An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9) (12 page)

CHAPTER
28

Julia’s mouth fell open as I
described the mysterious call that I’d received about Vito and Pia. It was
eight-fifteen the next morning and the breakfast rush at Sky High had slowed to
a trickle. We were sitting on stools near the back counter in the kitchen,
waiting for Harper to take an order from a table of four recent arrivals.

“Did the man on the phone give you
a name?” Julia asked.

I shook my head and poured granola
into a bowl of vanilla Greek yogurt.

“Did you tell Trent or Dina?” she
said.

“No, I didn’t want to mention the
call until after I’ve met with the guy tonight.”

Julia glared at me. “Katie? What if
he pulls a knife or gun?”

“In the cocktail lounge at the
Lodge?” I said with a lopsided grin.

“Stranger things have happened,”
she said. “It’s a crazy world out there.”

I glanced through the pass window
into the dining room as one of the new customers lurched from his chair and
began singing opera to Harper.

“You mean in our dining room?” I
joked. “Or beyond these four walls?”

“All of the above,” Julia answered,
taking a sip of orange juice. “What do you think that’s all about?”

I watched the Pavarotti
impersonator grab Harper’s hand and spin her around before he bowed deeply and
returned to his chair.

“Too much caffeine?”

She laughed. “Or too much
testosterone.”

We watched as Harper methodically
moved from one person to the next at the table, recording orders and answering
questions. When she finally walked behind the counter and approached the pass
window, she was snickering and shaking her head.

“Spill the beans,” Julia said,
heading for the front of the kitchen.

“They’re a bunch of opera singers,”
she explained. “I guess they performed in Boulder last night and never made it
to bed.”

“Rock and roll!” I said, pumping my
fist overhead. “Did they trash their room at the Holiday Inn, too?”

Harper frowned. “How’d you know
that?”

Her question left me momentarily
speechless.

“One of the guys rinsed out his
swimming suit and draped it on the showerhead to dry,” Harper said. “I guess he
also left a dribble of water coming out of the faucet. When they got back to
the hotel after the performance, he discovered that the swim trunks had fallen,
blocked the drain and the tub had overflowed.”

Julia whooped at the story as
Harper put the group’s order on the wheel.

“They’d like the bacon extra
crispy,” she said as Julia grabbed the ticket, “as well as diced onions on half
of the hash browns, three egg whites and two yolks in the omelet and exactly
six ounces of cheddar cheese in a bowl on the side.”

Julia put the ticket back on the
wheel. “Picky, much?” she quipped.

“What can I say?” Harper rolled her
eyes. “The customer is always right.”

After she twirled away from the
pass window and went back into the dining room with a pot of coffee, I offered
to help Julia prepare the quartet’s breakfast.

“I’m okay,” she said. “But you can
go back to telling me the rest of your story.”

“Which one?” I asked. “The guy from
last night?”

“Is there more to it?”

I shook my head.

“Then go back to the rental car
place,” she suggested. “You mentioned another name when you were telling me
about the sports car.”

She knelt down and rummaged through
the reach-in under the counter. I waited until she stood up again with six eggs
in a stainless bowl and a hotel pan filled with shredded cheddar cheese.

“Phil Bickerton,” I said.

“Yeah. Who is he again?”

“Phil co-owns the art gallery over
on Tremont,” I explained.

“Oh, the guy from New York that
lives here part of the year, right?”

“Bingo!” I said.

“Do you know him?” asked Julia.

I shook my ahead. “Not well, but I
talked to the guy that manages the art gallery for them.”

“Oscar King, right?”

“That’s the one,” I answered. “He
was nice enough, but there was something sort of cagey when I asked him about
Phil Bickerton.”

“Maybe he’s just a loyal employee,”
she said. “Kind of like me and Harper.”

“No doubt. But you guys are
down-to-earth and real. Oscar King seemed pretty snooty and secretive.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you want us to
be the same if someone came in here and started asking about you?”

I considered the question. She had
a good point; I’d never met Oscar King until yesterday when I suddenly appeared
in the art gallery with questions about his employer and one of their most
illustrious artists.

“Thanks, Jules,” I said. “You just
made me look at things in a different way.”

“Oh, yeah? How’d I do that?”

“By asking me that question,” I
said. “I hadn’t really considered the possibility that Oscar’s tone could’ve
been totally normal.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m always happy
to help!”

