by Mary Maxwell
She laughed. “I wasn’t going to! I was about to tell you that I was leaving the office and taking my files home. I think a shower and cup of tea will help refresh my brain.”
“Always works for me,” I said.
“I know,” Dina replied. “Where do you think I got the idea?”
I smiled to myself. “Well, you’re welcome!” I teased. “Happy to help a friend.”
“I really need it today,” Dina said. “I spent time with Lucy Sterling earlier.” She sighed and took a breath. “The poor woman is just completely lost. Did you know that their wedding anniversary is next week?”
“Oh, my word…”
“I know,” Dina said. “They were going to Santa Fe to celebrate with another couple. I guess they’ve been friends since college. They all got married the same weekend, so Don and Lucy have met the other pair a few times over the years to make a three-day weekend out of it.”
“That is so, so sad,” I replied. “There’s never a good time for something so tragic and life-altering, but it just deepens the pain when bad things happen during the holidays or around special occasions.”
“That’s so true.” Dina’s voice was softer. “It happened to my grandparents. Did I ever tell you that story?”
“Which one?”
“About my uncle being killed by a drunk driver on Christmas Eve?”
My breath hitched in my throat. Dina’s family had faced more than its share of heartbreak, but she’d never told me about her uncle’s death.
“I didn’t know about that,” I told her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” she said. “He was such a cool guy. His wife never really recovered from that loss.”
“Harder to get over that type of loss for some folks,” I said.
“It’s always with you, but…” She stopped suddenly. “You know what? Let’s change the subject. I don’t want to get any gloomier than I already feel.”
“Can we talk about milkshakes?”
“Much better,” she said.
“Did the Crime Lab test the cup for the flavor of shake that was thrown on Eileen Lanier?”
“Why do you ask?” Dina said.
“Because I’ve seen the footage from Scoops on the day of the attack,” I explained. “Someone matching the description given by Eileen is on the tape with a large chocolate peanut butter milkshake.”
“I’ll call later about those test results,” said Dina. “Was there anything else on the video?”
“You can’t see the person’s face,” I reported, “but they were wearing very distinctive spurs on their boots. That could explain the jangling sound that Eileen heard when the assailant ran away.”
“Even better,” she said. “What made them distinctive?”
“Playing cards on the band,” I said. “And after I saw the video, I stopped by Buckles & Boots to talk with Lynn Jaffrey.”
“Smart,” Dina said. “What did she have to say?”
“Four sets have been sold in the past three months,” I replied. “She agreed to go through the store’s sales records to look for the customer names.”
“That’s fantastic!” Dina said. “Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Hopefully, the information can help identify the person responsible for the attacks.”
“Fingers crossed,” she said. “It’s impossible to know if they’re finished, but I’d like to prevent additional assaults before anyone else gets hurt.” She paused. “Or drenched by a milkshake.”
“Everybody in town is saying the same thing,” I replied. “Well, almost everybody. Considering what’s been going on lately, there must be at least one demented soul who would disagree with you.”
CHAPTER 16
On Sunday afternoon, while Zack headed to the YMCA for a swim, I went into the Sky High kitchen to work on a new recipe for Nana Reed’s Taste of the Tropics Cake. My grandmother had developed the delicious coconut and pineapple confection during her final year running the business, but I had yet to locate a written record of her version anywhere in the old Victorian that housed Sky High.
As I started to tweak measurements for the dry ingredients, Esmé Tipton came through the back door after knocking gently. Besides being a good friend and frequent Sky High patron, she was also a stylist at a popular salon in town as well as a part-time cashier at her father’s liquor store.
“Am I interrupting anything super secret?” she asked.
I smiled. “What gives you that impression?”
“Your face is scrunched up,” she said. “You always do that when you’re really concentrating.”
“Well, I am fussing with something,” I said. “But you’re more than welcome to come in and chat while I work.”
“Thanks, Katie. What are you up to?”
“I’m attempting to recreate a recipe that Nana Reed developed shortly before she retired,” I said. “It’s a really delicious cake, so keep your fingers crossed that I can conjure her spirit to figure out a few final details.”
“That sounds exciting,” Esmé said.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked. “There’s coffee in the pot. We could put the kettle on for tea. And there’s a selection of fruit juices in the walk-in.”
“Or all of the above?” she asked with a wink.
“Sure thing,” I said, pointing at the fresh coffee. “I just made that pot. Tea is on the bottom shelf in the cabinet above the microwave. And you’ll find orange, cranberry, tomato and grapefruit juice in the under-counter reach-in on the front line.”
“Great!” she said, walking across the room. “I’ll start with java.”
“Do you mind freshening my cup while you’re at it?”
She did a pirouette, returned to where I was working and grabbed my empty mug.
“Any news on Don Sterling’s killer?” she asked, turning toward the coffee pot again.
“I haven’t talked to Dina today,” I said. “We made some progress yesterday, but it feels like things are in a holding pattern at the moment.”
