Deadly Desserts (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 6) (10 page)

CHAPTER
21

Julia was grinning like the
Cheshire Cat when she knocked on my office door later that afternoon.

“Katie?” Her eyes sparked with
mischief. “Are you sitting down?”

“I’m in my chair, Jules. Does that
qualify?”

She came into the room, put a fresh
cup of tea on my desk and plopped both hands on her hips.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to
determine what was behind the ironic smile and playful twinkle. “Are you trying
to cheer me up or let me down easy?”

“Could be a little of both. Abigail
Ascot is on hold for you.”

“Our very own Hollywood
starlet-to-be?”

Julia’s grin flattened. “It’s not
good news,” she said. “The anniversary party for her parents is off.”

“Oh?”

“There’s apparently a tabloid story
about her father,” Julia explained. “At least, I
think
that’s what she
said before the crocodile tears started to flow.”

“She’s crying?” I asked in
disbelief. “And she called us during the sobfest?”

“Either that or she really
is
a talented actress.”

I looked down at the phone on my
desk; one light blinked like a harbinger of doom.

“Should I tell her you’re not
here?”

“No, Jules. I’ll talk to her. I
just…” My eyes jumped back to the flashing beacon on the phone. “Okay, let me
do this now before she gets any more upset.”

Julia raised both thumbs and wished
me well before returning to the kitchen.

“This is Kate,” I said after
connecting to the call. “How can I—”

A spectacular wail interrupted my
question. I held the receiver away from my head and waited for Abigail to
regain her composure.

“Miss Ascot?” I said softly as soon
as the weeping stopped.

“Kate?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”

She muttered and blew her nose.
“Well, I guess so.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Julia
said you were calling to—”

“He’s cheating on my mother!” she
blurted in a breathless rush. “With Carmen Alexander, the bimbo from that
heinous
outer space vampire movie!”

I’d never heard of either, but I
decided my lack of knowledge wasn’t germane to the conversation. Before I could
respond, Abigail Ascot unfurled an angry rant about her father that involved
grainy tabloid photographs, a questionable YouTube video and a midnight phone call from her mother to discuss delayed travel plans and the possibility of
divorce.

“Where are you right now?” I asked
when she finished.

“At home,” she said. “In Aspen.”

“Are you there alone?”

“No, the usual goons are here.”

I guessed that she was referring to
her tutor, the housekeepers and her father’s personal assistant.

“Well, I’m so sorry to hear that
you’re going through this, Abigail. And I want you—”

“Call me Abby,” she whispered. “I
like you, Kate. You seem nice.”

“Well, thanks. You seem nice, too.
And, like I said, I’m sorry to hear the news about your…situation, Abby.”

“I wanted to call and let you
know,” she said. “Because now I don’t need all those pies.”

“Of course, sure. And that’s
totally fine. These things happen all the time.”

I heard her whimper. “Yeah,
totally,” she murmured. “Like, every few years or so.”

I didn’t now how to respond, so I
waited.

“My dad’s not a bad man,” she said.
“But he has a tendency to…get too close to the actresses in his movies.”

“I see. Well, I guess that’s
something lots of people in his business deal with.”

She scoffed, grumbling under her
breath about her father.

“Is your mother coming home soon?”
I asked.

“Hmmmm?”

“Your mom? With this news, I just
thought maybe she would come and spend some time with you.”

Her laugh was jagged and
high-pitched. “She’s flying to Spain with her sister. I’m meeting them next
week in Madrid.”

“That sounds nice.” I cringed at
the vague remark, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Not to me,” the tiny voice said.
“It sounds like a nightmare.”

“Well…”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know this
is a weird thing to talk about. I just wanted to let you know about the pies.”

“Okay, thanks for calling. If
there’s anything I can do to help, Abby, just let me know.”

She laughed again, less jagged and
more hopeful. “Can you call my dad and drill some sense into his head?”

“I’m afraid that’s outside of my
skill set,” I answered. “Maybe he’ll see the light on his own.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not
going to hold my breath.”

When we finished the call and
Abigail Ascot moved on to whatever was next in her tumultuous and privileged
life, I closed the laptop, pushed my chair away from the desk and glanced at
the picture of Nana Reed that sat beside the phone.

“There’s a lot of pain in the
world,” I said to my grandmother, remembering how she’d often deliver the same
sentiment to members of our family during difficult days. “Let’s be grateful
there’s an even bigger measure of joy as well.”

CHAPTER
22

I was still contemplating Nana
Reed’s words of wisdom when my phone buzzed and Dina’s name appeared on the
screen.

“I got your message earlier,” she said
after I answered. “But it’s been a day from you-know-where, so this is the
first free minute I’ve had.”

“‘You-know-where’?”

She sighed miserably. “Yes, Katie.
And I sure hope you’re not going to make it worse by teasing me.”