“And I’ll probably know more once I
get a chance to talk with Phil Bickerton,” I said. “As well as the mystery man
tonight at the Lodge.”

Julia smiled. “Does your brain ever
turn off?”

I shrugged. “Not very often. Maybe
when Zack’s rubbing my feet or we’re splitting a pint of dulce de leche ice
cream.”

“Hmmm,” she cooed. “Doesn’t that
sound good?”

I smiled and watched as she ladled
batter onto the waffle iron.

“Sure you don’t need help?” I
offered.

“Take this,” she said, handing me
the cheddar cheese. “And what about Phil Bickerton? Do you think he’s involved
in whatever happened to the painter?”

“No telling,” I said. “I figure
he’s probably staying at the Lodge. I’ll check with Connie Larson tonight when
I’m there.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Julia
said. “Do you mind?”

“What?” I asked, deciding to tease
her a little. “Am I supposed to do something with this cheese that I’m holding?
Like, maybe weigh out six ounces?”

She stopped cracking eggs long
enough to give me a haughty look.

“What was your first clue?” she
asked.

“Hey, now! What’s with the
attitude?”

She giggled. “Just trying out a
line one of the kids used on me last night.”

“Which one?”

“Will,” she answered. “It started
when he told Jared and me that after surviving nine years as our son, he’d
earned the right to be mouthy.”

I laughed. “And what did you tell
him?”

Julia smiled. “To stop being
mouthy.”

“And what happened after that?”

“He mumbled something about a
disagreement with one of his friends,” she explained. “I guess it didn’t go
well and Will ended up playing first base instead of outfield.”

“Oh, so it was related to his
softball team?”

Julia began whisking three egg
whites and two yolks in another bowl.

“What was your first clue?” she
said with a playful grin.

I put down the shredded cheddar and
tweaked one of her earlobes.

“Ouch!” she cried. “What was that
for?”

I picked up the cheese again and
went around the center island to the scale.

“For being mouthy,” I joked.

CHAPTER
29

“You can put Oscar King to bed,” Trent
said when he called that afternoon at four.

I laughed at his choice of words
and then asked him to interpret the remark.

“Oscar King,” he said. “You seemed to
think maybe he was involved in whatever happened at Vito Marclay’s place.”

“Right,” I said. “Because his
knuckles were red and raw, like someone who’s been in a fight.”

Trent chuckled. “Yep,” he said.
“That part is true. But it wasn’t with Vito. We talked to Oscar. He was in a
fight with some chucklehead named Teddy Wilson.”

“Who’s Teddy Wilson?” I asked.

“I already covered that, Katie.
He’s the chucklehead that got into a bar fight with Oscar King.”

“Aha!” I joked. “That clears it
up.”

“Hold on there,” Trent said. “When
I told you to put Oscar King to bed, I was talking about taking him off the
list of suspects. He wasn’t even in town the day that Pia found the bloody
scene at Marclay’s. He closed the gallery early that afternoon and went down to
meet some friends in Denver. They got trashed, ended up in a bar brawl and
spent the night in jail.”

“Okay,” I said. “I get it now.
Oscar didn’t assault Vito.”

“Not the other day,” Trent said.
“He was otherwise engaged.”

“And you’re absolutely certain?” I
asked.

Trent chuckled. “Want me to email
the mug shot to you?” he asked. “It’s a good one, Katie. His hair is sticking
straight up and there’s smeared lipstick on his cheek from a woman he met
before the fight. I actually think the guy was embarrassed about the whole
thing. He told us that part of the reason Marty Garfunkel’s kid hasn’t worked
much at the gallery lately is because Oscar’s been hitting the sauce pretty
hard. He’s called Matt several times to tell him not to come in because of the
hangovers.”

“Oscar sounds like a charming guy,”
I joked. “I’m sure his mother would be very proud of him.”

“Probably,” Trent said. “Should I
give her a call and ask?”

“No!” I shouted. “Don’t call
anybody about something like that!”

“Just trying to do my job,” he
said. “To protect and serve.”

“And where does calling Oscar
King’s mother fit into that motto?”

“Definitely not under the protect
part,” he said. “I guess that would be more of a service kind of thing.”

“Well, thanks, but no thanks, big
guy. I’ll pass on the Oscar King mug shot.”

“Suit yourself,” Trent said. “But
if you ever change your mind, I’ll save it to the Freaks & Geeks folder on
my laptop.”

