by Mary Maxwell
I matched her smile with one of my own. “That would be much appreciated,” I said reaching into my purse for a business card. “Please tell her that Kate Reed from Crescent Creek came by to ask a couple of questions about Roger Kovac.”
At the mention of the name, the cautious grin on her face disappeared and the rifle tilted upward.
“Do you think that they want to talk with somebody they don’t know?” Her voice was flat and dry. “Especially about Roger?”
“That’s what I hope,” I answered. “It’s related to the sixty grand he supposedly withdrew from the Crescent Creek Bank.”
The gun barrel lifted again.
“Sixty grand sounds nice,” she said slowly. “But so does winning the Powerball.”
I shrugged. “What’s it up to?”
“Two-hundred and forty million,” she answered.
“You can buy a lot of everything with that kind of money,” I said.
I could barely believe it when she laughed and the taut grimace slipped into a wide, warm smile.
“You’ve got a good point,” the woman said, lowering the gun. “And I’ve got an idea.”
“What’s that?”
She gestured at the front door with one hand.
“Why don’t we go inside and have something to drink? I’d love to hear what lies somebody told you about my big brother.”
CHAPTER 26
Her name was Riley Kovac. She was the middle child of the family, six years younger than Roger and three years older than Ryan. After she poured two cups of coffee, we settled down on opposite sides of a small table in the cluttered kitchen. I listened as she explained why her name rarely came up when people discussed the saga of her mischievous brothers.
“I was extra shy when I was younger,” she said in a voice as light as air. “We were living in Crescent Creek then—me, my parents and the boys. Since they were always getting into trouble, nobody mentioned me all that much. And I left there when I was eighteen, so…” She paused, frowning slightly. “What was the name of your family’s place again?”
“Sky High Pies,” I said. “My grandmother started it way before I was born.”
Her expression brightened and she apologized for not having any memories of Nana Reed, my parents or our family enterprise.
“That’s understandable,” I said. “You lived there a long time ago.”
She rocked in her chair and tugged at the edge of a faded blue placemat.
“Yeah, it really was. So much has happened since then, too. Some good, some bad.” She stopped moving and her fingers smoothed the curled edges of the crinkled blue mat. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if magic wands were real? And you could just wave them and make everything go back to the way it used to be?”
The idea made me laugh. “And imagine if you owned the patent on the wands? You’d be set for life!”
She smiled, but it was wistful and sad and brief.
“Why the gun?” I asked.
Riley drizzled some cream into her coffee, stirred it slowly and tapped the spoon on the side of her cup. The muted metallic clang echoed through the empty cabin.
“We’ve been having some family trouble lately,” she said after tasting the coffee. “And, like my daddy always taught me, better safe than sorry.”
“What kind of trouble?” I said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t see that as your business.”
“Of course, but something happened in Crescent Creek this week. I know it might sound hard to believe, but it involves your brother.”
“Roger or Ryan?”
“Well, I suppose it actually involves both,” I answered. “It’s about the robbery of the—”
“They weren’t responsible,” she said in a somber tone. “Now, if you want to discuss something that actually happened, I’ll be glad to chat. But if you’re here chasing a pack of lies from way back then, I’m afraid that you’ll be disappointed.”
The eruption faded into an uncomfortable silence. We both drank some coffee and exchanged edgy smiles. Then I asked if she would be willing to explain why she thought her brothers weren’t involved in the robbery.
She heaved a sigh. “Because they were in Denver that day,” she said. “Helping me move into a new apartment.”
“You lived in Denver after Crescent Creek?”
She nodded. “For a few years. Then I met a guy and we went up to Coeur d’Alene, but Idaho didn’t work out.”
“Is that when you came to Como?”
She smiled. “That’s when we came to Como, yeah.”
“Your husband?”
“My boyfriend. We never got married. And, let me tell you, that was a blessing. I’m not sure what happened to him, but Woody wasn’t the same when we moved back to Colorado. I don’t know if it was his ego getting bruised when we lost our shirt in Coeur d’Alene or if he was just too weak to resist the feminine mystique of Belinda Camp.” She snickered lightly at the memory. “Either way, I found the two of them in the back of her Jeep one night, doing contortions with their arms and legs that would make the people in Cirque du Soleil jealous.”
I smiled at the way she described her boyfriend’s unfaithfulness.
“After that, Woody and I split, Belinda and her husband got divorced and I went out and found Big Winnie.”
I didn’t know who she was talking about, so I asked. She responded with a boisterous laugh before pointing across the room at the rifle propped beside the door.
“That’s Big Winnie,” she said. “My Winchester Model 1894. She and I make a good team, considering that we’re two single women living way out here in Nowheresville with Jena and Ryan until we get both feet on the ground.”
“Sounds like a perfect match,” I said.
Riley shrugged. “For now,” she agreed. “What with my nephew acting out and coming by all wild-eyed and ranting, me and Winnie take care of each other.”
“What’s going on with your nephew?”
She smiled. “That’s private stuff.”
“I’ll respect that. No matter who you’re talking about, every family has ghosts in the past and secrets in the cupboard.”
