Kat was still troubled by the question of whether Aaron’s death had been accidental or intentional when a forty-something man stormed into Jessie’s Diner. He swung the door open so hastily that Kat feared the glass pane might shatter when the bell affixed to the top clanked back into place.
“Bill!” Tiffany’s face lit up, her blue eyes sparkling beneath all that black eye makeup.
Bill joined them at the counter. Unlike his young reporter, the plain, brown-haired, brown-eyed man’s only distinguishing characteristic was a goatee that protruded from his chin like a small rodent.
“I rushed over here as soon as you called,” he said. His gaze rested on Jessie, Lisa, George, and Kat in turn before landing squarely on Tiffany. “Is it true? Aaron’s really dead?”
Tiffany nodded. “Somebody poured nut oil into his milkshake.”
Jessie held up her hand. “Hold on, now. We don’t know that.”
Tiffany shrugged. “It makes the most sense.”
“A lot of things could have happened,” Jessie said. “He might have eaten something earlier and had a delayed reaction. Or maybe he’s allergic to more than just nuts. He could have been stung by a bee, for all we know.”
George whipped his head around. “You got bees in here?”
“No. I’m just trying to keep an open mind.”
George didn’t look convinced. His eyes darted from left to right as though he could visualize a swarm of honeybees buzzing in front of him.
Bill shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “So nobody knows how Aaron died?”
“The paramedics said anaphylactic shock,” Tiffany replied. “And since he was only allergic to nuts, there must have been some kind of nut derivative in his milkshake.”
Jessie’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t put anything in that shake except the usual. Milk, ice cream, and vanilla flavoring. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Kat held her breath as Jessie and Tiffany glowered at each other. The tension between them was palpable, and it was clear neither one was willing to back down.
After a long moment, Tiffany wheeled toward Bill. “So, what do you think? Can I do a story on this?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Bill, who had been in the middle of reaching for an order pad under the counter, held up his find. “Mind if I borrow this? I left my notepad at the office.”
Although Jessie waved her approval, her mouth compressed into a thin, white line. Kat felt a little sorry for her. No matter how popular her restaurant was to the people of Cherry Hills, it wouldn’t be good for her reputation if the Courant publicly blamed Jessie’s Diner for Aaron’s death.
Bill grabbed a pen from the basket near the register. “I’d like to hear all the facts before I decide whether this is fit for our readership.”
“We don’t have any facts yet,” Jessie said. “The truth is, no one standing here knows for sure why Aaron had a reaction the way he did.”
Bill nodded. “Okay. You’ve got a point there. We may need to wait until he’s autopsied.”
“For real?” Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “Tox screenings can take weeks. By then this will be old news.”
“We have a responsibility to do our due diligence,” Bill told her. “And that means getting our facts straight.”
Tiffany jammed her hands on her hips. “Well, here’s a fact for you. Aaron’s EpiPen was stolen.”
“Or misplaced,” Jessie piped up.
Tiffany shook her head. “I saw it in his briefcase.” She aimed her finger at Aaron’s abandoned table. “That very same briefcase right there.”
“That was this afternoon, right?” Lisa asked.
Tiffany swayed backward, as though she were startled by Lisa’s decision to join the conversation. “Yeah. So?”
“So, he could have moved it somewhere else between then and now.”
Tiffany dismissed Lisa’s comment with a flick of her wrist. Jessie, on the other hand, shot her cook a grateful smile, obviously pleased by the support.
“Does anybody know where this Pen is?” Bill asked.
“I’m sure his killer does,” Tiffany replied.
“You’re assuming somebody killed him,” Lisa said.
Tiffany’s nostrils flared. “Of course somebody killed him. You think his EpiPen just got up and walked off right before he happened to need it?”
Bill stepped between them. “Now hold on a second. There’s no need to start a fight over this.”
Tiffany and Lisa glared at each other for a few more seconds before they each took a step back. Neither one looked happy with the situation. Kat couldn’t blame them. She knew as well as anyone how high tensions could run after a suspicious death.
The only person who appeared to be remotely enjoying himself was George. His eyes shone as they shifted back and forth between the women. Nabbing the front-row seat at a catfight was probably the most excitement he’d had in weeks.
Reminded of cats, Kat checked the far table. The orange tabby was still there. He had curled up against the wall and was watching the humans with one yellow eye pried open.
Bill rubbed his goatee, his gaze roaming around the dining area. When he spotted Aaron’s briefcase, his hand fell back to his side. “What’s Aaron’s case doing open?”
“Tiffany did that when she was looking for the EpiPen,” Lisa told him.
Tiffany shot her a dirty look. “It was already open.”
Bill eyed her. “But you went through it.”
“Yeah. So? What would you have done?”
Bill ignored the challenge in her tone. “You don’t know what’s in there. He could keep confidential information on his sources inside that case.”
“Confidential? For real?” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “He writes opinion pieces.”
Bill didn’t respond. Instead, he tossed the order pad and pen onto the counter and walked over to Aaron’s abandoned table.
Tiffany followed him. “What are you doing?”
“Gathering up his stuff.” Bill straightened some papers before stacking them neatly inside the case. “Anything in here that doesn’t have to do with the Courant belongs to his family.”
“Or the police,” Tiffany countered.
Bill stopped what he was doing and pressed his palms flat on the table. When he spoke, Kat detected the first traces of exasperation in his tone. “Tiffany, I realize you think human interest articles are a waste of your talent, but it’s what our readership wants.”
George stuck his hand in the air. “Not me. Nothin’ gets the juices flowin’ like a good murder mystery.”
Tiffany rewarded George with a giant smile. “See? Some people appreciate good journalism.”
“Our last readership survey indicates the opposite.” Bill grimaced. “Let me rephrase. Naturally our readers want good journalism. But they’re looking for upbeat stories. They want advice on how to dress fashionably on a budget, gardening tips, and recipes they can try at home.”
Tiffany stuck her finger in her mouth in a mock gag.
“Don’t give me that,” Bill scolded. “You saw the survey results.”
“I didn’t get no survey,” George interjected.
Bill slammed Aaron’s briefcase shut and snapped the clasps into place. “We’re not doing any true crime stories. That’s my final word.” He headed for the front door.
Tiffany chased after him. “You’re making a big mistake. Aaron Moskowitz was murdered. Don’t you think his neighbors want to hear about that?”
George bobbed his head, his wispy gray hair fanning over his forehead. “I sure do.”
Bill stopped and turned around, Aaron’s briefcase smacking against his leg. “Think about what you’re saying, Tiffany. And think about Aaron’s family.”
“What family?” she said. “He lived alone.”
“What about his parents and siblings back in Chicago? How are they going to feel when they find out you’ve been running around spouting accusations that aren’t true?”
Tiffany tilted her chin up. “It is true. And whether you let me write about it or not, I intend to prove Aaron was murdered.”
Bill stormed out the door without another word. Tiffany stayed close to his heels, shouting out pleas for him to reconsider. Kat had to admire the young reporter’s tenacity. With her ambition, it wouldn’t take her long to land a job at one of the national papers.
“Well,” Jessie said, sinking onto the stool next to George, “I certainly hope that’s the end of that. If I never hear another conspiracy theory centered around nuts, it will be too soon.”
George pushed his empty plate aside and swiveled toward her. “Hey, Jess. You hidin’ that pecan pie from me? I’m ready for a second helpin’.”