An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9)

by Mary Maxwell

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the box in my hand.

  I held the package out and she accepted it with a timid smile.

  “It’s not my birthday or anything, Katie. What’s the deal?”

  I laughed. “It doesn’t have to be your birthday,” I said. “Or any other special occasion for that matter. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  As she carefully placed the box on the counter and began loosening the twine, I watched with delight. Although I liked receiving gifts from friends, family members and my gorgeous boyfriend, I loved giving them so much more. As the brown paper fell away and she peeked inside the box, the hesitant grin on Julia’s face blossomed into a massive smile.

  “Oh, this is so sweet!” she said. “How did you know?”

  “Harper told me. I know how much you love the group. And I was sad to hear that your kids had broken some of the set that Jared gave you.”

  As she pulled out one of the New Kids on The Block wine glasses, her lower lip trembled slightly.

  “This is one of the kindest things anyone’s ever done for me, Katie.” Her voice was weightless and filled with appreciation. “Thank you so much!”

  At first, I thought she was joking. And I considered saying something witty about her being easily impressed with a silly little eBay purchase. But as I watched her inspect the six sparkling glasses, I realized that the emotion was genuine and heartfelt.

  “You’re welcome, Jules,” I said after a few minutes. “Should we inaugurate those with some of that cran-raspberry juice you ordered the other day?”

  “Oh, that’s a perfect idea!” she said, putting the glasses down on the counter and heading for the walk-in. “That and another cup of coffee will get my motor running for the day!”

  CHAPTER 47

  As soon as the lunch rush subsided, I helped Julia tidy the kitchen. Then I went into my office with a fresh cup of coffee and considered which nightmare I wanted to tackle first.

  “Paperwork?” I murmured, studying my checklist. “Or return Lucy Kringle’s call?”

  I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of filing a stack of documents. But it sounded better than listening to someone gripe about the fact that her siblings hadn’t lifted a finger to help plan the celebration for their parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. I glared at the backlog of invoices and statements for a moment. Then I decided that I deserved a brief respite before getting back to work.

  “Just five minutes,” I said, reaching for the coffee mug. “I’ll have a sip of—”

  A loud knock interrupted my strategic planning.

  “Miss Reed?”

  I turned in my chair.

  Desmond Bach was standing in the hallway beside the woman he’d talked to the other night at The Crescent Creek Lodge. She was elegantly attired in a simple black dress and matching pumps. He was wearing a blue business suit with a shirt and tie.

  “Mr. Bach,” I said, getting up from my chair. “What a surprise!”

  He stepped aside and allowed the woman to enter my office while he waited outside the door. Then he followed her in and we stood in the center of the small room exchanging tentative smiles.

  “This is my mother,” Desmond said finally. “Dionne Bach.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said as we shook hands. “I felt a little awkward after we talked on the phone the other day.”

  “Have a seat,” I said, motioning at the two guest chairs. “Could I get either of you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Dionne said. “This will be a brief visit.”

  “What can I help you with?” I asked, sitting again behind my desk.

  “Actually,” she said, “we simply wanted to take a moment to thank you for being more than a little discreet about things.”

  I smiled. “What things are we talking about?”

  “The Vito Marclay affair,” Dionne said. “It’s a terribly tragic set of circumstances. Brad Maddix was a very kind and very capable young man.”

  The pained expression on her face was genuine as she added a few more thoughts about the bodyguard who had been killed by Vito Marclay. Since I hadn’t heard anything from Dina or Trent about the murder, I simply nodded and listened as Dionne explained her understanding of the man’s death.

  “At first, I didn’t want to believe it,” she said. “When the two officers came to the hotel the other night, I kept hoping it was a mistake or some type of misunderstanding. Brad has been with us for a decade. He’s provided security for our New York gallery and our residence in the city since he left the military. It was an enormous shock to learn that he was working with Vito and Phil Bickerton to defraud our family.”

  When she paused and looked at Desmond, I expected him to continue the narration. But he simply smiled and nodded before taking out his phone to check messages.

  “Under normal circumstances,” Dionne Bach said as her son idly scrolled through emails, “we are a very private family. But this episode with Vito, Phil and the others will obviously play out in very public trials here in Colorado.”

  “Chances are,” I said. “Unless they plead guilty and make a deal.”

  Her mouth drifted into a lazy smile. “Vito knows all about making deals,” she said. “Especially if it’s behind someone’s back.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to the barb, so I kept quiet.

  “Do you know how much time and energy we’ve invested in that man?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I imagine it’s been a considerable amount, but I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

  “Neither would I,” Dionne said. “Because I’ve never tried to keep track.” She reached over and took Desmond’s hand. “My husband and I were blessed with three of the most wonderful children in the world, Miss Reed. But we always considered Vito like another son. We gave him shelter. We paid his legal fees on multiple occasions. And we formed the partnership with Phil Bickerton to provide Vito with a safe haven far away from New York. It was supposed to be a place where he could stay sober, paint as often he liked and cleanse his soul. In the end, it didn’t exactly work out as planned.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” I said. “But can I ask a couple of questions?”

