by Bailey Cates
Once the rich custard had been mixed and poured into large lidded containers to sit in the fridge overnight, Angie started in on the cleanup. True to her word, she was a hard worker. I brought her a rosemary Parmesan scone and a cup of tea, then headed out to the main seating area and began wiping down tables. I had just finished with the one nearest the door when Detective Quinn walked in.
“Hi, Katie. Boy, you guys are busy today.”
“And loving it. Are you here for a Thanksgiving pie?”
He sat at the table I’d just cleaned and shook his head. “My wife insists on making her grandmother’s banana toffee pie every Thanksgiving.”
“Sounds delish. Maybe I can convince her to share the recipe.”
“I’ll ask her. For now I was hoping for a slice of lemon pound . . .” He trailed off as something behind me caught his attention. “Who is that working in your kitchen?”
I deliberately didn’t turn around, as if that would magically remove Angie from his view. “Cookie still comes in to help sometimes when we’re swamped.”
“I’m not talking about Cookie Rios,” he said through gritted teeth.
My smile slid off my face like warm butter.
“Why is the prime suspect in Dana Dobbs’ murder doing dishes in the Honeybee Bakery?”
Glancing at the nearest customer, I sat down across from him and summoned my courage. What I ended up with felt a lot more like stubbornness than courage. My jaw set. “Angie’s staying at my carriage house tonight, too.”
“What? Why on God’s green earth would you put yourself in that kind of danger?” he hissed. “And here I’d thought you’d given up on messing around in that murder. I should have known better.”
“Angie Kissel is innocent.”
He made a rude noise. “And you know this how?”
My dog told me. Oh, and he also acted as a conduit between Angie and me so I could sense her innocence for myself. Because he’s her ex-familiar.
“You remember when we’ve talked about intuition?” I asked. “I just know.”
“Oh, come on.” He shook his head emphatically. “You know that’s not good enough.”
Knowing I should check with Angie first, I said, “Someone left her a threatening note. Shoved it under her door. Someone who sounds like a crazed fan—or fans—of Dr. Dana. So she’s scared and doesn’t want to be by herself.”
“Oh, really.” He still didn’t look convinced. “Did she call us?”
“Of course not. She’s frightened of you, too. And I don’t blame her.”
A flash of surprise crossed his face.
“There are plenty of other suspects in this case, and from what I can tell, you haven’t followed up with any of them,” I said.
He sighed. “Like who?”
“Like Earl King and/or his wife, Sophie.”
“Who are they?”
“A couple who Dr. Dana nearly broke up with her Radical Trust nonsense. They were at the signing and had just as much opportunity to slip poison in her drink as anyone. Furthermore, Mr. King heckled Dr. Dana just like Angie did, and before that he and his wife were happy to tell Ben and the rest of us about Dana Dobbs’ lack of professional credentials. They didn’t like her at all and were definitely not at her signing to purchase a book.”
Quinn still looked doubtful.
“I was actually there and saw them,” I said. “And I told you about them in my statement.”
“Yes. I remember. You didn’t give me their names, though.” His face creased in thought. “Bring me some lemon pound cake and tell me more.”
With a sense of gleeful hope, I hurried over and put the biggest slice of cake on a plate and poured him a cup of freshly brewed dark roast. Back at the table, I started back in, keeping my voice low so passing customers couldn’t hear.
“A big problem is finding out how the killer got access to the cyanide. Right? As you said, it’s not something you can just walk in and buy at the hardware store.”
He nodded.
“And I don’t know enough about the Kings—they own that bar King’s Castle, down the street, by the way—to figure out how they could get it. But there is one suspect that might very well have had access to the poison.”
Quinn took a big bite of cake and chewed slowly, watching me.
“Nate Dobbs.”
Now a sip of coffee. “Do tell.”
“He works for an agricultural fumigation company. Or used to.”
He held up a finger. “Not anymore. He quit a year ago.”
“So he had access to cyanide. Or at least it’s a possibility. I haven’t gotten that far.”
“Mmm-hmm. Did you know that Ms. Kissel’s ex-husband is an industrial scientist? It turns out there is cyanide in his lab.”
I felt the hope slipping away. “But they aren’t married anymore.”
“They were in contact during the breakup. She came by his lab a few times after the divorce proceedings had started.” He glanced up at Angie, who was standing in the kitchen watching us with wide eyes. When she saw us looking at her, she quickly moved out of view.
“Maybe she was thinking ahead,” he said.
I couldn’t very well tell him that Angie wouldn’t have stolen cyanide from her husband since she could likely extract it from the pits of stone fruit herself.
“Anyone else?” He wore an amused expression that I didn’t appreciate.
“Dr. Dana fired her agent,” I said.
“Ronnie Lake. Yes, I spoke with her.”
“So you already know about the Dobbs’ failing marriage.”
His forehead wrinkled. “No . . .”
I nodded. “Yep. The relationship guru was heading for divorce, at least according to her former agent.”
