by Mary Maxwell
“You’re too kind,” I said, doing my best not to choke on the cloud of perfume that followed Portia everywhere. “It’s such an honor!”
“Quite true,” she said. “And…you’re welcome, Muffin.”
I held my smile without cringing or letting her know how much I detested the childhood epithet. One evening at Bier Haus, when my sister was visiting from Denver, Olivia had spilled the beans about the nickname. Portia had grinned playfully at the revelation, brandishing it with glee during every conversation since that night.
“Should we go downstairs?” She waved a willowy hand toward the staircase in the rear of the store. “Lacy Orvane came in extra early to get everything ready for the tasting, so we should be ready to begin.”
As Pinky and I followed Portia toward the stairs, she reminded us of our vital role in tasting and evaluating entries in two categories: Decadent Desserts and Sassy Snacks. When I’d read the email invitation to join the panel of judges, I smiled at the cutesy names. Until I saw the final paragraph of Portia’s note: Your mother and grandmother both served, Katie! This is an offer you simply cannot refuse!
I was thinking about the veiled threat when Portia’s assistant met us as the bottom of the steps. Daphne Wright was a tall, dark-haired young woman wearing a pale pink blouse and pleated gray slacks. I’d only talked with her a time or two, but I got the sense that she knew Portia’s assistant should follow the adage about children: seen and not heard. Since Daphne was twenty-two and a recent college graduate, I wondered how she felt about such a subservient role.
“The other judges are in the conference room,” Portia said, gesturing toward the double doors at the far end of the narrow basement corridor. “Daphne will get you something to drink while I run back upstairs to make sure the front door is locked. We had a little…” She paused, glaring briefly at her assistant. “Well, we had a little incident earlier when someone who shall remain nameless …” She gave Daphne another furious scowl. “…left the delivery door unlocked as if we were inviting the local riffraff to come right in from the alley and help themselves to whatever they could find.” She sneered at Daphne again. “And, when you consider that she’s never done that before, it’s even more surprising!”
“But my keys went missing somehow,” said the timid assistant. “You were running errands or whatever, so I couldn’t use your set to lock the door. I mean, I tried to—”
“Yes, yes,” Portia snapped. “That’s all very fascinating, but I doubt if our guests give a hoot.”
I was afraid the uncomfortable silence that followed would be endless, but Pinky quickly thanked Portia for the update and held one hand toward Daphne.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said. “My name is Pinky Newton.”
Portia smirked silently before click-clacking on her heels back up the staircase.
“And I’m Kate Reed,” I added, shaking the young woman’s trembling hand.
“What would you like to drink?” asked Daphne.
“I’m fine for the moment,” I said. “How about you, Pinky?”
“A cup of tea would be perfect,” she said. “And maybe a thimble of strychnine for Portia.”
I gasped at the sinister quip as Daphne smiled—nervously and with a darting sideways glance.
“I’m teasing!” Pinky whispered. “I think half a thimble should do the trick!”
CHAPTER 4
A chorus of bubbly voices spilled into the corridor as Pinky and I approached the conference room. I recognized them instantly: Becca Hancock, proprietor of my favorite vintage clothing store; Yvonne Masterson, a retired bookkeeper with a penchant for rescuing orphaned cats; Luigi Benedetto, owner of the most popular Italian restaurant in town; and, Harley West, a local caterer renowned for his artisanal goat cheese.
“Kate Reed!” Luigi cheered when I walked through the door. “Welcome, welcome, welcome!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I smiled. “How is everyone?”
“We’re doing great,” Becca said, raising a highball glass. “Although I don’t know how well I’ll be able to judge anything after I finish this!”
“Alright, everyone!” Portia said, sweeping into the room with a clipboard in one hand and her phone in the other. “Now that our two slowpokes have arrived, we can finally get started!”
I caught the scowl on Pinky’s face before it vanished. “I’m sorry,” she said to the other judges. “It’s all my fault.”