CHAPTER
30

The lobby of The Crescent Creek
Lodge was a ghost town when I walked through the entrance a few minutes before nine o’clock that night. Two front desk clerks were staring at a computer terminal,
pointing at the screen and talking in hushed voices. I recognized them from my
frequent visits to drop off Sky High goodies for the catering staff or meet
with my friend Connie Larson. She and her husband owned the upscale hotel, a
stylish resort surrounded by lush forested areas and the foothills of Cresta Blanca
Peak.

“Hey, guys!” I said as I approached
the desk. “This place is really hopping tonight!”

They glanced up with synchronized
precision.

“Um…” Sandy gulped and looked at Jordan.
“How are you this evening, Miss Reed?”

“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “Call me
Katie.”

She shook her head. “Not while I’m
on the clock. Hotel protocol includes very clear instructions that we greet all
guests and visitors properly.”

I smiled. “I won’t argue with
protocol, but I might tell Connie to chill a little bit with that formality
stuff.”

I heard the distinctive
click-clack
of high heels on the lobby’s glossy tile floor. When I turned around, Connie
Larson was gliding toward me.

“I think I heard my name,” she
said. “Was it a glowing compliment or something else?”

I laughed and assured her it was
completely harmless.

“From you, Katie?” Her gaze tapered
into a blend of disbelief and humor. “What did you
really
say?”

When I repeated my comment about
the formal hotel protocol, Connie grinned and told Sandy and Jordan that there
were a few exceptions to the rule.

“But the thing is,” she said,
glancing back at me, “many of our guests are accustomed to staying at finer
hotels and resorts around the world. They generally prefer a more prim and
proper style, including how our staff addresses them.”

“Okay, sure. I’m just glad I can be
one of the exceptions to the rule.”

Connie smiled and took my elbow with
one hand. As we walked away from the front desk, she asked about my unexpected
appearance in the lobby.

“Isn’t nine o’clock a little late
for you to be delivering cupcakes?” she asked.

“Oh, you mean the ones for
tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yes, two dozen vanilla
with mocha frosting for Mayor Washington’s luncheon.”

I smiled. “Done and done,” I said.
“Julia dropped those off on her way home earlier.”

“Oh, great!” Connie smiled.
“Then…are you here for a nightcap?”

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “I’m
meeting someone in the lounge.”

She frowned slightly. “I was just
in there. I didn’t see Zack.”

“Oh, he’s in Santa Fe for work,” I
explained. “I’m meeting with…” I paused, remembering that I didn’t know the
name of the man who’d called me the previous evening. “…well, uh, I’m meeting
with a gentleman in the lounge,” I continued. “It’s somewhat hush-hush.”

Her lighthearted grin fell flat.
“Is something going on with you and Zack?”

“No, not at all. Why would you
think that?”

She moved closer and lowered her
voice. “Well, it’s nine o’clock at night,” she said. “You’re at a hotel to meet
a man in the cocktail lounge. And you’re being pretty mysterious about his
identity.”

I pursed my lips. “Want to know the
truth?”

She moved even closer. “Always,
Katie. What’s going on?”

“It’s related to something that
happened to Pia Lincoln the other day,” I said. “I can’t say much because I
don’t know much. I’m trying to help Trent Walsh and Dina Kincaid uncover a few
facts about the case.”

Connie’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, one
of your unofficial investigations?”

“Exactly,” I said. “So this
conversation is just between you and me.”

She put one hand in front of her
mouth and pantomimed the act of locking a door and throwing away the key.

“Mum’s the word, Katie,” she said.
“I’ll put a cork it. My lips are sealed. I’ll keep my pie hole shut. In fact, I
may even—”

“Excuse me,” a voice said from the
entrance to the cocktail lounge. “Are you Miss Reed?”

When I turned toward the doorway, I
saw a tall, handsome man with a deep tan dressed in a pristine white polo, dark
pants and black loafers. His beefy biceps were encircled with intricate tribal
tattoos and his grin was nearly as bright as the shirt.

“Mr. Bach?” Connie said. “Is this
the woman you were meeting?”

He nodded. “Yes, I didn’t mention her
name because I didn’t realize you two knew one another.”

I glanced at Connie and then back
at the mystery man. “We’re friends,” I said. “Personally and professionally.”

The man with the snow white smile
came forward with his hand extended.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,
Kate,” he said. “May I buy you something to drink?”