other side of the island. I drove my car…obviously.” she explained, not knowing exactly what type of information he was looking for.

  “Ok,” he made some notes on the pad in front of him. Every square inch of the rest of his desk was covered in papers and stacks of files, with an aging laptop perched atop it all.

  “And who was working at the time, Marilyn?” He made a point of calling her by name.

  “My daughter, Tiara Hayes, a new baker Susan Dwyer, and a line of customers that wound out the door and onto the sidewalk.”

  “So you’re saying that you left to make a delivery with that many people in your store, leaving only a young girl and a brand new employee to handle that kind of traffic?” he asked, incredulous.

  Marilyn sat up straight, a small spark of anger flashing in her eyes. “Of course. I used to do everything myself, so I knew that two people would be perfectly capable of handling all the customers in the line. Besides, I had made a commitment to deliver my pies on time, and professional integrity is important to me.”

  He nodded, raising his eyebrows a bit and writing something else down. Marilyn subtly lifted up onto the edge of her seat to try to sneak a peek at his notes. Noticing her movement, Cortland took the notebook off his desk and snapped it shut, giving her a weary look.

  “…and you returned when the victim was being placed into the ambulance?”

  “Yes.” she nodded, shuddering at the memory of Fergus’s pale, waxen complexion.

  “Who was there when you came back?”

  Marilyn let out a sigh, tired of replaying the afternoons events over and over in her mind. “Joe and Larry, my handymen, were there, fixing the ovens, Susan, Tiara, Drew…” This was the first time Marilyn had thought about Drew since this afternoon but she’d had more than enough to be concerned about without having to worry about his intentions for her daughter. “Drew is the yoga teacher at Yoga on the Beach.”

  “And Joe and Larry, what are their last names?”

  “I have no idea,” she admitted, never having considered that fact.

  “They’re new to you?” Bernard looked up from his pad.

  “No, not at all. I just don’t ever remember hearing their last name, I make the check out to MR-FIX-IT.”

  Bernard opened his pad again, scribbling across the page.

  “Oh, no there are two hyphens in there and no period after the Mr.” She’d been craning her neck to watch him write notes again. He glanced up at her, irritated, and she raised both hands in surrender, sitting further back in her chair.

  “So…? Now what?” she asked, exhausted.

  “That’s it.”

  Marilyn stared at him blankly. “That’s it?” she repeated, feeling dull and fuzzy.

  “For now,” he stood, coming around the desk to let her out. “I’ll get in touch with you if there’s anything else we need.”

  “Well, okay then,” she stood awkwardly, noting absently that the handsome detective was tall and broad-shouldered.

  She followed him out and found Tiara waiting in the reception area, nervously tapping one foot.

  “Hey,” she said, surprised when her reserved, level-headed daughter rushed into her arms.

  “Mom,” Tiara hugged her hard, speaking into her shoulder. “He died.”

  “I know honey, it’s such a terrible thing. How did you know I was here?” Marilyn lifted her daughter’s chin to see her face, which bore all of the signs that gave away the fact that she’d been crying.

  “I didn’t,” she looked worried. “A detective called, wanting to ask me some questions.”

  “Oh, well I guess that makes sense,” she sighed. “I’ll sit right here and wait for you. Ok?”

  Tiara nodded, and the same officer who had led her mother back indicated that she should follow him.

  Chapter 8

  By the time mother and daughter left the police station it was past midnight. The entire day had been surreal, and Marilyn had no idea what to make of any of it. Detective Bernard Cortland had been impossible to read, and she felt like he had been a bit accusatory at times. She had to wonder how on earth Fergus had ingested poison. He was retired, so it’s not like he had a whole lot of exposure to toxic environments. Her head swam, trying to figure out the whole bizarre situation in her exhausted state.

  When she awoke the next morning, she managed to make it through her normal routine in a relatively normal manner, despite the fact that she still felt tired after a night of restless sleep.

  Turning the corner of the block where her shop was located, she stopped dead in her tracks, her stomach flip-flopping with dread. A police car was parked outside of her shop and simple little bakery was a veritable hive of activity.

  “Excuse me!” she called out, running. “Excuse me, but I own this shop…and someone had better tell me just exactly what is going on here,” she demanded, hands on hips. The mixed crowd of police personnel, some in uniform, some not, didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence as they carried equipment, unloaded trunks of instruments, and took photos of a roped off area in front of the shop.

  Out of the handful of people in front of her shop, she spotted Bernard Cortland. “Excuse me…Detective, what is going on?” she raised her eyebrows, clearly upset.

  “Oh good, you’re here early,” he said, looking relieved. “Now we won’t have to break the glass in the door.”

