by Mary Maxwell
“I don’t know what that is,” he grumbled.
“Well, that’s all I can tell you. And now you know what thousands of people have been curious about all these years.”
The loopy grin on his face drooped slightly. “Cool,” he said proudly. “I like being on the inside track.”
CHAPTER 28
While Earl beamed contentedly behind the reception counter in the motel office, I walked outside. My plan was returning to Sky High Pies so I could tackle the next items on the daily prep list. But as I pulled the car keys from my pocket, the sleek black sedan with the tinted windows and the Michigan plates came around the corner of the building. I stepped into its path, holding up one hand and giving the driver a friendly wave.
“What the bloody hell?” hissed the woman behind the wheel. She had a British accent and lips the color of boiled beets. “I could’ve run you over!”
“But you didn’t,” I said, walking around to the driver’s window. “Well done you!”
She was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn’t see her eyes. But I imagined that she was glaring at me with a potent mix of disdain and conceit.
“Are you staying at the motel?” I asked.
The crimson lips pressed together in a squiggle of scorn. “That’s none of your business,” she said.
“Oh, gosh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just passing through the area and saw the sign. I thought that maybe if you were a guest, you could give me your opinion of the place.”
She slowly removed the shades to reveal two stunning ice blue eyes set in a flawless field of porcelain skin.
“Kate?”
Hearing my name come from her lacquered lips was a shock. We’d never met, so it seemed utterly strange that she knew my identity.
“I’m…uh…sorry,” I stammered. “How do you—”
“This kind of ridiculous subterfuge is beneath you, Miss Reed.”
I kept my eyes on the woman’s face, marveling at her tapered nose and impossibly high cheekbones.
“How do you know my name?”
She smiled. “Lucky guess?”
“I somehow doubt that.” I stared at her teeth; they resembled pristine Chiclets made from polished white marble. “Have you been to Sky High Pies?”
“Maybe I’m clairvoyant,” she suggested through hooded eyes. “I know your past. I’m with you in the present. And I can predict what will happen in your future.”
I shook my head. “I’m not in the mood for games. How do you know me?”
She reached down and started to raise her window, but I put my hand in the opening. The glass stopped as it grazed my fingers.
“What do you want, Miss Reed?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” I told her. “Beginning with how you know my name and why you’re being so evasive.”
She laughed, throwing her head back against the headrest. “You think this is evasive?” she said coldly. “Don’t be a dolt. We both know that your many years of service alongside Rodney Alexander taught you a thing or two about sussing out when someone’s truly being vague and squirmy when you ask them a direct question.”
My jaw instinctively clamped tightly after she divulged more knowledge about me. It was frustrating and strange, but it was also really creepy. Did I have a stalker now? Was this British beauty trailing me for some reason? And, perhaps most importantly, who was she?
“Do you mind turning off the engine?” I asked.
She fixed her eyes on mine, narrowing the gaze and lowering the window again. “I do mind, actually. I’ve got an appointment in thirty minutes. And since I’m not familiar with your delightful little municipality, I want to make sure there’s plenty of time in case I get lost along the way.”
“Where are you going?” I asked. “Maybe I know a shortcut.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’ve got my trusty GPS all fired up.”
As I got ready to ask about her destination again, Earl Dodd called to us from the motel office door.
“Everything okay?” he bellowed.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” I answered. “I was just asking…” I peered down at the woman sitting in the sedan. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?”
She heaved a sigh. “Eugenia Pinchbelly,” she replied.
I sneered at her. “You may be the most obstinate woman that I’ve ever—”
Earl inched closer. “Everything okay out here, Kate?” He leaned down and peered into the car. “You doing okay, Miss Foster?”
“Yes, thanks,” I said to him. “Miss Foster and I were just having a little chat.”
“Oh, about the…” Earl didn’t finish his reply. Instead, he raised one thumb, a chubby digit coated with orange powder, and spun around back toward the office.
“What do you suppose he thinks we’re discussing?” the woman said. “Beauty tips? Because that would be a very long chat, considering how much you resemble a bloated cow.”
The slam stung, but I didn’t miss a step. I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture as she glared at me through the open window of the black car.
“And why did you do that?” she snapped.
“It’s for my scrapbook,” I said. “I’ve got a special section for the rudest people in the world.”
She didn’t react to my comment, but I noticed one corner of her mouth twitched for a second or two.
“Where were you night before last?” I asked. “Between seven-thirty and ten o’clock?”
“Shooting at people,” she said slowly. “But it’s not what you think, Miss Reed. I was at the little gun range that Earl told me about.” She reached into the purse on the passenger seat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Why are you curious about that?”
“Because that’s when the coroner said Ben Carson was murdered,” I replied.
The twitchy corner went into overdrive before she slipped the unlit smoke between her lips. I watched while she clicked a slender silver lighter, nipping the end of her cigarette with a blue-orange flame. Then she took a deep puff, tilted her head back and blew the smoke in my direction.
“Very nice,” I said. “I love the smell of second-hand smoke in the morning.”
