Killer Sweet Tooth

Chapter

Sixteen




THE NEXT morning, I got up, took a bath, and got ready to start my day. A cup of café au lait and a biscotti would help to clear my brain fog. I prepared my single-cup coffeemaker, poured a fourth of a cup of skim milk into my mug, and waited. Naturally, the phone rang.

“Daphne’s Delectable—”

“Hi, it’s me, Myra.”

“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Have you got a few minutes?” she asked. “I’d like to come over and talk with you.”

“Come on over,” I said. “I’ll have a cup of hot coffee ready.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You’re a doll.”

When Myra got to my house, she was wearing her overcoat, boots, and pajamas. She deposited her coat on the hook by the back door and her boots on the rug.

“Are you all right?” I asked, aghast at her unkempt appearance. That was so unlike Myra.

“Yeah, I reckon. I’ve just got stuff on my mind.” She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

I handed her a cup of black coffee along with some creamer and sweetener. I set the biscotti on the table, retrieved my café au lait, and sat in the chair across from Myra. “Spill.”

“It’s this Elvis thing,” she said. She put creamer and sweetener into her coffee and stirred. “They’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“I thought you were prepared for that.”

“I thought I was too,” she said. “But I believe one of those Elvises killed Dr. Bainsworth, and we have to figure out which one it was before they leave here sticking you and me with the blame.”

“I know.” I sighed and took a drink of my café au lait. “Ben says there’s not enough evidence to prosecute us for killing the dentist. And while I believe that, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Neither do I,” Myra said. “I figure we go to that banquet hall early and weed out the fat and skinny Elvises and see who we’ve got left.”

“Ben thinks it’s Scottie,” I said.

Myra’s jaw dropped. “He does?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if he really believes Scottie is guilty, but he made some pretty good arguments yesterday about Scottie being our guy. He believes Scottie saw us arriving at Dr. Bainsworth’s office and that he invented the need for a cake in order to stay close to the investigation.”

“He’s not fat, and he’s not too skinny,” Myra said. “Wonder if he’d meet us out at the Sunoco.”

I nearly choked on the drink I’d just taken. “What? You want me to call Scottie and ask him to take part in a lineup?”

“Hey, that’s even better,” she said, warming even more to her idea. “We’ll go to the Sunoco and call Scottie after Hot Lips comes on duty. We’ll tell Scottie that you’ve had a wreck and your car is on its side. We need him and some of the other Elvises—who are in good enough shape—to come and turn your car upright.” She smiled smugly.

“Yeah, there are several problems with that plan,” I said. “What if Hot Lips has the night off? And what will we do when the Elvises arrive and the car isn’t on its side? And no, we are not somehow turning the car on its side. Furthermore, if the Elvises arrive and Hot Lips is on duty, then how would we get the Elvises to go inside and possibly be identified by her?” Before Myra could speak, I held up my hand. “And this last one’s the kicker—I have to deliver the cake to the convention hall at five thirty.”

“Well, there goes that perfect plan,” she said glumly.

We sat in silence for about one entire minute. “I’ve got it,” Myra said, her face brightening. “I’ll go with you to the convention hall to deliver the cake and to help set everything up. Then we’ll mingle with all the Elvises—particularly the ones who fall within Hot Lips’s description—and we’ll talk about dentistry to see if any of them act like they’re uncomfortable.”

“If we talk about dentistry, everyone will be uncomfortable,” I said. “I mean, how do you work that into a conversation?”

“I lost a filling, remember?” she asked. “I can talk about that.”

“I guess it’s worth a try,” I said. I was thinking there had to be a better way. I just hadn’t come up with one yet.


LONG AFTER MYRA had left, I was still trying to figure out how to draw out the guilty Elvis. I decided to talk with China. She’d helped me think things through before. Maybe she could again.

I phoned China, and she answered on the first ring.

“You sound worried,” she said.

How I could sound worried saying only “Hi, China,” I’ll never know. But she was right. “You’re right. I’m worried about who killed Dr. Bainsworth and the possibility that the killer will leave town without ever being caught.” I explained to her about the jewelry photos Myra found in Dr. Bainsworth’s office and how Angela said they weren’t taken for insurance purposes because she wasn’t into jewelry.

“And you think the killer went there to find the jewelry?” she asked.

“Yes.” I laid out my theory about Dr. Bainsworth smuggling the jewelry across the border for thieves and then double-crossing them in some way. “What do you think?”

“I reckon anything is possible. And that makes a lot more sense than you and Myra clubbing the poor man with a giant toothbrush and a plastic molar.” She snickered. “Any jury that knows Myra would realize she’d have never hurt Dr. Bainsworth—at least, not until after he’d fixed her tooth.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But I doubt that it would get that far.”

“Oh, they just don’t have any viable suspects to investigate right now. But if you’re thinking the killer has an eye for antique jewelry, then come on over to my house. I might have just the thing that would draw him out.”


WHEN I ARRIVED at China’s modest gable-front house, I set off a cacophony of barking. At least five fairly large dogs jumped up on the back fence to “say hello,” and I could hear the yaps of one or two smaller dogs as well.

China came to the door. “Don’t mind them! They’re loud but not vicious!”

I smiled and walked down the narrow sidewalk to her front porch. China’s house was white, and she had navy blue metal furniture on the porch. There was a glider and two rockers, one on either side of the glider. The fact that it was sunny today—albeit cold—reminded me of how nice it must be to sit on this porch during the spring and summer evenings.

