The Swallowtail Legacy 2, page 9
“Why? You’re not gonna need money for college. You’re so gonna get a soccer scholarship.”
“Maybe,” I say. “There’re a lot of good players out there.”
The waitress takes our order and when she’s gone, I lean over the table toward Blake, making sure no one else can hear me. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“What wasn’t an accident?”
“Shhh! Didi. The chocolates.”
“So…you’re saying…”
“It was murder.”
“That’s crazy. Why would anyone want to murder her?”
“Well, that part was an accident.”
“You just said it wasn’t an accident.”
“I mean they didn’t mean to kill Didi. They meant to kill Keyheart.”
“Who is they?”
“I’m working on it. I already have three suspects, and it’s only lunchtime.”
Over grilled cheese and french fries, I repeat Gabby’s account of all the gory details of Keyheart’s history with Wendy Eppinger, Jordie Holloway, and Howard Allam.
“Wow. She sounds crazy. What is wrong with people?” Blake is, seriously, one of the nicest people in the world, and he can’t even imagine doing the things that Keyheart has done over and over in her life.
“So, you agree that they all had the motive to kill Keyheart?”
“I don’t know. There’s a long way between being really mad at somebody and, you know, actually committing murder.“
“But what if you could do it in a way that looked like an accident?” I ask. “They would know things about Keyheart. Important things. Medical things. Eppinger was her college roommate and Keyheart lived at Holloway’s house for a year.”
“Ohhh. You’re saying they knew she was allergic to nuts.”
“Uh-huh. I haven’t figured out how they did it yet, but it has something to do with chocolates, the ones from Keke’s Cocoas. The first time I was in the cottage with Keyheart, she said that she had ordered a bunch of boxes online right after she found out she was coming to the island. Said she remembered how good they were from the last time she was here. And she made a big deal about saying they didn’t have nuts. Anyway, I talked to Keke herself this morning and she says there’s no way the chocolates got mixed up at the shop. Somebody must have messed with them later, but instead of killing Keyheart, they killed Didi…who unfortunately was also allergic to nuts. Omigosh, that reminds me. Can’t go to the beach. I have to talk to the cops at two. I guess because I found the body—although, technically, I didn’t, Keyheart did—I have to make a statement.”
“But…isn’t it possible there were nuts in something else Didi ate, and it really was an accident? ’Cause I don’t see how somebody could have tampered with a box of chocolates that Keyheart ordered online and were delivered to her in New York.”
“They could have done it yesterday, during the day,” I say. “Didi was gone. She and I went to…well, that’s a whole ’nother story. Maybe somebody snuck into the cottage while Keyheart was sleeping. It would only take a second.”
“It’s possible, I guess,” Blake admits.
“I’m not done yet.” I flatten a crumpled copy of the official Swallowtales program on the table. “Check it out. Here’re the suspects. Eppinger. Holloway. Allam. They all hate Keyheart. They all live in New York City. And they all know each other. And at least some of them had to know about the nut allergy thing.”
“What are you gonna do? You’re gonna tell the police, right?”
“Not yet. They’ll never believe me anyway. I have an idea, though.” I snap pictures of the headshots of my three suspects from the program and text them to Keke with this message:
Thanks for ur help this morning. And for the chocolates!! Did any of these peeps buy chocs in the past few days? Esp boxes w/nuts.
“Just because they bought chocolates with nuts doesn’t mean they’re murderers,” Blake notes.
“Yeah, but it’s another piece of the puzzle,” I say. “I’ll bet you a week’s worth of babysitting Pip and the boys that at least one of them went to Keke’s.”
“No thanks,” Blake says. “I’m not betting against you.”
“Finally. You’re learning.”
CHAPTER
7
i show up at the police station right on time and find Thomas sitting on a bench outside waiting for me.
“Hey, Tomás. What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“Ah, there’s that Lark charm I’ve come to love so much,” he says, smiling. “They called to say that you were coming by for your statement. Apparently, since you’re not a suspect, they can talk to you without me around, but they’re trying to be nice. I thought that, well, with your history, it might be a good idea.”
