by Krista Davis
“An employee,” breathed Nina. “That should narrow down the list of suspects.”
“Or a former employee,” I pointed out. “Definitely someone he knew. I wonder if he would have tasted pie for a wannabe employee? Do restaurateurs do that? Presumably Grainger was about to lock up or had just locked up, so he would have had the key on him. Still, it would take some serious guts to sit there and watch him eat pie, then stab him, and go inside the restaurant to wash the knife and put it away. Besides, wouldn’t the killer have been covered in blood spatter? The cops would know for sure if he had been inside.”
“He probably would have left shoe tracks, too. Assuming Nellie’s description is accurate, I can’t imagine anyone managing to avoid stepping in blood.”
Traffic had picked up considerably when we returned to Old Town. The Sunday brunch crowd had arrived and we moved at a crawl.
Nina gasped and her hand landed on my arm. “Oh, my word! Look who’s having lunch together.”
In the front window of a chic restaurant on King Street, Natasha gazed attentively at none other than Peter Presley.
“He couldn’t take his eyes off of her yesterday,” muttered Nina. “But he’s not her type. She usually goes for slick guys, not the kind that look like they’d be more comfortable on a farm or in the woods.”
“People change. Maybe she sees something in him that she’s been missing in citified men.”
“Does he have money?” asked Nina.
“I haven’t the first notion. You think she only goes after men with fat wallets?”
“Maybe,” said Nina. “Or maybe it only seems that way because she’s still looking for her dad. It’s too bad her father will never know how badly he scarred her by abandoning her and her mother.”
At long last we rolled up to my garage and pulled inside. We entered the house through the back entrance and heard the doorbell ringing. I rushed through the foyer with Daisy ahead of me, and flung open the door.
Wolf stood outside, his face haggard from exhaustion. “Got a minute?” He petted Daisy, and picked up Mochie but skipped formal greetings otherwise and followed us into the kitchen. Still holding Mochie, he asked, “What do you know about the Dark Shadow?”
Nina snorted. “Can you believe that Cicely reported about him on TV? How desperate was she to make up something like that?”
Wolf frowned at her. “She must have picked it up somewhere.”
“It was just a silly nickname,” I explained. “Nellie Stoke’s husband, Dooley, was hanging around. It turned out that he wanted to talk with me, but didn’t have the guts to initiate a conversation. We were calling him the dark shadow because he had dodged around the corner like, well, a dark shadow. Cicely overheard us talking. It’s all fine. We’ve met with Dooley. It had nothing to do with Patsy Lee.”
“Dooley Stokes was your dark shadow?” Wolf rubbed his chin. “I see. It all fits together now. He’s a bit of an odd duck.”
It was my turn to be concerned. “What do you mean by that?”
“He’s just a little different. I always feel like he’s scared of me.”
I took the opportunity to be nosy, hoping to sound very casual. “Was he a suspect in Grainger Gibbard’s murder?”
“A person of interest,” Wolf clarified. “Nellie and Dooley had just divorced. He had to be considered. Jealousy is a powerful motivator.”
“So you do know something about it,” I said.
Wolf shrugged. “Not much. It didn’t take long to wrap it up. Nellie was arrested on the spot. As I recall, there was talk about her having some kind of episode at the time. That was why she couldn’t remember stabbing Grainger, but felt great remorse afterward and was trying to revive him.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What if she didn’t remember because she didn’t do it?”
“Sophie, I’m not up on the details. I just remember that the jury didn’t buy that explanation. The other reason I came by was to tell you that Patsy Lee’s death was from caffeine powder. I know you were drinking coffee from Moos and Brews and I didn’t want you to worry. In some cases caffeine powder is an intentional overdose, but there are also documented incidents in which someone consumed more of it than they intended and died as a result.”
“Caffeine powder?” Nina shrieked. “Like instant coffee? I drink coffee all the time. Are you saying I could drink too much and keel over like Patsy Lee?”
