by Mary Maxwell
“I mean, Andy has got the bluest eyes,” Julia went on, beaming like a schoolgirl. “And his arms are the size of—” She stopped when she noticed the bemused expression on my face. “Oh! Sorry, Katie! I ran into Andy and Lili a couple of days ago at Scoops of Joy.”
“No need to apologize, sweetie. I totally get it. The guy’s a hunk. And she’s like a runway model dressed in scrubs. They’re one of the most attractive couples in town.”
Julia’s eyebrows wiggled. “Right up there with you and Zack!”
“Not to mention you and Jared.”
She beamed. “My husband is pretty hot. But I’m like a—”
“Stop right there!” I warned. “I don’t want to hear one disparaging remark out of your mouth. Words are powerful, Jules. What we say and think creates energy, either positive or negative.”
She smirked. “Did you DVR Dr. Phil again?”
“No, I read that somewhere.”
“In one of his books?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter where I saw it. I think it’s totally true.”
She sighed. “Sorry, Katie. I got distracted by that mention of Andy Davidson. You were telling me about the fire and whatnot.”
I nodded.
“Who did the police find at Ira Pemberton’s place?”
“His name was Jacob Lowry,” I answered. “He was dead at the scene.”
“Oh, that’s horrible,” Julia said in a hushed voice. “In the fire?”
“No, he was discovered in a car parked out back. I won’t go into the gruesome details, but Trent told me it was staged to look like a suicide.”
Julia narrowed her gaze. “Like someone murdered him, but wanted people to think the guy had killed himself?”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Why would they do that?”
“No idea, but you can certainly speculate plenty of possibilities. Maybe the arsonist killed Mr. Lowry when he happened upon the scene as they set the fire. Or maybe he was involved, but his partner decided to go solo after burning Pemberton’s.”
Julia’s eyes went wide. “Oh, like maybe they had a fight or something?”
“Could be,” I said. “Once you start guessing about the motive for an unsolved crime, you can take it in at least a dozen different directions.”
She pursed her lips, deep in thought. “Yeah…” Her gaze wandered from my face to the whiteboard to the mixer. “And, I hate to say this, but speaking of directions…” She tapped the recipe card on the counter. “I should get back to Mrs. Baldasari’s Peppermint Puffs.”
“And I need to make myself useful,” I agreed, glancing at the next special order on the list. “I’ll take care of Herman Bright’s cookies before I check email and phone messages.”
Julia smiled. “A little calm before the storm?”
“Something like that,” I said. “My sixth sense is telling me it’s going to be another wild and crazy Sky High day!”
CHAPTER 15
When the dust settled later and the flood of lunch diners had slowed to a trickle, Julia was slumped against the kitchen counter with a glass of lemonade, two Peppermint Puffs and her face suffused with the look of someone who’s just witnessed a life-changing event.
“Can I tell you how much I dislike your sixth sense right about now?” she moaned.
I’d been expecting her to say something. It had been our busiest back-to-back breakfast and lunch rushes since I’d taken over at Sky High Pies. Although my grandmother and parents had often regaled my brother, sister and me with tales of their most frenetic days when they were at the helm, there’s nothing like living through a madcap session with nonstop orders, grouchy customers and delivery drivers piling up at the backdoor.
“Sorry my intuition was on track, Jules.” I raised my cup of coffee. “But here’s to you! As brave and courageous as any chef I’ve ever known!”
She blew the bangs out of her eyes and sipped her lemonade. Then she asked if I wanted one of the peppermint cookies.
“I’m okay, thanks,” I said. “I’m going to fix a sandwich before I go into the office and do some paperwork.”
She smiled, nibbled on a cookie and swept the back of one hand across her forehead. “I’m going straight home and into the bathtub when we close,” she said. “And if one of the kids or my husband interrupts me, it won’t be pretty.”
We laughed and toasted our successful day. Then I headed across the room toward the walk-in. I was in the mood for a spinach tortilla wrapped around roast chicken with pesto mayonnaise, shredded romaine and mozzarella. But before I reached my destination, I heard Trent calling my name.
“Yo! Katie!”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw him standing beside Harper in the pass window.
“Look who I found wandering around the dining room!” she joked.
“It’s your favorite deputy chief of police,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Have a few minutes to talk?”
I motioned for him to come around to the swinging door. When he appeared a moment later, I suggested we sit in my office. He agreed to the idea and started to leave the kitchen until his wandering eyes locked on the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies cooling on the back counter.
“Are those spoken for?” he asked.
I nodded. “Those are Adam Martin’s,” I explained. “His youngest broke her arm yesterday. He’s taking those to try and cheer her up.”
Trent smiled. “They’d make me feel better, too.”
“Will you settle for some coffee instead?”
“Not quite as cheerful,” he said. “But that sounds good.”
After pouring a cup for Trent, I grabbed his elbow. “Let’s go, buster. If you behave and mind your manners, maybe we’ll find a couple of cookies for you after our meeting.”
“What about the free cupcakes you offered?”