She sneered. “Now, if you don’t mind…” She revved the engine and fluttered her fingers at me. “Can you just scoot back a bit? I’d like to leave, but I don’t want to risk running over your size fifteen feet.”
The look on her face reminded me of a mischievous toddler; sideways grin, googly eyes, jutting chin. I wanted to reach in and slap the childish expression off of her otherwise elegant face, but I took a few steps away from her car and motioned for her to proceed.
“Have a nice day,” I called as she headed for the parking lot exit. “See you around town, Miss Foster!”
CHAPTER 29
Buck’s gun range was on my way back to the café, so I decided to make a quick stop to confirm the British woman’s alibi. Buck Murphy was on the phone when I stepped through the door into the reception area. I hadn’t seen him since I returned to Crescent Creek, but my father was a longtime customer and I’d visited the range during the past few years while home for the holidays. Buck was tall, wide and loud; he peered at the world from behind wire-rimmed glasses and a bushy white beard. I pegged his age at sixty-five or so, although his boundless energy and unrelenting volume made him seem like a teenager after slamming six cans of Red Bull.
“Well, now,” Buck boomed after finishing his call. “If it isn’t Junior Reed’s little girl.”
I walked over and shook his hand. “Good to see you again, Mr. Murphy.”
“Call me Buck,” he said. “All the other pretty women in town do.”
I let a moment pass before I cut to the chase. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?”
He winked. “All the other pretty women do, so—”
“I’m interested in a woman who came here two nights ago,” I told him. “She’s British. With blonde hair. And perfect skin.”
&n
bsp; Buck snickered. “I remember her. But that wasn’t two nights ago, Kate. The woman you’re talking about was here last Friday and then again on Monday.” He paused to tap this side of his head with one weathered finger. “I may be an AARP member, but my little gray cells still work just fine.”
“I’m sure they do. The thing is—I just talked with her a couple of minutes ago. She seemed pretty adamant that she was here on Tuesday night between seven-fifteen and ten.”
Buck pulled a toothpick from a small crystal skull on the counter. He wedged it into the corner of his mouth, nodding and grumbling under his breath.
“You done?” he said.
I nodded.
“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Kate. But I was home on Tuesday night with an ice pack on my jaw and a tumbler of Kentucky bourbon in my hand.” He shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “I got a root canal that afternoon,” he added. “Little pecker dentist told me it wouldn’t hurt much, but I’m here to testify that I haven’t felt that kind of pain since your daddy whooped my butt in the wrestling tournie when we were seniors in high school.”
The memory transformed his gregarious smile into a cheerless grin. “That’s a long time ago, but the defeat still makes me feel little a nub on the underside of a fat hog on the way to the slaughterhouse.”
I winced at the image. “Okay, so then the British woman lied about being here on Tuesday.”
Buck grunted. “One person’s lie is another person’s truth,” he said. “At least, that’s what your Nana Reed used to say when I’d fib about slipping in the kitchen door at Sky High and stealing a pie from the cooling rack.”
“I’ve heard those stories, Mr. Murphy. I never knew if they were true or not.”
He held one craggy hand over his heart. “From my mouth to God’s ears,” he said. “I took those pies. And I ate ’em. And I don’t feel one morsel of regret.” A thunderous laugh split the air. “But I always came back the next day and left some money on the counter.”
I raised one eyebrow. “And where’d you get the money?”
He smiled. “Stole it. From the jam jar my parents kept on the top shelf of their bedroom closet.”
“Well, I guess you’re living proof that crime can actually pay sometimes.”
“Ah, shoot, Kate. It wasn’t like I was robbing Fort Knox or nothing. I was a growing boy, hungry and pretty fond of your grandmother’s baked goodies.” He closed his eyes and hummed with joy. “Speaking of which,” he said, gazing at me through his glasses, “how’s it goin’ for you over there? I’m sorry that I haven’t darkened your doorstep yet. I plan to come in real soon and see how you’ve changed the place.”
“Thanks for asking,” I said. “It’s actually going pretty well. My sister came up to help. And my friend Harper’s working with me now.”
“What about that Julia?” asked Buck. “She still in the kitchen most days?”
I nodded. “Yes, and she’s a blessing.”
“Well, that’s a good thing,” he said. “If all that’s going so well, why’re you asking about the British woman? She somehow involved with you running Sky High?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just following a lead.”
He chuckled. “Ah, that’s right! You were a detective back in Chicago, right?”
“I was.”
“With the PD?”
“No, I was a private investigator,” I explained. “Started as the receptionist with a one-man shop right after graduating from college. Then I just sort of stuck with it. After a few years, my boss suggested that I’d make a good PI, so I got my license.”
“That’s cool,” Buck said. “And you’re back here now, right? Or are you just taking a break from Chicago and all the detective stuff?”
“No, I’m here for good,” I answered. “Sky High Pies has been a family business since it opened. My parents really wanted one of us kids to take over when they retired. I drew the short straw, so here I am.”
