Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

CHAPTER
13

At ten o’clock that night, after
sending Viveca home with a basket of cookies, cupcakes and scones from the Sky
High Pies display case, I locked the kitchen door and slowly trudged up the
exterior stairs to my cozy warren of rooms. Four decades ago, when Nana Reed
opened the bakery café, the second floor was used as guest quarters for friends
and family members whenever they visited Crescent Creek. During the twenty-five
years that my parents ran the family business, my father turned the upstairs
apartment into his man cave, replete with hiking and camping gear stored in one
of the bedrooms and a dart board on the living room wall. As the newest proprietor
of the local culinary landmark, I’d decided to turn the space into my home.

I dropped my keys in the little
rabbit-shaped ceramic dish on the table just inside the front door. Then I
wandered around the living room, picking up the stray pair of socks and faded
Rolling Stones T-shirt abandoned at some point on the sofa. As I headed for the
laundry basket in the bedroom closet, my phone rang in my pocket.

“We’re closed,” I moaned to the
empty hallway. “Please try us again tomorrow at…” I pulled out the phone and
checked the name on the screen:
TRENT WALSH
. “Hey, you,” I said,
accepting the call. “How’s it going in Grand Junction?”

He laughed. “Did you know that Bordeaux
wine, spicy chicken wings from Hooters and drag racing do not mix well?”

I waited to see if there was more,
but Trent didn’t add anything to the strange inventory. “You do realize that
it’s after ten o’clock, don’t you?” I asked. “Not exactly the best time to try
out your new comedy material.”

Another throaty chuckle came
through the phone. “It’s not a joke,” Trent said. “I was roped into a six-hour
tour of Grand Junction by a couple of the other guys. We went to one of the
local wineries. Then Hooters. And then the Western Colorado Dragway for the
races.”

I dropped the socks and T-shirt in
the laundry basket before flopping onto my bed. “Doesn’t that sound absolutely
irresistible?”

“Absolutely
what
?” Trent
said. “I can’t hear you over the traffic.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Where are
you right now?”

“The motel parking lot,” he
answered. “Bixby puked all over the rental van, so Kenny took it to the car
wash. I wanted to get some fresh air before I head into my room.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re
spending the department’s dollars wisely,” I said. “I mean, this is an official
business trip, right?”

“I’m off the clock,” Trent said
with a yawn. “And I paid for all of the fun out of my own pocket.”

I aimed the remote control at the
television.
Pretty Woman
was playing on one of the movie channels, and I
wanted to catch a few minutes before I went to sleep. Once I saw Richard Gere’s
chiseled jaw, I hit
Mute
before asking Trent if he’d heard from Adam
Caldwell.

“Yep.”

“What did he say?”

A car horn blared on the other end
of the line.

“Trent?”

“Yep?”

“Adam Caldwell,” I said. “What did
he tell you about our conversation?”

“He said you’re nice-looking.”

For a split second, I considered
hanging up. Then I calmly asked if Caldwell had commented on something other
than my breathtaking beauty.

“He didn’t actually use the words
‘breathtaking beauty,’” Trent said cautiously.

“Oh, c’mon! It’s late. I’m tired.
And you’ve got to be exhausted after giving a deposition all day and then
gorging yourself on Colorado wine and spicy food all night.”

He snickered. “The wine’s actually
pretty good out here, Kate. Have you been?”

“To Grand Junction?”

“Yep. There are twenty or so
wineries and vineyards in the Grand Valley.”

“I didn’t know you were working for
the tourism board,” I said, hitting the
Pause
button. As Julia Roberts
shimmered on the screen, I listened to Trent blather on about how he was just
trying to make conversation and why was I in such a bad mood.

“I’m not in a mood,” I told him.
“I’m tired. I worked my buns off downstairs all day. Then I went to Denver
with—”

“Adam said Viveca was a little
firecracker,” Trent interrupted.

“Meaning what?”

“Feisty,” he said. “And pretty
upset about her brother.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” I asked. “Viv
truly believes that he’s innocent.”

Trent mumbled something.

“Sorry?” I said. “I didn’t catch
that.”

“It’s okay, Katie. I just called to
see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing great,” I said. “But
Viv’s pretty much wrecked by what’s going on.”

“I can understand that,” Trent
offered. “But I don’t think you should get involved.”

I hit
Play
to continue the
movie. The scenes with the hotel manager helping Julia Roberts’ character buy a
dress and learn table etiquette were always my favorites, so I let them
continue silently for a brief moment before pausing the action again with the
remote.

“Kate?”

“I’m here,” I said. “What did you
say a second ago?”

“That you shouldn’t get involved
with Viveca and her brother.”

“It’s a little late for that,” I
said. “Because I’m already involved. We’re driving down to Denver tomorrow
afternoon.”

“I get it, Katie,” said Trent. “I
really do. You’ve got a big heart. You want to help your friend. But you’re not
a PI anymore. You make pies and cakes and—”

“Okay, stop right there,” I said
firmly. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Deputy Chief Walsh. I’m an adult. I’m an
independent woman. And I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

The line was quiet. I could hear Trent
breathing. And I guessed what he’d say next.

