An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9) (16 page)

CHAPTER
40

As I left Trent’s office, I decided
to take the long way back to Sky High so I could stop and see if June Calloway
was home. She lived across from Vito Marclay on Balsam Drive in a bungalow
surrounded by lush gardens. I wanted to ask if she’d noticed anything peculiar
the night of the break-in at his house.

After I parked at the curb and slid
out of the car, I made my way up the curving sidewalk to the front porch. As I
reached for the bell, the door cracked open.

“Katie?”

I saw June’s tapered nose and
gold-rimmed glasses in the narrow breach.

“Hi, there,” I said. “Is everything
okay?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I heard
the car.”

“Do you have a second?” I asked. “I
wanted to talk with you about Vito Marclay.”

Her mouth squirmed nervously. “What
about him?”

Between the apprehensive expression
and the hushed tone, it seemed like June was uncomfortable with either my
presence or the prospect of discussing her neighbor.

“You sure everything’s okay?” I
said, lowering my voice.

She frowned. “I don’t want to get
the guy in any hot water, Katie.”

“What do you mean, June?”

She pulled the door open wider and
stepped outside.

“Is this about the other night?”
she asked.

“I was interested in the recent
break-in at Vito’s,” I explained. “Deputy Chief Walsh told me that Mr. Marclay
had reported a burglary not too long ago.”

The uneasy expression on June’s
face glimmered briefly with a smile.

“Don’t you mean the
alleged
burglary?” she asked.

I instantly knew where she was
going with the question, so I moved closer.

“You don’t believe him, do you?”

She glanced over both shoulders and
then reached for the door.

“Come inside,” she said. “With
everything that’s been going on lately, I’ll feel better if we’re not out here
for the whole world to see.”

As I followed her inside, I glanced
quickly up and down the empty street. There were no pedestrians, no cars, not
even a stray cat wandering in search of something to eat.

“You probably think I’m crazy,”
June said once we were sitting at her kitchen table. “But like I told you,
things have been going on.”

“What things?”

She pressed her lips into a frown.
Then she jumped up and asked if I wanted a cup of tea.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I said.

“Do you mind if I fix one for
myself?”

“By all means,” I answered.

“It helps to calm my nerves,” she
said, heating a cup of water in the microwave. “Mai tais do the same, but I
usually lay off the hard stuff until the weekend rolls around.”

I laughed at the quip and waited a
few moments until she’d settled back into her chair with the tea. Then I asked
why she had suspicions about the burglary at Vito Marclay’s house.

“Well, I really don’t like to speak
poorly of anyone,” June said. “But he’s not the carefree painter that people
believe him to be. I’ve heard some pretty nasty fights between Vito and Pia in
the past few weeks. And the night of the supposed break-in…”

She paused to sip her tea and enjoy
the warmth of the herbal blend.

“I just love chamomile, don’t you?
It’s so relaxing.”

I nodded, waiting for the rest of
what she had to say about Vito’s burglary.

“Do you drink herbal teas, Katie?”

I smiled. “Now and then,” I said.
“I get up so early that I’m usually doing high octane coffee most days.”

“Of course, that makes sense. But
you should try herbal teas. They’re amazing. Did you know that mint tea can
reduce the pain and bloating from gas?”

“You don’t say?”

She chuckled. “That’s kind of
gross, but it’s true. My brother has a horrible time with gas. He can clear a
room with one little toot.”

It had been a while since June had
mentioned her brother, a long-distance truck driver with a passion for bawdy
jokes and bean burritos. He’d been staying with her for the past few months,
trying to decide if he wanted to put down roots in Colorado or return to California.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you
know about the benefits of mint tea,” I said, hoping we’d return to Vito
Marclay before she shared more intimate details about her brother’s
gastrointestinal situation.

“Actually,” she continued, “Stanley’s
gas is the reason I have my doubts about Vito’s story.”

“Oh, really? That’s an intriguing
combination of things.”

June shrugged. “What can I say?
When we were kids, Stanley didn’t have such problems. I had no idea his tummy
had become as delicate and sensitive as a baby’s butt.”

“And the night of Mr. Marclay’s
break-in?” I said. “Was Stanley sipping mint tea?”

She laughed and covered her mouth. “Oh,
goodness me, Katie! Please forgive me for even mentioning any of that. Stanley
would be mortified if he knew I was telling you about his gassiness.”

“Well, his secret’s safe with me,”
I assured her. “Now, what can you tell me about the night of the alleged
burglary?”

She drank some more and dabbed at
her lips with a tissue.

“That’s just it,” she said. “It
wasn’t really a break-in. There weren’t any masked intruders carrying things
out of Vito’s house. It was him and Pia Lincoln.” She rolled her eyes. “I
suppose you’ve heard about the engagement.”

“She told me the other day,” I
said. “And I definitely detect something in your voice there, June. I take it
you don’t approve?”

