Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

Even though the woman came off as
ditzy and dubious, it seemed that she really liked Tim’s irritated cat. I
stayed in the living room while she and Viveca escorted Bad Dog to the bedroom
at the end of the hallway. When they returned, I asked Delilah to tell us how
she met Tim.

“In this lifetime?” she asked
gravely. “Or the previous one?”

“Take your pick,” I said, tossing a
quick wink at Viveca. “We’ve got all night.”

Delilah casually strolled across
the room and perched on the arm of an upholstered chair that looked like it had
seen better days. “Well, I was coming in from Wild Oats with two enormous bags
of organic produce,” she explained, holding both of her pale, slender arms up
to reenact the scene. “My acupuncturist had recommended that I try a better
diet, so I threw away all of my Jenny Craig and bought a bunch of leafy green
things. You know, like kale, Swiss chard, bok choy.”

“Sounds awful,” Viveca said, taking
a seat at the end of the shabby brown plaid sofa. “But what’s that got to do
with my brother?”

“Well, as you must know,” Delilah
said, arching one eyebrow, “Timothy is a
very
polite man. As I stood
outside the main door downstairs, struggling to turn the knob without dropping
my groceries, he came up from behind and offered to give me a hand.”

“Chivalry is not dead,” I offered
from where I stood near the windows. “I take it this was after Tim had started
subleasing his place from Toby?”

Delilah nodded vigorously. “A
couple of weeks after he moved in,” she said. “Although I certainly didn’t
think it was a smart romantic choice once I heard him arguing with the guy that
lived across the hall. I mean, they were going at it so viciously that I
thought somebody might end up dead.” Her mouth gaped open as she realized the
irony of her remark. “Oh, g-g-gosh,” she sputtered. “I didn’t mean that
literally or anything. Especially after what happened with Tim’s neighbor the
other day.”

“What were they fighting about?” I
asked.

Delilah snickered nervously before
her glossy red lips lifted into a crooked grin. “I have no idea,” she said.
“But I can tell you one thing for a fact.” Her eyes fixed on Viveca and the
grin blossomed into a bright smile. “That brother of yours has got himself one
pretty fierce temper. And I’m determined to do everything in my power to get
him to keep calm and carry on.”

CHAPTER
10

I watched Viveca while she kept her
eyes pinned to Delilah’s smile. The room was quiet for a few seconds as I tried
to decide if I should ask a question or wait. In the end, there was no need for
either.

“I’m just pulling your leg!”
Delilah suddenly blurted. “He and Delmar were arguing about football that time
I heard them in the hall. Timothy would never hurt anybody.”

Viveca sighed softly. “That’s not
what the police think. It really seems like they suspect that he
did
kill the guy.”

Delilah’s mouth slid into a frown.
“Do you really think so?”

“Unfortunately,” Viveca said.

“That’s horrible.” The other
woman’s body went limp and she slid over the arm of the chair and into the
cushion like buttercream frosting melting in the summer sun. “Tim didn’t tell
me a word about that,” she added. “Maybe he was trying to keep me from getting
too worried or something.”

“Delilah?” I said, casually
smoothing a wrinkle on my sleeve. “What’s Delmar’s last name?”

She glanced over and shrugged. “Not
really sure,” she said. “Sanders? Singer?” She threw up both hands and giggled.
“Do I look like the kind of girl that would be interested in a dumpy guy like
that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”

The jittery expression on her face
made it obvious that she wasn’t sure if I was being serious or joking. To put
her mind at ease, I slipped in a follow-up to remove any doubt.

“What kind of girl is interested in
dumpy guys?”

In an instant, her eyes narrowed
and the muscles in her jaw tightened. “How should I know? I’m Timothy’s
girlfriend.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Remember?”

I ignored the glib remark, steering
the conversation back to the matter at hand by asking Delilah if she knew where
we could find Viveca’s brother.

“Did you call him?” she asked.

