Murder by the Slice (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Maxwell

  “What would you like, Patty?”

  “San Pellegrino,” she sniffed.

  “Would tap water be okay?” I asked. “Or we’ve got club soda.”

  Patty’s nose wrinkled. “No San Pellegrino?”

  I nodded, waiting patiently while she twirled her eyes at Blanche and made a face.

  “Then I’ll go with pomegranate juice on ice,” she said. “With a splash of lime juice, a wedge of fresh orange and maybe a dash of nutmeg.” She noticed the look on my face. “What? It’s my usual morning elixir. Jerome whips it up for me at the Ritz-Carlton whenever I’m in Los Angeles.”

  I kept smiling. “We don’t have pomegranate juice at the moment,” I said. “What else could I bring for you?”

  Patty frowned. “Oh, Katie,” she moaned. “And here I thought you were going to take Sky High Pies a bit upscale now that you’re running the place.”

  Blanche chucked, pointing at the Wi-Fi banner on the wall. “Don’t hold your breath,” she said. “Katie’s idea of chic improvements is free computer gimmicks and meat pies.”

  Before either of the women could make another crack, I promised to return in a flash with Blanche’s hot tea.

  “Okay,” Patty said. “In that case, I’ll take a cup of coffee. But make it decaf, please. Caffeine bloats me like you wouldn’t believe.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Trent came through the front door at half past seven. In his crisp dark suit, bright white shirt and burnt orange tie, he looked handsome and urbane. But as he crossed the dining room toward where I stood behind the counter, I noticed he was wearing hiking boots covered with chunks of dried mud.

  “Is that what all the fashionable detectives are wearing this year?” I asked, pointing at his feet.

  He shrugged and held up both hands. “What? You don’t like it?”

  “It’s very chic,” I said. “But, then again, you’d look good wearing just about anything.”

  Harper was right behind me. “Or nothing at all,” she whispered.

  I studied Trent’s face to see if he’d heard the remark, but he was already reaching into his coat pocket for the ever-present leather-bound notepad.

  “Okay, so I wanted to go over what you told me on your message,” he said. “And Harper—I want to talk with you about those phone calls you got.”

  She held his gaze, anxiously kneading the hem of her apron. “Can we talk somewhere private?” she said softly. “I don’t want some people to hear our conversation.” She nodded discretely at Patty and Blanche. “If you know what I mean.”

  Trent smiled. “You bet,” he said, turning to me. “Can we borrow your office, Katie?”

  “Of course,” I answered. “Who do you want to talk with first?”

  “Why don’t we all go back together,” he suggested. “I know you’ve got customers to take care of, but I think we can knock this out in short order.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “There’s a lull in the action at the moment, so this is actually perfect timing.” I glanced at Harper. “Why don’t you and Trent get started? I’ll pop in the kitchen and ask Julia to come out front and help Liv until we’re finished.”

  When I joined them a few minutes later, Trent was sitting at the desk and Harper was in the guest chair, regaling Trent with a humorous story about two of her favorite customers. I’d heard the tale three times, so I perched on a filing cabinet and listened while she finished.

  The yarn involved a couple named Inez and Speedy Kaplan, both in their seventies and equally stubborn. When they came in the day before, their midday excursion for coffee and pie ended up in a heated argument about dental floss.

  “I know that doesn’t sound like the kind of topic that could lead to a brawl,” Harper said. “But there was a moment when I really thought Inez was going to pull out her danger sticks and wail on—”

  “Her what?” Trent asked.

  “Danger sticks,” Harper explained. “Same thing as nunchuks, but Inez likes the other name better. She thinks it gives her more of an edge when she competes in the regionals.”

  A huge smile appeared on Trent’s face. “She competes?” he asked in disbelief. “Isn’t she about eighty or so?”

  “Seventy-three,” Harper said. “And Speedy’s seventy-six. He always jokes that he robbed the cradle when they met back in—”

  “I hate to spoil the party,” I interrupted. “But shouldn’t we get to business?”

