An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9) (14 page)

CHAPTER
33

“No lights,” Earl Dodd whispered a
few minutes later as we approached Room 108. “And the curtains are drawn.”

Our footsteps and hushed voices
were the only sounds in the silent night until a speeding truck roared by on Lone
Elk Road.

“They’re probably sleeping,” Earl
added as we moved along the sidewalk in front of the motel.

“I don’t care,” I said. “I have a
hunch that Pia’s in there.”

When we reached the door, Earl
glanced at me, winced briefly and then knocked.

“Mr. Bach?” His voice trembled and
he anxiously rubbed his hands together in midair. “I’m sorry to disturb you,
sir. But there’s an emergency situation with the…” He looked at me and leaned
closer. “What should I say, Katie? Like, a gas leak or something?”

I reached out and pounded on the
door. “Who cares what we say,” I told Earl. “We just need to find out if Pia’s
in there.”

We waited, listening for an answer
from inside the room. When it didn’t come within a minute or two, I knocked
again.

“They could be in the shower,” Earl
suggested, shifting from one foot to the other in a dance of nervous
anticipation.

I held out my hand. Earl looked at
it and frowned.

“Give me the pass key,” I said.

He flinched. “That’s against my
father’s policy, Katie.”

The yellow plastic card was
attached to a black cord coiled around Earl’s wrist. I reached over, grabbed
the card and slipped it into the slot on the brass door plate. The light
flashed green, the locking mechanism clicked and my hand found the knob.

“You ready?” I asked.

“No,” Earl said.

I gave him a withering glance and
turned the handle. When the door squeaked open, my nose caught the aroma of
cigarette smoke and bleach. I found the switch on the wall, flicked it with one
finger and lamps beside the carved oak headboard flared to life. A pair of
ashtrays on the nightstand overflowed with blackened cigarette butts and a
six-pack of beer waited on the credenza beside a large bottle of Clorox.

“This is a no smoking room,” Earl
muttered behind me.

I ignored the remark and stepped
through the door. The beds were a tangle of rumpled sheets, pillows and the
familiar floral coverlet. Styrofoam cups sat on the small round table near the
windows along with two KFC boxes overflowing with bones and crumpled,
grease-stained white napkins.

“Hello?” I called. “Anyone here?”

My voice bounced around the quiet
space. I repeated the question twice more before walking deeper into the room.
Earl quickly propped open the door with a chair and followed me to the end of
the bed.

“What a mess,” he said, studying
the small plastic wastebasket. “There’s more fried chicken bones in here with
some—”

He lurched back, pointing at the
narrow space between the bed and the wall.

“Is that blood, Katie?”

I hurried over and looked down at
the floor. There was a dark brown stain on the beige carpet about the size of a
basketball. A bucket filled with dirty water sat nearby along with a stained
sponge and crumpled rubber gloves.

“Is it?” Earl demanded, tugging on
my sleeve. “Because if it is, then I’m calling the police.”

I was already pulling my phone from
my purse.

“Let’s check the bathroom first,” I
said, nodding toward the far end of the room. “Just so we can give them—”

I stopped when I heard a muffled
sound behind the closet doors across from the bathroom.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Earl.

He frowned. “Huh?”

“A sound,” I said, taking a few
tentative steps.

I paused, holding my breath to
listen.

“What was it?” whispered Earl. “Do
you think—”

And then a weak moan came from the
closet.

“Help me,” called a faint voice.
“Please…somebody help me.”

CHAPTER
34

The ambulance and two patrol cars
arrived within five minutes, screeching through the night with lights pulsing
and sirens howling. As they angled to a stop outside of Room 108, I rushed out
onto the sidewalk. The first officer to emerge was Mac Seaforth, a CCPD veteran
who came to Sky High Pies nearly every Saturday with his wife and two toddlers.

“He’s inside,” I said as Mac headed
toward the open doorway. “Looks like somebody used him as a punching bag, but
he’s lucid and talking.”

Mac stopped in mid-stride to ask if
I knew the victim’s name.

“Phil Bickerton,” I said. “He owns
the art gallery on Tremont Street. His wallet was still in his back pocket.”

“Cash and cards intact or missing?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t count
it,” I said, “but there’s a fairly hefty stack of bills and a few credit
cards.”

