by Mary Maxwell
“Was he alone?”
Becca blinked. “Alone?”
“Yeah, did he come in by himself or…”
She smiled. “He told me that he had to hurry because his girlfriend was waiting for him in the car.” Her lips formed a mischievous grin. “And, I’m not one-hundred percent sure about this, but I think it was that Whitney girl.”
“Whitney Morgenson?”
“That’s her,” Becca answered. “I saw the red sports car that she drives sometimes.”
“The Maserati?”
“Whatever it’s called,” she said. “I drive an old Buick, right? I don’t know jack squat about…” She stopped and her face lit up with a wide smile. “Hey! I just remembered something. Let me go grab it and I’ll be right back, okay?”
Before I could say a word, Becca slipped through the blue curtains again. When she reappeared a moment later, she had a plain brown envelope in her hand.
“He left this behind in the changing room,” she said, handing me the envelope.
“What is it?”
“See for yourself,” Becca said. “I called the number on his business card about four or five times because I figured it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d want to be without.”
I opened the brass clasp, peered inside the envelope and immediately knew she was right.
“An EpiPen,” I said, glancing at Becca.
“I know, right? I tried to let him know it was here, but then I figured he probably had another one so it wasn’t a huge deal.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. “They’re usually sold in packages of two.”
“My sister knows a guy at work who carries one.” She leaned closer, squinting at the autoinjector inside its clear plastic tube. “He’s horribly allergic to bee stings.”
“You said this was in the changing room?”
“Uh-huh, yeah. He wanted to make sure the tux fit. I guess he had that needle thing in his pocket. I’m not sure. And, like I said, I’ve tried calling him a bunch of times, but…” She sighed and leaned into the counter. “At least, now I know why he hasn’t called back yet.”
“I can drop it by the station on my way home so Dina can add it to the evidence for her case. And I’ll give her the business card, too. Maybe they’ll help identify the victim.”
Becca kept staring at the EpiPen until I resealed the envelope. Then she came around the counter and we stood together in a shared moment of silence.
“It’s so sad,” she murmured. “One minute, he’s buying a tuxedo so he can perform at a private party. And the next thing you know, he’s…” Her voice cracked. “Golly, what’s the matter with me? I don’t even know the guy.”
I gave her a quick hug. “It’s okay, Bec. You’ve got a kind heart. And you actually met…” I stopped for a second, finding it somewhat awkward to use the man’s stage name instead of his real one. “…well, you met the guy, so it’s understandable that you’d feel something.”
“I suppose so.” Her mouth drooped and she sighed. “It’s just so very sad.” She took a breath, tilted her head and attempted to smile. “Do you know if his family has been notified?” she asked. “Or…his girlfriend? The one who was here the other day waiting outside?”
I shook my head. “Unless something’s changed in the past couple of hours, Dina’s still working to identify him. She’ll be really happy to get these things though, that much I do know.”
CHAPTER 20
As I left Becca’s shop and walked toward the car, I pulled out my phone and dialed Dina’s number. It rang once before she answered in a near whisper.
“Hi, Katie. What’s up?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because you’re whispering.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m outside an interview room. We’ve got a suspect in another case and—” A man’s voice interrupted in the background. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he didn’t sound happy. “Hey, sorry about that,” Dina said when he finished. “I’ve only got a sec.”
“Sure, of course. I’m just calling to let you know that I’m swinging by the station in a few minutes. I’m dropping off a couple of things that I believe are related to the body found at Crescent Creek Lodge.”
She didn’t say anything, so I waited.
“Katie?” she asked finally. “I’m kind of in a hurry, so…”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought maybe…anyway, I’ll leave these things at the front desk. One is a business card and the other is an EpiPen. If it belonged to the deceased, there’s a chance his death might’ve involved a severe allergic reaction to something.”
“Or murder,” Dina said.
“Right,” I agreed. “Or murder.”
“Do you remember the Sharon Altrux case? It was maybe five or six years ago.”
“I think my mother told me about that,” I said. “Down in Keystone?”
“That’s the one,” Dina agreed. “She killed her husband by jabbing his EpiPen into a vein on the back of his hand.”
“Well, I got this from Becca Hancock,” I explained. “John Doe left it in the changing room at Timeless Gold when he bought the tuxedo. She said he was in quite a rush that day because his girlfriend was waiting for him outside in a fancy red sports car.”
“Whitney Morgenson,” Dina scoffed. “She keeps turning up like a bad penny.”
“Have you talked to her yet?”
“I’m working on it,” Dina said. “Hopefully, later today. But…you know what? Since you mentioned it, why wouldn’t the guy go back to Becca’s for his EpiPen? I mean, if you carry one there’s a reason, right?”
“Sure. But they’re usually sold in packages of two, so—”
“Oh, of course. So he could lose one and still be covered.”
“That’s what I was thinking. But, anyway…I don’t want to keep you. I’ll leave these things at the front desk in a little while.”
“Thanks, Katie. I’ll go down and pick them up as soon as I finish this interview.”
