Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (20 page)

CHAPTER
42

As I walked back to my car, I
considered heading home. But then I decided to make at least one more stop in
Denver to see if I could unravel the last few strands of the situation. I
climbed behind the wheel and was getting ready to pull away from the curb when
my phone rang. I smiled at the name and swiped the screen.

“Detective Caldwell?”

“We picked up Jake Breen this
morning,” he said in lieu of a more traditional greeting.

“On what charge?”

“I’d like to be juvenile and say it
was for complete and utter stupidity,” he answered. “But I’ll be professional;
Breen was involved in a minor traffic accident on Josephine Street near the
Botanic Gardens.”

“Another surprising twist,” I said.
“I didn’t peg him as a gardening enthusiast.”

Caldwell scoffed. “I don’t know
about that,” he said. “But the guy’s a huge fan of unlicensed firearms.”

“Does that mean there was something
else going on when he had the fender bender?”

“You got it! He was driving a
brand-new TT Roadster that he’d borrowed from a buddy. He told the first
responders that he smashed into the back of an old woman’s Cadillac because he
wasn’t familiar with the Audi’s brakes.”

“That could happen,” I said.
“Especially if you’re a punk like Jake Breen.”

“And your BAC qualifies you for the
second drunk driving arrest in less than a year,” Caldwell said.

“Are you kidding me?”

He answered first with a sinister
chuckle. “When the officer smelled booze on Jake’s breath, they decided to take
a look in the Audi. Care to guess what they saw peeking out from beneath the
driver’s seat?”

“An unlicensed firearm?”

“Wow! You’re really good, Kate.”

I thanked him for the sardonic
praise and asked what else he could tell me about Breen’s arrest.

“Well, he can swear in five
languages,” Caldwell said. “And he has a tendency to use the f-bomb after every
other word.”

“I can understand that,” I said.
“The poor dunce probably didn’t expect to start the day with a car crash.”

“He wasn’t starting the day,”
Caldwell said. “It was a continuation of a vodka binge from the night before.”

“Sounds reasonable. I guess he’s
behind bars now?”

“For the time being. He’s behind
bars and he’s pointing the finger at two sisters and a third woman named—”

“Lois Jordan,” I interrupted.

“Wow!” Caldwell said. “You really
are
good. How do you know about her?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that
information,” I said. “Because we met at an AA meeting.”

“Right,” Caldwell said. “The York Street
Club. Breen filled us in on all three of the women. The two sisters are, uh,
Heather and…” He stopped and I could hear paper rustling. “Hang on, Kate. I
want to check my notes.”

“It’s Heidi and Hannah,” I told
him. “Otherwise known as the Zimmer twins.”

“Yep. You’re right again. According
to good ol’ Jake, one of the three women stole his other unlicensed firearm and
used it to shoot Toby Wurlitzer when he went to Delilah’s apartment to collect
the ten grand that they’d stashed in her freezer.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “In the loaf
of sourdough bread.”

“But he hasn’t given up the
shooter’s name yet,” Caldwell added. “He’s trying to make some kind of deal.”

I smiled to myself. “Okay,” I said.
“What’s behind Door Number Four?”

Caldwell didn’t say anything.

“Detective?”

“I was trying to figure out what
you’re talking about,” he said.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you remember
Monty Hall and Carol Merrill?”

“You lost me, Kate.”

“Haven’t you heard of
Let’s Make
a Deal
?”

He groaned in response. “Anyway,”
he said, “The guy’s on ice for the time being. The DA isn’t interested in
making a deal until Breen gives us something worthwhile.”

“Don’t you believe him about the
Zimmers and Lois Jordan?”

“Who knows? We’ve got officers on
the way to find all three women. Once we pick ’em up and bring ’em in for
questioning, I’ll give you a call.”

“I’ll return the favor,” I said.
“If I learn anything new, that is.”

He asked if I was planning on
executing a citizen’s arrest.

“No, but I’m on my way to see if I
can find Heidi,” I told him. “I’ve got a hunch about something and I want to
start with her.”

