Tucker shrugged. “Starla, all I know is there was one of your little pies on his dressing table with a bite taken out of it. That’s the only way anything close to peanuts could have gotten into his system.”
Was he accusing me of killing Jimmy Bones? This time it was anger that made my cheeks grow hot. Now, I was completely wide awake. “So, what are you trying to tell me, Tucker?” I snapped, hands on my hips.
“Starla, are you sure there were no peanuts or peanut oil or anything even close to where you made those pies?” he asked.
“I’m positive. I was super careful. I knew how allergic he was,” I shot back.
“The pies have been sent to Richmond for analysis. We’re going to have to do a thorough investigation of that tour bus and everyone close to him, but Starla, it looks pretty cut and dried from this end,” Tucker said quietly.
“So are you going to arrest me?” I snapped.
He shook his head and put his hat on. “No, but I plan on going over that tour bus and the back stage area with a fine tooth comb. I just wanted to let you know what was happening before you heard it from anyone else.”
“Or read it in the paper,” I said, hating that I was so angry I was close to tears.
“That too,” he said, turned and left my apartment.
Heavy footfalls on the steps and then the back door opening and closing and he was gone.
“Starla, he’s not accusing you of anything,” Poppy said soothingly.
“Yes, he is,” I argued. “I’m not someone who does things haphazardly. I was careful. I’m always careful. Poppy, he’s known me forever. How could he even think -?”
“Take it easy,” Poppy said. “Let’s think this through.”
Still fuming with anger, I sat down at my kitchen table and watched while Poppy busied herself making tea.
“Think back to when you met Jimmy in the tour bus,” Poppy suggested. “Did you see any signs of peanuts?”
I sighed shook my head. “All I saw were dozens and dozens of Accu-Click Injectors stashed everywhere. He was terrified of that allergic reaction.”
“Who was on the bus?” she asked.
“Me, Jimmy, his head of security. I don’t know his name. And his cook. Herb—Herb something,” I told her. I struggled to remember the man’s name, couldn’t, and gave up. “Oh, and a woman entered the bus as I left. I think the president of his fan club?”
“Okay, so no strangers that might have accidentally dropped something?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not while I was there.”
“What did you talk about?” she asked, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of me.
I dropped three sugar cubes into it and stirred slowly, leaning on one elbow. I knew Poppy was just trying to help. She probably thought that getting me to talk would ease the sting of being accused of something I would never, ever have done.
“We talked about my grandmother,” I said, taking a sip of the tea. “I don’t know what else. His new wife. Um, the town, how it’s changed and -.”
My cup crashed to the table. I bolted upright in the chair and clapped both hands over my mouth.
“What?” Poppy asked, brown eyes wide.
“He told me he thought someone was trying to kill him,” I whispered.
Chapter Nine
“What?”
“He told me he thought someone was trying to kill him,” I repeated, louder this time. “He told me about the brake line being cut on his truck. He told me about getting really sick right after his wedding.”
“Wait a minute, Starla...” Poppy began. “And you didn’t tell Tucker about this?”
“I just now remembered,” I said. Now I was on my feet, pacing back and forth in my kitchen.
“We have to tell him now,” Poppy said, reaching for her phone.
“Calm down. Calm down,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. “Let’s think this through before we talk to anyone.”
“But Tucker needs to know,” she argued, pulling out of my grasp.
“Jimmy told me not to tell anyone. Said his manager, Withrow, would take care of it,” I said. “Besides, there’s no need sending Tucker on some wild goose chase. He’s got enough on his plate right now,” I said, thoughts whirling. “It could have just been a paranoid old man’s rambling. Who knows what kind of medications he was on?”
“Or it could be really true,” Poppy said, her voice pitched high, clutching her phone in one hand.
Usually Poppy was the calming one in any given situation.
Not this time. Not with my diner and maybe my reputation at stake.
I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts, and let Poppy lead me into the living room. We sat side by side on the sofa. I pulled a purple pillow close and hugged it. The shaggy fur tickled my nose and made me sneeze.
“Bless you,” Poppy said, tucking her feet up under her. She sounded calmer now and her phone lay on the coffee table between us. At least she wasn’t ready to call Tucker just yet.
“Okay,” I said, when I thought she was ready to listen to my story.
“I’m listening.”
“There was no one in the bus except the security guy and the cook and me,” I said, closing my eyes so I could remember clearly.
Poppy nodded. “So far, so good.”
“As far as I know,” I added.
“As far as you know,” she repeated. We were quiet a moment and then Poppy asked, “Why would either one of those men want to kill him? They both depended on him for at least part of their livelihood.”
I had to agree with that logic. “That was earlier in the day. How long does it take for an allergic reaction to start or become deadly?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s pretty quick,” she said. “So he had to be exposed to peanuts just before going on stage.”
I thought back on Jimmy’s first appearance on the stage. He seemed sure, confident, and happy to be there. Completely in his element. Someone had said something. He turned away from the audience and then returned to the center stage again. That must have been when he was going into anaphylactic shock. I reminded Poppy of all of this and she agreed that she’d seen the same thing.
“So, almost immediate,” I mused.
