Deadly Desserts (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 6)

by Mary Maxwell

  He grinned. “You mean delivering exemplary customer service? And amazing local residents and tourists with the best sandwiches in the state?”

  “Something like that. Your reputation around town is pretty much flawless, Colin. We both know that can be a tough thing to achieve in our line of work.”

  “On account of the customer is always right?” he said. “Even when they’re not?”

  I chuckled again, got up from the chair and walked to the counter.

  “Can I show you a few pictures?”

  “Long as they’re decent,” he joked.

  I found my phone, scrolled through the saved images and enlarged the three composites that Zack had created the night before. When I showed Colin the first photo, he did a double take.

  “Wow, Katie! How’d you get him to pose for that?”

  “Is this the guy that came in and bought lunch for Nathaniel Craig the day Lacy was poisoned?”

  Colin nodded. “Yes, that’s him! And it’s weird, right? Crescent Creek is the size of a shoebox, give or take. And most folks know everyone else. But I’d never seen that guy until he came in the other day. And now, just like you, I’m seeing him twice in one week!”

  “I guess you’re just a lucky man,” I said, slipping the phone back into my jacket. “The stars must be aligned in your favor.”

  “You think so?” he said, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Then maybe I should buy a Powerball ticket! Saturday’s drawing is just above a hundred million.”

  “Definitely,” I said, turning for the door. “And don’t forgot the little people here in Crescent Creek when you hit the jackpot!”

  A gust of freezing wind swirled around me as I stepped onto the sidewalk, turned the corner and headed for the black awning flapping in the distance. As Crescent Creek’s only tattoo parlor, Automatic Tat was popular with teenagers, hipsters and middle-aged adventurers hoping that a discreet heart inked onto their backside would somehow forestall the arrival of their AARP card.

  “Kate Reed!”

  I heard the voice before I saw the source: a rumpled Jerry Garcia look-alike named Brewster McCoy. He was leaning against the counter on the far side of the room wearing Birkenstocks, faded jeans and a white Colorado Railroad Museum T-shirt that was speckled with drops of black, blue and red ink.

  “Hey, Brewster! How’s your day going?”

  An old Rolling Stones song buzzed in the background and frail tendrils of smoke curled toward the tin ceiling from a slender stick of incense burning near the cash register.

  “Day’s going,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his nose with one knuckle. “What’s happening in your world, Pie Lady?”

  The first time he used the silly soubriquet, I asked him to stick with my given name. By the hundredth reiteration, delivered during one of his regular visits to Sky High, I decided to accept the fact that Brewster McCoy was as fond of bestowing silly nicknames on people as he was the bright red Diablo tattoo machine in his shop.

  “Same stuff,” I said. “Different day.”

  “I know how that goes,” Brewster said, taking a sip from a red plastic cup. “I’m enjoying a little Wild Turkey and Gatorade. You in the mood? I like to unwind after the last tat of the day.”

  I shook my head. “I’m just here for a quick question, but thanks.”

  He raised his cup and drank more of the heady potion. “What can Brewster help you with, Pie Lady?”

  “Have you ever inked the word ‘love’ on the inside of someone’s wrist?”

  He nodded. “Once, yeah. Although I did a ton of those back when I was in Oakland.”

  “I’m talking about here in Crescent Creek.”

  “Okay, yeah. That’s why I said I did it once.”

  “Oh, sorry! I didn’t quite follow you.”

  “Very few women do,” he said. “Thus, the Brewster flies solo.”

  He took another drink, wiped his mouth on the back of one hand and put the cup on the counter.

  “Can you tell me who asked for that tattoo?”

  “No can do,” he said with a slight frown. “I don’t ink and tell, okay? And most people like their privacy.”

  “Was it a man?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Care to guess again?”

  “That’s okay,” I said, smiling at his wry expression. “Can we talk about the woman in general terms?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “If she was in the military.”

  It took me a second to make the connection, but I chuckled and asked if the customer had been fully satisfied with the results.

