A Viola Roberts Cozy Mystery Collection

by Shéa MacLeod

  “But what’s he doing here?” I asked. “It’s probably just food poisoning. Why would the police investigate that?”

  “Because the mayor’s here,” she said in a tone that indicated she thought I was being impossibly slow in the intelligence department. Maybe she was right; it hadn’t occurred to me that the police would care if Charlie-boy got the trots.

  “Great," I said. "He’s coming over.”

  Bat strode toward us all loose-limbed and broad-shouldered. He was a good-looking guy, a fact that wasn’t lost on me. However I already had a man, and one was quite enough. I mean, after all, Lucas had sent me a massive bouquet of irises.

  “Ladies,” Bat said as he approached. His voice was baritone and smooth as butter.

  “Bat,” we said in unison.

  He sighed. “I really wish people would stop calling me that.”

  “Why?” I asked. “They’ve called you that for years. Cheryl said so. Besides, it could be worse. I could call you Batman instead.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s stick with Bat. I’m here to assess the danger to the mayor.”

  “Can’t imagine there would be any,” I said. “Probably just a case of food poisoning.” I frowned. “Except I can’t figure out what would have made people sick.”

  “Any fish? Chicken? Raw eggs?”

  “Egg salad in the sandwiches,” Cheryl said helpfully.

  “But those are hard boiled,” I said.

  “What about the mayo?” Bat asked.

  I shook my head. “Been in the fridge since I made them. Plus I ate one or two myself and I’m fine. Everything else was baked or vegetarian.”

  “How about lettuce? I read you’re more likely to get salmonella off lettuce than anything else.”

  I sighed. “Lettuce in the veggie sandwiches, but I had one of those too.”

  “Well, we’ll take samples and test everything. Maybe we’ll find the culprit. Something had to have gone off.” He gave me a look. “Trouble follows you around, doesn’t it?”

  “Hey, this isn’t my fault.” At least I hoped not. It wouldn’t do a lot for my social life if people thought I tried to poison a bunch of people including the mayor. Even though nobody much liked Charlie-boy. The general consensus was that he was a royal pain in the ass.

  “We’ll see,” Bat said noncommittally. “You two can go for now.”

  “We need to clean up,” Chery protested.

  “We need to begin our investigation,” Bat said. “You can clean up tomorrow.”

  Chapter 4

  The Poison in the Pudding

  “You will never believe what that Ashley person wrote about us.” Cheryl stormed into my kitchen ridiculously early the next morning. The sun was up, but barely, and I was still in my worn-out terry cloth bathrobe.

  “Good morning to you, too. Coffee?” I pulled out a Christmas mug from my cupboard. It was white with holly leaves around green lettering that read: There Might Be Egg Nog in This Rum.

  “Sure.” She plopped down at the kitchen table as I splashed coffee into the mug. It was Italian roast, and the rich, dark aroma hit my nose perking up my senses. “Listen to this. ‘The party guests had no way of knowing they would be poisoned by their hostess, local author, Viola Roberts.’ Can you believe that? She even titled it The Poison in the Pudding.”

  The Poison in the Pudding? Really? I suppose it did have a certain ring to it.

  “Nobody will buy it,” I said, hoping that was true. “They know I wouldn’t deliberately make them sick.” I set the cup of coffee in front of Cheryl along with a bottle of Almond Roca creamer.

  “I sure hope you’re right.” She frowned angrily at the paper as she dumped a healthy dollop of creamer in her coffee. “But you’re a writer. What if they think you’ve gone crazy?”

  I sat down across from her with my own mug. “You’ve got an overactive imagination,” I assured her. “They already think I’m crazy.” That was the joy of being a writer. No one expected normal.

  “The good news is that almost everyone’s fine and out of the hospital this morning.”

  “And the bad news?” I asked, dreading her answer. What if someone died? The bodies did have a tendency to pile up around me.

  “The police still aren’t sure what was poisoned. Or gone off or whatever. Plus, Petula LeMar is still in the hospital. She had a bad reaction and nearly died. She’s in the ICU.”

