Deadly Desserts (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 6) (5 page)

CHAPTER
10

“Abigail Ascot called again,” Julia
announced the next morning after I staggered into the Sky High kitchen. “I
wrote everything down, but saved the messages in case you want to listen
yourself.”

It was a few minutes after five.
When the alarm blared a half hour earlier, I was enjoying my recurring dream
about spending two weeks on a sandy beach with Zack. But instead of splashing
in the surf with my handsome beau, I’d crawled out of bed, showered quickly and
grabbed the first things I could find in my closet.

“Who called?”

When Julia repeated the name, my
frazzled brain rekindled a faint memory of the chatty young girl I’d talked to
the previous day.

“What did she say?” I asked,
heading for the coffee pot.

“Uh…Katie?”

I stopped in the middle of the
room. “Jules?”

“Why are you wearing pink lace
leggings and a Broncos jersey with penny loafers?”

I looked down. Then I offered a
drowsy shrug before retracing my steps out the door, upstairs to my apartment
and into the bedroom. When I made my second entrance a few minutes later, Julia
applauded, held out a spatula like a make-believe microphone and asked me what
designer I was wearing.

“Coffee,” I muttered. “I need
coffee.”

She graciously took my arm, guided
me to a stool near the counter and patted it with one hand. Then she poured a
cup of fresh-brewed Colombian, added a splash of cream and delivered it with a
bountiful smile.

“You sip that,” she instructed in a
soothing tone. “And I’ll tell you all about Miss Ascot’s messages.”

I lifted the cup and eagerly
inhaled the aromatic steam. “Messages?” I said. “As in…more than one?”

“There were three,” Julia answered.
“And they were all left last night; the first at nine, the second was at
nine-fifteen and her final call came in at eleven-thirty.”

“Doesn’t the child sleep?” I asked,
drinking carefully from the mug.

Julia smirked. “Her father’s a
multi-millionaire, Katie. She probably has someone do that for her.”

I couldn’t resist a soft laugh
before taking a second sip of coffee. Then I said, “What was she calling
about?”

“She’ll be in this afternoon around
one-thirty,” Julia answered. “She wants to taste the pies she talked with you
about.”

Between the shock of Lacy Orvane’s
death and the usual hubbub at Sky High, I’d nearly forgotten that Abigail Ascot
had mentioned stopping by to sample our creations.

“Well, I did agree to that,” I said
as my brain began to whir. “But it was supposed to be tomorrow. And we’ve got
more than enough going on today! Should I call back and tell her that we can’t
do it?”

“Will you just relax?” Julia’s
laugh was loud and bubbly. “Why are you stressing, Katie?”

I mumbled a few nonsensical
suggestions before enjoying more coffee.

“Oh, stop being silly!” Julia said.
“What are we going to do with you, Katie?”

“Horse tranquilizer?” I suggested
with a grin. “And maybe a long vacation on a faraway tropical island?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll get right on that. As
soon as I have a chance to make…” Her eyes shifted to the list of special
orders on the whiteboard. “…two dozen apricot scones for Helen Sutter, a
three-layer coconut cake for Trixie Dietrich’s birthday and the gluten-free
banana muffins that—”

“I get the picture!”

She giggled again. “We’ve got a
busy day ahead. That’s all I’m saying.”

“And I completely agree! We’ve got
a busy day that also includes a supercilious Hollywood tyke stopping by to
judge our goodies.”

“Don’t look at me,” Julia said with
a wink. “You know who’s to blame for that one.”

I nodded sheepishly. “It’ll be
okay. And it might even be kind of fun. I actually did some research on her
dad. He sounds like a pretty cool guy.”

“With a pretty hot movie career,”
Julia said, refilling her coffee mug. “And an even hotter wife.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“He’s married to Margot Duval.”

She waited for my reaction, but I’d
never heard of the woman. When I confessed my lack of Hollywood knowledge,
Julia’s face lit up with a megawatt smile.

