Red Velvet, Dead Velvet (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 3)

by Mary Maxwell

  “Deputy Chief Walsh,” I said. “How’s the investigation coming?”

  Trent ignored my question. “We’ve already been to the cabin,” he said. “It’s empty and there were no signs anyone had visited recently.”

  “How’d you know about the cabin?”

  “We found the deed in Shipp’s desk at his home,” Trent said.

  “So? What’s next?”

  He moaned. “I’d like to say a long, hot shower and eight hours of sleep, but that ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Any thoughts yet?”

  “About who took Walter Shipp?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Do you think it’s related to the threatening letter?”

  He growled a reply.

  “Can you translate that into English?”

  “I think it’s related to Walt Shipp being a supreme jackhole,” said Trent. “He cheated a lot of people with his most recent financial stunt. But, one way or another, we’ll do our best to find him before somebody takes their payment in a pound of flesh.”

  “There was one other thing,” I said.

  Trent was silent.

  “Abe said that he saw two people leaving Walter’s as he arrived.”

  Trent grumbled. “Yeah, it’s here in the report.”

  “But the guy that Abe claimed to have seen at Walter’s couldn’t have been there,” I explained, “because he was actually across town at Matchstick Café.”

  More impatient grumbling filled my ear. “Can you please say that again?” asked Trent. “But go a little slower and tell me who the heck you’re talking about?”

  “Okay, sure,” I said. “Abe claimed that he saw a woman dressed in black and a man with a beard screeching away from Walter’s in an SUV.”

  “Uh-huh. So far, so good.”

  “Well, I met the guy, the one with the beard, at Sky High the other day. His name is Nigel Summerfield. Remember—we talked about him earlier? Anyway, he stopped by here tonight because his sister’s gone missing and he asked me to help find her. Nigel told me that he was at Matchstick when Abe claimed to have seen him at Walter’s.”

  “And you just believed him?” Trent said. “Did you check his alibi?”

  “I checked my gut,” I answered. “I really think the guy’s telling the truth. But I plan to call Edie tomorrow at the restaurant to see if she corroborates his story.”

  Trent grunted. “You’re like a magnet for these people, Katie. You’ve got to have boundaries and stop trying to save the world.”

  I took a deep breath, ignored the barb and told Trent again that I believed Nigel Summerfield’s version of the events. “But don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I think it was deeply misguided and foolish for Nigel and Annabeth to confront Walter about their father’s death. It’s not the—”

  “Hold on there, Katie! What are you talking about? And whose father died?”

  I quickly retraced my steps. I told Trent that Nigel and Annabeth had come to Crescent Creek to confront Walter Shipp about their father’s death and the embezzlement of his fortune.

  “I’m exhausted just listening to all that,” Trent said sarcastically.

  “It sounds like more moving parts than it actually contains,” I replied. “And I believe Nigel, not Abe. When Walter was abducted, Nigel was at the restaurant waiting for his sister. And I suspect that Annabeth was at Walter’s confronting him about the death of their father.”

  “There you go again,” Trent said. “You keep saying all those names, but I don’t know why.”

  “Because I think Abe’s lying.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. I think he’s somehow mixed up in whatever happened to Walter Shipp.”

  “Well, you’ve got an active imagination, Katie. And there’s…” Trent paused, mumbled a few words and then told me that he had an urgent call coming in. “But I appreciate the heads-up about Abe Waterhouse,” he added. “Keep me posted on whatever else you hear on the street, okay?”

  “You got it,” I said. “And thanks for—”

  The line went dead.

  “—alrighty then,” I said, smiling to myself and turning off the light. “Guess I’ll go back to dreaming about half-priced heels and killer bargains.”