Portia dismissed the apology with a wave of the clipboard. “Yes, yes. But let’s not dwell on your shortcomings, Pinky. We need to begin in just a moment or two. I’d like to ask that you all switch off your phones and make any last minute trips to the loo.”
Pinky dropped her purse on the table and returned to the door. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Nature’s calling!”
After she left, Portia came toward where I stood. “I wanted to extend a special welcome, Kate. Since this is your first time on our panel and all.”
“I’m really happy to help,” I said as Portia wrapped me in a fleeting hug that felt as warm as a slice of Baked Alaska. “It’s such an honor to serve as a judge for the festival.”
She lowered her arms and stepped back. “Well, as you probably know, I love tradition, Kate. And you’ve got big shoes to fill. Both your mother and grandmother were among our most revered tastemakers.” She paused and quickly surveyed my outfit: faded jeans, bulky cardigan over a white turtleneck and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots. “Although, to be honest, they both had more of a flair for appropriate attire.”
I was prepared for the barb, so I simply smiled and explained that my Michael Kors gown was being altered.
“Oh, really?” Portia’s mouth curled into a dismissive squiggle. “I didn’t know he made things for someone so…voluptuous.”
Luigi Benedetto stood and walked around the long table. “He does indeed, Miss Portia. He makes all of my chef’s coats.” His chubby hands patted his belly. “And, as you can see, I, too, am very voluptuous.”
For a brief moment, the tension in the room sizzled, but then I moved closer, surrounded Portia with both arms and gave her another hug. “It’s so nice of you to include me,” I said in my most disarming tone. “I’m truly flattered to be here today.”
When she realized that her impertinent remarks hadn’t bothered me in the least, Portia pressed her lips to my ear. “Sorry about what I just said,” she whispered as Luigi returned to his seat. “I’m exhausted from all of the festival meetings. You look absolutely…” I waited for the finalé to her unexpected apology, imaging that she’d conclude with ravishing, breathtaking, stunning or flawless. “…well, you look utterly comfortable, Kate.”
I refrained from laughing. Instead, I thanked her again and walked over to the unoccupied chair between Becca and Luigi.
“Normally, we do our preliminary tasting session the day before the festival,” Portia explained. “But we’ve had so many entries this year, that I decided to eliminate a few so that you’ll only need to sample ten desserts and ten snacks next weekend at the festival.”
“How many people entered the desserts category?” I asked.
Portia glanced down at her clipboard. “There’s a total of fifteen,” she said. “Although I think we can probably just eliminate Trudy Branch before we begin.”
Yvonne Masterson tapped her cane on the edge of the table. “Why on earth would you do that? She’s got a right to compete just like everybody else.”
“Oh, I don’t disagree,” Portia said. “But Trudy enters the same tasteless cardboard cream puffs every year. And, to be honest, I explained that we’d be happy to see a creation that was maybe a little more—”
Someone screamed in the hallway.
“Heavens,” Portia said. “Was that—”
A second shriek sounded as Pinky Newton lurched into the open doorway.
“Come quickly!” she shouted. “It’s Lacy Orvane! I think she ate one of the chocolate-dipped strawberri
es!”
Portia slowly removed her reading glasses. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Everyone knows that Lacy usually sneaks a bite or two beforehand. It’s hardly a sin if she couldn’t wait for the rest of us.”
“That’s not it!” Pinky sputtered. “I think she’s dead!”
CHAPTER 5
Lacy Orvane was on her back in the next room, one leg twisted beneath the other at an awkward angle. Her eyes were fixed on the coffered oak ceiling, a wide-eyed stare that sent a chill down my back as I knelt beside her.
“Is she dead?” Pinky asked nervously.
I lifted Lacy’s right arm, found a faint pulse and watched as a chocolate-dipped strawberry tumbled from her hand. It landed on the carpet with a faint thump and rolled toward the credenza where all of the desserts and snacks for the judging session were arranged in neat rows.
