by Mary Maxwell
“Isn’t that compelling proof that the shooting is connected to the séance?”
Trent grumbled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m tired, Katie. And I’m hungry. Right now, listening to all of those names is just making me more so.”
“Go get something to eat,” I suggested.
“Tyler ran out for barbecue,” he told me. “I just wanted to call and give you the heads up about your friend Maureen.”
“She’s not my…” I started to clarify that I’d just met Maureen Dixon, but decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble. Instead, I said, “What’s your gut telling you about the psychic?”
“About her story?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Do you believe that she came upon a shooting victim by happenstance?”
“Time will tell,” Trent said again. “Time and evidence.”
“Well, let me know if I can help in any way,” I offered.
“Maybe bring over that pistachio praline cake. That’ll go perfectly with the pulled pork sandwich that I’m having for dinner.”
“Not a chance! That’s for Birdie’s in-laws.”
Trent whistled. “Have you seen the mother-in-law yet?”
“No, but it sounds like you have.”
“Yeah, I met her on their last visit to town,” he explained. “She’s like Tom Brady’s wife, but with red hair.”
“The quarterback?”
“Yeah,” Trent said. “He’s married to that model from Brazil. She’s smoking hot, Katie. Have you ever seen her?”
“Good night, Deputy Chief Walsh,” I said with a laugh. “If I hear anything more about Maureen, I’ll let you know.”
“She’s got a weird name,” he continued. “Something like Gazelle Munchkin.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s Gisele Bündchen,” I told him. “And I agree with you; she’s a very beautiful woman.”
“Takes one to know one,” Trent said, sounding about six years old. “I’ll see ya later, Katie!”
“Not if I don’t see you—”
Click.
“—first, big guy.”
I glanced at the screen to confirm that he’d hung up and then shook my head.
“You, Trent Walsh,” I said to myself, “are one of a kind!”
CHAPTER 10
While the pistachio praline cake cooled on the counter, I cleaned the kitchen, organized the walk-in and added a few prep items to the list for the following day. After frosting Birdie Baker’s special order and packaging it in a Sky High box, I climbed the back stairs to my apartment, poured a glass of merlot and flopped onto the sofa. Zack was coming by when he wrapped up a last-minute freelance photography job, so I had some time to relax.
“You’ve earned it,” I said to my reflection in the dark, silent television screen on the far wall. “A little respite from the day.”
While I enjoyed the wine and flipped through a well-read copy of Cooking Light, I thought about the strange encounter with Maureen Dixon. Since I’d never met her before, I didn’t know if her behavior in my office earlier was typical. But I figured the jittery state was reasonable in the aftermath of the threatening note and phone call.
As I sipped the last of my wine, I considered pouring a second glass. But then I figured it would be best to wait for Zack. We hadn’t discussed whether we’d eat at home or go out for a quick bite, so I decided to skip more merlot and close my eyes for a quick power nap.
I fell almost instantly into a hazy dream about a giant cartoon rat named Wilbur who owned a bakery called Stinky Poo’s Pies. He was tall and loud, dressed in a bright red chef’s coat with a toque made from Sky High Pie menus. His hands were like lobster claws and whenever I tried to explain that I would never serve frozen pies to our customers, Wilbur smiled with razor-sharp teeth that were black as coal. At one point, I was standing at the counter in Stinky Poo’s, attempting to reason with the arrogant rat, when I felt something brush my arm. As I turned around, I heard Zack calling my name, but when I looked over my shoulder, the room was filled with tiny bright blue beetles that were whistling about work and doing a soft shoe routine on the tables.
“Katie!”
I spun around, but Wilbur was still glaring at me with his hideous teeth and—
“Katie!” Zack shouted. “Wake up, sweetheart!”
I lurched forward, arms outstretched and both legs sliding over the edge of the sofa.
“Oh, hey!” I mumbled. “When did you get here?”
He smiled. “About three or four muffled screams ago.”