Viveca explained that he wasn’t
answering his phone.

“Then maybe just leave a note over
there.” She gestured at the cluttered kitchen counter.

“That’s what I do whenever I can’t get him to answer and he
isn’t home.”

“Did he tell you where he was
going?” I said as Viveca got up and walked to the counter.

Delilah leaned against the back of
the chair. “We’ve got plans to go hear some music tonight. He better get his
butt back in time for the late show.”

“Who’s playing?” I said.

She blinked. “What?”

“You just mentioned that you and
Tim are going out tonight.”

She giggled again. “Oh, that’s
right. Uh, it’s a band from Boulder. Nobody you’d know.”

“What club?” I asked.

The squinty, evasive expression
reappeared on her face. “Ah, it’s the…um…” She swallowed and brushed one hand
across her face. “Sorry, I’m kind of spaced from the lack of sleep. We’re going
to Mercury Café. Do you know it? They have belly dance classes on Monday. Maybe
you guys should check it out sometime.”

I looked over to see if Viveca
heard the suggestion, but she was rummaging through the pizza boxes, magazines
and unopened mail on the counter.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling at
Delilah. “But what’s the name of the band tonight?”

Her face went rigid. “Jeez, dude!
What is this—the Spanish Imposition or something?”

Between the increased volume and
irritable edge, Delilah’s coarse comment brought Viveca back into the
conversation.

“What did I miss?” she asked,
walking toward the sofa.

“Twenty questions,” Delilah
snapped. “Your friend here seems to be super interested in what Timothy and I
are doing tonight.”

Viveca nodded. “What are you
doing?”

Delilah’s jaw tightened again.
“We’re going to Lost Lake Lounge,” she said. “It’s up on Colfax if you want to
check it out. There’s a band from Boulder playing. They’re called Moonglow
Heaven.” She paused and brushed her face again. “They do mostly reggae and
blues,” she said in a calmer tone. “Although, to be honest, you two don’t look
like the kind of girls who are into that kind of thing.”

CHAPTER
11

“What was that supposed to mean?”
Viveca hissed. “‘You two don’t look like the kind of girls who are into that
kind of thing.’ I mean, she’s one to talk, don’t you think?”

It was twenty minutes later and we
were back in the BMW, heading to the Denver PD offices on Cherokee Street. As
we left Tim’s apartment, I’d called Adam Caldwell, the detective that Trent
suggested I talk to about the situation. He told me that he was at police
headquarters for a meeting and could spare a few minutes if we got there in the
next half hour.

“I mean, my brother has
never
mentioned that Delilah’s a total flake,” Viveca added. “And I can’t believe
that he’d
ever
date anybody so judgmental.” Her hands were squeezing the
steering wheel with a death grip that was turning her knuckles white. “I cannot
believe that she made those cracks about what kind of girls we are!”

I gave her a gentle nudge with one
elbow. “I know, especially since we’re
women
and not
girls
.”

The remark worked. Viveca’s scowl
quickly softened into cheerful laughter as she ran through a list of things she
didn’t like about Delilah.

“I mean, can you tell me what that
was on her head?” she said. “A dead raccoon? Cruella de Vil’s spare wig?”

“It was a two-tone disaster,” I
offered. “Although she’d also probably say that we’re not the kind of girls who
could understand such a fashionable hairdo.”

 Viveca groaned. “And that
outfit! What a freak! Knee-high sandals and a silk robe? Like some kind of
wannabe supermodel!”

“Well, the most interesting thing
about the last part of our conversation was the fact that Delilah mentioned two
different clubs in her flustered explanation of where she and Tim were going
tonight.”

“So?” Viveca frowned. “Why are you
surprised? She doesn’t seem like a very organized kind of person.”

I nodded. “I agree, but don’t you
think there was something jumpy about her whole demeanor?”

Viveca considered the question. “I
suppose so,” she said eventually. “But that’s the first time we’ve met her.
Maybe she was nervous because I’m Tim’s sister.”

