by Mary Maxwell
“Well, if your dad isn’t happy with this beauty,” I said, “I’ll talk some sense into him.”
Another laugh rolled from her mouth. “Maybe we can do it together,” Julia suggested. “After we watch him devour at least three slices of this cake during their party.”
While she began cleaning the counter around the finished masterpiece, I checked the white board on the wall.
“It looks like we’re in great shape for tomorrow!” I cheered. “Why don’t you take off early today?”
She shook her head. “I still have a few more things,” she said. “If you have somewhere to be, feel free to head out. I can get the kitchen finished and button up for the night.”
After my conversation the previous day with Detective Caldwell, I’d been thinking about Maureen Dixon. I had a hunch that I should ask her a few more questions to see if she might divulge something that would help Trent and his team at the CCPD crack the Harley Skinner murder. Adam Caldwell had told me that the FBI probably wasn’t thrilled that I was poking around, but I figured I could keep going until someone put the official kibosh on my efforts.
“Are you sure, Jules? You don’t mind if I leave early?”
She smiled. “Positive. Get out and enjoy the sunshine, Katie. They’re predicting rain for the next few days, so this may be your last chance to see blue sky.”
“I do actually have a couple of things to take care of,” I said. “Beginning with Maureen Dixon.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What now?”
“Did she happen to ask you anything about me?” I said. “Like, when you were at the séance or maybe one of the times you and she met for coffee?”
Julia took a deep breath, exhaling as she contemplated my question. “Well, you know, I guess so. We’ve talked about a lot of stuff since Annabelle introduced us a few weeks ago. Our childhood experiences, school, the first boy we fell in love with.”
“What about Sky High and Nana Reed?”
She smiled as soon as I finished the question. Then she started telling me about a recent afternoon with the psychic. She and Maureen had met for lunch on a Sunday when Jared took the kids to the movies. They discussed the peaks and valleys of their careers before Maureen started probing for background on my grandmother, Sky High Pies and my life in Crescent Creek. Julia didn’t think much of it at the time; each seemingly innocent query felt like a natural part of their conversation.
But now, after the strange circumstances involving the séance, Harley Skinner’s murder and the envelope I found under the desk drawer in my office, I suspected that Maureen’s casual chat was more like a mission to gather information that she could use to try and hoodwink me. I had a hunch that she wasn’t being exactly honest about her past or the séance. Since she was aware of my background as a PI and probably suspected that I might at some point look into her history, there was a chance her seemingly harmless curiosity about Sky High and my grandmother was far from innocent.
“Is that all?” I said when Julia finished.
She nodded. “I think so. Why are you asking about that, Katie?”
“I hadn’t mentioned this yet,” I began, “but Maureen told me that she’d communicated with my grandmother.”
Julia’s gaze widened. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “Maureen seemed totally believable, too. I mean, if you think it’s possible to commune with spirits, she was very convincing.”
“What did she tell you?”
I summarized my conversation with Maureen before describing the note that I found taped to the bottom of the drawer. As I finished, Julia’s cheeks grew bright pink.
“That’s so weird,” she said in a hushed voice. “When Maureen and I were talking on the phone a couple of weeks ago, I shared what you’d told me once—that your nana sometimes left notes in unusual places for you, Olivia and Brody. And I’m pretty sure that I mentioned a few things about your first day of kindergarten because we were comparing stories.” She paused and made a face. “I’m sorry, Katie. I feel totally awful. But…you know, if you don’t believe the note really was from your grandmother, then why do you think it was written by Maureen?”
I smiled. “I’m going with my gut instinct.”
Julia smiled. “About what?”
“Well, for one thing, my nana never used red ink to write notes or letters,” I said. “She was totally old school about things like that. ‘Red ink means you’re losing money,’ she would always tell me if I sat with her while she balanced the books. ‘It’s bad luck to use it for any purpose other than a loss on your spreadsheet.’”
“Okay,” Julia said, sounding skeptical. “If you think Maureen faked the note, when did she have an opportunity to hide it there?”
“Remember the day she came to see me?”
Julia raised one eyebrow, waiting for me to answer the rhetorical question.
“She was alone in the office for a few minutes while I met Trent at the door,” I explained. “That gave her ample time to tape the envelope underneath the desk.”
Julia scowled. “What a snake!” she fumed. “I wasn’t sure what to think when I went to the séance, but it sure seemed legit.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t possible,” I told Julia. “I’m just telling you that when it comes to my nana, Maureen’s full of dookie.”
CHAPTER 37
Maureen Dixon was in a pink chenille bathrobe and curlers that afternoon at four when she answered the door.
“Hi, Katie. I’m sorry to be in such a state, but I have a group coming tonight at seven.”
“Another séance?”
She snickered. “No, it’s my Scrabble club. We’re getting ready for the national championship, so everyone’s coming over to strategize.”
After she invited me into the living room and explained more about the group, I wondered if she used her allegedly psychic abilities to tip the scales in her favor. When she suddenly stopped and asked why I was smiling, I decided to come clean.
