When Magic Is Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 4) (12 page)

CHAPTER
26

“I hope you’re having a better day
than me,” Dina grumbled after answering my call. “Someone robbed Chadwick’s about
two hours ago. Smashed the display cases, took every last diamond ring and left
Bella and Danny in the office trussed up with duct tape and nylon ropes.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Do you hear me laughing?” Dina
said in a humorless murmur. “I’m exhausted, Katie. And there are still three or
four witnesses to interview.”

“Well, it sounds more like a big
city crime, not something that would happen in Crescent Creek.”

She sighed. “Paradise is going to
you-know-where in a you-know-what.”

I thought about turning her remark
into a joke in the hopes that it might lighten her mood, but then decided
nothing could lift a ten-ton slab of fatigue and edginess. Instead, I asked if
Bella and Danny Chadwick were doing okay.

“Bella’s going to have bruises on
her arms where she was grabbed,” Dina explained. “And Danny tried to resist, so
they smacked him around a bit.”

“How awful! I’m so sorry to hear
about that.”

“I know,” Dina agreed. “It’s the
second time they’ve been robbed in the new location.”

“Maybe they should move back to the
old one,” I suggested.

Dina snickered. “I doubt if Carol
would be willing to give up the lease. Her store’s doing really well after a
pretty rocky start.”

“She’s got the knitting place?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Dina said. “So…I
got your message earlier about Alec Halstead.”

“Had you already identified him?”

“We had actually. Amanda Crane was
searching the grounds at the Lodge again this afternoon. She found a medical
alert bracelet, a set of car keys, the guy’s wallet and a small suitcase packed
with magic gear about fifty yards from the gazebo. They were all bundled
together in dark green trench coat.”

“Alec Halstead’s?”

“You got it. The bracelet was
particularly helpful. The techs found a fingerprint that they’re running through
the national database. And the details on the bracelet directed us to
Halstead’s emergency contact in Boulder, a doctor by the name of Bertram
Justice.”

“And what did he tell you about
Halstead?”

“Tyler Armstrong talked to the
doctor this afternoon. Apparently, Alec Halstead was healthy as a horse with
one exception.”

“What’s that?” I asked. “Diabetes
or a bad heart?”

“Oral allergy syndrome.”

“That’s a new one for me,” I said.

“Makes two of us,” Dina agreed.
“I’d never heard of it until Tyler called after he talked to Dr. Justice.”

I asked her to tell me more about
how the condition may have contributed to the death of the magician from
Boulder.

“Well, in a nutshell,” Dina began,
“Dr. Justice said oral allergy syndrome could most definitely have been a
contributing factor to Alec Halstead’s death. Although the blow to his head was
significant, it wasn’t fatal. In the end, the allergic reaction he suffered is
what killed him. It would’ve put him at risk without an injection of
epinephrine or emergency medical treatment.”

“Okay, so…was he allergic to
something that he ate?”

“You got it!” Dina exclaimed. “His
stomach contents included coffee, soy milk and pasta along with peach jam and
some type of dough.” She paused to let the list sink in before asking me a
curious question. “Can you guess which might prove to be our murder weapon?”

“You’re serious? One of those
things was used to kill the guy?”

“So to speak,” Dina said. “It was
the peach jam.”

I waited for her to continue the
explanation, but she didn’t say anything more. When I finally asked her
directly, I was even more surprised by the answer.

“Alec Halstead was extremely
allergic to birch tree pollen,” Dina said slowly. “And, as crazy as it may
sound, the proteins in the fruit jam actually caused the same type of symptoms
as if he’d been exposed to the pollen.”

“I’m a little confused,” I
confessed. “Fruit jam can be like pollen from a birch tree?”

“Dr. Justice explained that it’s
called ‘cross reactivity,’” Dina said. “It can happen with ragweed and bananas,
certain common grasses and tomato as well as birch trees and three types of
fruit—apples, plums and peaches.”

“And so…if Mr. Halstead ate some
peach jam—”

“Not
if
,” Dina cut in. “It’s
more like
when
he ate it and who gave it to him.”

“Okay, so eating the jam would’ve
caused the same reaction as if he was standing in a forest of birch trees and
breathing the pollen?”

“Absolutely right,” she said. “He
would’ve been dizzy and nauseous. Without the immediate use of an EpiPen, the
man had no chance. He would’ve lapsed into anaphylaxis.”

“I’ve heard of that; an allergic
reaction so severe it can be life-threatening. If it’s bad enough, your blood
pressure can drop within minutes. You might pass out and have trouble
swallowing. In really extreme cases, your throat can become so constricted that
you may not be able to breathe.”

“And you could, quite possibly,
fall while all of those things are happening and hit your head on a bench in
the gazebo at Crescent Creek Lodge.”

I thought about Alec Halstead on the
afternoon of his death.
Was he alone? Did someone intentionally feed him
peach jam, knowing that it would trigger an allergic reaction? Why didn’t he
have an EpiPen? And who could’ve left him to meet such a needless and malicious
end?

