Some Enchanted clair : A Magical Bakery Mystery (9780698140561) (14 page)

I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table. “But no idea what he was hit with?”

He shook his head. “Something round, maybe like a baseball bat? We didn't find anything that fit the bill on that set.”

“Did you search the house Simon rented for the cast?” I asked.

“Simon's room only. We didn't have probable cause for the other parts of the house since the murder took place a couple blocks away.”

“A baseball bat, huh. So about this big around?” I formed my fingers into a circle and peered at the detective through it. “Oh, my God!” My hands dropped to my lap. “Quinn, could you hit someone with a bottle of wine hard enough to knock them out?” I asked. “Without breaking the bottle, I mean.”

His lips parted, then formed an
O
as he considered the idea. Then he slowly nodded. “I've seen it myself, back when I was still a patrolman. Guy tried to rob a liquor store and the manager clocked him with a bottle of Night Train. It was sitting on the counter when we got there.” He sipped his coffee. “We confiscated all the wine bottles at the scene. I don't know if they've all been tested yet, though.”

Lost in thought, I barely heard him. There was something, if only I could remember. I closed my eyes and ran my hands over my face; then suddenly it came to me. I looked up. “The Côtes du Rhône.”

He looked puzzled.

“Althea demanded ‘Stevie' get the wine after Simon was killed and asked where the Côtes du Rhône was. So she expected it to be there on the catering table, but it was gone.”

“Okay.” He drew the word out.

“There was a bottle at their rental house last night, though.” Oh, God. Was that what Bianca had poured for Declan and me? No, it had been empty by the time we were done. That must have been what Althea had helped herself to so generously.

His eyes narrowed. “You were at the house last night?”

Uh-oh.
“Ursula invited us—er, me—over,” I sidestepped. “Stay here for a sec? I have to call Bianca.”

I went behind the register to use the Honeybee's landline. A quick conversation with my wine-savvy friend, and I returned to the table, where Quinn sat looking impatient.

“Bianca told me Côtes du Rhône pairs with Camembert, but not with the cheese they were having last night. There were wines there to pair with that cheese, but the Camembert Owen picked up at the Welsh Wabbit was to be served the evening before—with the Côtes du Rhône. Bianca can confirm that was the intention because the wine came from her shop.”

One side of Quinn's mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Well, isn't that interesting. But how did the wine bottle get to the house from the movie set?”

I shrugged. “The killer could have hidden it and taken it there later.”

“I'd throw it in the river,” Quinn said.

“
Mmmph
. Yeah. I would, too. Or even in a Dumpster someplace.” I held up a finger. “Unless there wasn't time. What if Niklas Egan was coming back from stashing the murder weapon at the house?”

Slowly, he nodded. “It's worth looking into,” he said. “And I wouldn't have known to check since I wasn't invited into a houseful of possible suspects like you were.”

I forced a smile and changed the subject. “So no real suspects?”

“The alibis of the major players, such as they are, check out. We can't find anyone who wasn't supposed to be on the set, though it turns out the key grip—the guy in charge of equipment—and his best boy were still packing away the lighting used that day. They confirm they were both in one of the RVs when Simon was killed. They had the stereo on, so they didn't even hear Althea scream.”

“And what about the things Simon fixed for people?” I asked. “Are you checking into all the suspects' backgrounds?”

He gave me a look. “Why, yes, Katie. We are.”

I ducked my head. “Of course. Sorry.”

When I looked back up, he was smiling. “You're right that something Simon Knapp ‘fixed' might have bit him back. Nik Egan's story about his wife checks out, but he didn't seem to be too worried about keeping it a secret. As for the others, we're still doing background checks to see what we can find.” He finished the last of his coffee. “I'll follow up on whether Ms. Cole has a prescription for an emetic and check with the ME about the wine bottle. If she says it's a possibility, I might convince a judge to give us a warrant to search the house where the movie folks are staying.” He stood. “Nice job, Katie. But if I might offer a bit of advice?”

“Sure.”

“Don't go into a houseful of murder suspects alone again.”

