by Cindy Bell
“I tried to,” he cringed as his hand trembled. “It's, it's,” he nearly choked on his words. “It's empty. There was nothing I could do!”
“Empty?” Mitchell demanded suspiciously. “How could it be empty?”
“She must have used it and forgotten to replace it,” Gerald sniffled as he wiped at his eyes. “We were in such a rush this morning, she must have just forgotten.”
The ambulance had arrived and the EMTs along with two police officers pushed their way into the room.
“Hey, Mitchell, what do we have here?” one of the younger officers asked as he looked over Sandy's body.
“Allergic reaction from what we can tell,” Mitchell replied as he stood up and walked over to stand beside Vicky. “Looks like an unfortunate accident.”
“Looks like it,” Vicky muttered to herself, but her eyes were narrowed. Sarah was doing her best to console Gerald as the EMTs made a futile attempt to revive the woman sprawled out on the floor.
“It must have been something she ate,” Gerald said quietly as he stared at the meals that were spread out on the small dining table in the room.
His words drew both Sarah's and Vicky's attention first to each other and then to the plates on the table. Vicky's heartbeat began to quicken.
“But that's impossible we made sure nothing with peanuts…” Vicky began to say, stumbling over her words as she spoke them.
“Not now, Vicky,” Sarah said sternly as she wrapped an arm around Gerald's shoulders. Vicky nodded that she understood. This was a time of grief for Gerald, not a time to openly discuss why or how the tragedy had happened. Vicky was still a little in shock as Mitchell led her out of the room.
“What a terrible thing,” he said quietly as he hugged her in the hallway. He paused and looked into her eyes. “How are you holding up?”
“This is terrible,” Vicky agreed. “But something just doesn't seem right to me.” She had never known anyone who was severely allergic to something not to make sure they had an EpiPen ready to go when they needed it. How could Sandy have been so careless as not to make sure she had one with her during a weekend trip?
“Vicky, sometimes an accident is just an accident no matter how tragic it is,” Mitchell reminded her calmly. “This will all get sorted out,” he assured her.
Vicky nodded and she kept her suspicions quiet as she knew that there was a lot to unravel. After Sarah settled Gerald, she stepped out into the hallway as well.
“We need to have a meeting as soon as possible,” Sarah said in a whisper to Vicky and glanced warily at Mitchell. “Alone,” she added.
Vicky was surprised at Sarah's tone, and the worry in her sister's eyes.
“I have to go anyway,” Mitchell said with a frown. “Sheriff McDonald is going to want to know as much as possible about this,” he kissed Vicky lightly on the cheek. “Let me know if either of you need anything,” he added as he looked from Vicky to Sarah and back to Vicky again. “You know that I'm here to help.”
Despite the fact that Sarah and Mitchell knew each other fairly well, Vicky felt the tension rise between them. It was an emotional situation, Vicky knew, but it bothered her a little that Sarah seemed to be concerned about Mitchell's presence.
“I know,” Vicky replied, but she was getting more worried by the moment, especially because of how apprehensive Sarah looked. As Mitchell walked off down the hallway, Vicky turned to Sarah.
“Are you okay?” she asked her with a deep frown.
“I'm not sure,” Sarah replied, her voice wavering as she spoke. “This is a very serious problem, Vicky. You need to be careful how much you say to Mitchell,” she added.
“Sarah, I trust Mitchell,” Vicky said sternly.
“This isn't about trust, Vicky,” Sarah explained as patiently as she could. “This is about protecting the inn and ourselves from what is about to turn into a circus.”
Slowly it began to dawn on Vicky that Sarah was expecting the inn to take full responsibility for Sandy's death. Vicky hadn't fully considered that.
“Oh, Sarah,” Vicky sighed as she ran her fingertips across her forehead and tried to settle the quick anxiety that rushed through her.
“I want you to call Aunt Ida and get her here for a meeting. I want all of us to be on the same page,” Sarah said firmly. Though there was panic in her voice, she seemed determined to handle the situation before it got any worse.
“I'll have her meet us in my apartment,” Vicky suggested.
