“I’ll hold a good thought for everyone.” Rebecca got to her feet. I stood up as well, setting Owen on the floor. I gave Rebecca a hug. “For what it’s worth, I’m with Everett. The honey-sunny is excellent.”
She smiled. “Well, who am I to argue with such experts? Not that it matters anymore.” I walked her out. “Get some rest. And if you hear anything will you let me know?” she asked.
“I will,” I promised.
She turned on her flashlight and headed across my backyard to her own house. I watched until she reached her back steps and waved the flashlight at me. Then I locked the door and went back inside.
I made a second cup of hot chocolate and gathered Owen on my lap again. He looked hopefully at the plate of bread. “We’ll have some for breakfast,” I said. He made a sound a lot like a sigh of resignation.
I looked at my phone. I didn’t want to bother Marcus but I couldn’t stop thinking about Kassie. Was Rebecca correct? Could Kassie have had some sort of seizure? Was that how she had ended up facedown in that bowl of whipped cream?
I went over the list of things that I knew could cause seizures: epilepsy, diabetes, a head injury. I remembered the abrasion I’d seen on Kassie’s lower lip when I started CPR. It looked recent. Could she have had a seizure and banged her mouth when her face hit the bowl? It was possible.
“Or someone could have pushed her head into that bowl,” I said slowly. Owen’s golden eyes met mine. “I’m jumping to conclusions, aren’t I?” I asked him. He continued to look unblinkingly at me.
Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but based on my past experiences, maybe I wasn’t.
chapter 5
Marcus called a little after midnight. “Did I wake you up?” he asked.
“No,” I said, pulling the quilt up a little higher. “I was reading. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”
“It’s official, isn’t it?” I said. “Kassie’s dead.”
Marcus hesitated for a moment. “Yes, she is. They pronounced her dead at the hospital.”
I set my book aside. “I thought she was, but I wanted to be wrong.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what the cause of death was?”
“The ER doctor said it wasn’t a heart attack or a stroke, at least as far as he could tell from looking at the body, but we won’t know anything definitive until the autopsy and that’s scheduled for later this afternoon. He thought it was possible she had had a seizure.”
So Rebecca’s guess could turn out to be right.
“Do you know what will happen to the show now?” Marcus asked.
“I’m assuming that this will be the end of it,” I said. “Practically speaking, now they’re short a judge, and with Kassie dead I don’t see how anyone will want to continue. She died in the kitchen in the community center. Aside from filming the actual show on the set, everything was happening at the center. I don’t think anyone is going to feel comfortable working in there again.”
I knew I wasn’t looking to spend any time in that kitchen. I could still see Kassie slumped over the table with whipped cream spilling down the side of the large bowl. My mind started to head in a dark direction.
“What is it, Kathleen?” Marcus said. I’d been silent a little too long. “Did you remember something?”
“Not exactly.”
“It’s something from the crime scene, though.” I pictured him distractedly running his hand through his hair.
“Maybe I’m overthinking things,” I said. “But did you notice the table and the wall behind it?”
“Notice what? There was a little whipped cream on the table but the wall was fine.”
“That’s what I mean. If Kassie had a seizure, why didn’t whipped cream get all over the table and the wall?”
“I remember from my first-aid training that not everyone’s body jerks or twitches when they’re having a seizure.” I had the feeling he’d shrugged as he’d said the words.
I adjusted the pillow behind my head. “That makes sense. But where was the mixer? And why didn’t the person who made the whipped cream actually use it for something? Or take it with them? Or at least stick it in the refrigerator.”
“So you think someone made a bowl of whipped cream just to, what? Suffocate Kassie Tremayne? That’s a big stretch.”
“The medical examiner will probably say that Kassie had a seizure,” I said. “She was standing by the table and fell forward. With the whipped cream covering her mouth and nose she couldn’t breathe.”
“But you don’t think that’s what happened,” Marcus said. “You think someone killed her.”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m seeing monsters where there aren’t any.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. Not yet.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
The next day didn’t get off to a great start because I woke up late. There were no glowing red numbers on the clock next to my bed and no fuzzy face breathing sardine breath onto mine. The clock’s plug had been knocked out of the wall. I had no idea where my furry alarms were, either.
I scrambled around and got dressed and ready for work. Downstairs, I discovered Owen sprawled on his back in the wing chair, his head hanging over the edge, his golden eyes slightly out of focus. Someone had been into the Fred the Funky Chicken stash. That explained a lot, including, most likely, how my clock had ended up unplugged. He looked at me upside down and meowed good morning.
“Breakfast in one minute,” I said, heading for the kitchen.
I started the coffeemaker, put out food and fresh water for both cats and made myself a messy-looking peanut butter and banana sandwich. I stuffed the sandwich in my bag and filled my travel mug with coffee.
By then Owen had wandered in from the living room. I bent down to give him a scratch on the top of his head. “Have a good day,” I said.
“Mrrr,” he answered with a loopy smile.
I pulled on my shoes and grabbed my bag and car keys. “Hercules, I’m leaving,” I called. About fifteen seconds later I heard an answering meow. It sounded like he was upstairs. I hoped he wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t be, like spreading my shoes all over the bedroom.
I made it to the library right on time. As I got out of the truck the strap on my messenger bag caught on the seatbelt catch. I yanked at it and when it suddenly let go, I was caught off guard and stumbled back a step. My arm automatically flew up and my hand lost its grip on my mug. The mug arced in the air, landed with a small bounce and rolled along the pavement. The lid hadn’t even come off. I sighed with relief. My coffee was safe.
Then Harry Taylor drove into the lot.
The front tire on the driver’s side of his truck flattened the metal cup and splattered coffee everywhere.
Harry stopped the vehicle and got out. “Kathleen, I’m so sorry,” he said. He bent to look at what was left of the container. The knobby tires on his truck had reduced it to something close to the thickness of a Belgian waffle.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m the one who dropped the mug. It’s not a big deal.”
It started to feel like a big deal, though, when I got inside the building and realized there was no coffee there, either. We had run out the day before.
I stood in the staff room and took several deep calming breaths the way Maggie had taught us at tai chi. I decided I’d rather have coffee. I realized then that Susan hadn’t arrived yet. I sent her a quick text:
Could you bring me a large coffee, please?
Harry ran over mine. Long story.
A few second later she sent back a thumbs-up emoji and a happy face. All was well.