Skeletons & Scones (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 8)
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Skeletons & Scones
Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries / 8
Mary Maxwell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2016 Mary Maxwell 07202016
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recorded or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
NANA REED’S SKY HIGH RECIPES
CHAPTER 1
“Can I ask a question?” Julia said cautiously.
It was early morning, barely six o’clock, and my first cup of coffee sat cooling on the counter in the kitchen at Sky High Pies, the bakery café that I run in Crescent Creek, Colorado. I’d been mulling over my options for something to nibble—perhaps a coconut-chocolate scone or slice of blueberry streusel coffee cake—when the inquiry from our illustrious chef and dessert maven arrived out of left field.
“What’s on your mind?” I said.
She took a sip of her coffee. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Ghosts?” I said rhetorically. “Do you mean phantom spirits in the night or that old movie with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore?”
She smirked. “That was Ghost, Katie! As in singular. And I’m not talking about a movie. I’m talking about someone that’s no longer alive, but can be seen by living people.”
I inhaled the aroma of the fresh-brewed coffee. “Oh, I get it,” I said, feeling the sudden urge for some lighthearted mischief. “I felt that way the morning after my friend Heidi’s all-night bachelorette party in Chicago—lifeless, but still visible. It involved one dirty martini, two shots of Jägermeister and three slices of pepperoni pizza inhaled in the back of a speeding limo on Lake Shore Drive.”
The slight sneer on Julia’s face blossomed into a full-blown frown. “Are we having one of those days again?”
I smiled. “One of what days?”
“Where you make fun of everything I talk about?”
“Oh, Jules…” I suddenly realized that she was serious. When she’d posed the question about ghosts, the smile on her face seemed to signal that it was the opening to another silly story about something that her kids did at home the previous night. But I now realized she actually wanted to know if I believed in misty visions of departed souls. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to—”
“Forget about it,” she said, turning toward the walk-in. “I was going to ask if you wanted to join my friend Annabelle and me for this thing tonight, but I can see that it was probably a bad idea.”
“What thing?”
“We’re going to a séance,” she explained. “It’s kind of a spur-of-the-moment idea, but she uses candles and turns out the lights so it sounds pretty exciting!”
“A séance? I didn’t realize people still did those.”
Julia smiled. “You’d be surprised. Annabelle is totally into things like that—séances, tarot cards, fortune tellers. It’s something she’s been doing since she was a kid. Her mother worked for the Flying Fruit Fly Circus when she was—”
“Whoa! Hang on there. The flying what?”
“The Flying Fruit Fly Circus,” Julia said. “It’s in Australia; that’s where Annabelle’s from. She took classes there when she was growing up.”
When Julia paused, I expected a punch line to follow. I’d never heard of the Flying Fruit Fly Circus and she had a habit of fabricating outlandish stories to prank unwitting victims.
“What?” she said with a quizzical grin. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Because I’m waiting for the rest of it.”
“The rest of what?” she asked.
“Your made-up flying wombat story.”
Julia laughed. “It’s the Flying Fruit Fly Circus. And there isn’t more to it. I was just telling you about my friend’s inquisitive mind and her time at the children’s circus school in Australia.”
“Okay,” I said, still skeptical that she was luring me into one of her fictitious traps. “And so…your friend is into ghosts and séances?”
“Yep. Annabelle heard about this psychic named Maureen Dixon. I guess she’s new to the area and has quite the reputation for communicating with the spirit world.”
There was an impish twinkle in Julia’s eyes. It felt like she was getting ready to throw out her arms, giggle wildly and announce that I’d been tricked once again by her magical wit. Instead, she asked if I wanted to join her for the séance.
“Well, it sounds like tons of fun,” I said. “But Zack and I are having dinner at Café Fleur with Viv and her new boyfriend.”
Viveca England was my next-door neighbor. When I moved back to Crescent Creek after a dozen years in Chicago, she was the first person to stop by my little apartment on the second floor of the Victorian that housed Sky High Pies. She’d appeared at my door with a basket of goodies that included a copy of Unwed & Loving It: Finding Happily Ever After Without Him! At the time, Viv was still healing from a nasty divorce and declared that she would be single for the rest of her life. I was delightfully surprised when she confessed recently that she’d started dating a guy named Holt Crosby.
“Well, well,” Julia said cheerfully. “I didn’t think Viv would ever give up the single life.”
“I know, right? But she and Holt have a lot in common.”
Julia’s smile went flat. “Holt?”
“Yeah, Viv’s new guy is Holt Crosby.”
