by Mary Maxwell
“That looks relaxing, Katie.”
It was Trent, followed closely by Tyler Armstrong.
“Hey, guys.” I motioned at the other five empty chairs. “There’s plenty of room if you want to join me.”
Tyler made his way over and sat down to my left. Trent opted for a spot against the banister, crossing both arms over his chest and grinning like a well-fed cat.
“We wanted to thank you,” he said. “If you hadn’t stopped by to see Maureen the other day, Roger Kovac might still be in the wind.”
“What’s the latest?” I asked.
Trent deflected to Detective Armstrong with a silent nod.
“We obviously can’t tell you every nitty-gritty detail, Katie,” Tyler began. “But Maureen’s been very cooperative since we arrested her for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
“Are you talking about Roger?” I asked.
Tyler shook his head. “Anton Rigby. Maureen signed the lease on a rental house Anton was using on the outskirts of town. He jumped bail in Tucson about six months ago. Some kind of assault charge that also involved stolen cars and a chop shop in Flagstaff.”
“Busy guy,” Trent muttered. “Lucky for us, he’d heard that Roger Kovac was back in circulation.”
I raised one hand. “Wait a sec. Anton Rigby? How did he get in the mix?”
Tyler smiled. “One bad decision led to the next,” he said. “The other day when you saw three guys leaving Maureen’s and you thought it was Roger and Ryan along with the younger Kovac?”
I nodded.
“Well, Rance wasn’t in Crescent Creek that day,” Tyler continued. “His dad was wearing the Rockies hoodie that you saw. And the third guy at Maureen’s was Anton Rigby. After we stopped the pickup and took them in for questioning, we learned that Anton had been arrested in Arizona and skipped out on bail when he heard Kovac was on the way back to Colorado. He figured it might be his last shot at collecting some of the money taken during the bank job.”
“That’s a nice coincidence,” I said. “For everybody except Anton Rigby.”
Trent smiled. “Tyler? You want to give Katie the thirty-second version? We can always fill in some of the blanks later.”
I kept my gaze on Tyler as he unrolled the rest of the story. One of Anton Rigby’s Flagstaff buddies had a pal in Philadelphia who happened to run into Roger Kovac in a bar. After they got to talking and realized that they both knew Rigby, Kovac slipped up and hinted that he was returning to Denver to get the rest of the sixty grand that he’d boosted from a bank.
“Was the money in Denver?” I asked.
Trent glared at me. “Do you know what patience is, Katie?” He smiled. “It’s a virtue.”
I didn’t bother to respond because Tyler continued the story as Trent went back to nodding silently.
“Anton called both Riley and Harley, who’s been living up in Boulder,” Tyler explained. “And Riley told her nephew before they all showed up here in town to get the cash from Maureen. I guess she pretended that it was news to her, although she did agree to help Anton find a place to lay low.”
“But did Maureen have the money all along?” I asked.
“From what we’ve been able to piece together so far,” Trent said, “Roger did go to Mexico after the bank heist. But then came back, got the job at the heating and cooling company and ended up in the slammer for embezzlement. I guess love is blind, because he never blamed Maureen for the stunt she pulled at the time. And then, after he got out of Leavenworth a couple of years ago, he and Maureen would rendezvous every so often to carry on the affair that they started before he went to prison. At some point, they made it legal and got married.”
“Wait a sec,” I said. “Wasn’t Maureen married to Harris when they all worked together?”
Trent nodded. “She and Harris were married. Roger was with his second wife. And Harley Skinner was diddling some cocktail waitress he met in Vegas.”
“How lovely for them,” I said with a smirk. “Even though they were both married to other people back then, Maureen and Roger started carrying on?”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” Trent said. “I know of a couple more colorful descriptions for what they were doing.”
I cringed. “That’s okay. I’ve got the picture. But I also have a few more questions.”
Trent looked at Tyler. “Doesn’t she always?” he joked.
