by Mary Maxwell
She put the biscuits back on the table, smoothed the wrinkles from her dark blue slacks and asked what I wanted to discuss.
“Well, there’s Harley Skinner,” I said, jumping right into it. “And Harris Dixon.”
At the mention of her husband’s name, Maureen’s left eye began to twitch slightly.
“How did you find out?” she asked.
“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “But I’m doing a little digging around to help the police identify the person that shot Mr. Skinner in the parking lot behind your building. It seems that Julia found a plastic skeleton in her mailbox earlier today, and Deputy Chief Walsh received one at his office as well.”
The news increased the twitching to such an extent that Maureen pressed one hand to the side of her face. She opened her mouth twice, as if preparing to speak, but nothing came out. After the second attempt, I offered to return the following afternoon if she preferred.
“No,” she said in a frail murmur. “We can talk now. Twenty-four hours won’t change anything.”
“Are you sure, Maureen? You had quite a shock the other day, finding Mr. Skinner just minutes after—”
“Please, Kate,” she said firmly. “Can we not talk about the poor man that was murdered?”
“Of course,” I said. “How about your husband?”
She lowered the hand from her face, gingerly picked up her cup and sipped the tea.
“To set the record straight,” she said after returning the cup to the saucer, “we were divorced many years ago. I haven’t seen Harris in ages.”
“Do you know where he’s living these days?”
She smirked. “I heard from someone that he’s in Florida. But why should I care? That man nearly ruined my life once, and it looks like he’s trying to do it again. Harris was responsible for the trouble I had with the police back then, him and those other two losers.”
“Harley Skinner and Roger Kovac?” I asked.
She nodded. “At first, they were nice enough. All three of them kept promising that they’d been rehabilitated behind bars.” She shook her head and laughed quietly, a nervous, jumpy sound devoid of cheer. “I was such a fool! I actually believed it was true, that they had left behind the criminal nonsense.”
I waited while she stopped to take more of her tea. As soon as she put down the cup again, I asked if she could tell me about her husband and their marriage.
“It was short,” she said, “but not very sweet. We were both really young. I didn’t have much confidence and thought Harris was a ticket out. He was handsome and seemed sophisticated, but I guess that was simply the delusions of a naïve young woman looking for a way to leave home.”
“How long were you married?” I asked.
“Five years,” she said with a smile. “Six months, two weeks and fourteen hours.”
“Not that anyone was counting, right?”
She smirked. “I started counting the second the police showed up at our apartment looking for Harris and me.”
“Is that when you were accused of embezzling from the company where you both worked?”
She nodded. “It was Helmsdale Heating & Cooling in Denver. I took care of appointments, paperwork, making deposits and whatever else Lonny Helmsdale asked me to do. Harris, Harley and Roger worked on the installation crew.”
“What can you tell me about the money that went missing?”
“You can see some of it if you ever meet Harley’s wife,” answered Maureen. “Fake boobs and a nose job.” She smiled and rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’m saying about being naïve, okay? I was completely clueless that those three were skimming from the petty cash and taking checks that some customers paid with.”
“They took checks?”
Maureen sighed. “Yes, they took them to the bank and signed them ‘Pay to the order of Harris Dixon,’” she explained. “Or Roger Kovac.”
“Not Harley Skinner?”
She laughed. “He didn’t even have a bank account. Otherwise, I’m sure they would’ve done that, too. In the end, it took Mr. Helmsdale a good year to figure it out. By then, they’d cheated the company out of fifteen grand.”
“And Helmsdale didn’t discover it for a year?”
She frowned and refilled her cup. I sipped my tea and listened while she continued the story about her ex-husband and his two comrades in crime. After Lonny Helmsdale discovered his employees had been robbing him blind, he called the police. They investigated and cast a wide net; Maureen was included in the initial arrest warrants because of her role with the company.
“Fortunately,” she concluded, “my parents hired a good attorney and I walked away without any problem. I truly had no idea what they were up to all those months.”
“But Mrs. Skinner did?”
“Beats me,” Maureen answered with a shrug. “I never talked to any of them again. I suppose it’s entirely possible that she was as clueless as me. When Harley came home with the money for her cosmetic surgery, he probably fed her some line of crap like Harris did.”
As she continued describing the long ago incidents, Maureen’s voice became gradually less robust. I didn’t know how much more she could tell me about the past, but it seemed like the most important subject was Harley Skinner’s murder outside her front door.
“Did you know that Harley was aware of where you lived?” I asked.
Maureen shook her head, but didn’t elaborate.
“And what about the man that shot him?” I said. “Did you happen to see him in the area as you drove home that night? He was wearing a leather jacket with a Guns N’ Roses logo on the back.”
“No, I’ve never seen her before in my life,” she said, sounding distracted and weary. When she realized what she’d just told me, her eyes flashed up to meet my gaze. “I mean, I never saw him or…” She smiled, faint and watery and weak. “…or her, for that matter,” she added. “Who told you the killer was a guy?”
I studied her face, watching the eye twitch as her lower lip shuddered faintly.
