The Remedy Is Murder

  The Remedy Is Murder

  Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries / 30

  Mary Maxwell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 Mary Maxwell 06302019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recorded or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  NANA REED’S SKY HIGH RECIPES

  CHAPTER 1

  The week at Sky High Pies began with a family of four. The man was around forty, a tall, bald beanpole wearing running pants, a Los Angeles Lakers sweatshirt and bright blue high-top sneakers. His wife was a shapely blonde of medium height with her hair tucked beneath a beret and a black band on her left arm. Their toddlers looked around two or three. Besides cute button noses and wide blue eyes, the kids possessed a passion and flair for throwing food on the floor.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered to Harper, the jovial woman who ran our dining room like a master class in precision, efficiency and cordiality. “I’ll clean up when they leave.”

  It was a few minutes after seven on Monday at the bakery café that my grandmother opened more than forty years earlier in Crescent Creek, Colorado. I’d taken over the business when my parents retired after twenty-five years of pies, cakes, cookies, waffles, pancakes and hearty lunch fare.

  “Besides,” I added, “I’ve seen much worse. Remember the time Dorothy brought her quilting circle? They left so much under the table that you could barely see the pattern in the linoleum.”

  Harper mumbled something colorful. Then she said, “Whoever cleans up after these kids, we’ll need to borrow Burt Sutton’s Bobcat.”

  “His what?”

  “The new skid-steer loader that he bought last month for the ranch,” she said, watching carefully as the boy in the striped shirt launched a piece of toast over one shoulder. “It’ll take care of this mess in no time at all.”

  I laughed and repeated my original offer.

  “You don’t have to coddle me,” she said. “I get plenty of practice at home picking up after Bobby and the kids. Besides, I was teasing earlier about being in a foul mood.”

  The other tot slowly sprinkled pieces of pancake from his plate around the legs of his high chair.

  “What’s the deal anyway?” Harper asked, keeping her gaze fixed on the family. “Are the parents oblivious?”

  “I think they’re just really tired,” I replied. “He told me that they’ve been driving all night. There’s a family emergency in St. Louis that involves her mother.”

  The smirk on Harper’s face fizzled. “Oh, that’s awful. I didn’t notice the armband until just now.”

  “It’s okay.” I nudged her gently with one elbow. “Your griping is warranted. Those kids are really going to town.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “Hey, you two,” Julia called through the pass window. “Did you hear about Barry Lincoln?”

  I followed Harper behind the counter to learn more from our illustrious chef.

  “What did he do this time?” I asked.

  Julia made a face. “Somebody clocked him from behind with a baseball bat in the parking lot at the YMCA last night.”

  “Are you serious?” Harper said.

  “Jared was playing basketball with some of his buddies,” Julia explained. “When they were leaving the gym, one of the guys noticed Barry on the ground. He was out cold, the door to his pickup was wide open and there was a note taped to his sweatshirt.”

  “What did it say?” I asked.

  “That’s the really creepy part,” Julia answered, pulling her phone from her apron pocket. “Hang on a sec. Somebody took a picture of it while they were waiting for the police.”

  She fiddled with the phone for a moment before turning the screen so Harper and I could see the unsettling image.

  “What does it say?” Harper squinted at the picture. “That handwriting is terrible.”

  Julia laughed. “It’s the worst. It took me a couple of minutes to decipher it.”

  “That looks like it mentions something about a doctor,” I said, reaching for Julia’s phone. “Can I get a closer look?”

  “Sure,” said Julia. “And you’re sort of right. But it has the nickname that some people use for Darren Whistler.”

  “The therapist?” Harper moved closer to study the scrawled note.

  “He’s actually a psychiatrist,” I said. “I met him at Blanche Speltzer’s Game of Thrones party.”

  Julia snickered again. “She had a Game of Thrones party? I didn’t know she was into that show.”

  “She and Boris are huge fans,” I explained. “They even dressed up in costumes to greet guests as they arrived. Now that the show is over, I think they’re both in serious withdrawal.”

  “When I get to be Blanche’s age,” Harper said with a laugh, “I want to be that lively. I mean, eighty-five and still going strong.”

  “Better than eighty-five and going crazy,” Julia joked.

  Harper jabbed one finger at the phone. “What’s the rest of it say?”

  I studied the picture for a moment. Then I looked at Julia through the pass window.

  “You’re right, Jules. That is creepy.”

  “I still can’t read it,” Harper murmured. “What does it say?”

  I cleared my throat. “It says, ‘According to Dr. Whisper, vice is not a virtue. Change your ways or the truth will come out.’”