I smiled, wanting to tell him I wasn't stupid but unwilling to go into details about the séance. So I simply said, “Noted.”

I waved good-bye to Jaida as she left, and Quinn went to use the restroom, but I remained at the table, mulling over what we'd discussed. The bell over the door announced a new customer, and out of habit I glanced over at Lucy to see how busy she was. She was refilling the basket of napkins nestled in among the coffee condiments and looked up, smiling at whoever had entered. When I saw her eyes widen, I turned to see who it was.

Althea Cole stood in the open doorway, Owen Glade hovering on the sidewalk behind her.

“Oh, my gosh!” a young woman seated at a table near the reading area said to her companion. “Is that . . . ? Oh, my
gosh
, it
is
!”

The starlet swept inside. Owen followed with a scowl on his face. There were dark circles stamped on the translucent skin under his eyes. Why was he back at work so soon after his ordeal and hospitalization? There wasn't anyone else to do his job now that Simon was gone, so perhaps he didn't have any choice.

Lucy stepped forward, reaching for her hand with both of her own. “Oh, Ms. Cole. I'm so glad you stopped into the Honeybee for a treat. We're honored.”

I felt my nostrils flare, but I held my tongue and stayed right where I was.

Althea pulled her hand away from Lucy's and looked around. She wore a white sundress with a flared skirt and tightly cinched waist to show off her twiggy figure, along with ballet flats and a hat with a wide brim that flopped adorably to one side. Long, glossy ringlets cascaded down her back. Owen carried her brown leather Marc Jacobs bag.

The customer who had instantly recognized the movie star rummaged in her backpack, pulled out a small notebook, and then looked wildly around the room. “I don't have a pen,” she practically wailed. “Does anyone have a pen?”

Lucy reached behind the register. “Of course.” She held the instrument out toward her. The woman bolted out of her chair and snatched it out of my aunt's hand. “Oh, thank you, thank you. Ms. Cole, oh, please, Ms. Cole, won't you please sign your autograph for me?”

“Of course, dear,” Althea said with a genteel curve of her lips. “I'd be delighted to.”

The woman held out the notebook to Althea. “Can you write, ‘To my bestie Kortney, with love and kisses. Stay in touch'? That's Kortney with a ‘K.'”

Althea's eyebrow lifted an infinitesimal amount, and I wondered whether her subdued reaction was from self-control or Botox. She bent her head and wrote, saying, “To Kortney with a ‘K'. Althea Cole.” She signed with a flourish and handed the notebook back.

Kortney's face fell as she read her idol's abbreviated autograph. “Um, okay. Thanks.” She returned the pen to Lucy and joined her companion with considerably less verve.

Lucy watched her with pity, though a part of me could understand why Althea didn't want to be bossed into what to write to an adoring fan, and at least she'd handled the situation with a certain amount of grace.

“What can we get you, Ms. Cole?” Lucy said. “On the house, of course.”

I frowned. Really? It wasn't like my aunt to be starstruck, and she sure hadn't acted this way the night before.

Althea drew herself up to her full height, which was only about five-six. “I would never eat anything made in this establishment after what happened to my friend.” With a sweeping gesture, she directed everyone's attention to Owen, pale and blinking behind his round glasses. “He ate a cookie, just one little cookie, made by these women and ended up in the hospital!”

Lucy's fingers went to her lips and her eyes widened. Solid silence lowered over the bakery. I felt my face grow red.

“Now, hold on, Althea.” I stood, and her attention focused on me.

“No, you hold on, Katie Lightfoot. I have a bone to pick with you.”

“That cookie—”

“This is about Ursula. How dare you usurp my own private psychic?”

A few customers exchanged glances.

“Usurp? I—”

“You know what I'm talking about. That little séance of yours. It didn't work, now, did it? But it wore her out, and I need her. I need solace from beyond to help me cope with that horrid murder, and you used her up.”

My lips thinned. “I hardly think your psychic is used up. She just needed a good night's sleep, like we all did.”

Her fists went to her hips. “I pay her, and I'll decide what she needs. You stay away from her.”