“Perfect,” Sarah nodded and lowered her voice. “A terrible tragedy has happened here, Vicky, but the circumstances of Mrs. Holstead's death are going to put the inn and everyone who works in it under deep scrutiny.”
“I understand,” Vicky nodded as her stomach twisted. She felt terrible about Sandy being dead, but it felt even worse to see fear in her older sister's eyes.
Chapter Three
The inn was buzzing with movement as the officers came in, followed by the medical examiner. There wasn't much that Sarah could do to prevent the other guests who were staying at the inn from seeing the commotion that was occurring. She remained at the front desk to answer any questions and explain the situation as well as offering to make arrangements for guests to stay elsewhere if they felt uncomfortable. Vicky called her aunt repeatedly. She was sure that her aunt wasn't answering because she couldn't hear the phone over the roar of the engine of her motorcycle. Vicky was getting more frustrated with every moment that passed as she knew that it was important to Sarah that Aunt Ida be there.
She paced around her small living room as she waited for Aunt Ida to arrive.
“Did you get hold of her?” Sarah asked when she stepped into the apartment a few minutes later.
“I've left a few messages,” Vicky replied helplessly. “She must be on her motorcycle.”
Sarah rolled her eyes at that. Ida was known for her antics, but buying a motorcycle was taking it further than either Sarah or Vicky had expected.
Sarah perched on the edge of the couch and pretended to be calm. Vicky frowned as she could tell her sister was very out of sorts, no matter how well she was covering it up.
“Sarah, we'll figure this out,” she said gently. Before Sarah could answer, they heard the door knob wiggling back and forth. When Ida opened the door to Vicky's apartment she did so with a flourish. She whisked off her leather jacket as she stalked inside revealing a neon-green, tube-top shirt underneath. Sarah didn't even flinch, which led Vicky to believe that she was in a severe state of shock. Vicky couldn't help but admire her aunt's abs of steel with some jealousy.
“Oh, you two look absolutely horrid,” Aunt Ida said with a frown as she tossed her jacket onto the back of the couch and dropped down onto the couch beside Sarah. “What are you both so worried about?” she demanded as she looked from one tense expression to the other. “Is this all about my motorcycle?”
“No,” Vicky exhaled as she shook her head. “It's not about the motorcycle.”
“We have a real problem on our hands, Aunt Ida,” Sarah said darkly as she scooted closer to her aunt on the couch and looked up at Vicky. “Sandy Holstead is dead, and it appears to be from an allergic reaction. If there really were peanuts in Sandy's food after she informed us of her allergy then the inn could be held responsible for her death.”
“You think that people that rich will sue us?” Aunt Ida asked with surprise and a cluck of her tongue. “Don't they have enough already?”
“It isn't just about money, Aunt Ida,” Sarah pointed out with a shake of her head. “It's about recklessness and the fact that a person lost their life because of something someone at this inn did.”
“But you don't really believe that do you, Sarah?” Vicky asked as she looked into her sister's eyes.
“I don't know what to think,” Sarah admitted with a shake of her head. “We're looking at a situation where it's quite obvious that Sandy ingested peanuts, and the food she consumed was food that had been prepared in our kitchen.”
&n
bsp; “But you know that Henry never would have allowed peanuts or any products that contain peanuts to go anywhere near her food,” Vicky insisted anxiously. She began to pace again in an attempt to keep herself calm. She didn't want to see Henry lose his job over something that she was certain was not his fault. Sarah sighed heavily, her eyes were closed tightly and her lips stretched thin. Vicky could tell from the redness of her cheeks that she was feeling very stressed.
“All I know for sure is that Sandy Holstead is dead, and we're going to have to figure out what happened,” Sarah said with a grim frown. “If we're going to save the inn, and save Henry from a possible criminal or civil law suit, then we have to find another explanation for how this happened.”
“I still don't understand how she could have forgotten that her EpiPen was used already,” Vicky pointed out grimly. “If I was deathly allergic to something, I wouldn't ever forget something like that.”
