by Mary Maxwell
I pointed at my phone on the desk. “Why don’t you call him right now?”
Her face froze. “Now?”
“There’s no time like the present,” I suggested.
“Maybe I’ll wait until we’re finished for the day,” she said. “Julia’s moving at top speed, but there are a bunch of special orders to get ready for delivery in the morning.”
I shrugged. “It’s up to you,” I said, pointing at the stack of folders on the desk. “I’m going to let this paperwork simmer for a few hours. I’ll come back to the kitchen and we can knock out the extra pies in no time at all.”
Olivia plucked another tissue from the box. “I’m sorry that I’m such a mess, Katie. I told myself that I was going to keep it together when I got up here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You’re human. I’m human. Heck, even Trent Walsh is human.”
At the mention of my high school sweetheart’s name, the expression on Olivia’s face transformed instantly from a somber grimace to a joyful smile.
“He’s human alright,” she said. “And he’s also cute, cute, cute!” She got up from the chair and did a little happy dance. “I mean, after all these years, the guy’s still got a six-pack, legs like tree trunks and a face that makes women quiver.”
I pushed my chair back from the desk and got up to open the door. As we walked into the hallway and headed for the kitchen, I stopped for a second and grabbed my sister’s arm.
“Hey, you didn’t tell me what a camkini is,” I said.
Olivia laughed softly. “Oh, yeah! It’s the greatest thing for swimming—a camisole with spaghetti strings over a bikini bottom.”
“Ah, that makes sense. What about the girls?”
She pushed up her breasts slightly from below. “It’s got a push-up bra built in! I mean, does it get any better than that?”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “No, it does not,” I agreed. “Now, let’s get busy in there so we can finish at a reasonable hour!”
CHAPTER 9
Once the last three special order pies were baked, the kitchen was shipshape and the prep list for the next day was scrawled on the big whiteboard in the kitchen, I decided it was time for a few personal errands. When I worked for Rodney, I usually had plenty of time to shop, do laundry and clean my apartment. Now that I was running Sky High Pies, it seemed prudent to schedule one or two trips around town each week to restock the cupboards in my apartment, buy whatever was in short supply in the café’s pantry and treat myself to a relaxing stop at Java & Juice, a popular spot near the town square that sold coffee drinks and smoothies.
I’d just ordered a decaf caramel macchiato when I heard someone call my name. Glancing around, I realized there was only one person looking in my direction: a woman seated alone at a nearby table. She was wearing enormous sunglasses and bright red lipstick that made her pale skin look ghoulish in the glare from the overhead lights.
“Hi,” I said hesitantly. “How’s it going?”
The red mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh. My. God.” She slipped the dark shades up onto the cotton candy flaxen hair piled on her head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
I winced, sending my mind into supersonic memory scan mode. Nothing about the woman seemed familiar, so I apologized and attributed the lapse to fatigue and too many late-night M&M binges.
“See?” Her voice curled into a fluffy giggle. “You’re still as funny as ever. I remember the time you left the tofu dog on Miss Schubert’s chair in French class. The sound she made when she sat down was epic!”
I narrowed my gaze and studied the woman’s face again. “Ellen?”
I hadn’t seen Ellen Parker for years, so I wasn’t sure it was her. For a split second, she didn’t move or say a word, so I thought maybe I was wrong. But then she nodded enthusiastically and lurched up from the table.
“Yes, yes,” she squeaked, giving me a hug. “I’d heard you were back in town! I’m so incredibly excited to see you again, Katie!” She pressed her lips against my cheek. “I mean, it’s…well, it’s just beyond thrilling!”
I waited until she released me from the vice grip of her commanding embrace.
“How are you?” I asked. “It’s been forever since I saw you, right?”
“Eleven years, six months and a handful of days,” she answered in a clipped tone. “I visited you once in Chicago.” Her eyelids drooped faintly. “Remember?”