“Care to share?” he asked.

“Let me talk to Heidi first,” I
answered. “I’ve got a gut feeling that either she, her sister or Lois Jordan
knows something about what happened to Delmar Singer.”

“And maybe Toby Wurlitzer, too?”

“Time will tell,” I said. “I’ll
talk to you soon, detective.”

CHAPTER
43

It was my lucky day. As I came
around the corner, a dark green SUV with a kayak strapped to the roof pulled out
of a spot just down the block from the York Street Club. I quickly parked,
collected my purse and jumped out of the car. I hurried down the sidewalk
toward the old red brick mansion, thinking about questions that I wanted to ask
the Zimmer twins and Lois Jordan.

A thin gray haze from the clump of
smokers standing together on the porch threatened to obscure the front
entrance. Midway up the stairs, I gulped in a fresh breath and hurried through
the nicotine fog.

“Did you pay your dues?” a rich
baritone called from the office just inside the front door.

I swiveled in the direction of the
question. The owner of the deep voice was a bony middle-aged woman dressed in a
black cardigan, white blouse and baggy jeans.

“Pardon me?” I said.

The woman scowled. “Your dues,” she
said. “I saw you come in here the other day, but I was on the phone and
couldn’t stop you.” The glower on her face deepened; I imagined it was the look
most prison wardens use when chastising new inmates. “York Street Club members
pay twenty dollars a year,” the woman added, holding out one lanky hand. “We
use the money to keep the place open and looking good.”

Before I could explain that I
wasn’t a member and planned to be on my way in a flash, the phone on her desk
rang. She glanced over her shoulder, dragged her beady eyes back in my
direction and then tapped a skeletal finger on her empty palm.

“Twenty bucks,” she said. “On your
way out.”

I waited until she’d disappeared
into the office before heading for the second floor. I didn’t know if the
Zimmer twins or Lois Jordan would be in the building or not, but it was worth a
try. I knew that Detective Caldwell and his colleagues from the Denver PD were
conducting a thorough investigation into Delmar Singer’s death, but I wanted to
see if I could prove my theory first.

“…and then we’ll call all of the
people on the other list,” a familiar voice was saying as I reached the top of
the stairs. “We need to drum up support for this initiative, okay? Everyone’s
counting on you, Brenda.”

When I looked toward the meeting
room, I saw Heidi talking to a gray-haired woman in a red jumpsuit and black
clogs. They were both staring at a piece of paper that contrasted sharply with
Heidi’s pitch-black acrylic nails.

“Miss Zimmer?” I said.

They both looked up. The elderly
woman smiled. Heidi grimaced; a disdainful sneer that conveyed anything but
warm hospitality.

“You’re
back
?” she snapped.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said
pleasantly. “Is your sister here?”

Heidi thrust the sheet of paper at
the older woman. “Can you go ahead and get started on this, Brenda? I need to
take care of something with…” She peered at me warily. “What was your name
again?”

“Kate Reed.” I turned up the dazzle
on my smile. “We met the other day when I was looking for Tim and Delilah.”

Brenda clutched the paper to her
chest and scampered off toward the stairwell. When she reached the flight
leading up to the third floor, she gave me a final glance before slowly
ascending the steps.

“Uh-huh,” Heidi said. “I remember.
And nothing’s changed—this is a place for people seeking recovery, not idle
questions from strangers.”

I let her simmer down for a moment,
guessing that she might be easier to deal with if she had a chance to catch her
breath.

“I like your nails,” I said
finally.

Her gaze held on my face before
wandering to her hands. “They’re not real, but thank you.” She looked up again,
lifting one eyebrow. “And I know that’s kind of cheating. But since I was a
little girl, I’ve always chewed my nails. So I buy these in whatever length
suits my mood, glue them on and…” She inched closer and lowered her voice. “Why
are you asking about my fingernails? And why are you here again if you’re not
in the program?”