  “Can you say that again?” asked Brewster.

  When I repeated the question, he walked behind the counter, came out with a half-filled bottle of Wild Turkey and poured more of the Kentucky bourbon into his cup. After he took a long, slow sip, he put the cup on the glass countertop and folded both arms across his barrel chest.

  “I needed another nip before answering your question,” he said. “And, to be honest, I’m a wee bit offended that you even asked.”

  “Oh, my goodness! I didn’t mean to offend you, Brewster.”

  “No harm, no foul, Pie Lady. It’s just I thought you knew my slogans.”

  He pointed to the signs on the wall just inside the front door: WHAT HAPPENS AT AUTOMATIC TAT, STAYS AT AUTOMATIC TAT and 100% SATISFACTION GUARANTEED OR ELSE.

  “I stand corrected,” I said. “And, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

  He smiled, revealing uneven rows of coffee-stained teeth. “It’s all good, Pie Lady.”

  While he sipped more of his adult beverage, I considered another approach. I had a hunch about that the owner of the love tattoo was involved in Lacy Orvane’s death. And my list of suspects was only two names long. I needed something to try and determine which of the two women had played a role in poisoning my friend.

  “One more question?” I said when Brewster finished his drink.

  He nodded. “If you’re going to ask me out on a date,” he said, “the answer is ‘Oh, hell yes!’”

  I laughed and told him about Zack. Then I asked if he could give me one clue to the customer’s identity.

  “What kind of hint?”

  “Well, if you can’t tell me her name, would you at least give me a clue about what she does for a living?”

  He thought for a moment or two. Then he smiled and said, “I don’t see any problem. I wouldn’t be violating my store rules if I told you that her business helps people make their apartments, homes and offices look better.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Dina Kincaid was sitting alone at a table near the front door when I rushed into Java & Juice. I was a few minutes late, a fact that she underscored with a disapproving look at her watch and an exaggerated frown.

  “If I’d known you’d be late,” she said, “I would’ve ordered a second sugar cookie.”

  I glanced down at the crumb-covered plate beside her cappuccino. “I’d be happy to get another one for you,” I offered. “That could be my atonement for making you wait.”

  She took one hand, pinched at her waist and shook her head. “These love handles are big enough as it is, Katie. But thanks for the offer. Why don’t you get something to drink and we can go over some of what Tyler Armstrong learned up at Horsetooth Reservoir.”

  “You sure?” I asked humbly. “I feel terrible for being so tardy.”

  She smiled, shooed me away with one flick of her wrist and went back to the email she’d been reading on her phone. When I returned with a blueberry spinach smoothie, Dina recoiled in horror.

  “What is that?”

  “Something healthy,” I said. “There may have been an incident late last night with several snickerdoodles, a Butterfinger and the last piece of double chocolate bundt cake.”

  “Stress eating again?”

  I shrugged. “It comes and goes. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to think about Lacy.”

  A sad smile appeared on Dina’s face. “That makes two of us,” she said. “
Although, after I tell you about the results of Tyler’s trip to Horsetooth, I think you’ll be pleased.”

  I could hear it in her voice; forward movement in the investigation. After slipping out of my jacket, getting comfortable in the chair across from Dina and sampling my smoothie, I asked her to give me the good news.

  “Can I start with the bad news first?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “There’s a little bit of something healthy on your upper lip, Katie.” She touched one finger beneath her nose before pushing an unwrapped straw across the table. “I think maybe this will help.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I plucked a napkin from the dispenser on the table and dried my mouth. “I was in a hurry to hear about Tyler’s trip to the marina, so…anyway, I’m ready now.”

  She waited until I’d unwrapped the straw and slipped it into my drink. Then she launched into an organized and meticulous description of what her coworker had uncovered the previous day. As usual, she focused on three elements: means, motive and opportunity.

