Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) (19 page)

A
FTER
M
ARK
and Ben left, I was standing with Violet, Jason, Molly, Chris, Leslie, Lucas, and Alex when I spotted Fiona entering the ballroom.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m going over to tell Fiona the news about the surveillance footage. Maybe it’ll jog her memory about seeing someone talking with Chef Richards before he was killed.”

I hurried across the room before Fiona could get entangled with someone else.

“Fiona!” I called.

She turned, smiled, and waved.

The smile faded. “That’s wonderful news?”

“Of course it is. It means we’ll be able to find out who killed him,” I said.

“That might be what it means to you. But for me, it means another trip to the police station, and I’m not looking forward to that.” She sighed. “They’ll have me look at the surveillance tape over and over. And then what if I’m not able to identify the person on the tape? The police will think I’m in cahoots with the killer or something.”

I patted her arm. “It’ll be okay, Fiona. They know you’ll do your best. That’s all you can do.”

“I’m not so sure,” she said. “I’m a stranger here. These people don’t trust me.”

“But they have their suspect on film,” I said.

“But they don’t know who it is. If they did, they’d have made an arrest already.” She blew out another breath. “I don’t want to find myself in the middle of something. I want to go home, put this mess behind me, and get on with my life.”

“I believe you’ll be able to do that whether you can identify the person on the surveillance film or not,” I said. “Hopefully, that film means all this will be over sometime later today.”

“In our dreams,” she said. “Look, I need to go talk with Ms. Compton. See you later.”

Well, that hadn’t gone a thing like I’d expected it would. I’d have thought Fiona would be thrilled to be able to identify the person who’d killed her boss and cost her the job as his assistant. Instead, she was reluctant to even view the surveillance footage. How weird was that?

I decided to seek out Gavin Conroy next. After all, he was trying to memorialize Jordan Richards. Surely, he’d be glad to know the murderer would be caught soon.

I found Gavin in the kitchen. Apparently, the inn’s restaurant had given him permission to make some crudités and finger sandwiches for the memorial.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

Gavin turned and smiled. “No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“I have good news,” I said. “I just found out there’s surveillance footage of someone going into and out of the kitchen around the time Chef Richards was murdered.”

He nodded slowly. “That is good news, I suppose. It won’t bring him back, though, will it?”

“No . . . but at least it will bring some comfort to Brea Ridge. We won’t be afraid there’s a murderer in our midst anymore,” I said. “And it will hopefully give Ms. Richards some closure.”

“I think so too. It’s obvious in the way she came here to get answers about his death.” I frowned. “Did either of them become involved with someone else after their separation?”

“I don’t know. As I’ve already told you, I didn’t know them all that well.” He smiled sadly. “I just admired her . . . I mean, them, from afar, I guess.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you?” I asked.

“Not a thing,” he said. “Go on back out to the ballroom and enjoy the show.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you at the memorial.”

I next went in search of Lou Gimmel. He was the hardest to find, but I finally spotted him in the snack area.

“Hey there,” I said, taking a seat across from him. “You’re the talk of the show.”

He chuckled. “Really?”

“Yes. I hear you might be America’s next celebrity chef.”

“Well, I hope so,” he said. “There’s nothing definite in the works yet, but I’m going to have an audition . . . talk with some people . . . ”

“I wish you the best of luck,” I said. “It would be so cool to be able to say that back in the day, you were my table mate!”

“That’s a relief,” Lou said. “I was afraid that having a killer on the loose would taint the first annual Brea Ridge Taste Bud Temptation Cake and Confectionary Arts Exhibit and Competition.”

“You know, I really hope they’ll shorten the name next year,” I said.

“So do I, but I wouldn’t count on it.” He laughed again. “It’s selfish of me to say so, but another reason I’m glad this video has shown up is because until they find the killer, we’re all suspects. Having a cloud of suspicion over his head wouldn’t bode well for America’s next celebrity chef, would it?”

“Indeed it would not,” I said. “And I don’t think that’s selfish at all. I don’t want any suspicion hanging over my head either. I’ve had enough trouble getting established in this town without being suspected of whacking Jordan Richards with a cake stand.”

“I know what you mean. I’m completely ready for my life to take a turn for the better.” He shook his head. “I recently suffered a breakup, and I’m trying desperately to find something to fill up my time instead.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I don’t know, Lou. I’ve done it myself. I had a wonderful guy that I’d dated all through high school. But then when I went to college, I met someone else. His name was Todd Martin, and he was the star football player and all-around big man on campus.”

“He’s the one Chef Richards was talking about that day in class, isn’t he?” Lou asked. “The one who tried to kill you?”

