Secrets and Pies (A Callie's Kitchen Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 8

  “I should tell you,” Callie hesitated a minute, thinking of her conversation with Mrs. DeWitt shortly before the concert. “Mrs. DeWitt told me that Holly had called Crystal Bay College wanting to discuss her research with someone in the English department. This was shortly before her murder. However, they’d all gone home for the weekend, so she never got in touch with anyone.”

  “Yes, I have heard something about that. We’re looking into all of her activities and phone calls.” He hesitated, so Callie prompted him.

  “She’s writing a research project about F. Scott Fitzgerald, but that’s all I know about it. What about you?”

  “American literature is interesting, but I’m certainly no expert,” Sands said.

  “Mrs. DeWitt also said that rumor has it he may have spent some time here in Crystal Bay before he was famous. Apparently, he had an heiress girlfriend here.”

  “Lucky chap,” Sands said and Callie hit him playfully on the arm. “We’re working on it, Callie. I’ve seen the thesis but it looks like your regular scholarly study for the most part. Also, it wasn’t complete. There were lots of notes about citing sources correctly and verifying information. However, the English department head told me that’s common. She was only in the early stages of writing, it seems.”

  “Huh. So she hadn’t finished it yet.”

  Sands gazed at her sternly. “I appreciate the information you’ve been able to share with me, but you don’t have to keep digging. It could get dangerous, as you well know.”

  “Just one other thing.”

  Sands sighed. “Yes?”

  “Max said Holly was at my shop not that long ago and she mentioned she was stressed about her graduate school research project, so…”

  Callie trailed off as Sands took her by the forearms and looked into her eyes. “I know you want this crime solved. And I know Olivia must be suffering about her teacher.”

  “Yes, she is.” Olivia’s sad face was crystal clear in her mind’s eye. “I promised her I’d help find out who did this.”

  “That’s not a promise you should have made, but it’s one that I will. I’m looking into everything, be assured of that.” Sands slowly let go of Callie’s arms, but his expression belied his concern.

  “I appreciate that, but there’s just one more thing you should probably know. Raine is taking over for Holly Tennyson in the play. They’ve got more performances coming up at The Harris House, and she was asked to be the replacement. I guess she has some very minor acting experience.” Callie smiled at Sands’ openmouthed expression.

  “Well, well. That is a surprise!” Sands said with a chuckle. “Sounds like an interesting casting choice. I think I may need to attend that show as well.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I told Raine I’d be there and she was thrilled! She thinks I’m there to support her, but really, I’m there to snoop. They’re performing the day after tomorrow.”

  “Looks like we’ll both be there to snoop. It’s a date.”

  ***

  Callie spent the next day and a half baking around the clock. She’d been so relieved that her food had gone over so well at Beats on the Bay and that her earnings had been safely retrieved once The Chamber of Commerce got their cut. She felt like celebrating.

  Then she remembered the pies.

  She felt like she was developing new muscles in her arms from all of the rolling of dough and chopping of fruit she’d been doing, Max working feverishly by her side.

  And that was just for Callie’s Kitchen’s clientele, now swelled to twice its normal size with the onslaught of tourists and regular customers. Add to that the pre-baking of spinach-phyllo pie and now, zucchini-phyllo pie that she was whipping up for the Greek Fest. She barely had time to think about Holly’s murder or anything else, for that matter.

  Still, Callie thought, wiping her forehead, her hair in a high ponytail on this hot and sunny day, she was happy for the business. It was a lot better than having no customers, something she’d learned the hard way just a short time ago. She consoled herself with the thought that she’d get a break later on, giving her a chance to ponder the murder to her heart’s content.

  And anyway, tonight was the night she’d been waiting for: her second murder mystery night at The Harris House.

  Callie’s reverie was interrupted by Max, who crashed through the back doors, arms full of empty display trays.

  “Everything all right?”

  “No,” Max said tightly, scooting over to the sink where he placed the trays, more gently than she’d thought he would.

  “Uh-oh. We’re not out of food again, are we?”

  “No, we’re good. In fact, I wish it were that simple,” Max mumbled.

  Callie kept cutting strips for the lattice tops of her cherry pies and let Max take his time. He looked at his shoes and let out a deep breath before continuing. “I really want to keep this job, but my Dad is really pressuring me. He wants an answer, and I don’t know what to tell him.”

  Callie set down her pastry-cutting wheel. She didn’t want Max to leave. Over the years, he’d become more than an employee. He was a friend and she hated to see him so upset.

  “When does he want an answer?” Callie held her breath.

  “Soon,” Max said evasively. “Look, just forget I said anything. We’ve got work to do.”

  “The good news is that profits have really increased to the point I can offer you a raise,” Callie said hopefully.

  “Thanks,” Max said, smiling at her, but without his usual sparkle. Even his spiky hair looked droopy.

  Clearly, Max didn’t want to talk about it, and Callie realized she didn’t have the time. Working had to take precedence if they were going to get everything done.

  An awkward silence followed. Callie decided to try a more neutral topic. “Hey, how did you like the show the other night?”

  “It was good,” Max said, brightening a little bit. “My friend, Phil did a good job, I thought. He’s the one who filled in for Bix.”

