by Mary Maxwell
Olivia laughed. “Hey, Katie? Do you mind if I go back to the motel and freshen up before we grab a beer?”
“Not at all,” I said. “You’re welcome to go upstairs and use my bathroom if you’d like.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I need to call home and I want to change my shoes. I’ll meet you at the Wagon Wheel in an hour or so. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds perfect,” I answered.
“Hey, Jules,” Olivia said as she grabbed her purse. “Want to join us for a beer?”
Julia shook her head. “I’d love to, but I promised my mother I’d take her to up to Boulder. My brother’s playing in a coffeehouse, and she’s never seen his new band.”
“Okay,” my sister said. “Maybe the next time!”
Once Julia and I were alone, we narrowed the remaining list of tasks so we could finish up for the day. As I began measuring ingredients for a Tequila Sunrise Cheesecake, an image of Ellen Parker flashed through my mind.
“Guess who I ran into when I was downtown just now?” I said.
Julia looked up from the Black & Blue Berry Biscuits she was mixing. “Oprah Winfrey,” she said.
The answer made me giggle. “Where’d that come from?”
“I don’t know.” Julia shrugged, blotting her forehead with the back of one hand. “I guess she’s been on my mind.”
“Because you saw a rerun of The Color Purple?”
She smirked. “No, because I heard her on one of the morning programs that I record. She was talking about that seminar thing that she does. You know the one I mean? It’s called ‘The Life You Want Weekend’ or something like that.”
I pinched a blueberry from the stainless steel bowl beside the mixer. “Uh-huh. I’ve heard of that, but does that mean you don’t like the life you have now?”
Julia heaved a sigh. Then another. And then she asked if I ran into anyone fun when I was downtown. It seemed like something was on her mind, but it was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Ellen Parker,” I said.
“That piece of trash?” Julia scowled. “She’s caused nothing but trouble for a bunch of my married friends since her last divorce.”
I hadn’t heard the news, so I asked Julia to elaborate.
“She’s a gold digger, always weaseling her way into compromising situations with married men. And then she tries to blackmail them. It’s a huge scandal; the most outrageous thing to happen in Crescent Creek since Tabitha and Howard announced they were forming a group for nude bridge enthusiasts.”
“Do you mean people who play the card game?” I asked. “Or fans of the structures that go over rivers?”
Julia smiled, filling the air with her luminous giggle. “Oh, now! The card game, of course! Who’s going out in public wearing nothing but their birthday suit to ogle an old viaduct?”
I popped another blueberry into my mouth. “You never know. I mean, I hadn’t heard a peep about Ellen Parker, so anything’s possible.”
Julia motioned over my shoulder. “Can you grab me a big wooden spoon, please?”
I turned, plucked one of the battered utensils from the ceramic holder and swung back around.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Julia said, taking the spoon and stirring the biscuit batter. “And you’re absolutely right—anything’s possible.”
I waited for more, but she concentrated on the ingredients in the bowl. After a moment or two, I cleared my throat to get her attention.
“Huh?” She smiled. “Did I miss something?”
“No, but I was waiting to hear more about Ellen Parker.”
Her face crumpled into another smirk. “That piece of trash?”
“Yeah, you’ve got my curiosity piqued now.”
“I’d like to pique her right upside the head!” Julia blurted. “I’ve never in my life, Katie!”
I could tell there was a juicy story beneath her reddening cheeks and furrowed brow. I’d also learned during the past few days that Julia would reveal difficult or uncomfortable news at her own pace. While she mixed the biscuit batter, I glanced at the whiteboard to see what else we needed to prep for the next day.
“I’m going to start on the lemon whipped cream frosting,” I said. “Unless you’ve already made it.”
Julia didn’t respond, so I went to gather ingredients. When I came out of the walk-in, she was standing with one hand flat on the counter and the other on her hip.
“Ellen did it to us,” she said quietly.
“What’s that?”