What was her problem? But I could feel the eyes of our customers on me, and I knew word could spread—of this ridiculous accusation about Ursula, but more important, about the Honeybee's food safety.

I spread my hands in front of me, palms up. “Okay. I'm sorry, Althea.”

She glared at me, but my apology seemed to have taken some of the wind out of her sails. Finally, her shoulders slumped a little. “Well, all right, then.” She turned to go.

“But let's be very clear about something,” I said. “That cookie that sent Owen to the hospital had been tampered with.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure it was.”

“The police discovered someone had added a prescription drug to it.” I kept my tone even and straightforward. “In fact, they are looking for people associated with the movie who might have filled that particular prescription.”

Althea blanched. “But Owen—”

I looked at Simon's assistant. “I'm sorry you got sick, Owen, but they tested the same cookies here at the Honeybee. They were fine. Whoever poisoned the cookie you ate did it on the
Love in Revolution
set.”

Althea harrumphed, a sound so strange coming from her that I almost laughed.

“Ms. Lightfoot is correct,” Quinn said. I hadn't heard him come out of the restroom. “I'm a police detective, and I can assure you there is nothing wrong with the baked goods here at the Honeybee, folks. In fact, I just treated myself to some of the lemon sour cream cake.”

Althea's jaw clenched and the muscles in her throat worked, but her face remained impassive. Yep: Botox. “I'm sure poor Owen here is comforted by that information,” she said and yanked the door open.

Poor Owen followed her out to the sidewalk without ever having said a word. Probably hadn't had the energy for it.

Conversations began again, and I went over and hugged Lucy. “Sorry. You tried to be nice, but I'm afraid that woman isn't very good at being nice back.”

Detective Quinn walked up.

“Thanks for standing up for us like that,” Lucy said. “Hopefully, that will nip the rumors in the bud.”

“Only told the truth,” he said. “Besides, this is my favorite bakery, and I want to make sure you guys stick around for a while.”

I grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

His smile faded. “Now, what was that about a séance?”

Lucy looked worried.

I shrugged. “You met Ursula Banford. And I did mention she invited us to the house where she's staying.”

“I met everyone remotely associated with that movie set.” He said
movie set
the same way you might say
cockroach.

“So you know she works for Althea.”

He glanced at Lucy. “And I heard her very convenient prediction that you'd find Knapp's killer. But really, Katie. A séance? I'd think you'd take murder more seriously than that.”

“Hey!” I protested.

“Keep your voice down,” Lucy warned.

“Right. But Quinn, I
am
taking Simon's murder seriously. Very seriously. Enough so that if Ursula is the real deal and could possibly contact Simon himself to tell us who killed him, then it would be remiss not to at least try.”

Quinn shook his head. “You are a lot of things, Katie, but I wouldn't have said one of them was gullible.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Until now.”

“Now, listen—”

He cut me off. “What did Simon's ghost have to say?” Sarcasm dripped from the question.

Lucy spoke up. “He showed up but didn't stay long enough to tell us.”

Thanks to Althea.

Quinn looked at her with surprise. “You were in on this, too?”

“Even Ben was,” she said. “He agreed that when it comes to murder, all avenues should be explored.”

“Good Lord,” Quinn said. “How much did Banford charge?”

“Nothing,” I said.

He looked nonplussed. “Oh. Well, did you get any information?”

Lucy and I silently shook our heads. “But it didn't hurt to try,” I insisted.

A customer came up to the register then, and Lucy took his order. I accompanied Quinn to the door, stepping out to the sidewalk with him. He paused and tipped his head to the side. “What?”

“I don't know if it makes any difference or not, but Althea sure didn't seem to want her personal psychic to get any answers from Simon Knapp. And whether you believe in Ursula's powers as a medium or not, Althea Cole most certainly seems to.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “I'll take that under advisement, Ms. Lightfoot.”

* * *

After Althea's little visit to the bakery I thought it was high time I talk to Steve about his new love interest. Bianca was slated to appear as an extra, and that gave me a good excuse to go back and look around. Besides, I wanted to check in with Ben because I knew he'd been keeping an extra-vigilant lookout for anything unusual.

