by Mary Maxwell
He slipped the phone into his jacket without comment and explained that Trent had asked him to come by with an update on the Harley Skinner murder.
“Really?” I smiled. “That’s kind of you, detective. Thanks for taking the time.”
“You’re welcome, Katie. My wife also wants a mud pie for dessert tonight, so I’m going to take care of that after we talk.”
“Perfect! Julia and I made four of them this morning.”
His hand went back into the same pocket, retrieving a small notebook. He flipped the cover and a few pages before stopping.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, checking to make sure I was listening. “Roger Kovac’s nephew was seen with our victim a week before the murder. They were arguing with a woman in the parking lot behind Maureen Dixon’s apartment.”
“Do you know what the fight was about?”
Tyler shrugged. “According to our witnesses, it was about which one of them was going upstairs to confront Mrs. Dixon.”
“Seriously?”
He answered with a silent nod.
“Who’d you interview?” I hoped he might be willing to share the names of the witnesses, but figured Tyler’s response would be the usual deflection.
“If I told you that,” he said with a grin, “I’d be out of a job, Katie. And then my wife would tan my hide, our kids would go hungry and the—”
“Okay, okay,” I quipped. “It was worth a try.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” he said. “Just like all the other times. But we both know that divulging details about our witnesses could get me in hot water and compromise the investigation.”
“I absolutely understand.”
“Suffice to say,” he continued, “that a truly smart woman who once worked in Chicago as a private investigator…” His eyes crinkled with a shrewd smile. “…might be able to strike up a conversation with people who also live in the apartments above Dr. Bean’s dental office.”
“Thank you for the compliment, detective.”
“What compliment?” he asked, flipping the pages of his notebook. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Katie.” His eyes scanned a few lines of text scribbled in green ink. “Any chance you’ve been through Como lately?”
I flinched. “Possibly,” I answered, forcing the grimace into a neutral expression. “Why do you ask?”
“I was following a lead about Roger Kovac’s sister,” Tyler said, holding up the notes. “She told me about a visit she had from a woman asking questions about her brother’s infamous legend.”
I laughed at the way he described Roger Kovac’s tawdry criminal past. Then I filled him in on my conversation with Riley.
“Just checking,” Tyler said when I finished. “Trent told me that you’d been in touch with him after the fact. I sort of wanted to hear it directly from you since I’m driving down there again tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah? Do you think Riley wasn’t exactly forthcoming about her brother?”
Tyler shook his head. “Not at all. I think she told us everything she knows about Roger.”
“Then why the second interview?”
A broad smile appeared on the weary detective’s face. “Because,” he said, “Miss Kovac wasn’t quite one-hundred percent honest about her whereabouts last week on the night that her nephew and Harley Skinner were in the parking lot at Maureen Dixon’s place.”
“Where do you think she was?” I asked.
“Any guesses?” Tyler smiled. “Like I said already, a smart woman with experience as a PI might get it right on the first try.”
“No kidding,” I said.
Tyler shook his head, raised his right hand and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor,” he promised. “All of our witnesses identified the woman with Rance and Harley that night as Riley Kovac.”
“From what? Her high school yearbook photo?”
Tyler snickered. “No, Katie. From her mug shot. Mention the name around here and most people that remember the family think of the bank job that Roger allegedly pulled. But Riley was in and out of hot water when she lived in Idaho.”
“For what?”
“Nothing big time,” he answered. “Shoplifting, a couple arrests for public intoxication and one charge for simple battery that was dismissed. Probably her greatest claim to criminal fame was doing six months in county jail after being convicted for forging a thirty dollar check.”
I smiled at the amount. “Thirty dollars?”
“Yeah,” Tyler said with a smirk. “That happened concurrently with one of the intoxication charges. Riley told the arresting officer that she thought she’d made the check out for three grand instead of thirty bucks.”
“Lucky girl,” I said. “That would’ve been a felony instead of a misdemeanor.”
“Right, but I wouldn’t call her lucky.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Tyler said, putting away the notebook, “she had the misfortune of being born into the Kovac family. Between Roger, Riley, their brother and now the nephew, they’re continuing to make bad moves and even worse choices.”
“Including the murder of Harley Skinner?”
He nodded. “Including that,” he said. “Oh, and you’d asked Trent something about tape on the shooter’s boot?”
“Yes,” I answered. “He was going to look at the security camera footage again.”
Tyler shook his head. “We both did,” he said. “But there wasn’t any tape. The person that pulled the trigger was wearing cowboy boots with crosses stitched into the leather.”
The description caught me by surprise. I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Tyler beat me to the punch.
“You okay, Katie?”
I winced. “Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said, gripping the arms of the chair and pushing himself to his feet. “You suddenly look kind of pale.”
“I just wasn’t expecting that answer,” I said. “I really thought that Roger’s nephew was responsible for Harley Skinner’s murder, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Because of the boots?”
I nodded and explained why I no longer suspected that Rance Kovac had pulled the trigger that day in the parking lot behind Maureen Dixon’s apartment.
