by Eve Calder
“It’s not the same cup,” Kate said slowly. “You switched it.”
“Sí. That other thing was getting a scum on top. It was gross, as mi niños say.”
Kate’s face lit up. “Maxi, you are brilliant. That’s it.”
“Well, of course. Now, why am I brilliant? Besides my love of excellent coffee?”
“I think you solved it. First thing tomorrow, I need to see a man about some rum.”
Chapter 64
The next morning, after making her delivery for Sunny’s yoga class, Kate found herself standing in the back of In Vino Veritas, sharing a cup of New Orleans–style coffee with Harper Duval.
“Well, that’s a very peculiar question,” he drawled.
“I know, right?” Kate said. “But it could be the key to freeing Sam. And proving who really killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. So is it even possible? Either part?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know,” Harp admitted. “Maybe. But I do know who to ask. And he’ll take my calls. Do you have a time frame? When this might have happened?”
“I don’t,” Kate said. “My best guess is sometime between the first of the month and the day before Lord died. But for some reason, I think it’ll be during the last few days of that window. Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. He’s not exactly a delayed-gratification kind of guy.”
Harp topped off her coffee cup. “Would it be asking you to betray your tender secrets to tell me exactly how this figures into our friend Sam’s little situation?”
“Honestly, it probably doesn’t. It’s just a notion. And, for Sam’s sake, I want to explore every angle.”
“I get it, you don’t want to tell ol’ Harp,” he said lightly.
“If I find out I’m wrong, I’d just as soon go down in flames alone,” Kate said.
Harp smiled warmly. “That, my dear, will most assuredly never happen.”
* * *
Luckily, the bakery was crowded all morning. Tourists clamored for cookies by the dozen. Locals were relieved that their favorite breads—especially Sam’s prized sourdough—were back on the shelves.
Amos Tully even let it slip that a certain uptight patrol officer had purchased a half dozen of the bakery’s peanut butter cookies from his shop. Along with a pint of milk. Strictly for detection purposes, the policeman had hurriedly assured the shop owner.
But no matter how busy it was, Kate still found time to watch the clock. And today the hands were crawling around the dial.
Maxi came through the door with a big smile on her face.
“How was the delivery for the gender reveal?” Kate asked anxiously. “Did they like the cookies?”
“Loved them—total success,” the florist said. “Everybody really liked the color, too. The grandmother said she was afraid they’d look like that bright stomach goo—but your cookies were pretty and delicate, like something from a fine restaurant. I told her, ‘Hey, lady, we don’t live in the sticks. My best friend is a fancy New York pastry chef who graduated from the best cooking school in the whole country.’ No, really, I just said, ‘Thank you.’ One of the resort’s event planners was there. And I could tell she was super impressed. So I think you might get more business out of it, too. Oh, and here’s your check.”
“Won’t even cover the light bill,” Kate said, slipping it into the register. “But it sure feels good.”
“Any word from you-know-who yet?”
“Nada,” Kate said. “But I’ve got my fingers crossed.”
“I’ve got my whole body crossed. You know how hard it is to make deliveries like that?”
Kate jumped when the phone rang.
She and Maxi exchanged glances. Kate took a deep breath and reached for the avocado-green phone.
“The Cookie House, this is Kate.” She could feel her heart pounding.
“Yes, those were mine,” she said. “Kate McGuire.… Ah, nice to meet you, too! It was the CIA actually, how did you know? Pastry arts. All over Manhattan. High-end hotels and restaurants.”
Kate went silent, cradling the phone, as Maxi mouthed a one-word question: “Who?”
Kate shrugged.
“Well, that is interesting.… No, that’s very fair. I’ll definitely consider it. How about I get back to you later this week?… Wonderful—thank you!”
“So who was that—another cookie order?”
“Not exactly,” Kate said. “It was the events coordinator from the resort where you made the delivery this morning. They want to hire me.”
Chapter 65
As Kate pulled the standing rack out of the oven, a wave of heat rolled out and blanketed the kitchen with the smell of fresh sourdough.
For once, the phone had gone silent. And she was secretly glad. As long as she didn’t know anything for certain, there was hope.
Oddly, when she first hit town all she wanted was a job. Any job. A position at one of the resorts? That would have been a home run. Her dream. But if she’d gotten it right away, she might never have seen downtown Coral Cay. Or met the people she now counted as close friends. Now that she had, the stakes were higher. And she wanted more than just a gig with a steady paycheck.
Kate heard the familiar bell tinkle, followed by the muffled sound of Oliver’s paw pads scampering across the shop floor.
“OK, you seem to know where you’re going,” a man’s baritone pronounced, with more than a trace of humor. “So just lead the way.”
Kate walked into the shop to find Oliver sitting up at attention in front of the bakery case, a tall, good-looking man beside him. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn the pup had a mischievous smile on his face.
Clad in jeans and a white dress shirt, his gray eyes crinkled warmly when he glimpsed Kate.
“Hi, I know this little fella’s probably not supposed to be in here,” he said, smoothing an unruly lock of dark hair. “But I’m trying to find his home. And he just marched right in like he owned the place. You wouldn’t happen to know where he lives, by any chance?”
