Sprinkle with Murder (17 page)

Nineteen

“Not again! ” Mel cried as she raced across the messy bedroom, stepping over piles of discarded clothing to get to Alma.
She dropped to her knees and rolled the young woman over. Her black hair was greasy and plastered to her head by dried sweat. Her pale skin was even paler than usual, and Mel put her ear to her chest to see if she was breathing.
There was a very slight rise to her chest, and Mel reared back and stared at her. Had she just imagined it, or was Alma breathing? She couldn’t tell. Panic made her fingers shake as she pressed them beneath Alma’s ear, looking for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.
“Alma,” Mel called her name. “Alma, can you hear me?”
She forced open Alma’s right eye and saw that the pupil was a tiny pinprick. At least she wasn’t dead. Not yet.
Mel dug through her purse for her phone. She pulled it out, but it shut itself off because of a low battery. Damn it!
“Stay with me, Alma,” she demanded, and ran out the front door.
The neighbor was still there, spraying his roses while sipping a steaming cup of coffee.
“Sir!” Mel yelled. “Sir, I found Alma. She’s unconscious. Call 9-1-1.”
“What?” The man looked at her in confusion. He released the sprayer nozzle and the water stopped. Mel repeated her order, and he gave a quick nod and barreled into his house.
Mel ran back to be beside Alma. She didn’t want anything to happen to her. Not on her watch. Not this time.
In less than five minutes the sound of sirens filled the air. The neighbor led the EMTs into the house, and Mel quickly told them exactly what she’d found when she arrived: Alma, facedown and barely breathing.
They set to work trying to revive her while Mel stood beside the neighbor.
“Good thing for her you stopped by,” he said. He looked distressed, and Mel patted his arm.
“Let’s hope so,” she said.
As the medics prepared to lift Alma onto a stretcher, her arm flopped down. One of the men, young with dark hair, leaned close to examine something on her side. He stood back and frowned at Mel.
“How well did you know her?” he asked.
“Not very,” she said. “Why?”
“Did she have any conditions, like rheumatoid arthritis or a back injury, something that caused her constant pain?”
“I don’t know,” Mel said. “Why?”
“She’s wearing a time-release pain patch,” the medic said. “It’s called fentanyl. It’s an opiate that helps people in chronic pain.”
“I don’t know,” Mel said again, feeling incredibly inadequate. She gave one of the medics her contact information and followed them out the door.
The neighbor offered to keep an eye on Alma’s place, and when they found her address book by her drawing table, he said he’d contact her family in Texas.
“I met them once when they were out here for a visit,” he said. “They seemed like nice folks.”
“Thank you, Mr. . . .”
“Horowitz,” he said. “But you can call me Ben.”
They shook hands and Mel climbed into her car, feeling like she just stepped off the Tilt-O-Whirl at the Arizona State Fair and hadn’t gotten her balance back.
This was no accident. Someone had tried to kill Alma. But who? Terry Longmore seemed the likely candidate. Maybe Alma was getting too demanding in her new job. Maybe she had too much leverage over him, given that they had stolen a gown and possibly murdered Christie together.
There was something about the pain patch that bothered her, however. She couldn’t help thinking it was a pivotal piece to the puzzle, but she couldn’t make it fit.
She drove down Hayden Road with the windows down. She was on autopilot, stopping or slowing at traffic lights, but she couldn’t have said whether they were green or red or yellow. Her brain whirred like an old hard drive trying to load too much information.
The photographer. Her memory of talking to Jay Driscoll came into her brain in a rush. He had said something about weight-loss patches at the photo shoot.
What had he said? Oh yeah, that they’d been delayed because Christie and her assistant had to put on some patch.
She turned right on Camelback Road and wound her way through Old Town. She found a parking spot on Main Street and hurried into the bakery. Angie was in back, getting ready to open.
Mel ran past her to the office.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Angie said.
Mel grabbed the cordless phone in the office and punched in Uncle Stan’s number.
“Cooper here,” he answered on the third ring.
“Does the ME know what killed Christie yet?”
“Melanie?” he said.
“Yes, it’s me. This is important. Have they figured it out yet?”
“I’m out of the loop on that case,” he said. “And I can’t talk to you about it.”
“Tell them to check for an opiate,” Mel said. “Something that would be time-released in a pain patch.”
