Sweet Taffy and the Millionaire's Murder

by Dana Moss

  “About Blake?”

  “It’s a video. It shows Macy brandishing the same knife, in a joking way, mind you, but she’s also threatening to hurt Blake. He’s laughing in the video, as if he’s getting off on it. At the end she slices through a small melon, almost as if it was a—”

  “But that still doesn’t mean anything!”

  Maria blinked at Taffy’s outburst. Then she said calmly, “It looks bad, either way. I know she’s denying it and can’t remember what else she saw. But maybe all that tension had been building and she had a psychotic break. It probably wouldn’t make a bad defense at trial but—”

  “You’re planning to charge her already?!”

  “Calm down. Not quite yet.” Maria leaned back in her chair. “Look, the fact is, if we do find proof that Macy was the one to wield the knife, a good lawyer will make a case for temporary insanity. She may need to spend some time in an institution for a while, but it’s possible she’ll never see the inside of maximum security.”

  “But she’ll have to admit she’s crazy?” Taffy crossed her arms. “You really believe she did it, don’t you?”

  Maria blinked. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I have to put the facts together, that’s all.”

  “But you do, admit it.”

  Maria ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers got tangled in the messy curls. She’d not been keeping up with Lorenzo’s wave regime.

  “Taffy, you believe she’s innocent for emotional reasons. The facts don’t quite add up, so I don’t know the truth yet, but I’ll keep my beliefs separate from my job procedure.”

  “You’ve barely even tried to be nice to them. Not even for my sake.”

  “That’s not my job. My loyalty lies with uncovering the facts and putting wrongs to right.”

  “It would be wrong for Macy to get locked up for something she didn’t do. Even if it was in a mental institution.”

  Taffy was convinced her friend was innocent. But belief had to be backed up by proof, and the evidence was already clearly stacking up against Macy.

  “Can I see the video?”

  Maria flicked a glance toward the chief’s door. “I can’t let you. I’m sorry.”

  Taffy looked at the chief’s office door, too, and then back at Maria. “Does this have something to do with Chief Green wanting me to keep my distance?”

  “In part.” Maria sighed. “The thing is”—she added—“the judge is probably going to recommend Macy return to the jail after these video notes cross his desk.”

  “No! You can’t let her languish in there. She’s fine with me. She’s harmless.”

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “She’s my friend! Of course I know that for sure!”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Maria cast another glance toward the chief’s door.

  “I’m not upset!”

  Taffy tried to compose herself. She uncrossed her arms and took a deep breath. She tried to think. Then she leaned forward.

  “What about Anya’s alibi?”

  Maria sighed. “You heard her that night. She didn’t return to the yacht. She stayed at the resort.”

  “That’s what she told you. She could have left her room.”

  Maria leaned back in her chair, smiling with what looked suspiciously like the strained patience of parent dealing with a four-year-old. “I know that, Taffy, and I checked out her alibi. That’s my job. She was getting a massage at the exact time of the murder. The masseuse confirmed she was in her room.”

  Taffy frowned. “I want to talk with that masseuse myself.”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “She’s already been interviewed.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s new to town and has just started working on a contract basis with the resort.”

  “What’s her name? Can I have her number?”

  Maria raised an eyebrow. “She checks out. Please don’t get involved.”

  Taffy frowned. Then she had an idea.

  “What if I want to book a massage?”

  Maria laughed. “Sure you do. If that’s the case, why don’t you call up the resort and get the info you need?”

  Taffy harrumphed. Maria could be so stubborn sometimes.

  “Has anyone looked into Anya’s background? Where did she come from? Somewhere in Eastern Europe, I’m guessing—“

  “In addition to having an alibi, Anya had no motive to kill Blake. She liked her job. Apparently, she’d been saving up to open her own catering business in California, so this turn of events is at minimum inconvenient, if not downright disastrous for her.”

  “What about Lorne?“

  “We’re looking into him and his background, too.”

