Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (11 page)

CHAPTER
22

Trent wasn’t in my office when I
hurried through the door, but I could hear his voice booming down the hallway
from the kitchen. When I found him a moment later, he was regaling Julia with a
story about his recent visit to Grand Junction.

“…and that was because the Buffalo
wings made him so sick that he—”

“I thought it was urgent,” I said.

Trent glanced up. “Uh-oh.
Somebody’s hot under the collar.”

“Well, you just interrupted a very
poignant conversation I was having with Mrs. Swift.” I shot a quick glance at
Julia, but she was already back at work on a batch of Georgia Snowcap Cookies.
“What’s so urgent, Deputy Chief Walsh?”

He smiled at the tone of my voice.
“I love it when you call me names, Katie.”

Julia giggled, so I grabbed his arm
and marched him out of the kitchen and down the hall to my office.

“I’m trying to run a business
here,” I said as he leaned against a filing cabinet and I dropped into my desk
chair. “It may look like everything’s on an even keel, but it’s not. I’m a bag
of jittery nerves, the accounts payable stack is big enough to choke a horse
and Blanche Speltzer placed a special order with no advance warning.”

Trent’s forehead crinkled. “You poor
thing. I had no idea you were so delicate and fragile.”

I smirked. Then I rolled my eyes.
And then I waited because the familiar look on Trent’s face told me that he
wasn’t done being cute and annoying.

“Kind of like the flowers that
handsome photographer brought in for you.”

The smirk on my face simmered into
a frown. “Who told you that?”

“A little bird,” said Trent.

“Would her name happen to be
Harper?”

He shook his head. “Evangeline
Sperling. She was coming up the front steps when you and Zack were sitting
outside. She saw him. She saw the flowers. She did the math.”

“Well, you can tell Evangeline to
try again,” I said, surprised by the edge in my voice. “Gretchen Goode asked
Zack to deliver the bouquet. They were a little thank you gift from her to me.”

Trent’s eyes widened. “You guys
dating now?”

“Would you please
stop
?” I
demanded, surrendering to the bubbly smile that was flickering on his face.
“What’s on your mind, Trent? What did you want to tell me?”

He reached up and loosened his tie.
“Man, I hate these things,” he said, drifting over and sitting in the guest
chair. “It’s like a hangman’s noose, but fancier.”

“You in court this morning?”

He nodded. “Yep. Thought I’d still
be in Grand Junction, but you know it goes.”

“I do. And I also know that our
prep list is longer than the Nile, so chop chop! What’s going on?”

He crossed his legs and leaned back
in the chair. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened yesterday?”

I knew he was talking about the shooting
victim in Delilah’s apartment, but I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Trent
was like a lot of guys; a predictable and obvious outer shell of machismo
surrounding a tender, gentle heart.

“Yesterday?” I asked rhetorically.
“It’s all kind of a blur at this point. Got up at four-thirty, stumbled down
the stairs, started baking and—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted.
“You know I’m talking about the shooting at the AltaVista Apartments.”

I attempted to appear bewildered by
his remark, but it lasted about a second. “Okay, Deputy Chief Walsh. I’m guilty
as charged. Viveca and I accidentally came upon a—”

One of his hands shot up. “Again,
Katie! Cut the crap. It was no accident. I know that you guys went there
looking for Delilah Benson and Tim England.” He stopped, gauged my expression
and kept going. “And don’t bother asking me how I found out. Because you know
that Adam and I are friends. And he knows about our past. So after you and
Viveca left the precinct yesterday, he gave me a quick call.”

I waited to make sure he was
finished with the cheery harangue before I mounted my defense. “All of that is
true, okay? But I wasn’t trying to hoodwink anybody—especially you, Trent. I
was trying to help Viveca. Her brother’s mixed up in a pretty tricky
situation.”

Trent blurted a skeptical laugh.
“Tricky? The guy gave poisoned cookies to his neighbor. Don’t you think that’s
crossing the line from tricky into flat-out stupid?”