  Wonderful. So I’d nearly killed a romance icon and stuck her in Intensive Care. My name would be dirt at the next romance writer’s convention. I’d be known as the woman who nearly killed Petula LeMar. Fortunately my readers wouldn’t care. They weren’t the erotic romance types and they were very loyal. Plus there was something about scandal and romance that tended to up book purchases. Maybe I’d have a really good sales month.

  “The mayor is still in, too,” Cheryl continued. “Apparently he’s kicking up a fuss.”

  Great. Just fantastic. “Let me get dressed,” I said, standing up. “And then we’ll go visit the mayor. Try to smooth things over before we clean up the hall.” Anything to get my mind off the events of last night. I still wished I knew what made people sick. If only so I could feel less guilty. Or more, as the case might be.

  “I’ll be right here waiting,” Cheryl said, still scowling at the newspaper. “Wish I knew how to put a hex on that Ashley person.”

  I wondered if that was because of the article or because of Ashley’s interest in Duke.

  Less than an hour later, we had parked near the Emergency Room entrance. As we walked up to the ER doors, I could see an old Toyota Celica sitting near the entrance. Gathered around it were two large security guards and a tiny little woman who looked about eighty. Inside the car was the shadowy form of a man. In a querulous voice he shouted, “I’m not getting out.”

  “Sir,” the younger security guard said, “you need to get out of the car.”

  “No! I’m not getting out.”

  “If you’re not going to get out of the car, then you need to go home,” the older of the two guards said in an impressively calm voice.

  “I’m not taking that man home,” the old lady spat.

  “Didn’t you bring him?” the younger security guard asked.

  “Yes. But I’m not taking him home.”

  “I’m not getting out!”

  “How is he related to you, ma’am?” the young guard asked.

  “He’s my husband. And don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old.”

  The argument continued as Cheryl and I entered the ER. “What was that all about? Cheryl mused.

  I had no idea. Just another episode of the quirky denizens of Astoria.

  At the desk, we asked for the mayor and were shuffled to another part of the hospital where His Highness waited in a private room wearing silk pajamas and makeup. No, I’m not kidding. I’d never seen him more camera ready.

  “Ladies!” He beamed from ear to ear. “How thoughtful of you to visit.”

  “Just checking to make sure our favorite mayor is on the mend,” I said with false cheer.

  He reached over to pat my hand. “So thoughtful, dear Viola.”

  “I feel bad about this whole thing,” I admitted.

  “Not your fault,” he said bracingly. “Probably just a bad egg or something. Everyone’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Except Petula,” Cheryl pointed out.

  “Oh, well. Not your fault the woman has allergies, now is it? If I’d realized she was such a delicate flower, I’d have never invited her.”

  We both stared at the mayor. He seemed unaware that he was being a bit of a self-centered jerk.

  Once we’d assured ourselves the mayor was going to survive and had no intention of either suing me or having us arrested, we said our goodbyes. A few minutes later we were at the Masonic Lodge elbow deep in dirty dishes and now-stale cookies.

  “It’s a shame Bat made us wait,” Cheryl said mournfully. �
�If we’d been able to seal these up, they’d have still been good.” She dumped an entire tray of cookies into the kitchen garbage bin. It was one of the few no one had puked in.

  “What if they’re the thing that made people sick?” Not that I wanted the bakery to get blamed, but it would take a load off my mind if I knew I hadn’t done it.

  Before she could answer, the front door swung open and in strode Duke. This morning he was wearing a gray Henley that was snug in all the right places. The man was built, that was for sure. Today his hair was hanging in loose waves to his shoulders. It was so silky and shiny I was tempted to ask who his hairdresser was. He strolled across the room with that loose-limbed gait that would make any woman sit up and take notice.

  “What are you doing here, Duke?” Cheryl’s eyes narrowed and her tone was tart, but I wasn’t fooled. The flush on her cheeks gave away just how much the photographer affected her.

