Murder by Meringue (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 25)

by Mary Maxwell

  “How much?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Ten grand. Like I’ve just got that tucked away in my back pocket.”

  Pamela tapped his arm. “Tell Katie the rest,” she said. “Tell her about the life insurance.”

  “When I told Amelia that I couldn’t help,” Drew said with a sigh, “she reminded me that I’d put her on my life insurance policy back when we were going out. She was the sole beneficiary on a pretty sizable payout.”

  “Did you remember that she was on the policy?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Drew said, glancing at his fiancé. “But I was sure grateful that Amelia did. Otherwise, I might’ve left her on there after our wedding.”

  “And that would’ve been an unwelcome surprise,” Pamela added. “Especially after how hateful she and her brother have been since I started dating Drew.”

  “They’re both damn fools,” he said. “I’m really sorry about what happened to her, but I’m not surprised. As poorly as that woman treated other people, it was only a matter of time before the hand of fate came back to give her a little taste of her own medicine.”

  CHAPTER 30

  My first phone call on Monday morning was from someone talking in a low, throaty rasp that was barely perceptible above the sizzle of the bacon on the grill. When I checked the display on the screen, I saw a local number with a name that I didn’t recognize.

  “Can you speak up?” I asked the mystery caller.

  “What the heck is wrong with you?” said a gravelly voice. “It’s me!”

  Since I know four people who might begin an early morning call with a snappy tone, I didn’t want to risk deepening their ire by botching the caller’s identity. I quickly settled on a pair of generic, neutral follow-up questions in the hope that the unidentified individual would either speak louder or provide a verbal clue.

  “How are you?” I asked. “Is the day starting out nicely?”

  Julia emerged from the walk-in with a flat of tomatoes in her hands. She gave me a quizzical grin when she noticed the look on my face.

  “Bad news?” she whispered.

  I shrugged. “No idea.”

  Before she could say another word, there was a squelch of static from the phone that left me wincing in pain.

  “That’s better!” said Blanche Speltzer. “I’m using Kitty Wagner’s phone because Boris dropped mine in the toilet last night.”

  “Oh, no! I’m so sorry to hear about that.”

  “Don’t you worry your precious heart,” she said quickly. “It was insured, so my sweet hubby will only be out five hundred and fifty bucks.”

  “Wow! That’s a pretty big deductible.”

  Blanche laughed. “The deductible’s only fifty,” she said. “Boris is also buying me some new jewelry to make up for the inconvenience. He hit a hefty jackpot in Vegas when he went over last week with his Army buddies, so he’s feeling both generous and guilty at the same time. Spending some extra money on his lovely wife will make the old goat feel better.”

  “What’s on your mind this morning?” I said. “Or did you want to gloat about the new bling?”

  “The dead woman was house-sitting for the past week,” she said. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Amelia Felton?”

  It was out of my mouth instinctively, and I predicted Blanche’s response before she’d even finished sighing into the phone.

  “Well, who else would it be?” she said. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s the only homicide that we’ve had in town this week.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else.”

  “Of course, we’re talking about Amelia,” Blanche said. “I was at Food Town last night picking up a couple of things so that Boris and I could make a Frankenbratbasa for his friends that are coming in from Berlin, and I ran into—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But what are you making?”

  She laughed. “It’s called a Frankenbratbasa, dear. It’s like a turducken. Are you familiar?”

  “I am, but I’ve never heard of a Frankenbratbasa.”

  “Oh, it’s so easy and delicious,” Blanche explained. “My sweetheart got the recipe from his sister in Milwaukee. A Frankenbratbasa is a cocktail frank inside a bratwurst that’s inside a kielbasa.”

  “Well, doesn’t that make perfect sense?” I said. “I guess that’ll be my lesson for the day.”

  “Happy to be informative, dear,” Blanche said. “Now, as I was saying, I ran into Lori Franklin. She bought the old Lawson place on Sycamore Street, right there by the park with the gazebo.”

  “I know the park,” I said. “Was Amelia house-sitting for Lori?”

  “She was,” Blanche replied. “And the police are there as we speak.”

  “Really? Is Lori okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Blanche said. “But her Le Creuset Dutch oven will never be the same. It looks like Amelia or her brother used it to incinerate chunks of granite.”

  I smiled at the tone of her voice: shock, indignation and a tinge of jealousy.

  “Do you know how much that sucker cost?” Blanche added. “It’s around three hundred forty at Bed Bath & Beyond.”

  “Pricey,” I said.

  “Lori actually started to get weepy when she told me the story last night,” Blanche said. “Apparently, the Dutch oven was a gift from her late mother-in-law. It had real sentimental value.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear the news,” I said. “Was anything else damaged by Amelia?”

  Blanche scoffed. “Amelia? It was probably that numbskull brother of hers. That dolt couldn’t pour water out of a bucket with instructions on the bottom.”

  My laugh startled Julia so much that she squeaked. When she whirled around to chastise me with a frown, I was listening as Blanche provided a few more choice details about the aftermath of Amelia’s final house-sitting engagement.

