by Mary Maxwell
I rang twice and knocked three times before deciding to go around the side of the house for a look at the back. As I reached the midway point, I heard a door slam nearby. When I paused to look toward the street, a curvy woman wearing a bathrobe and hiking boots waved a greeting.
“You looking for one of the guys that live there?” she asked.
“Danny Cargill,” I said.
She shook her head. “He drives a beat up Dodge Ram. If it’s not here, he’s not here.”
“Okay,” I said, walking toward her. “Do you know if he’s been home lately?”
She rolled her shoulders. “Couldn’t tell you. I don’t really know him. From what the roommate told me, Danny’s just staying here until he can afford his own place.”
“When was the last time you saw Danny?”
Her nostrils flared as she took a long, deep breath. “Couldn’t tell you. It’s not the kind of thing that I keep track of.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you know if he’s friendly with any of your neighbors?”
“I couldn’t tell you that either,” she said. “I just came out to look for my dog. Have you seen Bixby?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen anyone in the few minutes that I’ve been here. No dogs, no cats, no humans.”
“No humans?” She laughed. “What do you call me—chopped liver?”
“Well, besides you, of course. I was stopping by to see if Mr. Cargill was home.”
“He’s not,” she said. “Neither is Bixby. That’s why I’m out here looking like a kook.” She gestured at the robe and boots. “I don’t normally prance around this way, but I just realized my precious baby wasn’t inside so I came out to look for him.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” I said, “but I haven’t seen Bixby.”
She sighed again. “He’s all I’ve got. My husband died recently. My folks are both gone. It’s hard to be all on your own, you know.”
“I’m so sorry about your husband and parents,” I said. “And your dog. I hope that Bixby comes back soon.”
She offered a halfhearted smile. “Well, that’s so kind. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know…” She paused. “I don’t believe that I got your name.”
“Oh, I apologize,” I said. “I’m Kate Reed.”
She held out her hand. “Good to meet you,” she said as we shook. “I’m Charlene Delmonico.”
“Good to meet you as well.” I gave her one of my business cards. “If you see Danny, would you give me a call?”
She studied the card before offering a slight nod.
“I would appreciate that,” I said. “I wanted to talk to him about something.”
Charlene smiled. “Must be something important if you drove over to bang on his front door.”
“It is,” I said, matching her grin with one of my own. “Do you have a picture of Bixby in case I see him while I’m driving?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” she replied. “I’m sure the little troublemaker will find his way back home in due time.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “I’m out and about every day through this part of town. If I know what your dog looks like, I can watch for him.”
She dismissed the concern with a flip of her hand. “Like I said, that’s sweet of you, but Bixby will be back here before we know it.”
CHAPTER 27
Julia and I were in the Sky High office, finalizing the most recent round of menu revisions for the Longview anniversary party.
“We’re not going to survive this,” Julia said, scowling at the yellow legal pad in her lap. “Do you know how many appetizer combinations we’ve suggested so far?”
I shook my head.
“We’re in the triple digits,” she said.
“How can that be?” I asked. “It’s been a while since I counted, but I thought it was maybe fifteen or sixteen.”
She sighed. “It’s eighteen point five; Mitzi approved half of the recommendations after the last proposal.”
“Right,” I said. “But three digits usually refers to one hundred or more.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” she grumbled. “I don’t think she’s ever going to be satisfied, Katie.”
“She just wants the party to be perfect for her husband and their guests,” I said. “We’ve known for a quite a while that Mitzi can be…uh, selective, right?”
“Selective?” Julia’s eyes bulged. “She wants to inspect the needlework on the tablecloths and napkins.”
“When did she mention that?”
“You weren’t here,” Julia answered. “I think she called yesterday when you went to see Ed Lambert.”
“How did you know I went to see him?”
She smiled. “It’s a small town. Somebody from yoga saw you in his office. She told me last night.”
“Who was it?” I asked.
“Michelle Walters,” Julia said. “She works there now. Her job at the newspaper was eliminated a couple of months ago, but Wynona Bergen got her hired on to work in Human Resources at Lambert’s company.”
“Well, that’s lucky,” I said. “Zack’s been talking about cutbacks at the Gazette. I didn’t realize they’d already started to happen.”
Julia nodded. “Michelle was one of three people that got laid off. From what she told me, that’s it for a while unless the advertising revenue drops again.”
“We should place an ad to help,” I said. “What do you think about that idea?”
She smiled. “Sounds good. Maybe something like, Sky High Pies is looking for a staff psychologist to help employees cope with the stress and strain of identifying six appetizers that Mitzi Longview finds acceptable.”
I giggled at her expression. “You know what else helps with stress and strain?”
Julia shook her head.
“A nice cup of tea and a scone,” I said. “Want to take a break?”
She plopped her legal pad on the desk and jumped up from her chair.