“Or it could have just been some crazy accident,” Poppy suggested.
“With his tight security, his manager always hovering nearby, and his paranoia, I don’t see how a peanut could have accidentally gotten anywhere near him,” I told her.
“Peanut oil?” she asked. “Peanut dust? I don’t know what it takes to trigger that kind of allergic reaction.”
“What if someone touched him with peanut oil on their hands?” I asked.
Poppy shrugged.
“Maybe just a wrapper from a peanut candy bar or something could do it,” I said, my thoughts whirling inside my head like a tornado. I felt like I was missing something—something important.
Poppy’s next question sent my thoughts flying in another direction.
“Who was outside the tour bus?” she asked.
“Just those old lady groupies. His fan club,” I said. “They surely wouldn’t do anything on purpose.”
“Maybe accidentally,” Poppy suggested.
“I doubt that. They all knew about his allergy. Wouldn’t even eat peanut butter pie when they were here for dinner. Besides, they were outside of his bus,” I added.
My next thought brought me up short.
“What?”
“As I was leaving, another woman was called to come onto the bus. Maggie, Mary. Some name like that,” I said. I didn’t exactly remember her name, but my memory of what I’d seen of her was crystal clear.
“Nonnie from here in town is the local president but you know her,” Poppy said.
“No, it wasn’t her,” I said, trying to remember who I’d seen that morning. I wasn’t coming up with much. “I recognized some of them and remember being kind of embarrassed for these old ladies. So I tried not to look at anyone
as I left. And I wasn’t getting really friendly vibes from any of them either.”
“Maybe because you got in to see him and they didn’t,” Poppy suggested.
I shrugged. “Anyway, this woman had black hair and big tatas.” I held my hands in front of my own chest. “I bumped into her and she told me to watch where I was going.”
“Do you remember anything else?” Poppy asked after a few moments.
“Someone called her Madam President,” I said, finally remembering that clearly.
“So maybe the national president of his fan club was here in Sugar Hill,” Poppy said.
“Maybe because it was his last concert,” I guessed. I wasn’t sure how fan clubs worked exactly. “But surely she wouldn’t have brought peanuts or anything close to a peanut onto his bus.”
“Stranger things have happened, I guess,” Poppy mused. “Starla, I still feel like we need to talk to Tucker.”
“Not yet,” I said. “I’d feel better if I knew more about allergic reactions, you know, the whole peanut allergy issue.”
“I know just the person,” Poppy said, snapping her fingers.
“Who?”
“Joylou.”
“Joylou Niblins who used to work here?”
Joylou Niblins worked for us briefly but when the newspaper office needed a receptionist, we talked her into applying for the job. We hated to lose her, but it paid more and as a single mom she needed all the help she could get. Also, it gave her more time to be with her family.
“Is there someone else in town by that name?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I didn’t know Joylou had a peanut allergy.”
“She doesn’t. Her son Josh does,” Poppy explained.
“Our Josh?”
Poppy nodded, tapped the screen on her phone and made sure it was on speaker.
“Sugar Hill Herald. This is Joylou speaking. How can I help you?” Despite the pronounced drawl, she sounded so professional.
“Joylou, it’s Poppy,” Poppy said.
“Hey, girl. How’s it going?”
“Touch and go right at the moment,” Poppy said.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Starla is here with me. We’d like to ask you some questions about your son’s peanut allergy.”
She gasped. “Is Josh okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine. We just need to get some basic information about the whole allergy reaction thing.”
“Oh. Because of Mr. Bones,” she guessed.
“Yes,” Poppy said. “Will you be at the newspaper office all day or -.”
“Yes, there’s so much going on, I offered to work some extra hours to help out. Why don’t you come on down? We can talk here,” Joylou offered.
My heart sank. I never looked forward to having to interact with Vic, but this was important. Besides, she might be out and about, scouting for breaking news.
“Thanks. We’ll be there in just a few.”
Poppy and I hurried down the steps and outside. I started toward my car.
“Nope, let’s walk,” Poppy insisted. “It’ll do you good.”
It really wasn’t that far. Just a few blocks past the bank. She was right, even though I hated to admit it. A walk always does me good.
“And then we’ll talk to Tucker,” Poppy said as we turned out onto Main Street.
The crowd was still pretty significant for Sugar Hill on a Sunday and we had to dodge several people who were looking at their phones and not paying attention to what they were doing.
“Not yet,” I said. “I want to go talk to this Madam President or whoever she is.”
Poppy shook her head. “Well, good luck with that. She’s probably long gone by now.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I overheard some of the police officers talking this morning. They’re asking everyone that hasn’t already left to stay in town at least until they get their contact information.”
“Why would they do that?” Poppy asked.
“Just a precaution, I suppose,” I told her, my thoughts far ahead of our conversation. I had an idea where this ‘Madam President’ could be found and I planned to go see her as quickly as I could get away from Poppy.
Once or twice someone visiting for the birthday celebration stopped us to chat. Not as many as before. Most everyone looked just stunned. We talked until, with agonizing slowness, we were able to get away from them. By the time we reached the newspaper office, I was glad to get off the street.
