by Mary Maxwell
“Anything so awful,” I continued. “There’s obviously been some kind of mistake.”
His eye twitched again. “There’s no mistake, Kate. The knife has the Sky High Pies logo etched into the handle. And we confirmed your prints with the CBI in Denver.”
Before I asked why the Colorado Bureau of Investigation had my fingerprints on file, I remembered the summer job I had during our senior year in high school. I worked as a teller at the credit union that our neighbor’s son managed. Part of the screening process for the job was a thorough background review, including fingerprints, a credit check and drug testing. I’d passed the review with flying colors, but had long ago forgotten that the loops, whirls and arches from my fingers were filed away at the Denver PD.
“I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around this,” I said.
Trent started to reach out and pat my leg, but I intercepted his hand first. “We’re keeping this on the up-and-up, remember?”
He shrugged. “Yes, of course. It’s just…” He retrieved his milkshake and pulled on the straw. I waited and kept my eyes on his face. He looked almost exactly the same as he did when we were in high school. His hair was shorter and there was a scar below his left ear that I didn’t remember, but he had aged remarkably well. “See, Katie,” he said finally. “It’s just kind of awkward to be around you. On one hand, I know that all of that happened years ago. But on the other, it seems like it was yesterday. And I want to somehow make it all up to you.”
I frowned. “Make what all up to me?”
His gaze fell to the floor. “Everything that happened with Dina,” he said in a hushed voice.
“I really screwed up. And I want you to know that I’m aware of that.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” I said. “The whole town knows that you screwed up. Don’t you remember Val’s Facebook post?”
Trent shook his head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
“No, seriously. What did she say?”
“It was the day after you and Dina…” I didn’t want to say the words, so I simply sipped over the reality of their fleeting and drunken night of passion. “And Val heard about it from somebody at school. I think it might’ve been Cassie. Or maybe Taylor.” My mind flooded with faded images from the past; high school friends that I hadn’t seen in years along with shards of the fateful night that Trent broke my heart. “Anyway, Val heard about what happened and she wrote this really beautiful essay about honesty and friendship and making the transition from high school to whatever came next.”
“Like moving away to Chicago and never talking to me again?” Trent asked.
I smiled at his question. “I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you don’t exactly have a choice, considering that you’re now the prime suspect in a murder investigation.”
Despite his attempt to deliver the remark with a straight face, he couldn’t keep a grin from skewering the authoritative tone.
I frowned. “You and I both know you’re full of it, Deputy Chief Walsh.”
“Yep,” Trent said. “But I still need to remind you of the facts.”
“Two can play that game,” I said. “It’s a fact that I worked for Rodney. It’s a fact that he sent me the flash drive. And it’s a fact that someone is very determined to take it from me. But all the rest is—”
“My job!” he blurted. “I’m just doing my job, Katie.”
I got up, crossed the room and opened the front door. “Speaking of which,” I said, pointing through the opening. “I’ve got to be up and smiling for my job in a few hours. I think we should call it a night, okay?”
CHAPTER 34
After Trent left, I wandered around the apartment, arranging knickknacks on the mantel in the living room, fluffing pillows on the sofa and idly running one finger down the spine of every title on the bookshelves in my bedroom. My mind was buzzing, not from sugar or caffeine but from the realization that Trent was right. Despite thinking that the move from Chicago meant no more involvement with felons and fatalities, I’d actually landed smack dab in the middle of a murder investigation.
“Okay, Kate,” I said, organizing the contents of the medicine cabinet for the third time.
“Stop worrying and start thinking logically.”
I pulled out the new jar of hydrating moisturizer and studied the ingredients. Then I put it back on the shelf, closed the cabinet and went to the kitchen.
“Logic,” I said, opening the refrigerator. “What would Rodney do?”
I plucked a strawberry from a bowl on the top shelf. Then I nibbled it while studying everything on the middle shelf.
“A bowl of yogurt and blueberries?” I muttered as my eyes drifted to the bottom shelf. “Or maybe a piece of cheddar and some crackers?”
The debate about my next snack ended with a resounding groan as I closed the refrigerator door and headed for the sofa.
“Rodney would make lists,” I said. “Suspects, motives, evidence and theories.”
I opened my laptop, launched a new document and began to create an inventory of things both known and unknown about the curious events of recent days:
Known
1. My apartment was burglarized.
2. Whoever broke in was looking for something related to Rodney’s last case.
3. Rodney sent a package that was too sensitive to leave in the office or his home.
4. The package contained a flash drive.
5. And the flash drive must contain incriminating evidence about whatever Rodney was secretly investigating.
Unknown
1. How are Ben Carson, Muldoon and the British woman connected?
2. Did Carson and Miss Foster arrive in Crescent Creek two weeks ago with Muldoon?
3. Who do they work for? The anonymous caller that threatened Harper and me? Some other nefarious man with a foreign accent?