“Cupcakes,” I said.

“Huh?” Trent scowled. “What’re you
talking about?”

“Tim gave his neighbor
cupcakes
,
not cookies,” I explained. “And Tim is innocent. He found them on his doorstep
when he got home Saturday afternoon.”

“And then he gave them to—”

“He had no idea they were toxic,” I
said. “He’s a musician, not a killer.”

“What if he’s both?” Trent
chuckled. “From what Adam told me, the guy’s alibi is shaky, he looks guilty as
sin and he’s burning bridges left and right.”

“Did Adam tell you about the
eyewitness at the hospital?”

“Yeah, one of the nurses saw Tim
leaving the victim’s room shortly before he was found dead.”

“But the guy was his neighbor,” I
said. “Maybe he just wanted to pay him a visit and see how he was doing.”

Trent shrugged. “Or maybe he wanted
to finish what he’d started with the poisoned cupcakes.”

My throat tightened as I studied Trent’s
smug smile. He was a great cop. And our once ruptured friendship was on the
mend. But he could also be a self-satisfied doofus.

“Why are you being that way?” I
asked.

“Me?” Trent’s grin deepened. “I
didn’t do anything, Kate. I wasn’t responsible for giving tainted cupcakes to
anybody.”

I held my tongue, knowing that the
knot of irritation building in my chest could send an unfortunate word or two
out of my mouth at any second.

“Let’s face it,” Trent continued.
“Tim’s in some very deep doo-doo. I really think you should steer clear of this
and let Denver PD track him down.”

“Am I stopping them?” I asked
slowly. “Me going to Denver a couple of times to ask a few questions isn’t
exactly throwing a roadblock in front of the police down there.”

“I know, but you could
inadvertently muddy the water or something.”

I didn’t take the bait. An argument
with Trent about whether or not I should help Viveca wasn’t in the cards. So I
asked him again if Adam Caldwell had shared anything more about the shooting at
Delilah’s apartment.

“Not really,” he answered. “The
vic’s wallet wasn’t recovered at the scene, so maybe it was a robbery gone
wrong.”

“It sure didn’t look that simple,”
I offered. “The place had been tossed and the wound looked like the shooter was
behind the guy.”

“Execution style?”

I nodded. We both sat and
contemplated the brutality of the act for a moment. Then Trent asked me how I
knew Delilah Benson.

“I didn’t,” I said. “I mean, until you
just mentioned it, I didn’t even know her last name. Viveca and I ran into her
when we went down to try and see if we could find phone numbers for Tim’s
friends in his apartment. I thought that was a logical place to start, you
know? Call around and see if one of them might know where he’s hiding out.”

“Did you know that she’s a
convicted felon?”

“Delilah?”

Trent nodded. “Forgery and mail
fraud,” he explained. “It happened when she was nineteen. Lucky for Miss
Benson, Judge Booth considered the fact that it was her first offense, but she
still ended up doing two years at La Vista in Pueblo.”

“La Vista? Why didn’t they send her
to the Denver Women’s Facility?”

Trent shrugged. “You’d have to ask
the Department of Corrections.”

I considered what he’d just revealed
about Delilah’s background. When Viveca and I talked to her the other day, I
got the sense that Delilah was putting on a performance. The kind of overly
cheerful and vivacious act someone does when they’re trying to hide a deeper,
darker truth. Since the handbook for Alcoholics Anonymous was among her
scattered possessions and she had a felony conviction in her past, it made
sense that those two things alone could possibly explain the curious behavior.

“What are you thinking about?” Trent
asked. “The gears in your brain are making a terrible racket.”

“I’m thinking about what you just
told me. I didn’t expect that curve ball. Delilah seemed kind of eccentric and
ditzy, but I didn’t get the sense that she was a convicted felon.”

“Criminals can hide in plain
sight,” said Trent. “You know that after your time in Chicago.”