“That’s the one,” I said. “I saw all the warning signs, but I ignored them. I thought that, sure, Todd was a bad boy, but that I was the one who could tame him. Little did I know, no one could tame Todd Martin. I broke the heart of the guy who adored me—and whom I still love to this day—because Todd seemed more exciting to me.”

“Well, from what Richards said, you
did
find excitement,” Lou said.

I grinned wryly. “Oh, I found excitement in spades. But now I have another chance with my high school sweetheart . . . I hope.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I said. “You never know what might happen.”

“It would take a miracle,” he said. “But maybe I’ll find someone new . . . someone who’ll love and appreciate me for who I am and for what I have to offer her . . . which could be considerably more if I get a TV gig.”

I laughed. “By now, that woman you loved is probably realizing what a huge mistake she’s made. I knew almost immediately, but I felt I couldn’t go back.” I shook my head as if to clear away the memory. “But, whatever you do, I wish you the very best.”

“You too,” he said.

A
FTER TALKING WITH
Lou, I sought out Pauline. She was hovering near the demonstration area, and I figured she hoped to see some of the television executives. I talked her into joining me on the risers so we could chat for a second.

“Our worries are over,” I said.

“They are? Have you heard something? Are the producers interested in me?”

“I’m talking about our worries about our fingerprints being on the cake stand used to knock Jordan Richards in the head,” I said.

“Oh. What about it?” she asked uninterestedly.

“Oh . . . well, that
is
good, then,” she said.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “You seem . . . distant.”

“I’m okay, I guess,” she said. “I’m just not feeling that well. That tetanus shot really hurt. Plus, I’ve had a headache ever since the medic gave it to me.”

“I imagine your hand hurts too.”

“It does . . . but not as bad as my arm where I got the injection,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down for a little while.”

“All right. I hope you feel better,” I said.

She took a card from her purse. “My cell number is on here. Please call me at that number before the awards ceremony, would you?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to miss anything,” she said.

As Pauline left the ballroom, I checked my watch. It was time for me to meet Ben, Mark, and Myra in the snack area. The other three were sitting at a table in the corner waiting for me when I got there.

“Any luck?” Myra said as soon as I sat down.

“Mark and I expect the killer to go looking for the hotel’s copy of the surveillance video,” Ben said. “Whoever it is—if he or she knows about the footage—”

“Which, by now, they should,” Myra interrupted.

“Our killer should be trying to see the video to determine whether or not he or she can be identified from the tape,” Ben continued.

“And you think that’s why Pauline excused herself to go lie down?” I asked.

“She
did
shoplift that time in college,” Myra said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I really find it hard to believe that she’s our killer. To go from shoplifting in college to bashing a man over the head with a cake stand and then drowning him in cake batter is a pretty significant leap. Myra, what did you discover about the spectators?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I threw the information around to anyone who’d listen. Most of them were either like,
Well, that’s good,
or they were like,
Yeah, yeah, move and let me see that cake
. I don’t think the killer was out schmoozing on the ballroom floor. I think Pauline is the one. As soon as you told her, she took off, right?”

“Wait,” said Mark. “She had a tetanus shot this morning?”

I nodded.

“Then if she’s sick enough to need to go to her room to lie down, we should check on her,” he said. “She might need medical attention.”

“I have her cell phone number. I’ll call her.” I took my phone and Pauline’s card from my purse and tapped in the number. I shook my head. “It went straight to voice mail.”

“Do you know her room number?” Ben asked.

“No,” I said.

“Let’s get someone from the inn’s security staff to go see about her,” Mark said.

“Yeah,” Myra said. “We’ll either find her sick in her room, or not sick in the place where they keep the surveillance tapes.”

The three of us raced to the front desk. Mark explained the situation and said that someone with the inn’s security team needed to immediately go to Pauline Wilson’s room to make sure she was all right.

“She had a tetanus shot this morning and was ill when she left the ballroom,” he said. “It might be an overreaction on our part, but we just tried to call her and got no answer. We want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Thank you so much,” Mark said. “Do you mind if we wait here until you learn about her condition?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Have a seat in the lobby, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

We waited about ten minutes before we heard an ambulance drive up outside. Two paramedics sprinted through the double front doors with a stretcher.

“This way,” said the clerk. She showed them to the elevator. “Room 143. Please hurry.”

“Is that about Pauline Wilson?” I asked.

The clerk nodded. “Yes. It seems she’s suffered a heart attack.”

“Will she be okay?” Ben asked.

“I’ve told you all I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Ben, Mark, Myra, and I got up and started walking slowly back toward the ballroom.

“What do you think this means?” asked Myra. “Do you think she’s guilty and knows she’s going to get caught, so that caused her to have a heart attack? Or do you think somebody poisoned her?”

“It could simply be that she had a reaction to the tetanus shot,” said Mark. “The tetanus vaccine can cause an increased heart rate.”