“Why?” asked Esmé with a frown.
“Two things,” I said. “I had a chance to review the security tape from Scoops of Joy on the day that Eileen was drenched with the milkshake. There was one person wearing a hoodie like the one that she saw on her assailant.”
“Isn’t that good?”
“Definitely,” I said. “The person was wearing boots with spurs, so I also stopped by Lynn Jaffrey’s store to see if she’d sold any sets like the ones the person was wearing.”
Esmé made a face. “Spurs? How are those helpful?”
“They had a fairly distinctive design,” I explained. “And it’s one that Lynn carries at her store.”
“Oh, I get it now,” Esmé said. “You’re waiting for her to get back to you. Maybe one of her customers that bought those spurs also killed Don?”
“See how smart you are?” I teased.
“Hey, don’t give me a hard time,” she said. “I was up late last night. My best friend from college is visiting. She took me to Café Fleur for dinner and then we walked through downtown and ended up sitting in the gazebo in Larimer Park until almost two o’clock this morning.”
“That sounds like a nice evening,” I said.
“So you’re just waiting to hear from Lynn about the spurs?” Esmé asked. “Any other progress with the case?”
“Not really,” I said. “I’m waiting to hear from Lynn, and also to discover the flavor of milkshake that Eileen’s assailant used. The person on the Scoops security video was carrying a chocolate peanut butter one, but I don’t know if that matches the cup found at the scene.”
“But didn’t you just say that the person fit Eileen’s memory of the attacker?” she asked.
“Yes, but the milkshake evidence also needs to match,” I said. “So if she was splashed with a peppermint or bubblegum shake and the person with the spurs had chocolate peanut butter, you don’t have a match.”
“
We also need to establish the connection between the victims and Dr. Whistler,” I said.
Esmé snickered softly. “Don’t you think that’s obvious?”
“Not to me,” I said. “We know that they’re either current or former patients, but why did the burglar take only those files?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Esmé said. “Why those particular patient records? How did they decide who to target first?”
“Is it random?” I speculated. “Did the person or persons responsible for the attacks know the victims?”
She nodded. “They live in different parts of town, so it’s not a matter of them being neighbors. And they don’t work in the same profession, attend the same church or socialize with the same group of friends.”
“There has to be a connection of some sort,” I said. “I have full faith that Dina and her associates will figure it out sooner rather than later.”
“Well, she has you on the team, too,” Esmé replied. “That’s a big step in the right direction.”
“Thanks! That’s a sweet thing for you to say.”
“It’s the truth,” she replied. “So what are you doing this afternoon besides testing recipes?”
“That’s all I have planned for now,” I said.
“Do you need an official taster to help out?” asked Esmé.
“I’d love one,” I said. “Do you have time to hang around?”
She smiled. “For sure! Especially if we can dish a little bit.”
“Anything good?”
“Good? Oh, Katie! I heard some great gossip at the drug store yesterday.”
“Should I start another pot?”
She shook her head. “I’ll take care of that. You keep doing what you’re doing so we can get a taste of that cake. I haven’t eaten today, so I’m absolutely famished!”
CHAPTER 17
“Does this smell bad to you?” Julia asked a couple of days later shortly after we opened for breakfast.
She held up a gallon of milk and removed the cap. I took a tentative sniff that made my stomach lurch and tumble.
“That’s awful!” I said, moving away. “Where’d it come from?”
“The walk-in,” Julia replied. “It somehow got pushed behind a carton of eggs in the back corner.”
“Well, let’s get rid of it,” I said, reaching for the milk. “I’ll pour it down the drain and rinse out the jug.”
She waved me away. “I can do that. I just wanted to get a second opinion. My smeller’s kind of clogged this morning.”
“Allergies?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Although I actually think that I’m allergic to picking up toys in the family room fifty times a day. I was running late this morning and didn’t turn on the light as I went through to the kitchen to make the kids’ lunches. I thought that everything was put away last night before bed, but a bunch of LEGOs were scattered all over the floor.”
“And you stepped on them?”
She smiled. “Not the LEGOs, but I didn’t see the soccer ball. That just about put me on my keister.”
“So you didn’t fall?” I said. “I’m a little confused.”
“Oh, I definitely fell,” she said as Harper came into the kitchen from the dining room. “But I tripped over Jared’s gym bag. Between the three kids and him, it’s like a circus from dawn to dusk.”
“Hey, Katie?” Harper said. “Viv’s on the phone.”
“The Sky High line?”
Harper nodded. “She meant to call your cell, but misdialed. Do you have time or should I take a message?”
“I’ll grab it in the office,” I said. “She’s probably calling with an update on how much fun she’s having in Puerto Vallarta.”
“Poor thing,” Julia said sarcastically. “We should all be so lucky.”
“No doubt,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
When I picked up the phone in the office a moment later, I heard Viveca muttering a phrase repeatedly in a hoarse whisper.