“Never in a million years,
detective. Sorry it’s been a bad one.”

“That makes two of us,” she said.
“So? What’s up? Your message mentioned something about a sheep with papers and
a guy who worked with Lacy.”

“A
sheaf
,” I said. “A sheaf
of papers. Like a bundle? And the guy is Thomas Green. Have you met him by any
chance?”

“The name doesn’t sound familiar.
Who is he?”

“Thomas Green is vice president of
Crescent Creek Bank. And he’s also—”

“The guy with the pasty face and
greasy hair?”

I smiled at the description. “Well,
he doesn’t spend much time in the sun. And he slicks his hair back with some
type of—”

“Grease, Katie. He slicks his hair
down with grease. And it’s disgusting; he leaned back in his chair when he was
in here talking to Tyler Armstrong. Left a nasty stain on the wall.”

“Why didn’t you interview him?” I
asked.

She groaned. “Which part of our
earlier conversation did you miss? It’s been a bad day. Heck, for that matter,
it’s been a bad week. Tyler and I are both working the Lacy Orvane
investigation.”

“Well, that’s what I called about.
I talked to a couple of people and wanted to share what I’d learned.”

“I love learning,” Dina said,
sounding exhausted. “Especially if it helps solve one of our cases.”

“Were you aware that Lacy
challenged her married friend to leave his wife?” I asked. “If that’s true, it
could be related to her death.”

The silence told me that Dina
hadn’t heard the news, either around town or from one of the witnesses she’d
interviewed since Lacy collapsed at Portia’s furniture store.

“I don’t know when things took a
turn,” I continued. “But I’d guess the affair was going downhill fast.”

“Translation?” Dina said.

“According to my source, Lacy gave
the guy an ultimatum,” I explained. “He had one week to tell his wife that he
was in love with Lacy and wanted a divorce. If he didn’t do it in that period
of time, Lacy would pay the man’s wife a visit.”

“And we’re talking about Lacy
Orvane?”

“The one and only.”

“The sweet woman with the big
smile, a solid record of community service and a flawless reputation for being
principled, loyal and lawful?”

“We all have our dark sides,” I
said.

Dina’s chuckle was anything but
jovial. “Speak for yourself, Katie. I’m not about to…” I knew why she paused;
when we were teenagers, Dina had whisked my boyfriend right out of my arms.
And, considering that he was now her ex-husband and they worked together at the
police department, she needed to give Lacy Orvane some slack.

“Alrighty,” she continued. “I’m not
taking a long walk off a short pier.”

“I just wanted to share the news with
you,” I said, smiling silently at her remark. “In case you hadn’t heard.”

“Did Mr. Greasy Hair actually hear
Lacy threaten the married guy?” asked Dina.

“I got the impression that she told
him about the conversation.”

“Were they close friends or something?”

“Well, they worked together at the
bank and they were both involved with the Crescent Creek Community Theater.”

“Okay, so the sheaf of papers?” she
said. “Did he leave them with you?”

“He did. I offered to take them you
straightaway because the guy seemed pretty jumpy.”

“And he found them on Lacy’s desk?”

“In the top drawer.” I looked at
the bundle of pages inside the large Ziploc bag on my desk. “They appear to be
notes about Lacy and her married lover.”

“Notes?” Dina asked. “Like, her
diary or something?”

“Thomas Green claimed that they
were written by a man named Benny Calhoun,” I answered. “I guess maybe he was…I
don’t know, obsessed with Lacy or something. The notes include dates and times
and various motels in the area. One entry references a three-day weekend in a
cabin near Horsetooth Reservoir. But, otherwise, it looks like they were
written in some kind of code—no names or initials, but what I’d guess is a
nickname that Calhoun used for Lacy’s married boyfriend.”

“Do I even want to know?” Dina
asked.

I smiled, but kept myself from
laughing. “Snookum.”

She made a choking sound. “Oh,
jeez. I should’ve never even asked.”

“It’s fairly common, don’t you
think?”

“Have you ever used it?” she asked.
“Who on earth would keep notes about somebody else’s affair and refer to her
lover as Snookum? I mean, who uses that word anyway? Do you and Zack call each
other Snookum when you’re whispering sweet nothings?”

“No comment,” I said. “Our sweet
nothings have no relevance to Lacy’s murder.”

“Agreed. But, still…
Snookum
?”

“It could be worse, Dina. Thomas
Green told me that Snookum means ‘The Sun’ in Chinook.”

“So much for his credibility,” she said sarcastically. “I
believe the Chinook word is actually
skookum
with a
k
, not
snookum
with an
n
. And it’s used interchangeably to mean things like good,
strong, brave and tough.”

“Since when are you an expert on
pidgin languages of the Pacific Northwest?”

She chuckled. “I went on a few
dates once with a guy from Portland. He filled me in.”

“Between all of the sweet nothings?”

