When Magic Is Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 4) (15 page)

CHAPTER
35

The woman that answered the phone
at Jenna Burton’s salon in Boulder sounded like she had just taken an enormous
bite from a marble sandwich.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is this From Hair
to There?”

“Taz wub sigh zed,” she mumbled.

Hoping that I hadn’t misdialed, I
asked to speak with Jenna Burton.

“Wub momo,” the woman replied,
placing me on hold.

For the next three or four minutes,
I listened to a mix of recorded ads for eyebrow threading, tea tree oil shampoo
and open air waxing in the salon’s mountaintop spa. The ad about outdoor beauty
treatments was just getting started again when Jenna Burton came on the line.

“Miss Burton? This is Kate Reed. We
met the other day.”

She growled softly. “You again?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to bother you, but
I had a few more questions.”

There was no response, so I said
her name.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said
quietly.

“About Alec?”

“Yeah. You were here the day after
he died. But you didn’t say a word.”

I explained that it wasn’t my place
to inform anyone about the man’s death.

She grunted dismissively. “But it
was
your place to come and ask me a bunch of…” She swallowed the rest of whatever
she had in mind.

“I’m sorry, Miss Burton. I
literally
couldn’t
tell you about what had happened.”

“Then why did you come here the
other day?” she snapped. “And why are you bothering me now?”

“I used to work as a private
investigator,” I explained. “Someone from Crescent Creek had asked—”

“Do you think I give two shakes
about you?” Her voice was taut with anger. “Or someone from wherever?”

I kept my mouth closed and listened
to her sigh and curse. When she finally stopped, I apologized again and
continued telling her why someone from the Crescent Creek PD had to inform her
of Alec’s death.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “And now
you’ve got more questions, huh? Well, I don’t see how I can help you.”

I glanced down at the email that
I’d received earlier from Dina Kincaid. “Then why did you pay Dallas Kramer
five hundred bucks to intimidate Alec so he’d stay away from you?”

The chill I felt from her end of
the phone became glacial. I imagined the expression on Jenna’s face; eyes like
motionless dark stones and nostrils flared with anger.

“Look,” she said finally. “I don’t
know who you think—”

“I’m trying to help find the person
responsible for Alec’s death.”

“Who you think you are,” she
continued. “But there’s…” It took a second for my announcement to pierce her
rigid shell. “…um…the person
responsible
?”

“Yes. Alec’s death is being investigated
as suspicious by the Crescent Creek PD.”

The blistering fury that had been
crackling through the line faded into silence as she processed the news.

“Suspicious?” she said a moment
later. “Does that mean Alec was…
murdered
?”

“It means they’re looking into the
matter because it may have been foul play.”

“Was he shot?”

“No, the only wound was a contusion
to his forehead. But the ME thinks that was caused by a fall brought on by a
severe allergic reaction.”

“An allergic reaction?”

“The police detectives learned from
Alec’s doctor that he was extremely allergic to birch tree pollen.”

“Well, I already knew that.” The
icy thrust in her voice thawed slightly. “But it’s winter; how could tree
pollen hurt him now?”

I ignored the question and asked
who else might know about the severity of her ex-husband’s allergies.

“Not too many people really,” Jenna
said. “He doesn’t like just anybody knowing that stuff, but…” She took a deep
breath and then exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe someone would want to kill
him.”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s a
shocking thing to try and comprehend.”

“What about his family?” she asked.
“They all know about his allergies.”

“Sure, but…what about other
people?”

It sounded like she was crying, so
I waited for a moment before repeating the question.

“Well, I suppose some of his
buddies know,” she answered in a halting voice. “The guys he plays darts with
on Thursdays when he’s not working.”

“And you never told Dallas?”

She set free another blast of
off-color observations. I tapped my fingers lightly on the desk while I held
the phone away from my ear. When the tirade fizzled out, I asked what she’d
expected in return for the money she’d given to Dallas Kramer.

“Okay, okay,” she said finally. “I
paid the loser a few bucks to ruffle Alec’s feathers. But he didn’t even get to
start what we’d planned.”

“Because he got arrested?”

“The idiot,” she hissed. “I
should’ve known better.”

“Good point,” I agreed. “Paying
anyone
to threaten your ex-husband is never a good idea, Miss Burton. But the guy you
picked for the job? What a gem! It’s safe to say that Dallas Kramer isn’t
exactly responsible and trustworthy.”

She muttered something else that
made my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Then she asked why I wanted to know
about Dallas Kramer.

“I was just following up on
something,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” Her voice was a glacier,
cold and hard. “Like
what
?”

“For one thing,” I said, “you still
haven’t answered my question. Did you ever tell Dallas about Alec’s severe
allergies?”

There was no reply.

“Miss Burton?”

“I’m trying to think, okay?”