“Anything’s possible,” I agreed.
“But, whatever the reason, she was pretty flustered.”

After a few minutes of silence,
during which she kept one hand on the wheel and nervously nibbled on a
thumbnail, Viveca said there could be another reason Delilah was acting so
strangely.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Maybe she had something to do with
the neighbor’s murder,” she suggested. “And maybe all of her—”

I tapped her arm to interrupt.
“That’s our stop,” I said, pointing at the angular stone-and-glass buildings in
the next block. “We should try and find a parking place so we can go talk to
Detective Caldwell.”

“Are we meeting him in the lobby or
what?”

I shook my head. “In the courtyard
between the buildings,” I said. “I’ll give him a quick call as soon as we park.
He’s leaving for an appointment in a few minutes, so we’ll just talk outside
and ask him what he knows about Tim’s case.”

She took a deep breath. “I cannot
believe this is happening, Kate. My brother’s such a good guy.” She slowed to a
stop as the light turned red. “Did he always get good grades? No. Was he a
terror during high school? Absolutely. Can I see him trying to kill somebody
with poison? Not in a million years.”

She was so lost in thought that she
didn’t hit the gas when the light turned green. A couple of moments later, the
driver in the car behind us blasted the horn and Viveca shook off the hazy
recollection.

“Sorry about that,” she said,
waving in the rearview mirror.

When we finally found an open
parking space and started walking toward the Denver PD building, I called the
number that Trent had given me for Adam Caldwell. It rang six times and dropped
into the guy’s voicemail.

“Hi, Detective Caldwell,” I said as
we crossed Bannock Street and headed north. “This is Kate Reed again. Viveca England
and I are on the way. We should be there in less than five—” A muted
beep-beep-beep
signaled an incoming call, so I checked the screen and toggled to the other
line. “Detective Caldwell?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said.
“I was on the elevator and couldn’t get to my phone.”

I told him we were on the way and
asked if he still had time to talk.

“Ten minutes max,” he said. “I’m
due on the other side of the city shortly.”

“Okay, we’ll hurry,” I told him.
“How will we know it’s you?”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Kate,” he
said. “Trent sent me your high school yearbook photo. I’ll be watching for
you.”

Before I could register a defensive
comment about my hair in the picture, the line went dead.

“Are we all set?” asked Viveca.

“He’ll be waiting for us,” I said,
sliding the phone into my back pocket. “But he doesn’t have much time.”

CHAPTER
12

Detective Caldwell was standing
near one of three flagpoles when we turned into the courtyard from the
sidewalk. He was talking on his phone and gave us a little wave to identify
himself. When we joined him beneath the fluttering Colorado state flag, he put
the phone in his coat and extended his right hand.

“Adam Caldwell,” he said in a
strong voice splashed with a faint Southern accent. “It’s good to finally meet
you, Kate.” He smiled, revealing a collection of slightly crooked teeth. “I’ve
heard a lot about you from Trent.”

I shook his hand, acknowledged the
comment about my high school flame with a slight nod and then introduced
Viveca.

“I’m really sorry to hear about the
situation with your brother, Miss England,” Caldwell said as his smile shifted
toward something between friendly and distant. “And I don’t know how much I can
help, given the circumstances. But Trent’s a good guy, so I wanted to at least
say hello since you’ve come down to the city today.”

I checked Viveca’s face. She looked
dismayed and touchy. Before she could say anything regrettable, I thought it
would be best to jump in.

“Thanks for taking a moment to meet
us,” I said, smiling at Caldwell. He was a tall blond with broad shoulders, a
trimmed beard and a deep tan that suggested he liked to be outdoors as much as
possible. “We’re just trying to make some sense out of a fairly
incomprehensible situation.”

He smiled. “That’s my daily
challenge, Kate. But you probably know that world well, right?”

“I run a bakery café,” I said.
“It’s not as complicated as what you do.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. “But Trent
told me about Chicago; you worked as a PI for a few years after college,
right?”

“Yeah, the art history degree
seemed like a good idea when I was eighteen. But it didn’t exactly set me up
for a rewarding post-collegiate life.”

Viveca sighed. “Can we maybe get to
my brother?”

Caldwell shifted toward her. “Look,
Miss England,” he said with genuine warmth. “As I’ve already told you, there’s
not much I can do since Tim’s involved with an active investigation. I’m sorry
that you’re caught up in this, but his alibi hasn’t been verified and we have
an eye witness that places him in the victim’s hospital room just before Mr.
Singer’s body was discovered.”

Viveca heaved another sigh. “I
don’t care what anybody says! My brother is innocent, okay? There’s no way he
would hurt that guy.”

“It’s gone past hurting Mr. Singer
at this point,” Caldwell said slowly. “The man was murdered; suffocated in his
hospital bed while being treated for ingestion of a poisonous substance. And we
have an eyewitness who saw your brother entering Singer’s room a few minutes
before the poor guy was found with a pillow over his face.”

Viveca’s head fell forward. “I will
never
believe those lies,” she said, her chin pressing against her
chest. “I know my brother.” She slowly lifted her gaze to the detective’s face.
“And you don’t, okay? Tim’s a
good
boy. He wouldn’t do anything like
this.”

Caldwell nodded. “I can appreciate
how you feel,” he said. “But we’ve got a job to do. And that is identifying the
perpetrator with evidence and eyewitness testimony. At this moment, unless our
team confirms Tim’s alibi or finds clues that point us in another direction, it
doesn’t look very good for your brother.”

We stood in silence for a few
seconds. I listened to the sound of the flags in the wind overhead and their
metal grommets clicking against the poles. Caldwell pulled out his phone again.
He squinted at the screen and started to swipe the display when Viveca suddenly
reached out and took his arm.

“What about motive?” she asked.
“And the poison? How would my brother get his hands on cyanide?”

The detective flinched at the
unexpected contact. He looked down at the pale fingers looped around his wrist
before smiling again at Viveca.

“Motive?” he said blankly.

“Yes, what’s the motive?” Her face
had suddenly gone from tight and anxious to hopeful and bright. “Why would my
brother kill his neighbor?”

“Viv?” I said, trying to intervene.
“We should probably let Detective Caldwell go to his meeting.”

She ignored me and squeezed the guy’s
arm tightly. “Tell me, detective,” she demanded, finally releasing the grip and
lowering her hand. “If you’re so convinced that Tim’s responsible for poisoning
his neighbor and then smothering him with a pillow, tell me why he’d do such a
thing.”

Caldwell shrugged. “It’s way too
early to know that, Miss England. Our team is working diligently to get to the
bottom of the situation.”

The corners of Viveca’s mouth
quivered slightly before her smile went flat. “Well, when they do get to the
bottom,” she said, “they’ll find somebody else. Because my brother isn’t a
murderer. And he wouldn’t have the first clue about where to buy something like
cyanide.”

While Caldwell nodded silently, I
put one hand on Viveca’s forearm. “I get that you believe in your brother,” I
said slowly. “But your conviction isn’t enough to exonerate him.”

Her eyes drifted up to meet my
gaze. “I’m not just talking about my conviction, Kate. I’m talking about
reality. Where would Tim buy cyanide?”

“I don’t think any of us can answer
that question at the moment,” Caldwell said. “But I can tell you that our
forensics team determined that the cupcakes had been laced with an
acetonitrile-based product, which is metabolized by—”

“Wait!” Viveca said urgently. “What
kind of product? I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

Caldwell nodded again. “One example
is the solvent that removes acrylic fingernails,” he explained. “I’m not saying
for certain that was used in the cupcakes, but it’s one possibility. The lab’s
still processing the samples to identify the actual source.”