  CHAPTER 20

  A massive banner was stretched above the main entrance to the Civic Center the next morning when I arrived a few minutes after seven. Crisp white letters against a bright blue background greeted attendees, authors and vendors: WELCOME TO THE 21ST ANNUAL CRESCENT CREEK BOOK FAIR!!! Two people wearing what looked like large gray-and-black sleeping bags stood beneath the banner, dispensing colorful pamphlets and good cheer. Their faces were slathered with grayish stage paint and they were wearing chunky glasses with black plastic frames.

  “Good morning, book lover!” one called in a cartoon voice as I walked toward the door. “I’m Wilma the Bookworm! I’d like to welcome you to the fair!”

  Despite the silly costume and high-pitched squeak, I recognized the person as a cheery middle-aged woman who owned an art gallery on Chesapeake Street that specialized in photography and sculpture.

  “Tammy?” I said. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me!” Tammy Gunderson answered. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, thanks. How’s everything here so far?”

  She smiled, her white teeth glowing against the dark makeup. “I saw your sister inside. She’s already got your booth looking sharp. But whatever you do, make sure you don’t mention Captain Underpants!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t mention those books for kids,” Tammy explained. “I guess a bunch of grade school kids got here way early and accosted her when they saw the goodies in your booth.”

  “And they—what? Wanted her opinion about underwear?”

  “Captain Underpants!” Tammy corrected. “I had to go back inside for supplies and she gave me an earful. I guess the kids were all jumping around and screaming about those silly books. It pretty much overwhelmed Olivia this early in the morning.”

  “Thanks for the warning! She’s going to kill me for being a few minutes late, but I got delayed at Sky High.”

  Tammy chuckled. “Maybe she’ll go easy on you.”

  “I sure hope so,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  I hurried into the building, snaked my way through the throng of early bird fairgoers and spotted my sister standing alone inside the Sky High booth.

  “Hey, Liv!” I gave her a big hug as I joined her behind the table filled with mini cupcakes and bite-sized pies. “Thank you so much for driving up to help!”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.

  “How’s it going so far?” I slipped into one of the starched Sky High aprons hanging on the side of the booth. “Have you been pretty busy?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, it’s been fun actually! Although I may do something rash if one more person tells me they think Captain Underpants is a literary classic.”

  I smiled and gave her another hug. “I can assure you that name will not cross my lips,” I pledged. “And I also promise that we’ll have a blast, okay?”

  For the next few hours, as hordes of book-loving attendees came and went, Olivia and I talked about her two boys and life at home in Denver. She filled me in on how things were going at the law firm where she worked, and I gave her a rundown on the past few weeks at Sky High. When the crowd began to dwindle around two, I asked if she could hold down the fort while I ran a few quick errands.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “But things could get ugly if those little munchkins come back to ask me what I think of Captain Underpants and the Sensational Saga of Sir Stinks-A-Lot.”

  I smiled at the silly title, gave Liv a goodbye hug and headed for the far side of the Civic Center. As I walked toward the exit, I noticed Pepper McIntosh’s Java & Juice booth wedged between an old guy promoting Magic Jack’s Miracle Bunion Cream and a sour-faced young couple from Gunnison who seemed to believe their k
ale-quinoa vegan cookies were sacred gifts from heaven above.

  “Is Pepper around?” I asked the young guy in the Java & Juice booth. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew that he’d recently started working as Pepper’s assistant manager. “I wanted to ask her a quick question.”

  The guy glared at me. “She’s not here,” he said. “She totally bailed on me yesterday afternoon, too. I haven’t seen her since then.”

  “Bailed?” I asked. “You mean she isn’t going to be here today?”

  He nodded. “Nope. Out of the blue yesterday around one, she suddenly announced that she was heading to Reno to handle a family emergency. It’s got something to do with her younger brother.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” I said. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is it serious?”

  The guy shrugged.

  “Did she say when she’d be back?”

  He smirked. “Nope.”

