Final Sentence (35 page)

I pivoted and caught sight of the cookbooks that Aunt Vera had given me stacked on my coffee table. Katie had seen cookbooks in the Winnebago when she went searching for her missing pocket watch. Was Mackenzie’s appearance on
Radical Cake Battle
a step toward a career as a chef? Did he pore over Desiree’s recipes? Maybe he approached her, the celebrity judge, with a concept. Perhaps she made promises to help him advance his career and then reneged. Was his story, like Macbeth’s, about ambition run amok?

I flashed on something else. At the spa, Mackenzie said he aspired to become a
doctor, baker, Indian chief.
At the time, I hadn’t thought twice about his phrasing, but in review, I realized those weren’t the correct words to the
Tinker Tailor
rhyme. Doctor,
lawyer
, Indian chief were. Was
baker
a slipup, or had Mackenzie said the words on purpose to toy with me? He had fed me information about the police investigation. Had he known I was snooping around? Had he thrown the bag of Baker’s Mix at my cottage window as a dare to see if I could figure out his identity? Had he watched my place to intimidate me, hoping I would cease my personal investigation, or had he stood there trying to screw up his courage to kill me, too?

I backed up a few steps in my thought process. On
Radical Cake Battle
the announcer had referred to Mackenzie as the Gay Blade. Was he gay? If so, why had he hit on Sabrina? Or had he? Sabrina couldn’t remember anything from that night. She didn
’t remember whether they had sex. What if he had drugged her to make her his alibi? That would establish premeditation.

Chapter 26

I
PLOPPED ONTO THE
sofa, scooped Tigger into my arms, and constructed a scenario for the night Desiree died. Mackenzie—Macbeth, Mac B, the Gay Blade—with malice aforethought, went to the Chill Zone Bar. He, not J.P., used the pay phone to call Desiree. He said he needed to talk to her, maybe even threatened her. Desiree told J.P. she had a meeting and raced out of the hotel room. She entered the Chill Zone Bar, but she got sidetracked when she saw Sabrina and then Anton.

Not one to lose momentum, Mackenzie came up with an idea for his alibi. He homed in on Sabrina. Maybe he always carried the date rape drug—what was it called? Rohypnol. I remembered a report that said Rohypnol worked its toxic magic in about fifteen minutes. Could the drug knock a girl out faster if added to alcohol? I pictured Mackenzie sidling up to Sabrina at the bar. He slipped the drug into her drink. In seconds, she grew groggy. Many knew Sabrina had a drug problem. If she remembered anything about that night or if the police detected evidence of drugs in her system later, Mackenzie could claim total innocence. Mackenzie marshaled Sabrina to his black minivan and dumped her inside.

He went back for Desiree, who had finished with Anton and was going in search of J.P., but Mackenzie cut her off. He isolated her in the parking lot. They struggled. Maybe he hit her. Her head could have slammed against the passenger window. At the crime scene, Cinnamon said Desiree had received a blow to the right side of her head. Next, Mackenzie hauled Desiree to the beach and strangled her. The sculpting came easily to him. How many times had he practiced making his Triton merman cake sculpture? In a matter of minutes, he finished the job.

He didn’t worry about signs of his having been there. I would bet, if he had preplanned everything, that he knew Old Jake would wipe out evidence. He returned to his van, drove Sabrina to the Winnebago, and woke up beside her in the morning. He pretended that they had screwed their brains out. She was none the wiser and too embarrassed to say anything.

I wanted to telephone Cinnamon and share my theory, but first I needed to corroborate it. Sabrina might not remember everything, but she might recall snippets. I set Tigger on the floor and strode to the laundry basket. I found the skirt I had worn the day Sabrina and I chatted in the parking lot, and I retrieved the business card she had given me. I dialed her number.

Sabrina answered on the first ring. “I can’t talk.”

Then why the heck did she answer the phone? I hated when people did that. Let the call go to voice mail, for heaven’s sake. I heard a male whispering in the background. Maybe her boyfriend had flown up from Los Angeles to make up after their faux dissolution. Did I care if I was interrupting? Not in the least.