While I waited for her answer, I
checked my notes again. If Dallas Kramer was aware that Alec Halstead suffered
from oral allergy syndrome, it was entirely possible that he’d shared that
information with someone else. And, even though Kramer wasn’t in Crescent Creek
on the afternoon of Alec’s death, the person that he’d told could’ve slipped
something into whatever Alec ate or drank that day to ignite the allergic
reaction that proved fatal.

“Jenna?” I concentrated on sounding
friendly and diplomatic. “Did you ever tell Dallas Kramer that your ex-husband
has—”

“No!” she blurted. “I never told
him a thing about that!”

“And you’re positive?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Have you told
anyone else recently about Alec’s allergies?”

There was another long pause.

“Well, now that you mention it,
there was some chick,” she said quietly. “But it didn’t seem like a big deal or
anything at the time.”

“What was her name?”

She sighed. “Why do you want to
know so bad?”

“I have a theory about Alec’s
death,” I said. “But I wanted to talk to you one more time before I share it
with the police.”

“And you think that girl was
involved?”

I didn’t say anything, hoping the
grouchy salon owner would keep going.

“She was just some scrawny chick,”
Jenna continued a few seconds later. “When she showed up here one day and told
me she was in love with Alec, I told her to get lost because she wasn’t his
type. She was just so…
nice
. You know what I mean? She was sweet and
gentle and soft-spoken. I guess she caught me at a weak moment, because
normally I would’ve been a real bitch. Instead, we went and had a coffee
together.”

“And you don’t remember her name?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

“And you didn’t think to ask?”

“Why would I?” Jenna said in an
ice-cold tone. “I was getting ready to close for the night and someone tapped
on the window. When I went back up front, I saw this skinny chick with sad
puppy eyes. I thought maybe it was one of Trina’s clients, so I opened the door.”

“But she wasn’t a client?”

Jenna groaned. “Nope. She was this
lovesick girl asking about Alec.”

“What do you know about her?” I
asked. “Did you see her car? Is she from Boulder?”

“No,” she answered, sounding coy.
“She’s from down in your neck of the woods.”

“Someone from Crescent Creek?”

“Yep.”

“How old do you think she is?”

“Ah, I’m such a bad guesser,” Jenna
said. “Maybe early twenties or so.”

“Blonde, brunette, redhead?”

“Can’t say. She was wearing a big
black knit hat.”

“What kind of hat?”

“Big,” Jenna said. “And black.”

“Did it have a logo on the front?”
I asked. “Or any kind of decoration?”

“Yeah, actually. Now that you’re
asking me and I’m thinking back…there was a little white design embroidered on
the hat.”

“Can you tell me what it looked like?”
I asked. “Was it a leaf or a mountain or something else like that?”

As soon as she described the
insignia on the ski cap, I felt certain I was one step closer to discovering
who had killed Alec Halstead.

“Thanks, Jenna,” I said. “That’s
actually really helpful information to have.”

CHAPTER
36

After talking to Jenna Burton and
contemplating the curious twists in the Alec Halstead case, I decided to pay a
few Sky High bills. Paperwork and administrative duties were my two least
favorite things about running the bakery café, but I knew they were necessary
evils if I didn’t want to become buried in an avalanche of envelopes and
invoices. In less than a half hour, I was almost finished with the most urgent
items when Julia knocked on the door and came into my office.

“Why do you look like you’re about
to cry?” I asked.

“Because I just dropped a huge can
of crushed tomatoes on my foot,” Julia said.

“And we had three more special
orders come in during the last fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, Jules,” I said apologetically.
“I’m
so
sorry! Why didn’t you come get me?”

“It’s no biggie. I’ve got it
covered, so…well, I should say that I
had
it covered until I got to the
final request. Mrs. Corkery ordered a Pecan Nesselrode Pie for tomorrow, but I
can’t read your grandmother’s writing on the back of the recipe card.”

I cringed. In the past few months,
I’d chipped away at the task of rewriting all of Nana Reed’s recipes so they
were clear and legible. But a sizable amount still remained in their original
form—a combination of ingredient lists and directions scrawled in my beloved
grandmother’s indecipherable squiggles and doodles and obscure abbreviations.

“I guess that I’m really in the dog
house now,” I said.

Julia shrugged. “I thought you were
going to rewrite all of the recipes, Katie.”

“Guilty as charged,” I said. “And
I’m sorry, Jules. I’ve finished about half of the first group. Maybe I can get
the rest done on Sunday when we’re closed.”

“Sure, that’s fine. But I’m not
going to be able to make Mrs. Corkery’s order until I know what the last two
things say.”

I knew she was right. And I knew
that my first responsibility was to Sky High.

“Let me finish paying the bills,” I
said, glaring at the stack of invoices on my desk. “Then I’ll come right in and
make the Nesselrode for Mrs. Corkery.”

Julia smiled, turned for the door
and then glanced back over her shoulder. “What is a Nesselrode Pie anyway?” she
asked. “Mrs. Corkery is the only customer that orders them, and this is the
first time she’s called since your mother and father retired.”

