by Mary Maxwell
“Should I tell her you’re not here?”
“No, Jules. I’ll talk to her. I just…” My eyes jumped back to the flashing beacon on the phone. “Okay, let me do this now before she gets any more upset.”
Julia raised both thumbs and wished me well before returning to the kitchen.
“This is Kate,” I said after connecting to the call. “How can I—”
A spectacular wail interrupted my question. I held the receiver away from my head and waited for Abigail to regain her composure.
“Miss Ascot?” I said softly as soon as the weeping stopped.
“Kate?”
“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”
She muttered and blew her nose. “Well, I guess so.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Julia said you were calling to—”
“He’s cheating on my mother!” she blurted in a breathless rush. “With Carmen Alexander, the bimbo from that heinous outer space vampire movie!”
I’d never heard of either, but I decided my lack of knowledge wasn’t germane to the conversation. Before I could respond, Abigail Ascot unfurled an angry rant about her father that involved grainy tabloid photographs, a questionable YouTube video and a midnight phone call from her mother to discuss delayed travel plans and the possibility of divorce.
“Where are you right now?” I asked when she finished.
“At home,” she said. “In Aspen.”
“Are you there alone?”
“No, the usual goons are here.”
I guessed that she was referring to her tutor, the housekeepers and her father’s personal assistant.
“Well, I’m so sorry to hear that you’re going through this, Abigail. And I want you—”
“Call me Abby,” she whispered. “I like you, Kate. You seem nice.”
“Well, thanks. You seem nice, too. And, like I said, I’m sorry to hear the news about your…situation, Abby.”
“I wanted to call and let you know,” she said. “Because now I don’t need all those pies.”
“Of course, sure. And that’s totally fine. These things happen all the time.”
I heard her whimper. “Yeah, totally,” she murmured. “Like, every few years or so.”
I didn’t now how to respond, so I waited.
“My dad’s not a bad man,” she said. “But he has a tendency to…get too close to the actresses in his movies.”
“I see. Well, I guess that’s something lots of people in his business deal with.”
She scoffed, grumbling under her breath about her father.
“Is your mother coming home soon?” I asked.
“Hmmmm?”
“Your mom? With this news, I just thought maybe she would come and spend some time with you.”
Her laugh was jagged and high-pitched. “She’s flying to Spain with her sister. I’m meeting them next week in Madrid.”
“That sounds nice.” I cringed at the vague remark, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Not to me,” the tiny voice said. “It sounds like a nightmare.”
“Well…”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know this is a weird thing to talk about. I just wanted to let you know about the pies.”
“Okay, thanks for calling. If there’s anything I can do to help, Abby, just let me know.”
She laughed again, less jagged and more hopeful. “Can you call my dad and drill some sense into his head?”
“I’m afraid that’s outside of my skill set,” I answered. “Maybe he’ll see the light on his own.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.”
When we finished the call and Abigail Ascot moved on to whatever was next in her tumultuous and privileged life, I closed the laptop, pushed my chair away from the desk and glanced at the picture of Nana Reed that sat beside the phone.
“There’s a lot of pain in the world,” I said to my grandmother, remembering how she’d often deliver the same sentiment to members of our family during difficult days. “Let’s be grateful there’s an even bigger measure of joy as well.”
CHAPTER 22
I was still contemplating Nana Reed’s words of wisdom when my phone buzzed and Dina’s name appeared on the screen.
“I got your message earlier,” she said after I answered. “But it’s been a day from you-know-where, so this is the first free minute I’ve had.”
“‘You-know-where’?”
She sighed miserably. “Yes, Katie. And I sure hope you’re not going to make it worse by teasing me.”
“Never in a million years, detective. Sorry it’s been a bad one.”
“That makes two of us,” she said. “So? What’s up? Your message mentioned something about a sheep with papers and a guy who worked with Lacy.”