“It’s kind of a long story. I’m Kate McGuire, by the way,” she said, extending her hand across the counter.
Simultaneously, the phrase chocolate chip cookies popped into her head. She could almost taste them.
“Jack Scanlon. Honestly, I don’t make a habit of following strange dogs. I’m a vet.”
“So you’re chasing after new clients?” she said lightly.
“Pretty much,” he said wryly. “In town looking for a house, actually. I’m moving here next month to open up a practice. On the island. Saw this little guy down the block, but he didn’t seem to be with anybody. And he obviously belongs to someone. So I trailed him and ended up here.” He shrugged.
“Jack, meet Oliver. He’s sort of the town dog, and he has free run of the place. But he’s current on all his shots, and this is his clubhouse. Just don’t tell the health department.”
“Scout’s honor,” he said, raising a hand. “So, do you own this place? The Cookie House?”
“Running it temporarily for a friend. I just moved here myself from Manhattan. I’m a pastry chef.”
“Really? I’m here from Denver.”
“Sick of the snow?”
“Big-time. It’s great if you ski. Which I do. But the rest of the time winter’s a bear. Loved the idea of warm weather. And being near the beach. So when I heard this place needed a vet, it seemed like a good fit.”
“In that case, Dr. Scanlon, welcome to Coral Cay.”
* * *
Just as Jack Scanlon left—with a dozen chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven—the phone rang. Automatically, Kate reached for it without thinking. “The Cookie House, this is Kate.”
“It turns out it wasn’t a peculiar question so much as a very perceptive one,” Harp said.
“Really? What did you learn?” Kate asked, her heart hammering.
“Your friend Sam puts all his bottles on a credit card. The same card he uses for everything, by the way. Kind of a no-no. A busin
ess card would give him much more flexibility with better benefits, but I digress. He bought his last bottle of Isla Tropical at Causeway Liquors on the fourth of last month. And because this is a micro-batch product and they are insanely—and quite rightly—proud of it, there is a unique batch and bottle number. I have both.”
“That’s fantastic! I’m almost afraid to ask about the other guy, but…”
“Also a very astute query. Someone matching the description of your gentleman friend purchased a lone bottle of Isla Tropical on the same night as the break-in. Paid cash.”
“Cash,” Kate said dejectedly. “I should have known.”
“Ah, but all is not lost. This particular store owner is very security conscious. Has a bank of hidden cameras. Digital. And your friend is on them. From several angles. He’s really not terribly photogenic.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what took me so long, dear lady. I had to wait for the owner to tab through it, find the relevant sections, and email them to me. Along with the receipt. Which gives us the batch and bottle number for his bottle. I promised the gent a rather good vintage of champagne for his legwork. Would you like me to send you the email?”
“Harp, this is wonderful!” Kate said. “Thank you. Email it to Maxi. There’s no computer here, and I still haven’t charged my cell. But she has a computer at the flower shop.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Harp said. “I keep forgetting. Sam’s bakery is the technological black hole of Coral Cay. An avocado-green push-button phone? We really must drag that man into the modern age one of these days.”
“Wait, Sam bought his bottle early last month? That means he had it for nearly two months.”
“It does,” Harp said. “Seems our friend has slowed his drinking practically to a stop. He could have gone to some other establishment, of course. And the police could check his card records to be certain. But one thing about Sam, he is a creature of habit. Causeway is the closest liquor store to Coral Cay. And the proprietor, one Frank G. Cooke, knows him on sight. It seems that three years ago our baker friend was purchasing regularly and in rather alarming quantities. But that’s no longer the case. Picks up a bottle now and then, plus a couple of lottery tickets. Tells Frank he doesn’t know what he’d buy if he won—because he already lives in paradise.”
Chapter 66
Ben Abrams relaxed in one of the flower shop’s overstuffed chairs. In his massive right hand, he cradled a hot mug of coffee from the carafe that Kate had smuggled over from the Cookie House. A platter stacked high with tea sandwiches had been placed on the low table in front of him like an offering.
Oliver stationed himself next to the table, eyeing the plate with interest.
“Don’t even think about it, buddy,” the detective warned him.
Undaunted, Oliver took two steps closer to Ben’s chair and put his snout on the detective’s knee, looking up into his eyes.
Ben scratched the plush, soft hair on the top of the puppy’s head. Then slipped him a sandwich.
“Besides putting a dent in your food bill, does anybody want to tell me what I’m doing here?” the detective asked.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Kate started.
“There’s a pot of coffee and plate full of little sandwiches,” he said, shrugging. “If you keep ’em coming, we’ll call this my dinner break.”
“We know who killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord,” Maxi said, bouncing in her chair.
“Knowing it’s one thing,” Ben said, reaching for a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Proving it’s another.”
“That’s why it’s such a long story,” Kate said. “It comes with proof. Lots of proof.”
Ben finished off the morsel in two bites, took a slug of coffee, and looked over at the shop’s computer. “You two wouldn’t know anything about a document dump I received on our friend Stewart Lord, would you? Big ZIP file? Anonymous sender?”
