by Mary Maxwell
Portia wrinkled her nose. “I have no idea, Chef Benedetto. And that’s not even my point. I was simply saying that—”
“I’m sorry to cut you off,” Dina said. “But I’d like to keep our conversation focused on what happened here this afternoon, not what Lacy did for a living.”
“I beg your pardon, detective!” Portia rasped in a haughty, high-pitched voice. “But you are a guest in my store, and I—”
“No, Mrs. Pearson,” Dina said firmly. “I am a detective in your store, conducting an investigation as part of official police business. I suggest we all take a moment to collect our thoughts so no one says anything they might later regret.”
“Too late for that,” I muttered under my breath.
Portia swiveled in her chair. “What was that, Kate?”
“Nothing relevant,” I said. “But I do agree with Dina; we should focus on whatever happened to our friend this afternoon.”
Pinky nodded in agreement. “Katie’s right. And I think it’s pretty clear that Lacy fainted.”
“No, no, no!” Luigi said in his booming voice. “My friend Dr. Malick in Arizona made it crystal clear about fainting, and this was not the case with Miss Orvane.”
Dina pushed back from the table. “Actually, none of us can be certain about what happened to Lacy,” she said, getting to her feet. “Until the doctors at County Regional have fully assessed her condition, I want to make sure we cover all the bases here at the scene of the incident.”
Portia snorted. “I’d like to know when I can get back to business. I have a festival to organize. And a store to run.”
Dina nodded slightly. “I can appreciate that, Mrs. Pearson. But I, too, have business to conduct.” She paused briefly, opened the pad on the table and scanned the entries she’d written earlier. Then she looked up and fixed her gaze on Portia. “One of our officers found a note threatening Miss Orvane’s life. And one of the paramedics believes that Lacy’s clammy skin, breathing difficulty and other symptoms indicate that she ingested a noxious substance shortly before she collapsed.”
Pinky Newton gasped loudly. “Does that mean that she was…” Her voice withered into silence as one hand covered her mouth.
“Yes, I’m afraid it does,” Dina said. “Based on the symptoms and the paramedic’s initial appraisal, it appears that Lacy Orvane was poisoned here this afternoon.”
“And there was a note?” asked Portia.
Dina nodded. “Yes, a note threatening her life. And it was written on stationery from your store, Mrs. Pearson.”
CHAPTER 7
The shriek that erupted from Portia’s mouth after Dina delivered the bombshell made everyone around the table cringe and cover their ears.
“Are you accusing me of something?” she screamed. “Do you think I was involved in whatever happened to Lacy?”
During her years with the Crescent Creek Police Department, Dina had handled a wide array of angry, belligerent and impolite people. I knew the sudden outburst would be far from a challenge, so I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms and waited.
“Why would I invite her to be a judge for my festival?” Portia demanded. “Why would I poison her with so many witnesses around?” Her voice had steadily increased in volume; she was now shouting and her face had flushed from pale pink to a deep, angry crimson. “And the stationery? I keep it in a tray that’s in clear view on my desk, detective. Anyone visiting the store—customers, friends, delivery men, sales reps from our vendors—any of them could simply take a few sheets when I’m busy on the showroom floor.”
Dina took a long, slow breath. Then she smiled, tilted her head slightly to one side and said Portia’s name with the gentle, soothing tone of a parent dealing with an enraged toddler. I expected the eruption to continue, but Portia simply glowered at the detective.
“Yes?” she said eventually. “What is it Detective Kincaid?”
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Dina said calmly. “I just wanted to make you aware that what may turn out to be a key piece of evidence was written on your letterhead.”
Portia stayed silent, clenching her teeth and glaring furiously at Dina. Everyone in town knew she had a temper. And many local residents had been the object of her anger. But I’d never seen Portia’s face quite as red, her fists quite as knotted or her eyes burn quite as brightly with rage. I was staring so intently at Portia that I nearly jumped from my chair when Luigi gently asked Dina an obvious question.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?” he said. “Can you tell who made such a horrible threat against such a wonderful person?”