“What else did you want to know?” Tyler said, ignoring Trent’s remark.
“Riley told me that her brothers couldn’t have pulled the bank job because they were—”
“Helping her move to a new apartment?” Tyler said, finishing my thought. “She told us the same thing.”
“But that was a lie, too?”
Tyler’s eyes twinkled with a smile. “One of many,” he said. “The day that Roger, Anton and Harley robbed the bank, Riley and her boyfriend had already left for Idaho. Ryan Kovac was with his wife and new baby. And Roger was busy holding up the bank and taking the haul up into the mountains.”
“So he did bury it?”
Trent checked his watch. “We’ll have to roll here in a few,” he said to Tyler. “Sorry, Katie,” he added, giving me a wink. “Some of us work for a living.”
I scowled. “And you don’t think I do?”
He shook his head. “Just teasing.”
“Well, don’t,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just tired as a dog after being up all night again with those fools.”
“You asked if they buried the sixty grand?” Tyler said.
“Yes,” I answered. “Is that what happened?”
“It was,” Tyler said. “Maureen Dixon knew a couple from Gunnison who owned a cabin not far from here. After Roger, Anton and Harley got away from the bank, the plan was to bury the money behind the cabin, leave the area for a few months and then come back to get the cash.”
“But…” I could tell there was more. “Did something happen to it?”
Trent grunted. “Not something,” he said. “Someone.”
“Someone by the name of Maureen Dixon,” Tyler said. “She and Roger had decided to two-time the other guys. After Roger told her the money was in the ground, she waited a month or so. Then she drove over from Denver, dug it up and took it to a storage locker down in Colorado Springs.”
I laughed. “Don’t you love the loyalty between these jokers?”
“Yeah,” Trent said, pushing away from the banister. “It lasts for about five seconds and then somebody’s trying to mess with somebody else.” He jabbed toward the front steps with one thumb. “You ready, detective?”
As Tyler got up from where he’d been sitting, I asked them to wait for another minute or two.
“Who do you think killed Harley Skinner?” I asked.
Tyler dropped his chin and tilted his head, giving me a bemused grin. “Are you kidding, Katie?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t heard a peep in the past two days.”
“But you gave us a huge clue,” Tyler said. “Don’t you remember?”
“The cowboy boots?” I asked, suddenly realizing what he might be talking about.
Tyler smiled. “Yep. You asked if the shooter was wearing boots with duct tape around one toe because you thought it might be Rance Kovac.”
“But they were cowboy boots,” I said. “With crosses stitched in them. Just like the ones Riley Kovac was wearing when I met her in Como.”
Trent’s phone rang, but he ignored it. “Apparently,” he said, “those are her favorite kind. When we went in with a search warrant, we found four identical pairs in the house and another three in the trunk of her car.”
“Our techs found blood spatter on one of the pairs that we recovered from the Camry,” Tyler added. “It was a match for Harley Skinner. We’re guessing that he and Riley got into an argument about some aspect of their twisted web before she gunned him down. I’m sure all of that will be explained soon enough.”
Trent shuffled down the porch toward the stairs. “Always a pleasure, Katie,” he called over his shoulder. “C’mon, Armstrong. Let’s roll.”
I followed them down the steps onto the stone walkway that led to the front drive.
“How did the others find out that Maureen and Roger hoodwinked them about the bank haul?” I asked.
“Because they’ve got a crystal ball,” Trent joked. “In the form of a classified ad that Maureen has been running in Westword for her fortune teller business. At some point, Riley and Ryan heard rumors about their brother’s dishonesty. Roger had told them years ago that the money had been stolen from where he’d buried it during the time he was in Mexico. I suspect that Rance was sent in to pose as a customer at the séance that Julia went to because Maureen had never met him before. They probably figured he’d ask her to contact the dead bank robber and she would either run screaming from the room or surrender and tell him where he could find the cash from the heist. In the end, it didn’t go as planned, so the next step was threatening notes and silly plastic skeletons.”