“Oh, heavens no!” she gushed. “I would never cheat at Scrabble! It’s my passion really. I can’t imagine swindling someone by reading their minds so I’d know what tiles they had or what word they were planning to play.”
I smiled and got comfortable on the sofa.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “Can you tell what’s on my mind right now?”
Maureen laughed. “Most definitely! You’re thinking about how hideous I look with only one eyelash glued on and these goofy curlers in my hair.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s actually something else.”
“Like what?”
“Well, to be honest,” I began, “the reason I wanted to see you was to follow-up about something I heard last night.”
She tilted her head slightly to one side and gave me a washed-out smile. I waited to see if she’d ask for more details, but she kept quiet.
“Someone mentioned that you’ve been telling folks that you communicated with Roger Kovac,” I said. “They also told me that his spirit gave you directions to the sixty thousand dollars that he purportedly took during the robbery of the Crescent Creek Bank.”
Maureen’s watery grin swelled to a dazzling smile. “That’s the most absurd thing that I’ve heard in my entire life. I haven’t seen Roger Kovac or anyone else in his family, dead or alive, for more than ten years.”
Although I knew the woman wasn’t telling the truth, the expression on her face was sincere and believable. Between what I’d learned about Maureen’s background and my limited exposure to her the other day at Sky High Pies, I’d decided that she was a master at deception. As I smiled to myself, thinking about how the trait probably came in handy in her line of work, I remembered what she’d told me about Nana Reed and the envelope hidden beneath the desk drawer.
“What’s so funny?” Maureen asked.
“Oh, I was just…” I shrugged and smiled. “It’s been a crazy couple of days. I was thinking about something disappointing that happened at work this morni
ng.”
I didn’t like to tell fibs, but it felt necessary. If I came right out and told the truth, she’d probably be up off the sofa with both hands around my neck before I could explain that her one fake eyelash looked exactly like the fringe along the bottom of Eula Gibson’s sofa.
“I know how that goes,” Maureen said. “I’ve had my life threatened. I’ve had my reputation questioned. And I’ve lost a few good friends over the rumors about some bank robber’s missing loot.”
I listened while she added a few more disappointments to her list of woes. Then I asked if we could just cut to the chase.
“Of course, Kate. That’s a good idea since I don’t have much time to chitchat.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth about the Kovac family?” I asked firmly.
Her posture stiffened and her eyes narrowed. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Riley and Rance Kovac came to see you last week,” I said. “They were with Harley Skinner.” A sly smile appeared on her face as she listened. “And, don’t get me wrong, Maureen. I understand being concerned about your safety when it comes to the Kovac family, but lying to the police and people who are trying to help you isn’t the best way to go.”
She tilted forward on the sofa. “Are you finished?”
I nodded.
“Well, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to,” she said, “but I’m not lying. In fact, the last time that I lied was at my fifth birthday party when I told everyone that Becky Sue Fisher had dragged her finger through the icing on the cake even though it was really me.”
I smiled at the confession. Then I asked Maureen why she insisted on falsely claiming that the Kovacs hadn’t been to her apartment the previous week.
“I didn’t talk to anyone from the Kovac family last week,” she said when I finished. “Because they sent Harley up to see me. And I will admit that Rance came here the other night, but I’d never met him before and he used a fake name when he contacted me on my website about the séance.”
I suddenly realized how she was stepping over the issue. But as I started to ask her more questions about Harley Skinner coming upstairs to confront her, I noticed two dark shapes draped over chairs in the kitchen.
One was a Colorado Rockies hoodie with white paint flecked along the waistband. The other was a leather jacket with the Guns N’ Roses logo on the back.
No wonder she’s being so evasive, I thought. She’s not alone in the apartment.
When I pulled my eyes away from the sweatshirt and jacket, Maureen was gesturing at the closed bedroom door in the distance with her other hand.
“I really should finish getting ready,” she said loudly. “It’s nice to see you again, Kate.”
As we stood and began walking toward the entryway, it seemed like time had slowed to a crawl. When we reached the door, Maureen leaned closer and put one hand on my arm.
“They barged in about a half hour ago,” she whispered. “They have guns and keep insisting that I have the money from the bank job.”
“Stay calm,” I said. “I’ll call the CCPD and let them—”
She squeezed my arm tightly. “No,” she hissed. “They’re maniacs! I really think they’ll kill me if the police get involved. I know what I’m doing, Kate. I promise you that everything will be fine if you just leave now so I can handle it.”
CHAPTER 38
My hands were shaking as I stood in the hallway outside Maureen Dixon’s apartment. I heard voices on the other side of the door, but couldn’t make out what they were saying until the conversation became heated.
“But everyone will know soon enough,” Maureen suddenly shouted. “And it’ll be your fault!”
“That’s just plain crazy!” a woman said.