“You rock, Katie!” she cheered. “That’s the best suggestion you’ve made since Baked Brie with Cranberry-Pecan-Bacon Crumble!”
“Did I put that on the list again?” I said, checking my notes. “I’m really starting to get confused. Mitzi rejected that one because a few of her guests are allergic to cranberries and her husband hates pecans.”
“See what I mean?” Julia groaned, walking toward the door. “We really aren’t going to survive this party!”
CHAPTER 28
“I’ve seen the error of my ways,” Art Bricker said, “and I wanted to thank you for the gentle nudge.”
The newspaper reporter called while I was searching online for a rental company that could supply a photo booth and dunk tank for Mitzi Longview’s anniversary party. She and her husband had suddenly decided they wanted the last-minute additions to commemorate their first date at an amusement park in North Dakota. “It’ll be fun!” Mitzi had said gleefully. “As long as nobody gets so sloshed that they drown in the dunk tank.”
I closed the laptop and listened to Art. He apologized for eavesdropping on Dina’s conversation with the FBI. Then he expressed regret for telling others about the private chat. And then he promised to never let it happen again.
“That’s probably a good idea,” I said when he finished the long-winded confession. “Detective Kincaid is reasonable and thoughtful, as long as you respect her privacy and behave professionally.”
“I’ve learned that lesson now,” he said, sounding remorseful. “I guess my gung-ho competitiveness got the better of me.”
“I understand what it’s like to be ambitious and driven,” I said. “But this is a small town. You’re not in Minneapolis anymore.”
“And that’s something else that I learned,” he replied. “It’s taken me a while to slow down and find my rhythm here.”
“Do you miss the big city?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” he said. “I miss my colleagues at the Star Tribune. And I sure do miss some of my friends and favorite haunts. But Cresc
ent Creek has plenty of good places to eat and the people are cool.”
“Except when you eavesdrop on their friends,” I teased.
He laughed. “Yep. Then things get a little dicey.”
“Well, like I said, I can surely appreciate wanting to impress Gretchen at the Gazette,” I told him, “but we all tend to tread a little more lightly here.”
“She’s a good editor,” Art said. “We actually worked together years ago. That’s how I got the job here.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “What paper was that?”
“Oh, it wasn’t in journalism,” he explained. “We both worked at McDonald’s back in high school. That’s a whole lifetime ago.”
“I can’t picture her wearing a uniform and slinging burgers,” I said.
“Well, we both did,” he told me. “Nights after school and weekends. I never thought that I’d get the smell of French fries out of my jeans.”
“Hazard of the profession,” I said. “There are days now when it seems like I can smell bacon frying or toast burning when I’m hiking in the mountains.”
“I bet,” Art said. “I need to come by and have a slice of pie. I’ve heard you guys do a mean Chocolate Cream.”
“We do a mean everything,” I said with a laugh. “It’ll be my treat, so let me know when you’re coming or ask Harper to find me. She runs the dining room.”
“Thanks, Katie,” he said. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Alright,” I said. “I appreciate the call, and I’ll see you in here sometime soon.”
“For sure,” he replied. “But before we get off, there was something new that Zack said you’d probably be interested in hearing. I gave Tyler Armstrong a call at the CCPD, so he’s aware of this, too.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“I was interviewing people who work in the office complex where Walker Oldham was murdered,” Art said. “I wanted to get a feel for what a typical day was like in that building before the shooting.”
“What did they have to say?”
“Pretty much what you’d expect,” he answered. “But a couple of accountants who work for Springer & Dodge told me that they saw a guy in a uniform around the corner from the complex about a half hour before Oldham was shot.”
“If it was the guy from Crescent Creek Laundry, the police have already talked to those two gentlemen.”
“I know that,” Art said. “But when I went back over this morning, just to clear up a couple of additional questions that I had, one of the men remembered another detail that they hadn’t told the cops yet. He saw the guy in the uniform with a woman.”
“Was he able to identify her?” I asked.
“He gave me a description,” Art said. “And I passed that along to Detective Armstrong.”
“So the accountant didn’t recognize her?”
“He’d seen her before,” Art replied. “But he didn’t know her name.”
“Can you give me a rundown on the description?”
“Sure thing,” he said.
As Art described the woman’s appearance in detail, including her hair, clothing, facial features and jewelry, I suddenly realized that I could supply the missing element.
“I’m pretty sure that I know her name,” I said.
Art chuckled. “Zack told me that you probably would,” he said. “You seem to know just about everybody in town.”
CHAPTER 29
I was waiting to leave a message for Zack, when his voice suddenly replaced the automated voicemail greeting. It was a few minutes after my conversation with Art Bricker. I wanted to let Zack know I’d talked to his coworker before I dove back into the search for Mitzi’s photo booth and dunk tank.
