by Mary Maxwell
Harper nodded as I ran down the list. Then she said, “I’d forgotten about that one. At least everybody had a great time.”
“They did,” I said. “And we’ll aim to do the same for Mitzi and her guests. I’ll let you know how it goes as soon as I finish talking to her.”
After hurrying to the office and picking up the phone, I discovered that the Longview job could possibly surpass the Garbin event in terms of the final tally of changes.
“It’s a disaster!” Mitzi cried into the phone. “We have to start all over with everything, Katie! And I’m so sorry about the extra trouble. When I sat down with my sisters-in-law last night to go over the plans, I found out that most of what we’d settled on won’t work for our party.”
“No worries,” I said. “We’ll figure it out. What’s the latest?”
She heaved a sigh. “Where do I start? My head’s still spinning from last night. I took notes, so let me get those, okay? Give me a sec.”
While Mitzi went in search of the details from her meeting, I opened the laptop and toggled over to my email. There were a few messages from vendors and suppliers, a couple of BOGO notices from my favorite stores and an email from my sister in Denver reminding me that her birthday was in two weeks. She also included her Amazon wish list, a comprehensive guide to her favorite colors and sizes as well as explicit instructions about where to have all packages delivered: office before the big day, home after. Apparently, Olivia’s present to herself was a two-week vacation watching television, taking naps and enjoying a daily massage.
“Okay, I have them now,” said Mitzi, coming back on the line. “I’m sorry to make you wait. I should’ve been more organized before I called.”
“It’s fine,” I said, hoping to ease her anxious mood with a calm, steady tone. “Take your time.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “I appreciate your patience.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “So what are we dealing with?”
She huffed again. “I swear that we’re going to end up serving leaf lettuce, tap water and plain mashed potatoes. I had no idea that our friends and family members were sensitive to so many things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I’ve got six allergic to dairy, an even dozen that can’t eat fish, three who go into anaphylaxis if they’re anywhere near peanuts, a couple who can’t tolerate eggs and fifteen who absolutely loathe cilantro. I adore it, but Debra told me about a time that Vanessa Craddock stormed out of Penelope Black’s luncheon because three of the four dishes contained cilantro.”
“She must really hate it, huh?”
Mitzi laughed. “Oh, you know Vanessa. She pretty much hates everything that Penelope does. I think the only reason she keeps accepting the invitations is to flirt with Dave.”
“Who’s Dave again?” I asked.
“Tyra Norman’s husband,” Mitzi said. “He’s a dead ringer for Hugh Jackman.”
“At least that’s something at the luncheon that she’s not allergic to,” I joked.
Mitzi sighed again. “I know. Hugh’s one of my favorite actors, too. I find him absolutely dreamy! I watched the movie about the circus six times and I’m deathly afraid of elephants and clowns.”
“Okay, so…no fish, no dairy, no peanuts, no eggs and no cilantro,” I said, reviewing the list that I’d jotted down. “That leaves lettuce, tap water and spuds.”
Mitzi gasped. “I was teasing, Katie! I didn’t actually mean that.”
“I was just trying to make you smile,” I said. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Jules and I will put our heads together and figure out a menu that will work for everyone. If we do include dishes that contain…oh, say eggs or dairy…we can use placards on the buffet to let everyone know. In fact, we should plan on two different food stations, one with those types of things and one with selections for guests who are sensitive to the ingredients you just shared with me.”
“Oh, heavens!” She exhaled loudly again. “If I had any idea how complicated this was going to be, we could’ve skipped the food and just invited everyone over to play cards.”
“Sure,” I said, “but think how wonderful it will be to celebrate your anniversary with a buffet dinner and a couple of scrumptious desserts?”
“That’s true,” Mitzi replied. “We were going to do something for our twenty-fifth but that was the year my mother-in-law was so sick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“Well, she made it through that rough patch,” Mitzi said. “In fact, five years later, I think that she’s better than ever. She does Pilates, yoga, spin classes and cross-country skiing in the winter.”
“Wow! That’s impressive!”
She laughed again. “Not to mention utterly humiliating! I can barely get out of bed in the morning, and Alberta’s running a half marathon this summer.”
“Lucky lady,” I said. “What’s her secret?”
“You’re going to love this!” said Mitzi. “Alberta swears by cilantro! She said that it’s chockablock full of antioxidants, vitamins, essential oils and fiber that helps cut the bad cholesterol in her blood.”
“Maybe we should tell Vanessa Swenson,” I suggested.
“Be my guest,” Mitzi said. “The last time I tried to give her advice about something, she wouldn’t speak to me for six weeks.” She paused. “You know what? My blood pressure always goes up when I’m around Vanessa, so maybe you’ve got a point. Maybe I will tell her about Alberta’s passion for cilantro!”
CHAPTER 13
Julia looked distressed when she shuffled into the Sky High office the next day around two o’clock.
“Please don’t be angry,” she told me, “but I forgot to order the lace cupcake liners that Darla Pedretti wanted for her order.”