“A sheaf,” I said. “A sheaf of papers. Like a bundle? And the guy is Thomas Green. Have you met him by any chance?”
“The name doesn’t sound familiar. Who is he?”
“Thomas Green is vice president of Crescent Creek Bank. And he’s also—”
“The guy with the pasty face and greasy hair?”
I smiled at the description. “Well, he doesn’t spend much time in the sun. And he slicks his hair back with some type of—”
“Grease, Katie. He slicks his hair down with grease. And it’s disgusting; he leaned back in his chair when he was in here talking to Tyler Armstrong. Left a nasty stain on the wall.”
“Why didn’t you interview him?” I asked.
She groaned. “Which part of our earlier conversation did you miss? It’s been a bad day. Heck, for that matter, it’s been a bad week. Tyler and I are both working the Lacy Orvane investigation.”
“Well, that’s what I called about. I talked to a couple of people and wanted to share what I’d learned.”
“I love learning,” Dina said, sounding exhausted. “Especially if it helps solve one of our cases.”
“Were you aware that Lacy challenged her married friend to leave his wife?” I asked. “If that’s true, it could be related to her death.”
The silence told me that Dina hadn’t heard the news, either around town or from one of the witnesses she’d interviewed since Lacy collapsed at Portia’s furniture store.
“I don’t know when things took a turn,” I continued. “But I’d guess the affair was going downhill fast.”
“Translation?” Dina said.
“According to my source, Lacy gave the guy an ultimatum,” I explained. “He had one week to tell his wife that he was in love with Lacy and wanted a divorce. If he didn’t do it in that period of time, Lacy would pay the man’s wife a visit.”
“And we’re talking about Lacy Orvane?”
“The one and only.”
“The sweet woman with the big smile, a solid record of community service and a flawless reputation for being principled, loyal and lawful?”
“We all have our dark sides,” I said.
Dina’s chuckle was anything but jovial. “Speak for yourself, Katie. I’m not about to…” I knew why she paused; when we were teenagers, Dina had whisked my boyfriend right out of my arms. And, considering that he was now her ex-husband and they worked together at the police department, she needed to give Lacy Orvane some slack.
“Alrighty,” she continued. “I’m not taking a long walk off a short pier.”
“I just wanted to share the news with you,” I said, smiling silently at her remark. “In case you hadn’t heard.”
“Did Mr. Greasy Hair actually hear Lacy threaten the married guy?” asked Dina.
“I got the impression that she told him about the conversation.”
“Were they close friends or something?”
“Well, they worked together at the bank and they were both involved with the Crescent Creek Community Theater.”
“Okay, so the sheaf of papers?” she said. “Did he leave them with you?”
“He did. I offered to take them you straightaway
because the guy seemed pretty jumpy.”
“And he found them on Lacy’s desk?”
“In the top drawer.” I looked at the bundle of pages inside the large Ziploc bag on my desk. “They appear to be notes about Lacy and her married lover.”
“Notes?” Dina asked. “Like, her diary or something?”
“Thomas Green claimed that they were written by a man named Benny Calhoun,” I answered. “I guess maybe he was…I don’t know, obsessed with Lacy or something. The notes include dates and times and various motels in the area. One entry references a three-day weekend in a cabin near Horsetooth Reservoir. But, otherwise, it looks like they were written in some kind of code—no names or initials, but what I’d guess is a nickname that Calhoun used for Lacy’s married boyfriend.”
“Do I even want to know?” Dina asked.
I smiled, but kept myself from laughing. “Snookum.”
She made a choking sound. “Oh, jeez. I should’ve never even asked.”
“It’s fairly common, don’t you think?”
“Have you ever used it?” she asked. “Who on earth would keep notes about somebody else’s affair and refer to her lover as Snookum? I mean, who uses that word anyway? Do you and Zack call each other Snookum when you’re whispering sweet nothings?”
“No comment,” I said. “Our sweet nothings have no relevance to Lacy’s murder.”
