When Magic Is Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

by Mary Maxwell

  “Sure, I remember.” I chuckled softly. “Have you learned anything new?”

  “Well, Tyler Armstrong had a very interesting meeting with someone from the Boulder PD. It seems the seedy guy that Jenna was talking with when you were…” She stopped and I heard her fingers flying across a computer keyboard. “…um, his name is…here we go; Dallas Kramer. He was picked up in Boulder for public intoxication the afternoon that Alec Halstead was found at the Crescent Creek Lodge.”

  “Okay,” I said. “If Kramer was arrested that afternoon, then—”

  “He wasn’t involved in Alec Halstead’s death,” Dina said. “At least, not directly involved. There’s always a possibility that he passed along the information about Halstead’s oral allergy syndrome to someone else.” She chuckled softly. “Either way, the guy was pretty rattled when he sobered up in the jail cell. Between the booze and his regularly anxious state, Kramer thought he’d been arrested for taking a five-hundred dollar payment from Jenna Burton to beat some sense into Alec Halstead.”

  “He told the Boulder detective that?”

  “Yes, he did. And from the way my contact described it, Kramer was a wind-up toy going bonkers until he ran out of steam. Like Chatty Cathy or something. Apparently, they moved Kramer to an interrogation room about an hour after his beady, bloodshot eyes opened this morning. And before the Boulder detective even asked his first question, the guy spilled the beans.”

  “About Jenna hiring him to assault Alec?”

  “Well, I doubt if he uttered the word ‘assault,’” Dina said slowly. “He probably used more colorful language to confess to the scheme.”

  “And all for five hundred bucks?”

  “I guess you get what you pay for,” Dina snickered. “From what I heard about Kramer’s BAC level after he was booked, I’d say he probably spent a big chunk of the money on whiskey before dining at Taco Bell. He was arrested in the parking lot there after a scuffle of some sort.”

  I laughed. “Tacos and whiskey?”

  “A class act,” Dina remarked. “Nothing but the best for Dallas Kramer.”

  “What’s going to happen to him now?” I asked.

  “Dunce cap and three weeks in the corner sounds about right,” Dina suggested.

  “But he can’t be charged with anything if he didn’t actually assault Halstead though, right?”

  “Depends on our investigation,” she said. “If we can link Kramer and Jenna in any way to the death of Alec Halstead, there would a good case for conspiracy and premeditated murder changes.”

  “There are definitely mixed messages here,” I said. “Alec’s sister told me that Jenna broke into his SUV and destroyed his custom-tailored tux. But then Jenna claimed she hasn’t talked to Alec in months, even though several people saw them arguing outside his sister’s pizza place recently.”

  I could hear Dina’s fingers tapping away at a keyboard.

  “You need to go?” I asked a few moments later.

  “Oh, yeah…” Her voice was hazy and remote, like she was distracted by something on her laptop. “Sorry about that, Katie. I just got an email related to the Chadwick case.”

  “What’s the latest?” I said. “Bella and Danny doing okay?”

  “More or less. They’re both tough and resilient, but I…you know what? I really need to focus on this for a while. Can I call you later?”

  “Of course. I’ll text you if I learn anything new about Alec Halstead.”

  “I’d love to know what Jenna Burton has to say,” Dina remarked. “From what my contact in Boulder told me, she’s a pretty savvy character. I’d love to know how she reacts when she hears that Dallas Kramer ratted her out.”

  “Well, you know what they say,” I replied. “There’s no honor among thieves.”

  CHAPTER 35

  The woman that answered the phone at Jenna Burton’s salon in Boulder sounded like she had just taken an enormous bite from a marble sandwich.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Is this From Hair to There?”

  “Taz wub sigh zed,” she mumbled.

  Hoping that I hadn’t misdialed, I asked to speak with Jenna Burton.

  “Wub momo,” the woman replied, placing me on hold.

  For the next three or four minutes, I listened to a mix of recorded ads for eyebrow threading, tea tree oil shampoo and open air waxing in the salon’s mountaintop spa. The ad about outdoor beauty treatments was just getting started again when Jenna Burton came on the line.

  “Miss Burton? This is Kate Reed. We met the other day.”

  She growled softly. “You again?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to bother you, but I had a few more questions.”

  There was no response, so I said her name.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said quietly.

  “About Alec?”

  “Yeah. You were here the day after he died. But you didn’t say a word.”

  I explained that it wasn’t my place to inform anyone about the man’s death.

  She grunted dismissively. “But it was your place to come and ask me a bunch of…” She swallowed the rest of whatever she had in mind.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Burton. I literally couldn’t tell you about what had happened.”

  “Then why did you come here the other day?” she snapped. “And why are you bothering me now?”

  “I used to work as a private investigator,” I explained. “Someone from Crescent Creek had asked—”

  “Do you think I give two shakes about you?” Her voice was taut with anger. “Or someone from wherever?”

  I kept my mouth closed and listened to her sigh and curse. When she finally stopped, I apologized again and continued telling her why someone from the Crescent Creek PD had to inform her of Alec’s death.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “And now you’ve got more questions, huh? Well, I don’t see how I can help you.”