Dina shook her head. “It didn’t look familiar to me,” she answered. “But our forensics team will analyze the note along with all of the other evidence we’ve collected.”
When she stopped and looked around the table, I asked Dina to tell us about the note found in Lacy’s hand. “You mentioned that it was a threat,” I said. “What did it say exactly?”
Dina glanced across the table. “It said her life was at risk if she didn’t, and I quote, ‘end it with your married lover.’ And then it said something very intriguing: ‘A pure hand needs no glove to cover it.’”
Portia snorted. “What? Who talks about gloves when they’re poisoning someone?”
I smiled at Dina and she nodded. “Actually,” I said, “it’s a quote from The Scarlet Letter. That’s the famous novel about a woman who—”
“I know what it’s about, Kate!” Portia fumed. “A foolish girl named Heather who commits adultery. And I get it, okay? Everybody in town knows that Lacy’s been knocking boots with a married man, although she’s done a very good job of keeping his identity a secret.”
When she finished—eyes blazing, cheeks aflame and lips stitched into a tight frown, I calmly informed her that the main character in The Scarlet Letter was Hester, not Heather.
“Are you being serious right now?” she demanded in a shrill squeak. “Who gives a rat’s rump about…” She stopped, pointed at me with one lacquered nail and grumbled. “I’m upset about Lacy, not some stupid book. And I don’t care if the girl in the story was Hester, Heather or Hula Hoop!”
Dina was getting ready to say something when her phone buzzed. She looked down and I saw the expression on her face change from methodical and focused to absolute sadness.
“Detective?” Portia’s voice was softer and her expression less aggressive. “We planned to taste all of the desserts and snacks this afternoon, but that’s obviously not going to happen. Could you tell us how much longer you need to keep us?”
Everyone at the table sat silently in their chairs. Luigi wiped his forehead with a pale yellow handkerchief. Becca and Harley looked like mute statues, their posture crisp and their faces blank. Pinky twirled an unsharpened pencil on the tabletop, idly staring as the slender utensil blurred into a shimmering red sphere. And Yvonne sat patiently smoothing wrinkles from one sleeve of her blouse.
“Yes,” Luigi said after a few hushed moments. “My restaurant needs me, Miss Detective.”
Dina looked up and slowly moved her gaze from one face to the next. “Well, I’m sorry to inform you of this,” she said, “but our friend Lacy Orvane died at the hospital about ten minutes ago.”
CHAPTER 8
I was sitting at one end of the conference room table while Portia sat at the other, flipping through pages in her Food & Wine Festival binder. It was nearly seven-thirty. Dina and her team were still taking photographs and searching for evidence, but the building had become hushed and tranquil since the other judges and Portia’s assistant departed an hour earlier.
“I still have Lacy’s original letter asking to be a judge,” Portia said in a soft, fragile voice. “It was ages ago. She was new in town and…” A muffled sob interrupted the memory. “I just can’t believe she’s gone, Kate.” She dabbed at her eyes with a knot of wrinkly tissues. “And look at me! I’m a blubbering mess!”
“You’re not a mess, Portia. You were Lacy’s good f
riend for many, many years.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Even though we didn’t always get along, I loved her like a sister.”
“I think we all loved her,” I said.
“She’s one of the…” Portia glanced down the length of the table and smiled sadly. “I guess I should say she was among the kindest women in town. Just thoughtful and pleasant. A few months ago, when I had the most wretched head cold ever, Lacy fixed a special batch of her chicken noodle soup for me. I swear to you, that soup made all the difference in the world! I felt about ninety percent better after just one bowl!”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything. I’d been the recipient of the same generosity during the winter, so I knew from experience that Lacy’s soup was a powerful remedy.
“Oh, now…” Portia clamped one hand over her heart when she turned a page in the binder. “Isn’t she just the most beautiful?”