  “It’s really just his word against Macy’s, isn’t it?”

  “He’s been very forthcoming and helpful. He’s the one who provided the video.”

  “He’s probably trying to frame Macy!”

  Maria cleared her throat and threw a sharp glance at Chief Green’s door.

  “Look, I know you’re wanting to clear your friend’s name. I get it. But you need to let it go. For my sake, if not yours. Get back your life, your job, Ethan. Even my wedding cake, if you want.”

  Taffy’s frown turned into a pout. “I just want to help. You know I’m good at this.”

  Maria didn’t make any comment.

  Just then, Chief Green opened his office door. He paused, his eyes on Taffy. He didn’t say anything before moving off in the direction of the fax machine, but his look had seemed to convey a warning.

  Maria had clearly noticed and said, “What you’re good at is getting me into trouble, Taff. Why don’t you focus on entertaining your New York friends for the time being? We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  It’s not that Taffy doubted it. She just wanted to help make that happen. She knew Maria knew that, too, but all she did was glance at the chief’s open door and then turn back to her computer.

  Defeated, and taking the hint, Taffy stood up to go. “Since you mentioned it, I have been thinking about your wedding cake.”

  Without taking her eyes off her computer screen, Maria mumbled, “From murders to wedding cakes in a nanosecond. Amazing.”

  Taffy decided to take that observation as a compliment. “I’ve arranged a tasting in Portland for next Saturday.”

  Maria looked up at her. “We have to go to Portland? Why can’t we just get something from Betsy’s Fun Buns?”

  Taffy released an exasperated sigh. “Because you’re not having a wedding cake covered in sprinkles.”

  Maria grinned and cocked her head. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

  When Taffy twisted her eyebrows into a frustrated vee, Maria said, “All right. Fine. But forget Portland. This case is keeping me too busy. Who does the desserts at the resort? Those are nice.”

  “Well that’s a mystery I can solve all by myself.” Taffy slid her purse over her forearm and pulled out her keys.

  “Taff?” Maria said gently as she turned to go. “I didn’t mean what I said, you know, I do want your help…”

  Taffy thought she was going to say “with the case,” but Maria finished with, “… all the wedding craziness. I’m sorry about what I said last night. You’re a great maid of honor. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Taffy shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t get married at all. Or you’d elope or something silly like that. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. I’ll let you know about the cake.”

  She didn’t mention that she was also going to check out Anya’s masseuse. And she might have a little talk with Lorne again too.

  * * *

  Taffy was just settling her sunglasses on her nose and climbing back into her convertible when a rental car pulled up in front of the police station. An elegant woman wearing dark clothes, a hat, and sunglasses emerged from the car and strode into the station on very high heels. Was this Blake’s ex? Taffy didn’t get a very good look at her before she entered
the glass doors and was out of sight.

  Taffy pulled an almond croissant from the pastry bag that sat on the seat beside her. She bit into the sweet pastry while wishing she could be a fly on the wall in Maria’s office. What would Mrs. Blake Stanton Reese III tell Maria? Taffy made a mental note to call later and ask. She also made a note to only reference the wedding if the chief picked up the phone.

  Right now she had concerns about Anya’s alibi and Lorne’s apparent intention to further implicate Macy. She wanted to talk to both of them again. She looked at the time just as her phone dinged with a text. It was Cher.

  Macy showering. We are starving. Can’t figure out the coffee machine. Home soon?

  Taffy sighed and then sent her a thumbs up. She knew she should get home, but she wanted to get to the bottom of her niggling suspicions first. She stuffed the rest of the almond croissant into her mouth as she pulled out of her parking spot. They could “starve” for a few more minutes. Her next stop shouldn’t take long. While all the evidence pointed to Macy, the police would keep sniffing down that trail, so Taffy had to work out if anyone else could be the murderer. Someone desperate enough to pin the deed on her friend.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  At the front desk of the Castle Rock Resort, Greg saw her coming and held up his hands. “I’ve been told I can only talk the police. I already got into trouble for showing you that empty room.”