  Harper frowned. “Nag, nag, nag,” she said as a cheery giggle replaced the scowl. “All you ever do is nag.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Is that so?”

  “Okay, let’s start with the phone calls, Harper,” Trent said, squaring his shoulders and getting ready with his notepad. “How many did you receive?”

  She thought for a second, pressing one finger to her lips. “Uh, do you mean how many times did I answer or how many times did they call?”

  “I’d actually like to know both,” said Trent.

  “They called three times,” Harper explained. “And I answered twice.” She sighed softly. “Only because I was expecting my mother to tell me when she was coming by. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have picked up the second time without checking Caller ID.”

  Trent made a quick notation. “Okay,” he said. “Did you recognize the person on the other end?”

  Harper shook her head. “It was a guy, but he must’ve been holding something over the phone. You know—to disguise his voice.”

  “Did he use any unusual phrases?” Trent said. “Or could you detect an accent of any kind?”

  “Well, let me think,” Harper said. She glanced at the floor, nervously drumming her fingers on one thigh. “Probably British,” she continued. “Like from London? Or maybe Russia?” She shook her head and frowned. “I’m sorry, Trent. I’m not really very good at being interviewed. I’m kind of nervous all of a sudden.”

  Trent smiled, jotting down the additional detail. “You’re doing fine, Harper. Now, what about words that the caller used? Do you remember anything strange or distinctive?”

  Harper’s cheeks flushed red. “Well, there was a lot of cursing, but I’m not about to repeat all of that mess!”

  “Okay, sure,” said Trent. “But what did he say besides the cursing?”

  “Just that I should think twice about working at Sky High Pies,” Harper answered. “That some bad things were bound to happen this week.”

  Trent shot a quick glance at me. I shrugged in response and he looked back at Harper.

  “Did he say what kind of bad things?”

  She shook her head. “No, because I didn’t really give him a chance. As soon as he said that and then started tossing out all kinds of bad language, I hung up.”

  “Is that when you called 911?”

  “No, I did that after the second call,” she explained. “And that was basically a carbon copy of the first one. Except with even more bad words.” She shuddered at the memory. “I mean, he said things I’ve never even heard before. And I grew up with four brothers and an uncle who worked in the adult film industry, so I figured I’d heard it all.” She smiled. “Know what I mean?”

  I desperately wanted to ask about the uncle, but decided to let that go for the time being. I could tell Trent was also curious about the seemingly random comment, but he went on with a few more questions about the calls that Harper had received.

  “Okay, that should do it for now,” he said after finalizing the timeline and asking Harper for any additional details she could remember. “So, Kate? Why don’t we go over the package that you received from Rodney.”

  Harper raised her hand. Trent smiled at the gesture and explained that it wasn’t necessary.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she said. “I just figured that since this is some kind of formal police proceeding, maybe I should be extra polite.”

  Trent smiled. “What was your question?”

  “Do you need me to stay?” Harper answered. “I’ve heard the front door chi
me a bunch in the past few minutes. I’m afraid Julia and Liv might be in the weeds.”

  “I’ve got what I need for now,” Trent told her. “I can always be back in touch if I think of anything else.”

  Harper got up and held out her hand. Trent shook it and stood while she left the office.

  “She’s a character,” he said, settling back into the desk chair. “I can see why all your customers like her so much.”

  I beamed with pride. “I know, right? When she volunteered to work at Sky High, I wasn’t sure what to think. But it’s been a true blessing. And she’s sweeter than my Nana Reed’s Honey Citrus Surprise, so what’s not to like?”

  “True enough,” said Trent. “Now, about the package from Rodney?”

  I reached into my pocket, retrieved the flash drive and dropped it into Trent’s outstretched hand.

  “A flash drive, huh?”

  I nodded. “He mailed it to my old address in Chicago the day before he was killed.”

  “Any idea what’s on here?” asked Trent.

  “About a dozen files,” I answered. “And it looks like they’re set up with password protection.”