  “Yes, that’s what you’d said. From what I heard of the band, they sounded good to me, too.” Callie decided not to share her opinion of the headache-inducing high volume. The music had been melodic, even though it was also deafening. “So how long has Phil been with the group?”

  “Not long. He just started going to grad school at Crystal Bay College this year.” Max helped Callie place a slew of fruit pies in the oven, and she thanked him.

  “What does he study?” Callie asked.

  “English lit. A real money-maker, as he jokingly calls it. But he wants to be a professor or something like that, so good luck to him, right? Who am I to give career advice?”

  English! “Did he know Holly Tennyson?” Callie, stepping over a puddle of water near the sink. She reached for a paper towel.

  “Yes, I think so. He knew a few of the people in that play you saw the other day. Turns out that a lot of them have the acting bug and not many local places to perform, so they take what they can get.”

  ***

  Max’s revelation about the tie between the grad students and the murder mystery play fresh in her mind, Callie set out to her second murder mystery night in as many weeks. She had a queasy feeling, and it wasn’t just because she was going to have to witness Raine portraying a flapper.

  Perhaps Tammy Heckstrom and her fellow graduate students could shed some light on who may have wanted Holly dead. Did students kill for grades or grants? Callie didn’t want to think so, but…

  Or maybe it was Tammy who had the academic and acting rivalry with Holly. They were supposed to be friends, of course, but were they really “frenemies”?

  Questions plagued her as Callie entered The Harris House.

  The first person she saw was Lisa Linley. The hotel owner was surrounded by clientele checking in, checking out and making various demands. Lisa gave Callie a brief smile and wave, before returning to her customers.

  Sands had told Callie he’d meet her there, as he was head
ing over straight from work. To save time, she’d already bought tickets for the two of them so she decided to wait for him in the lobby. As always, the airy space was resplendent in its 1920s glamour and Callie felt herself relax just a little bit in the whimsical environment.

  Unfortunately, Max couldn’t attend. Gotta deal with some things at home, he’d said.

  Callie noticed that Lisa had dispatched her clients. Looking around to see if Sands was on his way up the steps – he wasn’t – she decided to go have a chat.

  “How are the renovations coming along?” Callie asked as she approached the front desk.

  “So far, so good. Hugh was here earlier today with April Manning, and they gave me a full estimate. I won’t be able to do everything I’d like right away, but at least I have a game plan and can get started on a few things.”

  “That’s good news. I’m glad you found someone you can work with.”

  “Yes,” Lisa replied, her smile looking a little pasted on. “Thank you again for the recommendation.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I was a little … awkward with you the other day. You see, April Manning was a friend of that young woman who was murdered. Holly?”

  “She was?”

  “Yes, I thought you knew.” Lisa raised her eyebrows. As they were speaking, Callie had noticed a young woman standing nearby and dressed in The Harris House’s signature hostess gear, a 1920s inspired maid’s outfit. Murmuring an apology for interrupting their conversation, she approached Lisa and whispered something in her ear.

  “I’m sorry. I have to check something out. Talk to you later?” Lisa hurried into the next room.

  Looking right and left, Callie couldn’t help but sneak a peek behind the concierge desk that Lisa had just vacated. She saw what looked like an estimate from Vintage Reno and was about to get a closer look, when she heard footsteps behind her. She jumped away from the desk.

  “Can I help you with something else?” Lisa Linley asked in a voice brittle with disapproval. She situated herself behind the desk like a sentry.

  Callie felt her face turn red. “No, nothing. I was just looking for a pen,” she offered lamely.

  Without a word, Lisa Linley handed her a pen with “The Harris House,” printed on the side. Callie pretended to write herself a note. Blushing furiously, she handed the pen back to Lisa and returned to her seat in the lobby.

  The windows were open to the deepening evening and a sunset was streaking pink and purple across the sky. She sat contemplating the view, as well as her brief but illuminating conversation with Lisa Linley regarding the fact that April Manning and Holly Tennyson were friends. They were about the same age, so it was feasible. Holly had never mentioned April to her. Then again, why would she?

  Callie remembered back to the day she’d met April. She certainly hadn’t seemed like someone in the throes of grief, but maybe she was just putting her best professional face on things. Callie could identify with that. When she was upset, the first thing she did was to focus on something completely neutral, usually work.

  Then again, she’d seen April at Beats on the Bay, a decidedly social event. April said she was meeting friends, and they very well could have been supporting each other in the aftermath of Holly’s murder, despite the unorthodox venue. Callie realized she didn’t know April well enough to know how she handled grief. People had all sorts of ways of dealing with it. Who was she to judge?

  Just then, Sands arrived with a flurry of apologies about being late, and the two took their seats in the dining room. Callie was somewhat horrified to discover that she was seated at the table right next to Hugh. Hugh didn’t seem to like it much, either. He gave Sands a sidelong look of resentment, probably because of the questioning regarding Holly.

  “How’s Olivia?” Hugh asked.

  “She’s having a sleepover at a friend’s house,” Callie answered. “She’s doing all right. It’s good for her to be with friends. She’s still very upset about Holly, as you can imagine.”