I didn’t, but I lied. “Of course! And now we’re seeing one another again. What a small world!”
She giggled. “Population ten thousand, two hundred,” she said. “And one!”
Another bubbly laugh filled the air. “Now that you’re home again, right?”
“Yeah, right.” I stared at her for a second, trying to decide what to ask.
“Home where you belong,” Ellen added. “I mean, in my humble opinion.”
The scrawny guy behind the counter called my name. I went over, retrieved my macchiato and pivoted back toward the door.
“Come sit down for a sec!” Ellen waved one arm at an empty chair. “I need to know everything! But I’ll bet you’re more than crazy busy, so maybe just a few headlines about how it’s going and why you moved back to Crescent Creek and how much you missed us and—” She paused to take a breath. “Sorry,” she continued. “I’m just so happy to see you, Katie!”
I raised my cup in a toast. “Likewise,” I said. “Here’s to old friends.”
She lifted her mug, touching it lightly to the side of my paper cup. “Old friends,” she said. “And at least one who looks just as gorgeous as she did the day we first met.”
“Ah,” I murmured. “That’s sweet, Ellie.”
She tilted her head slightly. “I was talking about me,” she said mischievously. “Not you.” There was a brief pause as she sipped her coffee. “Why in the world do you look so tired?” She reached over and briefly pinched my chin between one thumb and forefinger. “And the grayish skin tone,” she added, turning my head from side to side. “Perfect for a corpse, but I think you might want to consider some foundation and blush before you go out in public.”
Despite my exhausted and slightly grouchy frame of mind, I couldn’t help but laugh at Ellen’s uncompromising appraisal of my appearance. She was right; I looked like soggy dough left too long in the sun.
“What can I tell you?” I said. “Sky High Pies is kicking my butt.”
“Harder than sitting behind a desk in Chicago?”
“I didn’t sit behind a desk,” I said. “I worked as a private investigator.”
“Oh, really. The last thing I heard was you were the office manager for a small company. I just assumed that meant you plopped behind a desk and munched on fattening food all day long while answering the phone.”
I smiled to repel the rude remark. “That’s somewhat correct,” I said. “Although I got my PI license a couple of years ago. I was actually assisting Rodney on big cases and handling the smaller jobs by myself.”
Ellen’s eyebrows lifted. “How cool is that? Just like you always dreamed about when you were a little munchkin.”
“Something like that, yeah.” I sipped my macchiato; the deep flavor of the espresso blended perfectly with the sweet caramel. “And what about you?”
“Me?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah, what are you up to these days?”
She grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “This and that,” she said.
“Well, that’s kind of vague. Can you tell me more?”
“I’ve got an office above Fenderman’s Shoes on Westwood Street,” Ellen answered. “I’m a divorce attorney, but only part of the time.”
“And the rest?”
She giggled. “I go shopping,” she said. “Or get mani-pedis. Maybe go to lunch.”
“Wow, the law firm must be doing well!”
Instead of an enthusiastic smile, she greeted the comment with a shallow frown. “My parents left me a happy bank account,” she said. “And some am
azing real estate investments that I never knew about in Vail and Aspen.”
I hadn’t heard much about Ellen over the years, so I didn’t know that her mother and father had died. I reached over and took her hand, giving it a healthy squeeze.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said solemnly.
She took a long drink of her coffee. “It’s the circle of life,” she said finally. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, cradle to grave. You can run from the Grim Reaper, but you cannot hide.”
I didn’t say anything. We sat and smiled at one another for a few seconds, two old friends reunited in memory after a long separation of silence and distance.
“Well, how about that Trent Walsh?” Ellen asked.
“What about him?”
She leaned closer. “He’s still as hot as ever,” she said. “And now that he’s removed Dina’s talons from around his neck, he’s prime marriage material.”
I held her gaze, but didn’t take the bait.
“Oh, c’mon,” she continued. “You’re single. He’s single. She’s a witch. It’s the perfect love triangle.”