“Kate?” she asked anxiously. “Couldn’t it have been a woman? Maybe his wife?”
I shook my head. “There’s video of the parking lot,” I told her. “The police are nearly one-hundred percent certain that the person responsible for Harley Skinner’s death was a man.”
She lifted her tea again, sipping slowly and closing her eyes.
“Do you remember picking up the gun?” I asked.
“I was just so scared, Kate.” Her eyes flashed open an she managed another faint grin. “I watch a lot of TV late at night when I can’t sleep. I know you’re not supposed to touch anything at a crime scene, but I panicked. I guess that I was afraid he’d come back and shoot me, too.”
“I thought you told me that you didn’t see the killer,” I said.
She considered the comment before putting down her tea. She sat quietly for a few moments, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of her blouse.
“It’s like I told you,” she said eventually. “I didn’t see anyone else. I panicked. I picked up the gun.”
“Did you consider calling 911?”
“I could hear the sirens by then,” she answered. “I figured that someone else had done that already.”
“I see. And…what about Harris?” I said. “When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?”
She smiled again, but the new grin was bold and confident. “It’s been ages,” she said. “After all of the trauma of being caught up in his embezzlement scheme, I filed for divorce. After that, I moved back east for a few years before returning to Denver.”
“And you’ve had no contact since then?”
Instead of answering the question, Maureen got up from the sofa and gestured toward the front door.
“I hate to be rude,” she said. “But I’m feeling really exhausted by all of this. I think it’s time for me to call it a night.”
CHAPTER 19
During the drive back to Sky High Pies from Maureen Dixon’s ap
artment, I kept replaying her comments about Nana Reed in my mind. “She put it there just for you,” Maureen had said. “A little something special.”
Could it be true? Was it really possible that the newcomer to Crescent Creek could actually commune with the dead? Had my grandmother left something on the bottom of a desk drawer in the office? I’d never spent much time thinking about such things, but I was now deeply intrigued.
As I parked the car and headed for the back porch, I began to feel a delicate quiver down my spine. At first, I imagined it was from the cool night air, but then I realized it was the anticipation that Maureen Dixon had somehow received a message from my beloved grandmother.
“Snap out of it,” I muttered, unlocking the kitchen door. “You’re getting caught up in the moment.”
But when I reached the office and flicked on the light, the tingle down my back became even more intense.
“Okay, Nana Reed,” I said, sitting behind the desk and pulling out the middle drawer. “Here goes nothing.”
I held my breath, leaned forward in the chair and slowly reached beneath the desk.
Oh, my goodness.
I gasped faintly as my fingers touched something attached to the bottom of the drawer.
It feels like an envelope with…
My hand moved in slow and steady circles, touching the object and trying to get a sense for its size and density.
…an envelope with pieces of tape at each corner.
I slid the tips of my fingers along one edge, leveraging the nails into the gap between the packet and the wooden drawer.
And there’s definitely something inside, like folded sheets of paper or…
As my mind raced through a few possibilities about what the envelope might contain—recipes, a secret confession, money or maybe information about Sky High Pies—the phone on my desk suddenly rang.
“Holy crackers!” I shrieked, lurching back and hitting one knee on the drawer.
I stood up, reached for the phone and pressed it against my ear.
“Sky High…” It felt like my heart was going to burst from my body. “…Pies,” I gasped, trying to get a grip. “This is Kate Reed.”
“Katie?” It was Zack, sounding cheerful and relaxed. “What are you doing?”
I stuttered and tried to explain, but the words came out in a series of shaky squeaks. I sounded like an overexcited toddler demanding more Cheerios.
“Sweetie?”
“Um…” I gulped in another fresh breath. “Yeah…uh, hey! Sorry that I—”
“Did you forget about dinner?”
My mind skidded around a curve, looped back and forth and then arrived in the middle of a dim memory.
“Oh, shoot! I’m so sorry, handsome. I feel like a complete dork. I stopped for a quick chat with Maureen Dixon and got totally sidetracked.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Are you at home?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you mad?”
He laughed. “At you? Never! I was just concerned. I called your phone, like, a dozen times, but it kept going to voicemail.”
“I bet I forgot to turn the volume up after I left Maureen’s,” I explained. “I didn’t want it to interrupt our talk because she only had an hour.” I sat down again, put an elbow on the desk and cupped my chin with one trembling hand. “I feel so awful about this,” I said. “I can be there in less than ten minutes, babe.”
Zack’s warm laughter came over the line. “It’s fine, Katie. I figured you might be distracted. I ran into Jared and their three kids at the store. He gave me a quick rundown on Julia.”
“He told you about the skeleton?”
“And the note,” Zack added. “Plus, he told me that Trent received something similar.”
“On his desk,” I said. “But that’s no excuse for…” My voice cracked as knots of tension tightened at the base of my neck again. “I can be there in a flash,” I offered. “And I promise to do the speed limit.”
“Deal,” he said. “The last thing you need to worry about at this point is getting pulled over by the cops.”
After he assured me that I didn’t need to stop for any last-minute supplies, I started to get up from the chair. But a quick glance at the open desk drawer reminded me what I was doing when Zack called.