Wolf shook his head. “No, no, no. Highly unlikely. Caffeine powder isn’t like instant coffee. It’s a crystalized form of caffeine. According to the medical examiner, it’s highly concentrated. One teaspoon is the equivalent of drinking almost thirty cups of coffee at once. It’s been banned by the FDA, but is still readily available.”
I chose my words carefully. “So, most likely, Patsy Lee was tired and took powdered caffeine to give herself an energy boost?”
“Maybe.” Wolf ran a hand through his hair. “We’re going to have to figure out whether Patsy Lee ingested it intentionally, or whether someone spiked her food or drink. We didn’t find any sign of it in her hotel room or luggage. If she was in the habit of using it, you’d think we would have found some there. At this point I have to treat her death as a homicide.”
“You know that Brock brought her coffee,” I reminded him.
Nina snapped her fingers. “He might have carried it around for her. He probably had all kinds of things she might need in a bag of some sort.”
“We’re aware of that. Brock definitely had the best opportunity of all to mix caffeine powder in her coffee before he handed it to her. But from what I gather, now that there’s no Patsy Lee, Brock doesn’t have a job.”
“Good point.” Nina nodded. “It would be contrary to his own best interests to do that intentionally.”
“Do you have time for”—I’d almost offered him a cup of coffee—“some lunch?”
“I do!” Nina headed for the refrigerator, muttering, “I’m starved.”
Wolf and I chuckled. He checked his watch. “Sure. I’m running on about two hours of sleep. I’d love a bite to eat.”
Mochie accompanied us and snuggled with Wolf while I whipped up some ham and Asiago cheese sandwiches and popped them into the panini machine.
Nina was already slicing what was left of the pie. “Hmm, looks attractive. Filling is smooth and firm, but not gelatinous. This might be a winner.”
“Now that you’ve been a pie judge, am I going to have to go through this every single time I serve pie?”
Nina held her head high. “I have credentials!”
I brought iced tea to the table while Nina, the new pie expert, placed a slice of pie in front of each of us.
Wolf ate a bite of his sandwich. “Just what I needed. So, did either of you see anything unusual yesterday? Did you see Patsy Lee or anyone mix something into her coffee? Did you see her in the ladies’ room, doctoring her drink? Anything at all?”
“I hate to let you down,” I said. “I was next to her in the morning, but I can’t say I noticed anything strange. A lot of people clustered around her, and even more stood close by and just watched, like they were in awe of her star status.”
“I arrived a little later,” said Nina. “If I were you, I’d be taking a hard look at Brock. It seems like he’s around her all the time.”
“What about Peter Presley?” I asked. “After all, she was alone with him the night before she died. Maybe they had a spat.”
Wolf nodded. “If you two hear any gossip, let me know. I hate to take off so soon, but I’d better get back to work.”
I saw him to the door, glad that he’d stopped by and stayed for a bite.
He stepped outside and turned around. “Could I have a quick word with you?”
“Sure.” I stepped outside.
Wolf pulled the door shut. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about Patsy Lee?”
I blinked at him. “I think I’ve told you everything I know. She was hiding in the bushes and then seemed to be
running from someone in the dark.”
“But that wasn’t the dark shadow?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone else that night. I have no idea. Then yesterday she wanted to have lunch with me privately, but she didn’t tell me what that was about.”
“What were her exact words?”
I blew out a breath of air. “I don’t know. She said because I hadn’t blabbed about her hiding in the bushes she felt like she could trust me to be discreet about this other problem. Oh! I said that I had solved some murders and she responded that someone might be murdered if she didn’t clear up her problem.” I looked Wolf straight in the eyes. “At the time I thought that was a joke. You know, an exaggeration.”
“But now?”
“Why are you questioning me like this? Obviously, in light of what happened, I wonder what she meant.”
“Did she hire you to do anything for her?”
“You mean like an event?”
“Like anything. Anything at all.”
“No.”
“Did you sell her something?”
“Wolf! No. I barely knew the woman.”
“Then why did she jot down your name and address on a piece of stationery in her hotel room?”