  It was obvious he wasn’t going to divulge much more, so I thanked him and continued walking through the convention hall. On the wall near the side door, I saw a poster promoting Nigel Summerfield’s afternoon lecture to promote his new book, Undiscovered Gems: Secrets & Surprises on America’s Blue Highways. The placard featured a picture of Nigel standing in the middle of a two-lane blacktop beneath a dazzling cobalt sky, but his face was obscured with a single word scrawled in bright red ink: CANCELED.

  “Do you know what happened to Mr. Summerfield?” I asked a book fair volunteer standing nearby.

  “No, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I just learned a few minutes ago that he isn’t speaking this afternoon.”

  As I stepped through the door, I reached for my phone and the small notebook that I kept in my purse. I’d scribbled Nigel’s phone number down the previous night as he left Sky High.

  “You’ve reached Nigel Summerfield,” the recording announced a moment later. “Please leave a message and I’ll return your call soon.”

  “Nigel,” I said, hurrying toward my car. “This is Kate Reed. I’m just leaving the Civic Center and I noticed you’ve canceled your presentation. I’d like to talk with you as soon as possible. Please give me a call, okay?”

  CHAPTER 21

  Evergreen Road was back to its normal sleepy pace when I turned onto the narrow lane and drove toward Walter Shipp’s house. As I reached the white colonial with blue shutters, I slowed for a quick look. The crime scene tape from the night before fluttered in the breeze and a Crescent Creek PD cruiser was parked at the curb near the mailbox. As I started to pull away, I saw Amanda Crane coming around the corner of the house. I waited while she ambled down the driveway.

  “Hi, Kate,” she called. “How’s it going?”

  “Good so far,” I answered. “Everything quiet around here?”

  She answered with a theatrical yawn, patting her mouth and rolling her eyes. “I’m about ready to go bonkers,” she said. “I read all the magazines in the house, played Angry Birds for a while and then decided to get up and do some walking.”

  “Were you here all night?”

  “No, I went home for a few hours of sleep. Bennington was on duty until I got back around nine this morning.”

  “Any word on Walter Shipp?”

  She shook her head. “We’ve got three cars out now, searching the campgrounds, empty houses and the like. Trent thinks it’s a kidnapping.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Did you come back to check up on the old geezer?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m actually on my way to Velma Short’s.” I pointed at the light green bungalow next door. “I wanted to ask her a couple of questions about Abe Waterhouse.”

  Amanda frowned slightly. “As related to Walter’s disappearance?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  I smiled. “Some of the best ones are.”

  She glanced around and then stepped closer. “Know what I heard?”

  I shook my head.

  “Abe and his girlfriend are MIA,” Amanda said in a hushed voice.

  “Missing in action?”

  She nodded. “Dina went over to ask Abe a few more questions this morning, but he wasn’t home. She thought maybe he was at Sonya’s place on account of they’ve been, you know, all hot and heavy the past few weeks. But there was nobody at Sonya’s either. The gal that lives in the next house said Abe and Sonya lit out of there in the middle of the night like Bonnie and Clyde.”

  “That’s pretty suspicious,” I said.

  “More than a little, but Trent put out an all-points bulletin.”

  I smiled. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  “You got that right,” Amanda agreed, glancing at her watch. “Well, I’d love to shoot the you-know-what, but I need to check in with dispatch.”

  As Amanda walked back toward Walter’s house, I continued down Evergreen Road and turned between two stone gateposts at the entrance to Velma Short’s property. She was waiting for me on the porch, moving slowly in a rocking chair and cradling a red plastic cup in her hands. Her outfit made me chuckle: a voluminous orange sweater, baggy bright pink pants and black Converse high tops.

  “Kate Reed!” she chimed loudly. “You’re right on time!”

  “Hi, Velma. Thanks for letting me stop by.”

  “Oh, nonsense.” She put the cup on a side table and got to her feet. “It’s nothing but a pleasure to see Audrey and Darren’s little girl.”