  “Just thought I’d drop in and offer you a hand.” He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were glued on Cheryl as his lips quirked suggestively. “And then afterward, I’ll treat you to the beverage of your choice. What do you say?”

  “You expect us to have drinks with you after what you put in the paper?” Cheryl snapped. “Idiot.” Duke opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but she interrupted him. “The garbage is full.” She tromped back to the kitchen with her tray. There was a smudge of green frosting on her cheek. Apparently neither staleness nor threat of poisoning had deterred Cheryl from eating leftover cookies.

  “No worries,” I called after her. “I’ll take it out.” I was half surprised the police hadn’t hauled it away along with their food samples. I guess they hadn’t thought it necessary.

  “I can do it for you,” Duke offered, glancing after Cheryl with an expression of chagrin.

  “No, thanks. She’ll have my head if I let you help. What did you do to her, anyway?”

  He sighed. “I was an idiot.”

  “No surprise there.”

  He gave me an irritated look. “You don’t know me.”

  “But I know Cheryl and I know she doesn’t act like this except with good reason. Exactly how were you an idiot?”

  “We were supposed to go to the same college together. Graduate. Get married. It was all planned out. But...” He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair.

  “You chickened out?”

  He gave a bark of laughter that was anything but humorous. “I guess. I just wanted something different, I guess. I freaked out and took off.” He shrugged. “This is the first time we’ve seen each other since high school graduation.”

  “Wow. Not so much as an apology?”

  “What can I say? I’m an idiot.” He stared longingly at the kitchen door. “I never got over her, though.”

  “Well,” I said, hoisting the garbage bag. “If you’re serious, I suggest you start with an apology.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Flowers are always nice. Just avoid the lilies.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Okay. Thanks.” He threw a last look to the kitchen. “Sure I can’t help you with that?” He nodded toward the garbage.

  “I got it. But thanks.”

  With a nod, he sauntered out the door.

  The black bag was heavy, and I panted a little as I hauled it outside to the dumpster. In the apartment building across the street, red and green lights blinked wildly from one of the windows. A piece of tinsel from the Christmas tree drifted across the parking lot, blown by the wind, no doubt tracked out in last night’s exodus. As I tried to shove the bag into the large metal bin, the bag tipped awkwardly, and I lost my grip on it. It hit the ground, the loosely tied knot came undone, and some its contents spilled across the blacktop of the parking lot. I let rip a few colorful expletives as I crouched down to retrieve the contents.

  Once refilled, I picked up the bag. A bottle rolled free. It was one of those cobalt blue things with a medicine dropper that usually contained essential oils or herbal extracts. Frowning slightly, I picked it up. It seemed out of place in a garbage bag full of party detritus. It was unlabeled so I screwed open the top and gave it a sniff. It smelled of something green and plantlike. Something you might find in the garden. It tickled my nose to the point I nearly sneezed. Beneath that was another scent. Something I couldn’t quite place. Something that reminded me of the kitchen. Weird.

  I stuffed the bottle in the pocket of my apron. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was a clue.

  Chapter 5

  A Unicorn in the Bathtub

  “Well, that’s not great,” said Nina as she poured me and Cheryl large glasses of wine. Her dress was the same rich burgundy color of the wine and her hair was looking particularly golden. Either she’d recently dyed it or the lighting was really good.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” I said dryly.

  We were sitting at the bar in our friend Nina’s wine shop, Sip, trying to steady our nerves with a nice, full-bodied Malbec. We’d just finished telling Nina our version of events. Outside the large plate glass window, seagulls whirled in a cloudless sky. It was one of those rare winter days that was icy cold but hard and bright. I loved those days.

  Inside, the cheerful red walls were the perfect accent to the season, although that was their color year-round. Nina had wrapped white twinkle lights around the support pillars and hung blue icicle lights in the window, which would look lovely once night had fallen. Dean Martin crooned holiday songs over the loudspeaker.