“Sorry about that!” he gasped. “I had to ask Gretchen a question. But I heard the phone ringing and hoped that it would be you.”
“Here I am,” I said. “Do you want a sec to catch your breath?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. Just glad that I grabbed it before you hung up.”
I laughed. “Or left a message.”
“Right,” he said. “Or that. So what’s going on?”
“I wanted to bring you up to speed on Art Bricker.”
“Uh-oh.”
“It’s actually fine,” I said. “Art told me that he realized it was a bad idea to listen in on someone’s phone call.”
“The guy’s heart is in the right place,” Zack said, “even if his head isn’t.”
“I’d guess that a few choice words from an FBI agent helped him reach the right conclusion,” I said.
Zack chuckled. “He told me about that. I’ve never seen him so pale.”
“I can imagine. They take things like privacy, discretion and respect pretty seriously.”
“I know they do,” he said. “My sweetheart’s the same way.”
I smiled to myself. Even though I’d heard it countless times before, it still warmed my heart whenever Zack referred to me as his sweetheart.
“So what’s going on later?” I asked. “Are you working late or will you finish up by six?”
“I should be out of here by five-thirty or so,” he said. “Are you guys all set for the Longview party tonight?”
“Julia and Harper have already started packing a few things,” I replied. “I’ll join the fun in a few minutes after I find a couple of eleventh-hour additions to the checklist and pay some bills.”
“Can’t that wait until tomorrow if you have the catering gig tonight?”
“Some can,” I replied. “But I need to take care of utilities by tomorrow if we want the lights on when customers start coming through the door the following morning.”
“Won’t they give you a grace period?” I asked.
“Yes, they will,” I said. “But that’s over the day after tomorrow. There’s plenty of money in the account to pay the bill. I just kept procrastinating because of all the changes from Mitzi Longview.”
“Well, that’ll be history after tonight,” Zack said, sounding upbeat and optimistic.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I said. “I do love Mitzi, but she’s giving me heartburn with the endless changes and indecision.”
“Is that her norm?”
“Somewhat,” I said. “But she’s never been quite this bad.”
“It’ll be an awesome party,” Zack said. “And it won’t come around again for another year.”
“And then there’s that,” I said. “We have three-hundred days off before Mitzi starts asking for menu ideas for their thirty-first anniversary bash.”
We both laughed. Then Zack’s voice changed as he mentioned that he saw Walker Oldham’s son and daughter downtown earlier in the day.
“It looked like they hadn’t slept since their father died,” Zack said. “I can’t imagine going through that kind of nightmare.”
“And let’s pray that neither of us ever does,” I said.
“Nothing more fragile than life,” Zack replied. “We don’t know how long we’ll be here.”
“I agree,” I said. “But there is one thing that I know for sure.”
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
“I want to make the most of every minute that we have together,” I said. “That old saying about life being too short is one of the truest things we’ll ever know.”
CHAPTER 30
I was in the ballroom at Crescent Creek Lodge at five o’clock that afternoon, waiting for the photo booth and dunk tank to arrive, when my phone rang.
“Is this Kate Reed?” asked a woman.
“I sure hope so,” I teased, feeling giddy from the frantic pace of the day. “What can I help you with?”
“This is Charlene Delmonico,” she said. “I’m Bixby’s mama. We met the other day when you were looking for my neighbor.”
“Of course,” I said. “Did Bixby come home yet?”
She sighed. “No, but one of the guys that lives next door did, so I hope my little fur baby will do the same.”
“Ah
, so one of your wayward neighbors resurfaced?” I said. “Was it Danny Cargill?”
“No, it was the other one,” Charlene said. “He came back this morning around nine, packed a suitcase and left.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“For a minute or two,” she replied. “He’s definitely in a bad way. Big circles under his eyes, acting all jumpy and muttering about being a fool for not quitting his job before it was too late.”
“Any idea what he meant?”
“Beats me,” Charlene answered. “I don’t even know where he works. The guy’s been an odd duck since he moved in. Much more of a misfit than Danny.”
“Do you know where he was going?”
“He mentioned that he’s staying with a friend until the exterminator finishes fumigating his house,” she said. “But there’s just one problem with that excuse; he told me a couple of months back that his only friend killed herself not too long ago. I figured maybe that’s why he was such a hermit. Other than going to and from work, I don’t think Todd ever left his house at all.”
“Todd?”
She smiled. “Didn’t I mention that?”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Do you know his last name?”
“No, but I could snoop,” she said. “There’s a whole mess of envelopes in the mailbox. I guess he was in too much of a hurry to grab them as he was leaving.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “that would be very helpful.”
“Well, no problem,” Charlene said. “I’m half way across my front lawn already. I can just zip over, take a little peek and find out what Todd’s last name might be.”
As I waited for the answer to my question, Julia waved from the other side of the ballroom and pointed at her watch.