“Okay, thanks,” Mac said. “Doesn’t
sound like a robbery then.”

As the paramedics and another CCPD
officer followed Mac inside, I heard Dina Kincaid’s voice somewhere in the
distance. I turned and looked down the sidewalk. She was making her way through
a small crowd of guests that had gathered at the far end of the paved walkway
near the motel office.

“Hey, detective,” I called, waving
at Dina. “Where’s Deputy Chief Walsh?”

She shook her head. “Dispatch told
me that he’s on the way,” she said. “But they didn’t give an ETA.”

She pulled a notebook and pen from
her jacket and glanced at a few scribbled words.

“You called this in,” she said. “Is
that right?”

I nodded.

“Busy week for you, Katie.” She
smiled, but the result was far from jovial. “First, the thing at Vito
Marclay’s. Then the incident at Pia’s house. And now this.”

“What can I tell you?” I said. “Just
doing my part to be a good citizen.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, pausing
to squint at the notebook. “The guy’s name is…” She was having trouble
deciphering the information on the page. “You know things are bad,” she
continued after a weary sigh, “when you can barely read your own handwriting.
Is it Bitterman?”

“No, it’s Bickerton. His first name
is Phil. He owns the contemporary art gallery in town. The one that’s right
next to the pet store.”

Dina jotted something in her
notebook and then asked why I was at the motel in the middle of the night.

“Looking for Pia Lincoln,” I said.
“I met a guy earlier at the Lodge, a guy called Desmond Bach. He showed me a
picture of Pia with her hands bound and tape on her mouth. When I got home
later, I realized—”

Dina stopped me with one raised
hand. “Wait a sec. Who’s Desmond Bach?”

“I don’t know exactly,” I answered.
“But I’m pretty sure this is all related somehow to Vito Marclay. And I’m
starting to suspect that he’s been forging paintings that someone is selling
outside of normal channels.”

“Okay,” Dina said, connecting the
name to the earlier incident. “Vito’s the artist with the home invasion or
robbery or whatever. Is that right?”

“Yes. Pia went over to his place
and walked into what looked like the aftermath of a pretty intense fight.”

“I’m familiar,” Dina told me. “But
can you skip ahead and tell me how you happened to find Mr. Bickerton in the
closet of a motel room at midnight?”

I shrugged. “I already told you,” I
said. “Desmond Bach. He had a picture on his phone of Pia that I believe was
taken here at the Moonlight.”

“Did he take the picture?” she
asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but
I’m pretty sure that he’s involved in this somehow. He’s been telling people
around town that he’s a journalist, but that was just a ruse to try and get
information about Vito Marclay.”

She made a few notes and asked me
again if I knew anything about the guy.

“I know he’s pretty full of
himself,” I said. “He likes scotch on the rocks, American Spirit cigarettes and
tight polo shirts that draw attention to his big, bad muscles. I’m also pretty
sure he’s not in Crescent Creek for a tour of our local hot spots.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Katie? This
isn’t the time for that.”

“Sorry. I’m kind of feverish from
the lack of sleep.”

“Join the club,” Dina said. “I got
to bed at ten. Then I tossed and turned for the longest time. And then, cross
my heart this is the gospel truth, the very
second
that I fell asleep,
the call came in from dispatch.”

I shrugged. “Hazards of the job,
right?”

She grumbled.

“You probably want to get in
there?” I asked, nodding at Room 108. “Take a look at the scene?”

“In a minute,” she said. “I wanted
to ask a couple of questions about your friend.”

“You mean Pia?”

Dina smiled. “If there’s a connection
between Pia Lincoln, the incident at Vito Marclay’s and now this…” She tapped
one cheek with the end of her pen. “…what should we call it? Motel room
assault?”

I nodded, but didn’t comment.

“Does Pia know Vito well?” Dina
asked. “Or was he one of her catering clients?”

“All of the above. She told me that
he’d proposed and they’re getting married.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You don’t
say? Well, that’s always a nice thing to hear, isn’t it? I had a brief
conversation with her last week at the dry cleaner. She told me that she was
happy and things were going well, but I just figured business was good. I had
no idea it involved love and marriage.”