“Really?” Tyler said in disbelief. “That’s a pretty interesting scenario, Katie. But do you know of more evidence than grainy video footage and the fact that there was no duct tape on the boot.”
“Maybe a friendly interrogation would do the trick,” I suggested. “Or a search warrant when you drive down to Como.”
He shook his head and smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“What do you think?” I asked, following him toward the front door.
He held it open and smiled. “I think it’s time for me to buy that mud pie so I don’t forget and land in hot water myself tonight when I go home.”
CHAPTER 32
That afternoon at five, after delivering a last-minute special order for Mayor Washington, I sat in my car in the parking lot behind Maureen Dixon’s apartment. As I listened to the new Avett Brothers CD and watched the final patients of the day leave Dr. Bean’s dental office, I thought about the last time I surveilled someone’s residence. It was in Chicago, a few days before my employer and mentor was murdered. Rodney had originally been handling the case—the familiar scenario involving a scorned woman, her cheating mate and a shapely blonde—but he’d asked me to follow the two-faced husband and his mistress. I’d logged eight hours that night, slumped behind the wheel of my car as Mr. Devious and Miss 38-24-36 canoodled in the penthouse of a luxury high-rise on Erie Street.
I was thinking about the stakeout in Chicago when I saw a car swing into Maureen Dixon’s parking lot. It was a dark sedan with a Broncos sticker on the back bumper and one occupant: a woman that I recognized from Saturday mornings at Sky High Pies. She was a weekly regular, always arriving early with her elderly mother to sit in the front windows and share a stack of blueberry pancakes, an orange
-pecan scone and a slice of cherry pie. No matter how often Harper or I suggested something new, Mae Boyd and her vivacious mother always stuck to their standard order.
“Well, Katie!” Mae said as I opened my door and called her name. “What’s going on?”
I got out, locked the car and walked over to where she was parked. She was staring at a half dozen Food Town shopping bags in the trunk, smiling and shaking her head.
“How are you, Mae?”
She jeered at the baggage in her car. “Apparently, I’m delirious with hunger,” she said. “I stopped on the way home from work to buy a dozen eggs, some buttermilk and a couple of peaches. Now, I’m wondering why I bought enough to feed an army!”
“Want some help getting that upstairs?” I offered.
She waved one hand. “No, but thank you. I’m going to need all the exercise I can get. One of these bags contains a Toblerone bar with my name on it!”
“Hmmmm,” I murmured. “That sounds really good right about now.”
She playfully stepped between me and the car and held out both arms.
“Back away from my chocolate, missy! I’ve had one of the worst days on record, so I’m going to chow through that sweet treat all by myself!”
“Oh, no! Trouble at work?”
She smirked. “You got it! Freddy Krueger’s in rare form these days. I guess some big shot’s coming from the main office in Tulsa for an audit. Even though he knows everything’s fine, Freddy’s acting like it’s the end of the world.”
I nodded as she went on about Ted Kroeker’s agitated state at the office. While Mae recited a few of his choice remarks from daily staff meetings, I pictured him standing in front of the employees at Blaine Plastics, spouting one nonsensical fear after the next as his hands sliced through the air. Ted was a few years older, but I went to school with his sister. Even then, kids in town called him Freddy Krueger because of his extra-long fingers and penchant for wearing a striped sweater almost year-round.
“…and then there’s Dora,” Mae was saying when I blinked back into the moment. “She accused me of stealing her Lean Cuisine from the freezer in the employee kitchen.”
I smiled. “What kind was it?”
Mae scowled. “Mushroom ravioli!” She made a little snorting sound. “I mean, c’mon! Everybody in town knows that—”
“You hate mushrooms!”
“Exactly!” Mae exclaimed. “I think Dora’s just jealous that…” She suddenly stopped and squinted at me. “Wait a sec. I’m sorry, Katie. You don’t need to listen to me ramble on about Dora Johnson.”
“Well, I’m just sorry to hear that work’s so ugly right now,” I said.
She smiled. “Thanks. Once I get on the other side of that Toblerone bar, things won’t be quite so bad.”
We laughed and I offered to help her take the groceries inside again.
“No, that’s totally fine,” she said. “But I should get going. My mother’s coming by at six. We’re reviewing the itinerary for our trip to Toronto.”
“Oh, that’s nice! When are you going?”
“Next year,” Mae said with a giggle. “My mom’s kind of a planner.”
“Not a bad trait at all,” I said. “And I know you need to get inside, but do you mind if I ask a couple of quick questions?”
“About my mother?”
“Oh, no. It’s about that night last week when three people were arguing out here in the parking lot.”
I was vague with the comment, hoping that she was one of the witnesses that Tyler Armstrong had referenced earlier.
Her bright expression instantly darkened. “Don’t you mean three jerks?”
I shrugged, but kept quiet.