  She smiled, granting permission by fluttering her eyelashes.

  “How were Vito and Phil planning to defraud you?”

  “By selling a trio of very valuable paintings that I’d loaned to Vito,” she said, slowly shifting in the chair. “Vito is a very gifted counterfeiter. During the past few months, he forged flawless copies of the three canvases. To an untrained eye, they looked identical to the originals. A knowledgeable dealer, curator or collector would spot that they were fakes, but Vito wasn’t selling to anyone like that. His intended target was a very wealthy businessman in Hong Kong.”

  “And he was going to sell the originals to someone else?”

  “That’s correct,” Dionne said.

  “How did you learn about all of this?” I asked.

  She laughed softly. “I received a call a few days ago from a trusted friend in Brussels,” she answered. “Vito had contacted Lucas to see if he would help sell both the forged artworks as well as the originals. When my friend heard which pieces Vito planned to put on the market, he called me instantly with a confidential warning.”

  “Telling you that Vito was going to take you for a ride?”

  Her gentle laugh returned. “That’s it exactly. Lucas has been a friend of our family for nearly thirty years. He’s loyal and trustworthy. As a matter of fact, he occasionally helps broker transactions when I buy and sell pieces for our private collection, so he’s well aware of what we own. The very next day after he heard from Vito, Lucas called to warn me. I then called Vito, but I didn’t mention my conversation with Lucas. I wanted him to think that I was merely getting in touch to collect the artwork that I’d loaned to him.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m a little confused. You loaned the paintings to
Vito that he was going to copy and sell?”

  “That’s correct,” Dionne said. “I’d loaned them to him when he moved here, just a little something to make his new home a bit brighter. At the time, I made it clear that it was only for a matter of months. So it didn’t seem unusual for me to call him and say that I wanted to fly out and retrieve the paintings.”

  “But then Vito told you that they’d been stolen in a burglary?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Dionne. “However, after checking with your local police department, I discovered that Vito had lied to them. And he also lied to me. Vito told us that the paintings were taken during the break-in at his home, but he told the Crescent Creek authorities that the thieves took only a few art supplies and inexpensive personal belongings.”

  “How did Brad get involved?” I asked.

  “We still can’t answer that question,” Dionne said. “From everything that we’ve learned so far, he wasn’t having financial problems. Normally, you’d expect someone engaged in such nefarious actions to be desperate for cash or something. But Brad didn’t fit into that category.”

  Desmond glanced up from his phone. “He was in it for the thrill.”

  Dionne frowned. “Don’t say that, Dez. We have to wait until the police finish their investigation.”

  “Hopefully, they’ll be able to answer all of your questions,” I said.

  “That’s what we’re looking forward to,” Dionne said, reaching for her son’s hand again. “We should let Miss Reed get back to work, sweetheart.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, slipping his phone into a pocket and giving me a smile. “Thanks for your time.”

  As we all stood and walked toward the hallway, I asked Dionne if she minded one final question.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Do you know what happened between Brad and Vito?” I asked.

  She sighed loudly. “Do you mean why Vito felt it was necessary to kill Brad?”

  I nodded.

  “No idea whatsoever,” Dionne Bach answered. “I’ve thought about that nonstop since we got the news.”

  “It’s the same old thing,” Desmond said, stepping into the hallway. “Greed, arrogance and stupidity.”

  His mother frowned and tapped his arm. “Don’t judge,” she said as I followed them across the room. “We’re all capable of both good and evil, sweetheart. We just need to do our best to be our best and treat others as we would like to be treated.”

  “And that,” Desmond said with a wink, “is the lesson for the day.” He laughed and the raucous sound bounced down the corridor. “It was good to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m sorry that I was kind of a jerk when we first talked, but I didn’t know who to trust around here.”

  “Since you mentioned that night,” I said, “I was wondering how you got the picture of Pia tied up in the motel room.”

  Desmond shook his head. “I still don’t know,” he said, “but it was clearly a bit of trickery. Someone used a disposable cell phone to text the photo to me. When I replied to the text, they said that Vito’s girlfriend was in danger and he’d been killed. The whole thing turned out to be part of his master plan to steal my mother’s art and then vanish without a trace.”

  “Why didn’t you mention any of that?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I already told you,” he said. “I didn’t know who to trust.”

  “He was just doing what he thought was necessary to recover the paintings,” Dionne added. “That was the reason for Dez telling people he was a journalist.”

  “I’m way ahead of you there,” I said. “I used to work as a PI, so I know how it goes.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “I’ve heard about your previous work,” she said. “I must say that running a bakery sounds much less dangerous than all that undercover business.”

  I chuckled. “Depends on the day,” I said as we walked down the hallway. “And the customers that come through the door.”