I said, “This is important.”

Sabrina groaned. “Okay, go ahead. What?”

I told her my theory that Mackenzie Baxter was the Gay Blade. He killed Desiree because she had reneged on a promise to boost his career. He plotted out Desiree’s murder and drugged Sabrina to use her as his alibi. “That’s why you passed out that night.”

She mumbled, “Uh-huh,” throughout my spiel, totally disinterested.

“You need to go to the police and tell them anything you can remember. Please say you’ll do that, sooner rather than later.”

She grunted and said, “Promise.”

I disconnected and dialed Cinnamon’s cell phone.

“Chief Pritchett,” she answered.

“It’s Jenna Hart.”

“What do you want?” she said, sounding as testy as Sabrina.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Hang up,” a woman shrieked in the background.

“Mother, please, police business comes first, and you—”

“That’s not police business. I saw the display. I know who it is. Hang up.”

Cinnamon muttered, “Can I call you back, Jenna?”

I told her not to bother. The information I had wouldn’t translate well over the phone anyway. I was heading for the precinct. I added that Sabrina Divine was on her way, too. “She has news you’ll want to hear.”

Cinnamon promised to be on the lookout. I hung up wondering about her family dispute. At least my father and I were getting along. No blowups. No drama. In fact, I saw blue skies ahead for us.

Tigger circled my feet, tail twitching. I checked his water, nuzzled his ears, and said, “Back soon.” I grabbed my purse and raced to the front door.

When I opened it, Mackenzie barged inside with Sabrina in tow. Her hands were tied in front of her. Without losing his grip on Sabrina’s upper arm, Mackenzie shoved me in the chest. I careened to the floor. Scrambling like a crab, I fumbled to find my footing. I bumped into the sofa.

Using the back of the couch for support, I thrust myself up. “How . . . why . . .”

“You know why, my friend. I heard everything you said to Sabrina.”

Shoot. Mackenzie was the man who had been whispering in the background when I’d phoned Sabrina. She had wanted to cut me off at the beginning. Mackenzie must have prodded her to respond, hence her groans and moans.

“Sweet Sabrina and I were on a date,” he continued. “I was taking her for a midnight swim, but you interrupted.”

A midnight swim that she was not meant to survive, I realized.

“I’m sorry,” Sabrina said, rapid-fire. “After we talked in the parking lot, I thought about the night Desiree died. Mackenzie was so friendly. Why? He was never into me. That’s when I remembered he had cozied up to my drink at the Chill Zone Bar, and I knew what he’d done. He had dropped in a pill. After talking to you, I went to his Winnebago to confront him—”

“Shut up,” Mackenzie ordered.

I didn’t need to hear more. I knew what had gone down. Fearing exposure, Mackenzie took Sabrina hostage. While I attended the Four C’s meeting to track down Cinnamon, he must have deliberated about what to do with Sabrina. I called as he was carrying out his plan. I dug into my purse for my cell phone.

Mackenzie knocked the phone out of my hand. “Not a chance.” He took hold of the front of my lacy sweater and tugged me around the end of the couch. He propelled Sabrina into the sofa. “Stay.” She slumped back, her head against the cushion. At the same time, Mackenzie pulled me close. “Now the question is, what to do with you?” His breath reeked of sour food and fury.

“First, you might consider mouthwash and deodorant.”

He backhanded me.

My cheek smarted something fierce, but I refused to surrender. “Can’t take criticism, huh?”

“Quiet, woman.”

“Need me to obey? Need silence to think? Maybe you’d like to go outside? It’s real quiet out there.”

He growled.

What in the heck was I doing? Why was I provoking him? Because I was downright scared. I needed a weapon. I scrutinized the area beyond Mackenzie. All I saw was a tray of freshly baked cookies. Could I feed him into submission?

Focus, Jenna.

A recipe box. Utensils. Knives. How could I reach a really sharp one of those?