“They were so rude!” Mae went on. “I mean, the language and the cigarette smoke and the trash they threw on the ground!” She pursed her lips and grumbled. “Tell you the truth, I came really close to calling the cops.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Not after the skeleton and note that I found on my car the day after that man was killed out here,” she said.
I was so startled by what she’d told me that I asked her to repeat it. When she finished, I said, “Did you report this to the police?”
“What?”
“The skeleton,” I said.
Mae shook her head. “The note said not to. I probably shouldn’t have told you just now, so…” She shuddered and stepped closer. “Please don’t tell anyone, Katie. I guess you caught me at a relaxed moment, but I still shouldn’t talk about it.”
I smiled and touched her arm. “Mae? I totally understand, but you should know something.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not the only one,” I said. “Three other people in town have received skeletons, including Deputy Chief Walsh.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re joking,” she said. “Did they get notes, too?”
I nodded. “The other messages were about different things,” I explained. “But, long story short, the skeletons were meant to intimidate you and the other folks.”
She considered what I’d just told her for a few seconds. Then she asked if anyone knew who was behind the threats.
“Not for certain,” I answered. “But there’s a person of interest.”
She sighed. “Was it one of the people I saw fighting out here last week?”
I nodded.
“One of the guys?”
“Most likely,” I said. “But you never know. Until Trent and his team have a suspect in custody, there’s no way to be one-hundred percent certain.”
“Well, I have my suspicions,” she said. “The younger guy was the most vocal.”
“Can you describe him?”
I listened as she shared what she could recall about the incident. Between the color of hair, the height and personality, I guessed she was describing Rance Kovac.
“Do you know who he is?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“I’d never seen him before,” Mae added. “Is he new in town?”
I shook my head. “If it’s who I think it is, he lives down in Fairplay.”
She sighed again. “Well, that’s a relief. I mean, a tiny one, but a relief nonetheless.”
When she glanced at her watch, I knew it was time to go. I had more questions about the scene that she’d witnessed the previous week, but most of them would have to wait.
“Just one more thing?” I said as Mae began gathering the bags from her car trunk.
“Sure, Katie,” she agreed. “But then I really have to get this stuff inside.”
“Do you remember anything specific about their argument?” I asked. “Any details or phrases or particular subjects?”
She pointed up at the second floor of the building.
“It was all about Maureen,” she said. “The woman wanted to go up and talk to her alone, but the two guys kept insisting that they come along.”
“Any chance you caught their names?”
She shook her head. “I know that one of them was the man who was shot here the other day.” Her eyes slowly traveled across the black asphalt to the spot where the police had found Harley Skinner’s body. “The second guy was younger. You could tell from his face and the way he walked. You know what I mean? Kind of bouncing up on the balls of his feet with every step.”
“I know that walk well,” I said. “My brother still has a tendency to bounce rather than glide.”
A dark green SUV entered the lot, moving slowly as the driver honked and waved at Mae.
“That’s Brandon Sewell,” she said with a smile. “Just moved in last month.”
We both watched the man’s Jeep Cherokee slow and turn into a spot at the far end of the lot.
“Do you know him?” Mae added. “Has he been to Sky High yet?”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe that I’ve met him.”
“Me either,” she said, lowering her voice as the man got out of the SUV. “But I plan to at some point.”
>
I gestured at the bags of groceries in her trunk. “No time like the present, sister. Maybe he could give you a hand.”
She chuckled softly. “Or maybe I can wait until the tables are turned,” she said. “Show him how a strong, independent woman can help a guy carry his groceries upstairs.”
“I like it,” I said. “That impresses Zack whenever I—”
“Riley!” Mae suddenly blurted. “The woman that was here last week. That’s the name the younger guy used when they were arguing.”
I felt my inner PI make a checkmark on the virtual list of suppositions about the case.
“Thanks again, Mae,” I said as a tall, handsome man dressed in a dark suit came toward us. “And, with that, I think I’m going to get out of here so you can say hello to your new neighbor.”
CHAPTER 33
Trent frowned at me from behind his desk the following afternoon as I told him about my conversation with Mae Boyd.
“She didn’t initially tell us about the skeleton because of what?” he asked when I finished.
“The threatening note,” I explained. “After the encounter with the three strangers in the parking lot behind her building, she took it very seriously. Since the message attached to the plastic figure warned her not to talk to the police, she didn’t want to risk it.”
He dug through a half-filled bag of Funyuns. “Again?”
I nodded. “Yes. And that tells us that they knew—”
“I’m way ahead of you, Katie. Whoever sent the note was aware that we’d interviewed Mae after Harley Skinner was killed.”
“Does that mean there’s a leak in the department?”
He crunched through a handful of salty snacks. Then he blotted his lips with a crumpled brown paper napkin. And then he asked if I wanted any Funyuns.
I glowered at him silently and folded my arms across my chest.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered. “And, you know, I’m not even going to dignify your snarky question about our department. That’s just plain rude.”
“It happens,” I said. “People can make innocent remarks or say things accidentally that reveal details related to the cases they’re working on.”
