Assignment Denver: The Case of the Eccentric Heiress: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery One (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Lucey Phillips

“Did I miss anything?” he whispered.

  I shrugged and whispered, “church.” I wondered how I would turn this sermon into a news story that would resonate with ANA’s diverse readership.

  Colin responded with a half-smile, his eyes twinkling.

  I opened the BBB document on my phone and handed it to Colin. “What do you think of this?”

  He studied it for a few minutes, tension showing around his eyes. Then he handed the phone back to me.

  “That’s a motive,” he whispered. “But they got Gus. When they finish getting prints off of the lanyard, they’ll know for sure.”

  “He said he was framed,” I whispered.

  “Everyone says that.”

  On the television, an old woman, wearing a powder blue skirt suit and matching hat, approached the pulpit and began reading a poem at a volume that was barely over a whisper.

  So far, none of the eulogists had said anything about Bunny’s life or her personality. My story would have to be a couple quotes from the priest padded with biographical information from the files Quinn had sent me.

  My phone vibrated in my lap. It was a text from Quinn. “Guess who has a secret IP address with an alias and an online auction account?”

  This sounded juicy. I replied, “Who?”

  “Pat Malone. He just put a huge cache of antiques, coins, and stuff up for auction.”

  “Is there a gold watch?”

  “Yep. He’s asking $16K. You think it’s the watch that Mary Pettigrew was complaining about?”

  “I’ll check the description but probably. It was on a list of stuff that was stolen the day after Bunny was killed. Is he trying to sell gold coins, too? They’re from 1916.”

  After a pause, Quinn replied, “Yes. There’s eight of them, selling as a set.”

  I wrote back, “They were on the list too.”

  “So Pat’s the thief? Do you think he killed her?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe he just didn’t want to wait for probate, the reading of the will, the distribution and stuff. Maybe he thought he wasn’t in the will.”

  “Probably trying to avoid taxes, too.”

  “What’s the web site? I want to tell the detective to check it out, they can find their thief.”

  “Want me to just send the Denver PD an anonymous tip? I have an untraceable email account for these sorts of things.”

  “Yes! Thank you!”

  Pat Malone—what a creep. Stealing his aunt’s valuables before the body’s even cold. That explained why there were no signs of forced entry from the break-in. As Bunny’s nearest relative and the person who took her to her doctors’ appointments, it made sense that he would have a key.

  And he was frantically trying to get his hands on the lanyard as soon as he found out she was murdered. If he’d killed her, he certainly would have kept her lanyard—the thing that held the keys to safes, drawers and closets.

  The funeral seemed to be winding down with one final hymn. I decided I wanted to go to the bathroom now, before I got stuck in a long line of mourners when the service let out.

  I found the restroom along a corridor between the child care room and the main cathedral. No one was in the ladies room. When I was finished, and was washing my hands, two booming men’s voices startled me.

  Their voices were so clear, it seemed like they were in the room with me. I looked up at an air duct near the ceiling. The men’s room was on the other side of that wall.

  “You should hire an appraiser to go through everything,” one man said.

  “Oh, definitely. I’m not planning on selling anything, but I want to know what it’s all worth. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some museum-worthy pieces,” another man said. It was a voice I recognized: Pat Malone.

  “She gave me a few things before she passed, actually,” he said.

  I let my jaw drop and sneered in the direction of the air duct. What a liar.

  “I’m taking a couple things to an appraiser downtown later today, actually, just to get an idea of what kind of numbers we’re actually looking at,” Pat said. “Of course, I won’t sell.”

  I clapped my hand over my mouth to hide my groan of disgust.

  “No, no, of course not,” the other man said. “That would be in poor taste.”

  Right, I thought, the inventor of Pup Pops would never do anything in such poor taste. Too bad I would be long gone from Denver when the police figured out Quinn’s tip and busted this guy for stealing from his dead aunt.

  | Sixteen

  As we were leaving the church, walking toward the car, Colin pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Oh hey, Autumn says Mitch is having a little get-together at the brewery. Wanna go?”

  “Like some sort of got-out-of-the-clink party?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. There was a dreamy look on his face that I found vaguely annoying.

  “What? You don’t want to go?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “We can go. We don’t have anything to do all day anyway.”

  “Okay,” Colin said, a smile on his lips as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Who has a party before ten in the morning?” I asked when I got into the passenger seat.

  “They know we’re leaving tonight,” Mitch said. “Autumn said Mitch wants to see us one last time to thank us.”

  My phone vibrated a text alert. I read it and told Colin, “Oh, Mitch just texted me the same thing.”

  “Good,” Colin said. “You’ll go then? It’ll be fun.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m thirsty for that Lost Trail. I think that’s what I’m going to miss most about Denver. It hasn’t even been a week, but it feels like we’ve been here forever.”

  “Itchy feet already?” I laughed. “You’re my kind of people.”

  Colin’s scanner app began playing automatically over the speakers. Police were called to a minor car accident on the North Side. After a moment of static, dispatchers called officers to Spruce Bluff condos, number forty-seven, for “alarm activation.”

  “That’s Pat Malone’s house!” I shouted, pointing at the speaker in the dash.