“Just be careful, Katie.”

I smiled, feeling somehow
victorious that I knew what he’d tell me. Our teenage romance was nearly
fifteen years in the past, but we’d been so close back then that a few strands
of our bond were still intact. Although my sister kept pushing me to give Trent
a second chance, I was more than satisfied with the way things were at the
moment. Having a good friend who knew your heart was more important than taking
a second stab at love with someone who’d broken it.

CHAPTER
14

The next morning at eight, as I
helped Harper manage a sudden swell of customers in the dining room, the front door
bell chimed. A quick glance revealed the source of the sound: Blanche Speltzer,
the oldest living resident in Crescent Creek and the most outspoken regular at
Sky High Pies. She made her way across the room, stopping at two or three
tables to greet friends with a delicate peck on the cheek and a few hushed
words. When she lightly touched down on one of the padded stools at the front
counter, Blanche twirled her watery blue eyes in my direction.

“What happened to you yesterday,
Little Miss Busybody?”

The question left me momentarily
speechless, a condition that Blanche always relished with delight because it
allowed an opening for her follow-up stinger.

“I was under the impression that
you and I had a business meeting at four-fifteen,” she said, pressing her thin
lips into a solemn smirk. “But I guess something more important came up for the
chief cook and bottle washer of this fine establishment.”

I finished pouring coffee for Homer
Dillon, a quiet middle-aged man whose wife left him the previous year for a
younger guy she met online. It was scandalous and shocking for Crescent Creek;
a shameful subject my mother referenced every time she called me when I was
living in Chicago. Now that I was back in Colorado, I’d talked with Homer
dozens of times and he never once badmouthed his former bride. “I guess she
needed somebody with more pizzazz,” Homer always said, pointing at his beer
belly and stained coveralls. “And that sure ain’t this sad sack!”

After he thanked me and declined my
offer to bring him another apricot scone, Blanche clamped one hand around my
wrist.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she demanded.

I smiled. “I’m sorry, Blanche. I
wanted to finish taking care of Homer first.”

She scoffed. “Can’t chew gum and
walk at the same time, huh?”

I let the barb sail right on by.
Then I gently unhooked her fingers from my arm.

“Okay,” I said. “I give up. And I
guess I owe you an apology for missing a meeting that I didn’t know we were
having.”

Blanche frowned. “Your parents
would’ve never done such a thing,” she said. “It’s unfortunate that they
entrusted Sky High to someone so irresponsible.”

Harper hurried over just as Blanche
was preparing to shake a bony finger in my face.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Speltzer!” she
blurted. “This is actually my fault!”

Blanche’s hand trembled briefly
before she put it back on the counter.

“I totally forgot to tell Kate that
you wanted to talk to her,” Harper volunteered. “We got really busy after you
were in yesterday. Between the Oldham kids vomiting and Jeanine Stubbs falling
after she slipped on the upchuck, things got pretty crazy around here.”

Blanche raised her chin and glared
at Harper down the length of her slender nose. “Do you expect me to believe all
that twaddle?”

Harper bobbed her head. “Yes,
ma’am. On account of it’s the truth.”

The old woman sighed dismissively.
“One person’s fact is another person’s fiction,” she said. “Now, if you’ll
excuse us, I need to consult with Miss Reed about my very special order for the
VFW Auxiliary meeting.”

Harper issued another apology
before zipping away toward a table of women waving their menus in the air.

“That girl leaves a lot to be
desired,” Blanche said. “What happened to the one that used to wait tables when
your parents were here?”

“That was Augusta Ewing,” I said.

Blanche shrugged. “Well, why isn’t
she still working here? She always did a flawless job.”

I waited until she’d finished
smirking. Then I calmly informed her that Augusta Ewing no longer worked at Sky
High Pies because she’d passed away.

“My heavens,” Blanche said quietly,
averting her eyes. “I can’t believe that I never heard the news. I’m so
terribly sorry.”

“So am I,” I agreed. “She was here
for nearly twenty years. Never once missed a shift.”

The snarky expression returned to
Blanche’s face. “Unlike someone else I know.”

“I’m sorry, Blanche. What more can
I tell you?”

She reached into her purse and came
out with a folded sheet of pale pink stationery. When she opened it and
smoothed it on the counter, I glanced down at a neatly printed list written in
black ink:

2 Peach

3 Boysenberry

1 Strawberry-Rhubarb

12 Blueberry Scones

12 Butterscotch Pecan Muffins

Tequila

Vodka

Light rum

Triple sec

Gin

When I finished, I looked up at
Blanche. “Somebody’s making Long Island Iced Teas!”

She blushed, quickly folded the
list in half to omit the alcohol and told me to mind my own business.

“Did you want to place an order for
the pies and other goodies?”

She glared at me as her jowls
quivered and her lips sloped into a frown. “What was your first clue,
Sherlock?”