  I glanced down at the email that I’d received earlier from Dina Kincaid. “Then why did you pay Dallas Kramer five hundred bucks to intimidate Alec so he’d stay away from you?”

  The chill I felt from her end of the phone became glacial. I imagined the expression on Jenna’s face; eyes like motionless dark stones and nostrils flared with anger.

  “Look,” she said finally. “I don’t know who you think—”

  “I’m trying to help find the person responsible for Alec’s death.”

  “Who you think you are,” she continued. “But there’s…” It took a second for my announcement to pierce her rigid shell. “…um…the person responsible?”

  “Yes. Alec’s death is being investigated as suspicious by the Crescent Creek PD.”

  The blistering fury that had been crackling through the line faded into silence as she processed the news.

  “Suspicious?” she said a moment later. “Does that mean Alec was…murdered?”

  “It means they’re looking into the matter because it may have been foul play.”

  “Was he shot?”

  “No, the only wound was a contusion to his forehead. But the ME thinks that was caused by a fall brought on by a severe allergic reaction.”

  “An allergic reaction?”

  “The police detectives learned from Alec’s doctor that he was extremely allergic to birch tree pollen.”

  “Well, I already knew that.” The icy thrust in her voice thawed slightly. “But it’s winter; how could tree pollen hurt him now?”

  I ignored the question and asked who else might know about the severity of her ex-husband’s allergies.

  “Not too many people really,” Jenna said. “He doesn’t like just anybody knowing that stuff, but…” She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe someone would want to kill him.”

  “Of course,” I said. “It’s a shocking thing to try and comprehend.”

  “What about his family?” she asked. “They all know about his allergies.”

  “Sure, but…what about other people?”

&n
bsp; It sounded like she was crying, so I waited for a moment before repeating the question.

  “Well, I suppose some of his buddies know,” she answered in a halting voice. “The guys he plays darts with on Thursdays when he’s not working.”

  “And you never told Dallas?”

  She set free another blast of off-color observations. I tapped my fingers lightly on the desk while I held the phone away from my ear. When the tirade fizzled out, I asked what she’d expected in return for the money she’d given to Dallas Kramer.

  “Okay, okay,” she said finally. “I paid the loser a few bucks to ruffle Alec’s feathers. But he didn’t even get to start what we’d planned.”

  “Because he got arrested?”

  “The idiot,” she hissed. “I should’ve known better.”

  “Good point,” I agreed. “Paying anyone to threaten your ex-husband is never a good idea, Miss Burton. But the guy you picked for the job? What a gem! It’s safe to say that Dallas Kramer isn’t exactly responsible and trustworthy.”

  She muttered something else that made my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Then she asked why I wanted to know about Dallas Kramer.

  “I was just following up on something,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.” Her voice was a glacier, cold and hard. “Like what?”

  “For one thing,” I said, “you still haven’t answered my question. Did you ever tell Dallas about Alec’s severe allergies?”

  There was no reply.

  “Miss Burton?”

  “I’m trying to think, okay?”

  While I waited for her answer, I checked my notes again. If Dallas Kramer was aware that Alec Halstead suffered from oral allergy syndrome, it was entirely possible that he’d shared that information with someone else. And, even though Kramer wasn’t in Crescent Creek on the afternoon of Alec’s death, the person that he’d told could’ve slipped something into whatever Alec ate or drank that day to ignite the allergic reaction that proved fatal.

  “Jenna?” I concentrated on sounding friendly and diplomatic. “Did you ever tell Dallas Kramer that your ex-husband has—”

  “No!” she blurted. “I never told him a thing about that!”

  “And you’re positive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Have you told anyone else recently about Alec’s allergies?”

  There was another long pause.

  “Well, now that you mention it, there was some chick,” she said quietly. “But it didn’t seem like a big deal or anything at the time.”

  “What was her name?”

  She sighed. “Why do you want to know so bad?”

  “I have a theory about Alec’s death,” I said. “But I wanted to talk to you one more time before I share it with the police.”

  “And you think that girl was involved?”

  I didn’t say anything, hoping the grouchy salon owner would keep going.

  “She was just some scrawny chick,” Jenna continued a few seconds later. “When she showed up here one day and told me she was in love with Alec, I told her to get lost because she wasn’t his type. She was just so…nice. You know what I mean? She was sweet and gentle and soft-spoken. I guess she caught me at a weak moment, because normally I would’ve been a real bitch. Instead, we went and had a coffee together.”

  “And you don’t remember her name?”

  “She didn’t tell me.”

  “And you didn’t think to ask?”

  “Why would I?” Jenna said in an ice-cold tone. “I was getting ready to close for the night and someone tapped on the window. When I went back up front, I saw this skinny chick with sad puppy eyes. I thought maybe it was one of Trina’s clients, so I opened the door.”

  “But she wasn’t a client?”

  Jenna groaned. “Nope. She was this lovesick girl asking about Alec.”

  “What do you know about her?” I asked. “Did you see her car? Is she from Boulder?”

  “No,” she answered, sounding coy. “She’s from down in your neck of the woods.”