“That’s no problem,” I said. “I have to run to the bank in a few minutes. I can stop at Paper Palace and get some. Did she tell you which design she prefers—hearts, flowers or black iron fence?”
“She didn’t specify,” said Julia. “Whatever you can find; maybe mix and match?”
“Darla Pedretti?” I laughed. “Have you already forgotten how fussy she got about the sprinkles we used with the frosted sugar cookies a couple of months ago?”
Her eyes narrowed as she flipped through her memory. When I saw one corner of her mouth quiver, I knew the quest had unearthed a recollection of Darla’s most recent tantrum.
“Okay, you’re right,” Julia said. “I can call her and ask.”
“Let me do that,” I replied. “You’ve got enough on your plate this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Katie. I owe you one.”
I waved her offer away with one hand. “No, you don’t. This is teamwork. I’ll get the deposit finished, head out the door and do my best to be back here in forty-five minutes.”
“See you then,” she said, walking back to the kitchen.
For the next half hour, I was right on schedule. I gathered everything for the deposit, made it there in record time and then felt like the stars were perfectly aligned because I was the only customer in the lobby when I walked into Crescent Creek Bank.
But a few minutes later, as I headed into Paper Palace for the cupcake liners, I spotted Simone and Brent Oldham walking slowly down the sidewalk. They were dressed in black from head to toe, with opaque sunglasses shielding their eyes.
“Hi, Katie,” Simone said when she noticed me coming their way. “How are you?”
“I’m so sorry about your father,” I said, moving closer as she raised her arms for a hug. “How are you guys doing?”
Brent shrugged. “It’s like being in a bad dream that never ends,” he said. “I keep expecting to, you know, suddenly gasp for air and wakeup to discover it was all simply a nightmare.”
I nodded. “I’ve had those nights.”
“We were supposed to have lunch with dad at your place the next day,” Simone said. “He loved eating at Sky High so much.”
“Blueberry pancakes,
coffee with cream and a poached egg on the side,” I said. “That was his standard order for breakfast and lunch.”
Brent smiled. “And sometimes for dinner at home,” he said. “If our mother was feeling motivated.”
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
Simone glanced away, clenching her teeth to keep from crying.
“It’s going to be a long time until she smiles again,” Brent said while his sister went into her purse for a tissue.
“Is it true that you’re working with the police?” Simone asked, dabbing at her eyes. “Annamarie Wilkins stopped by the house last night and told us that you were helping Dina Kincaid in some kind of consulting role.”
“That’s true,” I said. “I’ve actually supported a few of their cases since I got back to town.”
“Including a murder investigation?” asked Brent.
“Yes,” I said. “On more than one occasion.”
His forehead creased as he scowled. “Around here?”
“It was last year,” I said.
“I don’t remember hearing that you were involved in anything like that,” Simone said. “But I suppose it’s not the sort of thing they’d publicize.”
“Well, it’s not a matter of secrecy or anything,” I said. “I have years of experience working as a private investigator. And I also have a very good relationship with Deputy Chief Walsh and everyone else at the CCPD.”
“Is there anything that we can do?” she asked. “Mother isn’t in the best shape, so I don’t think she’d be much help. But if either of us can, I don’t know, maybe answer questions or look at mug shots or whatever, we’d be happy to.” She glanced at her brother. “Right, Brent?”
“Totally,” he said. “The only thing that we want now is justice for our father and Pam Newill.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If we could get together tomorrow or the next day, I would like to ask you a few questions about your father’s business, the other employees and anyone that might have a motive for harming him.”
Brent scoffed. “Harming him?” he said. “It wasn’t harm, Katie. It was murder.”
“I know,” I said. “I was trying to be—”
“Well, there’s no need to,” Brent snapped. “We’re not children. We don’t need to be coddled. Until the police do their job…hell, until you and the police catch the killer…our father won’t be at peace. Do you think that’s too much to ask?”
Simone reached for his arm, but he jerked it away.
“Don’t be like that,” she said. “Katie’s trying to help.”
“Well, maybe she should stop wasting her time offering empty bromides,” he hissed, “and get on with it!”
After he’d abruptly stomped over to the display windows at Sheffield’s Ski Hut, Simone apologized for her brother’s behavior.
“Dad and Brent were really close,” she added. “At least, they were until the past couple of weeks. I don’t know what was going on, but whenever I asked either of them about the other, they’d just…well, it was like I’d crossed some kind of invisible line.”
“Were they arguing?”
She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. It was like a light switch had been turned, going instantly from bright white to gloomy darkness in a flash.”
“Was it related to the company?” I said. “Your brother was still working for your father, right?”
“He was, but a new sales rep joined the staff right around Christmas. Brent never mentioned anything being problematic, but that’s the type of thing that could cause friction.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“My brother’s impossibly competitive,” she replied. “And my father could be very critical if someone on the sales team didn’t perform as expected. He gave them monthly quotas that Brent found unreasonable, even though he exceeded them on a regular basis.”
