by Mary Maxwell
CHAPTER 30
There were twenty-four more sugar cookies to ice when the phone rang around five that afternoon. The order was for an even twelve dozen, and it seemed like Julia and I had been making frosting and slathering it the sweet, buttery disks since dawn.
“Saved by the bell,” Julia said. “Want to flip for it?”
“It’s not the landline,” I said. “It’s my cell. I left it in the office.”
She laughed. “Doesn’t matter. Want to flip?”
“I’d better go,” I said. “I’m hoping to hear from someone related to Dina’s investigation.”
“Get going then,” she said.
“Thank you, Jules. I owe you one.”
I put down my spatula and hurried to the office. The name on the screen felt like a wave of relief.
“Did you think that I forgot about you?” asked Lynn Jaffrey when I answered.
“Not at all,” I said. “You’re a busy woman.”
“And an apologetic one,” she replied. “I wrote a note to myself so I wouldn’t forget. Then I spilled coffee all over my desk. It took until an hour ago to remember what the fuzzy blue ink squiggles had originally said.”
I chuckled. “Better now than never. Did you have any luck?”
“I did,” Lynn replied. “We sold two sets to Mayor Washington. I think they were for family members that live out of state. Another set was purchased by a tourist from England who was driving all the way from Boston to San Diego. And the last set was a birthday present for someone that my daughter knows from school.”
“Oh?” I felt a tingle of excitement race through me. “That sounds promising.”
“They used to be friends,” Lynn added. “But you know how boys and girls in high school can be? Something catastrophic happened and they no longer speak.”
From the lilt in her voice, I knew that Lynn was joking about the calamitous nature of the event. Since I’d survived countless misunderstandings and insults when I was a teenager, I imagined it was a falling out about romantic intentions. As I listened to Lynn share more details about her daughter’s former friend, I realized that my guess was completely wrong.
“This is where it gets spooky,” she said after recounting her daughter’s violent outburst at dinner the previous week. “The other kid and my daughter have both been to see Dr. Whistler to talk about body image issues.”
I’d met Lynn’s daughter once at Sky High Pies. As I recalled, she was a tall, elegant young woman with porcelain skin, impeccable style and an outgoing personality.
“I’m sorry to hear that Laurel is going through that,” I said. “It’s too prevalent these days.”
“She’s much better,” Lynn replied. “But thank you, Katie. I don’t know anyone our age or younger who hasn’t been through something related to the way they look. It’s a complete cliché by now, but the media and clothing companies and Hollywood have presented such screwy messages for so many years about every aspect of our bodies. You’re not tall enough. You’re too tall. You’re too short or fat or skinny or whatever. Your nose is the wrong size and shape for your face. Your face is too wide or narrow or round.”
“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” I asked.
Lynn groaned. “Try living through it all over again with your daughter,” she said. “It’s like the trauma from my grade school years comes rushing back whenever I talk to Laurel about it.”
“That’s understandable,” I said.
“But she really is much better now,” Lynn added. “I thought it might be helpful for both Laurel and her friend to know that they’re working with the same therapist, but that totally backfired.”
“Really?” I said. “What happened?”
“Laurel’s friend suddenly turned mean and nasty,” Lynn explained. “I couldn’t believe it when she told me, but her friend started taunting her with things that Dr. Whistler supposedly revealed about my daughter.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “That’s completely unethical.”
“Well, obviously,” Lynn replied. “But it was also patently untrue. I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but Dr. Whistler videotapes all of his sessions.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” I said.
“Some folks might find it disconcerting,” Lynn went on. “But after he explained the process with us, Laurel and I both thought it made perfect sense. And now, after everything that happened with her friend from school, I’m so, so grateful that Whistler uses that approach. When the other patient was telling lies about my daughter, we worked with Dr. Whistler to find the specific session that was referenced.”
“So your daughter’s friend claimed that Dr. Whistler was saying negative things about her?”
“That’s correct,” Lynn said. “But the video proved it was the exact opposite. Laurel’s friend was trashing my daughter during the therapy session.”
“You’ve been very circumspect up to this point,” I said. “But would you be willing to tell me the other patient’s name?”
Lynn sighed on the other end. “I figured that you’d want to know,” she said.
“Well, not so much me,” I replied. “I’m thinking about Dina Kincaid. At this point, anything related to Whistler could be critical information for her investigation into Don Sterling’s death.”
Lynn issued a nervous laugh. “You can’t be serious, Katie.”
“But I am,” I told her. “We’re dealing with an unusual set of circumstances. A teenaged girl is just as capable as an adult when it comes to committing these types of assaults.”
“But that’s just it,” Lynn said. “The other student isn’t a girl. It’s a boy at Laurel’s school. He’s battled body dysmorphia for years.”
My mouth hung open. “Wow! I did not see that coming.”
