An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9) (5 page)

CHAPTER
11

The phone was loud and jarring when
it rang during the middle of the night. I fumbled for it on the bedside table
and answered without checking the screen.

“Katie?”

I didn’t recognize the voice, so I
mumbled something.

“You were probably sleeping,” the
caller said. “I’m really sorry to wake you up, but—”

“Who is this?” I asked, surfacing
from the gauzy depths of a fading dream.

“It’s Pia.”

I reached over and turned on the
lamp. Then I pushed myself into a sitting position against the pillows.

“Okay. What’s…what time is it?”

“Two-fifteen,” she said. “And I’m
sorry. But I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Vito,” she said breathlessly.
“He’s here.”

“At your house?”

“Yes. He was here when I got back
from the police station.”

Pia’s announcement left me
momentarily speechless. Despite the haze of slumber and the bewildering
surprise of a startling phone call in the middle of the night, I tried to
connect the shards of information:
Pia Lincoln
,
two in the morning
,
Vito
,
police station
.
Who was Vito and why was she calling to
tell me that
—

“Oh, my word!” I blurted, suddenly
wide awake as a shot of adrenaline sent my sluggish brain spinning. “Is he
okay?”

“He was covered in blood,” she
said, her voice dropping in volume. “He kept mumbling something about a fight
at his house and some guys taking him to a motel room, but he got away and used
one of their cars.”

“Do you know who did this?” I
asked. “Or why they targeted Vito?”

Pia sighed. “It’s got something to
do with a scam, Katie. I guess they’ve been planning it for months. And Vito
was ready to go through with it until he and I met. I guess that he told the
other people that he was pulling out because he wanted to stay here in Crescent
Creek.”

“What was the scam?”

“Something to do with old
paintings,” Pia said.

“And who was involved?” I asked.

She exhaled again, sounding
frazzled and weary. “I know them, Katie. And so do you.”

Her answer left me speechless. As I
processed the reply, Pia continued relaying what had happened in the moments
after Vito turned up on her doorstep.

“I keep trying to get him to calm
down, but he insists that Phil Bickerton is involved and a woman and her son
from New York named…” She stopped in midstream. “Katie? Someone’s at the door.
I just had to—”

The call dropped as I waited for
her to finish the thought.

My mind skittered wildly.
Pia
Lincoln
,
whispering and frightened
,
Vito turns up out of the blue
,
someone at the door in the middle of the night.

I quickly dialed her number and
listened, counting the seemingly endless series of rings:
seven, eight,
nine, ten
—

“You’ve reached the voicemail of
Pia Lincoln,” I heard as the call was automatically transferred. “I’m either
away from my desk or assisting clients. Please leave a message and I’ll be back
in touch as soon as possible. Thanks for calling and have a gourmet day!”

An eternity passed as I waited for
the loud metallic tone to signal the start of the recording. Once it sounded, I
left a rushed, breathless message, asking her to call me back.

I held the phone in my hand and sat
in bed for a few tense minutes. Then I repeated the process: dialing her
number, listening to her outgoing message, recording another request for her to
call me.

“Okay,” I said once the phone was
back on the nightstand. “What are we going to do?”

I quickly ran through the options.
I could wait for Pia to return the call. I could jump in the car and drive over
to her house. Or I could—

“911,” I said grabbing the phone
again.

I punched the three digits and
waited.

“Police Dispatch,” a man said
calmly when the call connected. “What’s the exact location of your emergency?”

“This is Kate Reed,” I said. “Can
you send a car to Pia Lincoln’s house? It’s at the intersection of Verbena and Northfield.”

“Are you at the location, Miss
Reed?”

“No, Pia just called me from there.
I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but she didn’t sound right and…” My mind
scrambled through a series of fractured thoughts about Pia, and whether or not
the emergency operator would be aware of what had happened at Vito Marclay’s
house the previous afternoon. “Can you please send a car?” I said again. “I’m
going to drive over myself, but I wanted to let you guys know because of—”

“I don’t know if you going over
there is a good idea,” he cut in. “If, that is, you have concerns about Miss
Lincoln’s safety.”

His words of caution were lost in
the frantic images crashing through my mind.

“Are you sending a car?” I
demanded.

“Yes,” the man said. “But before
you—”

“Thank you so much!” I blurted.
“Would you let them know that I’m on my way?”

“Miss Reed?”

I considered replying, but didn’t
want to take the time. As I clicked off the phone and rushed to the closet, I
remembered something Nana Reed said on more than one occasion when I followed
her around the Sky High kitchen.

“When life presents difficult
choices and truly tight spots,” she’d tell me, “it’s sometimes better to beg
for forgiveness after the fact than to ask for permission ahead of time.”

CHAPTER
12

The headlights of my car sliced
through the gloom, bright beams illuminating the two-lane ribbon of pavement.
As I raced to Pia’s house, my mind rushed through a series of possible
explanations for the scenario that my friend had described.

Was Vito hurt? Why had he
suddenly turned up? Had he provided an explanation for the strange scene she
discovered at his house?