She looked up, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you ever see the picture that Lacy wanted us to use for the festival publicity kit this year? You know, for the section about the judges?”
I shook my head. “No, but I hope it’s better than the terrible photo I sent you.”
Portia’s face stiffened. “Oh, c’mon, Kate! Didn’t your boyfriend take that?”
“No, I sent something that my sister shot when we went hiking one Sunday.”
She motioned for me to join her at the opposite end of the table. I got up from my chair, looped around the room and sat beside her.
“See?” she said, pointing at a large color print. “Isn’t she lovely?”
I looked at the image of Lacy Orvane, radiant and relaxed. She was sitting beside a man I didn’t know at a picnic table in what appeared to be a rustic location.
“This was from one of the summer flings the bank threw for its employees,” Portia explained. “It was two years ago, a lovely Sunday in June. We all went to Horsetooth Reservoir up near Fort Collins.”
I nodded. “I remember the place. My parents took Brody, Olivia and me there a few times when we were little.”
“It’s a wonderful spot for families,” Portia said in a dreamy, faraway tone. “My grandfather took me and my sister there every summer so mama and daddy could have a weekend alone.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yes, it was. Just like my grandfather.”
She ran one finger across the photograph, tracing the arc of Lacy’s vibrant smile. Then she said, “I just can’t believe any of this happened today, Kate. It was all so unnecessary. If only she’d never started that horrible affair.”
I nodded, watching as she ran her hand over the picture again. “It’s a huge shock. And a terrible tragedy.”
“And so incredibly pointless,” Portia said. “I mean, why in the world did Lacy keep seeing such a selfish man?”
I knew it was too soon to speculate, so I let Portia talk for a few minutes. When she finished, I asked if she knew who took the photograph.
“Who took the…” Her mouth was tight and her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Since you were there that day, I thought—”
“I wasn’t there. Lacy gave me the picture for festival publicity.”
“Oh, I must’ve misunderstood. I could swear that you just said you went to Horsetooth Reservoir that day with the group from the bank.”
The tension in her mouth relaxed. “You should get your hearing checked, Kate. Why would I go to a bank picnic?”
I knew what I’d heard, but I also realized that it wasn’t worth pursing. Instead, I asked Portia if she could identify the man in the picture with Lacy.
“If I could…what?”
“The guy from the bank picnic,” I said, pointing at the sun-splashed portrait of Lacy Orvane and a thirtysomething man with silver-framed glasses, a pointy nose and curly hair. “Do you know his name?”
“Oh, that little pecker? That’s Danny Downer. He’s vice president of the bank.”
“Isn’t that odd,” I said. “I’ve never noticed him before. As often as I go in there, you’d think I’d recognize the face.”
Portia sneered at the photo. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “He spends most of his time doing Nathaniel Craig’s bidding. When you’re in the bank, Danny Downer is probably polishing the Big Kahuna’s wingtips or something equally ridiculous.”
I chuckled at the name. “Danny Downer?”
Portia grinned. “Oh, shoot, Kate! That’s not his real name. That’s just what some folks in town call him because he’s so morose and gloomy all the time. His older brother got all the good looks and optimism in that family. The only thing Danny can do is run around like Chicken Little. Know what I mean? ‘The sky is falling! The sky is falling!’”
“Does Danny Downer have a negative outlook on life?”
Portia gasped and laughed at the same time. “Oh, heavens! If only! A negative outlook would be a huge improvement. The guy is such a sad sack, moping around and muttering all the time. It’s a miracle that Nathaniel Craig hired him to work at the bank in the first place, let alone promote him to vice president.”
“Well, it seems like he and Lacy got along okay,” I said. “At least, from the way they look in the picture.”
She studied the image again, tracing the curve of Lacy’s smile with her finger.
“Could you email that to me?” I asked.
Her eyes darted up. “This picture?”
I nodded. “I’d like to pass it along to Dina Kincaid and Deputy Chief Walsh.”