“The police know everything,” I lied, wishing Cinnamon would come looking for me when I didn’t show up at the precinct but knowing she wouldn’t. Her mother would convince her I was a sheep that was crying wolf
.

“Sit.” Mackenzie heaved me onto the sofa beside Sabrina.

She groped for my hand; I gripped hers as I scanned the room for an item closer than knives to subdue the maniac who paced between the coffee table and us. To my right: the picture frame, a lamp, and the answering machine. To my left: the art easel, paintbrushes, and items on the Ching cabinet. The fire poker wasn’t close enough. I would never get that far before Mackenzie attacked.

“Desiree upset you,” I said, channeling my therapist’s calm tone. If only I could recall the words she had used to hypnotize me.

“What Desiree did was inexcusable,” Mackenzie said. “She made a promise. I was supposed to become her partner.”

“Partner?”

“We were soul mates.”

“No way. You weren’t her lover.”

“At first, I was.”

“But you’re gay,” I said. “You’re nickname was the Gay Blade.”

Realization dawned in his eyes. “So that’s how you figured out who I was. You saw
Radical Cake Battle.
Well, get this, I’m not gay.”

“You’re not?”

“The producers wanted different, unusual. They wanted flair. I wanted a chance.”

I released Sabrina’s hand. “I get it now. You met Desiree on the set. You made a play for her so she would feature you on her show.”

“Women, such as Desiree, go for a sex machine.” He smirked. His nasty grin turned into a grimace. “But she led me on. First, she hired me as her errand boy. She told me where to go and what to say. To her, I was no more than a puppet. When she discovered I was a licensed masseur—”

“Why are you a masseur?” I asked. That detail had perplexed me.

“An up-and-comer still needs a day job. Desiree added that task to her to-do list. I didn’t mind. I enjoy touching a beautiful woman’s body.”

My skin crawled.

Mackenzie bent forward, hands on his knees, and breathed into our faces with acidic venom. “However, when Desiree withdrew the promise, claiming she couldn’t risk putting an unknown like me on her show or her audience might think less of her, she said it all with a smile, and I thought too bad for her. She didn’t have a clue what I would do if crossed.” He reached forward and stroked Sabrina’s left breast. “Same as you, I imagine.”

Sabrina mewled. Tigger leaped onto the couch, hissed at Mackenzie, and jumped into Sabrina’s lap. Though her hands were bound, she clutched Tigger fiercely.

“Desiree didn’t think once about me,” Mackenzie continued. “She didn’t consider what an appearance could do for my career. Her heart was ice. That night—”

“The night she died,” I inserted.

“I saw her sweet-talking Anton. She flirted. She touched his hand and ran her fingers up his arm. Man, you should have seen him. The dolt was bug-eyed in love.” Mackenzie snorted. “J.P. was the same way. Desiree devoured men as easily as if they were road kill. But not me.”

“Stop it,” Sabrina cried. “Desiree was a good person.”

Mackenzie shot a finger at her. “Open your eyes, little sister. She squashed you as if you were a gnat. Day in, day out.”

“No.”

“Go ahead. Lie to yourself.”

Tears welled up in Sabrina’s eyes.

“I called Desiree,” Mackenzie went on, “and asked her to come to the bar so we could talk. I was giving her a second chance—more than she gave me. When she arrived, she had it out with you and then she caught sight of Anton, so she snubbed me. I knew what I had to do. What I had planned all along. I had to kill her. Seeing you made it that much easier. I had roofies in my pocket.”

As I had guessed. “Why would you carry those with you?” I asked.

“I told you. I enjoy sex. I’m always prepared.”

“To dominate.”

“If that’s what it takes.” Mackenzie grinned. “Sabrina had problems. Everyone knew it. I slipped her a roofie. She was slurring her words in minutes.”

“You stowed her in your van and returned to the bar.”

Mackenzie stopped in front of me and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re a smart one.”

“I do my best.”

“Typical Desiree, she forgot all about me. I followed her out.”