“Well, lucky for you,” she said,
“I’ve subscribed to
People,
Hollywood
Reporter
and
Entertainment
Weekly
since I was sixteen.”

I smiled at the boast. I’d seen
Julia’s backpack often enough to know that it was always filled with a backlog
of reading material. I’d also visited her home a few times, a charming log
cabin surrounded by Rio Grande cottonwoods and bristlecone pines. The living
room was always immaculate and elegant, but the other rooms contained neatly
stacked towers of paperback books and magazines. Besides being the talented
chef at Sky High, Julia was a world-class worrier who used sleepless nights to
indulge her voracious appetite for romance and mystery novels as well as Hollywood
and celebrity gossip.

“Okay,” I said finally. “Who is
Margot Duval?”

Julia’s eyes went round as saucers.
“You’ve never heard of Margot Duval?”

I shook my head and meekly
confessed to the crime. Then I enjoyed another sip of the robust coffee while
Julia pulled up a stool.

“Here’s the deal,” she said,
lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Margot Duval was once
married
to Joshua Holcroft who
briefly
dated Tandy Shaw
after
she got a
divorce from the Spanish soccer star who was in the cologne ad wearing nothing
but—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Can
we just cut to the chase? Why do I need to know about all of those people and
their very many dalliances?”

“Because,” Julia gushed. “Margot
Duval is married to Brendan Ascot! And we’re going to make eighteen pies for
their anniversary!”

I went back to nodding my head
while Julia continued the show business update. When she mentioned that the
couple was notorious for canceling plans at the last minute, I felt my stomach
twist with dread.

“What is it?” Julia asked through a
mile-wide smile. “Why do you look so…queasy?”

I managed a faint shrug. “It’s
early, Jules. And I had an awful night. Maybe that’s part of it.”

“And the rest?”

“You want me to be honest?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Well, it just seems…silly and
self-indulgent,” I said. “I mean, eighteen pies for a bunch of showbiz types?
Don’t they usually stay away from sugary treats?”

Her smile slowly faded. “It’s an
homage, Katie. One of his biggest movies—the one that he originally offered to
Angelina Jolie—was about a couple who celebrate their wedding every six months
because the bride has some type of rare medical condition that was supposed to
be fatal within six months of the day they took their original vows. The last
scene of the movie is the couple sitting down to a long dining room table
that’s filled with eighteen pies because she’s still alive a year and a half
later!”

I’d never heard of the movie, but I
did my best to smile politely as Julia launched into a detailed summary of the
plot. When I glanced at the clock, she came to a sudden stop before revealing
the final scene.

“Okay, I can tell you’re not very
interested,” she grumbled. “We might as well get to work.”

She slid down from the stool and
walked toward the sink with her mug.

“Jules!” I got up and scurried
after her. “I was listening.”

She rinsed her mug and began drying
it with a towel. “It’s okay, Katie. I get it; you’re not big on show biz stuff.
You’re into detective books and old
Murder, She Wrote
episodes.”

Before she could continue the
grumble, I took her by the hand, spun her around and wrapped her in a big hug.

“Jules, I adore the fact that
you’re so passionate about celebrity gossip,” I said apologetically. “And I’m
not against it at all. I love reading
People
magazine now and then. Or
watching those TV shows about which singer is sleeping with which actor. I’m just
really exhausted today.”

“There’s more to it,” she said. “I
can see it in your eyes.”

I wasn’t sure if she’d heard the
news about Lacy Orvane or not. And I hadn’t planned on bringing it up until
later. But it seemed like the right time to broach the subject. After all,
Julia could always tell when I was distracted by something unrelated to Sky
High Pies.

“I’m right,” she said. “Aren’t I?”

I nodded. “Yep. You know me too
well, Jules. There is something else on my mind.”

“I think I know,” she said in a somber
tone. “It’s Lacy Orvane, right?”

