by Mary Maxwell
“What about Lawton and Dixie?” she said.
“Yes, we’re looking into all four of them,” I replied. “I can’t say much more than that right now, but you’ve been a big help. I’d never heard of the Royals until you told me about them.”
“Well, I’m glad to help, sweetheart.”
“What about Natalie Packwood?” I said. “Do you know anyone here in Crescent Creek who kept in touch with her?”
“I’m pretty sure that Blanche Speltzer did,” my mother replied. “They’ve always been close, despite the fact that Blanche gave Natalie a failing grade for her last history class essay in high school.”
“Well, that’s kind of cool,” I said.
“What’s that?” my mother asked.
“The fact that Natalie didn’t hold a grudge because of the bad grade,” I said.
“Oh, not at all,” she replied. “Once Natalie was in her thirties, she and Blanche discovered that they liked playing bridge and drinking martinis too much to let ancient history get in the way. Before Natalie moved to California, they were thick as thieves.”
CHAPTER 9
When I walked into Crescent Creek Janitorial a half hour after enjoying a cup of tea with Cressida, I instantly spotted a familiar face.
“Well, Dexter Greenwood!” I called to the man behind the counter. “I haven’t seen you since this morning! How’s your day going?”
Dex was a daily breakfast customer at Sky High. Harper and Julia loved him because he was as predictable as sunrise and sundown. He always ordered two over easy with hash browns, dry rye toast and a glass of skim milk.
“We’ve been steady,” he said. “Right on time and no mishaps, thefts or damaged office fixtures.”
“Congrats!” I held up my hand for a fist bump, which was something else Dexter was known for.
“What can I do you for?” he asked. “Need us to take over cleaning at Sky High?”
“Not today,” I said. “I was hoping that you might help me identify the janitor that filled in for Tommy Dunkirk yesterday.”
Dexter frowned. “Beg your pardon?”
“Dell McCann told me that he saw a different janitor at his office building yesterday.”
“Hmmm,” Dex murmured. “Must’ve been one of Dell’s two highball lunches because nobody filled in for Tommy. He was at McCann’s building from around six-thirty until three in the afternoon.”
“Okay, so…” I recalled the description that Dell McCann had provided. “How about a janitor with a mustache who wears his ball cap pulled down low? Can you tell me his name?”
Dexter shrugged. “I would if I could,” he said. “But none of our employees has a mustache except Glenda Morrison when she skips too many of her electrolysis appointments.”
I smiled. “Does she know you tell folks about that?”
His eyes narrowed. “Shoot, Katie! I probably should keep that kind of information to myself, huh?”
“I bet Glenda would appreciate it,” I said.
“Duly noted,” he replied. “Please don’t tell her that I said anything.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, touching my upper lip. “I don’t have to worry about little whiskers myself, but my mother goes for electrolysis so I know it can be kind of embarrassing.”
Dexter nodded, but didn’t say anything more about the subject.
“Anyway, if you don’t have an employee with a mustache, I’m a little perplexed. Dell was certain that he saw someone in a blue uniform going into his building yesterday.”
“Okay,” Dexter said.
“Is it possible that the janitor was there for another reason?” I asked. “Maybe to deliver supplies to Tommy Dunkirk?”
He shook his head. “Highly unlikely and totally against protocol.”
“Alright,” I said “so no janitor with a mustache and nobody dropping off supplies for Tommy. What about uniforms? Is there someplace that sells used Crescent Creek Janitorial gear?”
“Not that I know of,” Dexter answered. “But these days, anything’s possible. I think it would be quite strange for someone to want one of our old uniforms. Unless it was around Halloween or something.”
“True,” I said. “Halloween or they wanted a disguise so they could enter an office building for illegal or nefarious purposes.”
Dexter smiled. “Like what?”
“Like murder,” I said.
CHAPTER 10
Blanche Speltzer answered the door to her bungalow with a towel wrapped around her head and a jar of Unicorn hair tint in her hand.
“Well, hello there, dear,” she said with a grin. “I was just getting ready to zhoosh up my hair for the costume party that Boris and I are going to this evening.”
I leaned closer to read the label: Frilly. Since I’d never seen inside a Unicorn jar, I asked Blanche to describe the color.
“Well, it’s basically purple,” she said. “And I have another in the bathroom called Sushi. It’s more of a muted salmon. I haven’t decided yet if I’m wearing one or both.”
“Have you used this kind of product before?”
She smirked. “Do I seem like the kind of dame who does this kind of thing on a regular basis?”
“Not really,” I said. “But I know you can be sassy and kicky! Maybe your hair is zhooshed up on the nights that I don’t see you around town.”
She shook her head. “This is my first attempt to zhoosh anything,” Blanche said. “Two of my friends from bridge dared me to do it, so here I am! I went with this brand because it’s one-hundred percent vegan, cruelty free and perfect for beginners. If it’s a disaster, I’ll just wear a turban and be out forty bucks.”
“Is that how much the two jars cost?” I asked.
“Oh, heavens no! That was the wager with a couple of the girls from our card group. If I do it, they each owe me twenty dollars. And if I chicken out, I’ve got to pay them the same.”