“I was having a horrible nightmare.”
Zack laughed softly. “I figured as much when you called me Wilma.”
I brushed the hair out of my eyes and tried to focus. “No, no. It was Wilbur. He was this huge rat and he kept accusing me of using—”
“Frozen pies at Sky High?” Zack said, completing the thought.
I blinked. “Yes, how did you…” Realizing the answer to my own question, I let the sentence fade. “Where’d you hear it?” I said instead. “And please tell me that whoever told you is aware that it’s not true.”
He smiled and joined me on the sofa. “George Tipton told me when I stopped at the Liquor Mart to get some wine for tonight.”
I glanced into the kitchen. A bottle of my favorite merlot sat beside a pizza box from Pepper & Roni’s Pizzeria.
“Oh, you’re the best!” I cheered, leaning in as Zack draped one arm across my shoulders and pulled me toward him. “I was hoping we could stay in tonight.”
He squeezed me closer, kissing my forehead. “I heard that in your voice when we talked earlier. I also ran into Jules at the MiniMart. She told me about the weird séance thing. It was really kind of you to talk to her friend.”
I smiled. “I was happy to.”
“How’d that go?”
“Fine,” I said. “Until she scrammed when Trent got here.”
Zack frowned. “What do you mean she scrammed?”
“Just that; she vanished when I went to unlock the door for Trent. We’d been talking in my office and she agreed to meet with him. But when he got here, she ran off.”
He chuckled. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“That’s a pretty strong reaction,” he said. “I mean, the big, bad deputy chief can be kind of intimidating, but you’d think—”
“It gets worse,” I interrupted. “I heard from Trent again a little later. Maureen Dixon was found in the parking lot behind her apartment with a dead guy. She was standing over him with a gun in her hand when the first officers arrived.”
Zack’s face went blank for a split second. Then he asked about the shooting victim.
“Trent told me it was…” I paused, trying to conjure the man’s name from my groggy brain. “Oh, I should’ve written it down.” I closed my eyes to summon the sound of Trent’s voice on the phone when we’d talked earlier. “Okay, I’ve got part of it,” I continued. “The guy’s first name was Anton, but I—”
“Anton Rigby?” Zack asked, sounding both bewildered and upset. “Was it Anton Rigby?”
“Yeah,” I said with a lopsided grin. “Why are you so thrilled by some—”
“That can’t be right,” Zack said.
“Well, it’s definitely the name Trent told me.”
Zack got up and headed for the chair where he’d dropped his jacket. I watched as he dug in one pocket and came out with his phone.
“When did Trent tell you this, Katie?”
I shrugged, thinking back on the afternoon. “Maybe around five or five-thirty.”
Zack heaved a sigh as he scrolled through his phone.
“What’s Trent’s number?” he asked finally. “Or should I call the dispatcher?”
I reached for my purse on the coffee table. “Hang on a sec,” I said, searching through the flotsam and jetsam in the bag. “Why are you getting so worked up, babe?”
“Because,” Zack said, before I could find my phon
e. “I ran into Anton Rigby at Tipton’s about fifteen minutes ago.”
CHAPTER 11
The bombshell sent my sleepy mind spinning again. I asked Zack to repeat the news and then insisted that we call Trent.
“What do you think I just said, sweetie? I want to let him know, but I don’t have his number.”
Finding my phone at last, I pulled it out and dialed Trent.
“How about if I just do it instead?” I suggested, waiting for the call to connect.
When I heard the familiar sound of my friend’s recorded message, I shook my head. “Voicemail,” I whispered. “I’ll leave a message and—”
A muted beep signaled an incoming call on the other line.
“Maybe this is him.” I checked the display, but it wasn’t Trent. “I’ll let them leave a message, and I’ll call Trent’s office number.”
While Zack got up and paced from one end of my living room to the other, I left a quick message. Then I dialed 911, gave my name to the dispatcher and explained that it was an urgent call for Deputy Chief Walsh.