“The same Holt Crosby that moved here from Grand Junction?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know about that. Why?”
Julia went into the walk-in without answering. When she came out a moment later carrying a dozen eggs, a package of cream cheese and two lemons, I pressed her about the strange reaction to Viveca’s boyfriend.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “If it’s the guy from Grand Junction, I dated him before I met Jared.”
She carried the items to the counter and put them beside the mixer. Then she picked up a recipe card and squinted slightly as she read my grandmother’s instructions for Cheese Danish Delites.
“Okay, Jules,” I said, putting down my coffee and walking around the center island. “What gives? You just wen
t from bubbly and bright to silent and morose in about five seconds.”
She glanced up from the recipe. “I really liked Holt,” she said. “But it didn’t work out.”
I could see the hurt in her eyes; the residual pain that can linger after your heart is broken.
“Somebody needs a hug,” I said, encircling her with my arms.
She wriggled free with a muffled laugh. “No, somebody needs to get busy.” She bobbled her head at the white board on the wall. “Did you see how many special orders we have for afternoon pickup?”
I didn’t need to look; there were twelve individual requests, ranging from a single peach pie and two dozen shortbread cookies to a platter of sixty mini chocolate cupcakes with mocha frosting.
“We’ll get them all done in time,” I said, keeping my eyes on Julia. “But not until you tell me about Holt Crosby.”
“What’s there to tell? We met at church. We both volunteered to work at a March of Dimes fundraiser. He asked me to a movie. And then another. And, like, six weeks later we were spending all of our free time together. I was really in love with the guy, Katie. He’s handsome and smart and kind and funny. But then I found out he was also something else.”
“What was that?” I asked. “A bad dancer?”
Julia smiled. “Nope. He was also married.”
The announcement was the last thing I expected her to say. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I didn’t have to worry about it long because Julia kept going with the rest of the story.
“I found out from Claire Winkler,” she said. “We were cleaning up after a Sunday afternoon shift at the food pantry. I really thought everyone in town knew about me and Holt, but then Claire asked if I’d heard his good news. I was such a dunce! I actually got excited for about ten seconds until she told me that Holt and his wife were expecting their first child. She wasn’t moving to Crescent Creek until the house in Grand Junction was sold, so he used the distance as an excuse to commit adultery.”
“Oh, golly…” I felt my stomach twist and my heart sink. “I’m so sorry, Jules. That must’ve been awful for you.”
It took a few seconds, but a smile returned to her face. “Yeah, it was pretty bad. But it was even worse for Holt.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, at the very same time that I was talking to Claire,” she explained, “someone in Grand Junction was telling Holt’s wife that he’d been stepping out with another woman.”
“Oh, brother! So you both learned what a doofus he was on the same day?”
She nodded. “Yep. But I wasn’t married to the guy; Annabelle was. They went through with the move to Crescent Creek and eventually both decided to stay here following the divorce.”
My mouth dropped open. “Is this the same Annabelle that invited you to the séance?”
“Uh-huh. We became really good friends after she and Holt divorced.”
“And what about the bambino?”
“Chelsea’s going to be ten next month,” Julia said. “She’s a really sweet little girl.”
I took a moment to rewind what I’d just learned. Julia had once unwittingly dated a guy named Holt who was married at the time to a woman called Annabelle. After she learned about Holt’s duplicity and filed for divorce, Julia and Annabelle became friends. And now, more than a decade later, Holt was dating my neighbor.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Julia asked.
“No reason,” I said.
“Did you want to know anything more about good old Holt Crosby?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I have a question for you,” she said with a playful grin. “Was that story true?”
“What story?” I asked.
“About the bachelorette party? Did you really drink a martini and two shots of Jägermeister before eating pizza?”
I groaned. “Unfortunately. But I was young and foolish and naïve.”
“How long ago was it?”
“Ages ago. When I was twenty-nine and so much younger than I am now.”
Julia laughed. “Um, Katie? That was last year.”
“True,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But you know what they say? Time flies when you’re having fun!
CHAPTER 2
When I walked into Café Fleur at seven o’clock that night and saw Zack sitting at the bar, all of the stress and tumult of the day melted away. Besides being a talented photographer and muscular hunk of perfection, Zack Hutton was also the yin to my yang. We’d been dating for several months; a sweet, budding romance that had blossomed into deep passion with all the hallmarks of a lasting love.
As I made my way through the crowded dining room to the bar, Zack slid down from his stool and beamed at me with a bright, affectionate smile.
“Hey, beautiful!” he said. “How was your day?”