“Ah, so all of the dots connect back here,” I said.
“‘Toe bone connected to the foot bone,’” Trent quipped with a mischievous snicker. “‘Foot bone connected to the heel bone.’”
“Okay, speaking of bones,” I said. “Who was responsible for the skeletons and threatening notes?”
“Do you feel like guessing?” asked Tyler.
“Riley Kovac?” I said.
He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Roger’s sister. Try again?”
I heaved a sigh. “Just tell me,” I said. “I’m tired of chasing the Kovac clan.”
“You’re gonna love this, Katie,” Trent said, raising one eyebrow.
“It was the kid and his dad,” Tyler said. “Roger’s nephew and brother.”
“Rance and Ryan?”
“Yep.” Tyler’s smile was wide and exultant. “We got Rance in a room, asked him a few questions and he just confessed to making the threats.”
Trent snorted. “Okay,” he said. “Here comes the kicker!”
I frowned. “What kicker?”
Tyler shook his head. “Rance claimed full credit for the threats because he was covering for his dad.”
“How’d you get that out of the nephew?”
“We didn’t,” Trent said jangling his car keys at Tyler. “Because we had his dad in another room and Ryan’s story completely contradicted his son’s. They both confessed separately to making the threats.”
“Plus,” Tyler added, “we found two boxes of identical skeletons in a storage locker that Ryan and Rance keep in Fairplay.”
“How did you learn about that?” I asked.
“Tip,” Tyler said. “A woman down there had somehow heard that we were looking at Rance as a suspect in Harley’s murder. She called in and talked to the desk sergeant a couple of days ago. I drove down to interview her and checked out the locker.”
“That’s a lucky break,” I said.
“Not for Ryan or Rance,” Trent agreed. “The woman that called also told us Ryan had been in Fairplay the day after Harley was shot. He left a package at their house and told both of them not to touch it. Care to guess what it contained?”
I shook my head. “Just tell me.”
“Revolver,” Trent said. “The one used to shoot Harley Skinner.”
“Which means Ryan was trying to protect his sister,” Tyler said.
“Is the woman that called in the tip also known as Rance’s girlfriend?”
“Yep,” Trent said. “And the mother of his baby.”
The pieces suddenly clicked into place. When I’d visited the bagel shop in Fairplay, Rance had explained that he was working more hours than usual because the manager was on maternity leave. His eyes had twinkled that afternoon, but I’d guessed that it was because he was excited about the extra cash he was earning. Now, hearing the story from Tyler and Trent, I realized the gleam in his baby blues was because he was the proud father of a newborn child.
“What are you smirking about?” Trent muttered.
My smile expanded even more. “Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking about how the best laid plans can be undermined if you add enough greed and ignorance to the pot.”
“No doubt,” Trent said.
As they walked toward the car, I told them I had two final questions.
Tyler smiled. “What’s that?”
“They’re actually for Maureen,” I said. “First of all, can you ask how she learned to write like my grandmother?”
Trent frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure that Maureen forged a note and claimed it was written by my grandmother years ago. My theory is that she took pictures of the framed recipe cards in the Sky High entrance hall; that would’ve given her enough to recreate Nana Reed’s handwriting.”
“Okay,” Tyler said. “I can ask her tomorrow. What was the other thing?”
“Ask her why she came to talk to me in the first place,” I said. “After everything that happened, it seems kind of foolish.”
“Do you mean when she received the skeleton and threatening note?” Trent asked.
I nodded.
Tyler smiled. “That was actually genuine, Katie,” he said. “She really was frightened.”
“But it was her husband’s nephew,” I said.
Trent shook his head. “At that point,” he explained, “Maureen still didn’t know who Rance was. She only learned that after Harley was killed. With Roger bouncing around the country after he got out of Leavenworth, I guess he and Maureen didn’t spend a whole lot of time talking about their family trees when they met for long weekends or he snuck into town to see her.”