A muffled groan came over the line.
“What did we just agree on?”

“Okay, okay,” I said
apologetically. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Try harder,” she suggested.
“Anyway, why didn’t Thomas Green bring those papers to us?” Her voice was tight
and sharp, the fatigue and tension and annoyance twined tightly. “I mean, does
the doofus even have half a brain?”

“He seems like a nice enough guy,”
I said. “I think he’s…” I pictured Thomas Green sitting in my office earlier,
doleful and shocked by his coworker’s untimely demise. “I think everybody
should give him a break. I don’t know about you, but—well, besides using pomade
that left a stain on the police station wall—the guy comes across as a straight
shooter.”

“Or a good actor,” Dina scoffed.

“True, but he seems credible so
far, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose so,” Dina said. “Not to
mention that we’ve got enough dishonest people to juggle already.”

CHAPTER
23

The parking lot behind Crescent
Creek Bank was nearly empty when I pulled in later that afternoon. I noticed
someone walking from the back entrance toward a dark blue Tahoe. While I was
still squinting to try and identify the woman, she raised her arm and waved.

As I pulled up beside her and
lowered the window, I realized it was Iris Holt, one of the bank tellers and a
devoted fan of the buttermilk pancakes at Sky High Pies.

“Hi, Katie!”

I put the car in park and finished
lowering the window. “How’s it going, Iris? Heading home for the day?”

“Finally! We were extra busy for
some reason. I’m ready to go and soak my tootsies.”

“Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She heaved a sigh and grinned.
“More than you could imagine. How are you doing?”

“Pretty well, thanks. Just coming
by to see Mr. Craig for a quick minute.”

Her smile vanished. “Really? I hope
you can handle the language in there. He’s in rare form this afternoon.”

“Does Mr. Craig have a potty mouth
today?”

She frowned. “Today and every day! Although
he mainly uses the vulgarities with us, not with customers.”

While Iris launched into a story
about one of Nathaniel Craig’s most recent cussing fits, I glanced at a car
parked nearby. It had a Broncos bumper sticker and some kind of doodad on the
antenna. There was also something on a hanger in the backseat: a blue jacket
with a green corduroy collar and a sailboat emblem on the front. As I squinted
to try and make out the insignia, I remembered Colin Drake’s description of the
oddball that came to the deli on the day that Lacy Orvane was poisoned to buy
Nathaniel Craig’s usual lunch order.

“…because the check had been
dropped in the bathtub,” Iris was saying when I pulled my eyes away from the
jacket. “Her husband was all excited about the size of their refund, so he’d
rushed in to tell her and was waving it all around and—”

“Iris?” I said quickly. “Can I ask
a question?”

“Well, of course, Katie.” She
tilted closer to the car. “I was curious about that myself; the refund was
north of two-thousand dollars and they—”

“Not that question.” I pointed at
the sedan with the antenna doodad. “Do you know who drives that car?”

She followed the direction of my
finger. When she glanced back, the lively smile had soured. “Oh, the red one?
She just bought that this morning at Gage Auto Plaza. It’s a year or two old,
but she’s bragging like it just rolled off the assembly line at the Lexus
factory.”

I whirled my eyes back to the car.
I hadn’t noticed the familiar logo, but Iris was right; it was a Lexus sedan
with temporary license tags.

“Yes,” I answered. “Does it belong
to a bank employee by any chance?”

“No,” she said. “But she’s been
here a lot lately, swooning and drooling and flouncing around like a strumpet.
I guess some women just don’t know how to accept defeat.” She scowled and
rolled her eyes. “She used to come in all the time and flirt shamelessly! Right
out in public! And now, even though her married boyfriend dumped her for
someone else, she’s still jiggling her goodies in his face on a regular basis.
She pretends that she’s here for business, but it’s more than a little obvious
that she’s trying to sway his cheating heart in her direction again. As if she
could compete with a younger, less bitter woman.”

“Sounds complicated,” I said
quietly.

“Very,” Iris agreed. “Tell you the truth,
I’m a little surprised that the target of her affection hasn’t taken out a restraining
order.” The disapproving look on her face left no doubt about where she stood
on the matter. “And, to make matters worse, one of the other men is doing the
same thing to her; flirting and carrying on like a schoolboy, even though she
barely gives him the time of day.”

“Is it Erika Litton? I heard she’s
sweet on that new teller that started last month.” I raised one eyebrow. “You know,
the good-looking brute with arms as big as tree trunks.”

Iris blushed. “It’s not Erika,” she
said. “But I do agree with you; Huck is one handsome stud!”

After we conferred briefly about
the new teller’s beefy biceps, I promised to be discreet and asked Iris again
about the owner of the red Lexus. When she told me the name, whispering with a
faint giggle, I smiled. And then I smiled again.
One step closer
, I
thought.
One step closer
.