“I know,” she said. “When somebody mentions body image issues, just about everyone assumes that you’re talking about a female. But body dysmorphia is an equal opportunity condition. It affects males and females at the same rate.”
“You know, I hadn’t really thought about it before,” I said. “And while body image and perception have always been part of the human condition, I would imagine that the obsession with social media has made it much worse, particularly with teenagers during such a stressful time of life.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t understand why so many people live online instead of enjoying the amazing beauty and abundance of real life, but that’s way above my pay grade.”
I laughed at her wisecrack. Then I asked if she would be willing to tell me the name of her daughter’s schoolmate.
“I’ll be happy to,” she said. “As long as we can keep it confidential.”
A moment later, after assuring Lynn that I would be completely circumspect with the information, she finally told me the name. As my heart began to race, I realized that we might be one step closer to solving the mystery of the attacks as well as the identity of Don Sterling’s killer.
“Do you think he could be the one?” she asked.
“Only time will tell,” I answered. “But he’s been on my list of possible suspects, and your help today will move him all the way to the top.”
CHAPTER 31
I was walking into the bank later that day when my phone buzzed with Dina’s text: Strawberry shake. Have time to talk?
Call you in five, I replied. Running an errand.
When she answered about fifteen minutes later, I expected her first remark.
“That was more than five minutes,” she said, impersonating the deep rumble of our friend, Deputy Chief Walsh. “Did you know that time is our most precious commodity?”
I kept quiet.
“Hello?” Dina said. “Did I lose you?”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“Well, that’s just perfect!” she continued after a few beats. “I finally get someone on the phone, but the stupid thing—”
“I’m here!” I said. “I was just tryin
g to decipher your impersonation.”
She harrumphed loudly. “You know who that was, Katie.”
“Not exactly,” I replied. “I had it narrowed down to either the guy from the credit card commercials or Blanche.”
She squeaked. “Mrs. Speltzer doesn’t sound like that!”
“Have you heard her sing?” I teased. “You’d think someone as petite as Blanche would have a fluffy, light voice, but she sounds like a foghorn mixed with a tuba.”
Dina dismissed my lighthearted remark with a few choice words. Then she repeated what she’d already told me in the text.
“Eileen was attacked with a strawberry shake,” she said. “I heard back from the lab a couple of hours ago.”
“That’s helpful,” I told her. “The next step is going back through the video from Scoops to see if we spot someone carrying a cup that shows the shorthand code for strawberry.”
“You don’t know it already?”
“It’s not my jam,” I said. “I’ve certainly tried their strawberry ice cream before, but if I’m going with a single flavor it’s usually chocolate or vanilla.”
“Old school,” she said.
“Sometimes,” I replied. “It just depends on my mood and what they’re featuring that day. Do you want me to look through the video again?”
“That’s okay,” Dina said. “Let me take a shot at it. Maybe Laura will take a softer line than her husband. I’ll give her a call and ask if I can swing by shortly.”
“Good luck,” I said. “If you get any pushback, I’ll be happy to call her and ask if I can review it again.”
“I don’t know why Danny Lamott is being so fussy,” she said. “I thought they’d worked through everything.”
“Hard to say. You know how some people can be.”
She moaned. “Do I ever? If we both had the time, I’d tell you all about what happened this morning at Java & Juice. Some lump of attitude was screaming at Tessa when I got there, so I offered to intervene. I’d never seen the customer before, and I didn’t identify myself as police. But before I could say another word, he started to cuss me out like a sailor.”
“Oh, that’s never a good idea,” I said, recalling something that had happened a few months earlier. “Do you remember the guy at the—”
“Oh, for sure!” Dina cut in. “The guy at the car wash. When I finally showed him my badge, the poor thing started to cry.”
“Wasn’t he having a bad day at work or something?”
“Yep. And so was I. The last thing I was going to tolerate was some jerk calling me every name in the book.”
“I bet he never makes that mistake again,” I said.
“I think you’d be right. I saw his wife at Food Town a few days later. She apologized all over again like she did the night it happened.”
“That was sweet of her,” I said.
“It was,” Dina agreed. “And I should let you go, Katie. I’ll let you know how I make out with the security tape at Scoops.”
“Good luck,” I said. “Let’s hope Laura says yes and you find the perp within the first few minutes.”
Dina snickered. “From your lips to God’s ears. I’d love to see at least one thing go smoothly before the day ends.”
CHAPTER 32
Zack and I were waiting to order at Scoops of Joy that evening when I heard someone call my name. As I turned to look around the busy ice cream shop, I spotted Ruth Grainger gliding in our direction.
“Oh, good!” she said gleefully. “You did hear me! I hate people who scream in crowded places.”