Joylou was at her desk, front and center of the large freshly painted newspaper office. In spite of the fresh paint and new desks, it was easy to imagine how this place must have looked, back in the fifties and sixties. There would have been reporters working at every desk, banging out stories on typewriters, the room a beehive of activity.
Now there was nothing but empty desks with blank computer monitors.
Joylou and Vic had their heads together, poring over some ad copy or something. They both looked up when we came in.
“Hey, Miss Starla. Miss Poppy,” Joylou said, her drawl even more pronounced than it had been on the phone.
“Ladies,” Vic said, giving us a curt nod. She stood up straight and smoothed her skirt over slim hips. As usual, her thick red hair lay in perfect waves around her face, and her make-up was done to perfection. The outfit that she wore fit her perfectly, just like always, and probably costed more than my car.
“Vic. Joylou,” I said. “How’s it going?”
Joylou shrugged. “You know, just another typical day in Sugar Hill. A celebrity dies. Traffic is snarled. Fist fights and domestics break out on a regular basis. We have to try to report on all of it.”
Poppy and I nodded.
“It’s getting to the point that we may need to hire a reporter for the smaller stuff just so I can get to everything,” Vic said proudly.
Joylou grinned. “And that might mean I have a new job. Vic is teaching me to be more than just a receptionist,” she explained.
“Sort of a crash course in journalism,” Vic explained. “Joylou is a quick study.”
“I can understand that,” I agreed. “You’d be good at it too, Joylou.”
“Then I’ll need a new receptionist. You don’t know of anyone do you?” Vic asked.
I tamped down my growing impatience. “Not right off the top of my head.”
“Well, if you think of someone -.”
““Um, listen,” I finally cut her off. “Can you spare Joylou for just a few minutes, we’d like to talk to her.”
“You’re not going to try to get her to come back to the diner, are you?” Vic asked.
“Oh, no. This is kind of personal,” Poppy explained.
Vic looked at us steadily for a moment.
“It’s okay, they just have some questions about peanut allergies,” Joylou explained to her.
Finally, Vic nodded and said, “Sure. You can use my office if you like.”
“Thank you,” Poppy said. “This won’t take long.”
On the way to Vic’s office, I noted that Joylou was wearing a slim skirt with a matching jacket and heels. So different from the t-shirt, jeans and sneakers she’d always worn when she worked at the diner. Vic really was grooming her for a new position.
Vic’s newly painted office was all in pastel blues and grays. When we were settled inside, I closed the door behind us.
Joylou looked completely at ease. “This is about Jimmy Bones, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I said.
“We need to ask you some questions about your son’s peanut allergy,” Poppy reminded her.
“What do you need to know?” she asked.
“Could you please just give us some first-hand knowledge of what happens when someone like Josh is exposed to peanuts?” I asked.
“Well, Josh was diagnosed when he was about two,” Joylou began and then shook her head at the memory. “I’d given him a peanut butter sandwich. He took a couple of bites and said he felt funn
y and his mouth was burning. You know kids. I thought he was just being picky and encouraged him to eat the rest of his sandwich.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, Lord, within ten minutes, he broke out into horrible hives, threw up and then kept saying he couldn’t breathe.”
“I’ll bet you felt terrible,” Poppy said.
Joylou continued. “The look in his eyes was pure terror. That told me the whole story and I knew I had to get him help.”
“You called nine-one-one?” I asked.
She nodded. “Thank goodness they were there within minutes, diagnosed his reaction right away and gave him epinephrine. Then we went to the hospital. They gave him more meds, and oxygen, and we spent the night in the trauma room.”
“I’ll bet you were terrified,” I said, noting that just the memory of that day had her hands trembling.
“I was, and I felt so guilty,” she added.
“So the reaction was quick?” Poppy asked.
Joylou nodded. “And life threatening. They told me if I hadn’t reacted when I did, he would probably have died.”
“How scary,” Poppy said.
“How is he now?” I asked. Josh worked at the diner part time in the afternoons, bussing tables, and he seemed perfectly fine. But I was sure he was well aware of the effect peanuts would have on him.
“Well, of course, he still has the peanut allergy, but we’ve learned to adapt. He knows he has to be careful and his friends all understand that they can’t bring peanuts anywhere near him,” she began her explanation.
So Jimmy’s ‘no nuts in the park’ policy wasn’t so unusual after all. Unfortunately, one nut, somehow managed to get through.
“There’s a special ‘nut free’ table at school where he has to eat his lunch. If we go out anywhere we have to ask what’s in the food. And he always, always carries his medication with him just in case.”
“Accu-Click?” I asked.
Joylou nodded.
“Has he had a reaction to anything else?” Poppy asked.
Joylou nodded. “Eggs and soybeans.”
“Have there been other incidents?” I asked.
“Only a couple. None as severe as that first one though. Once, about a year ago, he was at a birthday party. There were coconut cookies and peanut cookies and he wasn’t sure which was which.” She paused and shook her head. “He’s sometimes embarrassed to ask and just grabbed the one that he thought was coconut. By the time he’d taken that first bite, he knew it was too late.”
Peanut Butter Pies & Dangerous Lies Page 7