  “I have to tell you,” she began, “I wasn’t really surprised about Horsetooth Reservoir. It’s been a magnet for some Crescent Creek residents over the years, including Nathaniel Craig, Thomas Green’s brother-in-law and Daphne Wright’s father. At one time or another, all of them kept boats at Inlet Bay Marina.”

  “At one time or another?”

  She nodded. “Yes, the manager in the marina office keeps immaculate records. When Tyler explained what he was interested in, the guy searched his database and delivered a printout in less than five minutes.”

  “Sounds like the turnaround time at Sky High,” I said with a smile. “An order hits the wheel, Julia or I get it going and the customer is digging in—” I could tell from the expression on her face that she wasn’t looking for a comparison, so I let it go. “Okay,” I continued, “where does that leave us? Any idea who still has a boat at Horsetooth?”

  Dina tapped her phone. “Tyler’s email was as organized as the marina manager. He got the scoop, including type of boat, horsepower of the engine and whether or not Mr. Green’s brother-in-law is conscientious about following marina rules and regulations.”

  “Ah, so Thomas may have visited the reservoir to use his brother-in-law’s boat,” I said. “And that may explain the water hemlock, which would explain the cicutoxin, which would—”

  “Hang on there, Katie. That may be one more ‘which would’ reference than we need. Long story short, the marina has a pretty extensive system of security cameras. We now have footage from the two cameras that are aimed directly at areas where water hemlock grows profusely.”

  “What good does that do?” I asked. “There’s no way to know when the killers went there to get the stuff.”

  She smiled. “Killers?”

  “Yes, I think it was a conspiracy involving at least two individuals.”

  “A conspiracy?” she said. “Who do you suspect?”

  “Well, can I start with who I don’t think was involved?”

  “By all means.”

  “Suzanne Craig,” I said quietly. “Remember that Zack thought he saw her downtown the afternoon that Lacy died?”

  Dina nodded.

  “Well, I heard from a very reliable source…” I paused, offering a faint smile. “…also known as Blanche Speltzer, that Suzanne was out of town like she told everyone, but she came back a day early and didn’t feel like going to the food festival meeting.”

  “Can’t say I blame her,” Dina murmured. “Considering that Portia can be a bully and eating all those samples in one sitting can really add up!”

  “It wasn’t about judging the contest entries,” I said. “Suzanne was livid with her husband. They really were fighting on the corner by the ATM.”

  “Okay, so…Suzanne may have an alibi. What about the others? Who do you think was involved?”

  I looked around the crowded juice bar. “I don’t think we should actually—”

  “Here,” Dina interrupted, pushing her notepad and pen across the table. “Just write down the names. Nobody will be able to see that from where they’re sitting.”

  I quickly scribbled three names. I wrote “Accomplice” next to one and “Possible Killer” beside the other two. Then I filled her in on what I’d just learned from Colin Drake and Brewster McCoy.

  “A Photoshop what?” Dina asked skeptically.

  “Composite,” I said. “Zack took their pictures and added a few of the elements stolen from the community theater’s costume archive.”

  Dina stopped me and asked why I was talking about the community theater.

  “There was a break-in,” I told her. “The day that Lacy was poisoned someone used a set of keys to unlock the storeroom where all of the theater’s costumes and props are kept.”

  “And they took a fake mustache, baseball cap and sunglasses?”

  I smiled. “Don’t know about the shades,” I said. “But they definitely took a handlebar mustache, jacket, baseball cap, wigs and some other things. That’s why I asked Zack to make composites.”

  “I’m feeling dizzy from that list of random things,” Dina said. “What’s the point exactly?”

  “Well, I showed the retouched images to Colin Drake. He identified the first name on the list…” I nodded at the notepad on the table. “…as the person that pretended to buy lunch for Nathaniel Craig on the day Lacy died.”

  “Okay,” she said, still sounding a little cynical. “What did Brewster have to add?”

  I pointed at the same name on the notepad. “She also has a tattoo on the inside of one wrist,” I explained. “The word love.”