I shrugged. “Same qualification applies,” I answered. “Behave and we’ll see how it goes.”
He groused and grumbled as we walked down the hall to my office, but the pouting had completely subsided by the time we were settled on opposite sides of my desk.
“This isn’t very comfy,” he moaned, squirming on one of the guest chairs.
“For good reason,” I said. “If people get comfortable and stay too long, I won’t get my work done.”
He rolled his eyes and reached into one pocket, coming out with a small notebook open to a page covered in notes and doodles.
“You brought audio-visual aids?” I asked.
Trent ignored the remark, flipping silently through the notebook until he found what he wanted.
“Okay, then,” he said, sitting back in the chair. “Let’s start with the BMW. You told me that it belonged to a brunette, right?”
I shook my head. “I told you that I saw her getting into it. I don’t know if she actually owns it or not.”
He looked up from the notes. “Are you in a grumpy mood or something?”
I shook my head.
“Then why are you being so argumentative?”
“I wasn’t. I simply clarified the difference between what you said just now and what I told you during our earlier conversation.”
He scowled. Then he muttered. And then he flipped more pages in the notebook.
“Let’s try again, okay?” He glanced up, waiting for my response. When I smiled silently, he sighed. “Alrighty then. The BMW? It’s registered in the name of Velma Lancaster. The address on the title is in—”
“Utah?”
Trent raised one eyebrow. “No, smarty pants. She’s got a Sacramento address, although she previously lived in Utah. And the plates on the car were stolen, remember?”
“Okay, so Velma Lancaster is from California. But she came to Crescent Creek driving her own car with someone else’s license plates on it?”
“Sounds about right,” Trent said. “Although Mrs. Lancaster denied any knowledge of the stolen tags. She claimed that her California plates were intact when she left home l
ast week. She also stated that she has no idea who exchanged her legit plates for a stolen set or when the switch may have occurred.”
“Or why?” I added.
“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “That as well. Although I suspect someone was either playing a practical joke on her or trying to incriminate her for stealing the plates in the first place.”
“Did you actually talk to her?” I asked.
“I was getting around to telling you that part.”
“Where’d you pick her up?”
“We didn’t,” he answered. “Velma Lancaster came to the station last night around ten o’clock.”
“She turned herself in?”
He nodded. “And guess who she was with?”
“Boris Hertel?”
“Nope. Want to try again?”
“Ira Pemberton?”
“Strike two! He was already at the station talking to Dina and Tyler. Care for a third time at bat?”
I felt my pulse quicken. “No, Trent. Just tell me. Who came in with Velma Lancaster last night?”
The megawatt smile on his face was so bright that I couldn’t help but grin.
“It was Carter Devane,” Trent said, lifting his chin slightly. “The millionaire from Aspen who—”
“The burglary on the rhyming extortion note?” I interrupted.
“One and the same,” Trent said. “Velma and Carter waltzed into the station and said they had a story to tell me.”
I sat forward in my chair. “What was it?” I felt an icy tingle on my neck. “Did they tell you who was responsible for assaulting Ira, burning down his body shop and killing Jacob Lowry?”
CHAPTER 16
The office was so quiet I heard a bird twittering in the distant meadow. I kept my position, tilting toward Trent like an expectant pupil at the foot of the master. He continued smiling; it was the same self-satisfied expression that accompanied all of his momentous pronouncements.
“Well?” I said finally. “What’s the deal? Did Velma and Carter identify the arsonist and murderer?”
Trent shifted on the guest chair, frowning with discomfort. “I mean, the least you could do is put a cushion on here or something, Katie. This thing is killing my—”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll look into it. In the meantime, will you please stop dragging your feet?”
His smile vanished. “Look who’s impatient now? You’re usually the one telling me to calm down.”
“Because you’re usually the one being—”
“Anyway,” Trent cut in, “Dina and Tyler had a very interesting chat with Velma and Carter after they finished talking to Ira Pemberton. They were at the station until about three o’clock this morning, going over what Mr. Devane and Mrs. Lancaster had to say about the situation.”
He paused, arched one eyebrow and waited. But I didn’t bite. I sat back in my chair, folded my arms over my chest and smiled.
“Thank you, Katie. It’s a whole lot easier when you let me talk.”
Another pause, another raised brow from Trent while I continued smiling.
“Okay, so…”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to take the bait, big guy. I’m going to sit here and calmly listen to what you have to tell me.”
He chuckled. “Man, I wish I had this on tape.”
“But you don’t, so let’s keep going.”
“Yeah, good idea. We’ve both got work to do, right?”
I nodded.
“Alright, so Mrs. Lancaster and Devane showed up with a whopper of a story,” Trent continued. “At first, Dina and Tyler thought they were bluffing because it sounded way too far-fetched and convoluted. But they made a few calls this morning to the PD in Sacramento and Aspen. Turns out Velma and Carter were telling the truth.”
“About what?”
“Well, according to Carter, he got a call from Boris Hertel out of the blue one day about three—”
“Hang on a sec,” I interrupted. “How does Boris know Carter? There’s what—a twenty year age difference?”