Before I could respond, Homer
Dillon leaned over and tapped Blanche on the shoulder.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said. “But
why are you being so rude to Miss Reed?”

I felt a surge of unexpected glee.
For as long as I could remember, everyone in Crescent Creek treated Blanche
Speltzer like royalty. She was the oldest resident. She’d taught in the local
high school longer than anyone else. And her family had been among the original
settlers when the tiny community was founded. When I’d worked at Sky High
during my younger years, on weekends, holidays and school breaks, I’d learned
to deal with the highs and lows of her unpredictable moods and crabby
personality. And now that I was running the place, I’d continued to indulge
Blanche’s whims and quirks—something that Homer Dillon had obviously decided
not to do at that particular moment.

“What did you say to me?” Blanche
demanded.

Homer repeated his question.

“It’s okay, Homer,” I interjected,
hoping to avoid fireworks between the two regulars. “I appreciate your concern,
but I can handle it.”

Blanche sat forward in her seat.
“You can handle
it
?” she squeaked. “Did you really just call me
it
?”

I smiled at Homer as he kept watch.
“I meant the situation, Blanche,” I said, turning to face the furious spitfire.
“Can we maybe start over?”

She glared at me silently.

“I’d like to offer an apology for
missing the appointment yesterday,” I said as Homer sipped his coffee. “I don’t
know how our lines of communication here at Sky High got crossed, but I am so
very sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

Homer grumbled something, but it
was lost in a sudden swell of noise from a nearby table.

“What was that?” Blanche demanded,
poking his arm. “Are you looking for a fight, Mr. Dillon?”

He slowly rotated the stool and
leaned toward her. “You want to take this outside, Mrs. Speltzer?”

Customers at the nearby tables
stopped chattering as the tension in the room escalated. Harper came toward me
with a worried frown, but I smiled and motioned for her to keep taking care of
the dining room.

“Before things get ugly,” I said
calmly, “can you and I go to my office, Blanche? I’d like to discuss your order
and make sure we have a chance to clear the air.”

She growled at Homer Dillon. Then
she grabbed her purse, slid off the stool and tottered toward the hallway that
lead to the back of the building.

“I’m sorry, Miss Reed,” Homer said.
“I don’t know what got into me.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You said
what a lot of people in town have been thinking for years.”

As I turned to follow Blanche, she
glanced at me. “I heard that, dear! Did you forget about my new hearing aids?”

“Sorry, Blanche!” I said with the
perfect blend of regret and meekness. “It’ll never happen again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Until it
does,” she said, giving me a wink. “I’m obviously having a bad day myself,
Kate. But there’s a very good reason.”

We reached my office and I stepped
to the side so Blanche could go through the door first.

“What happened?” I asked.

She slowly settled into the guest
chair near my desk. “It’s my grandson William,” she said, smoothing her pale
blue skirt around her knees. “He erased all of my
Bold and the Beautiful
episodes from the DVR. Now I missed seeing Katie tell Liam about Ivy.”

“That’s awful,” I said, circling
the room to my desk. “Maybe someone else recorded it.”

Her forehead creased as she
considered the suggestion. “You know,” she said. “That’s not a bad idea. Can I
borrow your phone to make a quick call?”

I dipped into my pocket and handed
her my phone. “Did you leave yours at home or something?”

“It’s right here in my purse,” she
answered. “But if I call Lavinia Penfold from my number she won’t pick up.”

I watched while she pecked at the
keys. Before the call connected, I asked if she and Mrs. Penfold were on the
outs.

“I’d like to strangle the old
goat,” Blanche hissed. “We went to the auction last Saturday at the Sullivan
place and Lavinia said she’d never speak to me again after I grabbed the
bedazzled fanny pack before she could.”

I tried to imagine either one of
the elderly women wearing a fanny pack. But as the vaporous image began to form
in my mind, Blanche hammered the top of my desk with her knuckles.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she
said. “But I didn’t buy it for me, silly goose. It’s for my great-granddaughter
in Flagstaff.”

After Blanche got Lavinia Penfold on
the line, discussed the soap opera situation and made peace about the fanny
pack, she and I discussed the order for the VFW Auxiliary meeting.

“It’s my last time hosting,” she
explained. “I want to pull out all the stops, Kate! I’m hiring a woman to play
the harp and a tarot card reader and a couple of brawny young men to serve as
waiters.”

“That sounds lovely, Blanche. Why
is it your last time? Haven’t you been hosting the monthly meeting for the past
twenty years or so?”

She smiled. “That’s correct, dear.
And I do believe that two decades is long enough. I’m not getting any younger,
and I think it’s time to start relaxing a little bit more. I’m thinking about
traveling, maybe a cruise to Alaska or something similar.”

“In that case,” I promised, “we’ll
do everything we can to help you host the best meeting in the history of
Crescent Creek!”

“Thank you, Katie,” she said
warmly. “I could always count on your grandmother and your parents. It’s nice
to know that I can count on you, too.”