by Mary Maxwell
“What else besides the breath mint idea?” I said.
He stopped, shrugged and then pivoted back toward the opposite end of the room. “The usual stuff people keep in their medicine cabinets—shampoo, nail polish, underarm deodorant.”
Boris grunted. “Deodorant for dogs? No wonder you dropped out. All that time your mother and I thought you were going to class.”
Kevin’s pacing slowed before he finally stopped. He turned slowly, fixed his gaze on his father and pulled a sleek black wallet from his back pocket.
“How much cash do you have on you?” he said.
Boris didn’t answer, but the simmering tension in the room was suddenly thick and dense.
“Can we stay on the origins of the dog breath mints?” I asked.
Kevin headed toward his father and pinched a fat stack of bills from the wallet. “I’ve got two grand,” he said coldly. “How about you, old man?”
Boris smiled. “Is that funny money or the real McCoy?”
“Here’s the deal,” Kevin said, returning to the chair beside his father. “Carter found Jacob’s original formula for Minty Dog Chews when he was going through a trunk of old college papers at his mom and dad’s house when they moved.”
“Is that when he resurrected the idea?” I asked.
Kevin smiled. “Resurrected is a good way to put it. None of us even remembered the notebook with all of the scribbled notes and Polaroids of Bruiser.”
“And this was before or after Carter’s first success?” I said.
“I think it was actually during the time he was still running the travel site he started a few years after graduation,” Kevin answered. “He originally did a stint with Google and spent another year with a social media startup that crashed and burned. But then he had the idea for the airfare comparison website that he sold for a gazillion bucks.”
I checked the notes on my desk. “Wasn’t it forty-four million?”
“Forty-four?” Kevin joked. “Forty-five? What’s it matter when you’re talking about that much cash?”
Boris sat up and straightened his shoulders. “He sold that airline ticket thingy for forty-four million?”
“Give or take,” Kevin said. “My point is, Carter never tried to steal the Minty Dog idea. He called us and offered either a spot at the company or a slice of the profits. I was working in New York by then; Jacob and his wife had joined her father at the family vineyard in Napa. Neither one of us wanted to sit behind a desk and push paper around, so we opted for a partnership stake. I didn’t take a job with Minty Dog until a while later.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” asked Boris. “Were you afraid I’d ask for a loan?”
Kevin scowled. “Seriously, dad?”
“Well, w-w-what?” Boris stammered. “Why did you keep that a secret from your mother and me? She would’ve been so proud to know her son did good before she passed.”
“Yeah. No doubt. But it wasn’t calculated. I didn’t try to keep it from you. I couldn’t talk about it because of the legal agreement. Besides, we weren’t talking much anyway. I hadn’t been home to Crescent Creek for over ten years. It just seemed like it would be totally awkward to call you up and say, ‘Guess what, dad? Remember Carter and Jacob? Well, we’re all going to get a boatload of money for an idea we cooked up way back in college.’ It wasn’t something I wanted to do. Because I know how hard you and mom worked for everything. I didn’t want you to feel…I don’t know, to feel bad that your ne’er-do-well son had accidentally stumbled into a fortune.”
I waited for a moment or two. They needed to talk privately, but I still had questions for Kevin.
“Do you mind if I ask you about a few more things?” I said finally.
Kevin jutted out his chin. “What’s that?”
“Since you’re telling us that you and Jacob profited from the sale of Minty Dog Chews, do you know who might’ve been trying to fleece Carter?”
He exhaled and leaned against the back of the chair. “I couldn’t tell you. I’ve wracked my brain since I heard about the note that Carter found after the burglary, but nothing’s coming up. I mean, only a handful of people ever heard about the idea when we were in school, so…I don’t know.”
“Who else?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Who else knew about Minty Dog?”
He laughed. “Well, the whole flipping world is going to know the truth now.”
“I mean back in college?” I said.
He thought for a few seconds, fingers drumming on one thigh as he tried to recall the long ago past. When he finally came up with a list of names, one in particular seemed intriguing.
“Velma knew?” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah. She and Carter were…” He glanced at his dad. “It was a casual thing. They met when he and I were in school, but nothing happened. Then, years later, they dated for a few weeks when she and her husband separated briefly. But they obviously stayed in touch after Velma went back home because Carter hired her and her husband to do background checks and things like that before he sold the company.”
“Okay, so…Velma was aware that Carter didn’t develop the Minty Dog concept on his own,” I said, recording the facts with a few quick additions to my notepad. “She knew that the company’s official history had been fudged.”
He nodded.
“Anyone else?”
“Those are all the people I can remember,” Kevin answered. “Maybe Velma told her husband. You’d have to ask her about that though.”
“That’s fine.” I pushed the notepad back on my desk. “I’m just trying to get a snapshot of the Minty Dog history. It seems pretty straightforward that whoever is behind the burglary and Jacob Lowry’s death had firsthand knowledge about your college days.”
Kevin smiled. “Do you know how many women Carter dated back then?”
I smiled. “More than a few?”
He laughed. “More than a few every week. The guy’s handsome. Women dig that. And he had an easy charm that made him seem irresistible.”