  Taffy offered up her most winning smile.

  “Oh, I’m not here about that. I heard that you have a great masseuse working for you now. I just wanted to get her number. See if she can make a house call.”

  Greg eyed her suspiciously. “I think I’m only allowed to offer that to guests of the resort.”

  Taffy’s smile remained in place. “She might like more business, don’t you think? You’re not going to get in the way of her professional development, are you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to lose my job, Miss.”

  “It’s Taffy—”

  “I know who you are, but I can’t call guests or visitors by their first names. Sorry.”

  Taffy’s smiled turned into a frown. Then she thought of something. “The massage isn’t really for me. You remember my friend, Cher?”

  His eyes brightened. “The girl with all the luggage? Sure, I remember her.”

  “She’s the one who needs the massage. She’s been so stressed out because of this terrible situation. She’s staying with me and asked if I could find someone. For her.”

  Greg looked down and away, pondering.

  Taffy reached for one of the resort postcards and jotted her name and number on it. “Here, you can give this to the masseuse and tell her to get in touch with me if she wants some extra work. That way you’re not breaking any resort rules.”

  He looked at it and nodded. “Next time she’s in, I’ll tell her.”

  “How often is that?”

  “Every Tuesday and Thursday, otherwise by special appointment.” He paused for a second as if wondering if he’d said too much.

  “No harm telling me that. Your job is safe.”

  She turned away from the counter and was about to leave, but she had a second thought and turned back. She saw Greg tucking the postcard in a message cubby marked “Alice Reed.” That was a start.

  “I meant to ask you one other thing,” Taffy said.

  He turned.

  “My friend is getting married in a couple of months, and we’re wondering if the chef here would be interested in making the wedding cake.”

  He thought about it for a second. “I can call the kitchen and ask Chef Albert if he’s free to talk to you.”

  “Would you mind?”

  He picked up the phone and a few minutes later Taffy was being ushered into the kitchen of the Castle Rock Resort.

  * * *

  Deep in the commercial kitchen, stainless steel surfaces gleamed, pots hung from hooks, and floor-to-ceiling fridge and freezer doors lined one wall of the room.

  Chef Albert, wearing a chef’s hat that looked like a marshmallow soufflé, led Taffy to his nook of an office near the delivery doors, which were ajar enough to let in a warmish September breeze.

  “I’ll have to talk to my pastry chef, Pierre. When’s the date?”

  “Second Saturday in December.”

  “Lots of time then.”

  “Yes, but we’ll need tastings and all that.”

  Taffy sat down in the chair he offered her after moving a stack of aprons from its seat. He rounded his cluttered desk and faced Taffy again.

  “Who’s doing the rest of your catering?”

  “I’m waiting for the bride to decide. She’s a bit distracted these days.”

  Chef Albert nodded knowingly and glanced toward the open doors, through which could be seen a narrow glimpse of the dock, still roped off for the investigation. Taffy followed his gaze and then turned back when he mumbled, “How can she work on a murder case and a wedding all at the same time?”

  Cheerily, Taffy said, “Someone once told me everyone in a small town does at least two things at a time.” But trying to make light of the situation fell flat with Chef Albert.

  “Death is bad for business,” he muttered. Taffy thought he sounded like Mayor Gifford.

  She was thinking that it was a significant part of police business when he said, “So how many guests to feed? For the cake, I mean.”

  “Uh. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  He nodded and noted something on a pad on his desk. “I’m pretty sure Pierre could whip up a few options for the tasting. Next week sometime?”

  “Better make it the weekend. You know, since the bride’s so busy with the business of death.”

  Chef Albert frowned slightly. Guess he didn’t like her jokes. She stood up to go. He rose and shook her hand.

  “I’m happy Maria is finally tying the knot. That’ll be a life-affirming sight around here. Unlike some others.” With his shoulder he gestured toward the door and the dock beyond. Taffy turned again and saw the slice of view down to the docks.