  “Someone from Crescent Creek?”

  “Yep.”

  “How old do you think she is?”

  “Ah, I’m such a bad guesser,” Jenna said. “Maybe early twenties or so.”

  “Blonde, brunette, redhead?”

  “Can’t say. She was wearing a big black knit hat.”

  “What kind of hat?”

  “Big,” Jenna said. “And black.”

  “Did it have a logo on the front?” I asked. “Or any kind of decoration?”

  “Yeah, actually. Now that you’re asking me and I’m thinking back…there was a little white design embroidered on the hat.”

  “Can you tell me what it looked like?” I asked. “Was it a leaf or a mountain or something else like that?”

  As soon as she described the insignia on the ski cap, I felt certain I was one step closer to discovering who had killed Alec Halstead.

  “Thanks, Jenna,” I said. “That’s actually really helpful information to have.”

  CHAPTER 36

  After talking to Jenna Burton and contemplating the curious twists in the Alec Halstead case, I decided to pay a few Sky High bills. Paperwork and administrative duties were my two least favorite things about running the bakery café, but I knew they were necessary evils if I didn’t want to become buried in an avalanche of envelopes and invoices. In less than a half hour, I was almost finished with the most urgent items when Julia knocked on the door and came into my office.

  “Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” I asked.

  “Because I just dropped a huge can of crushed tomatoes on my foot,” Julia said.

  “And we had three more special orders come in during the last fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, Jules,” I said apologetically. “I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you come get me?”

  “It’s no biggie. I’ve got it covered, so…well, I should say that I had it covered until I got to the final request. Mrs. Corkery ordered a Pecan Nesselrode Pie for tomorrow, but I can’t read your grandmother’s writing on the back of the recipe card.”

  I cringed. In the past few months, I’d chipped away at the task of rewriting all of Nana Reed’s recipes so they were clear and legible. But a sizable amount still remained in their original form—a combination of ingredient lists and directions scrawled in my beloved grandmother’s indecipherable squiggles and doodles and obscure abbreviations.

  “I guess that I’m really in the dog house now,” I said.

  Julia shrugged. “I thought you were going to rewrite all of the recipes, Katie.”

  “Guilty as charged,” I said. “And I’m sorry, Jules. I’ve finished about half of the first group. Maybe I can get the rest done on Sunday when we’re closed.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. But I’m not going to be able to make Mrs. Corkery’s order until I know what the last two things say.”

  I knew she was right. And I knew that my first responsibility was to Sky High.

  “Let me finish paying the bills,” I said, glaring at the stack of invoices on my desk. “Then I’ll come right in and make the Nesselrode for Mrs. Corkery.”

  Julia smiled, turned for the door and then glanced back over her shoulder. “What is a Nesselrode Pie anyway?” she asked. “Mrs. Corkery is the only customer that orders them, and this is the first time she’s called since your mother and father retired.”

  “In a nutshell,” I said with a little wink, “it’s a pecan cream pie that’s served chilled. The original version was created a couple of hundred years ago for a Russian diplomat named…” I paused to conjure the dusty memory. “Well, let’s call him Count Something Something Nesselrode,” I continued. “He’s got two names, like Billy Bob or Jimmy Ray, but I can’t recall them at the moment. And the original recipe was for chestnut pudding, although Nana Reed substituted pecans because they’re so much easier to find.”

  Julia shook her head. “Will there be a quiz later?” she asked. “Or is
it safe to assume that you’re just sharing all of that information because you’re making it up on the spot?”

  I glowered at her playfully. “Me? Make up a story?”

  “We’re all capable of telling a little fib now and then,” Julia said, moving through the door and into the hall. “The key is not getting caught.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Later in the day, after decoding Nana Reed’s recipe and finishing the pecan puree for Mrs. Corkery’s Nesselrode Pie, I heard the phone ring in my office. I quickly poured the mixture into a shell, covered it with plastic wrap and placed it in the walk-in to set.

  “I’m coming!” I cried, running toward the droning phone. “Please don’t be anyone changing their special order!”

  Luckily, it wasn’t; the call was from Connie Larson.

  “I found something,” she said in a wispy voice.

  I waited for a moment to see if she’d reveal the discovery. Then I closed the door and sat down at my desk.

  “Connie?”

  She whispered my name.

  “Whatever it is,” I said, “you need to tell Dina if it’s related to Alec Halstead’s death.”

  “I know that, but…” She sniffled. “I found it in a backpack sitting on a counter in the kitchen.”

  “At the Lodge?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I would never dream of searching anyone’s private things, but it was right there, just out in the open. I saw a flash of white as I walked by, so I just took a little peek inside the backpack.”

  “And saw…what?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the magician’s missing glove.”

  I asked if she’d shared the news with Dina.

  “Not yet, but I’ll call her next. I wanted to tell you first because I know everything’s going to change once I talk to her.”

  There was no arguing the point; after Dina got the call, she’d send someone over to the Crescent Creek Lodge to collect the evidence.

  “Where are you?”

  “In my office,” Connie said softly. “I also finally found the event orders and scanned them into PDF files. I was getting to ready to email them to you.”