  Colin turned toward me with his nose wrinkled.

  “Do you think we should go?” he asked.

  I could tell his heart was already set on drinking a frosty beer and hanging out with Autumn and Mitch. And I was hoping Jennie and Robyn would be there too. But if I had been by myself, I’d already be driving toward Spruce Bluff. My curiosity about this case had been overwhelming me.

  “We don’t have to go,” I said. “I’ll just listen to the scanner. It’s probably nothing.”

  “Okay,” Colin said. The relief was plain in his voice. “That’s cool. If we hear anything else, we can head over that way.”

  Neither of us spoke as we listened to the scanner and Colin drove us back toward Mission Key. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. The sunshine quickly went from warm to hot on the right side of my cheek and forehead.

  We listened to some chatter about fire hydrant testing and a couple traffic stops. Then “Patrol 7-1” said he was at Spruce Bluff. Dispatch told him the alarm company had contacted the property manager, who would meet him at number forty-seven with the key.

  “The resident has not been home and couldn’t be reached,” the dispatcher’s voice said over the car speakers.

  Colin and I looked at each other.

  “Yeah, ‘cause he’s on his way to cemetery service right now,” I said.

  I fidgeted in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs, then smoothing my skirt.

  Colin pulled the car into a gas station, put it in park, and turned to look at me.

  “Do you want to go check it out?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

  I shook my head, trying to convince both of us I really meant it. “No, Lance already said we’re done with the story. Plus, we don’t want to get caught up in something
that makes us late for our flight.”

  I patted my palms on my legs and continued. “Let’s go to the brewery. Seriously, I need to sit down and write this funeral story anyway.”

  “Okay,” Colin said, putting the car into gear. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Oh, there’s a Dunkin Donuts. Let’s drive through. I need coffee.”

  Colin laughed and steered us toward the shop.

  As we drove, we heard Patrol 7-1 come on the scanner. He said nothing appeared disturbed at unit forty-tseven and he was now clearing the scene.

  “Maybe just the wind set off an alarm,” Colin said with a shrug.

  When we got to Mission Lager House, the front doors were locked, but the lights were on inside.

  “That’s right, they don’t open till eleven,” Colin muttered as he started making a phone call.

  He’d left his camera in the car and I was surprised at how different he looked without it.

  Through the window, I could see Autumn behind the bar. She was wearing her dreads in a thick ponytail, a look that came across as feminine and pretty on her. I watched as she removed her phone from a pocket on her apron, then spun toward the door, smiling widely as Colin said, “Hello,” next to me.

  She hurried toward the front door, throwing it open and greeting both of us with hugs.

  Inside, Mitch was sitting on the bar. He was clean-shaven and smiling, though there were dark circles under his eyes. He spread his arms wide and hopped down from the bar when he saw me.

  The last time I’d seen him, he was in custody, fear and disbelief echoing in everything he said. Now he wore a content, though sleepy, smile. I couldn’t help but accept the hug.

  Mitch’s embrace was warm and lingering. He smelled like cologne and rich, fresh-ground coffee.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. Now I am.”

  He looked over at Robyn, who was wrapping up bundles of cutlery in napkins; and at August, who was leaning against Colin, one arm loosely threaded behind him and around his waist.

  “I think we’ll be okay,” Mitch said. “Our image took a hit, but now that they’ve got the right guy—and actual evidence—I know we’ll bounce back.”

  “Plus, in a couple weeks, Alt News America will be running a nice feature on this place,” I said.

  Mitch’s eyebrows shot straight up.

  “Really?”

  I laughed and nodded. I usually expected people to try to manipulate me because, being in the media, I had a little bit of power. But something told me Mitch was being sincere this time.

  “My editor wants to wait a couple weeks ’til the excitement settles down, then we’re going to run the Assignment Denver piece.”

  “I could kiss you,” Mitch said, his arms wide again, wanting another hug.

  I held up my palm toward him. “Down boy,” I said, laughing.

  Mitch laughed too as he dropped his arms. Even though something about the way Autumn was glued to Colin’s flank made me want to accept Mitch’s affection, I really wasn’t feeling it. One hug had been more than enough.

  Robyn poured Colin a beer and me a Coke.

  “Anything you guys want, drink up,” Mitch said. “You two get free service for life.” He nodded toward Colin and smiled at me.

  “What?” Robyn said with false indignation. “They waltz in here with their fancy national news coverage and they get whatever they want?”

  “We eat for free every day,” Autumn chimed in, laughing.

  I took my Coke and sidled away from the laughter to a table near a corner. I set up my laptop and tried to begin writing the story about Bunny’s funeral.

  Not only was it difficult to concentrate in the festive bar atmosphere, I really didn’t have much to say about the funeral. The entire service had been dry and soulless—a generic recitation of ritual.

  Staring at my blank laptop screen, I huffed out a sigh.

  “Just put ‘Mean old lady, missed by nobody,’” a female voice said from behind me.

  I turned in my chair to see Jennie smirking at me, spinning her keychain on one finger.

  “The sad part is, you might be right. I have no idea what I’m going to put in this article.”