He laughed again. “Your brother and sister weren’t cut out for it?”
“Something like that,” I said. “They’re busy with their own lives. Since I was single and things in Chicago took a turn, I decided that Crescent Creek was where I needed to be.”
The toothpick bobbed in his mouth as he wished me well at Sky High. Then he apologized for cutting our conversation short.
“I’m runnin’ over to the dentist in a couple minutes,” Buck said. “This root canal thing isn’t healing the way it should.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I offered. “Maybe you can swing by sometime after it’s all back to normal for a piece of pie on the house!”
“I’d like that a lot,” he replied with another booming laugh. “Was there anything else I can help you with today? Or did you just want to know about the British woman?”
“That’s it,” I said, turning for the door. “You’ve been a big help, Mr. Murphy.”
“Ah, c’mon now.” He chuckled and pulled the toothpick out of his mouth. “Call me Buck,” he said again. “All the other pretty women in town do.”
CHAPTER 30
I leaned against the hood of my car, dialed Trent’s number and studied my nails. I couldn’t remember my last manicure, but it was definitely before I left Chicago. And the evidence was clear as I cringed at the chipped, scarred polish on my right hand: I needed an emergency intervention of dusty rose or peachy nude lacquer as soon as possible. When the call was answered on the other end, it wasn’t Trent’s voice. The unexpected sound of Dina Kincaid left me momentarily speechless.
“Hello?” she said again. “Are you there, Kate?”
For a moment, I wondered how she knew it was me. But then my addled brain remembered that she would’ve seen my name on the screen before picking up.
“Uh…” I cleared my throat gently to keep my voice from cracking. “Is that you, Dina?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she said, sounding as bright and fresh as a bouquet of gardenias. “How are you?”
“I’m good, but I was looking for Trent.”
She told me that he was indisposed, but she answered in case it was something urgent.
“We’re in the conference room at work,” she explained. “Somehow he managed to spill a cup of coffee, so he dashed to the men’s room for some paper towels.”
“Got it,” I said. “Maybe you could have him—”
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “Your voice sounds a little wobbly.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I pushed away from the car to eliminate any chance that the slouchy posture was making me sound less than composed. “I was just following a couple of leads related to the break-in at my place. I wanted to pass along some possibly helpful information to Trent.”
The line was silent, although I could hear muffled voices in the background. When she finally spoke, Dina sounded a little less bright and fresh.
“What are you doing, Kate?” she said. “Conducting your own investigation?”
I stuttered an explanation, telling her that I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries and it wasn’t a full-blown inquiry. “I stopped by the Moonlight to ask Earl about Ben Carson,” I added.
“And then one thing lead to another.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“As I was leaving, the British woman gave me an alibi for her whereabouts during the time of Carson’s murder.”
“Whoa, slow down,” Dina said. “I thought you just told me that you weren’t going to overstep here?”
“And I won’t. But I saw her with Carson and Muldoon, so I figured maybe—”
“You saw who with Carson and Muldoon?”
“The British woman. She was waiting in the car while they were arguing on the sidewalk outside Java & Juice.”
Dina sighed into the phone. “Look, Kate. I don’t want to be rude, but I think you should back off.”
Her voice had degraded a few more degrees; the original bright, fresh tone now resembled an irrit
ated school principal confronting a gaggle of pre-teen delinquents trying to skip school. It made me feel about that age as Dina continued unraveling her explanation.
“And I don’t want you to misconstrue this as a threat or anything,” she announced. “But this is Crescent Creek, Kate. It’s not the big city atmosphere you’re used to in Chicago. It would be in everyone’s best interest if you let us conduct the official investigation.”
I counted silently to ten. Then I took a refreshing breath and told her that was my intention all along. “The only things that I’m doing in an official capacity these days is baking pies, refilling coffee cups and balancing the ledger at the end of the day.”
I was hoping for a lighthearted chuckle, but there was no response. After a few awkward seconds of silence, I asked if Trent had returned from his hunt for paper towels.
“You bet,” Dina said. “Here you go.”
She covered the phone and whispered something, but I couldn’t make out any of what she said. When Trent came on the line, his cheery tone suggested that Dina had quickly brought him up to speed on her stern rebuke.
“Well, then,” he began. “It sounds like you two just had a nice, clarifying chat.”
I waited.
“I mean, from what I heard as I came back into the room,” he continued. “Unless I was just imagining things.”
My silence spoke volumes. I could be exceptionally patient, so I kept my lips pressed together and concentrated on one slow breath after another.
“Kate?” Trent said finally, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. “You’ve gotta chill on the Nancy Drew stuff.”
My heart slammed to attention. “What did you just say?”
He groaned. “Oh, c’mon. I don’t want to get caught between a rock and a hard place.”
“Then don’t,” I suggested. “And you can remind Dina that I’m not five. I understand that you and she wear the big boy pants in this town. I was just trying to help.”
“Uh, okay.” He didn’t sound very convinced. “I don’t think anyone was trying to say that your intentions were anything but honorable.”
