The Remedy Is Murder Page 4

  I thought she’d ask me to repeat my comment, but she swerved back in the opposite direction.

  “Well, I was happy,” she said. “But not if I’m in danger! Do you think the person after Dr. Whistler’s patients has me on—?”

  “Calm down, Viv.”

  “—the hit list?” She paused for a moment. “Should I call—”

  “Hold on,” I said firmly. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’ll ask Dina if your name—“

  She shrieked. “So there is a hit list?”

  “Stop calling it that,” I said. “I don’t want to get into the details right now, but files for a small number of his patients were compromised during a—”

  “Compromised?” Her voice was simultaneously shrill and booming. “What does that even mean? Did they post confidential session notes online?”

  “Viv?” I said calmly.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said. “I’m sorry that I’m upsetting you. But I wanted to speak to you since you’ve been to see Dr. Whistler a couple of times.”

  “Twenty-six,” she said. “Not that we’re counting.”

  I smiled to myself. Then I said, “It doesn’t matter. My intention was to get your opinion about him as a therapist. I wanted to see if—”

  “Compared to what?” she interrupted. “I’ve never been to anyone else. Whistler is the first shrink that I’ve talked to.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said. “Although it isn’t even about whether or not you’ve been to see other therapists.”

  She heaved a sigh. “You know what?”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “I’m not the person you should ask about Dr. Whistler,” Viveca said. “You need to talk to Alma Tucker.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because Alma works as Whistler’s housekeeper,” she said. “If you want to know about the man, she can tell you a whole lot more than anyone else.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Try more cinnamon,” Julia said, crinkling her nose and staring into the mixing bowl, “or maybe a dash of nutmeg.”

  It was nine the next morning. We were standing beside the center island in the Sky High kitchen discussing the batch of cookie dough that I was making for a special order. Nan Salinger wanted three dozen Mexican Wedding Cookies for her son’s engagement party, but she requested a slight variation on the traditional recipe.

  “I already added cinnamon,” I said. “And Nan’s not a fan of nutmeg.”

  Julia’s nose scrunched a bit more. “But she likes cinnamon?”

  “She does,” I answered. “Thus, she asked for it to be—”

  “But who likes one and not the other?” Julia seemed genuinely stumped. “I mean, they go together like—”

  “Order up!” Harper called through the pass window. “It’s for Judge Prentiss. He’s running behind schedule, so make it snappy!”

  “As usual,” Julia grumbled. “That man’s smart and clever, but he didn’t inherit the punctuality gene.”

  “Sorry, Jules,” I told her. “He’s probably having the usual, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Not today,” Harper said. “He wanted to try something different.”

  Julia huffed. “How about setting the alarm a half hour earlier? That’d be something different.”

  Harper smiled. “Want to know a secret?”

  “Not really,” Julia said.

  “Your voice carries a lot farther than you might imagine,” Harper replied.

  Julia looked through the pass window. Judge Prentiss was sitting at the counter, giving her a grin and a friendly wave of his magisterial hand.

  “Morning, Jules!” he called. “Sorry to be a pain!”

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” Julia replied as her cheeks changed from soft pink to candy apple red. “Sorry to be a grump!”

  Judge Prentiss chuckled. “Been there myself a time or two,” he said. “Everything okay? I saw Jared at the hardware store the other day. He seemed in good spirits.”

  “We’re all fine,” Julia said, studying the order that Harper had just clipped to the wheel.

  “Fresh fruit and oatmeal? Is that right?”

  “The doc said that I need to eat more fiber,” Judge Prentiss replied. “My wife suggested a bale of hay with a side dish of crow, but I’ll start with something a little less gamey.”

  Julia giggled at his wisecrack. Everyone in town knew that Mamie Prentiss was constantly harping on her husband to change his diet. “Fried eggs and bacon covered with gravy is fine now and then,” she said the last time they were in together for breakfast. “But not every cotton pickin’ day!” On that particular morning, Judge Prentiss had ordered whole grain toast, a bowl of Nana Reed’s muesli and a glass of prune juice. An hour later, after driving his wife to work and running a few errands, he’d returned for his traditional fried eggs and bacon covered with gravy.

  “Good for you!” Julia called to him. “I’ll get right on your order.”

  While she went to work on the healthy fare, I walked back to the mixer. I smiled as I thought about Nan Salinger’s dislike of nutmeg. As I contemplated adding a smidge of cardamom to complement the cinnamon, my phone vibrated in my apron pocket.

  “Prefect timing,” I said to Dina Kincaid on the other end.

  She laughed. “What’s going on?”

  “Just thinking about ingredients for a batch of cookies,” I said. “I need to add one more thing, but the customer is a little on the picky side.”

  “Anybody I know?” Dina asked.

  “Yep,” I said. “But I’m invoking baker-client privilege.”

  She chuckled again. Then she said, “You have any time later for me to stop by?”

  “I can make time,” I said.

  “Thanks, Katie,” she replied. “I’ll aim for four o’clock after you close.”

  “That would be perfect. Any hint what we’ll be talking about?”

  “I bet you can guess,” she said.

  “Don Sterling?”

  “See? I knew you’d get it.”

  “I can hear it in your voice,” I said.

  “Well, I wanted to chat a little,” Dina said. “Since you and Don both serve on Mayor Washington’s workforce committee, I thought maybe I should get your input. I also wanted to ask a favor, but I’ll wait until later to get into it.”

  “I’ll be happy to help,” I said. “Whatever I can do.”

  “I appreciate that,” Dina said. “I’ll see you as close to four as possible.”

  “If you’re running late,” I replied, “just shoot me a text. I have plenty to do today, so I can keep busy until you get here.”

  “Thanks again,” she said. “You’re a lifesaver, Katie.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Dina strolled into the office at Sky High that afternoon at exactly four o’clock with a shopping bag from Simply Chic, one of my favorite clothing stores in Crescent Creek. She offered a cheery smile, put the bag on the desk and settled into one of the chairs.

  “I brought you something,” she said. “But don’t get too excited. It’s not from Pearl’s shop. I couldn’t find anything else to carry it in.”

  “What is it?”

  She smiled. “Take a look and see.”

  When I pulled the shopping bag closer and peered inside, I saw what appeared to be an old white T-shirt that had been neatly rolled and tied with a pink ribbon.

  “I found it cleaning out my dresser,” she said. “Remember the Bon Jovi concert we went to with—”

  “You found my shirt?”

  “It was in my bottom dresser drawer,” she explained with a nod. “Crammed in a shoebox under a bunch of my old cassette tapes.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “How old were we?”

  She started to answer my question, but I waved for her to stop.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I can do the math. I mean, I can count as high as thirty-five. That was twenty years ago.”

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nbsp; We both howled as I pulled out the shirt, removed the pink ribbon and unfurled the souvenir from one of our favorite teenaged memories.

  “Remember his hair?” Dina asked.

  I smiled. “It was enormous!”

  “Ah, the glory days,” she said sadly.

  I let my eyes linger on the front of the shirt: Bon Jovi, Wanted Dead Or Alive. Then I did my best to mimic the artful rolling job that Dina had mastered before plunking it back into the shopping bag.

  “No way, sister,” I said. “These are the real glory days. We’re both still young and feisty and at the top of our game.”

  She made a face. “Tell that to the gray hair that I found this morning.”

  “Was it yours?” I teased.

  “Don’t even,” Dina said. “Between that and my left knee, I’m not feeling very youthful.”

  “You’ll get over it,” I told her. “How’s Deputy Chief Walsh today?”

  She laughed. “Talk about young and feisty,” she said. “Have you seen him lately? He’s dropped about twenty pounds.”

  “I know! He looks amazing. Zack and I ran into him at CVS not too long ago.”

  “Was he buying a case of Ensure?” she asked. “That’s replaced his salty snacks and sugary drinks.”

  I nodded. “You’ve got it.”

  “Well, more power to him,” Dina replied. “And speaking of power, can we talk about that favor I mentioned this morning?”

  “You bet,” I said. “What do you need?”

  As she shifted in the chair, her lighthearted smile darkened into a stern scowl.

  “Danny Lamott,” she said. “He’s being a pain about the security video from Scoops of Joy on the day that Eileen Lanier was attacked.”

  “Can’t you get a subpoena?” I asked.

  Dina nodded. “Sure, but I’d prefer that he cooperated voluntarily. I was wondering if you’d be willing to have a little chat with the guy. Since it’s technically his property, he could even let you see it without—”

  “What about the courts?” I said. “If you need the tape for evidence, wouldn’t my intervention potentially turn it into fruit of the poisonous tree?”

  She grinned. “I love it when you talk like a lawyer, Katie.”

  “But isn’t that a valid point?”

  “I’m obviously not an attorney or a judge,” she said. “But the security video should still be admissible since you won’t be illegally obtaining it for the case. You’d just be one small business owner asking another small business owner to demonstrate part of his security system.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “You serious?”

  “I checked with an attorney,” she said, smiling.

  “And he told you it was—”

  “She told me that it would be fine,” Dina replied. “And if the person that threw the milkshake on Eileen Lanier actually did buy it at Scoops of Joy, they should show up on the security video.”

  “Do you think they got it somewhere else?”

  “Hard to say,” Dina replied. “A cup from Scoops was found at the scene, but there are other ways to obtain those without actually buying something from Danny and Laura.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  “So?” Dina offered a hopeful smile. “Will you help me out here?”

  “I can,” I said. “And I will. Danny owes me one anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “He was getting gas at Chuck’s the other day, but came up twenty bucks short.”

  She laughed. “So you weren’t joking?”

  “I won’t mention the money unless he’s in a grumpy mood,” I said. “Apparently, he and Laura hit a rough patch and things have been a little tense around there.”

  “At Scoops?”

  I smiled. “She wants to change the napkins from white to blue,” I explained. “Danny’s determined not to rock the boat.”