The corners of Trent’s mouth lifted. “I thought you were going to be patient and listen?”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry.”
He laughed softly. “It’s okay, Katie. I had the very same reaction. But it’s actually pretty simple. Carter Devane and Boris Hertel’s son are actually friends of Jacob Lowry, the man we found murdered last night. Kevin and Jacob are from here, and they met Carter when they went to college in California. Even though he told his parents when he first left Colorado that he’d never be back, Jacob visited Crescent Creek between semesters and over the summers. In fact, even though he settled in California after school, he bought a piece of land on Old Sunshine Trail and built a vacation place for his family a few years ago.”
“Sounds like he had some bucks,” I said.
Trent smiled. “He was a multi-millionaire,” he said. “After graduating from college, a tech company in California hired him as one of the company’s first employees. When the company went public, Jacob zoomed from living a paycheck-to-paycheck existence to incredible wealth. He was chief marketing officer for several years until he eventually left the company to spend more time with his wife and kids. That’s when he moved his family to Colorado.”
I nodded. “And how does Velma know Carter, Kevin and Jacob?”
Trent took a sip of his coffee. “All roads lead to Crescent Creek, Katie.”
“Don’t tell the people in Italy. They’ve been under the impression for the past two thousand years or so that all roads take you to Rome.”
“Well, obviously, Kevin and Jacob are from here,” he began. “And so is Velma.”
“Really? I’ve never heard their names before.”
“I’m not surprised. You were in Chicago for a long time, and they’re all about ten or eleven years older than us.”
“Velma’s forty?” I asked. “She looks amazing!”
After more coffee, Trent rolled his eyes. “She’s had so much work done that she’s like a Dairy Queen spoon wearing makeup and a wig.”
“I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.”
His eyes looped around again. “Cosmetic surgery, Katie. Even though she’s only forty-one, Velma’s been under the knife more times than a stick of butter at a pancake breakfast.”
I smirked. “Aren’t you funny?”
“Funny looking maybe.”
“Should we take a vote?”
“Right now?” he said with a sideways grin. “It’s just you and me, Katie. That’d be a landslide victory with no questions asked.”
I waited.
“No barrel full of monkeys?” he asked sheepishly. “No laughs and giggles?”
“Only on the inside,” I said after a long pause. “Can we get back to the conversation now?”
“Sure. Where were we?”
“Kevin, Jacob and Velma are all from here,” I said. “And they met Carter—where? Or did one person meet him and then introduce the others?”
Trent shook his head. “Berkeley. The three guys all went there for undergrad degrees. They shared a house while they were in college.” He paused and smiled. “Wait a sec. The tree amigos lived together, but Kevin dropped out after their sophomore year and continued rooming with the other two chuckleheads.”
“And Velma?”
He smiled. “Didn’t we already cover her?”
“You made a couple of cracks about plastic surgery,” I said. “But we didn’t go over how she fell in with the others.”
“That’s an easy one. Kevin and Jacob kept in touch with her after they all left Colorado. During the years that the boys were at Berkeley, despite the fact that she was already married to her husband, Velma had a crush on Carter Devane. From what we’ve learned so far, the attraction went unrequited until they were both having trouble with their marriages. They had a red-hot affair that burned out after a few weeks. Eventually, they both went back home to revive their own version of wedded bliss.”
“Does that mea
n Velma went to Berkeley with Kevin, Jacob and Carter?”
He laughed. “She may have driven by the campus a few times or attended some of their parties. But if you’re asking did she attend the University of California, that’s a big, fat no.”
“Where did she go to school?”
He laughed again. “Hard Knocks U,” he said. “Have you seriously never heard her story before?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, shoot. It’s wild. When Velma was a senior in high school, she basically flipped overnight from Little Miss Muffet to Daughter of Lucifer. There was a really bizarre scandal that involved her parents and a woman that lived around the corner.”
“A juicy scandal that I know nothing about?”
“Hey,” Trent said. “Don’t blame me if your mother and sister fell down on the job. I particularly can’t believe your mom never mentioned it.”
“Maybe she was trying to be tactful,” I suggested.
He grinned. “Or maybe there were too many other spicy stories to tell you about.”
“I suppose that could be true, although my mother can turn an overheard whisper into a colossal tale of infidelity and loose morals.”
We shared a laugh and a warmhearted moment reflecting on my mother’s love of innuendo and chitchat. When the memory faded, I asked Trent to get back to the connection between Carter Devane, Velma Lancaster and the dead guy at Ira Pemberton’s body shop.
He groaned. “Didn’t I already cover that? Somebody started calling Carter out of the blue a couple of months ago with a cockamamie story about…actually, a cockamamie threat would be more accurate. They claimed that Carter stole the original idea and formula for those dog mouth wash chew thingies.”
“Minty Dog?”
“That’s it, yep.”
“Sounds like a shakedown scheme then.”
Trent smiled. “That it does. When the anonymous caller demanded a million dollars to keep quiet, Devane told the guy to get lost.”
“Anonymous calls in addition to the notes?”