  “That’s not all,” I said. I told them both how I’d found the odd smelling vial. “I turned it over to Bat. Just in case.”

  Nina shook her head slightly as she shoved the cork back in the bottle. “What I don’t get is why poison people with something non-lethal? It doesn’t make sense.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean, non-lethal?”

  She set the bottle under the counter. “Well, no one died, did they? Why poison someone if you’re not planning to kill them? It’s weird.”

  “If it was poison,” Cheryl muttered. “Could have been simple food poisoning.”

  “Except by your own admission, there was nothing there that could have caused food poisoning,” Nina pointed out.

  “Exactly,” I said triumphantly. Then I sobered. “Which means deliberate poisoning. Which looks really bad for us.”

  “You mean you,” Cheryl said. “You’re the one that made everything. Except the cookies, of course.”

  “You think Sandy at Bakeology could have done it?” Nina asked.

  “She wasn’t at the party,” I pointed out.

  “She could have snuck in without anyone seeing her.”

  “It’s possible,” I admitted. “But I don’t see why she would. It would harm her reputation.”

  “It does seem unlikely,” Nina agreed.

  “Which leaves us with deliberate poisoning by someone at the party. But you’re right. It doesn’t make sense. Why make people sick?” I sighed. “This is driving me crazy.”

  “Let’s make a list,” Cheryl suggested.

  “Great idea!” Nina grabbed some scrap paper and a pen from behind the bar and shoved them at me. “What are the possible reasons why someone would non-lethally poison people?”

  “To ruin someone’s reputation,” Cheryl suggested.

  “Which would me mine or Sandy’s,” I said. I jotted that down. “Unlikely it’s me. I mean, I’m a writer. What’s the worst that could happen? I don’t get sucked into plotting the next holiday party? I’m okay with that.”

  “But Bakeology...that’s a big deal,” Nina said. “They could lose their business over a scandal like this.”

  I circled the bakery. “Yep, I agree. That’s definitely an option. I’ll have to find out if Sandy has any enemies.”

  “What else?” Nina tapped her chin, no doubt pondering the possibilities.

  “Revenge?” Cheryl suggested. “Maybe someone is trying to frame you.”

  I shook my head. “If someone
died, maybe. But even then, who would want to frame me? I’ve got no enemies.”

  “That you know of,” she said tartly.

  I ignored her. “How about to get someone temporarily out of the way?”

  “You mean like the mayor?” Nina asked.

  “Sure. Like a vote coming up or something.”

  “No,” Nina said. “There’s nothing like that coming up. And they’d just wait for him to get well. It would only delay things temporarily.”

  “But what if that’s what they wanted?” Cheryl pointed out. “Just a few days delay might...I don’t know... help them somehow.”

  “Could be,” I agreed. “Like it could be the difference between getting funding for something or not.”

  Nina picked up her smartphone and tapped a few keys. “Again, nope. Nothing like that coming up online. I don’t think the mayor was the target.”

  “So someone else. Someone that was going to sign papers, sell something, go somewhere.” I tapped the end of the pen on the bar top. “So many possibilities.” I made a note on the sheet of paper. “What else?”

  “What about that reporter?” Cheryl asked. “I didn’t like her.”

  “You think Ashley poisoned everyone so she could get a good story?” I asked.

  “Oh, the plot thickens.” Nina laughed, perching on her stool behind the bar. “That’s a real possibility, you know. These days with so many newspapers going under, there aren’t many good jobs left in journalism. Maybe she was trying to get some job security. Or climb the ladder. I know there have been some cuts down at the paper. A juicy story like this could take some pressure off.”

  I wrote that down, too. So far, that seemed like the best possibility. That and the bakery. I’d have to check them both.

  The bell over the door chimed and we all turned to look at the newcomer. Instead of a face, we saw an enormous bouquet of flowers in every color of the rainbow. Above it floated several helium filled balloons. One of them had “Sorry” scrawled across it in pink letters.

  “Welcome to Sip,” Nina called to the bouquet. “Can I help you with that?”