My steely silence remained impenetrable as Ellen dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. I hadn’t thought about her in years, but the one thing I remembered from our youth was her undying devotion to all things gossip and tittle-tattle.
“Seriously, Kate?”
I smiled. “Seriously what?”
“You’re not going to say a peep about the man of your dreams?”
My answer was a laugh that shot out of my mouth like a cannonball. The guy behind the counter actually stopped steaming a cup of milk when he heard the cackle. I gave him a tiny smile before glancing back at my inquisitor.
“Trent Walsh,” she said. “Do you know how many times I listened to you on the phone late at night? Gushing and oohing and aahing about Trent Walsh?”
“Fifty-six?” I guessed.
She snorted. “More like fifty-six thousand million! You and he were perfect for one another back then, so maybe—”
“The key words being ‘back then,’” I said. “Trent broke my heart. But I forgave him a long time ago.”
“And what about Dina?” Ellen whispered. “Do you still want to tear out her heart and feed it to the hawks in Copperstate Park?”
I smiled. “Did I actually say that when we were kids?”
“All the time,” she answered. “You were so furious. And I really thought you might do something rash at one point.”
I drank more of my coffee and listened to her recount an episode from the weeks following the night that Trent dumped me for Dina. When she finished, pausing long enough to try and bait me with another leading question, I told her that I really needed to get going.
“I’ve got to run around town and take care of a few things,” I explained.
Ellen snickered. “Well, shoot,” she said, finishing her coffee. “Just add Trent to that list!”
I got up from the table. She joined me and surrounded me again in a stranglehold. We stood in the embrace for a few seconds too long, making me worry that I might faint from the overpowering aroma of her perfume.
“Anyhoo,” she said, grabbing her orange Birkin from the floor. “Let’s do lunch sometime!”
“I usually work lunch at Sky High,” I said, tapping her handbag. “Nice purse, Ellie!”
She sniffed at the expensive accessory. “I’ve got a bunch of ’em,” she said. “Some people drink. Some people gamble. I shop when I get stressed.”
Her eyes drifted over my shoulder and through the front windows of the coffee shop.
“Would you look at that tall drink of water?” she said breathlessly. “Now, that’s the kind of man I’d like to rope and ride.”
The suggestive remark seemed hollow, but Ellen grabbed my arm and twisted me toward the object of her desire.
“Where?” I asked, noticing a few different men on the sidewalk or climbing into nearby cars.
Ellen clamped her hand on my arm. “There!” Her hand jutted forward. “In the dark suit with the wraparound shades.”
When my eyes landed on the man she was talking about, I felt my pulse quicken. It was Ben Carson, the FBI agent that had come to Sky High Pies to ask me about Rodney. And he was talking to Muldoon, the freckle-faced delivery guy that my sister had befriended at the party shop. They stood beside a gleaming black sedan, something sleek with tinted windows and Michigan plates. Through the windshield, I could see a blonde woman wearing sunglasses and a Panama hat. She appeared to be deep in conversation on her phone, unaware that a fiery squabble was raging just outside the car.
“Isn’t he delicious?” Ellen cooed.
I managed a faint smile. “I guess that depends,” I said. “Which one are you talking about?”
She pulled me closer. “Does it matter, munchkin?” she whispered. “One or both would be mighty fine with me!”
I mumbled something about enjoying my single life and being too busy to date.
“Well, why not sink your hooks back into Trent?” Her voice was cool and razor-sharp. “You know that he and Dina are divorced, right?”
“I’d heard as much,” I offered.
“Yeah, I don’t really get it. Their divorce is as amicable and friendly as most marriages.”
“I guess that means they’re two well-adjusted adults who realized they were better off as friends than spouses.”
She smiled. “Doubt that. I think it means they didn’t have two pennies to rub together so there was nothing worth fighting over.”
I didn’t want to respond to such a disparaging remark, so I just kept smiling and nodding.
