by Mary Maxwell
“How did you get his name?”
I briefly explained the path that had taken me from Becca Hancock’s store to Paolo’s Pizza in Boulder. I told Connie that the pizzeria was owned by a woman named Geneva Halstead and her brother worked as a magician known as The Dynamic Dimitri.
“And that’s why he was dressed in a tuxedo?” she asked.
“Yes, the second-hand one that he bought from Becca.”
“Okay, so if that’s his name,” Connie said, “why was he here at the Lodge?”
I reached into my purse for the notes I’d made after leaving Jenna Burton’s hair salon.
“His sister said that Alec entertains at private parties and corporate events,” I said, flipping through my notepad. “And she told me about his website, which I looked at when I was still in Boulder.”
Connie sat up in her chair and reached for the bottle of water on her desk. “Was he down here for work?”
“He was,” I said. “According to the Dynamic Dimitri’s online calendar, he was scheduled to appear at a private party in Crescent Creek the night he died.”
“Then we should tell Dina!” She put down the bottle without taking a drink and reached for her phone. “She needs to find out who hired him and then maybe that will help identify who killed him.”
I waited until she finished. Then I told her that I’d already informed Dina about everything I’d discovered in Boulder.
“But what about the magician’s performance that night?” Connie said, one hand hovering above her phone. “Do you know where it was going to be?”
“The website doesn’t give any details about who hired him to perform,” I answered. “And when it’s a private party, there’s nothing about the actual location. It just lists the name of the town where he’ll appear and the fact that it was a private event.”
“What about hacking it?” Connie said, lifting the receiver. “Couldn’t some computer person find a way to get into his files or whatever?”
I shrugged. “Possibly,” I said. “But that would require a warrant. And I imagine that before Dina takes that step, she’ll follow the new leads out of Boulder.”
“And so…what? Jasper’s just supposed to…wait?”
“That’s really all he can do. Between Dina’s investigation and whatever else I can learn, I hope it won’t be too much longer.”
Connie put down the phone and buried her face in both hands. “This is so hard, Katie,” she said through her fingers. “People are already gossiping about Jasper. I had a guest ask me about it this afternoon when they were checking in.” She lowered her hands and swept away a few tears. “Somehow the news got out around town that my cousin was in trouble with the law when he was younger. So now everyone’s rushing to judgment and deciding that he’s guilty of murder.”
“Sadly, that happens all too often,” I said. “And there’s not much you can do about it. People are people; they love to talk about things before they know the facts.”
She looked at me hopelessly; her hooded eyes and discouraged frown revealed the doubt and anxiety that she’d certainly kept from her staff and hotel guests.
“I simply don’t know what to do next,” she whispered.
The room was still. Someone walked by on the other side of the door, talking in quiet voices followed by laughter that clashed sharply with the tension in Connie’s office.
“Where’s Jasper?” I asked finally.
She took a deep breath and pressed back against the chair. “He’s at home,” she said. “His parents drove in from Billings to post bond. They’re going to stay through the weekend in the hopes that things will be resolved.”
“Have you talked to Dina today?”
She answered with a blank stare and silent nod.
“And how about you? Are you eating?”
She shook her head. “Nothing sounds good,” she said. “And what I ate this morning didn’t stay down long.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
She looked over and managed a smile. “You’re a good friend, Katie.”
“Same as you,” I said. “If I was in a rough spot, you’d do whatever you could to help.”
“Yeah,” she said with a gentle laugh. “But I don’t know the first thing about being a private investigator.”
“Well, I’m doing what I can. I also asked Dina to keep me in the loop as much as possible.”
“What do you mean ‘as much as possible’?”
“Since I’m not actually on the official investigative team, she won’t necessarily let me know about everything they uncover. But we have a very good relationship. And I respect her a great deal, so I hope she’ll keep me updated as much as she can.”
“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Connie said.
“Meaning?”
“Dina respects you, too. I can tell from the way she talks about your work in Chicago. I never realized how dangerous some of your cases were, Katie.”
I shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”
“And the big city, right?”
“To some extent,” I agreed. “But that’s just a matter of the population density. There are some pretty unsavory characters in our part of the world, too.”
Connie laughed again; significantly more robust and lively than before. “Tell me about it,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the weird phone calls I’ve had since the news got out.”
“People offering tips?” I asked.
“And their random comments about why John Doe was killed at the Lodge.”
“Like what?”
She smirked and shook her head. “I’m not even going to bore you with it. One guy started going on about flying saucers and ancient native spirits.”
“It takes all kinds,” I said.
Connie reached for the water again. She took a drink, recapped the bottle and slowly stood up.
“As much as I’d love to hide back here,” she said, smoothing a few wrinkles from her skirt, “I should get back out into the real world. We’ve got a birthday party tonight and they hired a jazz trio. The group’s rider includes a particular kind of breath lozenge, so I’ve got to make a quick trip to CVS and see if they sell ’em.”