“What’s going on, Mel?” His low voice was a bark.
“I went to see Alma Rodriguez today,” Mel said. “I found her unconscious. She was unresponsive but alive. The medic said she had a pain patch on and wanted to know if she had any chronic conditions. I don’t think she did. Uncle Stan, I think whoever murdered Christie tried to murder Alma, too.”
“I’ll call you back,” he said, and hung up.
Angie was standing in the door, looking stunned. “You heard?” Mel asked.
“All of it,” she said. “Who would want Alma dead?”
“The killer,” Mel said.
Angie slumped into the chair beside Mel’s desk.
“You think Alma knew who the killer was?”
“I don’t know,” Mel said. The phone rang, and she picked it up. “Hello.”
“I talked to the ME,” Uncle Stan said. “They don’t generally check for substances like that in their initial tox screen. They’re going to run it now.”
“Let me know what they find out,” Mel said.
Uncle Stan let out a sigh. “Mel, I’m calling your mother. I don’t want you to leave the bakery until we know what’s going on.”
“Don’t,” she said. “She’ll just worry.”
“Good, then she can join me,” he retorted. “I’m not kidding, Melanie Jean Cooper, you do not set one toe outside of that bakery. There’s a killer on the loose, and now that you’ve stopped them by finding Alma, you could very well be the next target. I’m sending a squad car to park out front. Do not move!”
He hung up before Mel could offer further arguments. She glanced at her watch. If Uncle Stan called her mother, then she had precisely four and a half minutes to get out of there before she was trapped.
She grabbed her purse and her phone charger out of the top desk drawer.
“Where are you going?” Angie asked.
“Serenity Springs,” she said.
“Where Olivia’s mother is? Why?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” Mel said as she hurried around the desk.
“Try me,” Angie said.
“What if Olivia murdered Christie?” Mel asked. She glanced over her shoulder to see Angie’s reaction, and bumped into the door frame. “Ouch.”
“ ‘Yes, we’ve made quite a few changes around here since you went crazy,’ ” Angie quipped.
Mel paused and grinned. “
Pink Panther
with Peter Sellers. Very nice.”
Angie ducked her head in humble acknowledgment. “Um, seriously, that’s nuts. Why would Olivia murder Christie? She didn’t even know her.”
“Think about it,” Mel said, leading the way into the kitchen. “Olivia has been obsessed with watching us. She’s completely paranoid that Fairy Tale Cupcakes will run her out of business. Tate and Christie’s wedding was going to be the event of the year, and we were hired to provide the cupcakes. What better way to make sure that didn’t happen than to kill the bride?”
“I know Olivia is crackers, but still, that’s whacktacular even for her.”
“Is it?” Mel asked. “I was there when she went mental on the attendant. What if she was making a scene to cover her tracks? What if she was stealing her mother’s pain meds and used them on Christie?”
“Even if she did murder Christie, why would she go after Alma?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Alma figured it out,” Mel said.
“How would Olivia have gotten close to Christie?” Angie asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to Serenity Springs, and I’m going to find that attendant and ask him if it’s possible that Olivia is really the one stealing the medication.”
“Your mother and Uncle Stan are going to have fits,” Angie said. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. I need you here, in case any more information comes in about what killed Christie. I promise I’ll charge my phone in the car and be in constant contact.”
“Call me every fifteen minutes, or I’m coming after you,” Angie said. She crossed the room and glanced out the window. “Your mother’s car just pulled up. You’d better go out the back. I’ll stall her.”
“Thanks, Angie.” Mel gave her a quick squeeze as she hustled out the back.
“Fifteen minutes!” Angie called after her.
Mel hurried around the side of the building. She waited until her mother entered the shop and then bolted for her car. It was time for her and Olivia to have their final show-down, and Mel was going to be ready.

Twenty

Olivia’s pink van wasn’t in the parking lot when Mel pulled into Serenity Springs. Good. Mel was hoping to have a minute to track down the attendant Olivia had been verbally abusing.
If what Mel suspected was true, then the young man would probably be happy to tell her that the real thief was Olivia, and if the ME found what Mel suspected, then the evidence around Olivia would become incontrovertible.
The sliding doors opened when she stepped on the black rubber mat. The same young woman who had been at the reception desk was there again. Mel scanned her memory for the girl’s name. Grace, that was it.