“It is strange,” Sarah agreed and then sighed. “But she was on vacation, maybe it somehow slipped her mind. Whatever the reason it did, it doesn't change the fact that something in the food triggered the allergy in the first place,” she pointed out.
“Is it possible that it had nothing to do with the food?” Vicky suggested hopefully.
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked curiously.
“Well, maybe she ingested the peanuts in some other way. She had just eaten, but that doesn't mean the peanuts were in her food, does it?” she asked. “Maybe she ingested it in some other way, or maybe her reaction was due to something else entirely.”
“Well, the lab will examine the contents of her stomach, as well as the food she was eating, but I guess our first step should be checking the kitchen,” Sarah suggested. Her eyes grew a little lighter at the notion that there could be some other explanation for Sandy's death. “But who knows what we will find,” Sarah added. “To be honest, if it is our fault, we should take responsibility.”
“Nonsense, Sarah, I really doubt that anyone at the inn did this,” Vicky said sternly. “I'll check the kitchen,” she offered as she saw the stress mounting in her sister's expression again. “You try and get a little rest before the next round of questions, okay?”
“Okay,” Sarah sighed with relief. Sarah could handle running the entire inn mostly on her own but facing an investigation into an accidental death was very different from what she was used to.
“I'll come with you,” Aunt Ida suggested, it was clear from the gleam in her eyes that the mystery had piqued her interest.
“Fine,” Sarah agreed warily. “But Aunt Ida, none of your antics, this is a very delicate matter. Both of you need to be very careful what you say and who you talk to,” Sarah warned them before she stretched out on the couch.
“I'll come back to check on you,” Vicky promised after draping a throw blanket over her sister.
***
When they stepped out of Vicky's apartment Aunt Ida grabbed Vicky by the arm and looked into her eyes. “Be honest with me here, kiddo, do you think this was a mistake?”
“Not on our part,” Vicky shook her head slowly. “You know how careful Sarah is about things. She pays attention to every tiny detail. Henry is very conscientious as well, he would never have let peanuts enter their food.”
As they walked towards the kitchen, Aunt Ida spoke to Vicky in a low, soft voice.
“I think you're right about the EpiPen,” she said as they nodded to a few guests who were in the lobby while they walked through it. “It doesn't make sense that she wouldn't take the precaution to make sure that she was protected, especially when she was visiting a new place, with no way of knowing how cooperative the staff would be,” Ida's words became more rapid as she continued. “She knew how risky it was.”
“That's true,” Vicky nodded as they turned down the hall that led to the kitchen. “The way she and her husband were fighting, I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved in this. Sandy confided in me that she suspected he was having an affair, of course,” Vicky hesitated and frowned. “She’d also had quite a bit of wine at the time. Maybe she was too drunk to realize she hadn't replaced the EpiPen.”
“Maybe,” Ida replied but still didn't seem convinced. Vicky paused outside the door of the kitchen. She could see Henry hunched over the center island in the middle of the kitchen. His shoulders were trembling, and though his back was to her, Vicky could tell that he was holding a bottle in his hand.
“Poor Henry,” she said quietly as she observed the man. Her heart sank as she realized that he was the one who was going to bear the brunt of the accusations. He was so very careful about every meal he created, she knew he would hold himself responsible for Sandy's death. Vicky cleared her throat to announce her presence, and Henry straightened up.
“Henry, we're here to check the kitchen,” Vicky said as she stepped into the kitchen with Ida right behind her. “We just want to make sure that there were no peanuts or peanut products left in here, even though I know you cleaned it all out this morning.”
“Don't bother,” Henry said huskily as he continued to stand with his back to them.
“What do you mean?” Vicky asked as she moved closer to him and saw that it wasn't just his shoulders that were shaking, it was his entire body.
“I mean, I already know how the peanuts got into Mrs. Holstead's food,” he whispered, his voice barely audible despite the fact that Vicky was standing right behind him.
“Henry, what are you saying?” Ida asked as she made sure the door was closed and then stepped up beside him as well.