“Ah, okay,” I said. “I suppose that’s understandable when you consider just how dysfunctional the Kovac family seems to be.”
Trent opened his car door and climbed inside.
“Well, whatever you call them,” he said, starting the engine, “the Kovacs deserve one another. They’re all involved in one big smelly swamp of crime and deception and sibling rivalries.”
“Aren’t you glad your family isn’t like that?” I asked.
Trent laughed. “I thank my lucky stars every day, Katie. For my family and for good friends like you.”
I rolled my eyes as Tyler got in on the passenger side.
“Have a good day,” I said with a wave. “Thanks for coming by to fill me in.”
CHAPTER 43
“Miss Reed?”
I looked up from the bank statement that I’d been scrutinizing in the Sky High office. It was a few days after the episode at Maureen Dixon’s, and I was catching up with some paperwork and correspondence. After staring at row after row after row of teeny, tiny numbers for the past hour, it took my eyes a few seconds to focus. When they adjusted, I saw Patsy Sprague standing in the doorway. She was holding a beige paperboard box that had a slogan printed on the side in dark ink: Nothing’s Sweeter than Sweetie’s Pies!
“Hi, Patsy!” I jumped up, hurried around the desk and lifted a carton of order pads from one of the guest chairs. “Please come and have a seat.”
She hesitated in the hall, a fitful grin on her face and a cautious look in her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind that I just barged in,” she said, finally stepping into the office. “I wanted to apologize for all that mess the other day.”
I waited until she was seated before going back behind my desk.
“All what mess?” I asked.
The uneasy grin returned. “Oh, that’s kind of you. I’m talking about my husband’s bombastic attitude when you came by to introduce yourself. I wanted to apologize for his rude tone. I also wanted to tell you how sorry I am that Wilbur pulled that little stunt.”
I smiled. “By spreading gossip about Sky High Pies?”
She looked away, swallowing hard at the sting of the truth.
“It’s water under
the bridge, Patsy. I’m not the kind of person to hold a grudge.” I paused for a second or two. “Unless, of course, it involves someone grabbing the last pair of kitten heels from the annual shoe sale at Bliss Boutique!”
She snickered softly. “I’ve heard of that store, but haven’t had time to stop by yet.”
“Oh, it’s a real gem,” I said. “We’re lucky to have such a unique shop in a place as small as Crescent Creek.”
She suddenly remembered the box that was in her hands. With another smile, she leaned forward and put the package on my desk.
“This is for you,” she said. “It’s just a little gift from the two of us.”
I peeked inside. It looked like an edible work of art: an enormous pie topped with lofty swirls of whipped cream and thin green ribbons of zest.
“I hope you like Key lime,” she said.
“Are you kidding? That’s one of my all-time favorites! It’s really kind of you to be so thoughtful, Patsy.”
She leaned back in her chair, much less anxious than when she arrived.
“How’s Wilbur doing?” I asked.
“Well, let’s put it this way,” she said. “He’s sulking and mumbling a lot. I made him call that gossip columnist at the newspaper so she wouldn’t publish anything about you serving frozen pies.”
“That’s kind,” I said. “Thank you very much.”
“Long story short,” Patsy added, “Wilbur’s never been so familiar with the inside of a dog house.”
I chuckled at the comment.
“Oh, I’m not kidding, Kate! He’s sleeping on the divan in the rec room until I’m over this one. I’ve never been so mortified in my entire life!”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” I suggested. “I’ve got pretty thick skin and most people in Crescent Creek know that Sky High would never in a million years serve frozen pies. My family’s been in town for ages and my grandmother opened the bakery four decades ago. We wouldn’t still be in business if we tried to fool our customers.”
Patsy sighed with relief. “That’s so good to hear you say. And I’m not kidding; when I heard what Wilbur had done, I felt worse than the time I ate six corn dogs at the Iowa State Fair.”