“What, d’you think I’m gonna punch Pawlowski? Have you seen how big that guy is?”
Thomas’s left eyebrow rises a fraction of an inch and he fake coughs to cover up a smile.
“I saw that,” I say, but I laugh because deep down, I know he’s right.
“It’s up to you,” he says. “I can leave if you want.”
“Nah. It’s okay. He’ll be nicer if you stay. And I’ll get out of here faster.”
Officer Pawlowski takes his good old time, and calls us into his office at two fifteen. Right off the bat, it’s crystal clear that the whole thing is strictly a formality. He’s simply waiting for the coroner to confirm what he’s already one hundred percent certain of: Didi Ferrer’s death was an accident. When I point out—again—that the box of chocolates was green and therefore nut-free, he waves me off.
“Those aren’t the only nuts on Swallowtail Island,” he says.
Thomas sees my raised eyebrow and says, “Lark. Don’t say it.”
“But it’s so…oh, fine,” I say, crossing my arms in a huff at being so…oppressed.
The light finally switches on for Officer Pawlowski: “Ohhh. I see what you’re…ha ha. Very funny. What I was thinking was, maybe she ate a Snickers bar.”
“She didn’t eat a Snickers bar,” I say. “She wasn’t an idiot. And what about the fact that Ms. Keyheart is also incredibly allergic to nuts? Geez, how can you be so…obtuse?”
“La-ark,” says Thomas.
“I think we’re done here,” Pawlowski says, closing his notebook and getting to his feet.
Outside, Thomas pats me on the head. “Well, that was fun. Obtuse? You are something else.”
“What can I say? I do my best,” I say. “And you know he’s looking it up on his phone right now. We should get out of here before he figures it out.”
“What are you up to, anyway? What’s this about green boxes?”
“Kind of a long story. I’ll tell you later…what’s for dinner?”
“Oh, you’re going to grace us with your presence? I thought there was another big bash at the book thing.”
“Eh. Nothing really special. Now that Keyheart is in the hotel instead of the cottage, my job got a lot easier. I don’t need to escort her around as much. Supposedly, she’s having dinner at the yacht club with the Cheevers. Lucky her.”
“Lucky you,” Thomas says.
My phone dings; it’s Keke, replying to my text:
Yes! Saturday morning. Eppinger, 3 w/nuts, 2 no nuts, Allam, 2 w/nuts, 4 no nuts. They came in together. Never saw the other guy.
So, Blake and I are both right. And that makes a total of five boxes with nuts bought by two people who know about Keyheart’s nut allergy and who knew she was coming to Swallowtail, and where she would be staying. Thanks to social media, the whole world knows that she loves Keke’s Cocoas, so that all somebody had to do, I reason, is sneak into her cottage and switch a few chocolates in a box she already had.
“Well, that’s interesting,” I say after reading the text. “Ya know, I gotta go, Thomas. I’ll see you later.”
“Still on for dinner?”
“Yes. I mean, probably. You know what? I’ll let you know.”
* * *
Based on our history, I’m pretty sure that Officer Pawlowski would laugh me out of his office if I tried to explain my theory of the crime that he doesn’t even believe was a crime. What I need is something to connect a suspect to the scene of the crime. Which means I have to do some old-fashioned snooping, starting with Jordie Holloway. I text Blake the news from Keke, but (no surprise) he doesn’t respond. He’s probably sleeping, which is how he spends most of his free time.
A few seconds later, though, my phone dings. It’s not Blake; it’s Nadine, asking me to meet her in the hotel lobby ASAP.
She’s waiting for me at the main desk, standing next to a cute, college-age girl who is a mix of preppy and punk, and somehow making it work. Her hair is mostly hot pink and her ears and nose are well-pierced, but from the neck down, her plaid, sleeveless sundress and quilted cotton bag would fit right in with the ladies-who-lunch at the yacht club.