“Hmmmm…” She shrugged, humming softly. “I can do that, Kate.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, okay?”
The humming ended abruptly and she blinked away the haze from her eyes. “Oh, heavens! No trouble at all.” She smiled at the photograph again before closing the binder. “And, you’re right, Kate; they got along fine. Although it sometimes seemed that Lacy didn’t want to get too close to him. He’s a needy sort of fellow, kind of clingy and possessive.”
“I suppose that’s understandable. Especially if you don’t have many friends and a woman as sweet as Lacy shows you some consideration.”
“I guess so...” Portia’s voice trailed off and she dabbed at her eyes. “To be honest, I don’t have anything against Thomas.” She tapped the binder lightly with her nails. “That’s his real name, by the way—Thomas Green. I shouldn’t have called him a little pecker.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” I gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve had quite a shock, Portia. If calling someone a little pecker is the worst thing you do today, I wouldn’t give it too much thought.”
CHAPTER 9
I was sprawled on my living room sofa late that night when Zack came in from the kitchen with two bowls of tomato soup on a tray along with a box of Triscuits and a bottle of wine.
“I’ll be right back with the glasses,” he said.
I opened one eye. “Why bother?” I moaned. “Just bring a funnel and I’ll be happy.”
He chuckled at the joke and put the tray on the coffee table. When he returned a few seconds later, he knelt down and gave me a long, passionate kiss.
“I’m really sorry about your friend, Katie. I had to listen to your message a few times before it could sink in.”
“Thanks, handsome.”
We kissed again, a soft and tender moment that soothed the ache in my heart. When it ended, Zack asked how I was feeling.
“I’m still in shock,” I said. “Ron took Lacy to New Orleans six months ago to celebrate her thirty-first birthday. It’ll take a long time to accept that she’s really gone.”
I held out my hands and he helped me sit up. Then he joined me on the sofa and we enjoyed dinner in quiet contemplation for a few minutes. As I sipped the wine and savored the simple comfort of the meal, Zack said he wanted to ask a question.
“What’s that?” I replied.
“Can I ask your opinion?”
I smiled. “About the soup? It’s absolutely delicious!”
“I wasn’t talking about that,” he said. “I meant your opinion about Lacy.”
“Oh, that opinion.” An image quickly flashed through my mind; my friend’s gaunt, slack-jawed face as she was loaded into the ambulance earlier in the day. “Well,” I continued, “I’m probably just as stunned as the rest of the judges. Lacy was the kind of person that got along with everyone, even the grumpy grouches and crabby cranks.”
Zack smiled. “That’s what I thought, but I heard a couple of reporters talking in the Gazette offices right before I left for the day. One of them covers the police department, and she heard that Dina’s investigating Lacy’s death as suspicious.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true. They suspect someone put poison in the desserts and snacks that we were going to taste for the festival.”
“Poison?”
“It hasn’t been definitively confirmed, but that’s what came back in the initial toxicology report.”
“And it was in all of the food you were supposed to sample?”
I nodded. “Everything they’ve tested so far.”
Zack sipped his wine and nodded his head slightly in the contemplative way he did when considering weighty subjects.
“So that means…” He put down the glass and turned on the seat to face me. “That means that you could’ve died. Or Luigi. Or…” He squinted, frowning faintly. “I can’t remember who all attended the meeting.”
“The usual suspects,” I said. “Plus me. I’m the only new judge on the panel. Everyone else has done it before.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And so…”
“Oh, you were serious! I thought you were just—”
“No,” he said, reaching over and lightly pinching my arm. “I was actually interested, Katie. Who was there this afternoon?”
“Okay, so it was Lacy, Becca, Harley, Yvonne, Luigi, Portia, me, Pinky Newton and…well, Suzanne Craig was supposed to be there, but she went out of town for a banking seminar. Portia was so mad about it, too. I overheard her yelling at her assistant for allowing one of the festival judges to miss the first tasting session.”