“In a nutshell,” I said with a
little wink, “it’s a pecan cream pie that’s served chilled. The original
version was created a couple of hundred years ago for a Russian diplomat
named…” I paused to conjure the dusty memory. “Well, let’s call him Count
Something Something Nesselrode,” I continued. “He’s got two names, like Billy
Bob or Jimmy Ray, but I can’t recall them at the moment. And the original
recipe was for chestnut pudding, although Nana Reed substituted pecans because
they’re so much easier to find.”

Julia shook her head. “Will there
be a quiz later?” she asked. “Or is it safe to assume that you’re just sharing
all of that information because you’re making it up on the spot?”

I glowered at her playfully. “
Me
?
Make up a story?”

“We’re all capable of telling a
little fib now and then,” Julia said, moving through the door and into the
hall. “The key is not getting caught.”

CHAPTER
37

Later in the day, after decoding Nana
Reed’s recipe and finishing the pecan puree for Mrs. Corkery’s Nesselrode Pie,
I heard the phone ring in my office. I quickly poured the mixture into a shell,
covered it with plastic wrap and placed it in the walk-in to set.

“I’m coming!” I cried, running
toward the droning phone. “Please don’t be anyone changing their special
order!”

Luckily, it wasn’t; the call was
from Connie Larson.

“I found something,” she said in a
wispy voice.

I waited for a moment to see if
she’d reveal the discovery. Then I closed the door and sat down at my desk.

“Connie?”

She whispered my name.

“Whatever it is,” I said, “you need
to tell Dina if it’s related to Alec Halstead’s death.”

“I know that, but…” She sniffled.
“I found it in a backpack sitting on a counter in the kitchen.”

“At the Lodge?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I would never
dream of searching anyone’s private things, but it was right there, just out in
the open. I saw a flash of white as I walked by, so I just took a little peek
inside the backpack.”

“And saw…what?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the
magician’s missing glove.”

I asked if she’d shared the news
with Dina.

“Not yet, but I’ll call her next. I
wanted to tell you first because I know everything’s going to change once I
talk to her.”

There was no arguing the point; after
Dina got the call, she’d send someone over to the Crescent Creek Lodge to
collect the evidence.

“Where are you?”

“In my office,” Connie said softly.
“I also finally found the event orders and scanned them into PDF files. I was
getting to ready to email them to you.”

“Please,” I said. “Then I can
forward them to Dina if there’s anything significant.”

“There is,” Connie said. “And I’m
so sick to my stomach about this, Katie.”

I’d never been in a similar
position, but I could imagine how it would feel. I suggested that Connie stay
put for the time being.

“When Dina gets the news,” I told
her, “I imagine that her investigation will accelerate.”

After we talked through a few more
details, Connie said she was going to the cocktail lounge for a sangria as soon
as she talked to Dina.

“Don’t go wild over there,” I said,
hoping to elicit a laugh.

“I won’t,” she promised. “I just
need to—”

My laptop chimed as Connie’s email
arrived.

“—take the edge off a little bit,
Katie. You know what I mean?”

“Sure, of course. I don’t see how
one drink can hurt.”

The email had three attachments.
Each one included an individual event order for the bachelorette party and two
birthday celebrations that were scheduled for Crescent Creek Lodge the day that
Alec Halstead died.

“Did you get my note?” Connie
asked.

“I did. And I’m looking at the
details for the McAllister birthday party.”

“Sheila was so excited about
surprising her husband,” Connie commented. “But then it all went south. There’s
nothing wrong with the VFW Hall, but it’s not exactly the coziest place for an
intimate birthday bash.”

“I’m sure Sheila and her husband
understood it was out of your hands,” I said.

Connie sighed. “Everyone did. But I
still hated to see them disappointed.”

As she recounted a conversation she
had with the woman from New Orleans who was hosting the bachelorette party, I
noticed someone’s initials beside a hand-written change on one of the event
orders. They were small and faint, like wisps of fog in the distance. But when
I enlarged the image on my computer, I suspected that I knew who had been
responsible for Alec Halstead’s death.

“Connie?”

“Yes?”

“Do you see the initials on that
one event order?” I asked. “There beside the original dessert item?”

“Oh, my…” She gasped lightly.
“Well, that’s most definitely not Shannon’s handwriting, Katie, so maybe it’s a
mistake of some sort. And, besides, I’m sure that our guests didn’t mind the—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said as
delicately as possible, “but I definitely need to talk to Dina now.”

She sputtered a few more words
regarding the bride’s disappointment about the party being moved from the Lodge
to Luigi’s. And then she said the woman had called the next morning to say that
all was forgiven.

“Can you believe that?” Connie
asked. “She forgave me for the fact that someone died at my hotel? After being
so rude and surly that night?”

“Well, it was a stressful situation
for everyone,” I said, studying the event order on my laptop screen. “Now, why
don’t you go have that sangria? I need to find Detective Kincaid and bring her
up to speed on everything we just discussed.”