“Morning,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, hi!” She sounded in high spirits and animated. “Sorry about dialing the wrong number. My contact list is a mess on my phone.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Is everything okay?”
“More or less,” she replied. “I’m trying to learn how to say a few basic things in Spanish, but I keep messing up.”
“What’s that for?”
“My client is taking me to a fancy dinner party tonight,” she explained. “I don’t want to be the only dolt there.”
“You’ll be fine,” I told her. “And you’re too smart to ever be labeled a dolt.”
She sighed. “Time will tell. But I actually called about Alma.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes,” Viveca said. “I texted her yesterday so she’d be expecting your call. When she didn’t hear from you, she reached out to me. She sounded a little panicky.”
“Because I didn’t call her?”
“No, not that,” Viveca answered. “She’s worried about Dr. Whistler. I guess this whole thing has really rattled the poor guy.”
“That’s not at all surprising,” I said. “He’s gone from a quiet, calm life to center stage under a harsh spotlight in a matter of days.”
Viveca sighed. “I guess that’s true.”
“What did Alma say specifically?” I asked.
“Well, besides processing the horrible business with Don, Barry and Eileen,” she said, “someone left a threatening note for Dr. Whistler a couple of days ago.”
“I haven’t heard about that,” I replied. “Did she tell you what it said?”
“Not specifically,” Viveca answered. “Like, she didn’t read it to me over the phone or anything, but I got the chills from the way she described it.”
“What was the warning?” I asked. “I mean, did they threaten him personally or professionally?”
“I guess both,” Viveca said after hesitating. “They claimed to know a bunch of Dr. Whistler’s secrets. If he doesn’t close his practice and leave town, the person said they’d sneak into his house again and slit his throat in the middle of the night.”
CHAPTER 18
Alma Tucker answered the door at her house early that evening wearing a smock covered with a rainbow of paint smudges.
“Can I help you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as she stepped onto the porch.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I began. “My name is Kate Reed. A mutual friend suggested that I get in touch with—”
Her eyes suddenly blazed with recognition.
“You’re Viv’s neighbor, right?”
I nodded. “That’s me.”
“Oh, from the…” She rolled her shoulders as her cheeks went red. “Sky High Pies! In the big Victorian next to where Viveca lives.”
“Still me,” I said with a laugh. “She told me about the painting class that you two take together.”
Alma gestured at the multicolored splotches on her smock.
“I had an hour to kill,” she explained, “so I decided to work on the assignment for next week.”
“Oh, gosh! And I came along and interrupted. Do you want me to vamoose? I can come back tomorrow if that’s more convenient.”
“Not necessary,” she said. “But we should probably step inside to talk. Some of my neighbors like to think they’re in the CIA. You know, eavesdropping and keeping track of my coming and going.”
“Inside is good,” I said, as she held the door open. “I’ve had neighbors like that before.”
“How did you handle it?” Alma asked, leading me to the living room.
“Stun gun usually,” I teased.
Her mouth fell open. “I’ve actually thought of that,” she said. “Byron Toulouse over in that yellow house is such a pain. He hides behind the hedge on the south side and pretends that he’s pruning the stupid thing, but I know he’s watching what everyone else is doing. I thought it would be good payback if I snuck over th
ere sometime and zapped the little spy in the tush!”
“I like it,” I said, settling onto the edge of a sofa. “But you should probably avoid that sort of physical confrontation. People are pretty litigious these days.”
She chuckled. “Doesn’t bother me; my brother’s an attorney. If Byron files a lawsuit, I’ll fire one back at him.” She formed a fist with her left hand and shook it overhead. “But you’re not here to listen to my woes. Viv told me that you’re helping the police try to stop the terrible attacks that have been going on around town.”
“I’m just talking to a few people,” I said. “I have a background in investigations, so Detective Kincaid and Deputy Chief Walsh ask me to consult every so often.”
“That must be interesting,” replied Alma. “Is it dangerous?”
I shook my head. “Like I said, it’s mostly talking. And in this case, I’m talking to you at Viv’s suggestion. She mentioned that you’ve noticed a change in Dr. Whistler’s mood. Was that before or after he received the death threat?”
“A few days before that,” she said. “And it’s a huge change. The man’s never been a livewire, but he’s even more reticent since all of this horrible business started.”
“Can you tell me specifically how his behavior has changed?”
“Well, he’s just…I guess you could call it temperamental and down in the dumps. I sometimes have to ask him the same question two or three times before he hears me. And his habits have changed drastically, especially in terms of meals. He’s been living on junk food and candy bars since the burglary. And then when his patients started to get attacked and the death threat showed up in the mail, it got even worse. I’m pretty sure there are days when he doesn’t eat at all. I don’t even know how he has the strength to keep going to the office.”
“Has Dr. Whistler spoken to you about the attacks and death threat?”
Alma shrugged. “He’s muttered a few things.”
“Can you share them with me?”
“I can,” she replied. “But I told the detective.”
“Dina Kincaid?”
“No, the other one. Taylor something?”