Nadine looks relieved to see me. “Lark! Thank goodness. You must have been close.”
“Yeah, the cops wanted to talk to me about last night…what’s up?”
At the mention of the word cops, the girl with pink hair looks me up and down, much as I had done to her a few seconds earlier. In my peach shirt and khaki shorts, I’m not exactly at the cutting edge of fashion and certainly don’t look much like a criminal.
“Lark, this is Suzy,” Nadine says. “Didi’s roommate. From New York.”
“Oh.” I feel the blood draining from my head. “Um…hi. I’m Lark.”
Nadine continues before I can say anything else: “She’s on the island for a…she’s a musician. She’s playing at one of the bars in town.”
The expression on Nadine’s face tells me that Suzy has no idea of what’s happened to Didi.
Nadine glances around the nearly empty lobby. “I think we should sit. You can leave your bags there. They’ll be fine. Please.”
“Um, what’s going on?” Suzy asks, dropping into a comfy chair.
“I’m afraid I have some terrible news,” Nadine starts. “About Didi.”
Suzy sits up straight in her chair. “Didi? What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
Nadine puts her hand on Suzy’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Last night, it looks like Didi ate something with nuts and had a bad allergic reaction. She was alone in her room…by the time the paramedics reached her, it was too late.”
Suzy’s head tilts slightly to the left and she stares at Nadine, waiting for her to say that she’s being punked, that it’s all a joke, that Didi’s fine and in fact, it was her idea to play this little trick. As reality sinks in, Suzy looks like an inflatable swimming pool toy that someone has let the air out of. She leans back in the chair, her eyes watery and mouth wide open in disbelief.
“Oh. Poor Didi. Just when everything was finally…what about her parents? Do they know? I don’t even know where they are. Half the time Didi didn’t know. They’re always traveling. They just got back together. They were separated for years.”
“The police were able to track them down,” Nadine says. “Not sure how. Unfortunately, they’re somewhere in Asia. They’re trying to get back, but it’s going to take some time.”
“Did you know her for a long time?” I ask. “Were you guys…”
“We met at boarding school,” Suzy says. That memory hits her hard, and she buries her face in her hands for several seconds, rubbing her eyes and temples and then burying her fingers in her shocking pink hair.
“Can I get you anything?” Nadine asks. “A glass of water?”
Suzy stands, collecting herself and taking several long, deep breaths. “No. Thank you. I’ll be okay. It’s still…sinking in. I just need a minute to process it. It doesn’t seem possible. When did she…”
“It was about ten last night. Her employer, Ann Keyheart, found her. Lark was there, too. She’s the one who called 911.”
Suzy nods at me. “I was about your age when I met her. The thing is, back at Carton, we weren’t really friends. Ran in different circles, I guess you’d say. After college, we both ended up in New York, and reconnected. It’s not like we were best friends or anything, but, you know. It worked. Two people sharing an apartment in a crappy neighborhood, you get to know each other, look out for each other. That’s why it doesn’t seem possible, what you said about her eating something with nuts. She was way too careful. She drove me crazy. Everywhere we went, everything she ate, she asked a million questions. How could she make such a…”
“Nobody knows for sure yet, but it looks like some chocolates with nuts got mixed up into a box that wasn’t supposed to have any,” I say, deciding for the moment against sharing my theory that her death was a murder gone wrong. “I’m really sorry. I just met her yesterday, but we spent a couple hours together. I drove her out to a place on the island she wanted to see. She told me about…all kinds of things about her life. She seemed really nice.”
“I tried to call her yesterday,” Suzy says, “to tell her I was coming, but it kept going to voicemail. This gig was a last-minute thing. I guess somebody flaked out on them. A total fluke, that we were both gonna be here at the same time. I’m supposed to play at some bar called the Mug Shot. Do you know it?”