“To women like Velma?”
“Yeah,” he said with another laugh. “Although she’d tell you that there’s no one else like her, so Carter was a fool to dump her.”
“But then he hired her to work as a PI for his company?”
Kevin sighed again. “Love is blind, Kate. Carter and Velma are perfect for one another. They’re ambitious. They’re incredibly disciplined. And they know how to color outside the lines to get what they want.”
I grinned at the description. “And do they?” I asked.
“Do they what?”
“Get what they want?”
“Always,” Kevin Hertel said. “They’ll do whatever it takes to win.”
“Could that include staging a burglary at Carter’s home before they commit murder and arson?” I asked in a somber tone.
His mouth exploded into a bright smile. “Yep. Those things would be child’s play to people like Carter and Velma. It’s like they were both born without the ability to feel guilt, remorse or shame.”
CHAPTER 27
A couple of hours after Kevin and Boris Hertel left, I went back to the office, sat at my desk and reviewed the notes from a meeting that Julia and I had recently with a woman named Elle Samuelson and her mother. Elle wanted a naked cake for her wedding reception—chocolate layers with buttercream frosting between each level but no fondant around the outside—and her mother had pitched a fit.
I smiled at a little scribbled note in the margin of my notebook: Elle wants trendy naked, Mom not so much. In the end, the bride-to-be was victorious. The wedding was in a few weeks, and we were planning a towering chocolate-buttercream cake with fresh pink and white roses on the top.
I needed to finalize details for the tasting, so I reached for my phone to schedule it with Elle. As I flicked through my notes to find her number, a call came in. I glanced at the display and laughed.
“Perfect timing!” I told Zack a
fter answering. “I was just getting ready to call a client, but I’d much rather talk to you.”
“Oh, shoot. Sorry to interrupt work, Katie.”
“Are you crazy? I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you.”
“That makes two of us,” he said. “How’s everything there?”
“Busy. We had a busload of middle school students stop for lunch today.”
“How’d Harper and Julia feel about that?”
I giggled. “I’ve never seen anyone so happy to watch the red taillights of a bus before. The teacher and chaperones were incredible, but the kids were pretty wound up when they came into the dining room.”
“Any damage?”
“One little guy had his pride shattered,” I said. “He was trying to tease a girl by reaching over to pull her ponytail, but he went too far and the chair tipped.”
“Ah, poor guy. How bad was it?”
“He’ll recover,” I said. “Eventually. And there were no broken bones and no blood loss, so the adults were relieved.”
“I know how that goes,” Zack said. “No physical injuries, but the ego gets bruised and battered.”
I laughed again. “Sounds like you’ve had first-hand experience.”
“Mary Jo Danziger,” Zack mumbled. “I was twelve.”
I waited for the rest of the childhood memory, but he was silent. After a gentle nudge, he filled me in on the childhood trauma. The story involved a first date with Mary Jo in the school cafeteria, a tray loaded with two bowls of vanilla pudding and an unseen puddle of milk on the floor.
“I was flat on my back for about five minutes,” Zack said, doing his best to stifle a hearty laugh. “Pudding on my face, Mary Jo holding my hand and a bunch of my best buddies standing around laughing and pointing. It was the worst!”
“Sounds like it. I’m really sorry to hear you went through that, but it didn’t seem to do any permanent harm.”
He grunted. “Me, tough!” he boasted in his best Tarzan voice. “Me, can take it!”
“I know you can. I’ve seen you handle Blanche Speltzer after she’s guzzled two martinis!”
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Good. I talked to her the other day about Boris Hertel.”
“And how’s he doing? What’s the latest?”
“He and Kevin were just here a little while ago,” I reported. “They gave me the background on Carter Devane and the origins of Minty Dog Chews.”
“I’m sorry,” Zack laughed. “Did you say ‘Mincing Dog Toots’?”
“No, no!” I slowed down to carefully enunciate the name of Devane’s company. “It’s a long story, handsome. I’ll fill you in when you get home.”
“Sounds good,” Zack said with a chuckle. “That’s actually what I was calling to tell you, Katie. I have some good news.”
“I’m listening…”
“I’ll be back a couple of days early,” he said. “The client’s really happy with what we have and they don’t think we need the rest of the days that were booked.”
“Does that mean you’ll lose money?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “They pay for the full week whether they use it or not.”
“That sounds pretty wonderful!”
“It’s nice, for sure. But you want to know what I think is wonderful?”
“Vanilla pudding on a cafeteria tray?” I said.
Zack’s laugh sounded warm and zesty. “Well, of course,” he said. “But what I’m talking about is getting to see my favorite girl, Katie! I’m talking about you!”
I basked in the glow of the compliment as he discussed the remaining day of photography for his client. Then he asked what I was working on and I explained the concept of a naked wedding cake.
“Hmmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s a new one on me.”
“Same for Elle Samuelson’s mom. Her face turned so red when she heard the idea that I thought she was going to explode.”
“But she didn’t?”
“Not while they were here,” I said. “But Mrs. Samuelson has a temper, so who knows what happened after they got in the car to go home.”