“Or hearing you talk about the
seedier side of Crescent Creek,” I added.

“True enough.” He gently thumped
his knuckles on the desk. “But knock wood things have been pretty quiet around
here in the past few weeks.”

“Other than Blanche Speltzer
screeching at me now and again.”

Trent smiled. “She’s harmless,” he
said. “Unless she gets her hands on a bottle of Wild Turkey and her late
husband’s shotgun at the same time.”

I sat up in my chair. “Do tell. I
haven’t heard this one yet.”

He frowned and shook his head.
“It’s ancient history at this point. And nobody got hurt. Maybe I can tell you
the whole sordid affair when we have dinner. What do you think?”

I narrowed my gaze. “Are you asking
me out on a date?”

He blushed. “As friends, Kate. I
know how you feel about things. But I like hanging out with you.”

“Ditto,” I said, enjoying the
familiar blend of faded heartache and gracious affection as it lingered in the
air for a moment or two. “That would be very nice. To be honest, I was a little
disappointed when you took off for Grand Junction the other day. I really was
looking forward to having dinner with you.”

“Same here,” Trent said, getting
out of the chair. “For now, however, I should be going. I’m going by to see my
parents and then a very important speaking engagement in front of eighteen
middle school students.”

“About what?”

“They’re studying local government
and law enforcement. Can you imagine such a thing?”

I laughed. “Not really. When we
were that age, I learned everything I needed to know right here at Sky High.”

“I remember.” A silly grin emerged
above his dimpled chin. “Me and Kenny Talbot used to sneak up on the back porch
and watch you through the window.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Trent said. “We’d
watch you follow your mother and grandmother around as they made pies and
cookies and stuff.”

“Hmmm,” I murmured. “I love making
stuff
.
So sweet and yummy!”

He turned for the door, stopping
just before he stepped into the hall. “Okay, so what’re you planning to do
about the Delilah and Tim thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy, Katie. I know how
you operate. On one hand, you’re buried up to your eyebrows in running this place.
But on the other, you can’t resist the temptation to relive your glory days as
a PI in Chicago.”

I held his gaze, silently wishing
he’d asked me about something else. Like the new coffee cake recipe I was
testing. Or how many Cocoa Loco Cupcakes we’d sold in the past few days.

I stood and walked toward him. “Get
on your way, Deputy Chief Walsh! I’m not reliving my glory days. If I’m doing
anything, it’s helping my neighbor find her brother before he digs this hole
any deeper.”

Trent nodded. “I understand,” he
said. “But that’s not your job, Katie. And it’s not your responsibility. Maybe
Viveca could hire Alex Kendall or Max Adler. They’re both top-notch PIs in Denver.”

“Do you have their contact info?”

He patted his pocket. “It’s on my
phone. I’ll text their numbers to you a little later. Then you can pass them on
to Viveca. I just don’t want to see anybody get hurt.”

“And by anybody,” I said, “you mean
me?”

He smiled warmly. “Yes, Katie.
Especially you.”

I closed the remaining distance
between us and gave his hand a friendly squeeze. “Thanks, Trent. I appreciate
your concern. And, if I do keep poking around in things to find Tim, I’ll be
extra careful.”

“Okay, on that note, I’m outta
here,” Trent said, leaning in and quickly kissing my cheek.

“Be careful, Katie.”

“I will,” I promised. “Today,
tomorrow and always.”

CHAPTER
23

Blanche Speltzer lived in a cozy
bungalow with a wide screened porch on a tree-lined street near the center of
Crescent Creek. The front yard was small and enclosed by a white picket fence.
A trio of bird baths, situated beneath the outstretched limbs of several mature
cottonwood trees, were filled with pools of water that Blanche refreshed every
day from late spring through early fall.

“Are you sure she’s home?” Julia
asked from the passenger seat as I parked near the arched entry in the fence.
“I forgot to call before we left.”