“Detective?” Mac Seaforth called to
Dina from inside the motel room. “We found some kind of checklist in here.”

“Okay,” Dina said. “I’ll be right
there.”

“And Kate?” the CCPD officer added.
“It’s got your name on it.”

Dina’s slight smile slipped away.
“Did he just say what I think?”

“Unfortunately,” I said. “Do you
mind if I have a look, too?”

She shook her head. “Let me get in
there, Katie. I don’t want to blur the lines, especially since we don’t know
what we’re dealing with just yet.”

“Okay, sure,” I said, feeling a
sharp swirl of confusion and concern after Mac’s comment. “I’ll hang here for a
while. If it looks like you’ll be more than a half hour or so, I’ll probably
head home.”

She nodded solemnly and slipped the
pad and pen back into her pocket.

“Looks like a short night for both
of us,” she said. “No matter how you slice it.”

CHAPTER
35

A few minutes after eleven the next
morning, as I measured flour for a batch of peanut butter cookies, my phone
rang in the front pocket of my apron. Staying busy with prep tasks and special
orders was helping to keep my mind occupied while I waited for news about Pia
Lincoln and Vito Marclay.

“You’re popular today,” Julia
quipped. “Should I answer and tell them to leave you alone?”

“I’m good,” I said, digging into
the pocket. “I can stick up for…” I saw the name on the screen and smiled. “And
this is one call that I wouldn’t want to miss.”

“Hey, handsome,” I said to Zack
after swiping the screen. “How are you?”

“I’m good, babe. The client’s happy.
We’re ahead of schedule today. And we’re going to Maria’s for dinner.”

“Oh, is that the place with the
blue corn enchiladas?”

“You got it,” Zack said. “Want me
to eat one on your behalf?”

I laughed at the offer. “Yes,
please. And drink a blue agave margarita for me, too.”

“Oh, you bet! They go hand-in-hand
anyway, babe. I don’t think you can go to Maria’s without the blue corn
enchiladas or at least one margarita.”

“I wish I was joining you,” I told
him.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he
said, “What’s going on, Katie?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m
just running on fumes after a kind of short night.”

“Uh-huh. And why the short night?”

I hadn’t told him anything about
Pia Lincoln and Vito Marclay. But while I was sitting in the car at the motel
waiting for Dina the previous evening, I’d sent a quick
I love you
text
without explaining why I was awake after midnight.

“It’s my friend Pia,” I said.
“She’s in some trouble.”

Zack sighed. “I know, Katie. When
were you going to tell me?”

“You already know?”

“Gretchen called me from the
newspaper this morning,” he said. “She heard it on the street from someone
else. I guess the buzz is all over town.”

“Sure, of course. But I didn’t want
you to think…I mean, I didn’t want you to worry if I told you about what happened
last night.”

“You mean, if you told me that you
were at the Moonlight with Earl Dodd and some poor guy that had been roughed up
pretty badly?”

“Wow! Gretchen gets the scoop,
doesn’t she?”

He laughed. “She’s a newspaper
editor, Katie. She’s got sources in every nook and cranny of Crescent Creek and
all across the region.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now you know.”

“Right. What’s the latest?”

“I haven’t heard anything from
Trent or Dina all day,” I said. “Except for a quick text to let me know that
Mr. Bickerton was doing okay.”

“Is that the man that was assaulted
at the motel?”

“Yes. He co-owns the—”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Zack cut in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but they’ve reset the lighting. I need to get back to
work.”

“Okay, handsome. Go take some great
pictures! Make that jewelry look like a million bucks!” I cringed at the lame
comment. “Or… make it look like whatever the retail price is going to be.”

Zack chuckled again, told me that
he loved me and promised to call sometime after he finished his dinner at
Maria’s.

“Don’t forget my enchilada,” I said
before he hung up. “And an extra-strong margarita!”

CHAPTER
36

Blanche Speltzer was perched on a
bench in front of Java & Juice when I arrived for our chat that afternoon.
She was holding a straw delicately with one thumb and forefinger, slowly
sipping a dark green concoction from a plastic cup.

“This stuff is the cat’s pajamas,”
she said. “It makes me feel like I’m eighteen instead of eighty!”

I sat down beside her and dropped
my purse on the seat between us.