“He’s at dinner,” the woman said. “Do you want me to—”
“Where?” I blurted.
“Um, I don’t know if he’d like me—”
“It’s about the murder case he just opened up,” I interrupted. “I have some information that he’ll definitely want to hear.”
“Taj Mahal,” the woman said. “He and Detective Armstrong left about thirty minutes ago.”
“Really? Indian food?”
“I know, right?” the dispatcher said. “But it was Tyler’s night to choose.”
“Gotcha,” I said. “Thanks so much for your help.”
I dropped the call, put away the phone and jumped up from the sofa.
“C’mon,” I said. “Trent’s at that new Indian restaurant on Roosevelt. If we hurry, I think we can get there before he leaves.”
“Why don’t you just call him?” asked Zack.
“Because he’s obviously got his phone turned off,” I said, heading for the door. “Now, let’s move it, handsome! You’ve got valuable information and we should—” I suddenly remembered the pizza on the kitchen counter. “Oh, shoot! Our dinner will be stone cold by the time we get back.”
Zack smirked. “There’s this little thing they invented recently,” he said, jingling his car keys. “It’s called a microwave. I’ll drive so you can keep trying to get Trent on the phone.”
Ten minutes later, after a half dozen unanswered calls and a breakneck drive across town, we reached the restaurant. I’d heard raves about the food, but we hadn’t been in for a meal yet. I knew this wasn’t going to be the right time for it, but figured I could grab a menu to study later at home.
When we stepped through the door, I spotted Trent near the back of the crowded room with Tyler Armstrong, one of the detectives with the Crescent Creek Police Department. They were both staring at their phones as we approached.
“Were you ignoring my calls?” I asked.
Trent looked up, confused to see us out of context and without warning.
“Um…” His mouth fell open as Tyler Armstrong stood and held out his hand. “Katie? Zack?”
Tyler shook Zack’s hand and then moved around toward me. After we greeted one another, he went back to the aromatic meal on the table.
“Zack has something to tell you,” I said.
Trent looked apprehensive. “Did I miss an appointment or something?”
Zack smiled. “Not at all,” he said. “But Kate was telling me about the man you found earlier…the gunshot victim?”
The muscles in Trent’s face softened. “Oh, yeah? The murder vic?”
“Yes,” Zack said. “You think it’s Anton Rigby?”
“ID in his pocket said so,” Trent answered. “But we won’t have official identification until the ME conducts an autopsy and we can do some digging through the databases.”
“It’s not him,” Zack said firmly. “I know Anton Rigby from my softball league, and I ran into him at Tipton’s less than an hour ago.”
Trent grinned. Then he looked at Tyler Armstrong.
“You hear that, detective?” asked Trent.
“I did.” Tyler shifted slightly in his chair so he was facing Zack. “You sure about that?”
“Positive.” Zack’s voice was steady and firm. “I’ve known Anton for a few months. He’s got a record and a colorful past, but he’s a good guy.”
“If what you’re telling us is accurate,” Trent said, pushing back from the table, “it sounds like he’s also alive rather than on his way to the morgue.”
Zack didn’t say anything, but I noticed his jaw tighten slightly. Trent hadn’t exactly questioned his honesty, but the wording was a little less than eloquent.
“Ma’am?” Trent waved at a woman coming toward the table from the kitchen. “Can we get the check, please?”
She hurried over, a look of concern on her face. “You didn’t like your dinner?”
“No, that’s not it,” answered Trent. “We’ve got a work thing that just came up, so we need to scoot.”
When she saw the badge glinting on his belt, she suddenly pressed both hands to her face. “Oh, my goodness,” she gushed. “You’re the chief of police?”
Trent tapped the gold shield at his waist. “Deputy Chief Walsh,” he answered. “I’m one rung down the food chain from the big kahuna.”
The woman winced in confusion. “Okay, so…” The front door opened and she glanced anxiously at a small crowd of new arrivals. “I’ll tell you what, Deputy Chief Walsh. This is my treat for you, okay?”