“Oh, heavens! Who cares what I
think? But I’m telling you the truth when I say that the two of them fight like
crazy. Even the night they were loading all of those paintings into the van
from Garfunkel’s Sporting Goods. They were hissing and cursing and calling one
another every name in the book.”

“The van was from Garfunkel’s?” I
asked.

She nodded. “Marty knows Pia’s
sister,” she explained. “At least, that’s what Vito told me. He said Pia asked
Marty if they could use his van to move some of Vito’s furniture.”

“But you saw them taking paintings
from his house instead?”

She nodded. “A whole bunch of them,
some big and some small. They were wrapped up in muslin and twine. Vito kept
yelling at Pia to be careful because they were worth so much money.”

“Did your brother hear all of
this?” I asked.

“Stanley?” She threw back her head
and laughed. “He was sleeping and tooting up a storm in the spare bedroom. We
ate at a Mexican place up in Fort Collins that night. It’s a family tradition.
When it’s our brother Charlie’s birthday, we eat steak and baked potatoes at a
place in Denver. And when Stanley’s turning a year older, everyone drives up to
a place called José Sent Me in Fort Collins. I always get the taco salad
because the rest of the menu is too greasy for my taste.”

“And that night?” I said. “Stanley
was a little gassy, so you were…where? Outside?”

She nodded. “I went onto the front
porch for some fresh air. It was between one and one-thirty, so I expected a
nice, peaceful respite. But when I got out there and made myself comfortable on
the loveseat, I heard words that made my cheeks turn red.”

“Vito and Pia?”

She frowned. “Horrible language! From
the both of them. Just going on and on and on while they carried the paintings
out to the van.”

“And I guess they weren’t aware
that you could hear them?” I asked.

June shook her head. “Too dark,”
she answered. “I was in the shadows out there. Even with the light by our front
door, that part of the porch is always in shadows.”

“Okay, so…you witnessed Vito
Marclay and Pia Lincoln carrying paintings out to a van in the middle of the
night?”

June nodded.

“And then what happened? At what
point did the police arrive?”

She thought for a moment, biting
her lower lip and narrowing her gaze. “Well, it was probably about an hour
later,” she said. “Once they’d loaded up the van, Pia climbed in and drove off.
I was still outside, enjoying the crisp night air and thinking about going
inside when I heard a car racing up the street.”

“Did they have the sirens on?”

She shook her head. “No sirens, but
they were driving pretty fast.”

“Was it a police cruiser?”

“Crescent Creek Police,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure it was Tripp Ardsley and Bridget…” She stopped, trying to
remember the other officer’s last name.

“Bridget Stanhope?” I offered.

“Yes,” June said with a smile.
“That’s her. Such a lovely woman. I see Bridget and her two kids at church
every Sunday. They’re both so well-behaved.”

“She does a great job with them,” I
agreed. “But I’m not surprised. Her dad was a four-star general and she served
in the military for a good long while before deciding to get into law
enforcement here.”

“I can’t imagine how she does it
though,” June said. “Raising two children on her own
and
being a police
officer.”

“She demonstrates what it means to
be strong and courageous every day,” I said.

June chuckled. “And forgiving. Did
you know that she and her ex-husband and his new wife are all good friends?”

“I did know that,” I said. “They
bring the kids in sometimes for Saturday pancakes.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be me,” June
said. “I mean, heck. I’ve got enough on my hands with Stanley and his gas.”

I laughed at the barbed comment.
Then I asked June if she’d told the police about seeing the individuals carry
paintings to the van the night of the so-called burglary.

“I did,” she said. “I told Bridget
all about it.”

“That’s great. I’m kind of
surprised that Trent didn’t mention it, but there must be a reason.”

“Deputy Chief Walsh?” she asked.
“Were you talking to him about all of this?”

“I was. I’m doing a little snooping
around town to see if I can help them find Pia.”

June’s eyes suddenly went round
with surprise. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “You make it sound like
she’s been kidnapped or something.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, it does
appear that way,” I said. “I won’t go into the whole story, but there’s reason
to believe that Pia has been abducted and it has something to do with Vito
Marclay.”

June shook her head. “As of when?”

“Do you mean when did Pia go
missing?”

She nodded.

“Well, a couple of days ago,” I
said. “She called me in the middle of the night to say that Vito had turned up
on her doorstep covered in blood. But when the police got to her place, there
was no one home.”

She giggled. “Maybe this is all a
big misunderstanding,” June said. “I mean, he’s an artist, Katie. You know how
those guys can be—flaky, impulsive and unconventional.”

CHAPTER
41

Marty Garfunkel was hanging
Colorado Avalanche hoodies on a rack near the front of his sporting goods store
when I arrived a half hour after leaving June Calloway’s house. Marty and I
were in the same class at Crescent Creek High. I’d always appreciated his wry
sense of humor, keen intellect and lighthearted approach to life. A short,
roly-poly guy with bright red corkscrew hair, freckles from ear to ear and a
proclivity for practical jokes, Marty had married his high school sweetheart
shortly after graduation. Together, they ran the sporting goods store that his
father opened about ten years after Nana Reed started Sky High Pies.