“Call 911!” I said as the other judges poured into the room. “And get me something to put under her head!”
Pinky was on her phone in a flash, telling the emergency operator that we needed an ambulance for a fainting victim.
“I don’t think she fainted,” Luigi whispered, tapping my shoulder. “Maybe it was a heart attack.”
I kept my eyes on Lacy as the small group swarmed around our friend on the floor. “Anything’s possible,” I replied, glancing at the wayward piece of fruit. “But I think it would be a good idea to put that strawberry in a plastic bag.”
“What on earth for?” Portia hissed. “Daphne can clean things up later.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Please,” I said. “Will you do that for me?”
Her eyes widened slightly as she realized the seriousness of my request. Portia and I had talked a few times about my years as a private investigator in Chicago. She was also aware that I’d assisted the local police with a couple of cases since I moved back to Colorado. Between those previous conversations and the expression on my face, she could tell that I suspected our fellow committee member’s predicament might not be as simple as a fainting spell.
While I kept one hand on Lacy’s shoulder and the other on her wrist, Daphne rushed into the room with a small needlepoint pillow.
“Will this do?” she murmured, crouching on the floor. “It’s from the showroom upstairs.”
As I carefully raised Lacy’s head, Daphne slid it underneath. I caught a quick glance of the proverb on the front before it was obscured by our friend’s luxurious curls: I’d Give Up Chocolate, But I’m No Quitter!
“The ambulance should be here in a couple of minutes,” Pinky said from the doorway. “Is there anything else that we should do in the meantime?”
I looked up again. “Pray,” I said. “And cross your fingers.”
CHAPTER 6
Portia Pearson sat at one end of the long mahogany table, tapping her lacquered nails against the wood and scowling at the clock on the far wall. The lights in the conference room had been dimmed, and the faint aroma of coffee lingered in the air.
“How much longer are they going to make us wait?” she griped. “We have work to do!”
We’d been in the room for nearly an hour. After the ambulance arrived and the paramedics began assessing Lacy’s condition, Hank Russell, one of the first responders and a veteran of the Crescent Creek Police Department, had asked the festival judges to wait in the conference room until Dina Kincaid could talk to us. As lead detective with the department, she often conducted the city’s official inquiries into crimes that involved theft, property damage, personal injury, accidents or death.
“This is taking forever,” Portia hissed. “I feel like a prisoner!”
“Imagine how Lacy must feel,” Pinky said quietly.
Portia stopped drumming her fingers. “What was that?”
“She must be terrified,” Pinky continued. “If she can even comprehend what’s happening.”
Luigi swiveled his chair away from the table and got to his feet. “Pinky’s right,” he said, stretching his arms overhead. “Miss Orvane has had some type of medical emergency. We should all pray for her speedy recovery.”
The rebuke left Portia silent, but I could see the fury swirling in her eyes and the muscles of her jaw working overtime. She clenched and seethed and fumed, but didn’t say another word for at least fifteen minutes. While we continued waiting for Dina, Pinky kept busy with a crossword puzzle, Luigi sipped the glass of merlot that he’d poured earlier and I monitored Sky High emails for new special orders or inquiries about our catering business. Becca, Yvonne and Harley sat quietly in their chairs.
I was reading a new email when Portia suddenly lurched out of her chair, walked to the door and angrily demanded to know how much longer we’d have to wait. I glanced up from my phone just as Hank Russell appeared in the doorway.
“Detective Kincaid will be with you shortly,” the CCPD officer told Portia. “If you need to use the facilities, you’re more than—”
“It’s not that!” Portia snapped. “I have a festival to organize! Desserts and snacks to judge! And a conference call with our keynote speaker coming up in a half hour!”
Hank looked at me quickly before turning back to Portia. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss Pearson, but all of the food in the other room has been confiscated as evidence.”