“Huh. Well, I have to admit that people sometimes tell you things they don’t tell me, Katie.”
I smiled weakly, then went on. “Plus, Nate Dobbs has a piece of commercial real estate that’s been sitting empty and useless ever since he bought it. Money problems, apparently. Now that his wife is dead he’s suddenly back in business.”
“Is that so? Well, I guess I’d better look into that.” He reached in his wallet and handed me a bill, then wrapped the rest of his pound cake in a napkin.
“It’s on me, Detective.”
“I prefer to pay up. Keep the change.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I suppressed a grimace. His unwillingness to let me treat him to the cake told me he was more upset about my involvement in his investigation than he was letting on.
Standing, he shot a look toward the kitchen and leaned toward me. “Stay on your toes around her. Okay, Katie? You drive me nuts, but I like you.”
I nodded. “I will. And, Quinn? Will you follow up on the Kings and Nate Dobbs?”
“Sure,” he said. “Or I’ll have someone else make inquiries. Turns out that other case I told you about is more complicated than I’d anticipated.”
Great. Quinn made me nuts, too, but I didn’t want anyone else working on the Dr. Dana case.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and gave my shoulder a light squeeze before he left.
Angie was waiting in the office. “What did he want?”
“He just stopped in for a pastry,” I said. “He saw you, though. I’m afraid I told him about your note.”
“Did he ask to see it?”
I grimaced. “Now that you mention it, he didn’t.”
Her face fell. “He’s still sure I’m the one who killed Dana Dobbs.”
I didn’t deny it.
* * *
A little before five there was a line four deep at the register, all there to pick up their frozen pies. Cookie had stuck around, and now she and Angie were fetching pies for customers, while Ben rang them up. Lucy was closing the window blinds, and I tidied the reading ar
ea. A book club had met there that afternoon, and the ladies had felt free to rearrange all the furniture. As I put the chairs and tables back in place by the floor-to-ceiling shelves, I reflected that it was actually kind of nice that people felt so free to make themselves at home in the Honeybee.
The last customer left, and I walked by Ben on my way back to the kitchen. “You were right about Bing Hawkins being a good salesman,” I said casually. “In fact, I need to tell you about something that happened at the radio station yesterday.”
“Maybe later,” he said. The coldness in his voice gave me pause.
“Ben?”
“Come on, Luce. We can stop by Zunzi’s for takeout on the way home.” He loaded cash into the bank bag and brushed by me on his way to the office.
“What the . . .” I turned to Lucy, who gave me an apologetic smile. “Does he already know Jaida half agreed to a radio spot?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it.”
Realization dawned. “He’s giving me the cold shoulder because I’m still deciding how to handle Declan’s proposal?”
That smile again. “Don’t mind him, Katie. He’ll get over it.”
My aunt and uncle left. Lucy called her good-byes over her shoulder, but Ben just vaguely waved his hand.
“What’s wrong with your uncle?” Cookie asked as I flipped off the overhead lights. Angie was in the office with Mungo. Again.
Sighing, I told Cookie that Declan had asked me to marry him, and waited for her response. True to form, it wasn’t like anyone else’s had been. Instead, she tipped her head to the side and considered me.
“Do you want to marry him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you not want to be married at all?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“All right. Do you want to be with Declan McCarthy, forever and ever, so mote it be?”
I hesitated. “I think so. I really do.”
“You need to know so. And if the answer is yes, then you need to know whether that would be possible without marriage.”
“Not for Declan, it wouldn’t.”
She took off her apron and hung it on one of the pegs on the back wall. “Whatever you decide, Katie, stand your ground. Do what you know is right for you.”
I walked up and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Cookie. I needed to hear that.”
Angie came out of the office, Mungo on her heels now that he knew the bakery was closed. “I really enjoyed myself,” she said. “Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys this afternoon.”
Cookie snorted. “Hang out? You worked your tail off.”
“Well, I’m still grateful. Katie, I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
I considered her. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into having a drink with me before we head home.”
Cookie grinned. “Can I come along? Oscar isn’t off work yet, and he has the car.”
“The more the merrier,” I said.
Angie tipped her head. “What did you have in mind?”
“The King’s Castle, down the street,” I said. “I’ll buy.”
Chapter 20
The King’s Castle was narrow and dark. A massive mahogany bar on the right side reached into vague shadows at the back of the establishment. A row of red Naugahyde barstools offered seating in front of the bar, and small booths with high-backed, scarred wooden benches marched down the wall to the left. The eight-foot ceilings felt oppressive after all the time I spent under the high ceilings of the Honeybee and my carriage house, but the air smelled so delicious I immediately decided to have a snack with my drink.
As we made our way down to the center of the bar, I noted the plethora of framed photos arranged on the wall over the booths. They were of birds—in flight, at rest, nesting, eating, perching—and quite stunning. Good-enough-to-be-in-a-gallery stunning.