“Good luck,” I said. “I’ll check in later and see how you’re doing. Since I don’t really have anything planned for the rest of the day, I’m driving up to Boulder to see if I can find anyone who knows him.”
“Knows who—John Doe?”
“Yeah. The business card has a Boulder mailing address on it. The guy apparently works as a magician.”
“Did you say magician?” asked Dina. “Or mortician?”
“The first one,” I answered. “He’s a magician with the stage name of The Dynamic Dimitri.”
“Interesting,” she said. “That explains the weird stuff in his pockets and up his sleeve.”
“Like he was here in Crescent Creek to perform that night?”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“Maybe I’ll find out about it when I’m in Boulder.”
“Are you really going, like, now?”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’m really going. I can drive up there this afternoon, check out the address on the business card and possibly move your investigation one step closer to its conclusion.”
“Well, it is a nice day. Perfect weather for a little drive through the mountains.”
“I won’t stay long,” I said. “Plus, it’ll remind me of the good old days in Chicago.”
“When you were getting paid to investigate,” Dina asked, “instead of doing it all surreptitiously and everything?”
“I’m not being sneaky,” I said. “I just told you that I was going up there to look around.”
She snickered. “I know, Katie. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
CHAPTER 21
The Dynamic Dimitri’s mailing address turned out to be a small business on Baseline Road in Boulder. As the bright blue neon sign above the door promised, Print, Pack & More offered printing, packaging, shipping and thousands of office products in every shade of the rainbow. When I approached the counter and explained to the woman that I was trying to get in touch with the local
magician, her bright smile collapsed into a sour sneer.
“That’s against our policy,” she said curtly.
“But I’m not trying to get into his mailbox,” I explained. “I’m just trying to see if you know how I can contact him.”
The woman nodded. “Write him a letter,” she said. “Then I’ll put it in his mailbox.”
I accepted the defeat stoically, making my way out of the shop and onto the sidewalk with my head high and a relaxed expression on my face. There was a coffee shop at the end of the block, so I decided another jolt of java would be a good idea. It would also give me a few minutes to relax before driving back to Crescent Creek. The man behind the cash register was short and pale with a long, narrow face and rimless glasses. The name tag clipped to the collar of his faded blue polo shirt identified him as Bix. An old Bonnie Raitt song was playing on the overhead speakers, one of her bluesy numbers about love and loss.
“Welcome to Maude’s,” Bix said. “What would you like?”
I ordered a double espresso and chocolate chip cookie. While he worked on my drink, I picked up a copy of Boulder Buzz from a wire rack against the wall. Flipping through the classifieds in the back, I noticed a small display ad: MAGIC AT THE SPEED OF FRIGHT. The photograph showed the John Doe from the gazebo at Crescent Creek Lodge. He was dressed in a tuxedo and top hat, with a limp stuffed rabbit in one hand and a chainsaw covered with theatrical blood in the other. I put the newspaper on the counter and took a picture of the ad with my phone. Then I whisked the publication under my arm when the barista returned with my espresso. I swiped my MasterCard to cover the eight dollars and waited while he used a pair of dented stainless tongs to pluck a cookie from the large glass jar on the counter.
“Do you know Dynamic Dimitri?” I asked, showing him the ad.
“You a magic fan?”
I shrugged. “I can take it or leave it,” I answered. “But I definitely want to know more about Dimitri.”
“Uh, that’s his stage name,” the man said. “You were aware of that, right?”
“I had my suspicions. Someone gave me his business card, but the calls go right to voicemail. I thought maybe if I drove up, I could actually find out more about him.”
“Drove up?”
“I’m from Crescent Creek,” I explained.
The guy nodded. “I’ve heard of that place. Kind of quiet and sleepy?”
“Especially late at night.”
There was a flash of snark in his eyes before he said, “Dimitri’s sister owns Paolo’s Pizza. Maybe she can help you out.”
“His sister?”
“Geneva.”
“Do you have a last name?”
“Do I? Sure, my last name’s Stinson.”
“I was talking about Geneva.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I knew what you meant, but I don’t have her last name. I just know she’s his sister. And she owns Paolo’s with this Italian dude she met as a foreign exchange student when they were in high school. Whenever you have a pizza delivered, they tape one of Dimitri’s post cards to the lid.”
“Oh, I get it,” I said. “A little sibling cross-promotional thing, huh?”
“I suppose. Although I doubt if anybody’s ever hired the guy that way. Once you open the box and eat the pizza, the post card probably just goes out with the trash.”
I thanked Mr. Stinson for his time and carried the espresso and cookie to a table near the front window. While I sipped and nibbled, I returned a couple of emails that had come in requesting more information about Sky High’s catering services. Then I surfed online for a new pair of hiking boots. And then I put the phone back in my purse, enjoyed the espresso and took a few minutes to stare blankly through the window at the pedestrians strolling along the sidewalk.
A little slice of heaven, I thought. A little respite from the world.