Chapter 15
Dear Sophie,
Our company is having a pie-eating contest at a summer picnic for employees. I’m worried that my idiot husband who loves to eat will gorge and get sick. How do those skinny guys who win eating contests do it?
Worried Wife in Grand Gorge, New York
Dear Worried Wife,
Believe it or not, the people who are serious about eating contests work out and practice eating large quantities. They learn to pace themselves and drink adequate water. It might be wise to put a limit on how many pies a contestant can eat. Multiple winners are always more fun, anyway.
Sophie
I knew Wolf too well to imagine that he was joking. “I have no idea. Maybe she planned to pay me a visit?”
“This isn’t the time to be flip.”
“Wolf! There are probably people all over Old Town with your name written somewhere. You can’t help that any more than I can.”
“Why did she write a check to you?”
“She didn’t.”
“Sophie, I know that she did. And it was for a hefty amount.”
“That’s just bizarre.” I ticked items off on my fingers as I spoke. “She didn’t hire me for anything, she didn’t owe me anything, and there was absolutely no reason for her to pay me a single cent. As far as I know, I met Patsy Lee for the first time in my life on Friday.”
“You understand that this involves you in the case of her death.”
His words slammed me like a punch in the gut. “I . . . I see why you might think so, but I have told you everything I know. Do you want to search my office for the check?”
“We may have to see your bank account.”
“Wolf! She didn’t give me any money. I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but it doesn’t make any sense. I hardly know her. There isn’t a reason in the world for her to write a check to me, and I know nothing about her death.”
“If anything comes to you, let me know.”
He sounded so serious. “Wolf!”
“I have to do my job, Soph. You know that.” Wolf turned and started toward the sidewalk.
That news had drained me of energy. What could she have been thinking? And worse, why was Wolf treating me like I was hiding a secret?
Wolf stopped and looked back at me. “Be careful, okay?”
I tried to smile at him. At least he wasn’t telling me to butt out and mind my own business. Maybe he had come to the realization that it was futile. Or maybe he thought I’d better figure out what that check was about.
I closed the door and returned to the kitchen, where Nina was reading some of the papers Aly had left for us.
“Here it is.” She moved one finger along a page as she read. “A Dr. Klaus Brenner says a person can commit murder during an alcohol-induced blackout. But on cross-examination it’s revealed that Nellie Stokes did not have alcohol in her system at the time of her arrest. Nellie’s team had a Dr. Rufus Smythington testify, who insists that it’s not a blackout, per se. It’s called dissociative rage and the perpetrator doesn’t recall his actions when they are over. He may, in fact, feel great remorse.”
“It’s odd that she didn’t mention a blackout. Did Nellie take the stand?” I asked.
“Not that I can see.”
“I guess they didn’t want her insisting that she hadn’t blacked out,” I mused. “Is it just me or does it sound like Kenner and the prosecutors made up one theory, and Nellie’s attorneys made up another theory, but no one was concerned about what actually happened that night?”
“Grainger’s father testified that Nellie was obsessed with Grainger and was about to be fired because her behavior toward him was inappropriate and unprofessional.”
“Ouch!” I picked up the dishes and glasses, then rinsed and placed them in the dishwasher. “So if I understand this correctly, the prosecution claimed that Nellie was chasing Grainger. Do you think she was delusional?”
“She doesn’t strike me that way now,” said Nina. “Of course, we’re not shrinks.”
“One of them was lying. Think we should have dinner at Star-Spangled Pies tonight?”
“Good evening, Sergeant Gibbard. So tell me, were you lying at the trial of your son’s murderer?” Nina quipped.
“I hope we’ll be more subtle than that!” I sat down at the table and told her about the check Patsy Lee had supposedly written. “It’s so strange. All I can imagine is that she wanted to hire me for something.”
“Brock. We need to talk with Brock,” said Nina.
When she went home, I put Daisy’s halter on her and went for a walk. We stopped by the florist and bought a single white rose, which I carried down to the park and added to the mound of gifts in Patsy Lee’s honor.