In twenty-four hours, Pia’s life
had been completely upended, flipping from order and meticulousness into a pair
of baffling, chaotic incidents. As I came around the corner about a block from
her house, I saw the pulsing strobes on a pair of CCPD patrol cars. One was in
the street, the driver’s door open and the interior glowing from the overhead
light. The other sedan was angled across the end of the driveway. As I parked
at the curb, I caught a glimpse of a third vehicle near the house.

It was a two-door silver sports
car, sleek and gleaming in the dual lights mounted above Pia’s garage. I wondered
for a moment if it was the Aston Martin that she’d posted the day before on her
Instagram. But before I could walk up the drive for a closer look, a voice came
from the shadows.

“Can I help you?”

It was Amanda Crane, looking crisp
in her dark blue uniform pants and white shirt. She walked briskly across the
sloping lawn, one hand on her service revolver until I moved into the puddle of
light from a streetlamp. She smiled when she saw my face and told me that Dina
Kincaid and a couple of other officers were inside talking to one of the
neighbors.

“Is Pia here?” I asked.

Amanda shook her head. “She and the
Volvo are gone, but we had a call from Cal at the Exxon over on Gilpin. He
thinks that he saw Pia and some guy drive past his gas station about twenty
minutes ago.”

“How did Calvin hear about what was
going on over here?” I asked.

Amanda smiled. “He’s got a
scanner,” she explained. “He’s also got a soft spot for Pia. She organized his
daughter’s high school graduation party for free after Leslie’s accident.”

I’d donated cupcakes and cookies
for the event, so I was familiar with Pia’s generosity. Calvin Brewster and his
wife had been planning a lavish celebration for their eldest daughter when
Leslie’s car hit a patch of gravel on a winding road and she ended up in the
hospital with extensive injuries. The party was postponed for several months as
Leslie recuperated. During that time, Pia solicited donations from local
businesses so that Cal and Leslie’s daughter could have a wonderful graduation
bash once her mother had recovered enough to attend.

“I remember,” I said. “That was
such a happy day.”

Amanda nodded over her shoulder
toward the house. “I heard that Pia called you before all of this went down.”

“Yeah. I was asleep, so it’s a
little fuzzy. But she told me that Vito Marclay was here.”

Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that
the guy from yesterday?” she said. “The home invasion or robbery?”

“I don’t know how Trent and Dina
are classifying it,” I answered. “But he’s the guy. Pia stopped by to see Vito
yesterday afternoon and found the house in disarray.”

“And blood on the living room
floor,” Amanda said in a somber tone. “I saw the photos from the scene.” She
shifted her stance. “Does Dina know you were coming?”

I shook my head. “No, it was more…well,
I suppose it was more instinct and my own curiosity. I’m not sure why Pia
called me instead of you guys.”

Amanda smiled. “People trust you,
Katie. You make them feel safe.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said,
feeling slightly embarrassed by the comment. “But Pia sounded pretty terrified,
so I think she—”

“Hang on a sec,” Amanda
interrupted. “Do you want me to run inside and let Dina know that you’re here?”

“Do you mind?”

She shook her head and asked me to
wait before walking toward the house. After I watched her disappear inside, my
gaze wandered to the silver car in the driveway. I moved closer for a better
look at the back, noticing the Colorado plate inside a silver frame. I quickly
pulled out my phone and took a picture of the tag, making sure the name of the
dealership on the frame was clearly visible: LUXURY BY KENTON. Then I stepped
around and peered into the car.

There was a leather jacket on the
front passenger seat along with a pack of cigarettes, a few paper napkins and a
crumpled carryout sack from Burger & Brew. With the exception of a large
white umbrella, the backseat was neat and tidy.

“Nice ride,” I said to myself. “A
little rich for my taste, but perfect for somebody with money to burn.”

After inspecting the car for a few
more minutes, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through emails. It was a habit
whenever I was waiting for something, but it also kept me rooted in the
normalcy of daily life. Studying the collection of notes and invoices and links
to funny cat videos on YouTube from my mother helped me feel less jumpy about
the situation with Pia and Vito Marclay.

I was scanning a long missive from
my sister when I heard the scuffle of footsteps on the driveway. It was Amanda,
looking apprehensive and tense.

“Well, that was fun,” she said.

I smiled warily. “Everything okay?”

“Not really,” she answered. “Right
before I got Dina’s attention, she’d heard that Pia’s car was found in the
alley behind Erin Rosso’s hair salon.”

I could tell from the pinched look
on Amanda’s face that there was more.

“And Pia?” I said.

Amanda shook her head. “She wasn’t
there, but we’ve got her purse and cell phone.”

CHAPTER
13

Dina Kincaid was leaning against
the counter in Pia’s kitchen when Amanda escorted me inside through the back
entrance. She was reading something on her phone and slowly pulsing the tip of
one finger against her chin.

“Oh, hey,” she said after glancing
up. “Thanks for waiting, Katie.”

“Of course,” I said. “Is there
anything I can do to help?”

For a split second, I saw Dina
smile. But it was gone in an instant as she answered my question.