Today, she was wearing a navy blue sheath dress embroidered with white flowers. As soon as she saw Mel, she smiled in recognition and Mel felt as if she had been hugged. No wonder they had her working the front desk; she probably made everyone coming to see their elderly relative feel better.
Mel imagined the decision to put a parent in assisted care was a heavy one, and Grace’s smile made it seem okay.
“Ms. McAllister, it’s nice to see you again,” she gushed.
Mel debated telling her the truth about who she was, but feared it might make things overly complicated.
“Hi, Grace,” she said.
Grace frowned at her. “Are you here to see Ms. Puckett? I’m afraid she hasn’t been in to see her mother yet.”
“Actually, I have another story I’m working on,” Mel said. “It’s about elder care and prescription drugs.”
Grace gave her a cautious look. “I’d have to refer you to our director for any information about that.”
“That’s fine,” Mel said. She watched as Grace flipped through a phone list. “When I was here the other day, I heard Olivia yelling at someone about her mother’s medication. That’s what gave me the idea. It seemed to me that the poor guy was being wrongly accused, and I wondered if that happens often.”
Grace’s head snapped up. Her bright blue eyes sparked. “I’ll say it does.”
Mel knew she had chosen the right angle to work when Grace lowered her voice and said, “Honestly, it’s usually a member of the family.”
“Really?”
The doors behind them opened, and a resident in a wheelchair was pushed in by an orderly. They nodded as they passed, and Grace hurried around the desk, gesturing for Mel to follow her.
“I’d be in big trouble if they knew I told you this,” she said. “But if you keep my name out of it, I can tell you that in Mrs. Puckett’s case, we finally put a security camera in her room to try to catch the thief.”
Mel felt her body slow down with a whoosh. This was it. Olivia was going to be caught, and she and Tate would finally be free from suspicion.
“So, did you catch her, er, the person?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Grace said. “There were technical difficulties, but they’re going to try again.”
“Do you think they’ll catch Olivia soon, then?” Mel asked with what she knew was ill-concealed impatience.
“Olivia?” Grace blinked at her. “They’re not going after Olivia, they’re trying to catch her niece, Phoebe.”
“Phoebe?” Mel asked. She felt the rush of adrenaline slam through her again. “She’s about this tall, long blonde hair, dresses in bright colors, and giggles a lot.”
“That’s her,” Grace said with a scowl. “Her aunt’s been covering for her, but we suspected her from the beginning.”
Mel grabbed Grace’s arm and squeezed. “Thank you so much. You’ve been great, just great.”
She dashed out of the facility with Grace yelling, “You’re welcome!” after her.
She was just outside the door when she paused to call Angie. She flipped her phone open and got into her contacts. She quickly picked Angie and waited while the phone dialed.
Angie picked up on the first ring.
“What’s the good word?”
“It’s not who I thought,” Mel said.
“Is that Melanie?”
Mel could hear her mother’s voice in the background.
“Tell her to get back here right now.”
That was not her mother’s voice. It was much too deep and commanding, like Joe.
“Who’s there with you?” she asked.
“It’d be shorter to tell you who isn’t here,” Angie said. She sounded beleaguered.
“Tell everyone I’m fine,” Mel said. “I’ll call back when I can.”
“Wait!” Angie said. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I can’t,” Mel said. “I don’t want anyone to interfere. I’ll call when I can.”
She shut her phone and climbed into her Mini Cooper. She had just turned the key in the ignition when she felt something hard press against the base of her skull.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out what you were doing?” Phoebe said as she popped up behind her.
“Phoebe, what a surprise,” Mel said. She tried to sound casual but with a lethal-looking gun pointed at the back of her head, her voice gave way, making her sound almost as terrified as she felt.
“Drive,” Phoebe said. “I think we’ll go pay my aunt a visit.”
“Who’s your aunt?” Mel asked, hoping that playing dumb bought her some time and maybe some backup.
“Really?” Phoebe said with a shake of her blonde ponytail. “Is that really how you want to play it? I expected more out of you.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Mel said. Her eyes scanned the parking lot for help. There was no one. She glanced back in the mirror and met Phoebe’s gaze. Had she really never noticed the crazy glint in her eyes? That’d teach her.