“Yes. But…how did you hear about
her already?”

“We had to take Will to the
Emergency Room last night,” she answered. “He sliced open his hand on a piece
of glass.”

“How did that happen?”

“He and Eddie Wheeler were playing
catch and accidentally broke a window in our garage.”

“Is he okay?”

“He and his dozen stitches will be
fine,” she said. “But I heard the news about Lacy while the doctor was taking
care of Will. Were you there when she…” Instead of finishing the question,
Julia took my hand. “You guys were pretty good friends, right?”

“We were a lot closer when we were
younger,” I said. “And I wasn’t there when she died, but she was still
breathing when they loaded her into the ambulance at Portia’s.”

“Well, it’s heartbreaking,” Julia
said sadly. “I know there are a million questions, but I can’t stop thinking
about one in particular.”

“What’s that?”

She frowned. “Why do so many of the
good ones die young?”

CHAPTER
11

I was talking to a couple of my
favorite regulars in the dining room near the front windows when the gleaming
black Cadillac SUV with tinted windows turned into the Sky High parking lot.
June and Marv Taggart, the middle-aged couple who own Bubble Brite Laundry
& Dry Cleaning, usually came in for lunch a few times each month. We were
discussing their impending vacation plans as the Escalade rolled to a stop near
the stone walkway that leads to the front porch.

“You expecting a dignitary, Katie?”
Marv quipped. “That looks like one of the cars they use for government
motorcades.”

The backdoor of the hulking vehicle
popped open and a slender girl with tousled blonde hair stepped into view. It
was Abigail Ascot; I’d Googled her father late the previous night and found a
family portrait on a gossip website. She was a tall, gangly twig dressed in
skinny jeans, knee-high black boots and a bright yellow down jacket. Dark
sunglasses hid her eyes and her mouth was painted with funereal black lipstick.

“You might say so,” I answered. “A
dignitary of the Hollywood type.”

June leaned forward, peering
through the window. “Is she somebody famous?”

I watched Abigail strut briskly up
the walkway. “Her father’s a well-known movie director. She’s stopping by to
taste some of our pies for a special order.”

Marv laughed gruffly. “Well,
la-di-da! Little Katie Reed goes glam!”

June gave him a gentle tap on the
wrist. “Hush up, now,” she said as the front door opened. “It’s a feather in
Katie’s cap that Hollywood types want to buy Sky High’s goodies.”

“I hope so,” I said, turning toward
the entry hall. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should go and—”

“Kate!”

Abigail had spotted me from across
the dining room. She said my name so loudly that everyone turned to see who
owned the high-pitched squeak. While my face went red with embarrassment, I
headed toward the bubbly girl in the bright yellow coat.

“I’m
so
excited to be here!”
she gushed.

“Welcome to Sky High,” I said,
holding out my hand. “It’s good to meet you, Miss Ascot.”

She pushed away my hand, surrounded
me with two puffy yellow sleeves and squeezed tightly. “I’m a hugger, Kate!”

I felt everyone watching as we
stood in the dining room entrance. After what seemed like an eternity, Abigail
unlocked her arms and stepped back.

“You’re much prettier than the
pictures I found online,” she confessed, squinting slightly. “What do you use
on your face? I can barely see the crow’s feet by your eyes.”

I forced a smile. “What do I use? Mainly
lots of prayer and bacon fat.”

She kept staring at my face for a
moment. Then she said, “No kidding! Bacon fat? I had no idea. My mother makes
me use Crème de la Mer  from Saks Fifth Avenue, but I’ll ask our
housekeeper to—”

“I’m teasing, Abigail. I use a bunch
of different creams and moisturizers. Basically whatever’s on sale at CVS on
any given day.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice sliding
into a serious tone. “So you’re a…joker, huh? You like to pull somebody’s leg
by…telling them a lie?”

I felt my throat tighten slightly.
The look on her face had blurred from a sunny, buoyant smile to a stern glower.