I got up from the chair, grabbed my purse and gave Connie a warm hug.
“Hang in there,” I said. “And let me—” I stopped, thinking about what she’d just said. “Hey, you had two birthday parties scheduled the other night, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, but we moved them to Café Fleur and the VFW Hall.”
“Do you know if either one had an entertainer coming?”
Her eyes widened. “Like the magician?”
“Bingo!”
“Not that I remember. But the files should be in the catering office. I can check them and give you a call. Would that be okay?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “When you mentioned the jazz group, I had that thought; maybe Dynamic Dimitri was at the Lodge because he was scheduled for one of the birthday parties.”
Connie’s smile was wider and brighter. “And that could be an important clue, right?”
“Possibly,” I said. “Call me whenever you have a chance to see if it’s in the file. Then we can share the information with Dina.”
“Or she might already have it,” Connie said. “She made copies of the files and event order sheets from that night.”
“Even better,” I said. “But either way, let me know what you find, okay?”
“You got it,” Connie said, opening the office door.
As I crossed the room, another thought popped into my mind.
“And one more thing?” I said.
Connie smiled. “What’s that?”
“Can you find out what Eloise was working on that afternoon?”
“She was doing appetizers and desserts for the three private events,” Connie answered without hesitation. “Do you need more detail than that?”
I nodded. “According to Alec Halstead’s sister, he’s been plagued
by severe allergies for years. And if a food allergy had something to do with his death, I’m sure Dina will want to know exactly what Eloise and Jasper were preparing that day. There’s always the outside chance that he made a stop in the kitchen and sampled something that he isn’t supposed to eat.”
Connie tapped the nail of one finger against her lips. “I’m sorry that I don’t remember all of the details, Katie. It was an insanely busy day. Probably best if I check the event sheets for that, too. I can also email copies if that would work.”
“That would be perfect!”
She came closer, grabbed my hand and held it tightly. “Thanks again, Katie! I don’t know how I could get through this without you.”
I accepted the compliment with a modest smile and followed her into the corridor. When she turned right to head for the catering office, I went left. My feet were throbbing, the back of my neck was sore and my stomach was beginning to growl. It was time to check in with Dina again before I got in the car and returned to Sky High Pies. After a light dinner and a hot bubble bath, I planned to tuck myself into bed with a glass of wine, a pair of day-old cookies and a good book.
CHAPTER 26
“I hope you’re having a better day than me,” Dina grumbled after answering my call. “Someone robbed Chadwick’s about two hours ago. Smashed the display cases, took every last diamond ring and left Bella and Danny in the office trussed up with duct tape and nylon ropes.”
“Is this a joke?”
“Do you hear me laughing?” Dina said in a humorless murmur. “I’m exhausted, Katie. And there are still three or four witnesses to interview.”
“Well, it sounds more like a big city crime, not something that would happen in Crescent Creek.”
She sighed. “Paradise is going to you-know-where in a you-know-what.”
I thought about turning her remark into a joke in the hopes that it might lighten her mood, but then decided nothing could lift a ten-ton slab of fatigue and edginess. Instead, I asked if Bella and Danny Chadwick were doing okay.
“Bella’s going to have bruises on her arms where she was grabbed,” Dina explained. “And Danny tried to resist, so they smacked him around a bit.”
“How awful! I’m so sorry to hear about that.”
“I know,” Dina agreed. “It’s the second time they’ve been robbed in the new location.”
“Maybe they should move back to the old one,” I suggested.
Dina snickered. “I doubt if Carol would be willing to give up the lease. Her store’s doing really well after a pretty rocky start.”
“She’s got the knitting place?”
“Yep, that’s right,” Dina said. “So…I got your message earlier about Alec Halstead.”
“Had you already identified him?”
“We had actually. Amanda Crane was searching the grounds at the Lodge again this afternoon. She found a medical alert bracelet, a set of car keys, the guy’s wallet and a small suitcase packed with magic gear about fifty yards from the gazebo. They were all bundled together in dark green trench coat.”
“Alec Halstead’s?”
“You got it. The bracelet was particularly helpful. The techs found a fingerprint that they’re running through the national database. And the details on the bracelet directed us to Halstead’s emergency contact in Boulder, a doctor by the name of Bertram Justice.”
“And what did he tell you about Halstead?”
“Tyler Armstrong talked to the doctor this afternoon. Apparently, Alec Halstead was healthy as a horse with one exception.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “Diabetes or a bad heart?”
“Oral allergy syndrome.”
“That’s a new one for me,” I said.
“Makes two of us,” Dina agreed. “I’d never heard of it until Tyler called after he talked to Dr. Justice.”
I asked her to tell me more about how the condition may have contributed to the death of the magician from Boulder.
“Well, in a nutshell,” Dina began, “Dr. Justice said oral allergy syndrome could most definitely have been a contributing factor to Alec Halstead’s death. Although the blow to his head was significant, it wasn’t fatal. In the end, the allergic reaction he suffered is what killed him. It would’ve put him at risk without an injection of epinephrine or emergency medical treatment.”