Ruth and I met a few months after I returned to Crescent Creek from Chicago. She and her two children moved to town after her husband bought a majority interest in a tour company based in nearby Scovell. They’d settled in Vermont after getting married, but decided to leave New England after Will lost his job in a corporate buyout. He’d worked in tourism during college and his family was originally from Colorado Springs, so they decided to take a chance on moving halfway across the country. While Will invested countless hours in his new endeavor, Ruth found a part-time job working in customer service for a small home remodeling business while Rachelle and Joshua landed on their feet at Crescent Creek High.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked.
She sighed. “Being lazy at home. I had to run a couple of quick errands, so I volunteered to buy dessert.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” I poked Zack’s side. “This guy does that for me all the time.”
He shrugged. “And vice versa.”
“I know, but you do it way more often than I do.”
Zack laughed. “Nobody’s keeping score,” he said.
“Tell that to my son and daughter,” Ruth replied with a smirk. “They’ve been keeping stats on things like that since they were born!”
“How are they doing?” I asked.
She smiled. “The kids?”
“I saw Joshua at Sky High with Alma Tucker and her son the other day,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “They all seemed to be in a cheerful mood.”
Ruth’s expression dimmed. “The calm before the storm,” she said. “This has actually been a pretty rough week, Katie. And we don’t need to pretend otherwise; Amanda Crane told me that you’re helping with the inquiry into Don’s death.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard this or not,” Ruth replied, “but our son is on the list of patient files stolen from Dr. Whistler’s home office.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
Her head tilted to the left and she fixed me with a puzzled look.
“What?” I smiled. “Are you surprised?”
“I thought Dina Kincaid would share everything with you,” she said.
“Not necessarily,” I told her. “I consult for the CCPD now and then, but Dina’s main priority is protecting the evidence and rights of individuals involved in each case. She doesn’t tell me anything that I don’t need to know.”
“Well, now you do know,” Ruth said. “I hope that I didn’t offend you just then.”
“Not at all.”
“To be perfectly honest, I’m pretty worried about our kids.” Her voice dropped to a hushed tone. “Since this whole nightmare started, Dina’s been to the house twice; the day after the burglary to talk with me and the next evening to interview Rachelle and Joshua.”
“Do you know what she asked them?”
“Questions about a parking ticket on my daughter’s car,” Ruth answered. “And the next time was about duplicate keys for Dr. Whistler’s house. I’m sure that it’s all a big misunderstanding. Neither of them would be able to focus long enough to commit a crime.”
The comment seemed strange, but I decided not to pursue it in the middle of a busy retail shop.
“I’m sure that Dina is just following leads,” I said. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Ruth laughed. “Maybe not for you. But I’m sick with worry, Katie. Rachelle didn’t drive her car the day it was ticketed. But that doesn’t change the fact that it belongs to her and she’s responsible for the fine.”
“How do you know that she didn’t drive it?” I asked.
“She had minor surgery the day before the ticket was written,” Ruth said. “And she didn’t leave the house again until later in the week.”
“Did she loan the car to one of her friends?”
Ruth shook her head. “She won’t tell me. And no matter what I threaten her with, I really think she’ll stay firm. They have some kind of honor code.”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Rachelle, Joshua and their closest friends,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’d think they’re cops or Marines, the way they keep invoking loyalty and honor.”
“Over a parking ticket?” I smiled. “Doesn’t that seem kind of odd?”
She sighed again. “Definitely! And I’ve tried to get her to talk, but she’s even more stubborn and determined than I was a
t her age. Lately, she’s been adamant about wearing her boots in the house even though I ask nicely to take them off so they don’t scuff the new hardwood floor in the family room.”
“Ouch!” I teased. “My mother went through something like that with my bother, except it was a skateboard in the house and not hiking boots.”
Ruth laughed. “I wish it was hiking boots! Rachelle’s been riding horses quite a lot lately, so we’re talking cowboy boots with spurs.” She giggled again. “And she stole the spurs from her brother! I bought them for Joshua a few weeks ago when he talked about riding again. But he was thrown on the very first day, so that was the end of that!”
I felt a chill down my back, but kept my smile in place.
“That is a bit of a difference,” I replied. “Those puppies can do real damage to wood floors and furniture if you’re not careful.”
“And Rachelle isn’t careful at all,” Ruth said. “Unless you’re talking about her nails after a manicure. Then she’s as cautious as anyone that you’ll ever meet.”
I laughed at the silly expression on her face. Even though I detected a current of worry just below the surface, Ruth’s cheery eyes and bubbly laugh made her seem completely relaxed and unruffled.
“In that respect,” she added, “my daughter and I are like identical twins. At that age, I cared about looks way more than books!”
“We would’ve had so much fun in high school,” I said. “My mother used that same phrase all the time—being more interested in how we looked than what was in our text books—to describe both me and Dina when we were in high school.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Ruth said. “I always forget that you guys grew up together.”
“And Deputy Chief Walsh was one year ahead of us,” I said. “It was a tossup who would get in trouble first whenever we went to a school dance or the after party on football Fridays.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine him being bad. He’s such a straight arrow these days.”