She rolled her eyes. “If that’s true, my family’s cupboard would be the size of an airplane hangar. I mean, all the invented stories about Roger and Ryan and that bank heist. Plus, the embezzlement nonsense a couple of years later, which that fake psychic actually did before framing my brother and a couple of his friends.”
I held up one hand. “Hold on. Are you talking about Maureen Dixon?”
She sneered. “That’s what I’d call her in polite company.”
“You think she’s the one that actually took the money from the heating and cooling company.”
Riley’s head tilted and her eyes widened. “How on earth do you know about that?”
“Long story,” I said. “But I heard the exact opposite. Someone told me that Roger and two other employees, including Maureen’s husband and a guy named Harley Skinner, stole the money from the company they all worked for.”
She smirked at the claim. “Nonsense! My brother found a copy of the woman’s diary back then. She actually kept notes about how much she’d taken out of the company’s safe and petty cash. I’m not sure how she pulled it off, but she faked a bunch of job invoices to make it look like customers had paid their bills in full when she was actually taking some of that money, too.”
I nodded and made a mental note to call Trent’s friend in Denver, Detective Adam Caldwell. If he either remembered the Helmsdale embezzlement case or would be willing to dig into the files, it might be helpful to sift through the conflicting versions of the story that I’d heard from Riley Kovac and Maureen Dixon. While I was thinking about the differences between the accounts, Riley stood up and headed toward the coffee maker.
“How about another cup?”
“Oh, I’m fine, but thanks. I should probably get started on my drive back home.”
She smiled.
“It’ll be dusk soon, so that’s probably a good idea.”
“You mentioned something about Maureen’s diary?” I said.
Her eyes fluttered as she frowned. “Did I?”
“Yes, you said that your brother found a copy of it,” I said. “Do you know where it is now?”
She shook her head. “That’s private, too. I really don’t think there’s much more I can tell you about any of that.”
I finished the last of my coffee and walked the cup to the sink.
“I appreciate the hospitality,” I said. “And I’m really glad that you and Big Winnie didn’t turn me into Swiss cheese when I first got here.”
Riley chuckled. “She’s mostly for show, especially when Rance wanders by.”
“Hey, speaking of your nephew,” I said. “Do you have an address for him?”
The faint smile on her face shuddered before slipping away.
“I do not,” she said. “And I hope never to have it again. That boy’s nothing but trouble.”
I could tell there was no point in pursuing the topic, so I grabbed my purse, thanked her again for the coffee and crossed the room. As I neared the front door, the white plastic figure in the window caught my eye.
“What’s up with dem dry bones?” I said with a subtle nod.
Riley blinked. “The what?”
“Skeleton,” I said, pointing across the room. “The one decorating the front window.”
She studied the small white figure for a few seconds.
“My nephew gave that to me,” she explained. “He found a box of them somewhere. He’s been passing them out to friends and family as a kind of joke.”
“I don’t follow,” I said.
She took a few steps closer to the front door. “My oldest brother’s childhood nickname was Bones,” Riley explained. “Rance found the box of skeletons on Roger’s birthday a couple months back, so he took it as some kind of sign. I guess he thinks, like, his uncle is watching over him or something.”
She opened the door and waited until I’d stepped outside.
“Do you have any idea where I can find your nephew?” I asked.
Her eyes shifted down and to the left, landing on a dark stain in the concrete porch.
“I haven’t seen Rance in weeks,” she said. “He’s like the wind; comes and goes from all different directions, but you never know when or why.”
I frowned. “I thought you said he gave you that skeleton recently.”
She considered the comment for a few seconds, her teeth pinching the inside of one cheek.
“Did I say that?” she said finally. “I guess that I misspoke. What I meant was Rance sent it to me. Like, through the mail.”
The explanation was reasonable, but the evasive tone in her voice and the lack of eye contact sent red flares of suspicion high overhead.
CHAPTER 27
“This is Adam Caldwell.”
The voice on the phone was tinged with a faint Southern accent. After pulling into a gas station in Breckenridge on the way home from Como, I’d decided to call Trent’s friend to ask for information about Roger Kovac and Maureen Dixon.
“Detective? This is Kate Reed. How are you?”
Adam and Trent had been friends for years. When I was helping my neighbor untangle a situation involving her brother a few months earlier, Adam had been exceptionally helpful.
“Kate!” His enthusiastic response made me smile. “What’s new in Crescent Creek?”
“Oh, you know,” I answered. “Pies, pies and more pies. Maybe a couple of cakes and scones thrown in for good measure.”
He laughed. “I talked to Trent a couple of weeks ago. He said business has been rockin’ at your place.”
“It’s been incredible,” I said. “How are things in Denver?”
“No pies,” he said. “And no cakes. But I’m holding my own.”
“That’s good to hear, Detective Caldwell.”
“Adam,” he said. “Remember what I told you the last time I came in with Trent?”
“Okay, sure. And so…um, Adam? I was wondering if you could do me a little favor.”
“That depends, Kate.”
“On?”
He laughed again. “What do you need?”
“I’m trying to get some background on a guy called Roger Kovac and a woman named Maureen Dixon,” I explained. “They both once worked for a heating and cooling company called Helmsdale. About ten or eleven years ago, Kovac and two other employees were arrested and convicted of embezzlement after the owner of the company discovered that they’d been stealing from him.”