“I didn’t mean to…” I noticed
Harper heading toward us from the far side of the room. “I’m sorry, Miss Ascot.
I was just surprised by the question about my beauty routine.”

She suddenly clapped her hands and
started jumping up and down. “Gotcha, Kate!” she exclaimed. “I was just
teasing!”

Harper arrived before I could say
anything more to the quirky youngster.

“Hi, there!” she greeted Abigail.
“Are you here for lunch?”

The Hollywood adolescent shook her
head. “No, I’m here for the tasting.”

“Oh, golly!” Harper flashed a
dazzling smile. “You’re Miss Alcott? Well then, welcome to Sky High!”

“Thank you…” Abigail glanced at the
white plastic tag pinned to Harper’s baby blue cardigan. “…Harper. I really
appreciate that! I’ve been so busy planning the anniversary party for my
parents that the drive up to Sky High is like a little…escape from all the
insanity.”

Harper shot me a quick grin. “We
have our own brand of crazy up here,” she said. “But we’ll do our best to keep
it under control during your visit.”

The blonde girl giggled. “Oh,
that’s not…necessary,” she said. “I’m Brendan Ascot’s daughter. I was born into
crazy. I live in it on a daily basis. Between the people that my dad works with
and all of his insane friends, I’m used to being surrounded by kooks.”

Harper laughed. “Then you’ll be
right at home,” she said. “And you’re in good hands with Katie. She learned
everything from the best.”

“I know!” Abigail said, turning to
me again. “I read all about your grandmother and parents teaching you how to do
it all; bake the goodies, take care of customers, manage the behind-the-scenes
nitty-gritty stuff—”

“Sorry to cut in,” Harper said
quickly as Julia rang the bell in the pass window. “But I need to get that
order out to Izzy Pope before he starts cussing. Enjoy your time with Katie
today.”

We watched Harper glide across the
dining room. Then I asked Abigail if she wanted to see the Sky High kitchen.

“I would
love
that! Esméralda
never lets me in there.”

“Is she your housekeeper?” I
gestured toward the center hallway and the side door into the kitchen. “Or your
family’s personal chef?”

“No, she’s my father’s…stateside
personal assistant.” Her tone was gloomy and languid. “He also has someone
based in London since he…spends so much time over there.” Her lower lip jutted
out in frustration. “And, I know it’s not nice to say this, but…I
hate
them both more than you’ll
ever
know!”

I ignored the remark and followed
Abigail down the hall. Once we were in the kitchen, she rushed over to where
Julia was ladling batter into a waffle iron.

“Oh, my…goodness! Is
that
how waffles are made?”

Julia smiled. “You must be Abigail
Ascot.”

“And you must be Julia! I’ve read
so much…about you.”

Julia’s grin was replaced with a
look of astonishment. “You have?”

“Oh,
totally
!” Abigail
answered. “My dad’s research assistant in New York found tons of stuff online
about you. Like, food blogs and a column from the Boulder newspaper and this TV
interview from, I don’t know, maybe five years ago…” She glanced at me. “It was
when your mom and dad still ran the place, Katie. One of the stations in Denver
sent a crew up to report on a cooking competition or something.”

“Could be,” I said. “I was in Chicago
at the time, so—”

“I
know
!” Abigail’s eyes
sparked with delight. “And you totally worked as a cop, right?”

“Private investigator,” I nodded.
“But now I’m here. And so are you.”

She laughed brightly and watched
closely as Julia cracked eggs into a bowl for an omelet.

“And we have samples of the three
types of pies ready for you right over here,” I said, walking around the center
island to the back counter. “Apple, cherry and blueberry!”

Abigail followed me at a brisk
pace. “Yes, that’s what I originally had in mind,” she said. “But now I’m
wondering if we should go with something less…predictable.”

I felt a lump in my throat. “Such
as?”

She giggled again. “How about
papaya, passion fruit meringue and…mamey sapote?”