“Hey, Katie!” he called brightly
after glancing up from the rack of blue sweatshirts. “How’s it going?”

“Smooth and steady,” I said.
“How’re things around here?”

He raised his eyebrows and
shrugged. “Can’t complain. The kid I hired to help my son stock merchandise
called in sick, so I’m having some pretty heavy flashbacks to when I first
started working here for my dad.”

“Ah, the glory days,” I said with a
smile.

Marty groaned. “If those were my
glory days,” he said, “then I’m in real trouble.”

I punched his shoulder lightly and
asked if he minded answering a couple of questions.

“About when I was a kid stocking
this place?”

I shook my head. “More like present
day. It’s something that involves your van.”

He frowned, turning his smooth
forehead into a patchwork of wrinkles. “I don’t follow you, Katie. What about
my van?”

“Have you loaned it to anyone
lately?”

The look of confusion vanished. “A
couple of times in the past few weeks,” he said. “My neighbor used it to bring
a new mattress home from the store. Saved them fifty bucks on the delivery fee,
and I know his wife is going to bake me some of her knockout chocolate chip
cookies in return.”

“Sounds like a fair exchange,” I
said. “What about the other time?”

“You know Pia Lincoln, right?” he
said.

“Very well. Did she borrow it?”

“No, it was her sister,” he said.
“Liza is my friend’s lawyer down in Denver. He called and asked if I could do
her a favor because the fleet over at Bledsoe’s only has two vans and they were
both rented that night.”

“Sounds like she was in a hurry,
huh?”

“Isn’t everybody these days?” Marty
said. “I guess she was helping a friend move some stuff.”

“Do you know who she was helping?”

Marty shook his head. “I don’t know
who it was, but the place was on Balsam Drive. Liza gave my son a couple
hundred bucks to help her move the things to a storage locker at a place on
Colfax down in Denver. It was your basic deal, although they did it in the
middle of the night for some reason.”

“And Matt helped Pia’s sister?”

Marty smiled. “He’s a good kid. Working
as hard as he can to save for college.”

“Sounds like it. I talked to Oscar
King at the art gallery. He told me that Matt works there a few hours a week.”

“That’s right,” Marty said. “But
it’s not as steady as Matt hoped it would be.”

“What do you mean?”

Marty chuckled. “The last few times
Matt was scheduled to work, Oscar called to say that he didn’t need him to come
in. I don’t know if money’s tight over there or what, but my boy was pretty
disappointed. He turned down an offer from Java & Juice because Oscar
promised him a certain number of hours each week.”

Between the slight frown on Marty’s
face and the information that he’d just divulged, I wondered if Oscar King’s
story about bruising his knuckles might be less than honest.

“Did Oscar tell Matt not to come in
this week?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Marty said.
“I don’t think Matt’s actually been on the clock at the gallery since last
month.”

“That’s too bad. College tuition is
pretty pricey these days. I’m sure your son wants to earn as much as he can
before the fall term starts.”

“You bet. That’s why he’s probably
going to turn in his notice at Bickerton Gallery and find something else. As it
is, he’ll be living at home and commuting up to Boulder again this year.”

“My brother did that for a couple
of semesters,” I said.

“Yeah? And Brody turned out okay,
so maybe there’s hope for my Matt.”

We shared a cheery smile and Marty
asked if I wanted to buy two of the Avalanche hoodies.

“Two?”

“Yeah,” he said. “One for you and
one for Mr. Kate Reed.”

I punched his arm again. “His name
is Zack Hutton. But I think you know that already.”

“I do,” Marty confessed. “But I’ll
never grow tired of teasing you, Katie. It makes me think about all those long
hours in Humpty Dumpty’s biology lab.”

“Mr. Hampton was a sweet guy,” I
said. “Even if his head looked exactly like a hard-boiled egg from the back.”

“Bald and shiny and just waiting to
be cracked open,” Marty joked.

“Hey! That’s not very nice. What
did he ever do to you?”

Marty shrugged. “He made me rewrite
my final paper three times. Everyone else was, like, gone for the weekend, but me
and Humpty Dumpty stayed in his room until I finished.”

“What was up with that?” I asked.

“With what? Me having to rewrite
the paper?”

I nodded.

“Well, it may have had something to
do with the fact that I hated biology.”

“But why did you have to do the
paper so many times?”

Marty chuckled. “Because I was
ornery and stubborn,” he said. “We were supposed to explain the relationship
between a parasite and its host and I kept using my older sister and her
boyfriend as the example.”

I smiled. “Which one was the
parasite?”

“Depended on the day,” Marty said.

“And Mr. Hampton disagreed with the
example?”

“Uh-huh,” Marty answered. “Mainly
because my sister was going out with his son at the time.”

“Ah, the good old days,” I said
with a lopsided grin. “We can’t change our mistakes or deny our regrets.