She answered by rolling her eyes. “You know what I’m saying.”
“I don’t exactly,” I said. “Maybe you can tell me more.”
And she did. For the next ten minutes, Julia unleashed a torrent of surprising information about Ellen Parker. Apparently, behind the wealthy, well-dressed façade that I witnessed earlier at the coffee shop, Ellen was drowning in an ocean of debt because of her feverish addiction to shopping. It was true that her parents had left her a small fortune when they died. And it was also true that Ellen had invested some of the money in real estate. But she hadn’t told me about the rest of the story: mountains of unpaid bills and nonstop calls from collection agencies as well as frivolous and extravagant purchases that had emptied her coffers.
“The piece of trash goes out at night dressed like a Vegas showgirl. Then she sinks her claws into married men who are visiting the area or just passing through. And then she films the whole tawdry scene back at their hotel or her place and threatens to send it to their wives.”
I listened to the story, feeling a slimy residue of grime drifting through the air. I wasn’t innocent about the world. I’d seen plenty of tasteless and criminal behavior in Chicago. But the Ellen Parker that I talked with at Java & Juice seemed like a confident, flamboyant success instead of a devious flim-flam artist.
“Are the police aware of this?” I asked.
Julia looked up from the mixing bowl. “They’ve heard the rumors,” she answered. “But, up to this point, the men who fall prey to Ellen have been too embarrassed to file a complaint. In most cases, they’re back home in Grosse Point or Atlanta or wherever before Ellen sends her little blackmail notes.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” I said. “That kind of thing can’t go on forever.”
Julia gave me a sideways smile as she went back to work. I was halfway through the lemon whipped cream frosting before I remembered that Julia had said Ellen pulled her scheme on she and her husband.
“One more question?” I said.
She smiled. “What’s that?”
“You mentioned that Ellen did it to you,” I said. “Does that mean she tried to blackmail your husband?”
Julia looked away as her cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, but I don’t really…” Her voice faded. “I should’ve never mentioned that,” she continued. “My husband is a good man. He made one mistake when he fell for her lies.”
I could tell the subject was touchy, so I decided not to push. “You know what?” I said. “Let’s change the subject.”
“That’s a fantastic idea!” Julia said brightly. “What do you want to talk about?”
I smiled. “Oprah,” I said. “Tell me about the weekend seminar thingy.”
“You sure?” Julia asked. “I’m a true devotee, so I can talk for hours about Miss Winfrey.”
I glanced at the clock. “How about we do the twenty-minute version now,” I suggested. “And we can continue the discussion tomorrow morning?”
CHAPTER 13
Olivia finished her second beer, held up the empty bottle and whistled for the guy behind the bar. We’d been perched on our padded stools in the Wagon Wheel Saloon for nearly two hours, reminiscing about growing up in Crescent Creek and how much our lives had changed in the intervening years.
“I mean, c’mon,” she drawled. “Remember when I had no boobs? And Cecil Alton kept putting softballs under his T-shirt to make fun of me?”
I nodded at the memory. “Whatever happened to h
im?”
“Plastic surgeon,” Olivia scoffed. “In Beverly Hills.”
A smile lit up my face. “Isn’t that crazy? Because you were a late bloomer, you inspired him to help other women achieve their search for perfection.”
My sister rolled her eyes and whistled again. “Yo! Barkeep! I’m about to die of thirst over here!”
I put one hand on her arm. “Do you really think you should have another?”
She flipped her scolding glare in my direction. “And now what—you’re my chaperone?”
“No, Liv.” I gave her a little pat before withdrawing my hand. “I just don’t want you to feel like crap in the morning.”
She considered the comment. Then she waved her hand at the bartender. “Yo! Sweetheart! Make that a club soda, okay?”
The man behind the bar didn’t say a word. He just spun around, deposited the unopened bottles of Great Divide DPA back in the cooler and grabbed a pair of empty highball glasses.