  “Uh, yeah, I’m sure.” Hugh’s face turned a dark pink.

  A buzzing sound from Sands’ jacket pocket interrupted their exchange.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Sands said to the two of them and left the table. Callie watched him walk toward the lobby.

  Alone at last, Callie thought. This was her chance. “So, when were you going to tell me about you and Holly?”

  Hugh turned puce. “What?” he asked. He took a sip of water and recovered enough to offer a retort. “There never was a Holly and me, so tell your boyfriend to ease up.”

  “So you weren’t an item.”

  “No,” Hugh said, his voice low. Callie had to lean in to hear him. “We went out a few times, after you and I – you know. After we split up. She was nice enough and all of that. I don’t think I was her type.”

  “Really?” Callie stared at him hard. “And that’s it?”

  “Yes. But when she became Olivia’s teacher, I felt embarrassed. It’s stupid, I know. I didn’t feel like everyone needed to know about our brief relationship, if you can even call it that. Plus, I didn’t want Raine to know.”

  “Why?” Callie was puzzled. “You weren’t with her at the same time, were you?”

  “Can’t you let it drop?” That answered that question. “I didn’t kill Holly,” Hugh’s voice was tight. “Raine didn’t kill Holly. Enough already.”

  Sands slipped smoothly into his seat, just as Hugh and Callie ended their conversation. Callie couldn’t tell from his face if he’d overheard.

  Fortunately, the show started almost immediately. Allan Browne, Callie was quick to note, introduced the troupe, but didn’t say a word about Holly. Well, what could he say? The audience members had come for a staged murder, not a real one.

  Callie studied the actors carefully. It was as if nothing had happened to one of their colleagues. They still had all of the sparkle of the previous performance and delivered their lines with panache. The costumes were eye-catching, and the wigs had not a sleek bobbed hair out of place. You wouldn’t know that a fellow actor was brutally murdered just a few days before. Still, they were actors. It was their job to stick to the script.

  The audience seemed to be enjoying themselves. For once, Allan Browne seemed appeased. He was seated near the stage and laughing uproariously every time one of the actors said anything the slightest bit humorous.

  Surprisingly, Raine was holding up pretty well. Even Callie had to admit that she looked beautiful in her costume, and she only stumbled over a line or two. The second time it happened, Callie glanced at Sands, a small smile on her face, but she turned around quickly when she met Hugh’s glare. Oh, well.

  Callie decided to relax and just enjoy the rest of the show, but she found herself sitting on the edge of her seat as Tammy Heckstrom approached her death scene.

  Something was wrong with Tammy, Callie realized belatedly. She was confusing her words and walking with a shuffling gait. Callie glanced uneasily at Sands and he looked back at her, raising his eyebrows.

  “Oh no,” Tammy was slurring now. “I don’t feel so well….” It wasn’t a line Callie remembered from the previous show.

  “You, you…” Tammy gasped. She tried to steady herself and suddenly her knees buckled. As Callie watched in horror, Tammy fell, face first, onto the lush brocade carpet.

  Ten

  Sands leapt from his chair and ran towards Tammy. Callie joined him. The crowd went from stunned silence to loud, agitated buzzing in a matter of seconds. Dimly, Callie was aware of a woman screaming and crying hysterically somewhere nearby. Raine.

  Ignoring the noise, she looked back at Tammy. Her face was pale and clammy with sweat.

  “Call 911,” Sands said urgently, while checking Tammy for a pulse. Gently, he rolled her over onto her side.

  Callie’s fingers trembled as she called 911. She was practically a household name with the operators there right now, she thought grimly, as she relayed the situation. Sands motioned for her phone, and Callie handed it
to him.

  “She appears to be breathing,” he told the operator. “But she’s having trouble staying awake and her pulse is a little weak.”

  Callie became aware of the crowd of people leaning over Tammy and realized that the woman needed air, and that people needed to stay where they were until the police arrived. She panicked, thinking that whoever had done this would escape.

  Sands must have been thinking the same thing. He was already standing on a chair, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.

  “Everybody stay in your seats. Stand back! The police and an ambulance are on the way. We need you all to remain calm and stay seated.”

  One by one, the crowd sank back into their chairs. Callie watched as Sands shooed the stragglers from the spot where Tammy lay. Everyone stepped back to make room, except for one person.

  Allan Browne stood as if rooted to the spot, his mouth working but no words coming out. Finally, he was able to utter something, but his words sounded garbled.

  “What is it?” Callie asked him and finally he met her gaze. His face was alarmingly grey. Was he about to pass out?

  “Who…why…?” he stammered. Then he swayed and Callie was by his side in a minute. She took him by one meaty arm and led him to a chair. “Here, sit down,” she said gently. She poured him a glass of water from a pitcher on the table and handed it to him. “Drink this.”

  Obediently as a child, the theater director sipped at the water, slowly at first, then greedily gulping it down. He wiped his mouth and sat there, stony-faced. Out of the corner of her eye, Callie saw that Tammy was moaning and mumbling. Thank goodness, Callie thought. She’d been petrified that poor Tammy was dead. Where were the paramedics?