“I mean, it’s not like it was a big secret or anything,” Ellen continued. “Crescent Creek’s a small town. My guess is someone saw us talking here just now and they’ve already tweeted about it to their local followers.”
“Oh, say it’s not true,” I moaned. “Social media has come to Crescent Creek?”
Ellen raised one eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? Some kid from town developed an app last year that’s already earned him five hundred thousand dollars. The only thing I can’t stand is that I haven’t figured out a way yet to get my cut of his income.”
“Oh?” I said innocently. “Are you investing in tech developers, too?”
Her eyes narrowed into a dark sneer. “I invest in me,” she said. “By whatever means necessary.”
I felt a chill twine around my shoulders as Ellen laughed with a cold, lifeless glee.
“Don’t you agree, Kate?”
I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to debate the finer points of morality with a woman whose greedy eyes looked like two black currants floating in a pool of ice-cold milk.
“Well, I should probably be going,” I said. “I’m sure you have lots to do and I need to get back to the pie business.”
CHAPTER 10
After a few more tactless remarks about the two men outside, Ellen swept me into another jubilant embrace. We both promised to call soon—the typical slapdash pledges that are often made and abandoned by old friends after unexpected encounters. Then I left Ellen and walked outside. Ben Carson and Muldoon were still standing beside the car, but their conversation had evolved into a heated exchange. Carson’s face was flushed red. Muldoon was jabbing one finger into the FBI agent’s chest as he leaned in to deliver what appeared to be something of a threat. I was close enough that I caught the tail end of the warning.
“…try to do anything about it,” he was saying, “I’ll let them know back at home. And we both know what that will mean, buddy boy.”
Between the twisted grimaces and enigmatic rebuke, I felt like I’d just walked into a family dispute or a workplace scuffle. As he waited for the FBI agent to reply, Muldoon glared at me briefly with a blistering scowl that sent goosebumps down my back.
I should’ve stayed inside, I thought. At least Ellen Parker didn’t dish out that level of disdain.
When Carson finally replied to Muldoon’s threat, his voice w
as too low for me to hear. I pulled out my phone, turned slightly away from the two men and pretended to make a call. I’d learned a lot during my years working with Rodney, including imaginary phone conversations as a relatively easy way to overhear nearby chatter. While they talked, I kept my eyes trained on the coffee shop window, watching their reflections and studying their body language. The tension between them was obvious, both in what they were saying and how they were standing. Carson growled something at Muldoon, a soft, short sentence that elicited a flurry of cursing before the balloon wrangler raised his voice enough for me to make out what he said.
“She isn’t a concern of mine,” he hissed. “And she isn’t of any value to Dex. He wants me to get what I came for by whatever means necessary.”
I felt a lump in my throat. The fury in the man’s voice was jagged and thick; a cutting anger that was making me more than a little uncomfortable. With the pristine blue sky overhead, warm summer breeze and the sound of kids playing at the end of the street, the moment should’ve been as delightful as a slice of apple pie à la mode. Instead, it was sending shivers down my back and making me wish that I was still inside the coffee shop listening to Ellen gossip about Ida Hindclapp’s pumpkin spice muffins and the upcoming cooking competitions at the Crescent County Fair.
Despite the jittery nerves and feeling that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I kept the phone to my ear and my eyes fixed on the reflection in the window. I watched as Carson took out his wallet and gave Muldoon a few bills. Then I noticed the FBI agent glance in my direction. When he shifted around for a better view, he tapped Muldoon’s shoulder and motioned for him to get in the car. Realizing that I’d been made, I angled my body away from the window, glancing down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
“Miss Reed?” a voice called. “Is that you?”
When I turned, Carson held up one hand. “Oh, sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize you were on the phone.”
I smiled and asked my imaginary friend to hold the line. “It’s fine, Mr. Carson,” I said, pressing the phone against my chest. “I was just talking to my sister.”