  I cringed slightly at the reference, but then realized I was being silly. Velma was my mother’s maid of honor when my parents got married, so I’d known her all my life. She had also been a Friday morning regular at Sky High since my grandmother first opened the doors forty years before.

  “Come over here and give me some sugar,” she said, wrapping me in a tight hug. “I was tickled pink when you called and asked to see me.”

  “And I was tickled pink when you said you could make time,” I replied.

  She tittered softly. “Make time? I’m an old woman, Katie. I’ve got nothing on my calendar besides breakfast, lunch, a long nap, some bird watching and a highball around five.”

  I knew she was being facetious. At sixty-seven, Velma was more active than some people half her age. She belonged to dozens of local clubs. She hosted luncheons and bridge games at least once a week. And her passport was an often-stamped testament to her boundless stamina and curiosity about the world.

  “Will you be comfortable talking out here?” she asked, pointing at the two rockers. “Or would you prefer to go inside where it’s a touch warmer?”

  “This is fine,” I said.

  She offered tea, but I told her I was only staying for a minute or two. Then she tottered back to the rocking chair.

  “Alright then, Katie.” She settled onto the quilted seat cushion. “What did you want to see me about? You were pretty mysterious on the phone earlier. Is this some kind of top secret operation?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But I am doing a little sleuthing. I wanted to check with you about a couple of things related to Walter Shipp’s disappearance.”

  “Oh, yes! That’s quite shocking, don’t you think? I saw the commotion last night and hurried right over, but one of the officers told me it was an active crime scene and I best vamoose.”

  “Well, that was probably a good idea considering how many people were coming and going,” I said.

  She shrugged. “What do they think happened?”

  “At this point, the police suspect that someone kidnapped Walter in retaliation for some sort of business dealings that went south.”

  Velma threw back her head and howled with laughter. “That’s putting it mildly! The old fool cheated some of my best friends out of their life savings! I bet they’ve taken him into the mountains and strung him up by his dangly bits!”

  I smiled at the wisecrack. “Did you invest with Walter?”

  “
Absolutely not!” Velma scoffed. “He tried talking me into it, but my sixth sense told me the guy was nothing but a flimflam artist.”

  “That was smart of you,” I said. “Although it sounds like some folks in town weren’t quite as shrewd about Walter’s proposal.”

  Velma’s face clouded with sorrow. “Such a shame, don’t you think? They work their fingers to the bone for years, sock it away in the bank and then some shyster comes along with a pack of bright, shiny lies about how they can double their money in less than five years.”

  “Is that what he told them?”

  She nodded. “That was one of his lies. He apparently tweaked the tale for each unwitting victim.”

  “How about Abe Waterhouse?” I asked. “Do you know if he invested with Walter?”

  “You betcha! Abe and Sonya were two of the first people duped by good ol’ Mr. Shipp.”

  “Do you know who else was involved?”

  “Well, let’s see…” She pressed one finger to her chin. “There’s Cabot and Sheila McCutcheon, they lost about two-hundred thousand. And Phoebe Bullard, but I haven’t heard how much the ne’er-do-well stole from her. I think Ivy Minkler took part of her retirement account out of the bank and gave it to Walter. Poor, poor dear.” She lowered the finger and tapped the arm of her chair as she ticked off a few more names. “…Keith and Hazel Trane, Warren Slocum and his wife, that McIntosh gal that sells those fruity health drinks, and that nice couple that moved to town a few months back from Canada. Do you know them? Tall redheaded gal and a short, round bald character?”

  “Heather and Jack Peterson?”

  “That’s them!” Velma said brightly. “I’ve only met them a time or two at Blanche’s, but I think they’re both quite lovely and charming. They invested a big chunk with Walter.”

  I made a mental note of the names so I could compare them to the list Alma had emailed earlier in the day. I hadn’t expected a few of them to be on the list, but one was more surprising than all the others. I was thinking about that bolt from the blue when Velma asked again about my involvement in Walter’s disappearance.