  “Well, from what I can see,” Dionne said. “It’s a delightful place. I’ll look forward to actually joining you for a meal when we come back to Colorado for the first trial.”

  CHAPTER 48

  I was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch at Sky High Pies later that afternoon when Marjean and Daryl Bixby came around the corner from the side parking area. I got up as they climbed the steps, greeted them both with a big hug and asked about their new great-grandchild.

  “Best baby ever!” Daryl said, reaching for his phone. “Want to see the little champ?”

  After admiring a dozen photographs of the sleeping newborn, I offered to escort them inside to a table.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Marjean said. “Daryl can take care of that while you and I have a little chat.”

  Daryl scowled at his phone, tapping the screen repeatedly with one finger.

  “Hold your horses,” he said. “There are a few more shots of the baby.”

  Marjean gave her husband a bemused glance before smiling at me. “You’d think it was the first time he ever saw a newborn,” she said. “We have photographs of every nurse in the maternity ward, the cashier in the gift shop and a fellow who got off the elevator on the wrong floor.”

  “So shoot me,” Daryl grumbled. “I thought he might be the doctor that delivered the bambino.”

  “Somebody needs to get their eyes examined,” Marjean teased. “The man was obviously wearing a UPS uniform.”

  “Don’t start with me,” Daryl said under his breath.

  “I won’t, dear,” she replied, giving him a little pat on the backside. “Why don’t you go and find somewhere for us to sit? I’ll be right in after I talk to Katie.”

  Marjean and I watched as her husband slowly walked to the door and went inside.

  “He’s operating on two hours of sleep, a couple Tylenol and a pot of coffee,” she said. “I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him so excited.”

  “A great-grandchild is a pretty major life event,” I said.

  She chuckled. “Oh, I know that, Katie. But Daryl’s usually a lot more reserved. After we saw the baby and went out to the car, he started bawling like crazy.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of sweet.”

  She smiled at me. “It was. I mean, after a hundred years of marriage, I’ve only seen him get weepy a few times before.”

  “When your grandchildren were born?” I asked.

  She laughed and clutched her hands to her chest. “Oh, absolutely! He cries every time there’s a birth. Our grandchildren, our own kids, when the neighbor’s hamster had babies.” She winked and giggled a bit more. “On the outside, my Daryl seems to be as stoic as they come, but he’s as soft and squishy as a marshmallow on the inside.”

  “Well, he’s a charmer,” I said. “And it’s obvious that he adores you more today than ever.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “You think so?”

  I nodded. “Oh, most definitely. The way he glows when you talk. The way he watches you so closely. And the way he holds your hand.”

  The faint grin on her face intensified. “Yes, he’s quite something,” she agreed. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Katie.”

  “About Daryl?”

  She smiled again. “His seventieth birthday is coming up. I wanted to stop by one afternoon next week to discuss his cake. I also thought you could bring me up to speed on the tourism committee. Blanche asked me to take June’s place since she’ll be otherwise engaged for the next twenty years to life.”

  “That’s great!” I said, smiling at the quip. “You’ll be a wonderful addition to the group. When do you want to come by and talk?”

  “Can I call you later?” she asked. “I’m doing this as a surprise, so I don’t want Daryl to know what I’m up to.”

  “Certainly,” I agreed. “Mum’s the word.”

  “Thank you, dear. I’ve been making plans for the past few weeks.”

  “Oh, really? What do you have so fa
r?”

  She snickered mischievously. “Well, I’ve got a belly dancer coming up from Denver,” she said. “And a Frank Sinatra impersonator from Vegas.”

  “Wow! That’s pretty impressive. Does Daryl like Sinatra?”

  She made a face. “Oh, no! He can’t stand Ol’ Blue Eyes. But he loves belly dancers, so I figured we’d split the difference. The pretty woman wearing a skimpy costume will be for my sweetheart, and the handsome hunk crooning “New York, New York” will be for me!”

  We shared a laugh and Marjean promised to call later in the day to schedule an appointment. As she headed for the door, I suddenly remembered our unfinished conversation from earlier in the week regarding her mother’s sage advice about happy marriages.

  “Oh, Marjean?”

  She stopped and turned. “Yes, dear?”

  “The other day at the drug store,” I began, “you were going to share your mom’s words of wisdom about wedded bliss.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said, walking back toward me with a wide smile. “Do you want to know now?”

  I nodded. “Yes, please. I’m just curious.”

  She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Well, my dear mama always told me that you need three things for a happy marriage,” Marjean said. “Communication and compromise were the first two. Can you guess the third?”

  I shrugged. “Separate checking accounts?”

  Marjean smiled. “Oh, heavens no, Katie! Besides communication and compromise, my mama always said the third thing was the ability to never get tired of the first two!”

  Nana Reed’s Sky High Recipes

  Sweet & Spicy Muffins

  Ingredients

  For the muffins

  2 sweet potatoes

  1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour

  1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

  1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

  2 teaspoons baking powder

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  1/2 teaspoon chili powder