“Good for you!” I said. “I love your zest for life, Blanche. It’s very inspiring and uplifting.”
“Sounds like the Spanx I bought to go under the costume that I rented for the party. It’s a magnificent sleeveless number with red sequined fringe!”
“How stylish! You’ll be Jazz Age from the neck down and New Wave from the neck up.”
“I’ll take that,” she said. “And I hate to be rude, but I need to get back to the zhooshing. Was there something that I can help you with?”
I nodded. “I left a message earlier,” I said. “But I’m guessing that you might not have heard it.”
“I’ve been getting ready for the past few hours,” Blanche said. “First, there was a nap. Then I went to The Glam Room to get my nails done. After that, I had a massage and seaweed wrap, followed by a little beef broth and sunflower seeds for lunch. Then I—” She paused and covered her mouth as her cheeks turned pink. “Sorry, Katie. That’s way too much information. I’m just looking forward to a night out with Boris. We haven’t been anywhere since he sprained his ankle on the trampoline in the back yard.”
“Well, it’s good he’s feeling up to a night on the town,” I said. “The reason I came by was to ask you a couple of questions about Natalie Crenshaw. Do you remember her? She was in your class years and years ago with Lawton Gleave, Dixie Corcoran and Walker Oldham.”
The cheery grin on Blanche’s face slowly became a sorrowful frown.
“This is about Walker’s murder, right?” she asked. “Someone at the salon told me about what happened to the poor, poor man.”
“Yes, it’s a huge shock,” I replied. “Mr. Oldham died from the gunshots and Pam Newill is still in the ICU.”
“The poor dear,” Blanche said. “I’ve never been a Walker Oldham fan, but I hate to hear about bad things like that happening to anyone.”
“He can be a little grouchy,” I said. “But I agree; no matter how grumpy someone can be, they shouldn’t wind up on the business end of a handgun during their work day.”
“So what does Natalie have
to do with Walker Oldham’s death?”
“It’s a bit of a long story, which I can tell you later,” I said. “The most important thing I wanted to ask you about is if you remember any scandals from when those two were in school?”
Blanch snickered. “And that’s another long story,” she said. “Those two were spoiled brats. They came from relatively well-off families, so they thought it was amusing to poke fun at classmates they considered unworthy or weak. The other two were just the same.”
“Do you mean Lawton and Dixie?”
She sneered. “Well, who else would I be talking about?”
“Do you remember any specific examples?” I asked.
“You name it,” she said. “They went after shy kids and overweight kids and boys who were bad at sports or appeared to be less than macho, if you know what I mean. They also targeted boys and girls whose parents worked in blue collar jobs.”
“Did you witness any of these incidents?” I asked.
Blanche shook her head. “They were crafty and cunning,” she said. “I never saw anything because they only attacked their victims when all of the adults were out of the room. They also liked to ambush kids on the way home from school.”
“That sounds like premeditated assault,” I said.
“More or less,” Blanche agreed. “It was very difficult to do anything about it until some other students finally came forward. Remember, this was ages before every child had a smartphone. There was no Instagram or Twitter like we have today. On one hand, those applications are disgusting because people waste so much time doing inane and pointless things. But on the other hand, they can actually serve a very useful purpose by reporting crimes and recording evidence.”
“You’re so right,” I said.
She perked up and smiled. “I know, dear.”
“And so modest,” I added with a wink. “Right and modest and you’re going to be the most beautiful woman at the party tonight.”
She giggled. “I know that, too,” she said. “But it’s sweet of you to say so.”
“Okay, I know you need to get back to doing your hair,” I said. “Can I ask one more question?”
She nodded.
“Do you remember if Natalie and the other bullies went after specific kids?” I asked. “I mean, did they have favorite targets for their horrible antics?”
“They most definitely did,” Blanche replied. “Lyle Walker, the Schumacher twins, Zoey Sutton and Keith Hollis. It’s on my mind whenever I see them around town, too. They’ve gone on to live productive lives, but you can see the haunted look and lingering sorrow in their lives. You and I have talked about this before, Katie. When young people are bullied or attacked or traumatized, it leaves permanent scars, some that we can see and many more that are invisible.”
CHAPTER 11
Julia and I were sitting at a table in the Sky High dining room the next afternoon, reviewing the most recent changes to the menu for Mitzi Longview’s party. It was the fourth modification to our original proposal, something that had begun to frustrate Julia a bit more than usual.
“Is it me,” she said, pausing after a sip of her cappuccino, “or is Mitzi the most persnickety person that you’ve ever met?”
“She’s nervous about the party,” I said. “So many variables are out of her hands, but she can exercise control when it comes to food and beverage.”
Julia propped her chin on one hand and stared at the red markings on her copy of the menu.
“Well, if Mitzi wants to exercise,” she grumbled, “maybe she should join a gym.”
I frowned. “Should we put this on hold until tomorrow?”
“Isn’t she expecting the new menu in the morning?”
“She is,” I answered. “But it seems like maybe you need a break. We had a pretty crazy day, Jules. Lots of people at breakfast and even more for lunch.”