“It said sunflower oil,” he gasped out as he reluctantly turned to face them. He had tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked from Ida to Vicky. “See?” he held up the bottle he was clutching so tightly in his right hand that his knuckles were white. It was a tan, decorative bottle for storing oil. A neatly printed label declared that the bottle contained sunflower oil. Henry labeled everything in his kitchen to ensure that anything he created had the right ingredients.
“And?” Vicky whispered almost afraid to ask as her eyes widened. “It wasn't sunflower oil?”
“No,” he exhaled as fresh tears poured down his cheeks. “No, it wasn't sunflower oil,” he opened the cap of the bottle and the distinct scent of peanut oil wafted up under their noses.
“Oh no,” Vicky winced and took a step back as she placed her finger under her nose. It wasn't the smell she found offensive, but the consequences of the peanut oil being stored in the wrong bottle that disturbed her.
“Didn't you smell it?” Ida demanded with frustration as she glowered at Henry. “Anyone can smell that and know that it's not sunflower oil!”
“I did!” he insisted, fresh tears forming and his grief causing his voice to crack. “In fact just to be extra cautious I emptied out all of the sunflower oil that was in here, I cleaned the bottle, and refilled it with sunflower oil myself!” he shook his head as he stared at the offending bottle with a mixture of shock and hatred. “I know I did.”
“So, you're saying someone else must have put the peanut oil in the bottle after you cleaned and refilled it?” Vicky asked as she studied the bottle intently. There was no sign that it had been tampered with, but it wasn't a sealed bottle and the cap just screwed off so there was no way to tell what had happened to it.
“Someone must have,” Henry insisted as he handed the bottle to Vicky so she could have a closer look. “I know for a fact there was no peanut oil in there, not even when I added the oil to the food. In fact there wasn't a trace of peanut oil in this kitchen. Someone had to bring it in from outside the kitchen. But that's just crazy, isn't it?” he shook his head as if he was doubting himself.
Vicky was certain as she rolled the bottle between her fingers that Henry was telling the truth, but Ida didn't look as convinced.
“Or maybe you just made a mistake,” Ida pointed out and shook her head. “And now you've covering it up because you know the inn and you will be held responsible.”
“Aunt
Ida!” Vicky frowned as she shot a glare in her direction. “Henry wouldn't do that!”
“Maybe not,” Ida said with a sigh. “But that is what the police are going to say when they find peanut oil in Sandy's food.”
“If that were the case why would I admit to it now?” he snapped in return. “Why would I suddenly say there was peanut oil in the wrong bottle? I would never lie about something like that!”
“Calm down, Henry,” Vicky cringed as she glanced towards the entrance of the kitchen and then back to him. “Just keep this quiet for now,” she slid the bottle of oil into her pocket.
“Vicky, what are you doing?” Aunt Ida hissed as she stared at her niece. “You can't conceal evidence! If anyone finds out, you could face jail time!”
“It isn't real evidence,” Vicky argued in return, though she was careful to keep her voice low. “It's evidence that was planted, to make it look as if this death was accidental. But Sandy's death was no accident,” she said grimly as she looked from Henry to Ida. “Sandy Holstead was murdered. I'm not going to let Henry be accused of something he didn’t do, and I'm not going to let the inn take the fall because someone decided it was the perfect place to commit a murder. It may seem like the wrong thing to do, Aunt Ida, but it's the only thing I can think of right now. Until we get to the bottom of this, all three of us have to be clear on one thing,” she looked from one face to the other. “This bottle never existed, understand?”
Henry swallowed thickly, he still had tears in his eyes, but he nodded. Aunt Ida sighed heavily, she wrung her hands together and shook her head with frustration.
“Yes, Vicky,” she finally agreed.
“I need to speak with Henry,” a voice said from right behind Vicky. Vicky spun on her heel to find a tall man in an expensive, black business suit staring hard at her. For just a moment Vicky was startled by his hawk-like gaze and his fierce stance. He was a slender man, to the point of being called skinny, but his presence was very large and full of arrogance. When Vicky found her voice again Ida had stepped closer to her.