4. Did they kill Rodney?
5. Are they planning to kill me?
The last entry made me shudder. I’d been so focused on Sky High Pies for the past few days that I’d forgotten the world was filled with criminals armed with wicked intentions. Until, that is, the burglary and subsequent revelations about Muldoon and Ben Carson.
And stolen kitchen knives.
I kept running the questions over and over in my mind. Who? What? When? Where? How? And why? Even though some of the answers seemed to be falling into place, the last one seemed especially baffling.
Why would someone kill Rodney?
Around midnight, as my eyes began to grow heavy and the thought of sleep seemed especially appealing, I grabbed the laptop and climbed into bed. I propped myself up against a mountain of pillows and stared at the screen.
Why would someone kill Rodney? There were the usual suspects: greed, jealousy, anger, revenge. There was also the possibility that it was a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he witnessed something. Or maybe he found something.
I opened the folder on the desktop that contained the files from the flash drive as a massive yawn came out of nowhere. Now that I was comfortably reclining in bed, the bone-numbing fatigue from the day was becoming even more apparent.
“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a sec,” I said in a groggy whisper. “A quick little power siesta and then I can try to open these blasted files.”
The pillow was impossible soft and welcoming as I pressed back into its downy embrace. I squeezed my eyelids tightly and conjured an image of Rodney laughing and clapping the day after his first daughter was born. He’d come to the office directly from the hospital, with a visitor badge still pinned to his shirt and wild tufts of hair sprouting from his head. He’d looked so proud and overjoyed that morning as he recounted the highlights of the past twenty-four hours.
“Rest in peace, Rodney,” I whispered. “I miss you a lot, mister.”
After that, the memories tumbled through my mind as I shifted the laptop to t
he mattress and pulled a light cotton blanket up to my shoulders.
“Just a couple more minutes,” I mumbled. “And then we’ll get back to it.”
As I nestled against the mattress and reflected on my years in Chicago, I thought about Rodney and the office and my apartment and Will and walking down Michigan Avenue and going to Wrigley Stadium. I remembered my first day at school and my last night in the city. The memories flowed together in a seemingly endless string of treasured milestones, cherished friends and unforgettable events.
“I should get back to work,” I said as my breathing become more relaxed. “But maybe just a couple more seconds. Maybe just a few more memories.”
CHAPTER 35
Julia and Harper were deep in conversation when I rushed into the Sky High kitchen the next morning. It was nearly six o’clock, a full ninety minutes after I usually unlocked the door to start the day.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I blurted. “I didn’t hear the alarm!”
“No worries,” Julia said, glancing at the clock. “We’re doing fine so far, but your Employee of the Month trophy might be in jeopardy.”
The lighthearted humor made me smile. It reminded me that having someone as reliable and trustworthy as Julia made a huge difference in running a small business like Sky High Pies. As I draped an apron around my neck and tied the strings, I asked how we were doing with morning prep.
“It’s almost finished,” Julia announced proudly. “There really wasn’t that much to do today.”
I checked the prep list on the wall. The only remaining entry was frosting for Blueberry Buttercream Cupcakes, one of our best-selling treats and a treasured favorite from my childhood.
“Want me to do that last one?” Julia asked.
“No, I’ll take care of it,” I said. “Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee and take a breather?”
She smiled, wiped her hands on a towel and plucked a white porcelain mug from the counter. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said. “I’ve got a quick phone call to make, so I’ll just be out back for a sec. My mother’s getting her stitches removed this morning. I want to make sure she and daddy are out of bed so they get to the doctor on time.”
I frowned slightly. “Stitches? Is she okay?”
Julia shrugged. “She and a jar of pickles got into an argument. The pickles won and my mother ended up with sixteen sutures and a prescription for something that makes her woozy.”
“I could use some of that,” I said. “Think she’s got any pills to spare?”
Julia answered with a frothy giggle as she slipped out the backdoor. Once I was alone in the kitchen, I went to work on the buttercream frosting. Julia had already put the butter out to soften, so I blended it in the mixer with confectioners’ sugar, milk, vanilla extract and salt. As the flat beater blade twirled in the bowl, I stared out the window and thought about the first time Nana Reed taught me to make buttercream frosting. She’d always been so calm and patient with me in the kitchen, carefully explaining the basics of baking as I scrambled around in a rush so we could eat the finished product. “Slow down,” she’d always chided. “If it’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing right.” I was thinking about my grandmothers’ soft, delicate voice when I heard my name.
“Kate?”
It was Harper, peering through the partially opened door from the dining room.
“You’ve got visitors,” she announced.
“Friend or foe?”
She smiled. “I think it might be one of each. Come out front and judge for yourself.”
Trent and Dina stood near the front of the dining room when I came through the swinging door. I waved and pointed at the coffee pot on the counter, but they both shook their heads.
“Thanks anyway,” Dina said as we settled into a booth. “I’ve given up caffeine.”