Portia’s jaw dropped low enough that I caught a glimpse of the fillings in one of her molars.
“As what?” she screeched.
Hank repeated what he’d just told her before closing the door.
“Portia?” I said gently.
She whirled around. “What?”
“Why don’t we at least talk about the festival?” I suggested as she returned to her chair. “That might take your mind off of the—”
But before I could finish my suggestion, the door opened again. Dina Kincaid came into the room, a grim expression on her face and a legal pad in her hand.
“Thank you all for being so patient,” she said, taking a seat at the table. “I know this is a difficult and confusing situation, but I appreciate your flexibility. I have a few questions that I’d like to ask right now, although I may need to speak with you again during the course of our investigation.”
Portia’s hands trembled as she leaned forward in her chair. “Investigation? Into someone fainting or having a heart attack?”
I saw Dina’s eyes widen briefly. “We don’t know what happened to Miss Orvane,” she said, sounding solemn and unruffled. “The only way we can uncover the truth is to collect evidence, speak to witnesses and analyze our findings.”
Luigi’s chair squeaked when he shifted to address Dina directly. “Miss Detective?”
“Dina is fine,” she said.
The rotund chef smiled. “Thank you, Miss Dina. My restaurant is open for business, as you know. My assistants are wonderful people, but they aren’t Chef Luigi. Can you tell me how soon we will be allowed to go about our business?”
“As soon as we finish the interviews,” she answered. “First, I’d like to talk with all of you together for a few minutes. After that, I’ll spend few minutes alone with each of you upstairs in the Winchester Bedroom Suite.” She smiled. “That sounded weird, didn’t it? I just…well, that’s where I’ve set up a temporary command post.”
Portia’s face brightened at the mention of her signature furniture collection. “That’s a lovely choice, detective. And, might I add, the Winchester is one of our most popular sets with discerning shoppers. In fact, we’ve reduced the price on—”
“Thank you, Portia,” Dina interrupted. “I’m sure everyone would love to hear about your furniture, but why don’t we do that at a more appropriate time?”
The glimmer in Portia’s eyes faded as Dina glanced at her phone to check an incoming message.
“Who can tell me what happened here today?” she said. “In particular, I’m interested to learn when Lacy left the rest of the group and went into the next room with the desserts and snacks.”
Pinky put one hand above her head, waiti
ng patiently until Dina looked up from her notes.
“Oh, sorry Pinky,” she said. “It’s not necessary to raise your hand.”
“It’s not?” Pinky shot a hesitant look at Portia. “Whenever we have meetings here, we always…” She paused, swallowed and then gulped in a deep breath. “Festival rules and all, you know?”
Dina frowned. “This isn’t about the festival,” she said. “This is about what happened to Lacy.”
Pinky nodded. “Of course, I understand.” She swayed nervously in her chair. “I found Lacy on the floor after she fainted or whatever. I’d gone to the little girls’ room before the meeting started. And I was walking back down the hallway when I heard someone choking in the room with all the food before there was a really loud thud.”
“See?” Portia said dismissively. “She fainted.”
I shook my head. “I’ve seen someone faint before, Portia. I don’t believe that’s what happened here.”
Luigi put down his glass of wine. “I agree, Katie. In my career, running restaurants and working as a bartender, I’ve seen many, many people faint. For the vast majority, the episodes only lasted a matter of seconds. Before we moved to Crescent Creek, one of my best customers in Phoenix was a doctor. He told me that the reason someone faints is the brain isn’t getting enough oxygen and you lose consciousness for a very short amount of time.”
“And that’s not what happened with Lacy,” I said. “When we all rushed in there, she was still unconscious.”
“Maybe she was overwhelmed with the pressure of being a judge,” Portia suggested.
Luigi jeered at the remark. “Oh, that’s ridiculous! Lacy works as a loan officer in a bank. Can you imagine how many times she’s had to give someone the bad news that their application wasn’t being approved?”