“Agreed. But, still…Snookum?”
“It could be worse, Dina. Thomas Green told me that Snookum means ‘The Sun’ in Chinook.”
“So much for his credibility,” she said sarcastically. “I believe the Chinook word is actually skookum with a k, not snookum with an n. And it’s used interchangeably to mean things like good, strong, brave and tough.”
“Since when are you an expert on pidgin languages of the Pacific Northwest?”
She chuckled. “I went on a few dates once with a guy from Portland. He filled me in.”
“Between all of the sweet nothings?”
A muffled groan came over the line. “What did we just agree on?”
“Okay, okay,” I said apologetically. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Try harder,” she suggested. “Anyway, why didn’t Thomas Green bring those papers to us?” Her voice was tight and sharp, the fatigue and tension and annoyance twined tightly. “I mean, does the doofus even have half a brain?”
“He seems like a nice enough guy,” I said. “I think he’s…” I pictured Thomas Green sitting in my office earlier, doleful and shocked by his coworker’s untimely demise. “I think everybody should give him a break. I don’t know about you, but—well, besides using pomade that left a stain on the police station wall—the guy comes across as a straight shooter.”
“Or a good actor,” Dina scoffed.
“True, but he seems credible so far, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose so,” Dina said. “Not to mention that we’ve got enough dishonest people to juggle already.”
CHAPTER 23
The parking lot behind Crescent Creek Bank was nearly empty when I pulled in later that afternoon. I noticed someone walking from the back entrance toward a dark blue Tahoe. While I was still squinting to try and identify the woman, she raised her arm and waved.
As I pulled up beside her and lowered the window, I realized it was Iris Holt, one of the bank tellers and a devoted fan of the buttermilk pancakes at Sky High Pies.
“Hi, Katie!”
I put the car in park and finished lowering the window. “How’s it going, Iris? Heading home for the day?”
“Finally! We were extra busy for some reason. I’m ready to go and soak my tootsies.”
“Doesn’t that sound nice?”
She heaved a sigh and grinned. “More than you could imagine. How are you doing?”
“Pretty well, thanks. Just coming by to see Mr. Craig for a quick minute.”
Her smile vanished. “Really? I hope you can handle the language in there. He’s in rare form this afternoon.”
“Does Mr. Craig have a potty mouth today?”
She frowned. “Today and every day! Although he mainly uses the vulgarities with us, not with customers.”
While Iris launched into a story about one of Nathaniel Craig’s most recent cussing fits, I glanced at a car parked nearby. It had a Broncos bumper sticker and some kind of doodad on the antenna. There was also something on a hanger in the backseat: a blue jacket with a green corduroy collar and a sailboat emblem on the front. As I squinted to try and make out the insignia, I remembered Colin Drake’s description of the oddball that came to the deli on the day that Lacy Orvane was poisoned to buy Nathaniel Craig’s usual lunch order.
“…because the check had been dropped in the bathtub,” Iris was saying when I pulled my eyes away from the jacket. “Her husband was all excited about the size of their refund, so he’d rushed in to tell her and was waving it all around and—”
“Iris?” I said quickly. “Can I ask a question?”
“Well, of course, Katie.” She tilted closer to the car. “I was curious about that myself; the refund was north of two-thousand dollars and they—”
“Not that question.” I pointed at the sedan with the antenna doodad. “Do you know who drives that car?”
She followed the direction of my finger. When she glanced back, the lively smile had soured. “Oh, the red one? She just bought that this morning at Gage Auto Plaza. It’s a year or two old, but she’s bragging like it just rolled off the assembly line at the Lexus factory.”
I whirled my eyes back to the car. I hadn’t noticed the familiar logo, but Iris was right; it was a Lexus sedan with temporary license tags.
“Yes,” I answered. “Does it belong to a bank employee by any chance?”