“You’re sweet to think of me,” Olivia said. “But I guess that’s what sisters do.”
“You got that right!” I said, scooping a handful of shelled peanuts from the bowl we’d been sharing. “I’ve gone over that line more times than I’d care to remember. Woke up the next morning feeling like my head was filled with rocks and my mouth was stuffed with cotton candy.”
Olivia giggled. “And then you go right out and find the greasiest breakfast you can.”
“And then you puke all over Cecil Alton’s new Chuck Taylors.”
My sister’s subdued giggle exploded into a deep laugh. “Oh, Katie! I’d forgotten about that night.” She squealed and turned red as the bartender delivered two glasses of club soda. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
I popped a couple of roasted peanuts into my mouth and waited a few seconds. “At least, not until you did it again a couple of months later,” I said finally. “Wine coolers and cheese fries and Brody Hammett’s cowboy boots.”
We laughed and rocked on our barstools until tears rolled down our cheeks. Then we sipped our drinks and shared a smile while the memory lingered.
“This has been fun,” I said. “Spending time together again.”
Olivia leaned over and put her head on my shoulder. “Like when we were kids,” she said. “And I hope we can do it more often now that you’re back in Crescent Creek.”
“Well, I doubt if I’ll get down to Denver anytime soon. I need to concentrate on Sky High.”
“And Trent Walsh.” She winked and laughed. “You need to concentrate on him before somebody else comes along and you miss your chance.”
I ignored the taunt. My remark about Sky High Pies was completely right; I needed to ensure that the family business continued its successful run. If I dropped the ball or got distracted, there was always a chance that the quality could slip and customers would take their business elsewhere.
“I’ll leave that up to destiny,” I said, reaching for more peanuts.
We sat and watched the other patrons as they drank, played darts and swayed to the vintage tunes on the jukebox. An old Grateful Dead song was followed by a Roy Orbison hit that segued into Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers singing about islands in the stream.
“Isn’t this nice?” Olivia said when the duet ended. “Just hanging out together?”
I smiled. “It’s better than nice,” I said, digging in my pocket to retrieve my ringing phone.
“It’s the best way to spend part of a day.”
Instead of a familiar name, the display on the screen read BLOCKED NAME.
“Who is it?” asked Olivia.
“I don’t know, but it could be something for Sky High.” I tapped the screen and waited for the call to connect. “Hello? This is Kate.”
Someone nearby began shouting, so I put my free hand over my ear and strained to listen.
“Hello?” I looked at my sister and made a face. “I don’t think anyone’s—”
But then a deep voice came from the phone. “Miss Reed?”
“This is Kate,” I said again. “Who’s calling?”
“You’ve got what we want. If you don’t give it to us, you’ll be sorry.”
The man spoke with an accent, possibly French. Or Eastern European. The connection wasn’t good, so it was hard to be certain. For a brief moment, I thought maybe it was Olivia’s husband calling from Denver. But then I realized he was too uptight to do anything quite as carefree as impersonate someone from another country.
“Who is this?” I asked.
My sister nudged me with an elbow. “Kate?” she whispered. “Is everything okay?”
I didn’t glance over, afraid that my concentration would be diluted if I locked eyes with her while I was waiting for the man on the phone to tell me what he wanted.
“Did you not hear me?” he said after I waited an eternity.
“Yes, I definitely heard you,” I told him. “But I don’t know who you are. So how can I know what you’re talking about?”
He grunted and muttered in another language. It wasn’t French, but I couldn’t even guess what it might be as he repeated the grumble. “Listen very closely, Miss Reed. You have something that belongs to my boss. He wants it back. You probably have guessed that one of my associates came to your apartment looking for it the other day, and we—”
“You’re the burglar?” I said in disbelief. “And now you’re calling me to—”
“Don’t speak,” the man said. “Just listen.” He paused briefly, but I wasn’t about to say a word. “You have an item that is very valuable. But it doesn’t belong to you. And it didn’t belong to your boss in Chicago either.”