I waited while a thin wiry guy
dressed in a multicolored sweater and skinny jeans came up the stairs from the
foyer. Then I told Heidi I was back at the York Street Club to talk to her
sister.

“Hannah?” One hand drifted to her
throat, idly clutching the strand of glossy black beads looped around her neck.

“Yes, I need to ask her a couple of
questions.”

“She’s not here,” Heidi said.
“She’s got an exam coming up.”

“Is she at home?”

“No, she’s at Roostercat studying
with…” Her eyes tapered and she glowered at me with contempt. “Why do you keep
bothering us?”

I lifted my chin slightly. “Are you
aware that acetonitrile-based products, like the solvent that’s used to take
off fake fingernails, is metabolized by the body as cyanide?”

She stared at me. “I don’t know
what you just said, but I’ve got a meeting to get ready for.”

I asked if she remembered Tim
England. Her teeth clenched and she muttered a few choice words.

“Would you
please
leave me
alone?” she hissed, turning her back and walking toward the meeting room. “This
place is sacrosanct. We come here to heal, not to be bullied by the police.”

“I told you the other day that I’m
not with the police.” I followed her through the open doorway. “I’m just
helping my friend figure out who was trying to kill her brother.”

After she reached the folding table
stacked with coffee cups, Heidi spun in a circle. “
What
did you say?”
she demanded. “Are you accusing me of…” She paused to smile at a pair of men
entering the room. “I would
never
do something like that,” she seethed
after they were out of earshot. “I liked Tim. I was totally into him. It’s his
loss that he didn’t want to go out with me.”

“And you told your sister and Lois
that he rejected you, right?”

She stared at her feet, two tiny
black loafers with the toes angled inward. “I didn’t know he already had
someone,” she said in a quiet voice. “I just thought he and Delilah were, like,
friends or whatever.”

She started toward the center of
the room, but I reached out and took her elbow. “Can we just go back out in the
hall for a second?” I nodded my head toward the door. “I promise it won’t take
but a minute.”

Her gaze shifted to the corridor.
After a long sigh, she crossed the room and went back into the hall. I
followed, thanked her for taking the time and then asked if she owned a
patchwork coat.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I haven’t
seen it for a couple of weeks. I loaned it to my sister. And then her roommate
left it in somebody’s apartment.”

I nodded. “That somebody’s name is
Delilah Benson.”

Heidi’s mouth fell open. “
She
has my coat?”

“Not any more. But I saw it in her
place, along with your black floppy hat.”

She smiled. “Oh, yeah. Hannah took
that, too. There’s been a lot going on, so I kind of forgot.”

“Well, your coat and hat were in
Delilah’s place the other day,” I said. “Until someone wore them into Delmar
Singer’s hospital room and suffocated him with a pillow.”

A distorted cry escaped her lips
and her eyes widened. “You mean
me
?” she whispered. “I would
never
do anything…”

I waited to see if she would finish
the thought, but her mouth slowly closed and her eyes went blank.

“I didn’t say that you were
involved, Miss Zimmer. I just asked about your coat and—”

“Do the
police
think I did
it?” she asked. “Are they coming next or something?”

I reached out and lightly touched
her arm. The contact made her wince before she stepped back.

“Maybe I should call my dad,” she
muttered. “He’s an attorney.”

“It might not be a bad idea,” I
suggested. “Just to be on the safe side.”

She slumped against the wall, her
face knotted with concern. I waited a moment before thanking her again for
talking to me.

“What did you just say?”

“Thank you,” I repeated. “For
taking a sec to talk.” I started toward the staircase, but thought of one more
thing. “And Heidi?” She looked at me with vacant eyes. “I think a call to your
father would be a smart move—for you and your sister.”

After leaving her alone in the
corridor, I made my way back down the staircase, through the front door and out
to the sidewalk. I retrieved my phone, found the log of incoming calls and
selected the last entry on the list. After waiting for a moment or two, I heard
the series of clicks and then the familiar voice.

