Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Maxwell

  “Hi, guys,” I said, approaching slowly and stepping into another cloud of patchouli. “Can I interrupt for a sec?”

  The woman in the jacket squinted at me suspiciously. “No problem,” she said. “What do you need?”

  I met her steely gaze with a friendly grin. “My name’s Kate,” I said as everyone drifted away except one guy with pockmarked skin. “And I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

  “I’m Lois,” she said with a warm, radiant grin. “Is this your first time at York Street?”

  As I explained that I wasn’t there for the meeting, I noticed something on one of her ears and stepped slightly to the side for a better view. It looked like pale emerald paint; a faint splotch of watery green that was nearly hidden by the curtains of light brown ringlets framing her face. The hue was similar to the color of the other woman’s hair, so my eyes darted back to where she stood for a quick check. Then I glanced at Lois again, adding that I’d come to the meeting looking for information.

  “What kind of information?” She looked nervously at the man standing beside her, but he was staring at his phone.

  “I’m trying to find Tim England,” I said as the friendly expression on her face dimmed. “And his girlfriend Delilah Benson. And, you know what? I actually think I saw you the other day outside—”

  She put one hand on my arm. “We don’t use last names here,” she told me in a no-nonsense tone. “And whatever trouble Delilah’s gotten Tim into, they both deserve it and I—” The rush of words stopped as quickly as it began. “Wow!” Lois said. “I am so sorry! I guess that I’ve had too much coffee and not enough sleep in the past couple of days. I really hope you’ll pretend that I didn’t just say that.”

  There was a sharp disparity between her feathery voice and the harsh glare in her eyes. I’d obviously struck a nerve, but I wasn’t sure if it related to Tim, Delilah or my accidental violation of the group’s code of anonymity.

  “Thanks very much.” I pressed a big smile onto my face and swept the crowd before looping back to the man with pockmarked skin. He’d finally looked up from his phone. “Do you know someone named Delilah?”

  The guy nodded. “Yeah, the girl with the—”

  Before he could finish, the woman with green hair suddenly appeared on my right.

  “This isn’t cool, okay?” She pinched my elbow between two acrylic talons. “If you want to stay and share, that’s totally fine. But you can’t just interrogate everyone in the group.”

  Lois blinked in confusion. “She wasn’t interrogating anybody. She just asked if we know Delilah.”

  The green-haired woman scowled. “Because she’s with the cops or something. And I’ve already explained that we’re anonymous.” She glared at me with blistering contempt. “As in we don’t cross-examine people who come here. This is a safe space; everyone is welcome, but it’s not cool to try and ask a bunch of nosy questions.”

  The fire in her eyes was set on Singe & Scorch, so I took a deep breath, expressed regret for the intrusion and made my way out of the room.

  “Strike one,” I muttered, striding slowly down the corridor. “My skills have gotten rusty since Chicago, so it’s a good thing I’m in the pie business now.”

  Light footsteps echoed over my shoulder. I stopped and looked back as another woman approached on tiny black ballet slippers. She was a petite blonde; a nearly perfect clone of the woman with green hair.

  “Hey, hold on,” she called. “I wanted to apologize for Heidi.”

  I waited until she reached me before thanking her for the gesture. “But it’s not necessary,” I added, deciding that she was referring to the irritable gatekeeper in the meeting room. “I figured it was worth a shot to stop by today. Unfortunately, Heidi didn’t exactly agree.”

  The woman held out one hand. “I’m Hannah,” she said. “Heidi’s my twin sister. She’s not as bad as she comes across.” The glimmer of a smile appeared and vanished. “Although when she’s in guard dog mode, she can be pretty fierce.”

  “Amen to that. She does a great job of protecting you and your friends.”

  Hannah smirked. “My sister’s a control freak,” she announced with a long, fatigued sigh. “And the ultimate mean girl. But I’m used to it.”

  “I get that,” I said. “I have a sister, too.”

  I watched as her teeth clenched and she inhaled deeply. “Well, Heidi is three minutes older than me.” Her voice was quivering slightly and her hands began to tremble. “And she somehow thinks that tiny blip of time gives her the authority to push me around and…” She stifled the sudden rush of childhood angst with a muffled gasp. Then she took a long, deep breath and dragged one pale hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “You didn’t come here to listen to me complain about family squabbles.”

  The unexpected fury subsided as quickly as it had erupted. Her face relaxed, her eyes brightened and the tremor in her hands disappeared. It reminded me of a client that I had once in Chicago, a demure woman who claimed her new husband was cheating on her. In the end, my investigation revealed that she was lying the whole time. She’d engaged me as part of a strange plan to leverage her groom into taking out a life insurance policy, something that she’d profit from once he’d been killed by her lover. I was trying to think of the woman’s name when Hannah lightly tapped my arm.

  “Hello?” she said with a big grin.

  I winced. “Sorry. I kind of spaced there for a sec.”

  “That’s okay.” She flashed another smile. “You were asking about Delilah, right?”

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “Somewhat,” she answered. “We’re not besties or anything, but we go for Chinese after the meeting now and then.”