“Come on in,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m fine.”

Though clean and smelling of lemon furniture polish, China’s living room was cluttered with magazines. There were crime and detective magazines on the coffee table, cooking magazines overflowing from a basket beside a large burgundy recliner, and entertainment magazines stacked at one corner of the sofa. I sat on the uncluttered section of the sofa as a large orange tabby came into the room, gave me the once-over, and then hopped onto the basket beside the recliner and began licking its paws.

China retrieved a box from a tall table in the hallway and brought it to me. “Here. See if you think this might work to draw out your jewelry thief.”

I opened the red velvet box and gasped. Inside was a large teardrop pendant. The outside of the pendant had a row of tiny diamonds followed by a row of blue sapphires. The next row was filigree leaves, and there was a large diamond dangling in the center of the row. It appeared the chain was platinum. The necklace looked very old and very delicate. I was afraid to touch it.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said.

“Thanks. It was my mama’s.” She shrugged. “As you can tell, I’m a bit of a tomboy myself. I never went in for much fancy jewelry. But I figure I can live off this necklace for a few months if push ever comes to shove.”

“For a few months?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. The last time I had it appraised, it was going for fifteen thousand dollars.” China reached over and gently tapped my chin. “Close your mouth, dear. You look like a fish. Do you have a low-cut blouse you can wear this with?”

“I can’t wear this, China! What if something happens to it?”

“It’s insured,” she said, dismissing my concern with a wave of her hand. “And if you don’t wear this necklace, how else are you gonna draw out the thief?”

“We don’t even know there is a thief,” I said. “I’m just jumping to conclusions.”

“It seems like a fairly logical conclusion to me,” said China. “Besides, if there’s no thief, you can bring the necklace back to me tomorrow and we’ll at least know we tried.”

I looked at the necklace again. “But what if there is a thief? And he somehow manages to steal this necklace?”

“Then we’ll catch him.”

“How?” I sighed and glanced around the living room, once again zeroing in on the detective magazines. “Mark Thompson, Dr. B’s private detective—”

“Mark? What about him?”

“You know Mark Thompson?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Call and see if you can get him to come over here. Tell him I’ll pay whatever he charges.” I hoped I could afford it.

China called Mark, and he came right over. By the time he got there, she and I were already putting together ideas.

“We need your help,” I told Mark. “Or at least, I do.”

“We do,” China said. “You’re my friend. Besides, our entire town needs to get a killer off the streets. It’s your problem too, Mark.”

He smiled. “Right you are. So, how can I help?”

“You tell us,” I said. “We’ve got a pretty strong feeling that one of the Elvis impersonators in town murdered Dr. Bains-worth.”

“And Daphne thinks it has to do with jewelry because of some photos she found in his office,” China said. “Did Jim ever talk with you about any jewelry?”

Mark shook his head. “I was hired to investigate his wife, and that’s what I did.”

“His secretary believes you found evidence she’d been having an affair,” I said.

The PI looked wary.

“Oh, come on, Mark,” China said. “Jim’s dead, and Daphne needs your help. You won’t be breaking confidentiality at this point.”

“She was having a fling,” Mark admitted. “Had been for quite some time.”

“Maureen Fremont said you’d given Dr. Bainsworth a photograph of the man she was seeing,” I said. “Do you have a copy of it?”

“Not with me,” he said.

I told Mark about the Redbird Hotel key card I’d found. “Since Dr. Bainsworth had hidden the key card in the picture frame, I thought it might be a regular room he kept somewhere. But now I’m wondering if it was proof of somewhere Angela had stayed.”

“Angela had been in Mexico. She and her . . . er, amigo would meet there on occasion.” Mark inclined his head. “Her lover could have engaged Jim in some sort of theft or smuggling plot, I suppose . . . without realizing who he was dealing with, of course.”

“Or maybe he knew exactly who he was dealing with,” China said.

“Here’s our plan,” I said. “China has a really expensive necklace she wants me to wear to the convention hall this evening. We believe it’ll draw out the smuggler, if there is one.”

“It’s dangerous for untrained people to try to perpetrate their own sting operations,” Mark warned us.

“That’s why we want you to help us,” China said.

“And I’m willing to pay you whatever your rate is,” I said. “What is your rate?”

“We’ll get to that if and when I decide whether or not I’m willing to sign on for this harebrained scheme,” Mark said. “What do you want me to do?”

“I thought if you could maybe wire me up somehow . . . you know, to a recording device . . . and you could be on the other end . . .” I trailed off. It did sound like a harebrained scheme when you said it out loud.

China picked up where I left off. “And you could have some law enforcement standing by.”

“Actually, they’ve been following me and Myra anyway,” I said. “It won’t be hard to find them. I even got one of them to give me a ride home on Sunday night.”

Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. “I might regret saying this until the day I die, but I’ll help you.”

“Great.” I smiled. “I’ll call Myra.”

Mark opened his eyes. “No, you won’t. The fewer people that know about this, the better. That way, her reactions are genuine.”

“What about Ben?” I asked. “I have to let him know.”

“Talk with him. If he wants in,” Mark said, “he can be with me. What time do you need to be at the convention hall?”

“Five thirty.”

Mark nodded. “Then I’ll be at your house at four thirty.”