“Keep your fingers crossed,” she
said. “At this point, we’re doing everything we can to figure out how this
connects with the scene at Vito Marclay’s yesterday.”

“The car is one link,” I said.

Dina frowned. “Pia’s car?”

“No, the Aston Martin out front. It
was parked in front of Marclay’s yesterday when Pia arrived.”

“It was?”

“Yes, didn’t Trent fill you in?”

The detective answered first with a
long, deflated sigh. Then she said, “I’m running on fumes at this point. Maybe
I skimmed the case file too fast.” She rolled her shoulders and slipped the
phone into her jacket. “But that’s my worry, right?”

I smiled.

“The next thing we want to do is
talk to Pia’s sister,” Dina said. “We found her business card in the living
room along with some other things.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Pia told me
that her sister has been spending a lot of time in Crescent Creek in the past
few months.”

Dina smiled. “So goes the world of
mergers and acquisitions,” she said. “The Denver firm where Pia’s sister works
acquired Mitch Langhorn and Caitlin Diebel’s law practice over on Crestview.”

“I’d heard about the acquisition,
but not the details.”

“Makes two of us,” Dina said. “I
guess Mitch and Caitlin wanted to keep things quiet during the transition.
They’re both planning to stay with the firm for a few more years, so the most
immediate changes are internal adjustments related to ownership, corporate
charter, billing and things like that.”

“Do you know Liza’s last name?” I
asked. “Pia told me at some point, but I can’t recall it at the moment.”

Dina nodded. “Liza Canfield,” she
said. “Married to a guy that owns a bunch of real estate in Colorado Springs.”

I didn’t recognize the last name.
And I hadn’t met Pia’s sister. But I figured that our paths might cross at some
point soon.

“Did you talk to her at all?” I
asked.

“No, Tyler’s helping me with the
investigation, so he’s going to have a chat with Liza. She’s staying at the
Crescent Creek Lodge while she’s in town.”

“Divide and conquer,” I said with
an encouraging smile. “It can be the quickest way to get the scoop and crack
the case.”

“Something like that,” Dina said.
“Speaking of which, do you mind if I ask you a couple of quick questions?”

“Sure,” I said. “Whatever I can do
to help.”

She motioned at the table and four
chairs near the sliding glass doors. I followed her over and we sat across from
one another.

“Let’s go back to when Pia called
you,” Dina said. “What did she say? What was her demeanor?”

I took a moment to gather my
thoughts before answering the questions. I told Dina that I was sleeping when
the phone rang. Then I shared everything I could remember: Pia’s breathless
whisper, the fact that Vito was at her house covered in blood, mumbled and
cryptic remarks about a scam and then the sudden end to the bewildering call.

“And that was it?” asked Dina.

“Well, I called her right back,” I
said. “Hoping that, you know, maybe she’d somehow accidentally disconnected the
phone when we were talking.”

“But she hadn’t?”

“No. Well, she didn’t answer. So I
left a couple of quick messages and dialed 911 and…” I glanced around the
kitchen: pristine countertops, a tea kettle on the stove, three bananas
arranged in a bright blue ceramic bowl.

“And here we are,” Dina said.

“Yep,” I agreed with a sad smile.
“Here we are. For the second time in as many days, Pia Lincoln is at the center
of something weird and random and unsettling.”

“And she’s the last person in town
that I would ever expect to be involved in any type of crime,” Dina said.

“Exactly. She’s prim and proper and
totally…well, totally together. I know that’s a lame way to describe her, but
it’s fitting.”

“Do you know this Vito Marclay
guy?” asked Dina.

I shook my head. “Never met him.
But from what Pia told me, he’s quite a famous artist.”

“If you like that sort of thing,”
Dina said.

“What sort of thing?”

She reached into her pocket and
came out with the phone again. I watched while she swiped at the screen before
using her thumb and forefinger to resize an image. When she held the phone
toward me, I felt an instant chill twine around my shoulders.

“Creepy enough for you?” Dina
asked.

I was staring at a painting that
depicted a dismembered body scattered on a beach. The arms and legs and torso
were vibrant yellow, the head was neon pink and the heart had been painted with
a matte black. Pale peach sand circled a lagoon filled with red waves capped
with tufts of coral blue.

“Um…” I didn’t know what to say
about the artwork, so I went for the next most obvious question. “Is this one
of Vito’s?”

“Yes,” Dina said. “Care to guess
what it sold for at auction last month?”

“No,” I said. “Maybe you could just
tell me.”

She snickered softly. “Two hundred
thousand,” she whispered. “And that’s apparently one of his less successful
canvases from the past couple of years.”

“Fudge nuggets!” I said. “That’s a
whole lot of dough!”

Dina laughed again. “Yes, indeed.
And I can’t wait to ask Mr. Marclay to interpret this freaky masterpiece for
us. I can only imagine what the different colors represent and why he put the
poor woman’s shoes and sunglasses on the poodle.”

“On the what?” I asked.

“The poodle,” she said, leaning in
to point at one corner of the screen. “That’s what this is down here; a purple
poodle wearing orange sunglasses and lemon-lime high heels.”