With another deep breath, I slid out of the chair and crouched on the floor for a better view of the envelope.
I smiled instantly when I saw my grandmother’s distinctive handwriting on the front of the packet. It read TO MY DARLING KATE. There were three lines under my name along with a small heart and a series of tiny characters: XOXOXO.
I carefully pried the discovery loose, pressed it to my chest and pictured my grandmother standing in the Sky High kitchen in one of her trademark blue aprons over a simple dress and black shoes.
I considered opening the envelope to peek inside, but decided to slip it into my purse and save it for later. Zack had already been keeping dinner warm for over an hour. I didn’t want him to wait even one minute more.
CHAPTER 20
By ten o’clock, I was flat on my back on Zack’s living room floor. We were watching House of Cards and finishing the bottle of cabernet that he’d picked up at Tipton’s. It had been the perfect accompaniment to the eggplant parmigiana that he’d prepared for dinner along with a simple green salad and slices of homemade ciabatta.
“Where’d you learn to bake bread?” I asked, rolling onto my side.
He glanced away from the screen. “My dad. His mother was an amazing chef. She made all of her kids learn to cook a few basic things so they wouldn’t starve as adults.”
I smiled. “There was nothing basic about that meal, sweet cheeks. If my eyes had been closed, I would’ve sworn we were in Italy.”
He inched his way across the open space between us and kissed my forehead.
“I’m game.”
“For what?”
“Italy,” Zack answered. “I’ve never been, but it’s definitely on my bucket list.”
I smiled at the reference. Since our relationship had deepened in the past few months from the initial flutter of keen attraction and mutual desire into something that promised to bloom into a lasting union of hearts and minds, we’d started sharing our most precious and private hopes, dreams and desires.
“Are you kidding?” I felt my heart swell to match the extra-large smile on my face. “I’ve always wanted to visit Italy, too! I mean, from the age of, I don’t know, maybe five or six.”
“That would’ve been cool back then,” Zack said with a wink, “but I think you’ll enjoy it much more as an adult.”
“No doubt. My parents probably would’ve frowned on a little five-year-old Kate drinking Chianti and flirting with the gondoliers in Venice.”
Zack sat up and reached for his wine. He took a long sip, put the glass on the coffee table and then rolled back toward me.
“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asked. “You flirting with the handsome Italian gondoliers and me all alone at the hotel?”
My hand shot out, poked his ribs and then we twined into a tight embrace. The television droned on as we kissed and pressed our bodies together. After a seemingly endless interlude, I heard someone on House of Cards say something about an envelope.
“Oh!” I blurted, pushing away from Zack and lunging for my purse. “You’re not going to believe what I found beneath my desk!”
He moved into a sitting position, his back against the sofa and his feet tucked under a blanket.
“What was it?” he said with a smirk. “Dust bunnies as big as jackalopes?”
“No,” I said, returning the silly grin with one of my own. “Because jackalopes aren’t real.”
When I produced the envelope and held it up so he could read the inscription, I felt my heart flutter in my chest as it did earlier in the Sky High office.
“Where was it?” asked Zack.
“Under the middle drawer,” I said. “Yo
u’ll never guess who told me it was there.”
He shook his head and waited.
“Maureen Dixon,” I said. “The psychic that Julia introduced me to.”
His forehead creased slightly as he shuffled through his short-term memory.
“Wait a sec,” he said. “She’s the woman that found the guy who’d been shot, right?”
I nodded. “I went to see her because I had a few questions,” I explained. “And, before you ask, Trent’s aware that I’m doing a little sleuthing into the plastic skeletons that have been popping up. I have a hunch that they’re connected somehow to the murder victim.”
When Zack gave me the familiar look—a roguish smile tinged with doubt and concern, I patted his thigh and promised to be careful.
“What’s inside?” he asked, pointing at the envelope.
I shrugged. “Want to find out?”
He smiled and waited quietly while I slowly slid one finger under the seal. It crinkled softly as the two pieces of paper separated. With one more quick glance at Zack, I lifted the flap, peered inside and saw a tiny blue barrette along with a folded sheet of pale green paper.
“Oh, this is too sweet,” I whispered, removing the items from the envelope.
Zack leaned closer for a better view. “A hair clip?”
I nodded. “It looks like one that I lost on the first day of kindergarten,” I said quietly as a vivid memory of that long ago morning filled my mind. “My mother and I had stopped at Sky High to see Nana Reed. I was such a basket case that day; excited about my new adventure, feeling like such a grownup and then terrified about leaving my mother’s side for the first time in my life.”
Zack made a sound deep in his throat. “I know the feeling,” he said. “I have it every time we say goodbye.”
“Oh, that’s…” I began, but he pressed one finger to his lips.
“Look at the note,” he said. “Your grandmother’s been waiting a long time for you to see what she had to tell you.”
After a few more deep breaths, I took the folded sheet of paper, opened it slowly and felt a surge of calm warmth as my eyes focused on the note my grandmother had written more than two decades earlier:
