As the moon rose above the Gulf, Kate leaned over the counter in the kitchen of the Cookie House, carefully piping pale pink royal icing onto a tray of crispy, thin butter cookies. Her coffee sat untouched on a nearby counter.
Maxi helped herself to a second mug, stirred in two teaspoons of sugar, and added some cream. “If Muriel was nosing around the company, could Lord have killed her to shut her up?” the florist ventured.
“That makes sense. But who killed Lord? And how does the company attorney fit in?”
“OK, so maybe Lord tells the attorney Muriel’s going through files. And the attorney gets nervous. And kills her. That would explain why he threw hissy fits every time Peter’s office asked about company records.”
“Or it could just be the lawyer being a lawyer,” Kate said, deftly smoothing her work with an offset spatula. “Especially if he knows that our friend Lord was playing it fast and loose with rules and regs. Face it, anybody working for that company had the same motive for killing Muriel Hopkins. Lord Enterprises was pumping a lot of money into a lot of pockets. Muriel’s digging around threatened to shut off the spigot. But why turn around and kill Lord? And how? Did anyone ever check out Lord’s driver? That guy was actually on the scene at the time.”
“Squeaky clean,” Maxi said, watching her friend finish each cookie with a sprinkle of multicolored sugar. “Peter told me he’s some little college boy making extra money over the summer. Lord leased the car from a service that also supplied the drivers. And the poor kid didn’t have any links to Stewart Lord. Or Paul Larde. But he was super freaked out when his first-ever passenger died.”
“Now I feel bad,” Kate said, looking up. “That would have been awful.”
“What if Lord killed Muriel, then the lawyer killed Lord in revenge?” Maxi said. “Because he was secretly madly in love with her.”
“OK, who’s been watching telenovelas again?” Kate teased as she piped royal icing onto a second tray of cookies.
“I hit the TV button and it appeared,” Maxi said, grinning. “It was fate.”
“Sure, someone could have killed Lord if they found out he’d murdered Muriel. But wouldn’t it have been easier just to turn him in?”
“Maybe they knew it but couldn’t prove it.”
“Rum and a bracelet,” Kate mumbled as she directed the flow of pink icing onto a cookie. “Why does a guy with no girlfriend who loves showy toys and expensive scotch stash an almost empty bottle of rum and a silver charm bracelet in his private closet?”
“They mean something to him,” Maxi concluded.
“I agree. But what?”
“What if Lord found out the lawyer killed Muriel and was blackmailing him?”
“OK, that one seems plausible,” Kate said as she evened the icing with her spatula. “But it still doesn’t explain the rum.”
“Too bad Sam’s in jail. He’s our rum expert.”
“What brand does he drink?”
“Local stuff,” Maxi said. “Isla Tropical.”
“That was the brand in Lord’s closet!” Kate said.
“It’s popular on Coral Cay. It’s really good, and around here folks support the home team.”
“I didn’t know there was a distillery on the island,” Kate said, reaching for the shaker of coarse rainbow-colored sugar.
“There isn’t,” Maxi said. “It’s just over the bridge on the mainland. Very small, but very cool. And the guys who run it are out here all the time, because of the resorts. I think one of them even came to the reopening Saturday.”
“Any idea just how much Sam supported that particular local business?” Kate asked cautiously as she started icing a third tray.
“Not much anymore,” Maxi said. “I mean, right after Cookie died, yeah. But now? He just takes a little sip now and then.”
“What about the bottle under the counter?” Kate asked. “When I first landed here practically everyone in town warned me about the bottle under the counter.”
“It’s, like, an urban legend,” Maxi explained, her hands flying as she spoke. “But you can’t keep the hours Sam does if you’re always drunk or hungover. That man was working himself to death. And not eating nearly enough. Or sleeping enough. But the bottle under the register? It’s like his security blanket. He doesn’t need it. But it makes him feel safe to know it’s there.”
“So where could someone buy a bottle of Isla Tropical?”
“At the distillery. Or some of the liquor stores.”
“That’s it? Not at the resorts or Harp’s shop?”
“No way,” Maxi said. “Not in Florida. It’s very strict. Harp runs a wine shop. So he can sell wine and beer, but that’s it. And the resorts, they sell rum in mixed drinks. Like the ones with the little umbrellas. But if you want to buy a whole bottle? It’s just the liquor stores and the distillery. And the distillery can only sell, like, a certain number of bottles to the same person. So they are super careful about keeping records.”
Kate gave each cookie a few strokes with the spatula and the pink icing gleamed. When she followed up with the rainbow sugar, the crystals caught the light and sparkled.
“Somehow, I think we’re making this much too complicated,” Kate said, stepping back from the counter to assess her work. “One thing you learn in a kitchen: Humans are simple creatures. Give them a little grilled meat, a starch with butter, and something sweet for dessert and they’re happy.”
“Like our boy Oliver,” Maxi said.
They both glanced over at the pup, who had fallen asleep under the kitchen table. Curled up around his woolly lamb toy.
“Exactly,” Kate said softly. “And I’m willing to bet this is the same deal. It’s not a big, convoluted plot. It’s fairly straightforward. We’re just not seeing it.”
“We need Harp’s murder board,” Maxi said.
“We need something,” Kate admitted. “Wait a minute, I have an idea.”
She pulled open a drawer and rifled through it until she produced a pad of yellow Post-it notes and a marker pen. She handed both to Maxi.
“We write down the points we know,” Kate explained. “And we can paste them up on the refrigerator. It sort of lets you see the big picture all at once. And if you discover something’s missing, you just slap up another sticky note. One of my instructors used to do this to help us analyze what went right and wrong after a kitchen session.
“Lord had a nearly empty bottle of Isla Tropical,” Kate said. “And Sam drinks Isla Tropical.”
“Lord had Muriel’s bracelet, too,” Maxi added. “Next to the rum bottle.”
“Rum!” Kate exclaimed. “That was the secret ingredient in Sam’s rolls. That morning, he came out front and grabbed the bottle from under the counter. When Sam saw me, he said it was just for flavoring. I thought he was embarrassed that I caught him reaching for the bottle. What if he said it because it was true?”
Maxi wrote: “Sweet rolls with rum,” and slapped it onto the fridge.
Under the table, Oliver stirred, stretched, clamped down tight on his lamb toy, and rolled over. As his furry chest moved rhythmically up and down, he snored softly.
“The stuff the police confiscated and tested—was there a rum bottle on the list?” Kate asked.
“No idea. But I know who we could ask,” Maxi said, walking into the shop.
As Maxi chatted on the phone with Peter about the kids’ homework, Esperanza’s evening plans, and—evidently—his proposal to throw a couple of burgers and some veggies on the grill, Kate forced herself to focus on the refrigerator collage. She moved a couple of the Post-its around. Then moved one back to its original spot. Slowly, the information filtered through her brain.
Lord lied.
Lord spied.
Lord cheated.
Lord broke into the bakery.
Lord enjoyed squeezing pressure points.
So if someone at Lord Enterprises poisoned Muriel Hopkins, Stewart Lord himself was the simplest solution.
Then he took Muriel’s bracelet. Maxi was right. Since he didn’t destroy it, he must not have known about the memory sticks. It was a memento.
She stared at one note: “Lord had Sam’s brand of rum.”
She grabbed the thick, black marker off the counter and crossed through two words. Now it read: “Lord had Sam’s rum.”
Another memento. From a would-be murder. Only this time, something went awry.
But how could Lord have stolen Sam’s rum during the break-in when the bottle had been under the register the very next morning?
Kate sighed, turned her back on the fridge, and returned to her cookies.
Oliver moaned softly and scrambled to his feet. Woolly lamb, now slightly moist, was still clasped firmly in his mouth.
“Did you have a bad dream?” she asked, stroking his silky flank as he cocked his head and studied her with bright black eyes. “It’s OK now. You’re here. You’re safe. And your friend Peter’s talking about grilling up some burgers for dinner. I know you like those.”