A breath caught in my throat as my sister pressed her elbow into my side again. “Katie!” Her voice cracked as she leaned toward me. “What is it?”
I kept my eyes on the bowl of roasted peanuts while the man instructed me to leave the item on one of the rocking chairs on the front porch at Sky High Pies by the following night at ten o’clock.
“One of my associates will come by to fetch it,” said the mysterious caller. “And it would be very unwise of you to tell your friends with the police department about this call as well as the rendezvous tomorrow night.”
When the line went dead, I slowly lowered the phone.
“Are you okay?” Olivia pleaded. “Who the hell was that?”
I took a deep breath. “Wrong number,” I said, managing to flash a wide grin. “It was a total chatterbox who wouldn’t stop yammering and barely made any sense at all.”
“I’ve had those calls before,” my sister said, completely buying my explanation. “I usually pretend that I can’t hear them before I hang up. Life’s too short for nuisance calls.” She giggled softly. “Actually, life’s too short for nuisance anything!”
CHAPTER 14
It was nearly nine o’clock when my sister decided she’d had enough sibling camaraderie. We’d sipped our way through another beer, shared a Wagon Wheel Burger for dinner and then reminisced about the summer vacations we spent working at Sky High Pies beside our parents and Nana Reed.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Olivia said, covering a yawn with one hand. “I’d love to keep giggling about all the crazy stories, but I’m beat to the bone. I want to go back to the motel, soak in a bubble bath and call home before I crawl into bed.”
I patted her shoulder. “I don’t blame you. I think that sounds like a really good idea.”
She gathered her purse and phone and began walking toward the front of the bar. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’m going to talk to Red Hancock first,” I said, nodding at the Wagon Wheel’s owner behind the bar. “Unless you want me to walk you out to your car?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m a big girl,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
After she disappeared through the door, I made my way to where Red was deep in conversation with a half-empty shot glass and a bottle of Wild Turkey.
“You okay, Red?”
He looped his gaze in my direction. “Why—don’t I look okay?”
“Simmer down, big fella. I come in peace.”
A crooked grin appeared beneath his scruffy mustache. “I know that, Kate. I’m just teasin’ you.”
“Feeling ornery tonight?” I asked.
He grumbled something about women. Then he took a sip of his whiskey.
“Is this a bad time?”
“For what?” he said.
“I heard there was a fight in here the other night,” I answered. “Pete Yoder got into a tangle with a guy named Muldoon.”
Red turned around, took a clean shot glass from a stack on the back counter and put it on the bar in front of me. “Join me in a toast?” he asked.
“You bet,” I said. “But make mine a very small one, okay?”
He splashed a modest puddle of Wild Turkey into my glass.
“That small enough?”
I nodded. “It’s perfect.” I lifted the whiskey and held it toward Red. “Now, what or whom are we toasting?”
“My wife,” he grumbled. “She was right again.”
I smiled. Becca Hancock was a petite woman with pitch-black hair that she wore in a lofty beehive. While Red kept the Wagon Wheel going, she managed a small vintage clothing store near the town square. I’d stopped in the day after I returned to Crescent Creek to buy gifts for my sister, Harper and Julia. I wanted to thank them for helping me during my first week at Sky High Pies.
“What was she right about?” I asked Red.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he muttered. “How’s it going at Sky High? You doing okay over there?”
I told him that I was holding my own. Then I praised my sister along with Julia, Harper and Angus. And then I confessed that the transition from Chicago to Crescent Creek had been much easier than I would’ve guessed.
“On account of life here’s a whole lot sweeter?” Red asked, pouring himself another shot of Wild Turkey.
“You might say that,” I answered. “It’s nice to be back in Colorado.”
“It’s nicer never to have left.” He grinned and raised his glass. “Anyway, what gives, Kate?” he said before downing the whiskey. “Why’re you asking about Pete Yoder?”