“Which one is it?” I asked,
studying the smoothie in her hand. “Great Big Greens or Spinach Spectacular?”

She glanced at the drink and
shrugged. “Heck if I know, Katie,” she said. “The real kicker is the secret
ingredient that I add after they whip it up for me.”

“And what would that be?”

She raised one eyebrow. “If I tell
you,” she said, “it won’t be a secret.”

I leaned over and lowered my voice.
“Is it in a flask in your purse?”

Her mouth crashed open in surprise.
“Me? Add a splash of hooch to a health drink?”

I nodded.

“Oh, what do I care?” she said with
a laugh. “I’m an old woman. I’ve earned the right to jazz up my smoothie with a
little rum if I want.”

“Just don’t drink and drive, okay?”

She smiled. “Boris is back from his
walkabout with the boys. He’s meeting me here in a half hour so we can go buy a
few things for dinner.”

“Is he cooking?”

“Boris?” Her eyes widened in mock
surprise. “The only thing that man can cook is cold cereal with milk.”

“I guess that means you’re the
designated chef tonight, huh?”

“Pan-Seared Scallops with a Yukon
Gold Potato Mash and Basil Oil,” Blanche said, raising one eyebrow for
emphasis. “And for dessert—Classic Coeur a la Crème with Raspberry Coulis.”

“Wow! Any chance there will be
enough for three?”

She giggled. “I’m afraid not, sugar.
It’s date night. Once a week, I make something special and Boris serenades me
with his ukulele and old country tunes.”

“That’s so sweet!”

She looked away as she blushed. “It
is,” she said softly. “I hit the jackpot with old Boris Hertel.”

After a brief respite of silent
reflection, Blanche slurped on her straw and asked why I wanted to get
together.

“If it’s about the tourism
thingamabob,” she said, “we’re still waiting on June, Gilda and Roxie to finish
writing the draft of the bylaws.”

“What’s taking so long?” I asked.

Blanche rolled her eyes. “What
else?” she said sharply. “June Calloway! That woman is forever claiming that
personal matters kept her from getting anything done.”

“Is she okay?”

“How do you mean?” Blanche asked. “Physically,
emotionally or psychologically?”

“How about all of the above?”

She drank more of her rum-spiked
smoothie. When she finished, she put the cup on the bench, tugged an
embroidered handkerchief from her purse and dried the corners of her mouth.

“That is absolutely delicious!” she
cheered. “Something naughty and something nice, altogether in one package.”

I smiled. “Sounds like you,
Blanche.”

She glared with dissatisfaction.
“I’m not naughty, dear,” she said. “I’m frisky and animated. There’s a big
difference.”

“I agree,” I said. “Now, what’s
going on with June?”

She shook her head. “Haven’t talked
to her. It’s probably got something to do with her broken heart.”

“What broken heart?” I asked. “I
thought she and her new man were going strong.”

Blanche groaned. “Oh, Katie, Katie,
Katie
! Keep up, will you? If the woman’s heart is broken, that suggests
she’s no longer dating the oaf.”

“Oaf?”

“A complete fool,” Blanche said. “And
to think that June still treats him with civility when they run into one
another.”

“Who are we talking about?” I
asked.

“That stupid painter,” Blanche
answered. “Vito Marclay.”

“Oh! I didn’t know they’d dated.”

“Who did? I only found out about it
after the fact. Apparently, they both know a lot about being sneaky and
secretive.”

“When did they break up?”

Blanche smiled. “As soon as he met
his next conquest.”

“Pia Lincoln?”

She nodded. “Don’t look so
flabbergasted, Katie. You already knew about that one.”

“Yes, but…” I considered the
complexities of the situation. Pia and June had been good friends for years. If
Vito dumped June to take up with Pia, there might be more than a little bad
blood now between the three of them.

I was lost in thought when Blanche
tapped my arm.

“What are you thinking about?” she
asked.

“Oh, you know,” I smiled. “The
distress of a love triangle in a small place like Crescent Creek.”

“Well, you should know,” Blanche
said with a sly smile. “I haven’t forgotten that you once dated Deputy Chief
Walsh before he fell for Dina Kincaid.”

“That was high school,” I
protested. “It’s ancient history.”

“Yes, but you know what they say
about history, Katie.”