CHAPTER 22
There wasn’t a soul in Paolo’s Pizza when I opened the heavy wooden door about a half hour later. A woman stood alone behind the tiny bar along one wall. She was a thirtysomething blonde with short, spiky hair, a ballpoint clenched between her front teeth and large gold bangles in both ears. She was beautiful in an effortless and casual way; light blush on her cheeks, faint traces of mascara on her lashes and a full mouth highlighted with candy apple red gloss. As I walked down the narrow aisle between the tables, she tucked the pen behind one ear and beamed a warm smile.
“Is your order for here or to go?”
“Are you Geneva?” I asked.
Her grin widened. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Geneva.”
She kept her eyes on me, undoubtedly searching for a faint memory that we’d met somewhere in the past. I put my purse on the bar and dropped down onto one of the stools. It was a four-footed cast iron monster with a tractor seat and plenty of nicks on the footrest.
“How can I help you?”
I took a quick moment, smiling and shifting on the stool while she put away the paperwork she’d been studying.
“Actually,” I said, “I was hoping to talk to you about your brother.”
Her smile vanished and her eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
“Bix at the coffee shop on Baseline told me that you’re Dimitri’s sister.” I paused to see if there was a flicker of recognition in her steely gaze. When her reticent expression held steady, I decided to move on. “My name is Kate Reed,” I continued. “I’m from down in Crescent Creek, and I used to work as a private investigator.”
Her lower lip trembled briefly before she smiled again. “Oh, holy cow! Did some angry husband hire you to find Alec and tell him to stay away from his wife?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not why—”
“Because I keep telling him to stop messing around with the married ones. But he’s just like, I don’t know, catnip to some women who are bored at home. He meets them mostly at their kids’ birthday parties, which is such a sad, sorry thing. I mean, like, they have my brother entertain the little ones and end up trying to seduce him when they’re writing the check.” A full-throttle laugh rolled out of her mouth. “And you know what? Sometimes it works; he’s got quite the reputation among some of the bored rich women in—”
“I’m not working for anyone’s husband,” I interrupted. “I’m trying to help solve a different sort of situation.”
Geneva was staring at me, one hand on the bar and the other pressed against her cheek.
“Your brother’s name is Alec?”
Her jaw tightened. “Who are you again?”
“My name’s Kate Reed. I used to be a private—”
“What do you want with my brother?”
Since I’d received a text from Dina a few minutes earlier—Thanks for biz card. Sending Tyler Armstrong to Boulder—I knew it wasn’t my place to tell Geneva that her brother was dead. I hesitated for a moment before deciding on an approach that I hoped would work.
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “My friend Becca owns a vintage clothing store. She met Alec when he came in and bought a tuxedo. Apparently, when he was in the changing room, his EpiPen fell out of his pocket or something. Becca left a few messages for your brother, but he hasn’t called back. So I figured—”
“I’m sure he’s got another one,” Geneva said. “He’s really allergic to birch tree pollen and a bunch of other things, so he always takes one wherever he goes.”
I nodded. “Well, that’s what I told Becca. But don’t you think he’d like the other one back?”
“Probably. I can give you his mailing address if you’d like.”
“The P.O. box at the place on Baseline?”
She smiled. “Yeah. That’s the best address to use. Since the divorce, he’s been sofa surfing with friends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that. Is his ex-wife in Boulder?”
The woman’s face went blank, although I could see fury in her eyes. “I told him to move,” she said. “Like, maybe, go to California.” The anger softened and she smiled faintly.
“Or Timbuktu. Jenna was fine when they got married, but something happened along the way.”
“Jenna was your brother’s wife?”
Geneva laughed again, another throaty roar that echoed in the empty room. “More like his personal demon,” she said. “It was around their third anniversary last year. Jenna accused Alec of sleeping with her best friend. Which he didn’t do. But there was no way to convince her. She kept hounding him and following him and confronting her friend. It was so bad that the other girl took out a restraining order and Alec filed for divorce.”
“Did Jenna keep your brother’s last name after they split?”
“She never changed it. She’s still Jenna Burton.”
“And what’s your last name?” I said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Halstead,” Geneva said. “Same as my brother.”
“How long were they married again?”
She sneered. “Way too long.”
I nodded, but didn’t want to comment. The look on her face made it clear that the subject of her brother’s marriage to Jenna Burton wasn’t one she’d like to pursue.
“Do you know if your brother was involved with someone currently?”
The question earned another laugh. “My brother’s always involved with at least one someone,” she answered. “He’s a handsome guy, you know? Funny and smart and impossibly romantic. Despite how it might sound, I really did want Alec and Jenna to work through their troubles. But that deal crashed and burned almost from the beginning.”
“And so?”
“Oh, has he been seeing anyone lately?”
I smiled.
“Well, he doesn’t talk to me all that much about specifics,” Geneva said. “But I know he’s got on-again, off-again situations with a couple of women. One’s married and wealthy; the other is younger and he refers to her as his songbird because she’s always singing.”
“His songbird?”