  Trent studied the small object in his hand before slipping it into his jacket. “I’ll take it to Jimbo Healy. He’s our tech whiz. If anybody can crack the password, it’ll be Jimbo.”

  I smiled at the name. “That the same Jimbo that hacked the principal’s computer when we were in school?”

  Trent nodded. “Yep. But now he uses his powers for good instead of childhood pranks.”

  “Smart choice. And hopefully, he’ll be able to get into the files.”

  Trent dropped the flash drive into his jacket. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, okay? My plate’s pretty full this week, but I made sure everyone at the station knows this is high on the priority list. There’s a chance that I’ll be out of town for a day or so, but you can always call or text me any time, okay?”

  “Thanks, Trent,” I said. “You’re making this nightmare a bit easier to handle by being so polite and kind.”

  He smiled and got up from the chair. “That’s my job, Katie. Being polite. And being kind.”

  “Well, I just want you to know how much I appreciate that,” I said as we left the office. “It’s reassuring to know that there are still a few good people in the world.”

  As he walked down the hall and into the dining room, I kept my eyes on Trent and felt a welcome warmth bubble in my core. It was similar to the sensation I felt the first time we met, and I smiled at both the long ago romance and the way he was making me feel a little safer with all the strange developments in recent days.

  CHAPTER 22

  Early that evening, after another busy day at Sky High Pies, I was exhausted. And my brain jiggled in my head like the filling for Chocolate-Caramel Cream Pie. I stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to my apartment, lamenting the fact that my parents hadn’t installed an elevator when they remodeled the Victorian ten years earlier.

  “Come on, Kate,” I grumbled. “You. Can. Do. This.”

  I grabbed the banister and slowly climbed the stairs. Visions of a bubble bath and back-to-back glasses of pinot grigio danced in my mind as I unlocked the door and stepped into my apartment. The air was lightly scented from the chocolate candle on the coffee table. It had been a gift from the next door neighbor, a busy single woman named Viveca England who came over the day I moved in with a basket of goodies that included a bottle of wine, the candle and a copy of Unwed & Loving It: Finding Happily Ever After Without Him! When she left that afternoon, I’d stashed the book on the closet shelf, sipped a glass of the Australian chardonnay and lit the candle. It was so potent that my place instantly smelled like the Godiva store in Water Tower Place back in Chicago. I worked behind the counter part-time for a few months after Rodney reduced my hours during a couple of lean years at the detective agency.

  My phone buzzed, but I was too tired to talk. I swiped the screen, sending UNKNOWN CALLER to voicemail. Then I collapsed onto the sofa.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” I muttered. “There’s too much to do.”

  I rolled onto my side and surveyed the living room. A small mountain of cardboard boxes waited in the corner: FRAGILE, VERY FRAGILE, KITCHEN TOWELS and USELESS JUNK YOU SHOULDN’T MOVE BUT WILL ANYWAY.

  I smiled at the note that my friend Edie wrote on the last box. She’d helped me pack a few things on my last night in Chicago. As I stared at her handwriting on the carton, I thought about how much I was going to miss her. We became instant friends after meeting in a yoga class. Even though Edie traveled nonstop for work, we got together once a month for breakfast or lunch before window shopping down Michigan Avenue. While we packed my belongings over carryout Chinese that last night, Edie had promised to visit me in Crescent Creek as soon as possible. I didn’t know if she would or not, but remembering how ferociously she’d criticized me for packing the flotsam and jetsam from my old apartment made me smile.

  Gazing at the USELESS JUNK box, I tried to remember what was inside. Paper clips? My threadbare Wrigley Field T-shirt? Carry-out menus from my three favorite pizza places in Chicago: Lou Malnati’s, Giordano’s and Gio’s East.