  “I say keep it short and sweet so you can come hang out. Mitch’s de-lousing story gets funnier every time he tells it.”

  “Hey, Jennie?” I said softly and nodded toward the chair beside me.

  She sat down.

  I continued, “You think they got it right this time, don’t you? You believe Gus did it?”

  “Hey, I know better than anyone that the criminal justice system isn’t perfect. And the police do make plenty of mistakes,” Jennie said. “But come on, the actual murder weapon was in a locked office. And it’s always the boyfriend. He’s not a nice guy. Look at how he manhandled you.”

  She gestured toward my wrist. The bruise in the shape of Gus’s fingers was still plainly visible.

  I nodded. “You’re right. Plus there’s that limp—he must have jumped from the loading dock. Not to mention, nothing was stolen when she was killed.”

  Jennie stood and patted my shoulder. “Mitch is innocent. I know it in my heart.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged and went back to my computer screen. I made up my mind to do the thing with this story that good journalists always do: tell the truth.

  I wrote, “Guinevere ‘Bunny’ Malone’s final Earthly farewell was much like her life: filled with people who said they cared about her, but did not truly know her.”

  It only took me fifteen minutes to hammer out the rest of the story. After sending it to Lance, I made my way back over to the bar to join the party.

  Autumn seemed to have miraculously detached herself from Colin’s side, but it was only to pour him another beer. I found an empty seat across the bar from Robyn, who was drinking from a coffee mug.

  “When are you two coming back?” she asked Colin and me.

  “Yeah, you’ll visit soon, won’t you? After Vegas?” Autumn asked, her eyes wide and earnest.

  Colin looked at the pilsner in his hand before he said, “I think it’s over to Austin after Vegas, right Boss?”

  Jennie giggled at Colin’s use of the word boss.

  “That’s the plan,” I said, my voice as bright as the smile I felt coming across my face. I was ready to be someplace new and I was glad Colin still wanted to join me.

  “You’re going to miss us,” Mitch said as he smiled mischievously. “You’ll be back.”

  I returned the smile then glanced quickly toward Colin.

  Maybe Colin had been right—maybe Mitch was hitting on me. Even though I believed in his innocence, and maybe I’d warmed up to him a little since the first time we’d met, I had no romantic feelings for him.

  And even if I did, what were we going to do? Have a long distance relationship? No thanks.

  I liked—well, needed—being on the road too much to put myself in a situation where I’d have to apologize for it or feel guilty about it.

  | Seventeen

  I’d expected the party to fizzle out when Mission Lager House opened for business at 11 a.m., but instead, customers just seemed to join in the fun atmosphere. We were all sitting around the bar when my phone rang, showing Lance’s office number.

  I said hello, but I could barely hear him over the laughter and talking. So I made my way out the front door, where it was warm and bright and much quieter.

  “We have something going on in Florida, Jae,” Lance said. “It’s a series of kidnappings for ransom. Looks like a drug cartel is involved.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. “No, Lance, I’m not going to Florida. I’m not giving up Assignment America to go back to news.”

  Lance chuckled, “Okay, Jae. Calm down.”

  I felt a throbbing headache starting in my temples while I tried to understand what was so funny.

  “I said I wasn’t going to pull you off of travel writing and I meant it,” he said. “Assignment
America is a huge success and you built it from scratch. It’s just that…”

  “What?” I said, surprised at how sharp my voice sounded.

  “It’s just that you did way, way more than anyone expected, or asked of you,” Lance said. “You went further in depth than most of our career crime reporters go.”

  “Oh. Okay, well thanks.”

  I’d been pacing up and down the sidewalk without even realizing it. Now I was standing in front of Antiquities, peering in at the gloomy mountains of artifacts.

  “Okay. I can send Mike,” Lance said. “I think he’s ready for a big story.”

  “Yeah. It took me forever to set up this thing in Vegas. I’m really excited about it.”

  I was barely paying attention to the conversation as I gazed into Bunny’s shop. I thought I’d feel relieved that the funeral story was in the can and Colin and I were ready to take off, but something was still bothering me.

  “Okay,” Lance said, his voice jarring out of my thoughts. “Have a good flight.”

  “Thanks. See ya.”

  I dropped the phone back into my bag. A diesel engine rumbled loudly behind me. Its reflection in Bunny’s shop window showed a logo I’d seen before: Entermusement. I spun around in time to watch the truck roll away.

  The last time I’d seen that vehicle, a tech was leaving the Tin Pan Saloon. It was the day of Bunny’s murder. Mary Pettigrew’s alibi was that she had been playing on the slot machines at the saloon when Bunny was killed.

  But that had to be a lie. The machines were being repaired—they were probably offline.

  “Oh no,” I whispered to myself, as I groped around my bag for my phone.

  I called Quinn.

  “Hey, Jae,” Quinn said when she picked up.

  “Entermusement!” I blurted.

  “Uh. What?”

  “Mary Pettigrew doesn’t have an alibi! She says she was playing the slots, but they were down that day.”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t get into the lottery commission records, remember?”

  “Entermusement was at the saloon that day working on the slot machines. Can you check their service records?”

  “Yep,” Quinn said. “I’ll call you when I get something.”