“Whatever else this is,” I said,
shaking off the questions. “It’s a most unusual way to kill someone.”

CHAPTER
27

After a quick stop in the ladies’
room, I walked onto the front terrace of the Lodge. The sky above glinted with
stars and a strong breeze had tugged the temperature below freezing. I stood
for a moment, inhaling the wintry air and digging for my car keys. Before I
could find them in the bottom of my purse, I heard footsteps approaching from
the parking lot.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like
this,” a deep voice called.

It was Christopher Edgerly, the man
who’d sent Francine Tobin to my door with a proposal to buy Sky High Pies.
Luckily, he was alone; between my hunger and weariness, I didn’t think I could
remain civil if the pompous attorney had been with him.

I nodded a silent greeting, but
kept my attention on the search for my keys.

“May I buy you a glass of wine?” he
asked.

“No, but thanks. I’m just leaving.”

“Not even one?” he said. “I promise
to be on my best behavior.”

I couldn’t help but smile; in an instant,
his demeanor had changed from self-important and grand to modest and charming.

“You know what?” I said. “Let’s go
into the lounge and have one glass. You can tell me about your proposal. And I
can explain why I’m not interested in selling.”

He laughed at my quip and we walked
inside, making our way to the cozy cocktail lounge just off the lobby. Before I
could say a word, Edgerly ordered two glasses of cabernet from the young woman
behind the bar.

“Something to eat?” she asked.

My stomach screamed for a morsel of
anything edible, but I declined the offer. One glass of wine was fine; I didn’t
want to commit to spending a second more with the good-looking businessman and
his impressively dimpled chin.

“Okay,” Edgerly said once we had
our wine. “Why don’t you want to sell the Victorian?”

I shifted on the bar stool so I had
a better look at him when I explained my reasons. I told him that Sky High Pies
was a family business. I described Nana Reed’s humble beginnings, my parents’
successful twenty-five year run and my recent arrival as the third generation
to operate the bakery café. When I finished, Christopher Edgerly raised his
glass for a toast.

“Here’s to the Reed family,” he
said. “Their forty-year achievement is not only impressive, it’s also legendary.”

I touched my glass to his, took a
sip and put it down on the bar. “It’s your turn now,” I said. “Why do you want
to buy Sky High?”

He smiled; one of those dazzling
displays that usually appear on television commercials for a toothpaste that’s
guaranteed to whiten your choppers in record time.

“I’m not interested in the bakery,”
he said. “I just want the property.”

“The house?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not the house,
the land. I’ve already purchased the two lots on either side of your three
acres. Once we complete our deal, I’ll own everything from—”

“Hold on there, please.” My voice
quivered and I paused to try and calm down. “You plan to
tear down
the
Victorian?”

He answered with a smile and a nod.
This time, his teeth looked more like daggers made of pristine marble.

“Do you know how long it’s been on
that property?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Maybe
eighty years or so?”

“One hundred and ten,” I said
crisply. “It was built by a man named Josiah Buchanan, a successful banker from
Denver who wanted a place in the country for…” I paused when I detected a
ripple of impatience in Edgerly’s eyes. “…um, you know, there’s no need to
recite the history of the Victorian or the families that have called it home
over the years.”

One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Why not? It’s fascinating to see how much pleasure you have in something so…”
He sipped his wine. “…something so archaic and worn.”

I’d seen enough movies to know that
one option at my disposal was tossing the rest of my wine in his face and
storming out of the lounge. But I wasn’t really a fan of such over-the-top
moves. And the wine was too good to waste on such a bonehead. Instead of
dowsing him with cabernet, I took a long, slow sip, put down my glass and asked
the bartender how much I owed for the wine.

“Leaving so soon?” Edgerly asked.

I smiled.

“Did I offend you or something?”

“I’m tired, Mr. Edgerly. It’s been
a long day and tomorrow promises more of the same.”

He flashed the bright white
Chiclets again. “So…what about my proposal?”

“What about it?”

“How soon can we close the deal?”

I finished my wine. “How about
never?”

He laughed, but the sound was
bitter and empty. “It’s not the Coliseum, Miss Reed. It’s just an old house.
Wouldn’t you rather have a half million dollars instead of a drafty pile of
weather-beaten sticks and seriously tacky ornamentation?”

My heart shuddered briefly at the
mention of the sum. Then I grabbed my purse, pulled out a twenty and dropped it
beside my empty glass.

“Our Victorian may not be the
Coliseum,” I said through clenched teeth. “But this isn’t Rome; it’s Crescent
Creek. And the people who live here, the people who
love
this little
scrappy patch of earth, know the value of family. And history. And tradition.”

I caught a glimpse of the
bartender. Her mouth was open and her eyes were wide as saucers. When she
noticed that I was looking at her, she gave me a quick thumbs up.

“Well, well,” Edgerly said with
another icy grin. “Maybe you’ll change your mind once you—”

I stopped him with a merciless
glare. “Have a good evening,” I said. “And a good trip back to…” I blinked a
tear from one eye. “…wherever you come from.”