  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  She furrowed her brow, searching for the answer. “Uh, it was, like, three days ago. She showed up for a noon meeting, which was really random.” She paused and nodded, as if I would somehow understand the meaning of the enigmatic reply. “Sorry,” she added a second later. “Delilah’s usually a night meeting person. That’s what I meant by random.”

  “How did she seem?” I asked.

  Hannah held my gaze, squinting slightly. “Like, was she normal and everything?”

  “Exactly.”

  There was more squinting, a faint nod and then the woman’s demeanor shifted dramatically. “Not at all,” she said, lowering her voice and moving closer. “This guy we all know showed up about twenty minutes after the meeting started. He sort of came in, wandered to the coffee table, messed around with the cups and then stared at Delilah until she got up and they left together.”

  As Hannah continued describing the strange encounter, a surge of optimism bubbled through my mind; it was the same sense I felt in Chicago whenever Rodney and I discovered something important related to a case.

  “Is that good?” she asked after telling me that the guy’s name was Anton. “I mean, will it be helpful in whatever you’re trying to do?”

  “Absolutely,” I answered. “Thanks so much for sharing that with me.”

  She cringed. “Heidi’s going to kill me,” she said. “But I don’t care. She’s not the boss of me.”

  I smiled at the childlike remark. The longer I talked to Hannah, the more I could see the resemblance between the two sisters. They both had almond-shaped eyes, a tapered nose with a smallish bulb at the end and the same light olive complexion. With Heidi’s green hair, however, it was easy to tell them apart.

  “I should get back,” she said, jabbing one thumb over her shoulder toward the meeting room. “I’m getting my blue chip tonight.”

  “Your blue chip?”

  The question elicited a megawatt grin. “I’ve been sober for a full year,” she said proudly. “And I plan to stay that way.”

  “Congratulations! That’s a great achievement for you.”

  Her cheeks flushed and she looked at the floor. �
��Thanks…” She frowned slightly. “I just realized that I don’t know your name.”

  “I’m Kate,” I told her. “Kate Reed.”

  “And you’re with the police or something?”

  I shook my head. “I run Sky High Pies up in Crescent Creek.”

  “That’s cool,” she said. “Is that a bakery?”

  “Exactly. We serve breakfast and lunch plus a wide selection of pies, cakes and the like.”

  The sound of applause spilled into the hallway from the meeting room.

  “Oh, shoot,” she said. “I should go.”

  “Okay, thanks again.”

  She spun around, took a couple of steps and then stopped. “Wait a sec,” she said quickly. “If you run the pie place, why are you down in Denver trying to find Delilah?”

  “I’m just helping a friend track down her brother,” I answered. “I used to work as a private investigator, so she asked me to see if I could find him.”

  She nodded. “Are you talking about Anton? The bald guy with the mustache that dragged Delilah out of the meeting?”

  I stared at her silently as an image of the man from Tim’s apartment building popped into my head. “Does he have two gold hoop earrings?”

  “Yep. I sometimes call him Blackbeard the Pirate.”

  “But his first name is really Anton?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “That’s not who I’m looking for,” I explained. “My neighbor’s brother is Tim, Delilah’s boyfriend.”

  Another wave of clapping sounded in the meeting room, followed by loud joyful voices and whistling.

  Hannah inched closer. “You want to know the truth?”

  I nodded.

  “My sister’s got a massive crush on Tim,” she whispered. “I tried to tell her that he and Delilah are really tight and everything. Like, in love, right? But once my sister gets something in her head, there’s no stopping her.”

  One of the knit cap guys came into the hall and called Hannah.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’ve gotta go.”

  “Of course, I totally understand,” I said. “Thank you so much for coming out to talk with me.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, cool. See ya!”

  With one final grin, Hannah scurried down the hallway and through the open door. I stood and listened for a few seconds as someone called her name and the room exploded into a riot of joyful praise. As I turned and headed for the stairs, I smiled. There was something genuinely gracious about Hannah. I didn’t know her story. And I didn’t know why she struggled with addiction. But it was gratifying to hear her friends and fellow AA members honoring her achievement.

  CHAPTER 30

  On the way back to my car, I pulled out my phone and dialed Detective Caldwell. He answered on the first ring. Then he asked how I was before telling me that he’d just received an update from the lead forensics tech that processed the crime scene at Delilah’s apartment.

  “They found ten thousand in cash hidden in the freezer,” he said. “A loaf of sourdough bread had been hollowed out with a torx screwdriver and wrapped in foil.”

  “With a what?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, Kate,” he said. “Probably more detail than you need. They used a torx screwdriver. It’s the kind with a six-point star-shaped head instead of flat or Phillips.”

  After listening to Angus Martin for the past few weeks, I was becoming somewhat familiar with the contents of a toolbox. Angus was the handyman at Sky High Pies. Whenever he stopped by to repair anything, the visit included a few nuggets of wisdom about tools, fasteners and DIY shortcuts. After thinking about Angus for a moment, I asked Caldwell how they could be certain that a torx screwdriver had been used.

