Deadly Desserts (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 6) (9 page)

BOOK: Deadly Desserts (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 6)
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CHAPTER
19

 

 

The next morning at half past nine, Blanche Speltzer sat alone at a front table in the Sky High dining room.
She was eating a blueberry scone with tiny, contemplative bites, nibbling at
the sugar-dusted biscuit between sips of her customary decaf cappuccino. When
she saw me talking to Harper behind the front counter, the retired history
teacher called my name and motioned me over to her table.

“I heard the news about Lacy,” she
said in her honey-dipped voice. “Such a ghastly way to go, don’t you think?”

I nodded sadly. “Yes, it was
incredibly shocking. Lacy is such a…” I felt the words catch in my mouth.
“…well, she
was
such a sweetheart. Crescent Creek will be a lot less
cheery without her.”

Blanche wiped her mouth with a
napkin. “I actually wanted to talk with you about what happened,” she said,
pointing at the empty chair beside her. “I overheard something troubling the
other day, and I wanted to get your opinion about whether or not I should go to
the police.”

I’d never heard Blanche sound quite
so hesitant before. After decades as a history teacher and a stellar reputation
as one of the most independent and dynamic women in town, it seemed more than a
little strange to hear her sounding reluctant and tentative.

“What did you hear?” I asked. “Was it
about Lacy?”

She put one finger against her
mouth as I sat down. “Hush, Katie! Keep your voice down!”

I glanced around. The nearest table
was occupied by Clement Pegg, a 70-year-old retired factory foreman who was
busy talking on his phone with someone named Gertie.

“He’s not listening to us,” I said.
“He’s in the middle of a conversation.”

Blanche smirked. “You never know,”
she said. “It would
seem
that he’s jabbering with Gertrude Povey,
right?”

I shrugged.

“Well, he
is
,” Blanche
continued. “I introduced them through my matchmaking service a few weeks ago.
They’re like little lovebirds now, always gurgling into the phone or walking
around town holding hands.”

I smiled. “Isn’t that a nice
thing?”

“That’s not the point, Katie. I
just want you to keep your voice down so we can discuss…” She stopped, glanced
around again and leaned closer. “…the murder of Lacy Orvane.”

“You think it was a homicide?”

“I
suspect
so. I want you to
tell me if what I heard is incriminating enough to share with the police.”

“Okay,” I said quietly. “What did
you hear?”

“Someone threatening her life,”
Blanche whispered. “I didn’t seriously think about going to the police until I
heard that she collapsed at Portia’s.”

“Do you know who it was?”

Blanche shook her head. “I just
know that it was a man,” she answered quietly. “With dark hair and a filthy,
filthy mouth.”

“Oh, goodness. Did he say something
obscene?”

Her cheeks reddened. “
Horribly
obscene! And, mind you, I spent decades surrounded by high school students.
I’ve heard more than my fair share of vulgar language before, but this fellow
takes the cake!”

“Where did this happen?”

“The library,” Blanche said
quietly. “I was meeting a friend for lunch and got downtown early, so I figured
it would be fun to browse through the stacks.” The faint grin on her face grew
into a wide smile. “Did you know that’s how I met my husband? We were both
wandering around the Denver public library one rainy afternoon and—”

“Hello, ladies!”

Neither Blanche nor I had heard
Frieda Stephenson approaching the table.

“I saw you whispering together,”
she went on, “and I just
had
to come see what was so captivating. Is it
about the fight that Tina and her sister had in the church parking lot last
Sunday?”

Without missing a beat, Blanche sat
up in her chair and fixed Frieda with a dazzling smile. “We’re talking about
UTIs, darling. Katie asked my advice on the best way to…” She covered her mouth
and giggled. “…well, the best way to treat the infection with home remedies.”

Since I’d seen Blanche in action
before, I knew she was trying to discourage our unexpected visitor from
lingering too long at the table.

“Oh, I see…” Frieda’s eyes bounced
from Blanche to me and back again a few times. “Well, I’m so sorry to hear
about that, Katie. I suggest cranberry juice. And lots of it!”

“Actually,” Blanche said, “that’s
an old myth. I read a very compelling article in
American Family Physician
at the doctor’s office not too long ago. While it’s been believed for many
years that cranberry juice alters the levels of hippuric acid and stops
bacteria from sticking to the uroepithelial cells in—”

“Would you look at the time!”
Frieda pointed at her wrist. “I am late, late,
late
for a meeting at the
office. So good running into you both! See you soon!”

We waited until she was out the
door before sharing a long, boisterous laugh. When we’d regained our composure,
I asked Blanche if she’d actually read an article about the medicinal benefits
of cranberry juice.

She shrugged. “No, but one of my matchmaking
clients is in the medical profession. Dr. Samson and I got to talking one
afternoon and
he
told me all about it.”

I held up one hand. “I don’t even
want to know how UTIs came up in conversation.”

Blanche sipped her cappuccino.
“You’d be surprised, Katie. People say the strangest things when they’re
discussing love and romance.”

I smiled. “Don’t I know!”

“Oh, how sweet,” she cooed. “You
and Zack are still in love, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s not why you called
me over here to talk.”

The grin on her face vanished. “No,
you’re quite right. I wanted to discuss Lacy’s killer.”

“Okay, so what did he say?” I
asked. “You were telling me about being in the library the other day when you—”

“‘Somebody should do the world a
favor and send you six feet under.’”