“It’s official, I’m hosting a barbecue,” Maxi said, coming through the swinging doors. “Mi mami is inviting some of her card shark ladies, and Javie has a friend from school. Not Jessica-the-biter, thank goodness. And Delores Philpott wants to come over and talk more about the grand plans for her yard.”
Oliver dropped his toy in front of Kate. When she reached for it, he grabbed it and danced away.
Then he dumped it just shy of her lap. Playfully, she extended her hand slowly toward the lamb. At the last second, the puppy snatched it back and raced around the table.
“One of Oliver’s favorite games,” Maxi explained as she poured more coffee. “Speaking of which, you are both expected to attend my muy elegante gathering this evening. White gloves only, por favor. And we make the little one wear his bow tie again.”
“Only if I can contribute something. How about some fresh egg rolls for the burgers?”
“Yes, but you still have to wear an evening gown. And change the subject when Delores asks about her yard.”
“OK, but I’m just warning you—my good tiara’s at the cleaners.”
Oliver dropped the lamb under the table and gamboled to the back door, whining urgently.
“Looks like that’s my cue,” Kate said, opening the back door and watching the pup race into the yard.
“Oh, and Peter says there was no rum on the list. And he checked twice. What does that mean?” Maxi asked.
“I don’t know,” Kate said, craning her neck to keep Oliver in sight. “I had a theory, but it doesn’t work. The bakery was robbed late Wednesday night. Early Thursday morning, if you want to get technical. And Lord died later that same day. I was thinking that the rum bottle in Lord’s office was Sam’s. That Lord had stolen it during the robbery.”
“Why?”
“The poison came from someone in Lord’s office. And if he had his people bugged, he’d have known what prescriptions everyone was taking. He’d have also known that last month Muriel had just started downloading files and copying sensitive documents. I think he stole his lawyer’s meds, poisoned the chocolates, and gave them to her. Probably told her that they’d been gifted to him, but he didn’t want them.”
“Why tell everyone else she was the secret admirer?”
“He was a bully,” Kate said as she scrubbed up at the sink. “He wanted to embarrass her. Make her look foolish. And it’s not like she’d be able to contradict him. Besides, if it ever came out she was poisoned…”
“It would look like someone was trying to kill him,” Maxi said slowly. “Because if the box had been delivered, Muriel would have been the one to place them on his desk.”
“Right, he’d simply admit he was mistaken about the identity of his admirer. And the police would be off looking for someone with a grudge against Lord.”
“A very long list,” Maxi said. “But what about the bracelet and the rum?”
“As horrible as it sounds, I think he took the bracelet as a trophy. You were right. He had no idea that three of those charms were memory sticks.”
“And the rum?” Maxi asked.
“I think he was planning somehow to kill Sam,” Kate said. “With what was left of the heart medicine. To speed up the timetable on his Coral Cay project. I think that’s what the break-in was about. At first, I thought that he’d also taken Sam’s rum bottle as another memento.”
“That rat!”
“But that part of the theory doesn’t make sense,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Because the bottle was there the next morning. Sam used it to flavor those cinnamon buns.”
Kate grabbed the handle of her coffee cup with three fingers, tossing back a long slug of cold brew. And dropped it on the counter when the coffee scalded her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Maxi asked.
“My coffee’s been sitting here for hours,” Kate said, reaching for a towel. “I thought it would be ice cold by now.”
“That was your old cup. I swapped it with a fresh one, while you were opening the door for our friend Oliver. You’ve been working all evening. You deserve hot coffee in a clean cup. And a nice hamburger dinner. Trust me, you don’t want to turn into Sam.”
“It’s not the same cup,” Kate said slowly. “You switched it.”
“Sí. That other thing was getting a scum on top. It was gross, as mi niños say.”
Kate’s face lit up. “Maxi, you are brilliant. That’s it.”
“Well, of course. Now, why am I brilliant? Besides my love of excellent coffee?”
“I think you solved it. First thing tomorrow, I need to see a man about some rum.”