  “Because they found motor oil on the bread,” Caldwell explained. “Along with the distinguishing impression of a torx head on the bottom of the loaf.” He paused, probably to see if I wanted to challenge his assertion. When I stayed quiet, he came in with the most conclusive evidence of all. “And they found the torx screwdriver, although it had been wiped clean,” he said, sounding boldly authoritative. “Do you want to know what else they found?”

  “Was it an XZN?” I asked.

  The line went quiet.

  “Detective Caldwell?”

  There was a ripple of static and the sound of a weighty sigh.

  “I’m here,” he said brusquely.

  I smiled to myself. “Okay, good. I thought maybe the call had dropped.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I was thinking about what an XAN might be.”

  The self-satisfied grin widened on my face. “Actually, it’s a XZN. And it’s a type of screw driver with a dozen tips that are spaced equally. Each of the twelve tips is—”

  “Did you call me to discuss tools?” Caldwell asked. “Because I’m at dinner with my girlfriend and the waiter is hovering in the hopes that we’ll order sometime this century.”

  “I’m so sorry that I interrupted your dinner. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I believe that I just did, Kate.”

  “Okay, I’ll make this quick,” I said. “What else did they find in Delilah’s apartment?”

  “You want the whole list?” he said sarcastically. “I mean, the place wasn’t exactly shipshape. Delilah Benson is never going to take home the Housekeeper of the Year Award.”

  “How about the highlights?” I suggested.

  “I have it here in my pocket, ” he grumbled. “I wish I could just give you a copy. But that’s on the ‘no can do’ list, which means—”

  “Maybe just read off the first few things on the inventory.”

  He cleared his throat and inhaled deeply. “Okay, so we also found ticket stubs to a Van Halen concert at Red Rocks, an empty package of something called Down…” He stopped for a moment to clarify the information. “No, sorry. That’s not right. It says Rowntree’s Jelly Tots, whatever the heck that might be. And, uh, a copy of that weekly newspaper Westword with a bunch of phone numbers on it.” He paused again. “Is that enough for now, Kate?”

  “Did you say Rowntree’s Jelly Tots?”

  “Yep. And I don’t know what that is—maybe small children made from grape jam or something.”

  I ignored his attempt at humor. “Those are British candies,” I explained. “Like the soft, chewy kind, you know? When I lived in Chicago, one of my friends was from London. She ate those things like we breathe air.”

  “How nice,” Caldwell said. “A little stroll down Memory Lane for you?”

  “Definitely,” I answered. “But it could also be a clue about who killed Toby Wurlitzer.”

  Caldwell laughed. “Your friend from Chicago?”

  I groaned. “Hey, detective?”

  “Yes, Kate?”

  “Don’t quit your day job,” I said. “Standup comedy isn’t your strong suit.”

  He overlooked the remark. “Are you having any luck tracking down Tim England?”

  “I’m still working on that,” I told him. “I just talked to someone from AA to see if they knew anything helpful.”

  “So much for anonymity.”

  “I know, but Viveca is about to go completely bonkers. I wanted to do some digging to see if I can find out where Tim and Delilah might be staying.”

  “Hiding,” he corrected me. “They’re hiding somewhere, not staying.”

  “Six of one, half dozen of the other,” I said. “Do you know anyone named Anton?”

  “With the Denver PD?”

  “Not likely,” I said. “Until after they chase him down a dark alley. And then he’d be on the other side of the bars from anybody with the police department.”

  He clicked his tongue, thinking about the name. Then he told me about a guy called Anton Hall who was rumored to be involved in some nefarious activities with powdery white substances and stolen artwork. “He also hangs with a punk named Jake Breen and a few of the city’s other illustrious characters,” Caldwell explained. “If you want to have a little chat,
they’re both regulars at Tick-Tock Donuts on Tremont. It’s open all night, which makes it very popular with hoodlums and insomniacs.”

  “How about the donuts?” I asked. “Are they any good?”

  He snickered. “I’m sure they don’t hold a candle to the things at your place, Kate. But don’t ask Anton.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s diabetic,” Caldwell said. “I remember when he was picked up once on a suspicion of burglary charge. The little jerk screamed bloody murder until someone checked with his doctor. They brought in an EMT to make sure his blood sugar levels were okay.”

  “I actually don’t blame the guy,” I said. “I know someone with diabetes. It isn’t anything to fool around with.”

  “Then he should’ve thought about that before he went into crime as a full-time career,” Caldwell groused. “Why are you interested in Anton Hall anyway?”

  “Viveca and I ran into him the other day,” I explained. “In the lobby of the building on Franklin where her brother lives.”

  “Before or after you found the dead guy?”

  “Not that day. The other other day. When we met Delilah after Bad Dog got out of Tim’s apartment.”

  “I don’t even want to know who or what Bad Dog is,” Caldwell said. “And I still don’t get the connection. Did Anton do something to attract attention? Or did he somehow make you suspect he might be involved with your friend’s brother?”

  “No,” I answered. “He just seemed shady. And that was before I knew he was associated with Delilah.”

  “How is he associated with Delilah?” asked Caldwell.

  “I haven’t worked that out just yet. But I stopped by the AA meeting that she and Tim attend, at that place on York Street. Someone there told me that Anton Hall came into a meeting and basically dragged Delilah out of the room.”