I gave her a confident nod. “I sent
her a text as you were loading the pies. She’s here and she’s obviously in a
very good mood. When I told her that we were ready to deliver the special
order, her response surprised me: ‘
Bring it on, baby!
’”

Julia smiled with relief. “Oh,
thank goodness!” she cheered. “I was so worried that she’d be in snit about
something or other.”

As we started to get out of the
car, the front door of the bungalow flew open and Blanche appeared in a swirl
of pale lavender chiffon.

“Get a load of that outfit,”
whispered Julia. “She looks like a contestant on
Dancing with the Stars
.”

I opened the car door and did
another quick inventory of the pies in the backseat—two peach, three
boysenberry and one strawberry-rhubarb—along with a dozen blueberry scones and
the same number of butterscotch pecan muffins. As a little surprise, I’d also
made a quick stop at Rusty McCoy’s liquor store to buy the ingredients for at
least one round of Long Island Iced Teas. Blanche seemed a bit peeved that I’d
spotted the liquor entries on her list the other day, but I wanted to show her
that I could go above and beyond just like my parents did when they ran Sky
High Pies.

As Blanche had already explained,
the meeting was the last time the local Auxiliary to the Veterans of Foreign
Wars would gather before their big national convention in Pittsburgh. “I want
the girls to have a good time before I lay down the law,” she’d told me. “A
little cocktail. Some tasty sweets. And then I make it crystal clear that
nobody’s going to trash another hotel room like they did at last year’s big
meeting.” When I followed her cryptic comment asking which demure VFW
supporters had vandalized their accommodations, Blanche had screwed her face
into a daunting frown and told me to mind my own business.

Luckily, she was smiling brightly
as Julia and I removed her order from the car’s backseat.

“You’re right on time!” she called,
slowly descending the stairs. “I’m expecting Gabby and Isadora any second to
help get the dining room ready.”

I recognized the names. Gabby
Mahler and Isadora Goldstein were twin sisters about Blanche’s age. They were
renowned in Crescent Creek for wearing identical outfits they made themselves
on an ancient sewing machine their grandmother had brought to Colorado from New
York. Gabby was a former bank teller; her sister had worked for the
Crescent
Creek Gazette
as features editor until she retired a few months after her
seventieth birthday. They came to Sky High every so often for something that
involved chocolate: ice cream sandwich, muffin, cream pie or milkshake. I
looked forward to their visits because they were so cute together.

“You look beautiful!” Julia gushed,
balancing the boxes of muffins and scones as she went through the gate. “That
gown is really lovely, Mrs. Speltzer.”

Blanche brushed one hand down the
front of her dress. “Ravishing, isn’t it?” She did a slow pirouette so the layers
of fabric floated out from her tiny waist. “Giorgio made this for me on the
thirtieth anniversary of our first meeting in Milan.”

Julia’s mouth fell open. “Giorgio
Armani?”

Blanche smirked. “Heavens no, dear!
Giorgio Confortola. He was the sweetest man. My husband and I were staying at
our usual hotel near the Piazza del Duomo. We met Giorgio and his wife one
night in the lobby. It was a million years ago; he was just starting his
fashion design business and she was pregnant with their first child.”

As she recalled the long ago
encounter, Blanche’s face lit up with a joy that she rarely displayed around
town. She liked everyone to think of her as a tough cookie, but most people
realized it was an act. After decades teaching unruly children about history,
she’d developed an unbreakable outer shell.

“And he made that dress for you?” I
asked, coming up behind Julia with three-tier pie carriers in both hands.

Blanche answered with a gentle nod.
“A few weeks before he stopped working,” she said, her voice colored by an
inflection of sorrow. “And that was shortly before he passed away.”

“Well, it’s absolutely stunning!” I
waited at the bottom of the steps while she gathered the voluminous skirt in
one hand and climbed to the porch. “Are you wearing it for your party?”

“Are you
nuts
, Kate?” she
snapped. “This is vintage Confortola. I particularly like putting it on when
I’m feeling especially happy!”