  “Break the glass? What on earth are you talking about? I just spoke with you last night, and you gave me no indication that I’d be seeing you here this morning,” her temper flared. “Particularly with a handful of your closest friends,” she glared at him, gesturing to the officers and techs milling about.

  “Marilyn, let me introduce you to Detective McNabe,” he led her over to a bearded man with a clipboard. “He’s here with the Special Investigations Division of the Miami PD, and will be having direct oversight of this case from now on.”

  “What’s going on here, Detective McNabe?” Marilyn could feel her nostrils flaring.

  “I’m sorry ma’am,” the detective peered at her from beneath his bushy ey
ebrows. “You’ll have to relinquish your keys to the building and step back, this entire area, including the interior of your shop, is part of a crime scene investigation.”

  Marilyn paced on the sidewalk just outside of the police tape. Men and women had been roaming in and out all morning, coming and going in a pragmatic manner which was quite a contrast to the determined officers that she liked to watch on TV detective shows. Right now she seemed to be the only person present who was truly disturbed by the whole ordeal.

  “Marilyn.” Bernard Cortland seemed to magically appear behind her with a cup of coffee. He held the cup out to her and she took it gratefully, thankful for any distraction that the hot, fragrant brew might provide.

  “Thanks,” she tried to read the detective’s face. He seemed to be somehow nearly as frustrated with the situation as she was. “They took over your investigation?” she asked tentatively.

  Cortland didn’t say anything, pretending that he hadn’t heard her question, but Marilyn thought she saw his jaw muscles flex, indicating that he had. She noticed that he was wearing the same outfit that he’d had on the night before, his tie was gone, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and his face was peppered with a sexy, rugged, two day stubble. He took a long sip of his coffee, avoiding her eyes.

  “Do you have any leads?” she asked. Cortland looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, with something of a grimace.

  “Ms. Hayes,” Detective McNabe interrupted the conversation that they’d almost had. “These officers are heading to your house, you are free to accompany them if you would like,” he said, gesturing to two uniforms hovering nearby.

  “What do you mean I’m free to accompany them? I didn’t give you permission to ransack my store and I certainly won’t give you permission to enter my home,” she could felt an angry flush of color flooding her face. “My daughter is at home sleeping, I won’t have you scaring her,” Marilyn’s eyes flashed.

  “Ma’am, your daughter was brought in to the station just after you arrived here, for further questioning,” he peered at her without blinking.

  “Further questioning? Why? What exactly is going on here, Detective?” she demanded, hands on hips. You could mess with Marilyn and have a chance of coming out okay, but nobody messed with her baby girl and got away with it.

  “Were you aware that your daughter was offered a job in Northern California as a Junior Engineer with a company that’s so successful, it’s a household name?” he asked mildly.

  Marilyn opened her mouth and shut it again, feeling much like a gaping codfish, but unable to help herself. Why hadn’t Tiara told her about the offer?

  “She was offered the job three weeks ago and she turned it down,” the detective continued. “Do you know of any reason she might turn down what she referred to as a chance at her dream job?” he probed, trying to take advantage of Marilyn’s state of shock.

  She wanted to argue with the quiet, pragmatic man, to tell him he was either lying or didn’t know what he was talking about—but she knew in her heart that he’d have absolutely no reason to make something like that up. What she couldn’t figure out is why Tiara turned an incredible opportunity down without ever telling her about it.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen this,” McNabe casually handed her a stapled sheaf of paper. Marilyn looked down at the first page, reading the title. The Accepted Degradation of Women in Dating and Social Practices, then underneath the title, By Tiara Hayes.

  “A school paper?” Marilyn looked from McNabe to Cortland, then back at the essay.

  “Take a look at page four, there’s a highlighted section that you might find personally interesting,” he said, with a strange look on his face.

  Marilyn’s heart beat faster as she turned the pages, wondering what on earth could possibly be written on page four. She was horrified when she realized that, though the names had been changed, the situations that her daughter had described and analyzed were the patterns of interaction between Marilyn and Fergus. She included some of the dead man’s comments to her mother, pointing out what she perceived to be the dysfunctional nature of the relationship, which her mother accepted as normal.

  Tiara asserted that Fergus’ position as a customer created situational circumstances where his dominance as a financial supporter placed him in a relationally superior position to her mother, which led to inappropriately familiar behaviors. Her daughter had painted her out to be a subservient doormat, which wasn’t the case at all. Tiara’s contention was that her mother had allowed Fergus to treat her in a degrading manner until it became accepted as a normal. Marilyn’s hand shook as she looked up at McNabe, feeling more than betrayed and utterly bewildered

  She swallowed hard, pulling herself together and regaining her cool. “I’ve never seen this before,” she handed the paper back to him. “And I can’t say that I understand the significance of a school paper,” she challenged, staring pointedly at the detective.