  “This was the fourth or fifth time that Lori asked Amelia to stay at her place when she and her husband were both away for work,” Blanche explained. “Nothing bad had happened at all before, so when she walked into the house last night and saw the kitchen…” She whistled into the phone. “I mean, the neighbors heard Lori screeching and caterwauling at the top of her lungs. Besides the Dutch oven, three of her baking sheets were ruined, there was a hunk of something dark stuck to the ceiling and someone had stapled a pair of Lori’s leopard print underwear to the front of the television cabinet.”

  “Yikes!”

  “Double yikes!” Blanche said with a loud whoop. “They were brand new, so she never even had a chance to wear them.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” I said. “And I can only imagine how she felt dealing with the police.”

  “She’s a tough nut,” Blanche told me. “The hardest part for Lori is feeling betrayed by someone that she considered a close friend. Even though it’s been a few years since they worked together, they went to dinner at least once a month and talked on the phone all the time.”

  “That is too bad,” I said. “And it’s a double whammy for Lori; the shock of losing a friend and finding her home trashed when she returned from the business trip.”

  “True, but she’ll get through it. She went online this morning to order a new Dutch oven and they sell her panties at that little lingerie store on Carmichael and Pueblo.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I said. “It’ll probably be easier to replace the damaged items than it will be to get over the shock and sorrow of Amelia’s death.”

  “Oh, that’s so true,” Blanche agreed. “The other shocker was what the crime scene techs found in the kitchen.”

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Are you ready for this?” Blanche said. “They found traces of strychnine on the counter, the kitchen table and the refrigerator door handle.”

  The news flash left me thunderstruck for a few seconds. If the Crescent Creek PD detected traces of the same poison that killed Amelia in Lori’s kitch
en, did that mean Lori was behind the packages of tainted cupcakes? Maybe she’d scheduled the business trip to create an alibi for Amelia’s death and the other attempted homicides.

  “Did Lori stay elsewhere last night?” I asked. “It sounds like her house might be an active crime scene, not to mention the risk of being exposed to strychnine.”

  “She slept in her car out front,” Blanche said. “I believe that she and her hubby will be staying at Toby and Dave’s place across the street for a least a little while. Between the exhaustion from the long business trip and the shock of everything that she walked into when she got home, I think poor Lori is a little raw and distrustful at the moment.”

  “I should put together a little care package for her,” I said. “Maybe some of the carrot cake scones that she likes so much.”

  “Oh, bless your little cotton socks, Katie. I know that Lori would treasure that generosity more than you can imagine.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Zack and I were sitting at the bar in Café Fleur that evening, enjoying a glass of wine and the delicious smoked duck empanada appetizer. It was seven o’clock; the dining room was half filled with couples and families enjoying the popular bistro’s jumbo fried chicken wings with hot sauce. They were offered as a dinner special once a week, and some folks made the trek to the popular restaurant four times a month once they tasted the spicy specialty item.

  “Jasper Waxman told me that he’d heard some dirt on Amelia Felton’s brother,” Zack said.

  “Who’s Jasper Waxman?”

  He was in the middle of a bite of empanada, so I went back for another sip of my wine. Between the soothing jazz playing softly in the background and the warmth of the vino, I felt the barbed knots along my spine begin to uncoil. We’d decided to have a light dinner at our favorite local joint instead of cooking at home because we’d both slept poorly the night before and the long day had taken its toll.

  “Jasper delivers the Gazette now,” Zack said. “The other guy quit to move to France with his wife.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Barney.”

  “Just the one,” I said with a smile. “Like Cher or Madonna?”

  “Or Bert and Ernie,” Zack replied. “It’s Barney Oldfield. Do you know him?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. Harper introduced us once when he was in for lunch. Seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Very nice,” Zack said. “Same goes for his wife. They inherited half of Fort Knox from one of her relatives, so they bought a château, sold everything here and leave in a couple of weeks to chase their creative dreams.”

  “Are they artists?”

  He laughed. “Barney wants to compose operas while Debbie raises goats to make cheese.”

  I lifted my glass. “Here’s to Barney and Debbie,” I said. “May the music be as rich and scrumptious as the cheese.”

  Zack grinned. “Did you just make that up?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Do you have some constructive criticism to offer?”

  “Nope. Just curious.”

  “Same here,” I said. “Let’s get back to Jasper. What did he tell you?”

  “Mimi Ballard has a wicked right hook,” Zack said.

  “And how does Jasper know this?” I asked. “First-hand experience or second-hand news?”

  “He heard it from Mimi Ballard,” Zack answered.

  “Ken’s sister is the source?”

  Zack made a face. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Sorry. It just seems a little unusual that she would dip into the gossip pool,” I said. “Considering how long the rumors swirled about her husband and Toni Rennert having an affair, I would just expect her to be more circumspect.”

  “But if she’s passing along the truth,” he said, “isn’t there a difference in how you’d characterize it?”

  I smiled. “Well, yes. I suppose you’re right.”

  He reached over and tweaked my chin. “You look so beautiful tonight, babe.”

  “Must be the new concealer,” I joked. “It’s like Rust-Oleum paint; provides twice the coverage on metal, wood, plastic and oily skin that’s attached to a woman who needs a good night’s sleep and a vacation.”