“I’m sure you are.” Phoebe grinned. But it wasn’t a happy look; instead, it made Mel feel as if icy fingers had reached into her chest to squeeze her heart.
“Drive,” Phoebe said. “And just so we don’t have to play your little ‘duh’ game again, yes, our destination is Confections.”
Mel pulled out of the parking lot with Phoebe the time bomb in the backseat. What would detonate her finger on the trigger? A speed bump? A careless turn? Mel had no idea.
Why hadn’t she told Angie where she was going? Oh, yeah, she didn’t want anyone to interfere. Ha! That was a laugh riot now, wasn’t it? How arrogant she’d been to think she could take on a stone-cold killer by herself.
Mel thought of her mother and how she had suffered when her father died. She desperately did not want to put Joyce through that again. She thought about her brother, Charlie. He’d been calling her to see if she was okay, and she’d given him the brush-off, not wanting to worry him. Now, she’d give anything to be on the phone with him—not just to have him call the police for her, but so she could tell him how much she loved him and what a good brother he’d always been.
She felt her throat get tight, but swallowed past the lump. She glanced in the mirror and saw Phoebe watching her with a small smile of satisfaction. She was enjoying this, she was enjoying Mel’s angst and pain. Something snapped inside Mel. She refused to go out sad and maudlin. No, if she was going, she was going pissed and was planning to take Phoebe with her.
“What’s the matter?” Phoebe purred. “Are you getting annoyed with me?”
Mel glanced back at the road. She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing her anger. She compressed her lips into a thin line, tried not to think about the gun pointed at her head, and made the two left turns and one right turn that led them into the Confections parking lot.
It was still early, too early for Confections to be open. Phoebe led Mel out of the car towards the front door. She banged on the glass with three short raps.
The vertical blinds moved, and an eye stared out at them. Mel would have known that eye anywhere. Olivia.
The blinds went back into place, and with several turns and clicks the door was unlocked and pushed open towards them.
Phoebe gave Mel a shove that pushed her over the threshold and into the bakery.
“What are you doing here?” Olivia snapped at Mel.
Her gray corkscrew hair was twisted up onto her head and her cheeks were flushed in anger. She glanced behind Mel as if she wanted to shield her display cases from Mel’s prying eyes.
“Don’t worry, you have bigger problems than me making off with one of your cookie recipes,” Mel said.
“Phoebe, why are you with
her
?” Olivia asked.
“She’s a present,” Phoebe said. “Forgive me, I didn’t have time to wrap her.”
“What are you talking about?” Olivia glanced between them.
“Is anyone else here?” Phoebe asked.
“No, it’s just me until ten o’clock,” Olivia said. “Now, really, what is this all about?”
“Your niece is a killer,” Mel said. “Didn’t you know?”
“My niece? Ha!” Olivia barked. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to frame her to get to me.”
Mel shook her head. Obviously, the crazy apple had not rolled far from the crazy tree.
“She didn’t frame me,” Phoebe said. “And unfortunately, my attempts to frame her have failed.”
“Frame her?” Olivia leaned against her display case as if she needed the support. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Auntie, surely you must have suspected,” Phoebe said. At Olivia’s blank stare, Phoebe turned to Mel and said, “She’s not the brightest, but she does make a mean snickerdoodle.”
Phoebe turned back to Olivia and pulled the gun out from behind her back. “I killed Christie Stevens.”
“No!” Olivia gasped.
“ ’ Fraid so.”
“But you adored her,” Olivia protested. “You always said she was a visionary.”
“Yeah, well, she was also a coldhearted bitch, and believe me, it takes one to know one.”
Olivia slapped a hand over her chest and staggered back. Mel’s eyes widened at this little bit of melodrama.
“Are you really trying to convince me that you didn’t know Phoebe was stealing your mother’s pain patches, and that she used one to kill Christie?”
“Huh.” Phoebe tapped her chin with the forefinger of the hand not holding the gun. “You’re smarter than you look, Blondie.”
“You were stealing Mother’s pain patches?” Olivia gaped. “Phoebe, how could you?”