“Then wouldn’t it seem odd if that was behind the rift between your father and Brent?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Simone said. “It’s been on my mind since the first time I overhead them bickering, but Brent isn’t the most approachable guy when it comes to his professional pursuits.”
“What about his personal life?” I said.
She frowned. “I’m not following you.”
“Could there be something in Brent’s personal life that was upsetting your father?”
“I don’t have any idea,” she said. “I love my brother. And I’d do anything for him. But he’s not very forthcoming about his feelings or anything like that.”
I glanced at Brent, staring at a colorful display of skis, snowboards and boots in the front window of Rob Sheffield’s store.
“This is a very difficult time for your family,” I said. “If you and Brent do feel up to talking, I’ll definitely keep all of what you’ve just shared with me in mind.”
“But you won’t mention it to him will you?” she asked.
“No need to worry,” I said. “You and he have more than enough to deal with right now. I’ll do everything I can to tread lightly.”
CHAPTER 14
Twenty years had passed since the last time I stepped inside Crescent Creek Middle School, but my return late that afternoon elicited the same emotions that I’d experienced as a slightly chubby, forever hopeful and intermittently shy girl. I felt queasy, my throat went dry and the overhead lights seemed far too bright.
A woman wearing a floral blouse and pleated blue skirt was in the main office when I walked through the door that someone had propped open with a two-wheel dolly holding four cardboard cartons. The boxes were marked CCSD CCMS Main Office—20# BOND/LASER. Several stacks of identical cartons were arranged against one wall in the reception area.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
“I have an appointment with Principal Westbrook?” I said.
She issued a fatigued sigh and gestured at the dolly. “Printer paper,” she said. “For some reason, it’s always delivered when I’m here by myself.”
“Want some help?” I asked. “I haven’t worked out yet today.”
“That’s sweet,” she said. “But I’ve got four kids coming from detention in a few minutes. They’ll get it stowed away in no time at all.”
“Smart solution,” I said.
She laughed. “The only solution, if you ask me. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let Sarah know that you’re here.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“My pleasure,” the woman replied. “You’re Kate Reed, right? From Sky High Pies?”
“That’s me.” I studied her face for a moment, even though I was certain we hadn’t met before.
“I saw the name on Sarah’s calendar,” she said, pointing at the desktop computer at the far end of the nearby counter. “I’m new to Crescent Creek, but I’ve heard so many people rave about the food and baked goods at your café.”
“Well, that’s kind. You’ll have to come in sometime and see if you agree.”
She nodded. “It’s on my list! I’m still getting settled into our new apartment, so that kind of fun will have to wait until the last box is unpacked.”
“We’ll be there when you’re ready,” I said. “And please ask for me if I’m not in the dining room.”
“I’ll do that.” She tapped the name tag pinned to her blouse. “I’m Donna Bailey. My husband and I moved here last month for his new job with Dartwell Financial Services. I keep saying that it was kismet because the first job posting that I saw was for this position. I spent fifteen years with the schools in Edina. It was a wonderful experience, but I’m looking forward to my new life here in Colorado.”
“Was that Edina in Minnesota?” I asked.
“Yes, indeed,” she said with a smile. “Let me call Sarah before I start boring you with stories about the move to Crescent Creek. I never thought a professional company could lose or damage so much stuff, but I know now that they can!”
A few minutes later, I was seated across from Sara
h Westbrook in her office. She and her family came in for Saturday breakfast at least once a month, so the first five minutes of our conversation were devoted to an update on her son’s latest hockey-related injury and her daughter’s new boyfriend.
“All of that happened in the last week and a half?” I asked.
Sarah nodded. “And I can’t decide which is worse,” she said. “A sprained ankle or a boy with a police record.”
“Oh?”
“Abby’s new beau was arrested for stealing Miriam Pembrooke’s front porch furniture,” she explained. “It was a school prank and nothing was broken, but I still hate the thought of our little girl dating a convicted felon.”
I nodded. “I don’t think that’s technically categorized as a felony.”
“I know that,” Sarah replied. “But Abby’s convinced that he’s the love of her life. If that’s true, then it’s only a matter of time.”
“You think he’s beyond rehabilitation?” I asked.
Sarah smiled. “I see what Abby’s attracted to,” she said. “Nolan is cute and smart and charismatic. But I’m sure some woman felt the same about Al Capone.”
“Mae Coughlin did,” I said. “They were married for twenty-nine years.”
She laughed. “And you know this because…”
“Chicago,” I said. “I went to college there. After that, I worked as a private investigator.”
“Oh, that’s right! I sometimes forget about that when I see you at Sky High. It just seems like you were born to bake and cook and make people happy with all of those delicious goodies!”
My heart fluttered with pride at the compliment. When I was younger, I imagined a perfect world would combine my love of cooking and Agatha Christie. I was obsessed with her books and short stories back then, primarily because my grandmother often described one of Christie’s famous plots or characters while she taught me to make the cakes, pies and cookies that she sold at Sky High.
“Well, thank you,” I said. “That makes me feel good.”