Cookie slid onto a stool, and I took the one beside her. Angie climbed up next to me, and I noticed her shoes didn’t quite reach the brass footrest. Half a dozen people were sitting in pairs, recently off work like us or maybe getting an early start on the holiday.
Sophie King came bustling down and leaned her elbows on the top of the bar. “Ladies, what can I get you?”
“I’ll have a Sazerac,” Cookie said.
The bartender did a double take. “What’s in that again?”
“Cognac, absinthe, and bitters. A little sugar.”
Sophie bobbed her head. “Of course. Coming right up.” She looked at me. Puzzlement pinched the corners of her eyes as she tried to place me.
I pulled the bar menu over and saw we’d arrived in time for happy hour. “I’ll have a Guinness.”
Angie nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll have one, too.”
“And some boiled peanuts and Tupelo hot wings,” I added, visually checking with my two companions.
They nodded their agreement.
When Sophie came back with our drinks, I smiled. “Hey, I remember you from the other night at the Fox and Hound.”
Recognition dawned. “Right! I knew I’d seen you before.” Her face clouded. “What a crazy thing to happen to that radio host. Lordy, I can hardly believe it.”
“No kidding,” I said.
Beside me, Cookie took a sip of her Sazerac and winced.
Suddenly Sophie pointed at Angie. “Heck, you’re the one who got Earl all het up about that silly stuff Dr. Dana told him to do, calling her on the carpet like you did.” Sophie crossed herself. “God rest her soul.”
Angie looked uncomfortable for a moment, then sat up straighter. “It’s nice to know I wasn’t the only one who thought Dr. Dana dispensed poor counsel to her listeners.”
“Oh, my. Earl looked up all sorts of things about her. There are a whole bunch of people online who didn’t like her.” She looked torn between dishing on Dr. Dana and feeling bad about it. “You know she didn’t even have any kids, but that woman still felt like she could tell other people how to raise theirs.” She shook her head and tsked.
“I think your husband mentioned that,” I said, and took a sip of Guinness. The creamy foam coated my upper lip, and I licked it off.
“She was misguided in many ways,” Angie said. “Not that I wished her any harm,” she hastened to add.
The bartender waved her hand. “Oh, heavens no!” She looked both ways at the other customers, then leaned toward us. “Were you still there when it happened?”
Cookie tried another sip of her drink. After a few moments, she took another. It appeared to be growing on her.
Angie and I exchanged glances. I nodded. “We were.”
“Is it true that she was poisoned?”
We all nodded.
“Well, goodness, how could they tell? Did she look funny?” Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh, gosh. Did you see her, you know, after?”
Angie blanched, and I felt sure she was remembering exactly how Dr. Dana had looked when she found her.
“Is your husband here, too?” I asked.
“Earl’s in the back. Our cook called in late.”
“You left pretty early that night, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Pretty much right after Dr. Dana stopped talking.” She tsked again. “Who knew?”
Now I leaned toward her. “I’m curious. Why did you go to see her if you didn’t like her?”
She laughed. “Oh, Lord, honey. We didn’t mean to go to see her at all. Earl just had to get the latest book by that Western mystery writer he likes so much, so we stopped in on our way home from here. We had no idea she’d be there.”
That took the wind right out of my sails.
“But boy howdy,” she continued. “When he saw she was gonna be there, he couldn’t resist staying to see what she’d say.” Sophie reddened. “I didn’t expect him to shoot his mouth off like tha
t, though. Or to drag me into it.”
A door down at the end of the bar opened, and a rectangle of bright light briefly illuminated the dark atmosphere. Earl himself came lumbering down with a bowl of peanuts and a platter heaped with chicken wings still sizzling from the fryer. He set them down on the bar and distributed napkins and moist towelettes.
“Hon, you remember these two from the bookstore the other day, don’t you?” his wife asked.
“You betcha,” he boomed. “Hell of a thing that happened.”
We all murmured agreement.
The Kings moved away to check in with their other customers, and we dug in.
“How’s your drink?” I asked Cookie around a bite of sweet and fiery chicken.
“Terrible,” she said, and raised her empty glass. Sophie saw her and nodded. Within moments my friend had another in front of her. “I think she’s using as much absinthe as cognac—only the cognac is actually cheap brandy. But I’m developing a fondness for the combination.”
I laughed. “I’m glad you’re not driving.”
She grinned. “Thank goodness Oscar’s going to pick me up in half an hour or so.”
My phone rang in my pocket. Quickly, I wiped hot sauce off my fingers, slipped off the stool, and went to an empty corner.
It was Declan.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. Are you home from work yet?”
“Nope. Out partying at the bar,” I joked.
“Seriously.”
“I am serious,” I said.
“Who are you with?” And suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore, because I heard actual suspicion in his voice.
He doesn’t think . . . he couldn’t think . . . Steve? Nah.
“I’m with Cookie and Angie. Listen, can I call you later? Angie’s going to come home and stay the night with me.”
A pause, then: “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