  With a thunderous groan, I heaved myself up from the sofa, crossed the living room and knelt on the floor. I peeled the tape from the box bearing Edie’s silly label and peered inside. The first thing I saw sent a pang of sorrow and regret crawling down my spine. It was a DVD; my ex-boyfriend Will’s beloved Field of Dreams. I plucked the movie from the packing carton, opened the case and pressed my nose against the inside of the front flap. I wanted it to smell like Will; clean and strong and resolute, with the faint aroma of cologne and breath mints. But it didn’t. Instead, my nose detected the flat nothingness of plastic and house dust before I closed the DVD case and dropped it back into the carton on the Gio’s East menu.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the sofa. Then I spotted my phone on the coffee table. And then I did the thing that I promised myself I would never do again.

  I dialed Will’s number.

  Holding the phone to my ear, I listened to the metallic pings and clicks as the error of my ways tumbled forward through the incomprehensible network of wire and cable and software until a muffled clunk-click gave way to his voice.

  “Will Sheffield,” he said, sounding very businesslike and alert.

  I guessed that he was waiting for a work-related call and hadn’t bothered to glance at the screen on his phone.

  “Will?”

  The line was quiet for a second. In the background on his end, I heard the television. It sounded like Sports Center. I imagined Will was in his sweats and running shoes, flopped on the sofa in the living room watching ESPN after an evening workout at the gym.

  “How are you, Kate?” he asked finally.

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  Another silence followed. The droning TV suddenly clicked off and I listened for his reply.

  “I have to be honest,” he said, taking enough of a pause that I thought: Honest? Since when?

  But then he continued, finishing the thought with the same idea that was bouncing around in my head: “I’m kind of surprised to hear from you, Kate.”

  I’d dialed his number instinctively, feeling some sense of obligation that I should let him know about his favorite DVD. And then, in the few seconds that followed, waiting for the call to connect and Will to answer, I’d felt foolish and silly. A million anxious thoughts raced through my mind: He can buy another copy of the movie. I don’t owe him anything. Why should I do something nice for someone who hurt me so badly?

  But then he answered. And the sound of his voice was so familiar and soothing that I had to concentrate on not getting lulled into a momentary lapse of reality. We’d been a couple for two years, sharing every intimate secret and dream. I thought we were heading toward the altar and our own happily ever after. I learned later that Will considered our relationship a temporary respite from playing the field
, a sport he returned to enthusiastically after Annalise moved into the apartment above mine and started flirting with him shamelessly when they ran into one another in the elevator or hallway.

  “That makes two of us,” I said finally. “I’m kind of surprised that I called. But I was going through a box and found your Field of Dreams DVD. It must’ve gotten scooped up right before the movers came to load my things onto the truck.”

  As I waited for him to say something, my mind scrambled through the countless times we’d watched the movie together. It was Will’s favorite; a treasured memento from one of his childhood trips to the movies with his father. He always teased me that we had to watch it at least once a month to counterbalance the romantic comedies that I picked for our regular Will & Kate’s Magical 3M Date Nights: Mexican food, margaritas and a movie.

  “Oh, sure,” he said indifferently. “That makes sense.”

  “I can mail it to you,” I suggested. “I mean, I’ll do that if you want it back.”

  He made the little tsk sound that I’d heard a million times, the nonverbal indicator that he was annoyed or bored. “That’s really not necessary, Katie. I can order another copy sometime.”

  I felt my cheeks burn from the awkwardness of the call.

  “It doesn’t really matter anyway,” Will added. “Rebecca can’t stand that movie. She hates baseball just a little bit less than Kevin Costner.”

  The barb cut right through me. In one breath, the man I thought I knew revealed himself to be a stranger with a capricious heart.

  “Anyway,” he said. “How’s it going out there?”

  I thought about screeching a few choice words in his ear before hanging up. But then I decided to be an adult.

  “Things are good,” I told Will. “My sister came up from Denver to help for a couple of days. My folks are calling from Florida about every five seconds. And my two girlfriends in crime, Julia and Harper, are both amazing. Julia’s been with Sky High for going on three years. And Harper’s someone I’ve known since we were seven or eight. As soon as she heard I was coming back to Crescent Creek, she called to offer her support. She’s worked in everything from McDonald’s to restaurants with white table cloths and sommeliers, so her experience is really helpful.”