  CHAPTER 2

  When Zack arrived home that night, I was at the kitchen table, surrounded by legal pads, my laptop and a plate of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

  “What’s all that?” he asked.

  I got up and walked over for a hug. He’d been away from home for two days on a photography assignment for The Crescent Creek Gazette. After I asked about the trip and he gave a quick rundown on the difficulty of sleeping in a lumpy bed at the motel, he sat down at the table and asked again about the scattered materials.

  “I was doing a little online sleuthing,” I said.

  He peered at the computer screen. It showed the website for Dr. Darren Whistler.

  “Isn’t that the shrink that Viv goes to?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t want anyone to know,” I said. “That’s something
she shared with us in confidence.”

  His eyebrows wriggled. “I’ve got something to share in confidence, too,” he said in his Donald Duck voice. “Have time for a smooch?”

  I laughed at the silly impression before offering to fix him something to eat.

  “That’s okay,” he said, reaching for a cookie. “After we got back to town around six, Gwen wanted to catalog and archive all of the images before we called it a day. She had sandwiches brought in from Drake’s since we were working late.”

  “Did she really?”

  He nodded. “Miracles do happen.”

  “I thought the last edict from the home office was another round of cutbacks,” I said, “and tighter control on expenses.”

  “That’s right,” Zack replied. “But Gwen paid for dinner out of her own pocket. I think she’s feeling anxious about what’s coming down the pike.”

  “Do you know how many jobs are on the line this time?” I asked.

  Zack shook his head. “Not a clue, but we’ll be fine. If I get the axe this round, I can keep doing freelance for the time being. Brian from the hardware store told me about a corporate gig in Boulder that sounded promising. His brother-in-law works for an aerospace company up there that needs a photographer for the marketing team. He’d be happy to give me a recommendation. We’ve been hiking together a few times, and I guess he thought I was a good guy.”

  “Well, there’s no question about that,” I said. “But the commute might get kind of old after a while. It would be at least ninety minutes each way, right?”

  Zack chuckled. “Says the woman who walks down a flight of stairs to get to work.”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” I said. “I’m lucky. And I’m grateful that Sky High keeps chugging along year after year.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?” he asked. “It’s the best place in town for breakfast and lunch, plus you guys make the most amazing baked goods on the planet.”

  I leaned closer to pinch his cheek. “You might be biased, hon.”

  “Nope,” he replied. “But I do have a discerning palette. I know good stuff when I taste it.”

  We shared a laugh before I asked where he’d heard the phrase.

  “Which one?”

  “Discerning palette,” I said.

  He frowned. “Are you accusing me of being a dolt?”

  “Oh, heavens no! It just sounds funny coming out of your mouth.”

  “Discerning palette?” He pronounced the phrase with a shaky British accent. “You think discerning palette sounds amusing when I use it in a sentence?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “But I’m getting used to it.”

  He got up, walked around the table and leaned down for a kiss.

  “Kind of like you’re getting used to being married?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Nothing has ever felt more right.”

  He pressed his lips to mine for a lingering kiss. When he stood up, he motioned at the materials on the table again.

  “So?” he said, returning to his chair. “What are you researching?”

  “Something happened last night at the YMCA,” I answered. “I was just curious about Whistler’s practice.”

  “Can’t you just ask Viveca?” he said. “Wouldn’t she know since the guy is her therapist?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “But she’s in Mexico this week.”

  Zack’s eyes went wide. “Wow! Is that work or pleasure?”

  “A little of both,” I said. “One of her posh clients from Aspen bought a place in Puerto Vallarta. She flew Viv down so they could discuss architectural changes and décor for it.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” Zack said. “Does she need an assistant?”

  “Viv?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. If Gwen gives me a pink slip at the paper, maybe I could work for Viveca.”

  “She already has someone,” I told him. “But maybe we can work something out at Sky High. You could be our official taster.”

  “Wait a sec,” he said. “Don’t I already have that job?”

  “You do, but we could make it official.”

  “Do I get my own office?” he teased. “With an expense account, four weeks of vacation and profit sharing?”

  “Unfortunately, those perks aren’t included,” I said. “But you would have access to an unlimited supply of pies, cookies and cakes.”

  “Deal,” Zack said. “If my position at the Gazette is eliminated, I’ll be ready to start first thing the next morning.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, “maybe we should get ready for bed.”

  “Are you done with whatever all of this is about?” He pointed at the things on the table again. “If you need more time, I can watch the show on Yosemite that I recorded last week.”

  “Maybe ten more minutes?”