  He laughed. “Well, maybe we can find a way to combine both of those in one package for you, sweetheart.”

  “I’m already packed!” I teased. “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as the Amelia Felton case is resolved,” he said. “I know that’s weighing heavily on your mind. Heck, it’s probably a big part of why you’ve been having so much trouble sleeping through the night.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “And maybe not. But we didn’t finish with Mimi Ballard. What’s the rest of the story?”

  Zack shrugged. “It was about Hugh Felton. He was with Amelia at the flea market that they do in the parking lot at the Lutheran church. Everything was copacetic until Hugh and Amelia ran into Ken and Mimi. I guess this was a few weeks after Amelia lost her job and her romance with Ken crashed and burned.”

  “When does the mean right hook come into it?” I asked.

  “At about the point where Hugh started talking trash,” Zack told me. “He went after Ken first, calling him every name in the book as well as a few that he made up on the spot. Next, while Amelia was capturing the whole thing on her phone, Hugh got right up in Mimi’s face and told her that her brother was the biggest low-down loser on the planet.”

  “And then what?” I said, fearing that I already knew the answer. “Did she clock Hugh?”

  Zack chuckled again. “Yep! Apparently, Amelia had failed to inform her brother that Mimi is a mixed martial arts champ.”

  “She does remind me a little bit of Michelle Waterson,” I said.

  “Is that the woman from Colorado Springs?” Zack asked.

  “That’s her; MMA pro and she’s been in several movies.”

  “That’s right.” Zack picked up his wine. “Classy stuff like Thor and MacGruber.”

  “Hey! Don’t knock it, mister.”

  “I was just kidding,” he said. “I liked both of those flicks.”

  “Too bad Hugh isn’t a fan,” I said. “Maybe he would’ve seen that big article a couple of months ago that mentioned Michelle and Mimi as two of the best from Colorado.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” Zack said with a playful grin. “Sounds like the guy had it coming.”

  “I’m not going to argue that one,” I said. “Do you know if Amelia posted the video that she shot?”

  Zack smiled. “It’s on YouTube,” he said. “Two hundred thousand views the last time I checked.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Dina. She should know about the fracas at the flea market.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” he told me.

  “Because?”

  “Mainly because Dina’s in the video at one point,” Zack replied. “She was shopping at the flea market with a couple of her CCPD buds. They heard the ruckus after Mimi had Hugh on the ground. You can see Dina glaring at the stooge right before the video cuts off.”

  CHAPTER 32

  “Have you seen the recipe card for Nana Reed’s pumpkin bars?” asked Julia after the lunch rush subsided. “Things are fairly quiet in the dining room, so I thought it might be a good idea to tackle the order for Stephanie Ruffner.”

  “That’s what she ordered?” I asked. “I thought her husband was allergic to pumpkin.”

  Julia grimaced. “Didn’t you hear? Stephanie and Dane are taking a break. He moved in with one of his poker buddies while they try counseling.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Did you know they were having trouble?”

  “Just some cryptic comments here and there,” she said with a shrug. “Stephanie told me that she was having trust issues with him.”

  “Did he cheat?”

  “He’d been spending more and more time at the office, so she went by one night with a picnic basket to surprise him for dinner.”

  “Is this going to end
the way that I think it will?” I asked.

  Julia nodded. “They were fully clothed, but Stephanie saw Dane and a woman from his department kissing in the hallway when she got off the elevator.”

  “Was it that blonde with the hourglass figure?” I asked. “Kim whatshername?”

  Julia smiled. “How’d you know?”

  “A little birdie told me a couple of days ago,” I said. “But I didn’t know that Stephanie and Dane had actually separated.”

  “The little birdie named Blanche told me, too,” she said with a wink. “She and Boris ran into Dane and Kim in a restaurant in Denver not too long ago. He’d told Stephanie that he was in Dallas for a work thing.”

  “Really? Why do so many men use flimsy excuses to betray their wedding vows?”

  Julia considered the question. “Well, you take one part arrogance,” she said. “Then you add a few dollops of laziness. And then you finish it off with two huge scoops of pure stupidity.”

  The laugh that we shared was bittersweet. We’d both had our hearts broken over the years by men that we trusted. Although Julia was happily married to Jared, and my relationship with Zack was strong and steady, it was still incredibly difficult to hear about one of our friends suffering the pain and grief of marital infidelity.

  “What are you two moping about?” Harper called through the pass window. “Those frowns are pitiful!”

  Julia shook off the moment. “We’re fine,” she said. “Just got a little sidetracked looking for a recipe.”

  Harper pulled a ticket from her pad, clipped it to the wheel and spun it into the kitchen.

  “Well, I’ve got two hungry seniors out here looking for tuna salad on wheat and a cheddar omelet. Maybe your frown will turn upside down while you get cracking.”

  Julia laughed. “Yes, your majesty!” she called. “I’ll get right on that!”

  CHAPTER 33

  I dialed Dina’s number an hour later as soon as I heard the message that she’d left earlier in the day.