“I had a problem that I needed to take care of,” Phoebe said. “Remember the safety lesson that the nurse gave us on how to put the patches on Nana? She was very clear that fentanyl is deadly if too much is administered. Not for someone like Nana, who has developed such a high tolerance, but for someone like Christie it wouldn’t take much at all. Well, it got me to thinking. Then I did a little checking, and it turns out that the ME rarely checks for the drug fentanyl in a tox screen, so I knew that would be the perfect way to get rid of Christie. Well, that and planting a little rat poison in one of your cupcakes to send the trail of bread crumbs in your direction, thus nailing two birds with one stone, as they say.”
“It didn’t quite work out, though, did it?” Mel asked.
“No,” Phoebe said. “Best laid plans and all that. I tried to break into your shop and plant some of the rat poison I put in the cupcake, but that adorable DA was there with you, and I had to bail.”
“That was
you
watching my apartment that night,” Mel said. “I knew I saw someone.”
“Phoebe, I don’t understand.” Olivia’s voice was a whimper. “Why would you murder your boss, and what does
she
have to do with it?”
“Christie had me locked up in a contract tighter than Madonna in a bustier,” Phoebe said. “I couldn’t get out, and believe me I wanted out. I was fielding offers from design houses in Paris and Milan. She stole everything from me. But the final straw was the wedding gown. She promised me that if I designed it for her, she’d give me full credit, but she lied.
“I heard her talking to Jay Driscoll at the photo shoot, and she told him that
Vogue
and
Harper’s Bazaar
were in a bidding war over who would run a feature of her in the gown she designed for her own wedding. I stuck the patch on her that very night. Then I saw the cupcakes you sent over, and I realized if I framed you for it, I’d be helping out Auntie, too, by killing off her competition. Perfect, yes?”
“Phoebe, that’s just sick!” Olivia cried. “Surely you didn’t think you’d actually get away with it?”
“Oh, I’ll get away with it,” Phoebe said. She walked behind the counter and helped herself to a ribbon cookie. She nibbled on it and then glared at her aunt. “And you, Auntie, are going to help me.”
“Of course, I’ll get help for you,” Olivia said, and took a step towards Phoebe.
Phoebe raised the gun, and Olivia halted, finding herself nose to gun barrel. She swallowed, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead.
Mel knew she needed to distract Phoebe before she did something really crazy, like pull the trigger.
“What about Alma? Why did you go after her?”
Phoebe turned to face Mel and stepped away from Olivia.
“That’s your fault,” she said.
“How do you figure?” Mel asked.
“Don’t you remember?” Phoebe asked. “You’re the one who told me that she took the gown and exchanged it for a job with Terry Longmore, the hack.
My gown.
She took
my gown.
That design was going to be my entrée onto the international scene. I had to get it back. Plus, I knew she suspected I was the killer, so I had to cover my ass.”
“She didn’t die,” Mel said. “I found her in time. In fact, it was finding her with the patch on that made me put it all together. She’s going to wake up and talk, and you’re going to be busted not only for murder but for attempted murder as well.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Phoebe said. “Oh, not that I’m going to jail, because I’m not, but rather that Alma lived. But I think I planted enough pain patches in her apartment to be sure that she goes away for a very long time. After all, who’s a judge going to believe, a crazy junkie murderer or me?”
She batted her big, blue eyes, and Mel felt herself tremble. Phoebe was beyond crazy and well into deranged. She glanced at Olivia, and was not reassured to see her own horrified expression mirrored back at her.
“So, shall we?” Phoebe said.
“Shall we what?” Olivia asked.
Phoebe gestured at Mel with the gun. “Dispose of her.”
Olivia pulled herself off the display case. She sucked in a deep breath and said, “No, Phoebe, I won’t be a party to murder.”
Mel found herself more than a little surprised. Frankly, she had thought Olivia would jump at the chance to be rid of her competition.
“Very well, then.” Phoebe shook the gun at them and gestured for them to walk toward the back of the shop. “I see I’m on my own.”
“Phoebe.” Olivia’s voice held a note of fear. “What are you going to do?”
“Looks like you two are going to die in a rivalry gone wrong,” Phoebe said. “Good thing I had Christie’s father put all those flyers about you being a murderer all over Old Town, Mel. That’ll certainly make it believable.”
“Christie’s father did that?” Mel asked.
“Genius, I know,” Phoebe said. “He hired some teenagers to do it, but I bet he keeps quiet and lets Auntie take the rap.”
“Phoebe, your mother was my sister,” Olivia said in a plaintive voice. “You have to know she would never want you to harm me.”