“Then you must wear it every day,”
Julia offered.

Blanche skewered her with a sneer.
“Who are you kidding? I’ve got good days and bad days just like everybody
else.” She shook her head and sashayed toward the front door. “A couple of
weeks ago, I was in the dumps after I found a picture of my darling hubby
before he got really sick.”

We stood on the porch for a moment
as Blanche relived something from her past. There was a faraway look in her
eyes and her thin lips trembled slightly.

“I’m sorry you were feeling bad,”
Julia said, gazing at the old woman with a hopeful expression. “Was that one of
the times your beautiful dress made you feel better?”

“Yep,” Blanche said, “I put on my
Confortola, made a gin martini and watched
The Wheel of Fortune
until I
fell asleep in the recliner.”

I decided to smile and keep quiet.
Blanche held the door open while Julia and I carried the goodies inside.

“Let’s put those in the kitchen for
now,” Blanche said, hurrying past us toward the dining room. “It’s just through
here and to the left.”

Once the pies, muffins and scones
were situated on the table, I returned to the car for the liquor. Blanche was
in the middle of a story about her most recent trip to Italy when I came back
in the door. I waited until she finished before hoisting the two paper bags up
for inspection.

“We brought a little special
surprise for you,” I said.

Blanche squinted at the sacks. “You
did?”

“Yes, I thought it would be nice to
buy the first round of drinks for your friends.”

She came over, gestured for me to
lower the bags and then peered into both. The expression on her face went from
suspicious scowl to cheerful grin in less than a second.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely treat?”
she said. “I may have to revise my opinion about you, Kate. When you took over
the pie shop from your parents, I wasn’t happy. And then when I came in the
first time and saw the crazy things you were doing, I just felt it was the end
of an era.”

“You mean like free wi-fi?” Julia
asked delicately. “And savory pies on the menu?”

Blanche cringed. “Some classic
things should be left alone,” she said. “Like my Confortola gown. Or the
waistband on my control top pantyhose.”

Julia giggled. “What was that?”

“I’ve been buying the same hose for
years,” explained Blanche. “And they started using a different kind of material
for the waistband that cuts into my tummy.” She made a face and muttered a few
colorful words. “They should’ve just left it alone. It’s like my daddy always
used to say: ‘Don’t fix things if they ain’t broke.’”

I nodded at the two bags. “Where
would you like me to put these?”

“Right this way!” Blanche said,
retracing her steps toward the kitchen. “The liquor cabinet’s pretty full at
the moment, but we can stash those things in the laundry room.”

After the bottles of booze were
neatly stacked on top of her washer and dryer, Blanche and I rejoined Julia in
the living room.

“I hope your meeting goes well,” I
said, digging in my pocket for the car keys. “We should probably get back to
Sky High. There are a few things to tackle before we call it a day.”

Blanche thanked us again for delivering
her goodies. Then she gave me a little peck on the cheek.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“For being such a sweet young
lady,” she said. “I’m going to call your mother later and tell her what a good
job you’re doing.”

The praise left me speechless. After
I gave her a quick hug, I headed for the door.

“Wow!” Julia whispered as we walked
toward the front gate. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in such a good mood
before.”

“Maybe I can really win her over as
a fan,” I said, climbing into the car. “That actually went better than I
expected.”

“And way better than the last time
I delivered pies to her,” Julia said. “When I got here that time, it was a
terribly windy day. Blanche was wearing a bathrobe because she’d just finished
in the shower. As she opened the front door, a gust of wind came out of
nowhere.” Julia closed her eyes and giggled. “I saw things that day I’ll never
forget, Kate. It was like that old Ebenezer Scrooge story, where the miserly
man sees his future.”

I tried not to laugh at Julia’s misfortune,
but the image of Blanche’s eighty-year-old figure on full display was too much.

“I mean, I saw just how far certain
things sag after you’ve been around for that long,” Julia added. “And I’m here
to testify, Kate. Gravity wins every time!”