  “It’s a published paper for a Women’s Studies class,” McNabe stepped closer. “We talked to her professor this morning, and she said that not only is Tiara one of the best students she’s ever had, but also that she’d rarely seen such passion for a woman’s role in society. She speculated that it stem from Tiara’s relationship with her father.”

  “Yes, she’s brilliant, that’s not news to me, but you called her professor?” Marilyn was confused, wishing she’d suddenly wake up and find that this was all part of a terrible nightmare.

  “You should really be proud…” McNabe commented dryly. “There is something else we discovered about your daughter that raised a bit of a red flag,” he continued, consulting his notes.

  Marilyn was utterly numb with fear and disbelief as she was continually pelted with information that sent her reeling. In the space of two days, her entire world had turned upside down.

  “Apparently she has a rather violent past,” the detective looked at the befuddled woman in front of him, an eyebrow raised as though questioning her.

  “That is entirely untrue! Tiara was taught from a very young age that violence is never the answer, she’d never hurt a fly.” Marilyn fixed McNabe with a determined stare. She was rock-solid on this. Her daughter might get a bit mouthy with her mother on occasion, but would never dream of using any kind of physical means to resolve any sort of conflict.

  “Tiara was a part of an altercation at an Irish Pub near her campus,” McNabe paused dramatically, allowing time for the information to sink in. “She hit a man over the head with a beer bottle…which could have been considered assault with a deadly weapon if the District Attorney had elected to charge her more harshly. She was arrested, along with her then boyfriend Samuel Freed. Mr. Freed has a very long track record of reckless and dangerous behavior and spent two months in prison after his trial. Your daughter was lucky, she took a plea bargain and got off with 500 hours of community service.”

  Marilyn thought her heart would pound right out of her chest. Tiara had told her all about the ‘volunteer work she was doing’ but she’d never mentioned the reasons behind it. She felt at the moment that everything she had known and believed in was ebbing away like a dwindling tide, and she swayed slightly, feeling rather faint.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Hayes. Perhaps you don’t know you’re daughter as well as you think,” McNabe commented gravely, receiving a warning look from Bernard Cortland, who believed that diplomacy solved more crimes than cruelty. The truth should always be presented, but it wasn’t necessary to use it as a bluntly traumatic weapon.

  “What are you suggesting?” Marilyn clenched her teeth and stiffened her shoulders to control the trembling that threatened to overtake her. This sarcastic and rude Miami detective could not possibly think her 21-year-old daughter had anything to do with this. She needed to see Tiara, she had to talk to her to figure this out.

  “Did your daughter know that Fergus Downey came in to your store every Wednesday and Saturday?” McNabe be
gan questioning her again.

  “I have nothing more to say to you, Detective,” Marilyn said feeling like the breath had been knocked out of her. “And my daughter will not be answering any other questions without an attorney present.”

  “Your daughter is well above the age where she can make that decision for herself. She’s been made aware of her rights under the law, and what she elects to do is her business, not yours, Ms. Hayes,” McNabe said quietly, clearly finished with the conversation.

  The hairy detective from Miami left without another word, leaving Marilyn to stew in her own juices.

  Chapter 9

  “What’s happening?” Marilyn asked faintly, turning to Detective Cortland.

  “Whatever it is, doesn’t bode well for your daughter,” the detective said sympathetically. “I can’t give you legal advice, but if it was my kid, I’d be looking for a darn good lawyer.”

  “You don’t think Tiara had anything to do with this, do you?”

  Cortland shifted his weight and looked over to where McNabe stood, in the doorway of the shop, then back at Marilyn, “My gut tells me no, but I’m not privy to all of the evidence that the Miami guys have collected, so it’s a tough call. It certainly appears that McNabe thinks it’s a good possibility though.”

  Marilyn’s heart sank. How could her daughter be implicated in a murder? Obviously, Tiara hadn’t murdered anyone, but she’d also never bothered to tell Marilyn about Samuel Freed, or the bar fight and subsequent arrest. She’d never confided in her mother about the position in California…it seemed that her daughter was turning into someone she didn’t really know.

  “I need to go to the station,” Marilyn said suddenly feeling scared and overwhelmed.

  “Let me drive you,” Cortland offered kindly.

  “No, I need—”

  Seeing that the mother in front of him was clearly frantic and verging on hysterical, the detective interrupted, “You can’t help your daughter if you’re in the hospital. Let me drive you.”