  “Knock yourself out,” he said, reaching for another cookie. “Just as long as it won’t give you nightmares.”

  I laughed. “I think we’re safe,” I said. “After the day we had at Sky High, a nightmare would be a nice change of pace.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Not really,” I said. “It just wasn’t one of our best. It’s not worth getting into.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he replied. “Will another kiss make it better?”

  I smiled. “Always.”

  He got up again, walked over and surrounded me with a warm hug. Then he gave me a kiss and took a third cookie.

  “So you still haven’t told me why you’re researching the shrink,” he said.

  “Psychiatrist,” I replied. “I’ve heard that Dr. Whistler is fussy about that.”

  Zack shrugged. “Tomayto, tomahto.”

  “Not to the good doctor,” I said. “And I’m reading about his practice and services more out of curiosity than anything else. A man named Barry Lincoln was assaulted last night at the YMCA. After they hit him with a baseball bat, they left a creepy note that mentioned Dr. Whistler.”

  “Seriously?” Zack asked. “Is he okay?”

  I nodded. “A few stitches, but no serious damage.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Zack said. “Does the guy know why he was attacked?”

  “I haven’t heard anything about motive,” I answered. “Julia mentioned it this morning, but that’s all she got from Jared.”

  Zack nodded. “Who’s this Barry Lincoln guy anyway?”

  “He works for Larry Dell’s insurance company,” I said. “I met him once at a Chamber of Commerce thing.”

  “Did you call Trent or Dina to get the scoop?” Zack asked.

  In an ironic twist of fate, two of my childhood friends had ended up at the Crescent Creek Police Department. Trent Walsh was Deputy Chief of Police, and Dina Kincaid was the lead detective. Since I’d worked as a private investigator for more than ten years before returning to Crescent Creek to takeover the family business, Trent and Dina occasionally asked me to consult on cases. I also called them on a regular basis whenever I heard or saw anything peculiar.

  “I plan to call Dina in the morning,” I said. “Whistler’s website is pretty straightforward. And there’s nothing out of the ordinary online about Barry Lincoln. But I found something on a community message board that struck me as odd.”

  “What was it?”

  “A posting about keeping secrets,” I said. “It was anonymous, but they used Whistler’s nickname and seemed to suggest that he isn’t as kind and compassionate as everyone thinks.”

  “What’s the nickname?” asked Zack.

  I smiled. “Some people call him Dr. Whisper because he talks with such a soft voice during sessions.”

  “Dr. Whisper?” Zack laughed. “It sounds like somebody from a Stephen King novel.”

  “Ooh, I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Let’s hope that 'is thing, whatever it is, doesn’t end with a little kid yelling, ‘Redrum! Redrum!’”

  CHAPTER 3

  “There was another attack yesterday,” Julia announced breathlessly. �
��They used a milkshake this time, but left the same identical note!”

  We were in the Sky High kitchen early the next morning. When she rushed through the door and screamed my name, I could tell that she had big news. But I figured it would have something to do with one of her three kids, not another anonymous assault.

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Totally serious.”

  “What do you mean they used a milkshake?”

  “They threw it all over her new pantsuit!” she reported. “But that’s better than a baseball bat!”

  “Who was the victim?”

  “Eileen Lanier.” Julia paused. “Remember her?”

  I thought about the name, but it didn’t ring any bells. When I told Julia as much, she gave my shoulder a gentle punch.

  “Your brother,” she said. “Eileen and Brody dated for about a minute during their senior year in high school.”

  I made a face. “And I’m supposed to remember that a dozen years later?”

  “C’mon, Katie,” Julia said. “The woman’s a knockout. I’m surprised that you don’t remember her coming to Sky High with Brody for family Sunday dinners.”

  “How do you?” I asked.

  “Because I heard all about it from your mother when she was here for your wedding,” Julia replied. “She went on and on about what beautiful children Brody and Eileen would’ve had if only he hadn’t sabotaged their relationship.”

  “And when did you and my mother chat about Brody’s long lost love?”

  “After your father’s toast and before Sam Harlin tripped over his wife’s purse and nearly face planted into the cake,” Julia reported. “Once that happened, your mother stood watch until you and Zack cut it a while later.”

  I smiled. “I don’t remember any of that. I hope somebody got it on video.”

  She raised her hand. “That would be me,” she said. “Do you want to see it?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “But I want to hear more about Eileen and the milkshake first.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Julia replied. “She was walking to her car after work last night and someone came from behind a Dumpster, called her name and drenched her with a shake from Scoops of Joy.”