“Okay, so…was he allergic to something that he ate?”
“You got it!” Dina exclaimed. “His stomach contents included coffee, soy milk and pasta along with peach jam and some type of dough.” She paused to let the list sink in before asking me a curious question. “Can you guess which might prove to be our murder weapon?”
“You’re serious? One of those things was used to kill the guy?”
“So to speak,” Dina said. “It was the peach jam.”
I waited for her to continue the explanation, but she didn’t say anything more. When I finally asked her directly, I was even more surprised by the answer.
“Alec Halstead was extremely allergic to birch tree pollen,” Dina said slowly. “And, as crazy as it may sound, the proteins in the fruit jam actually caused the same type of symptoms as if he’d been exposed to the pollen.”
“I’m a little confused,” I confessed. “Fruit jam can be like pollen from a birch tree?”
“Dr. Justice explained that it’s called ‘cross reactivity,’” Dina said. “It can happen with ragweed and bananas, certain common grasses and tomato as well as birch trees and three types of fruit—apples, plums and peaches.”
“And so…if Mr. Halstead ate some peach jam—”
“Not if,” Dina cut in. “It’s more like when he ate it and who gave it to him.”
“Okay, so eating the jam would’ve caused the same reaction as if he was standing in a forest of birch trees and breathing the pollen?”
“Absolutely right,” she said. “He would’ve been dizzy and nauseous. Without the immediate use of an EpiPen, the man had no chance. He would’ve lapsed into anaphylaxis.”
“I’ve heard of that; an allergic reaction so severe it can be life-threatening. If it’s bad enough, your blood pressure can drop within minutes. You might pass out and have trouble swallowing. In really extreme cases, your throat can become so constricted that you may not be able to breathe.”
“And you could, quite possibly, fall while all of those things are happening and hit your head on a bench in the gazebo at Crescent Creek Lodge.”
I thought about Alec Halstead on the afternoon of his death. Was he alone? Did someone intentionally feed him peach jam, knowing that it would trigger an allergic reaction? Why didn’t he have an EpiPen? And who could’ve left him to meet such a needless and malicious end?
“Whatever else this is,” I said, shaking off the questions. “It’s a most unusual way to kill someone.”
CHAPTER 27
After a quick stop in the ladies’ room, I walked onto the front terrace of the Lodge. The sky above glinted with stars and a strong breeze had tugged the temperature below freezing. I stood for a moment, inhaling the wintry air and digging for my car keys. Before I could find them in the bottom of my purse, I heard footsteps approaching from the parking lot.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” a deep voice called.
It was Christopher Edgerly, the man who’d sent Francine Tobin to my door with a proposal to buy Sky High Pies. Luckily, he was alone; between my hunger and weariness, I didn’t think I could remain civil if the pompous attorney had been with him.
I nodded a silent greeting, but kept my attention on the search for my keys.
“May I buy you a glass of wine?” he asked.
“No, but thanks. I’m just leaving.”
“Not even one?” he said. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
I couldn’t help but smile; in an instant, his demeanor had changed from self-important and grand to modest and charming.
“You know what?” I said. “Let’s go into the lounge and have one glass. You ca
n tell me about your proposal. And I can explain why I’m not interested in selling.”
He laughed at my quip and we walked inside, making our way to the cozy cocktail lounge just off the lobby. Before I could say a word, Edgerly ordered two glasses of cabernet from the young woman behind the bar.
“Something to eat?” she asked.
My stomach screamed for a morsel of anything edible, but I declined the offer. One glass of wine was fine; I didn’t want to commit to spending a second more with the good-looking businessman and his impressively dimpled chin.
“Okay,” Edgerly said once we had our wine. “Why don’t you want to sell the Victorian?”
I shifted on the bar stool so I had a better look at him when I explained my reasons. I told him that Sky High Pies was a family business. I described Nana Reed’s humble beginnings, my parents’ successful twenty-five year run and my recent arrival as the third generation to operate the bakery café. When I finished, Christopher Edgerly raised his glass for a toast.
“Here’s to the Reed family,” he said. “Their forty-year achievement is not only impressive, it’s also legendary.”
I touched my glass to his, took a sip and put it down on the bar. “It’s your turn now,” I said. “Why do you want to buy Sky High?”
He smiled; one of those dazzling displays that usually appear on television commercials for a toothpaste that’s guaranteed to whiten your choppers in record time.
“I’m not interested in the bakery,” he said. “I just want the property.”
“The house?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not the house, the land. I’ve already purchased the two lots on either side of your three acres. Once we complete our deal, I’ll own everything from—”
“Hold on there, please.” My voice quivered and I paused to try and calm down. “You plan to tear down the Victorian?”
He answered with a smile and a nod. This time, his teeth looked more like daggers made of pristine marble.
“Do you know how long it’s been on that property?”