“What were the names again?”
“Roger Kovac,” I said. “And Maureen Dixon.”
“And the company?”
“Helmsdale Heating & Cooling,” I answered, checking the notes on a pad that I’d brought from home. “It’s on Hampden Avenue near Kennedy Golf Course.”
“Okay, but…” He hesitated; tendrils of worry tightened around my heart. Don’t say you’re too busy or— “It might take me a couple of days to get back to you,” he added. “Will that work?”
The wisps of concern loosened as he repeated the names that I’d provided and asked what I wanted to know.
“As much as possible,” I said. “I’ve heard two different accounts of the situation so far, and they both differ significantly.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Roger Kovac’s sister,” I answered. “She claimed that her brother was innocent. The other source was Maureen Dixon. She was certain that Roger Kovac and his buddies were responsible for taking the money.”
“And what do you think?” Adam asked. “What’s your gut telling you?”
I smiled. “That it’s time for a bite to eat,” I joked. “Actually, I can’t really answer that yet. The two versions of the story were equally compelling, but there are reasons both of them could have been less than truthful.”
“Less than truthful?” he said in a flat tone. “Meaning whoever told you the two versions possibly lied?”
“Lied or fudged the facts to suit their own agendas.”
Caldwell sighed. “Such is life, Kate. I learned long ago that criminals and their associates tend to fudge more than the facts.”
CHAPTER 28
I didn’t hear Harper until she was standing right beside me at the back counter in the Sky High kitchen. It was around eight o’clock the next morning, and I was focused on frosting three dozen red velvet cupcakes for Pia Lincoln’s special order. A local caterer with a loyal following, Pia used Sky High goodies on a weekly basis for her clients in town and across the region.
“Katie?”
I jumped at the sound of Harper’s voice.
“Sorry,” she said calmly. “Homer Figg’s in the dining room. He wanted to know if you had a second to stop by his table.”
I gave her a quick nod, told her that I’d be out in a jiffy and finished the last few cupcakes.
“Did she say Homer Figg?” Julia called from the stove where she was carefully adding shredded cheddar to an omelet in a sauté pan.
“She did. I stopped to see him the other day, so maybe he’s got some follow-up info for me.”
“About Maureen Dixon’s case?”
“That’s the one,” I answered. “Blanche is out of town, so I thought Homer might know how to get some background information on a couple of people related to the situation.”
I walked over and watched as she artfully layered sliced avocado on top of the melting cheese. Then she took a spatula, flicked it around the edge of the pan and folded the eggs into a fluffy, golden work of art.
“Can you hand me a platter from the stack over there?” Julia asked, bobbing her head at the center island.
“For an omelet?” I said. “Don’t we usually put them on dinner plates?”
She smiled. “Tiberius Grant.”
“Oh, gotcha.” I reached over, plucked one gleaming white platter from the stack and placed it on the count
er near where she was working. “I love Tiberius. He knows what he likes and he’s not afraid to ask for it.”
Julia shrugged. “He is particular,” she agreed. “Omelet on a platter, toast in a bowl, coffee in a juice glass. My mother used to call that being a fussbudget.”
“That’s one word for it,” I said. “But when you’ve served your country overseas for as many years as Tiberius, you’re entitled to having your food in whatever dish you like.”
We shared a silent moment of appreciation for one of our favorite wounded warriors. During his last trip abroad, Tiberius had been gravely injured by a roadside explosion. After nearly a year in a military hospital in Germany, he’d returned to Crescent Creek with screws and metal plates in both legs and the leash of a beautiful Labrador in one hand.
I was also glad to hear that her sense of humor was returning to normal after the unsettling experience with the plastic skeleton and threatening note. She’d felt better after talking to Tyler Armstrong, and I’d discussed it with her a couple of times to help alleviate her fears. Although Harley Skinner’s killer had yet to be arrested, I’d told Julia that it was only a matter of time before the case was solved. “In the meantime,” I’d added, “we’ll watch one another’s backs, okay?”
I watched as she transferred the omelet from the pan to the platter. It looked as flawless and mouthwatering as every other breakfast item she’d made that morning for our steady stream of customers.
“Do you want me to chop up some ham and toast for Brick?” I offered. “Or is our canine buddy having something different today?”
Julia smiled. “Tiberius said Brick’s in an oatmeal phase at the moment,” she explained, pointing her spatula at the pass window. “I’ve got a bowl cooling right up there.”
“Perfect! Do you mind if I go out and say hello to Homer?”
“Knock yourself out,” Julia said, sharing one of her dazzling smiles. “Things are slowing down nicely, so I can handle it for now.”
After fixing a cup of coffee for myself, I twirled through the swinging door into the dining room. Homer Figg was sitting at a table against the wall, enjoying a cinnamon roll and reading the Crescent Creek Gazette. I looked for Tiberius and Brick. They were near the front windows. The muscular yellow Lab was at his master’s feet under the table, waiting patiently for his breakfast. When Tiberius looked up, I gave him a quick wave and walked over to see Homer.
