Death by the Dozen (27 page)

“Yes, there is,” Mel said. “I know if the wait is more than five minutes, you’ll duck out the back.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Angie, you can’t even stand in line for ten minutes for a flu shot. You’re possibly the worst patient ever, and I’m not letting you weasel out of your checkup.”

“All right, but they’d better have good magazines in that waiting room.”

Mel stood by her while she signed in. The desk person took Angie’s insurance information, and they selected chairs by the window.

There was only one
People
magazine to be had, and Mel let Angie have it so she wouldn’t get testy. She chose an old copy of
Food and Wine
for herself and settled in to wait.

Mel thumbed through the magazine, surprised when she saw a photo of one of their challenge to the chefs’ judges pop out at her. How could she have forgotten? Candace Levinson was an editor at
Food and Wine
magazine.

She flipped through the pages, looking to see if she could learn anything about Ms. Levinson that might prove helpful for tomorrow’s competition. The feature piece had been written by a celebrity chef and edited by Ms. Levinson. It was an excellent piece on the use of flower petals as edible ingredients. Mel was so engrossed in the article that she didn’t hear Angie’s name get called.

When Angie stood up, Mel automatically rose to go with her, but Angie shook her head and said, “Really, I think I can handle it.”

“So sad, too bad,” Mel said. “I’m coming with. I want his approval for you to compete tomorrow. You looked terrible after today’s competition.”

Angie rolled her eyes but argued no further, which to Mel was proof enough that Angie was not herself.

They sat in the exam room for a few moments after a nurse came and took Angie’s vitals. There was a quick knock on the door and Dr. Patel entered.

“Ms. DeLaura.” He smiled at her. “Well, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I feel better,” Angie said. “All better. You’re a miracle worker, Doc.”

He frowned. “You have no idea how true that is.”

Mel felt herself go still. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve discovered what the poison was that you ingested, Ms. DeLaura, and I have to say, you are very lucky to be alive.”

“What was it?” Angie asked. Her voice sounded unusually high, and Mel suspected she had to be a little afraid to find out what poison had been coursing through her body just two days ago.

“It’s a very rare poison—at least in this country,” Dr. Patel said. “My father is a doctor in India, and I was reviewing my cases with him—we do that every week—and when I told him about your symptoms, he said it sounded like you had been poisoned by the seeds of a Suicide Tree.”

“A what?” Angie and Mel asked together.

“There is a tree in India, commonly called the Suicide Tree or Pong-pong,” Dr Patel said. His voice was grave. “Many people eat the seeds in order to commit suicide, thus the name.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Angie said. “I’m more of a ‘swan dive off of a high building’ type.”

Dr. Patel frowned.

“Sorry, bad joke,” she said.

Mel pinched Angie just above the elbow.

“Ouch.” Angie rubbed her arm.

“Behave,” Mel said. “Can you tell us more about the poison?”

“Its scientific name is
Cerebra odollam
, and it contains a heart toxin called cerberin, which is similar to digoxin, the poison found in foxglove.”

“So that’s why you were able to treat it because it was similar?”

“Exactly,” he said. “The Suicide Tree grows only in India and Southeast Asia. I can’t imagine how you could have come into contact with it, but if its seeds were crushed and served with spicy food, you may not have been able to taste it. It can shut down the body within an hour. Of course, it depends upon the size of the person and how much they ate. Ms. DeLaura is small so the poison would affect her more rapidly than a larger person.”

Mel and Angie exchanged a glance.

“It must have been put in my food at the café,” she said. “And it was probably in yours, too.”

“There’s no way to know,” Mel said. “By the time I got to the table, you were already reacting to the poison, and I never touched my food. The police tried to retrieve it, but the trash had already been picked up.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Dr. Patel said. “From an investigative standpoint.”

“Indeed,” Mel agreed. “Would you be willing to talk to my uncle about what you suspect? He’s a detective with the Scottsdale Police Department.”

“Of course,” he said. “But I am just speculating.”

“I know, but I think you’re on to something,” Mel said. She looked at Angie. “All right if I leave you for a bit?”

“Sure, I’m in good hands,” Angie said with a smile at Dr. Patel.

Mel fished her cell phone out of her pocket as she left the patient room and walked outside. She stood on the side of the building while she waited for Uncle Stan to pick up.

“Hello, Mel, is everything all right?” he answered. Obviously he’d seen her name pop up in his caller ID.

“Uncle Stan, did you say that the ME was doing tox screens on Vic’s body?” she asked.

“Yeah, we don’t have the results back, however.”

“I think I may have a lead on what killed him.”

“I’m listening.”

“Angie’s doctor has a theory about the poison she ingested,” Mel said. “It’s not something found in the United States. If they run the standard screens on Vic, they’re not going to pick it up.”

“What kind of poison is it?”

“It’s a toxin in the seeds from a tree in India called the Suicide Tree.”

“Whoa,” he said. “You have a number for this doctor? I want to talk to him.”

Mel read it off to him.

“You know, if you ever get tired of the bakery,” Uncle Stan said, “I could probably get you on the force.”

Mel laughed. “I think I’ll stick with cupcakes.”

“Mel, if this is true and we can link Angie’s poisoning with Vic’s, then we have a real case for murder and attempted murder.”

“I know,” Mel said.

“Watch your back,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks, Uncle Stan,” she said.

Mel shut her phone. She studied the carefully xeriscaped land that surrounded the building. Decorative red gravel dotted with hesperaloe and spineless prickly pear cactus gave the squat red building a desert flare that was low on water intake and maintenance.

She watched as a hummingbird flitted over the aloe, looking for blooms. Her mind felt just like that tiny bird with its invisible wings. Her brain was flitting over all the information she had taken in over the past few days.

She was still standing there when Angie came out to meet her.

“What did Uncle Stan say?” Angie asked.

“He was interested,” Mel said.

“So, what are you doing out here?”

“Thinking,” Mel said.

“Oh, no.” Angie shook her head.

“What, I’m not allowed to think?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” Mel asked as they walked toward her car.

“The one that says you’re going to stick your nose where it does not belong.”

“That’s a look?”

“Yes, and for your information, it’s not attractive,” Angie said.

“I’m just going to look up an old friend and have a nice little chat,” Mel said. “No big deal.”

“What friend?” Angie asked.

“An old cooking school buddy,” Mel said. She was going for vague, hoping Angie would let it go. No such luck.

“Dutch. You’re going to talk to Dutch,” Angie said.

“Maybe,” Mel said.

“You can’t go alone,” Angie said.

“I have to,” Mel argued as they got into her car. She turned on the ignition and hit the gas, sending them out of the parking lot and out onto the street. “He’ll talk to me one on one. I’m sure of it.”

“He could be the killer!”

“I don’t think so,” Mel said. Although, she had to admit, she could be wrong.

“Take me with you or I’m telling Joe,” Angie said.

“No!” Mel argued. “You almost got killed. You’re not going anywhere near this thing again.”

“Fine.” Angie fished her cell phone out of her purse. She began to dial.

“Angie, don’t you dare!” Mel said.

“Then take me with you,” Angie said. She had her finger hovering over Joe’s name. One tap and the call would go through.

“All right, but I go in alone,” Mel said. “We stay connected through our phones, and you don’t eat or drink anything. Got it?”

“Roger, that,” Angie said and closed her phone without placing the call. “I’m so glad you’ve come around to my way of thinking.”

Mel rolled her eyes as she headed for the Hotel Valley Ho. She had a sinking feeling she was going to regret this in a big way.

Mel left her car with the valet, and they trotted into the lobby. Mel stopped at the desk and asked if they could place a courtesy call to Dutch Johnson’s room. The desk worker graciously placed the call, and Mel waited.

“Do you think there is an issue of impropriety with us talking to a judge the night before the final competition?” Angie asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Mel said. “I’m not here to bribe him, so I don’t see why it would be.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, he’s not answering his phone,” the desk clerk said.

“That’s all right,” Mel said. “Thanks for trying. We’ll just go have a drink. Maybe he’ll turn up.”

“Excellent, ma’am,” he said with a smile.

“We’re not really going to stake out the place, are we?” Angie asked. “I mean we have a pretty big day tomorrow.”

“There’s more to life than winning a baking competition,” Mel said as she strode toward the bar but then did an abrupt turn and went to the elevators instead.

“I have to disagree. There really isn’t more to life than beating the apron off of Olivia Puckett for me. I still think she’s the one who poisoned our breakfasts at the café.”

“We have no proof that she was at the café when we had breakfast,” Mel said.

“Oh, please, she’s like the Wicked Witch of the West,” Angie said. “She probably sent one of her flying monkeys over to do it.”

“Call me crazy, but I think I would have noticed a flying monkey hovering over our food,” Mel said.

The elevator doors opened and they climbed inside. Mel knew that Jordan’s room had been next to Grace’s, and she was betting that if Dutch was anywhere to be found, it was in the hot young protégée’s room.

“You know what I mean,” Angie said. “She probably had one of her lackeys do it.”

“Do you really think it was Olivia?” Mel asked. “I know she’s crazy, but murder?”

“You saw that wacko light in her eye when she tried to keep us from entering the competition,” Angie said. “I’m telling you she’d do anything to beat us.”

“Okay, well how does she know about the Suicide Tree?” Mel asked. “Whoever used this poison had to have had access to the seeds from that tree, which only grows in India and Southeast Asia. You heard Dr. Patel. This isn’t a common poison.”

“Maybe she went on holiday there,” Angie said.

“And gathered deadly seeds just for giggles?” Mel asked. “No, I think someone planned this. I think it was someone who went to India recently.”

The elevator doors slid open, and Mel stepped out and strode down the hall to the room she knew was Jordan’s. She put her ear to the door, listening for voices, but there was none.

She gestured Angie to follow her, and they stood around the corner from the room. “Go ahead and call me.”

Angie did, and Mel answered her phone, opening a line of communication so Angie could tell if she was getting in over her head.

“Are we connected?” Angie asked.

“Yep, and the signal is strong,” Mel said. “Now, I’m going to knock and see if Dutch is there, but either way I’m going to talk to someone until I get some answers.”

“Just be safe,” Angie said, keeping her phone to her ear while Mel put hers in the front pouch of her purse.

“Will do.”

Mel left Angie and went back to Jordan’s door. This time she knocked.

She heard the rustle of someone moving behind the door. She waited, smiling into the peephole but not showing any teeth—yet.

The door swung open and Jordan stood there in highcut white shorts and a red halter top with matching strappy red high-heeled sandals.

“What do you want?” she asked. Obviously, she didn’t feel the need to play nice.

“I’m looking for Dutch,” Mel said.

“Why would he be here?” Jordan demanded, looking perfectly outraged.

“Because you’re sleeping with him and probably have been for a long time,” Mel said. It was a punt, but she had nothing to lose.

“I don’t know where you get your information—” Jordan began, but Mel cut her off.