As I slid off the bar stool, he
started to say something. I silenced him with a defiant stare before leaving
the lounge, crossing the reception area and stepping out into the brisk night
air.

CHAPTER
28

The lavender fragrance that I’d
added to my late-night bath reminded me of a sun-splashed summer day. I closed
my eyes and leaned back against the inflatable pillow that my sister had given
me as part of a “Welcome Home to Crescent Creek” Care Package a few months
earlier.

“Thank you, Liv,” I murmured,
letting the hot water melt away the aches and pains in my legs. “I will be
forever—”

My phone whirred on the floor
beside the tub.

“—ugh!” I moaned. “I’ll be forever
taking calls way past closing time for—”

I leaned over and saw Connie
Larson’s name on the display. I quickly dried my hand on a towel, grabbed the
phone and swiped the screen.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She answered with a muffled giggle.
“Gosh, yes! Are
you
okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, sitting up and
trying not to splash over the edge of the tub.

“Well, you sound like you’re out of
breath. Did I call at a bad time?”

“I’m in the bath,” I said. “Most
nights, I like to soak and relax before I get into bed.”

“That sounds nice. I should give it
a try.”

“Are you still at the Lodge?”

“No, I’m home finally. We had a
very late night with a couple in the restaurant. They were celebrating their
twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, so I didn’t want to interrupt once he asked
her to dance.”

“In the dining room?”

“Uh-huh,” Connie answered. “The
dining room, the cocktail lounge, the reception area. It was really sweet. And
there weren’t any other guests around, so it was actually quite romantic.”

“Were they dancing to the Muzak or
something?”

She sighed. “No, that was what made
it even
more
romantic. He was singing to her.”

“No kidding!”

“It was wonderful, Katie. He sang
‘Some Enchanted Evening’ for a good forty-five minutes.”

“That’s one long version.”

“True, but I’m used to it. That’s
one of Eloise’s favorite songs.”

“Eloise?”

Connie laughed softly. “Yeah. She
sings all the time in the kitchen; show tunes, jingles from TV commercials,
Tammy Wynette songs, a few old things by the Beatles.”

“Is she any good?”

“Absolutely! Before she went to
culinary school, she was thinking about moving to New York to sing
professionally.”

“Really? Those are two very
different things.”

“Yeah, but they both involve
creativity.”

“I didn’t know she sang, so it’s
just…well, it’s surprising.”

“People used to call her a little
songbird when she was growing up.”

My breath caught briefly when I
heard the nickname.

“A little songbird?”

“Yeah,” Connie said. “She sang in
all the school groups she could join. Plus community theater and at church
and…you know, I think she even sang for the governor one time.”

“Then she must be good.”

I slipped a bit lower in the warm
water to chase away the chill on my shoulders. Then I asked Connie what she’d
called to discuss.

“It certainly isn’t Eloise and her
singing,” she answered, sounding completely exhausted. “I wanted to let you
know that I’m still trying to find the actual paperwork from all three events
the other night.”

“Oh, gosh. Thank you for being so diligent.
You could’ve sent a text.”

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted
to hear a friendly voice.” She paused for a moment and I could hear her
footsteps on a hard surface. “I just wanted you to know that I haven’t
forgotten the documents you asked to see. After the poor man was found in the
gazebo, I just went into a frenzy…making phone calls, arranging for alternate
venues, getting the food packaged and transferred. In the rush and hubbub, I
must’ve misplaced the event orders.” She sighed quietly. “I guess that’s not
such a bad thing, considering the circumstances. That entire night could’ve
been a worse disaster, but it all worked out in the end.”

“Imagine trying to do something
like that in Denver,” I said.

“Oh, you’re so right,” Connie
cooed. “That’s one of the many blessings of life in a small town like Crescent
Creek. Luigi’s, Café Fleur and the VFW Hall absolutely saved the day! I’ll be
indebted to them for a very long time to come.”

“I’m just glad your guests were
okay moving their events,” I said.

Connie laughed. “Are you kidding!
Once they found out what had happened, they all eagerly agreed. I know there
was no way to predict something like that would take place. And I certainly
don’t blame any of them. I would’ve done the very same thing if I had a party
scheduled at a hotel on the day a dead body is discovered on the property.”

I agreed with Connie and she
launched into another round of praise for the other local venues that had
helped her out in a pinch. When she finished, I told her not to stress about
the event orders.

“I’m not giving up yet!” she
exclaimed. “I thought they’d be easy to find. But Jasper said he doesn’t know
where they are. And Eloise has been home sick since the whole thing happened.”

“It would be helpful if you can
find them,” I said. “But if you can’t, please don’t worry about it. You’ve been
through enough as it is.”

She whistled loudly into the phone.
“You’ve got
that
right! I don’t want to
ever
go through anything
like this again.”

“Once is too many times,” I said.
“But you’re holding up really well, Connie. I hope you’re able to get some rest
tonight.”

She sighed. “Well, I had a glass of
warm milk along with one of the sedatives Dr. Oppel prescribed.”

“That should do the trick. Now,
let’s say good night so you can start counting sheep.”