  “Because people will stop buying ice cream if the place has blue napkins?” Dina asked.

  “You know how he is,” I said. “Superstitious and set in his ways.”

  “In the real world, we call that irrational and stubborn,” she replied.

  “I know,” I said. “But in this case, if you want Danny to give me a look at the video, we’ll have to indulge his superstitious approach to life.”

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked. “Get him a rabbit’s foot?”

  “If you do,” I said, “make sure it’s the left one.”

  Dina’s face went blank. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Blanche Speltzer once told me the history of her lucky rabbit’s foot,” I said. “According to someone that she knows in New Orleans, authentic good luck charms must meet certain criteria. They have to be the rabbit’s left foot. They have to be shot with a silver bullet or captured in a cemetery. And the moon must be in a certain phase, either full or new, depending on what folklore you believe.”

  Dina shook her head and got up from the chair. “As I said before,” she groused, “over here in the real world, Danny Lamott can be irrational and stubborn from time to time.”

  “But they’ve got the best ice cream in town,” I said.

  “Which is why we love him,” she replied. “Warts and all.”

  CHAPTER 11

  As soon as I walked through the door at home early that evening, I detected the mouthwatering aroma of onions and garlic in the air.

  “Is that you, Katie?” Zack called from the kitchen.

  “I think so,” I said. “After the day that I’ve had, I may need a few seconds of downtime to figure out who I am.”

  He came into the living room with two glasses of something red on ice.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Try it,” he said, offering me one of the tumblers. “I got the recipe from Lisa at the newspaper. It’s spicy non-alcoholic sangria.”

  I held the glass to my nose and took a whiff: ginger, cinnamon, cloves, star anise, pepper and citrus. Then I took a tentative sip. And then I felt ripples of joy radiate out from my core.

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “Tasty and refreshing and totally unlike anything that I’ve had before.”

  Zack grinned happily. “I knew you’d like it,” he said. “You guys have been so busy at Sky High that I figured my amazing wife deserves a nice healthy cocktail and dinner when she got home from work.”

  “Thanks, sweet man. I appreciate that. What did you make for dinner?”

  “I was on my cousin’s Facebook page this afternoon,” Zack replied. “She and her husband are taking a cooking class at a community college in Austin. She wrote a big post about the eggplant lasagna that they made last week. I thought it sounded like something we should try.”

  “My nose agrees,” I said. “It smells fantastic!”

  “Let’s hope it tastes that way,” he said.

  “I bet it will,” I replied. “Is there anything I can help with in the kitchen?”

  Zack shook his head. Then he pointed across the room at the sofa. And then he told me to kick off my shoes, get into something comfy and flop down with the remote.

  “It’ll take another half hour or so,” he said. “Give or take five or ten.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said. “Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do?”

  “I’ve got it under control,” he said.

  I drank more of the sangria. Then I raised my glass and offered a toast to my wonderful husband.

  “How did it go with Dina?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said. “How’d you know about that?”

  “I called on the Sky High line this afternoon when you guys were talking,” he said. “Harper was willing to interrupt, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “That’s thoughtful,” I said. “But you can always ask her to knock on the office door. If I’m in the middle of something that I absolutely can’t break away from, I’ll have her tell you so.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Zack. “Was Dina telling you about the Whistler thing?�
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  “We discussed it,” I replied. “She wants me to talk to Danny and Laura at Scoops. Apparently, he’s being a little fussy about letting her see their security video.”

  “Any reason why?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I replied. “Danny and Laura have been having relationship trouble, so it might just be that he’s in a cranky mood these days.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said. “They’re both such nice people.”

  “Agreed.” I raised my glass again. “Let’s drink to a speedy resolution to whatever’s causing the friction for them.”

  “Great idea!” Zack said. “Think how awful it would be if they split up.”

  I smiled, but didn’t say anything because I could tell there was more to his thought.

  “I mean, Scoops is all about fun and happiness and sweet, frozen bliss,” he continued. “If they get divorced and have to sell the place, the new owner might be somebody like Tony Hett. I heard that snooty old crank is snapping up small businesses in the area left and right.”

  “I don’t know who that is,” I said.

  “He’s a Silicon Valley gazillionaire,” Zack explained. “He just bought a huge spread of land about twenty miles north of Crescent Creek. Somebody at work told me that Hett is consulting with a business broker out of Denver to find investment opportunities in small towns around the state.”

  “Why Colorado?” I asked.

  “He was born in Fort Collins,” said Zack. “But his parents moved to Sacramento when he was ten or eleven. I guess that he’s always wanted to have a base here because he has such good memories of his childhood. It’s taken him fifty years to get back, but he’s here now.”

  “And you said that he’s a cranky snob?” I asked. “It doesn’t sound like those two things go together.”

  Zack frowned. “Which two things?”

  “Being a curmudgeon and trying to rekindle happy childhood memories,” I said.

  “I don’t really know,” Zack replied. “Lisa interviewed the guy for a profile in the Gazette. She said their conversation was incredibly tense because Hett was griping about everything.”