I inched closer and held my breath, listening to see if I could recognize the second voice. Since I’d seen the paint-spattered hoodie that Rance Kovac was wearing at Café Fleur the night he argued with his uncle, I assumed he was in the apartment. And Maureen had seemingly confirmed that with her whispered comment. But hearing a woman’s voice made my mind cartwheel through the options. Was it Riley Kovac? Could Ryan’s wife possibly be in the apartment? How and why were they connected to—
“Katie?”
I jumped at the sound of my name and whirled around to find Mae Boyd at the far end of the corridor. The elevator doors were closing behind her and she was carrying a small potted plant.
“What’s going on?” Her voice was low and her eyes were tapered with curiosity. “Are they still fighting about money?”
I put one finger to my lips and moved toward her.
Mae frowned. “Did something happen with Maureen and her friends?” she whispered. “I heard them arguing when I left earlier.”
I leaned closer and nodded toward the nearest doorway.
“Can we go into your place?”
She smiled, but it was a jumble of doubt and concern.
“Is this some kind of—”
“Shhh!” I touched her elbow, prodding her gently down the hall. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you, okay?”
Her breathing quickened as we walked to her front door. She lived directly adjacent to Maureen, so we were inside within less than a minute.
“What’s going on?” she demanded once the door closed behind us. “You’re scaring me, Katie!”
The fear was evident. Her forehead was creased with worry and her entire body was quivering with fright. I watched as she wobbled over to a recliner and slowly perched on the edge of the seat. The potted plant was still in her hands, so I crossed the room, gently pried it from her fingers and placed it on the coffee table.
“What was that you said in the hallway?” I asked. “About money?”
She sighed loudly. “Huh?”
“You asked me if Maureen and her friends were arguing about money.”
I was waiting for her reply when something slammed against the wall in the next apartment. Mae jumped and both hands flew to her chest.
“See?” she said breathlessly. “That’s been going on for the past couple of hours; raised voices and doors slamming and things hitting the wall.”
“Did you call 911?”
Her lips dropped into a frown. “No way! I saw the guy she was with earlier.” She pointed at the front door. “Through the peephole. I heard stomping and cursing, so I wanted to see who was coming into the building. And he looked really terrifying. Like the Hulk or something, except he wasn’t green. And his shirt wasn’t all ripped and torn. But he was tall and his muscles were huge and Maureen was with him.”
“How old?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t get a good look at his face.”
“Could you hear what he was saying?”
“I already told you,” she said after taking a deep breath. “It was about money.”
“Was anyone else with them?”
She stopped and glanced at the door again. Then she told me that two other men and a woman had followed Maureen and the Hulk into her apartment.
“One of the men was smaller and shorter,” she said. “In a jacket or sweatshirt with a hood. And he was carrying a black duffel bag. I didn’t get a good look at the other two because my mother called. If I’d known what was going to happen next—you know, all the shouting and fighting—I would’ve ignored the call and kept my eye on the peephole.”
I opened my purse and pulled out my phone as more loud voices roared on the far side of the wall.
“I mean, when it started,” Mae continued, “I thought about knocking on the door and asking them to keep it down.”
I walked over and pressed my ear against the wall, straining to see if I could understand what was being discussed. Then I turned back to watch as Mae scrambled into the kitchen.
“I need some water,” she called. “Tension makes me thirsty!”
“While you do that,” I said, “I’m going to call Trent Walsh and give him a head’s up.”
As I dialed
the phone, she wandered back into the room with a bottle of water and returned to where she’d been sitting.
“My sister’s coming over in a bit,” she said quietly. “Should I tell her not to?”
I held up one hand as the call connected.
“Hey, Katie,” Trent said. “What’s up?”
“I’m next door to Maureen Dixon’s,” I said. “I think you need to send somebody over to check on her.”
“Why?”
“Some other people are in her apartment,” I explained. “They’re arguing loudly and throwing things. I suspect one of them might be Rance Kovac. I saw the hoodie that he was wearing at Café Fleur, and Maureen whispered to me as I left that he’d threatened to kill her.”
Trent’s sigh was noisy and enduring. When it ended, he asked if I’d been drinking.
“I’m not even going to respond to that,” I said in a cold, forceful tone. “This isn’t a joke. Something’s very wrong in there.”
When Trent didn’t say anything, I pressed the phone closer to my ear and listened carefully. He was on another phone with dispatch, asking for a patrol car to be sent to the address at the intersection of Roosevelt and Gilpin.
When he said my name again a moment later, his attitude had shifted back to its usual businesslike pitch.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “My stomach’s been acting up and my head’s pounding like a brass band is going through.”
“And a car’s on the way?”
“Yes,” he said. “Stephen Castle and Max Breen will be there in less than five.”
“Thanks, Trent. I don’t know what’s happening over at Maureen’s place, but my gut is telling me it isn’t going to end well for everyone who—”
A muffled gunshot exploded on the far side of the wall. Mae screamed and threw herself to the floor. I scrambled down between the sofa and the coffee table.
“Katie?” Trent barked. “What’s going on?”
