Elias Lindstrom, Rashida James, and the coroner’s van arrived at Alder House at 8:30 a.m. Elias pushed the front door open and found himself in a two-story foyer, facing a middle-aged blonde seated at an antique desk. Her eyes were bloodshot and it was obvious she had been crying.
“I’m Detective Lindstrom,” he said, holding out his badge and ID for her inspection. “You are?”
“Melanie Wells. I own Alder House. Scott Nilsson was my chef and partner.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Wells. What can you tell me about Mr. Nilsson’s death? When did you last see him alive?”
“About seven o’clock last night. I stopped into the kitchen, said goodnight to everyone and walked home.”
“What was Mr. Nilsson doing when you said goodnight?”
“The usual, supervising the staff.”
“Are you aware of any medical problems he may have had?”
“No. You could ask his doctor. He gets a checkup once a year in Bellingham.”
Lindstrom reached into his pocket and retrieved a small notebook. “Do you have his doctor’s name?”
“I don’t, but I imagine you can find it in his cell phone.”
“How did you learn he had died?”
“One of the guests called, woke me, and told me when I got here. I was, am shocked.”
“Which guest was that?”
“Daniel Ross. He’s a homicide detective from Los Angeles. He made sure no one went into the kitchen until you got here.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dining room.”
“Thank you, Miss Wells. We’ll speak later.” Elias hoped the homicide detective would be more helpful than Melanie Wells.
When Elias walked into the main lounge, followed by Rashida, he found it occupied by a group of silent guests, drinking coffee and helping themselves to pastries on the sideboard.
“Are you the police?” The question came from a large, weathered man with a shaved head, wearing a green plaid flannel shirt.
“We are,” Elias said. “Are you Mr. Ross?”
“Gunderson,” the man answered. “Ross and his wife are in the dining room.” He pointed toward a closed set of double doors.
Elias opened them. A handsome, dark-haired man and an attractive woman with red hair and striking green eyes were sitting at the dining room table. The man stood up and held out his hand.
“I’m Daniel Ross. You must be the detectives from Bellingham. This is my wife, Dr. Hannah Kline.”
Elias shook hands and turned to Hannah. “You were the one who called us.”
“Yes.”
“Did one of you find the body?”
Daniel answered. “I heard a scream at 5:30 a.m. Hannah and I ran downstairs and found Grace, the waitress, in the kitchen sobbing. I saw Mr. Nilsson in the rocking chair at the other end of the room. It was obvious from the smell, and from the livor mortis in his arms, that he was dead, and had been for a while.”
“What did you do next?”
“I got Grace out of the kitchen, asked Hannah to call you, and made sure no one disturbed the scene until you had a chance to evaluate the body and make sure it was natural and not a homicide.”
“Thank you. I understand you are LAPD.”
“I am. I have a habit of suspecting homicide. I hope this death wasn’t one and things can get back to normal here quickly.”
“I’ll just have a look at the body,” Elias said.
Rashida opened her backpack and took out paper coveralls, booties, hoods, gloves and masks. The two of them suited up and removed the tape from the kitchen door.
They approached the body, careful not to step in the spilled liquid or squash any of the chocolates.
The man in the chair was wearing white pants and a white, short-sleeved T-shirt. His muscular arms were extensively tattooed, although the images on the lower arms were partly obscured by the purple color of the pooled blood.
Elias attempted to move the limbs. “Hard as a rock. That and his temperature should help fix the time of death.”
“I don’t see blood anywhere,” Rashida said. “He wasn’t shot, stabbed, or hit on the head, and I don’t see any indication of strangulation.”
The man’s lids were puffy and the eyes were closed. His mouth gaped open with a swollen tongue.
“Could he have been poisoned?” Elias asked.
“Possible. While we’re waiting, why don’t I photograph everything and then bag the alcohol and the chocolates. We’ll have to find out what he ate for dinner and take all the leftovers in the refrigerator. I don’t think the doc is going to be able to tell us for sure whether it was natural without an autopsy, so we’d better treat it like a crime scene.”
Rashida took a camera out of her pack and began photographing. Ordinarily, there would have been a much larger crime team, but no one had thought this death on Oriole Island would warrant it. This wasn’t the first time Elias had asked Rashida to do double duty as the photographer and evidence tech. The kitchen was a small enough space so he didn’t think she would have any trouble collecting the trace by herself.
“While you’re doing this, and we’re waiting for the doc, I’ll get out of your way and interview the guests,” Elias said.
Elias returned to the dining room and removed his personal protective equipment.
“We’re waiting for the medical examiner, but at the moment, the odds are that the death was natural. My partner is collecting evidence, in case the autopsy shows otherwise, but there’s no obvious sign of violence. I’d like to ask the two of you a few questions.”
“Of course,” Daniel said.
“Did you know Mr. Nilsson?”
“No. This was our first night at Alder House. We’re on our honeymoon. Mr. Nilsson came out of the kitchen before dinner and introduced himself to the guests. That was the only time we saw him.”
“Can you tell me what you did after dinner?” Elias addressed the question to Hannah.
“We went outside and took a walk down to the beach, to burn off some of those dessert calories. Then we returned to the hotel and went to bed.”