“That it repeats?”

She nodded. “You best take care,”
she said. “I’d hate to see you fall back into the quicksand of love with Trent
Walsh so that he can once again kick you to the curb for that gorgeous
detective.”

“Um, they’re both happily involved
with other people,” I said. “And I’m more than content with Zack.”

“Never say never, dear.”

“Well, in this case, I’m going to,”
I said. “I will
never
fall in love with Trent Walsh again.”

She giggled. “I know that,
sweetheart. I was just teasing you.”

“I figured as much,” I said. “And,
since I also know that you don’t have much time, can we get back to June and
Vito?”

“What do you want to know?” she
asked.

“What have you heard about Vito?”

She sneered like someone who’d just
taken a bite of something sour.

I smiled. “That good, huh?”

“It’s like I told you the other
day,” Blanche said. “The guy talks a good game, but I think there’s something
shifty under his handsome artist shtick.”

“Have you heard why he and June
broke up?”

“I already told you,” Blanche said.
“He met Pia Lincoln.”

“And you’re pretty sure that June
is still pining for him?”

She snickered. “More or less. I
think June has good days and bad days. There are times when it seems like she’s
totally over the chump. And then there are other instances when it feels like
she’s plotting to have someone string him up by his heels in the middle of
town.”

“Are you kidding?”

“About which part?”

“June saying that she wanted to
harm Vito.”

Blanche frowned. “She wasn’t
serious. It was just blowing off some steam.”

“But now that he’s gone missing,” I
said. “Don’t you think—”

“Oh, no way!” Blanche blurted.
“June Calloway is incapable of such nonsense. She lives in fear of breaking a
nail. And I know for a fact that she faints at the sight of blood.”

“How do you know that?”

“She was over for dinner the other
night,” Blanche explained. “I accidentally nicked my thumb with a vegetable
peeler and there was a gusher of Type A everywhere! June went white as a ghost
and just about hit the deck.” She laughed at the memory. “I had to get Boris
and the man June was with to prop her up and escort her from the kitchen back
to the living room sofa.”

“I didn’t know she was squeamish
about things like that,” I said.

Blanche nodded. “June’s a funny
girl alright. She can faint at the sight of a few drops of blood or browbeat
her ex-boyfriend to within an inch of his life. In fact, I saw her shrieking at
Vito not that long ago.”

“Where?” I asked.

“The post office,” Blanche answered.
“I guess they ran into one another on a day that June was raw with emotion. He
smiled and asked how she was doing. She hissed and nearly clawed out his eyes.”

“Doesn’t sound pretty,” I said.

“It wasn’t pretty,” Blanche agreed.
“But it was informative.”

“How so?”

“I learned some interesting curse
words,” she explained. “And I learned how to say ‘I hate your ugly face’ in
French.”

“Who said that?”

“June,” Blanche answered. “I guess
she bought one of those Berlitz tapes when Vito promised to take her to Paris.”

“But they never made the trip?”

Blanche shook her head. “Never
did,” she said sadly. “And they never will.”

“Hey! I thought you told me a
second ago that we should never say never.”

“Did I say that?” Blanche asked
with a wink. “Well, it’s like everything else in life, dear. There are
exceptions to every rule, so you’ve got to leave a little wiggle room!”

“I’ll remember that the next time
my mother gives me a hard time about something,” I said.

“Oh, she means well,” Blanche said.
“She just wants the best for her little girl.”

I blushed at the reference to my
mother. “I suppose so, but…” I didn’t know where to take the thought, so I
decided to loop back to June Calloway. “Did you say that June brought a date to
dinner the other night?”

Blanche took a deep breath. “He
wasn’t a date, Katie. He was a hunk of perfection!”

“Who was it?”

“He’s not local,” she answered. “I
think June said he was a newspaper reporter from New York. She met him in the
cocktail lounge at Connie Larson’s place.”

I felt a rush of goose bumps tumble
down my back.

“Is there any chance his name was
Desmond?” I asked.

Blanche’s eyes crinkled with
delight. “Oh, goodness! Do you know him? Isn’t he the epitome of masculine
perfection, Katie?”

I shrugged. “He’s definitely
masculine,” I said. “But I’m not sure how perfect he is.”