“And I’ve already had plenty for the morning,” Trent said.
I shot Dina a look. “No more coffee?”
She nodded. “My doctor thinks it’s messing with my stomach,” she answered. “But Trent thinks it’s working with him.”
“Take my word for it,” he said. “You should really consider that job offer in Grand Junction.”
I hadn’t heard that Dina was considering leaving Crescent Creek. I asked her if she was seriously looking for a new position.
“Thinking about it,” she said. “But I’ll know more after I drive over there next week for the interview.”
“Well, good luck!” I said, sounding maybe a little too excited. “I hope it works out for you, whichever direction you decide to go.”
Trent cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. He tapped and swiped the screen for a few seconds before glancing up at me.
“Do you know the name Serena Herrington?”
I shook my head. “Who’s that?”
“I wish I knew the answer to that question,” Trent said. “She’s in the system for assaulting some rich guy in Las Vegas, but we don’t have the mug shot from that arrest. We’re waiting for another copy to come through.”
“Can’t they just email it to you?”
“Well, that’s a long story,” Trent said, glancing quickly at Dina. “Apparently someone accidentally deleted the file before anyone had a chance to look at the picture.”
From the jittery way she kept clenching and unfolding her fingers, I suspected Dina might be the someone Trent had just mentioned.
“I talked to our contact at the LVPD,” she said quickly. “They’ll shoot another copy over in the next hour or so.”
“In the meantime,” Trent said, “you should be extra vigilant, Katie.”
“Meaning what?”
“Somebody put a target on your back,” he said. “From the documents that were on the flash drive, it looks like Rodney stumbled onto some kind of multi-billion dollar corporate shell game. Gustave Landecker is a chemical company based in Europe. Somebody in the Chicago office apparently discovered that the executives were trying to bury a research study that would’ve tanked the company’s value.”
Since I’d spent some time reviewing the files I’d copied from the flash drive, I already knew what Trent had just told me. But what I still didn’t understand was why Rodney was involved and how they’d tracked the flash drive to Crescent Creek. When I asked Trent and Dina if they could answer those questions, they exchanged a quick glance before delivering the standard answer.
“We’re working on it,” said Trent.
“Which means you haven’t got a clue, right?” I said.
He smirked. “No, Kate. It means we’re working on it.
“We had Bennington and Dalton swing by the motel to bring your buddy Muldoon in for questioning,” Dina said. “But he was gone. And the British woman was gone, too. The only thing left in their room was a name written on the bathroom mirror.”
When she paused without continuing, I looked at Trent.
“It was your name,” he said.
A shiver went through me. “Did Earl tell you when they left the motel?”
Dina shook her head. “He wasn’t sure,” she answered. “Probably sometime during the night.”
“And that’s why I want you to be vigilant,” Trent said. “Keep the doors locked after hours.
If you’re here alone, makes sure your phone’s handy. If you can stay with your sister at the motel, I’d definitely consider that option.”
I shrugged. “She’s leaving tomorrow, so I don’t see what good that would do.”
“It’s just a suggestion,” Trent said. “We’re doing everything we can to locate Muldoon and the woman. And we’re not trying to scare you, Kate. But I think we can all agree that they’re still under the impression that the flash drive is in your possession.”
“And that’s why Muldoon and Carter came to Crescent Creek?”
Trent nodded. “That’d be my guess. Maybe the woman in the Las Vegas mug shot somehow connects them to you and Rodney.”
“Or maybe she works for Gustave Landecker,” s
uggested Dina.
“Either way,” Trent added. “You should be very careful about where you go and what you do until we’ve got those two in custody.”
“And what about the other woman?” I asked. “Serena whatever it was?”
Trent glanced at his phone. “Herrington,” he said. “Serena Herrington.”
“Okay, sure,” I said. “What about her?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Are you doing everything you can to find her as well?”
“Of course,” Trent answered. “But we need to nail down her identify first. That name looks like an alias. All of the other info they had on file ran into a dead end. Like the social security number, home address and all that. It’s probably an identity that she bought from an underground source.”
I looked at Dina. “And you’re expecting the second copy of the mug shot to come over this afternoon?”
She nodded. “I’ll make sure you get a peek at it, okay? Maybe it’ll be someone you recognize.”
Trent’s phone rang and he winced when he saw the name on the screen.
“I’ve got to take this,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “You two want to finish up?”
Dina smiled at me. “I think we’ve probably covered everything we came to tell you,” she said. “Unless you have some additional questions for us.”
“Not now,” I said. “But I’ll let you know if anything comes to mind.”
CHAPTER 36
Twenty minutes later, as I wrote a prep list for the next day, my sister came into the kitchen from the dining room.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
I pressed a sheet of fresh dough into the pie tin. “What do you mean?” I asked, attempting to make my voice sound innocent and happy-go-lucky.
Olivia grumbled under her breath. “Don’t play dumb, Katie. You know I’m talking about Trent and Dina.”