Roger stood nearby, his mouth twitched up into a scowl. I walked over to him, wondering what had possessed him to team up with Natasha and enter a pie that Patsy Lee was known for. “Hi. Thanks for entering the contest.”
“Sorry about the fuss. I didn’t know Natasha would act like that. It didn’t go as I had planned. It was, if you’ll pardon my saying so, a pie in the face.”
“That happens. Was it really Natasha who baked the pie?”
“She told me she couldn’t enter, but she wanted to prove that she could win. I had no idea she was banned! She’s not speaking to me anymore.” He wrinkled his nose. “I guess she won’t be opening the bakery with me, either. Figures. Every time Peter shows up everything goes haywire for me.”
“Whose idea was it to use Patsy Lee’s recipe?” I asked.
Roger’s face was turning pink. Was he blushing or getting a sunburn on his pale skin?
“It’s not Patsy Lee’s recipe. You don’t have to give me that look. I know what I’m talking about. It was my recipe, and Peter stole it from me.”
“Surely, Patsy Lee made it her own? She must have made changes to it. Isn’t that how recipes work? Everyone makes their own changes?”
“They didn’t change a lousy thing. Nothing. I perfected that pie.” Roger glanced at the memorial. “I’m sick to my very core that Patsy Lee died. I have rarely felt such grief. But she was not the sweetheart everyone thinks. Look at them.” He gestured toward two women who were weeping. “They completely bought into Patsy Lee’s brand, which I prefer to call her schtick. Peter made her into a phony, from her dyed hair right down to her pedicured toes.”
Chapter 16
Dear Natasha,
I have never baked a pie before. I’d like to impress my boyfriend’s parents. What is the easiest pie to bake?
Hoping to Awe Them in Yum Yum, Tennessee
Dear Hoping to Awe Them,
I recommend pumpkin or chocolate cream pie with piped whipped cream. But bake a test pie first to learn how to do it
.
Natasha
I couldn’t help wondering if Roger was simply jealous. Was that why they said not to speak ill of the dead? It sounded petty? “She was very successful. That wasn’t fake.”
“I knew her back when she was a nobody like us. I liked that Patsy Lee. She was funny and . . . and real.” Roger grunted unbecomingly. “How she won her first cooking competitions is beyond me. She couldn’t bake. And she sure couldn’t cook. Patsy Lee didn’t know the difference between a simmer and a boil.”
That jibed with what Tommy Earl had said. “She must have learned fast.”
Roger shot me a look. “She cheated. Peter was a bad influence on her. They stole, lied, and conned their way to the top. You know why I wanted Natasha to enter my pie? Because I knew Patsy Lee would be a judge. I didn’t care about winning or a trophy. I wanted Patsy Lee to taste that pie and look me in the eyes. She knew what she had done, and I wanted her to admit it.”
He was some kind of angry. I didn’t want to insult him by saying the wrong thing, but if you asked me, he seemed overly upset about one pie recipe.
“You see, if the pie won, I was going up to take that trophy, and my winning would mean she was admitting that my recipe was the best.” He tapped his chest with his fingers. “If I didn’t win, it would be because she knew it was her signature recipe and someone had baked it to trick her. Me!”
It sounded harmless enough, if a little absurd.
Roger’s face contorted with anger. “You know, when you’re a chef, the most important thing you have is your reputation. They didn’t care who they stepped on and squashed to make it big. Patsy Lee had a crummy childhood. I mean the kind of misery that sends people to shrinks. They hid all that. My meemaw really did teach me how to cook. Peter stole that story straight from me, lying about Patsy Lee helping her meemaw. I wouldn’t have had to invent a past. I don’t have it in me to mistreat people the way they did. Gotta say, though, while I might sleep better at night because I’m a decent human being, it would have been nice to have the big house and the big bucks. Instead I have to kowtow to hopeless wannabes like Natasha just to scrabble together enough funds to open a bakery.”