Declan saw Mungo and me coming and waved us inside the roped-off area. “I have standing orders from my boss to let you in.”

Smiling, I resisted the urge to indulge in a nice big public display of affection and simply squeezed his hand. “I wonder what Ben's boss thinks about that executive decision.”

Declan gestured toward the group of people several yards away. “Owen? I don't even know if he considers himself anyone's boss.”

Sure enough, the acting production coordinator hovered near Niklas Egan, waiting for orders.

“I can't believe he's back at work already,” I said. “Quinn stopped by this morning and told me the oatmeal cookies had been laced with a strong emetic, something you can only get with a prescription. There's no question it was deliberate, though what the motive was, I can't imagine,” I said.

“To make the Honeybee look bad,” my boyfriend grumbled.

“Maybe. Either way, I'm surprised Owen feels chipper enough to fetch and carry for Niklas,” I said.

“Chipper isn't the word I'd choose to describe him today. But I have to give him credit for bucking up,” Declan said.

“Poor guy,” I said. “Getting a job with a movie production company like this must be pretty competitive. Plus, he told me Simon brought him in from another job. Owen is probably afraid someone will step in and take his job if he doesn't show up.”

Van Grayson, in his crimson uniform and with a wicked-looking bayonet in his hand, leaned over Niklas Egan's shoulder. Althea was nowhere to be seen, and I guessed she was still in the makeup RV, since she'd so recently been at the bakery making her feelings about me and mine loudly known to all and sundry. Bianca and Steve stood near Grayson, listening to Egan, who moved his hands in the air and spoke with sharp-eyed intensity. I couldn't hear his words, only his tone.

Bianca looked up, saw me, and waved. I lifted my hand in response.

“Since they're actually paying me to hang out here, I'd better get back to chatting with the fans,” Declan said.

“Seriously? That's what a security guy does?”

“Sometimes. Ben and I have found that if we make nice with them, we have a lot fewer problems.”

Trust my uncle to find the friendliest way to deal with people. “Okay, I'll be fine on my own.”

“No troublemaking, you hear?”

I laughed, despite the fact that he couldn't quite hide that he half meant it. “Cross my heart. I was hoping to see Bianca in her walk-on role.”

He glanced over at her. “Should be pretty soon. Niklas is winding down, and that usually means they're about to get started.” He kissed me on the cheek and returned to patrolling the perimeter of the square. I noticed he had to work his way around the crime scene on the Congress Street side.

The group dispersed, and Niklas Egan walked rapidly toward the boom truck behind me. He slowed when he saw me. “Afternoon, Ms. Lightfoot,” he said with a curt nod.

I blinked. “You know who I am?”

“This is my set. I make sure I know who everyone is on my set.”

“Oh.”

“Nice job on the food, by the way. Not sure what Owen was thinking, bringing back Robin Bonner, but the little putz went and signed a contract—something Simon was way too smart to do. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” I said.

“So why are you here?”

My hand fluttered in the general direction of Bianca, who was now deep in discussion with Steve. “My friend . . .”

Egan turned his hawkish gaze their way. “Which one?”

“Well, both really. But I came to see Bianca's walk-on.”

Another curt nod from the director. “She's a beauty, she is, and so very sweet.” His affectionate look in her direction belied the rest of his all-business attitude. Then she looked up and they exchanged a tender smile. My mental alarm bells clang-clanged as I remembered their familiar exchange before the séance.

My distraction blurred the director's next words, and it took me a moment to realize he'd asked if I wanted to be in the movie.

“In . . . ?”

“As an extra. Like Bianca. We could pay you a little something—and I do mean little—if you wanted to join her. It'll be your last chance. We're almost done with the scenes we can complete here.”

“What's your hurry?” I asked.

He frowned and rubbed his fingers together. “Money, honey. So, yes or no? You'd have to hurry, though.”

My instinct was to politely refuse, but then I thought, why not? “What do you want me to do?”