“No,” she said. “But she’s been here a lot lately, swooning and drooling and flouncing around like a strumpet. I guess some women just don’t know how to accept defeat.” She scowled and rolled her eyes. “She used to come in all the time and flirt shamelessly! Right out in public! And now, even though her married boyfriend dumped her for someone else, she’s still jiggling her goodies in his face on a regular basis. She pretends that she’s here for business, but it’s more than a little obvious that she’s trying to sway his cheating heart in her direction again. As if she could compete with a younger, less bitter woman.”
“Sounds complicated,” I said quietly.
“Very,” Iris agreed. “Tell you the truth, I’m a little surprised that the target of her affection hasn’t taken out a restraining order.” The disapproving look on her face left no doubt about where she stood on the matter. “And, to make matters worse, one of the other men is doing the same thing to her; flirting and carrying on like a schoolboy, even though she barely gives him the time of day.”
“Is it Erika Litton? I heard she’s sweet on that new teller that started last month.” I raised one eyebrow. “You know, the good-looking brute with arms as big as tree trunks.”
Iris blushed. “It’s not Erika,” she said. “But I do agree with you; Huck is one handsome stud!”
After we conferred briefly about the new teller’s beefy biceps, I promised to be discreet and asked Iris again about the owner of the red Lexus. When she told me the name, whispering with a faint giggle, I smiled. And then I smiled again. One step closer, I thought. One step closer.
CHAPTER 24
The bank lobby was a hive of hushed activity. I was standing just inside the front door a few minutes later, digging through the clutter in my purse, when I heard someone say my name. I felt my cheeks tinge pink with embarrassment as I looked up and saw Thomas Green coming my way. After my recent conversation with Dina, during which we discussed his pale skin and greasy hair, I felt slightly uncomfortable as he walked toward me. Although there was no chance he was aware that we’d scrutinized his personal appearance, running into him so soon after the critique still felt slightly awkward.
“Miss Reed,” he said through a washed-out smile. “Can I help you
with something?”
I glanced at my purse. “Can you tell me why I haul around so much useless stuff?”
The dull grin blazed brighter. “You’re human. We’re all creatures of habit.”
“I know, but my habits are making it difficult to find my ID. I need to cash a personal check and make a deposit for Sky High. And, as usual, I’m already late for an appointment.”
He pointed at the bank bag tucked under my arm. “Would you like me to hold that while you look?”
“No, thanks. I’ll get it together here in a sec.” My hand roamed around in the murky depths of my purse, finding everything but my wallet.
“Why don’t we step into my office?” Green suggested. “It’ll be easier for you to search for your ID.” He smiled, but it looked more like a cadaver’s grimace than a friendly expression. “To be perfectly honest, I have a couple of questions that I’d like to ask you. I planned to call sometime tomorrow, but…”
His long, slender arm lifted and his ashen finger pointed toward a small corner office tucked behind a massive potted palm.
“Okay, sure,” I said, feeling obliged to accept the offer. “But I can’t stay long.”
As he lowered the hand, I noticed a flash of metal on his little finger. It was an oval gold signet ring accented with a black onyx disk.
“That’s a nice ring, Mr. Green. Is it a family heirloom?”
He frowned. “If it was, you’d be looking at a twist tie from a bread bag looped around my pinky instead of a Tiffany original.”
The flashy ring seemed out of character for Thomas Green. Between his pale skin, slender frame and beaky nose, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who shopped at the famous jewelry store.
“Actually,” he said, walking beside me toward his office, “it was a gift from Mr. Craig. Bank employees receive one of these on their tenth anniversary.”
I smiled. “That’s very generous.”
“I suppose so…” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “But I actually think it’s the boss’s way of claiming his property.” He followed the strange remark with a brief smile. “Although I probably sound ungrateful right about now, so…” He waited while I stepped into his office and claimed one of the tufted leather chairs. “Sorry about that, Miss Reed. I hope you’ll forgive me for being imprudent with my words.”