“You didn’t happen to see Mr. Nilsson when you returned, or hear any unusual noise from the kitchen?”
“Nothing,” Hannah said. “We woke up when Grace screamed this morning.”
Elias was writing down their answers in his notebook. “Thank you. Would you mind joining the rest of the guests in the lounge? I’d like to use the dining room to interview people. Do you happen to know where Grace is?”
Luke and Grace were sitting outside, on a pair of lawn chairs, in back of the house.
“I still can’t believe it. He was a bastard but much as I disliked him, I never wished he would drop dead,” Luke said. In truth, Luke hadn’t felt sorry about the death.
“I wonder if Melanie will ask you to take over the kitchen,” Grace said. “It would be a wonderful opportunity.”
It would be, Luke thought, and if she didn’t, he was out of here. He’d learned everything Scott had to teach him. Surely, he could do as well some place that wasn’t so boring.
A tall, skinny man with thinning blonde hair came out the back door and headed for them.
“Are you Grace?” he asked. “Your last name?”
“Campbell.”
The man held out his badge and ID. “Detective Elias Lindstrom.” He turned toward Luke. “You are?”
“Luke Murray. I’m the sous-chef here.” Luke could see the tension in Grace’s body and he moved to put a protective arm around her.
“Would both of you mind coming inside with me? I’d like to talk to Miss Campbell in the dining room.”
“Can I ask you how long it will be before I can have the kitchen back? There are hungry guests to feed,” Luke said.
“A few hours,” the detective replied. “As soon as the medical examiner arrives and has done his work, we’ll take Mr. Nilsson’s body back to Bellingham. When we’re done collecting evidence, we’ll release the kitchen. You’ll want to do a thorough cleaning before using it again to prepare food. In the meantime, I’d like you to wait for me with the other guests in the main lounge.”
Hannah sat on the sofa in the lounge, next to Daniel. Opposite her were the four writers. The Suttons were sitting together in a corner, and Gunderson was pacing up and down. No one was talking.
The dining room doors opened and Luke entered, looking uncomfortable. Hannah smiled at him and patted the seat next to her.
“Why don’t you have a seat. I think we may be here for a while until the police figure things out.”
Luke followed her suggestion. “The Detective is speaking to Grace now. He said I’ll be able to have the kitchen back later today as soon as they’ve taken Scott away. They’re waiting for the medical examiner to arrive.”
“Does that mean we get to have dinner tonight?” Ilana asked.
“I certainly hope so,” Luke said. “But I have to disinfect the kitchen first, and with only me cooking, it may be later than usual.”
“I can help,” Ilana said. “I don’t just write culinary mysteries. I work at a restaurant in Seattle as a chef. It’s just a café and the food isn’t as fancy as yours but I’m a pretty good cook.”
“That would be awesome,” Luke said.
“Maybe after the police have finished, we could get together and come up with tonight’s menu?”
Luke nodded. “I know what Scott was planning and what food we have stocked, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
Hannah glanced at Daniel, who was staring past the lounge entrance to where Melanie was seated at her desk in the foyer. There was a tense feeling in her stomach and it wasn’t just the unexpected death. Daniel was hiding something from her. He’d told her Melanie had been a waitress he’d recognized from long ago, when he was stationed at Fort Lewis. Had there been something more between them that he wasn’t telling her? This was not how she’d imagined their honeymoon. She hoped the medical examiner would get here soon so they could get out of here and talk.
Detective Elias watched from the foyer as the medical examiner pulled up in front of Alder House with a squeal of brakes, followed by the coroner’s van. The doctor was probably feeling very put upon, thinking it was a colossal waste of his time coming all the way out to Oriole Island for some celebrity who probably had a heart attack. Carrying the bag containing his medical equipment, he climbed the steps to the front door.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Elias said. “Follow me.”
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” He removed his personal protective equipment from his bag and suited up, following Elias into the kitchen, where Rashida was just finishing up.
“He’s all yours,” she said, removing her mask.
The doctor approached the body and went through his usual careful examination, testing for rigor and measuring both the body temperature and the room temperature.
Elias gave him space and waited patiently until he had completed his exam.
“So, what do you think, Doc?”
“My best estimate for the time of death is between midnight and two in the morning. He seems to have died in his chair. There is no sign of a gunshot, stabbing or strangulation. The most interesting finding is his swollen tongue and lids, and what looks like hives all over his neck, arms and chest. I won’t know for sure until I finish the autopsy but it appears as if he died of an allergic reaction—anaphylaxis.”
“Not poison?”
“I’d have to run the toxicology screen, but if someone has a severe allergy, the allergen is poison to them, if not to others. The coroner’s van is outside. Let’s get him back to Bellingham and I’ll tell you more after the autopsy.”
“You might want this,” Rashida said to Elias. “It’s his cell phone. I found it on the desk in the little office.” She handed him an evidence bag.
“Thanks. I’ll see if his personal doctor’s information is in there. If anyone can tell us about his allergies, his internist is the guy.”
The Medical Examiner left the kitchen, stripped off his paper suit, hat, booties and gloves, picked up his bag, and headed out the front door to his car. Elias watched as he motioned to the techs in the van to go in and do their job and then accelerated out of the driveway, clearly trying to make the next ferry.