“This is Detective Adam Caldwell,”
the recording began. “I can’t take your call at the…”

I didn’t listen to the rest of the
message. But when I heard the beep, I left a short update and said I was on my
way to Roostercat. “And, by the way, detective,” I added. “If my hunch is
correct, I  believe that I’m entitled to whatever is behind Door Number
Four.”

CHAPTER
44

I spotted Hannah Zimmer the moment I
walked into Roostercat, the popular coffee shop on Lincoln Street in Capitol
Hill. She was hunched over a table near the back, talking on the phone and
doodling on a yellow legal pad with a bright green Sharpie. A stack of
textbooks waited on the tabletop and a dark blue backpack was on the floor near
her feet. I stopped at the counter and ordered my usual—a lavender latte with
an extra shot of espresso. While a grim-faced middle aged guy with buzzed red
hair made my drink, I kept Hannah in view with a sideways glance. Luckily, she
didn’t look up until I reached the table a moment later.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Hannah?”

She glared at me. “I just talked to
my sister.” Her voice was the angry rasp of a copperhead curled in the shadows.
“She said you’d probably show up here.”

I glanced around. “Seems like a
cozy spot to study.”

Her fingers were idly tapping the
table, a rhythmic drumming that provided an undercurrent of disquiet to the
moment.

“Mind if I sit down?” I asked.

Her left eyebrow arched. “Yeah, I
do.”

“I can stand,” I said. “This will
only take a minute.” She started to say something, but I interrupted. “And let
me do one thing first,” I added. “I know you’re busy, so I don’t want to keep
you too long.”

I put my latte on the table, pulled
out my phone and launched the recording app that Calvin Roth had installed for
me in Chicago. I’d never used it while I worked for Rodney, but our fearless
tech guru promised it would come in handy one day. As usual, he was right. I
hoped Hannah would assume that I was switching off the ringer. When the app
loaded a second later, I tapped the record button and casually held the phone
at my side with the microphone aimed in her direction.

“What’s your deal anyway?” she
snapped. “Are you, like, an AA groupie or something?”

I smiled, moving closer to ensure
that I would get everything she was about to tell me.

“I noticed your sister’s acrylic
nails the other day,” I said. “Does she wear them often?”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Look, you
freak
.”
She paused, probably to heighten her imagined ferocity. “I don’t know what game
you’re playing, but I would appreciate it—”

“Didn’t you study chemistry in high
school?” I asked.

“—if you would just…” The question
slowed her fury. “…leave me alone.” Her lower lip shuddered slightly until she
pressed one finger against it to quell the trembling. “I’ve got a lot to cover
and you’re not—”

“Are you aware that
acetonitrile-based products, like the solvent that’s used to remove fake nails,
is metabolized by the body as cyanide?”

Hannah’s gaze shifted slightly to
my left. Her eyes held on something behind me until a mischievous grin appeared
and she crossed her arms. I couldn’t tell what she was looking at, but I wasn’t
going to fall for the diversion.

“Well?” I said, keeping my voice
calm and steady. “Did you know that the solvent your sister uses to—”

“Yeah, she knows,” a brusque voice
said over my shoulder. “But I’m the one who had to explain it to her.” I turned
to find Lois Jordan glaring at me angrily. “And now you can explain something
to me.”

“What’s that?” I turned slightly so
I could see them both at the same time.

“Were you born an idiot?” Lois
hissed. “Or did you learn it somewhere along the line?”

She was dressed in a calf-length
red skirt, white long-sleeved blouse and the lightning bolt Chuck Taylors. In
one hand, she held a bag of Rowntree’s Jelly Tots, the candy found at the scene
of Toby Wurlitzer’s murder. In the other, partially concealed in the pocket of
her coat, was a snub-nosed revolver. She was holding it in such a way that I
was the only person in the coffee shop who realized that she was carrying more
than a Dora the Explorer backpack.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,”
I said, holding the phone closer to my side.

“Why don’t you and me go outside
and take a walk?” Lois said. “I think we’ve all had just about enough of your
meddling and snooping.”