“What’s a ZIP file?” Maxi asked innocently.
“Buried poor Kyle Hardy in a mountain of paper. Take the kid ten years to claw his way out. Found a few interesting bits, though. Not that I can share them with you. Since you don’t know anything about it, that is.”
Kate and Maxi exchanged a nervous look.
“OK,” he said, reaching for another sandwich. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Shoot.”
“The whole thing starts a little over a month ago,” Kate began. “Muriel Hopkins loved Coral Cay. She visited a lot. And she planned to retire here.”
Ben nodded. Oliver looked up at him expectantly.
“As you already know, Muriel worked directly for Stewart Lord,” Kate continued. “She handled a lot of paperwork at Lord Enterprises. She knew Lord was planning to redevelop Coral Cay. She’d watched him in action. She knew that he would lie, cheat, and steal to put his plan in motion. He’d push out the residents and business owners, buy their land for a song, and expand the resort area. Condos. Hotels. Golf courses. Airport for the jet-setters. But the living, breathing Coral Cay? The working small town? Gone. Wiped off the map.”
“And Muriel had fallen in love with Coral Cay,” Maxi said. “It was her happy place.”
Ben reached for two more sandwiches. Thick slices of ham spilled out of one, while the second appeared to be a smoky cheese with mayonnaise. He held out the ham sandwich to Oliver, who took it gently from his hand.
“With you so far,” the detective said.
“So Muriel decided she was going to derail his plans,” Kate said. “From the inside. She searched out reports and records. Proof of what Lord was doing. And the lies he was spreading.”
“He told everyone that Coral Cay was sitting on a giant sinkhole,” Maxi added.
“Is it?” Ben asked, sitting forward suddenly.
“No, that was just a story he wanted to put out there,” Kate said, smiling slightly. “And I’m betting there might also be a little something about it in that mountain of paperwork Kyle’s shoveling through.”
“So how does this circle back to two murders? Not that I mind, as long as you have plenty of these,” he said, waving a sandwich in the air as Oliver followed it with his eyes.
Ben broke off half and slipped it to the puppy.
“She was bugged,” Maxi said. “Muriel.”
“What Muriel didn’t know was that Stewart Lord had installed surveillance software on his employees’ phones,” Kate said. “His executives and executive assistants, from what we’ve been able to learn. The stuff reads emails, listens in on calls, and tracks you in real life.”
“There something in the paper pile about all of that, too?” Ben asked.
Kate shrugged. “Or you could just have your tech guys look at a few of his employees’ cell phones.”
“So Lord knew that Muriel was on to him,” Ben said evenly.
“No, he learned that she was actively working against him,” Kate countered. “To keep him from getting the one thing he wanted most. And he reacted like a toddler when you take away his favorite toy. Pure rage.”
“And you know this how?”
“Muriel and Lord were poisoned with the same drug. A heart medication. Lord was keeping tabs on his workers. He knew who had which medical conditions, and what they took for them. He wanted to get rid of Muriel. And he needed something that wouldn’t trace back to him.”
Ben went quiet. He looked from Kate to Maxi and back again, then nodded.
“I’d be willing to bet you a dozen cookies that someone in Lord’s office lost a full bottle of that medicine shortly before Muriel Hopkins died,” Kate said. “And I’d go double or nothing that the employee in question kept those meds at the office.”
Ben stopped eating, mid-bite. He looked at her hard. “You’re guessing.”
“About that part, yes. But it would be easy for you to prove. Or disprove.”
“The medicine bottle was in a briefcase, as a matter of fact,” Ben said. “But the guy always kept the briefcase open on a table when he was at the
office. So what happened next?”
“Stewart Lord put the drug into candy—a little box of chocolates,” Kate said. “It had to be chocolate because that was Muriel’s one weakness—the only indulgence she allowed herself that wasn’t on her diet. The box had to be small—just a couple of pieces—because he had to make sure she ate all of it herself.”
“Because if she shared it and a couple people got sick and no one died, his plan might be discovered,” Maxi added.
“He knew that Muriel was going in early and staying late digging through files,” Kate continued. “So he showed up early and gave her the chocolates. He claimed someone had delivered them for him. Probably told her to throw them out. I’m guessing by the time her co-workers arrived, she’d already eaten them. There were only a few pieces. And a couple of hours later, she was dead.”
“And everyone thought it was her heart,” Maxi said. “Even her doctor.”
“So Stewart Lord’s first murder is a success,” Kate said. “His enemy is gone. His Coral Cay development project is back on track. And no one is any the wiser. I’m guessing by this time the man was just about insufferable.”
“Not the word most folks used, but in the same general ballpark,” Ben said with a wry smile.
“No wonder,” Kate said. “He’d always been an egomaniac. Then he discovered he could literally get away with murder. There was absolutely nothing to hold him in check.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming?” Ben said as Oliver stretched out sphinxlike at his feet.
Kate smiled. “A few weeks went by and, despite Lord’s best efforts, he can’t get a toehold in Coral Cay. But he’s convinced that if he can snag just one piece of downtown property, they’ll all topple.”
“Like dominoes,” Maxi said, grinning. “Don’t ask.”