Viveca sputtered a few garbled
words before regaining her composure. “Sorry, detective. I’m losing my mind
over this whole thing.” She paused, managed a feeble smile and continued. “Can
you please explain that to me one more time?”

“About the acetonitrile in the
cupcakes?”

She nodded, waiting for his reply.
He glanced at me briefly.

“Want me to?” I asked. “Rodney and
I ran into something similar on a case we worked in Joliet about three years
ago.”

He shook his head and then glanced
at Viveca. “Suppose that someone mixed fingernail remover into the cupcake
frosting,” Caldwell began. “If they masked the taste with dark chocolate, your
brother’s neighbor wouldn’t realize what he was eating. Once he ingested the
frosting, his body would metabolize the acetonitrile in the solvent and it
would become cyanide.”

Viveca listened carefully,
narrowing her eyes as she sorted out the details from Caldwell’s explanation.

“My brother said the guy didn’t get
dizzy or start convulsing until the next day,” Viveca said slowly. “How is that
possible? Wouldn’t you have a reaction right away?”

I shook my head. “Not with
acetonitrile,” I said. “It converts slowly to cyanide in the body, which
explains why Delmar Singer didn’t end up in the hospital until the next
morning.”

Caldwell nodded. “Because the guy
ate all four cupcakes after he got them from your brother,” he added. “With the
delayed toxicity of acetonitrile poisoning, victims can go about their regular
routines—work, school, leisure activities—until they start to feel dizzy and
nauseous. It generally takes around ten, eleven, maybe twelve hours before they
notice the initial symptoms.”

“And then what—you just die?” asked
Viveca.

“No, the dangerous cyanide blood
levels can persist for up to twenty-four hours,” I said, watching Caldwell pull
out his phone. “At least, that’s what the ER docs told us. In the Joliet case,
the victim was in the ICU for a couple of days getting sodium nitrite and …” I
paused, trying to recall the name of the other compound I’d heard nearly three
years before. “Oh, shoot! I know there was something else they gave—“”

“Thiosulphate,” Caldwell said with
a wide grin.

“Smarty pants,” I said. “Did you
just happen to have that tucked in the back of your brain?”

He shook his head and held up his
phone. “Google. I’d never heard of this kind of poison until the medical
examiner explained it to me.”

After a few more comments about the
toxicity of acetonitrile, Caldwell politely explained that he needed to leave
for his next appointment. He shook our hands, promised to keep in touch and
suggested that we call him directly if and when we had questions and concerns.

“Questions and concerns?” Viveca
fumed a moment later as we walked back to her car. “Did he
really
just
say that?”

I draped one arm around her
shoulders and squeezed. “Viv? I know you’re hurting right now, but Caldwell
isn’t the enemy. He’s just doing his job.”

She jerked out of my embrace and
spun around. “I am
so
tired of hearing that!” she screamed. “He’s just
doing his job!” Her hands knotted into fists that she shook in midair. “Well,
it’s
my
job to prove that Tim’s innocent! He didn’t do this, Kate. He
didn’t kill his neighbor or anybody else and he never will!”

I waited for the fury to subside
before gently cupping her elbow and helping her down the sidewalk.

“C’mon, Viv,” I said soothingly.
“Let’s get back to Crescent Creek. We’ll go to Sky High and I’ll make dinner
for you.”

She walked with her eyes on the ground
for a few seconds before slowly looking up. “I’d like that,” she whispered.
“Could we have waffles?”

I smiled. “You betcha! Waffles and
eggs and whatever else you’d like.”

“Thank you, Kate. I don’t know
how…” She paused to choke back a tear. “You’re a good friend,” she said. “And a
great neighbor. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay this kindness.”

I pulled her in for a hug. “Let’s
not worry about that until after we figure out what’s going on with your
brother,” I suggested. “In the meantime, I’ll drive us home and then we’ll have
waffles and eggs and maybe just one or two glasses of chardonnay.”