Zack laughed again. “Well, whatever happens with the wedding, babe, I know the cake will be as beautiful as the bride!”
CHAPTER 28
The next afternoon around four o’clock, the lobby of the Crescent Creek Lodge was filled with two dozen silver haired men and women chattering about their upcoming excursion to Boulder. They were all wearing matching bright blue caps emblazoned with a huge sunrise and the name Silver Spurs Tours. The group’s leader was a tall, vivacious middle-aged woman with curly red hair to her shoulders and a clipboard tucked under one arm.
“Listen up, people!” she called as I scooted around the edge of the crowd. “Our bus is due to leave in less than ten minutes. Does anyone need the little boys’ or little girls’ restroom before we depart?”
While the cluster of tourists discussed the pros and cons of the suggestion, I made my way to the front desk.
“May I help you?” asked the man behind the counter.
I didn’t recognize him, but Connie Larson had told me that a couple of new employees had joined her team at the hotel in recent weeks.
“Is Connie available?”
His gaze narrowed. “Is she expecting you?”
“No, but I just have one quick question for her.”
He reached under the counter, producing a pad of paper and pen that he held toward me.
“Why don’t you write a note?” he suggested. “I’ll make sure she gets it later.”
I took the pad and pen, but put them down on the counter. “Maybe we can give her a quick call?”
The man’s nostrils flared slightly. “Or maybe you can leave a note?”
I clenched my teeth and smiled. Connie’s hotel was one of the more exclusive options in the area, but her staff members were usually more relaxed and easygoing. As I thought about the best way to handle the unexpected delay, I heard Connie calling my name. When I glanced over my shoulder, she was slipping through the Silver Spurs group and heading for the front desk.
“Hi!” she said, wrapping me in a hug. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I answered. “How about you?”
She gave the gray-haired gang a little nod. “I’ll be better once these ruffians check out in a couple of days,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen so much debauchery in all of my life.”
I glanced back at the senior citizens as they began walking toward the front door. Besides the usual lively chatter that you’d expect with any tour group, they appeared to be a sedate and respectable crowd.
“What’s the scoop?” I asked quietly.
Connie rolled her eyes. “Skinny dipping, streaking through the halls, crushed beer cans in the pool and noise complaints from some of our other guests.”
“Wow! That’s how I want to party when I’m their age.”
She smiled. “I know. I feel the same way, but I’d hope that you and I will be a little less wild and crazy when we stay at hotels on a cross-country tour.”
As the last of the Silver Spurs guests filtered out of the lobby, Connie took my arm and suggested we go to her office. I smiled at the man behind the counter, but he was immersed in something utterly riveting on his computer screen and didn’t notice.
“Who’s the gatekeeper at the front desk?” I asked as Connie opened her office door. “He was determined not to let me through.”
She laughed. “That’s Rowland. He’s actually very good at the job, but his background is in super exclusive resorts. He’s used to running interference for high-class types.”
“What am I?” I asked, sitting in one of the guest chairs. “Chopped liver?”
Connie followed the quip with a lilting laugh as she walked behind her desk. Then she gave me a quick rundown on Rowland’s stellar qualifications.
“Well, he sounds awesome!” I said when she finished. “Maybe I need someone like th
at at Sky High Pies.”
She snickered. “No, you don’t. The team you have now is absolutely perfect!”
“I am pretty darn lucky. Julia and Harper do such a great job.”
“As do you,” Connie said. “Now, tell me—what’s going on? I’m thrilled to see you, but there’s something in your eyes that suggests you’re not here to simply shoot the breeze.”
“Can’t we do both?” I smiled. “I have a couple of questions about something, but it’s been forever since we had a chance to just chat.”
“Do you want something to drink? I can call Gina in the lounge and have her bring a glass of wine or maybe coffee?”
“I’m fine, but thanks. I know you’re busy. And I should get back to work myself before too long.”
Connie nodded. “Okay, so…” Her voice had the singsong rhythm of a schoolteacher addressing a class of students. “What can I help you with?”
“I wanted to ask you about a guest,” I said. “Her name is Velma Lancaster.”
The response was instantaneous; a wide and relaxed smile with a slight tilt of her head. “You just made my day, Katie.” She reached down, opened one of the desk drawers and retrieved a beige envelope. It was one of the familiar packets with a button-and-string closure on the flap and Inter-Departmental Mail printed on the front. “I just called Detective Kincaid about this,” she said. “But maybe I can get your thoughts as well.”
She handed the envelope to me. I took it and placed it in my lap.
“Estelle found those things under the mattress in Mrs. Lancaster’s former suite about thirty minutes ago,” Connie explained. “She’d asked to change rooms due to the noise I was telling you about earlier.” She smiled and laughed softly. “You know—the rowdy youngsters with Silver Spurs Tours.”
I smiled, picturing the animated group of guests leaving the lobby a moment earlier. Then I looked down at the envelope. It was crisp and new, unmarked except for a three-digit number circled with heavy black marker.
“That’s Mrs. Lancaster’s original suite number,” Connie said. “Estelle put the items in the envelope and made a note of the room before she brought them to me.”