She nodded. “I’m exhausted, but let’s keep going. We only need a couple of new appetizer suggestions and a tweak for the sauce on the tenderloin.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely,” Julia said. “And I’m sorry if I’m coming across as whiny, Katie. I stayed up way too late last night binging something on Netflix.”
“What was it?”
“That show about the cute guy that stalks the girl,” she said.
“Well, that’s not going to help you relax before bed.”
“I know, but I couldn’t stop watching it.” She grimaced and folded her arms across her chest. “He’s so handsome, but such a creep.”
“Is this the one with the guy from Gossip Girl?” I asked.
She grinned. “Penn Badgley! Isn’t he a dream?”
“Not for the girl in the show,” I said. “I haven’t watched it yet, but—”
My phone trilled in my pocket. When I checked the display, I asked Julia if we could take a quick break. It was Tyler Armstrong, Dina’s counterpart at the Crescent Creek Police Department.
“Detective Armstrong,” I said. “How are you?”
He laughed. “Wow, Katie. You’re in a good mood.”
“Always,” I said. “Well, almost always. What’s going on with you?”
“It’s about Walker Oldham,” he said. “Dina wanted me to give you a quick heads-up about some evidence we found at the scene. We don’t know if it’s related to the case or not, but you’ll be able to keep watch for a couple of things while you’re talking to folks.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “What did you find?”
“Three cigarette butts in an ashtray in Oldham’s office,” Tyler answered. “All were unfiltered Camel; one had red lipstick on the end.”
“Unfiltered, huh? My father says that’s like playing Russian roulette with three bullets in gun.”
“Sounds about right,” Tyler remarked. “But some people like taking risks.”
“True. And it sounds like Mr. Oldham had two smokers stop by, one male and one female.”
“Impossible to know if they were together or not, but that seems like a fairly safe bet at this point. We obviously haven’t been able to talk to Pam Newill yet, but I did have a chat with a couple of the other employees. They were both certain that Oldham was alone in his office when they arrived for work that day.”
“So his visitors were in the office before regular business hours?”
“That would be my guess,” Tyler said. “Although they also could’ve been with Oldham the night before. Dina talked to the janitorial service that cleans the building. They said he’s usually there most nights until seven or eight, and they finish cleaning by six-thirty. That leaves another hour or so for Oldham to be alone in the office.”
“Okay, so if he was shot during the lunch hour, while he and Pam were the only company staff in the office,” I said, “the visitors were in the office the night before or early that morning. And if they are related to Oldham’s murder, then maybe they came by to have a chat about some contentious subject, left the meeting feeling unsatisfied and then returned around noon to settle the matter with a couple of bullets.”
“That’s one theory,” Tyler said.
“Do you have another?” I asked.
“Not at this time,” he said. “But between the cigarette butts and the clumps of mud, we should—”
“What clumps of mud?” I asked. “You didn’t say anything about that yet.”
“Sorry, Katie,” he said. “We also found clumps of dried mud under the small table in Oldham’s office. It suggests that one of the smokers may have come in to see Oldham with dried mud on their shoes or boots.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“There were dozens of fibers on the chairs and even more in the carpet,” Tyler said. “We won’t have anything to try and match those to until we have a suspect in custody.”
“Okay, so unfiltered Camels and mud,” I said. “Not exactly an abundance of evidence to go on.”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But we’ll keep digging and figure out where they fit
or don’t fit at some point in the days ahead. It’s entirely possible that Oldham’s guests had nothing to do with his murder.”
“Or,” I said, “maybe they had everything to do with it.”
CHAPTER 12
When you walk out of the kitchen at Sky High Pies and turn left into the corridor that runs from the front door to the back staircase, you’re immediately greeted by a series of framed portraits of my grandmother. They were taken during the fifteen years that she stood proudly at the helm of the family business, from the first day that she greeted customers until her health declined and she relinquished control to my parents.
In one of the pictures, Nana Reed is planting geraniums in clay pots to add a touch of color to the front porch. Another image shows her at work in the kitchen, holding a recipe card and resting one hand on a vintage stand mixer while glowering slightly at the camera. My favorite photograph from the collection shows her sitting on the front steps of the old Victorian that houses Sky High, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. With her silver hair and wrinkled face, she looks far older than her age at the time. It was a few months before she passed away. The extended family had gathered to celebrate her birthday with a leisurely dinner, a towering three-tier cake and fireworks that turned the night sky into a shimmering tapestry of red, white and blue.
I was gazing at the photographs of my grandmother later that day when Harper called to me from the entryway.
“Mitzi Longview’s on the phone for you,” she said. “There’s another change with the menu for their anniversary party.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Harper. Does it feel like we’re going to have one change for every year they’ve been married?”
“It’s starting to feel that way,” she said with a laugh. “That family has more food allergies and peccadilloes than anyone we’ve catered for.”
“Not quite,” I said. “Don’t you remember the Garbin party last year? Julia and I wrote a dozen different menus that Caroline and her sister nitpicked for a month. In the end, we made almost sixty-five changes to the appetizers, wines, main entrée, side dishes, desserts and goodie bags for the guests.”