“Sure. It’s not far,” Nadine says. “I’m sure Lark can show you…that is, if you’re up to it. I know the owners, and I feel sure they’d understand if you…”
“No, I want to play,” Suzy says. “It’s like therapy for me.”
“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Nadine asks her.
“There is one thing. I don’t actually…have a place to stay. I came here to the hotel ’cause I knew this was where Didi would be. Figured I’d crash with her.”
In the Captain’s Cottage? With Keyheart? Yikes. Hard to believe that Keyheart would have gone along with that plan, I think.
“Stay at my house,” I say. “We have an extra room. It’s kinda far from town, but I can give you a ride. Or you can use my bike.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. It’s no problem, as long as you’re okay with a bunch of kids. I have a sister and three brothers.”
“Do you want to check with Thomas first?” Nadine says.
“Nah. He’ll be fine,” I say. “Thomas is used to me springing little surprises on him. He’ll hardly notice one more person at the table for breakfast.”
“As long as you’re sure. I’m…yeah, that would be awesome,” Suzy says.
“You wouldn’t find a hotel room anyway,” notes Nadine. “With Swallowtales, everything’s booked—no pun intended.”
“Do you want me to take you out there now?” I ask Suzy. “Or do you need to stay here for a while? Either way’s okay with me.”
“I could really use a coffee,” she says. “If we could stop someplace, that would be cool. But yeah, I’d love to crash for a while. It sounds like it might be a busy night at the Mug Shot. The ferry was packed. I guess everybody’s trying to get one more trip in before the end of summer.”
“They’re all day-trippers,” Nadine says, handing Suzy one of her cards. “You would not want to be on the last ferry off the island tonight. It will be a wild one. Call me if you need anything. That goes for both of you.”
* * *
After a stop at the coffee shop for an extra-large latte for Suzy and an iced tea for me, I drive us back to the hotel in order to show her the Captain’s Cottage. I was a little surprised that she wanted to see it, but if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that everybody deals with the big stuff in their own way.
“This is it,” I say when we approach it on foot after parking the golf cart.
Even though Officer Pawlowski insists that no crime has been committed, the front door is crossed with plastic crime scene tape.
“I guess that’s to keep the cleaning people out for now,” I say. “We can go around the side. There’s a nice deck that sticks out over the lake.”
“Hmmm. I see what you mean. That’s amazing,” Suzy says when the front of the cottage and the lake come into view. A man in a kayak paddles silently past, following the shoreline for a while before turning south toward Inchworm Island, a half mile or so away. “It’s so peaceful here. Didi told me it was nice, but I always thought, you know, Lake Erie. How nice could it be?”
We walk back to the front of the cottage, where Suzy stands on tiptoes and tries to peek through the porthole window in the door. “I can’t really see anything,” she says, backing away from it. Then she shakes her head and kicks angrily at the dirt. “I just don’t get it. Why didn’t she call 911? Or use her EpiPen?”
“I think she tried. The phone, I mean. It was in her hand when…when she died.”
“Oh. No. Wait. I just remembered something. When Didi was packing on Friday night, she flipped out a little because she couldn’t find her EpiPen. She was positive it had been in her bag when she went to work, but it was gone. She said she’d be okay because Keyheart always has one with her, and they’d be together anyway.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I say. “And Keyheart does have one. She showed it to everyone. But…”
“What?”
“It’s just that I saw Didi’s room. Super organized. Everything exactly where it was supposed to be.”
“Tell me about it,” Suzy says. “She’s the neatest, cleanest, most organized person I’ve ever met. We’re, like, polar opposites. She won’t even look in the door of my bedroom in our apartment. It makes her crazy.” She pauses before adding, sadly, “Made.”
“But somehow this super organized person lost her EpiPen and her phone in a stretch of about twelve hours.”
“She lost her phone? Wait a minute. You said it was still in her hand.”
“That was the landline. She lost her phone…well, technically, she didn’t lose it. Keyheart did. She borrowed it from Didi on the ferry and somehow it ended up in the lake.”