  When she looked at the short list again, Dina smiled. “I was actually thinking about her.” She pointed at the other woman’s name on my list. “But why do you think the first one would want to kill Lacy?”

  I glanced around to make sure the nearby tables were still empty. Then I put a hand beside my mouth and whispered the rationale. “It’s the same old song and dance,” I said softly. “Jealousy, revenge and rage. I think she’s the other woman that Nathaniel Craig had been involved with, the one he stopped seeing so he could focus entirely on Lacy Orvane.”

  Dina’s mouth dropped open. “Come on, Katie. Why would he go for someone like that?”

  I shrugged. “Low hanging fruit. She’s still bitter about her divorce, so it may have provided some kind of twisted pleasure. And then when he left her for Lacy, well…the slow-burning fuse was lit.”

  “But didn’t her husband cheat when she was married?”

  “Exactly right,” I said. “And that’s why I’m leaning more toward her as the one that actually injected the poison into the food festival samples.”

  “Okay,” Dina said, pointing at the second name on my list of suspects. “What was his role?”

  “Arranging for the poison,” I said.

  “Because of the connection to the marina at Horsetooth Reservoir?”

  “Exactly right. Which takes me back to the surveillance footage. How is that really going to help? Unless you actually know the specific date that the killers went to get the water hemlock.”

  Dina cocked one eyebrow. “I have no idea when that happened,” she said. “But our suspects won’t know that. If we can knit together enough evidence and get someone in for an interview, that’s the kind of information that we can reveal in a very, shall we say, careful manner.”

  “Does that mean you’ll deceive them?”

  “That’s a very strong word, Katie. I won’t deceive them at all. I’ll simply suggest that the camera footage shows all visitors to the marina in the past few months.” She took a quick sip of her cappuccino. “You know what I’m saying, right? We’ll suggest it in such a way that they’ll think we have them on tape.”

  “I saw Olivia Benson do something like that a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

  “Who’s Olivia—” She smirked. “Oh, you mean on Law & Order?”

  I nodded. “She’s got a knack for so
lving crimes,” I said. “But, then again, so do you, detective.”

  The compliment sailed by without acknowledgment as Dina continued telling me about Tyler Armstrong’s visit to Horsetooth Reservoir. Although I didn’t really need to know that he spilled a Mountain Dew on the case file once he’d returned to the office, I could tell that Dina thought it was hilarious so I laughed along with her delight.

  “And so,” I said when we finished snickering, “do you agree that they’re responsible for Lacy’s death?”

  The question earned a shrug. “Now, Katie,” she said. “You know that I can’t openly speculate with you.”

  “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t openly speculate with you.”

  She smiled. “Speculate away, my friend. What’s your theory?”

  “Well, as far as means,” I began, “that’s been established by the lab results, right?”

  “The initial reports, sure,” Dina said. “There were no contusions or wounds, so it looks like cicutoxin was the murder weapon.”

  “Right,” I said. “But there’s something about this that doesn’t exactly scream murder.”

  Dina’s brow creased with surprise. “Really, Katie? The woman is dead. I think we all agree on that, don’t we?”

  I kept quiet, knowing that she needed to take her high horse for a quick spin around the block.

  “Exactly,” she went on. “Lacy Orvane is deceased. And did the autopsy show natural causes? A heart attack? Pulmonary or arterial embolism?” She cut the list short, tilting her head slightly. “Nothing, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “But what if—”

  “So, if it wasn’t natural causes,” she continued, guiding her snooty pony right over my toes, “then it must be murder.”

  I waited a few seconds. “Are you done there, detective?”

  She grinned faintly. “For the time being.”

  “Alright then, the reason I said it might not be murder is because I was thinking about the situation. And here’s the thing—maybe whoever did this was trying to frighten Lacy, not kill her.”

  “Frighten her?” Dina scoffed. “I’m not sure how you frighten someone with a lethal poison.”