I fell into his embrace. “Long and busy,” I answered. “But who cares? I’m just glad to see you!”
He squeezed me firmly and whispered in my ear. “I’m glad to see any part of you that I can,” he said. “In public or private.”
My cheeks grew pink with the rest of what he murmured. As I looped my arms around him even more tightly, I heard a man’s voice somewhere nearby.
“…be the last thing you do, punk!” he bellowed. “And if you don’t back off, I’ll be happy to get into it right here and now!”
The chattering conversations and laughter that had filled the restaurant moments before came to a halt. I felt Zack instinctively pull me closer, but I wanted to see who owned the hoarse, angry rasp.
“They were going at it before you got here,” Zack said quietly. “Eli went over and asked them to keep it down, but I guess that didn’t last long.”
As he stepped to one side, I caught a glimpse of two men. One was tall and bald, dressed in a black leather car coat over a gray sweater and tan slacks. I guessed his age at thirty-five or so. The other guy, standing with both hands folded into trembling fists, appeared to be a few years younger. He was wearing faded jeans, scuffed hiking boots and a black Colorado Rockies hooded sweatshirt stippled with flecks of white paint. Gray duct tape circled the toes of one boot, as if the sole was in need of repair.
“Do you know who they are?” I asked.
Zack shook his head. “Morons,” he grumbled. “I’m glad you weren’t here earlier when they cussed at the bartender.”
I glanced over at the woman behind the long oak counter. I hadn’t seen her in the restaurant before, but she looked vaguely familiar.
“What’s her name?” I whispered as the other patrons slowly resumed their conversations.
“Drea Scott,” Zack answered. “She used to work at Tipton’s.”
“Oh, that’s right!” I instantly pictured the woman behind the register at the popular liquor store. “I’d say this is a nice step up, wouldn’t you?”
“Better tips,” Zack agreed. “And fewer imbeciles.”
I nodded at the two men arguing at the opposite end of the bar. “What about the Tweedle brothers?”
He smiled at the reference. “That’s perfect, Katie. They look like Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
The bald guy rumbled something at the younger man before grabbing a bottle from the bar, tilting it toward the ceiling and drinking the last of his beer. Then he slammed the bottle on the counter, turned to face the man in the hoodie and jammed one finger into his chest.
“This is the last time we’re discussing it,” he said. “Your dad wasn’t Robin Hood, kid. He never was and he never will be. You better leave the past in its grave. And don’t call me or my sister again.”
When he turned toward us on the way out of the restaurant, I put one hand on Zack’s arm and gently nudged him to the side. As the man stormed past, I caught a hint of his cologne and heard his agitated breathing.
“Pardon me,” he said gruffly.
“Sure thing,” I replied, locking eyes with him for a split second. “Have a nice evening.”
I turned and watc
hed as he crashed through the front door and onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. He glanced back once over his shoulder before crossing the street and climbing into a car parked at the curb. My eyes lingered on him for a second before I noticed a dark panel van nearby with POWDERHORN BAGEL COMPANY on the side.
“Now then,” Zack said, taking my hand. “Maybe we can have a peaceful dinner after all.”
“That sounds amazing,” I agreed, feeling the warm strength of his fingers. “I’ll follow you, handsome.”
Zack waved at the woman behind the bar. “We’re going to move to a table now, Drea. Can I settle my bill?”
She smiled and dismissed the question with one hand. “That’s already been taken care of,” she said.
“Really?” Zack looked at me with a bemused grin. “By who?”
She laughed. “The guy that just stomped out the door. He bought a round for the house.”
“Seriously?” Zack asked.
Drea nodded. “Yes, seriously. I think he was embarrassed about…” She looked down the bar to where the young guy in the hoodie sat hunched over a half-filled highball glass. “You know,” she continued. “The little outburst earlier. He gave me a wad of bills before he left and told me to buy a round for everyone.”
“Well, that’s pretty generous,” I said.
“He also left a nice tip,” Drea replied. “He’s my new hero for the evening. Our son was playing soccer in the house and somehow managed to score a goal right into the flat screen, so I hope to make enough tonight to replace it.”
We shared a laugh and then I walked over to introduce myself.
“Oh, from Sky High, right?” she said, hearing my name.
I smiled. “That’s where you’ll find me. It’s a family business and I came back to take over when my parents retired.”
“I’d heard that,” Drea said as a woman dressed in a sleek black cocktail dress approached.
“Mr. Hutton?” she said. “Are you ready to be seated?”
“Our friends aren’t here yet,” Zack said.
The woman frowned slightly. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were waiting for anyone.”