Tyler Armstrong got up and dropped his napkin on the table. “Why don’t we stop back later and settle the bill, ma’am?” he suggested. “The food was delicious.”
Trent echoed the compliment before nodding toward the door.
“Let’s go outside and talk,” he said. “I have a couple of questions for Zack before we head back to the station.”
CHAPTER 12
By nine o’clock, after Zack’s conversation with Trent and a quick stop for gelato, we were twined together on the sofa in my living room. Zack was moaning about why he’d eaten a fourth slice of pizza while I mindlessly clicked the remote from one channel to the next.
“How about HGTV?” I suggested. “There’s a special about flipping houses.”
He shook his head. “Anything else?”
“Cooking show?”
I heard a muffled groan before he rolled toward me, grabbed my hand and peppered it with kisses.
“There’s an old Kevin Costner movie,” I said.
Zack returned to his previous position and asked if it was Dances with Wolves.
“Nope. It’s the one where the polar ice cap melts and everybody’s cruising around on a bunch of rafts and boats.”
“Waterworld?”
I nodded and clicked a few more times, landing on an infomercial about extra-strength superglue.
“What’s that?” Zack asked, sounding sleepy.
“It’s a commercial. I’m still looking for something we can watch.”
“What’s wrong with Waterworld? It wasn’t his best, but I like Costner.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “I’m just not in the mood for—”
Zack grabbed the remote and turned off the television.
“That’s better,” he said, pulling me closer. “Let’s just cuddle and talk.”
After we moved into a close, comfortable clinch, I asked what he wanted to discuss.
“We could debate the merits of Waterworld,” he joked.
I reached down and tickled his side. He recoiled and howled before asking a question about Trent.
“Wait a sec,” I said. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I asked if you heard what Trent told me about Anton Rigby earlier.”
“Nuh-uh.” I yawned, pressing closer into his side and closing my eyes. “And I don’t know if I want to.”
“He used to be associated wi
th Roger Kovac.”
“The dead bank robber?”
Zack laughed. “Allegedly dead. They never found his body.”
“Really? Rigby knew Roger?”
“According to Trent, the police suspect that Kovac and a couple of other people robbed the Crescent Creek Bank about ten years ago. They shot a guard, roughed up a couple of bystanders and got away with sixty grand.”
“That doesn’t seem like much,” I said. “For a bank robbery, I mean.”
“That’s all relative I suppose. And most criminals are a few fries short of a Happy Meal anyway, so they probably thought it was like knocking over Fort Knox.”
I smiled at the quip. Then I remembered the gelato and mocha cupcakes in the kitchen.
“Do you want to do something really naughty?” I whispered in Zack’s ear.
He chuckled. “Absolutely, sweetheart! Here or in the bedroom?”
“I was talking about dessert,” I said. “I know we ate a hundred pounds of pizza, but something sweet sounds really good right about now.”
Zack laughed again. “Oh! That kind of naughty. I’m definitely up for it, babe. Want me to get the gelato?”
“We also have cupcakes,” I said. “They’re in the—”
He lurched up, ran into the next room and made it back to my side in less than five minutes.
“Land speed record!” I cheered as he settled in with the Sky High box and a bowl of chocolate gelato with two spoons. “Thanks, gorgeous man. There are only two cupcakes, so it won’t be too much sugar on top of the pizza.”
After we silently relished the yummy dessert, Zack carried the box and bowl into the kitchen. Returning to the sofa, he asked for my thoughts on the Anton Rigby murder.
“But I thought you were convinced that it couldn’t be Anton,” I said. “You talked to him at the liquor store after Maureen was discovered with a dead body in her parking lot.”
“Yeah, but…”
Zack held up one finger to stop me. Then he grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and wiped a tiny smudge of mocha frosting from my lower lip.
“Okay, beautiful,” he said when he finished. “What were getting ready to tell me?”