  A moment later the view was obscured as Anya slipped through the gap in the door and into the kitchen. Chef Albert’s smile broadened, as if he’d been expecting her, but Taffy was surprised to see Anya here. She removed an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it around her waist. Only then did she notice Taffy, but her eyes slid past her quickly to Chef Albert, and she mirrored his smile. He trundled past Taffy and shook Anya’s hand.

  “You can get started on these soup preparations.” He pointed to the steel-topped counter and a box of ingredients.

  “You’re working here?” Taffy said, leaving the office and joining them by the counter.

  “More like volunteering,” Anya said.

  “With a stipend,” interjected Chef Albert. “And maybe a proper wage soon enough.” He pulled a large cutting board from a shelf.

  Taffy raised an eyebrow Anya’s way. “You intend to stay?”

  With a lowered voice, she said, “I’m just happy for the work. I like to keep busy, and with this investigation going on, I’m just twiddling my thumbs until… well, until things are sorted, I guess.” She frowned.

  Taffy had the feeling she wanted to say, “Until Macy’s is locked up,” but perhaps had the grace to recall Taffy’s sensitivity on the subject.

  Still frowning, Anya said, “None of us received our last paycheck, and who knows when we’ll get it. So I’m just trying to make the best use of my time.”

  Taffy recalled Maria mentioning that Anya had been saving up to start her own catering business in Carmel. At least she was the proactive type.

  Anya reached for an onion from the box and a chopping knife from the magnetic strip on the wall. Taffy noticed she’d reached with her right hand.

  Taffy asked, “Is Lorne doing odd jobs, too?”

  Once the words were out of her mouth, she worried they might sound condescending, but if Anya picked up on it, she ignored it. She shook her head.<
br />
  “He says he’s too cut up about all this— ” She glanced at Taffy. “Sorry, bad choice of words. He’s staying in his room in the resort. Hates not being able to go back to the boat. But apparently he’s got a well-stocked minibar.” She laid the onion on the counter and lined up the knife root to tip. “I guess we all have our ways to cope with grief and trauma. I like to keep busy.”

  “Sounds healthier than keeping buzzed. No doubt Chef Albert is happy to have you.”

  Anya smiled. “Better to be helpful than half cut.” She set the knife down. “I can’t believe I keep saying that word. Maybe I’m more upset than I think.”

  She pushed a knuckle to the corner of her eye to wipe away a tear. “Darn onions.”

  “No one would blame you. It was a real shock.”

  “Bloody right it was.” Anya’s eyes widened. “Why do I keep doing that?”

  “As you said, we all cope differently,” Taffy said with a small smile. “Maybe another massage is in order.”

  Anya shot her a sharp glance, as if checking to see if Taffy was teasing her.

  “You know that’s what I was doing the night Blake was killed?” Then she nodded to herself. “Of course, you’re friends with the detective. Is she any closer to finding the killer?”

  Taffy frowned. “So far all the evidence is pointing to Macy, but it still doesn’t make sense, so that means we’re missing some essential information.”

  “‘We’?”

  “Sometimes I help out, but Maria doesn’t want as much help on this one. She thinks I’m too close to the case.”

  “I can understand why she’d think that. The closer the relationship, the more distant our sense of objectivity.”

  “But you also understand why it’s important for me to be involved, so I can help Macy?”

  She nodded. “I’d probably do the same thing.”

  Taffy watched Anya slice and dice the onion. Trying to seem nonchalant, she asked, “So do you get massages often?”

  Anya gave Taffy a sidelong glance. Then she smirked. “You think I had something to do with Blake’s demise? I suppose it’s only natural for you to be suspicious of everyone else in an effort to protect your friend… But to answer your question, yes. I get them as often as work permits me to. Helps to relieve ongoing stress. In fact, once we found out we’d be docking in Abandon, I called ahead to see if someone could come to my hotel room.”