She delivered the line with such
gusto and fervor that it left me momentarily speechless.

The same could not be said for
Clement Pegg, who had finished his amorous phone call and was now eavesdropping
on our little chat.

“Blanche!” he cried. “Why on earth
are you threatening Katie! Was something wrong with your breakfast?”

When she twirled around in her
chair, Blanche accidentally sent her cappuccino flying. In the ensuing
confusion—shrieks of surprise followed by a geyser of espresso and steamed milk
splashing on Gladys Morton as she walked by our table—Clement grabbed his coat,
dropped a twenty on the table and headed for the door.

A few minutes later, after I’d
collected the pieces of the shattered mug and Harper had cleaned up the spilled
coffee, the hubbub in the dining room faded into a series of hushed
conversations.

“Well,
that
was
embarrassing,” Blanche muttered as I rejoined her at the table. “I blame it all
on Clement!”

“What did you say, Mrs. Speltzer?” he
shouted from the entry hall, cupping one hand around his ear.

“I said that I adore you!” Blanche
blew him a series of kisses. “And I love the fact that you were only looking
out for my safety.”

Once the old man with the keen
hearing went out the door, I asked Blanche to resume her story.

“What else is there to say?” she
asked. “I overheard the man threaten Lacy’s life. Then I hurried around the
bookshelves and saw her talking with a tall, pale man wearing a suit and tie.”

“Oh! So you actually saw him?”

Blanche nodded. “Yes, and I—”

She stopped so suddenly that I
thought for a split second that she’d lost her train of thought. But then I
realized she was staring over my shoulder toward the front door.

“Are you okay, Blanche?”

She gulped. “Yes, but…”

I turned in my chair and saw a
tall, thin man dressed in a gray pinstriped suit, gleaming dress shoes and a
starched white shirt. He was exceedingly pale and his dark hair was slicked
back with a heavy slather of pomade.

“That’s him!” Blanche whispered.
“That’s the fellow that threatened to kill Lacy Orvane!”

CHAPTER
20

 

 

Before I could get up and greet the
new arrival, he began walking toward our table. As he came closer, I realized it
was the man from the photograph of Lacy Orvane that I saw the day before at
Portia Pearson’s store.

“Oh, heavens!” Blanche gasped.
“It’s The Grim Reaper! And he’s wearing Brooks Brothers instead of a hooded
cloak!”

I reached over and squeezed her
hand. “Would you just relax? Nobody’s going to hurt you here.”

While she nervously pressed a
napkin to her mouth, I got out of the chair and approached the pale stranger.

“Welcome to Sky High!” I said. “Are
you joining us for breakfast?”

The man nodded at Blanche. “Good
morning, ma’am,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. “It’s nice to see you
again.”

She attempted to smile, but it
withered in midstream. He waited for a moment to see if Blanche would speak,
but glanced at me when it became apparent she was determined to maintain a
steely silence.

“You’re Kate Reed.” It was a
statement, not a question, and it was delivered with a genial smile. “My name
is Thomas Green.”

When we shook hands, I was
surprised by the warmth of his touch. From the pale complexion and dark, sunken
eyes, he looked like someone who might have cold, clammy skin.

“I worked with Lacy Orvane the
bank,” he continued. “Portia Pearson said I should talk to you about what
happened yesterday.”

Blanche kept her eyes locked on the
man’s face. As she stared intently, I noticed that she had the fingers of one
hand twined around a butter knife.

“Would you like to join us then?” I
said, nodding at one of the other empty chairs.

He glanced anxiously around the
room. “Is there somewhere more private?”

“Why don’t you try Bertie Hecht’s
mausoleum?” Blanche muttered. “It’s the first one on the left after you pull
through the gates at Elmbrook Memorial Gardens.”

Thomas Green smiled uneasily.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Don’t mind her,” I said. “Blanche
is a little touchy this morning.”

She grumbled. “Who wouldn’t be if
the angel of death suddenly turned up?”

The man frowned. “I’m sorry? The
angel of
what
?”

I could tell we weren’t getting
anywhere, so I carefully pushed my chair back under the table, promised Blanche
that I’d call her later and suggested to the visitor that we take our
conversation into my office.

“This is so kind of you,” he said
as we left the dining room. “I probably should’ve called, but I’ve been pretty
flustered since I heard the news. I saw Portia at the bank earlier this
morning, and she suggested I come right over to ask for your advice.”

We left the dining room, walked
down the center hallway and turned into the small, cluttered room tucked in the
back of the old Victorian between the kitchen and the storage closet.

“Sorry the office is such a mess,”
I apologized. “I’ve been getting ready to meet with the accountant about our
taxes, so…” I glanced around at the stacks of folders and boxes. “Would you
like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” He sat in one of
the guest chairs beside my desk. “I’m really pressed for time; my boss thinks
that I’m at Pinky Newton’s shop ordering flowers for Lacy’s funeral.”

I left the door slightly ajar and
walked around behind the desk. As I got comfortable in the chair, Green reached
into his jacket and pulled something from the inside pocket. It was an envelope
along with a bundle of folded papers. The envelope had Lacy Orvane’s name
printed in the center in blue ink along with a return address in the upper left
corner: Benny Calhoun on Arroyo Chico Boulevard in Crescent Creek.

“I found these in the top drawer of
Lacy’s desk yesterday afternoon.” He put the things on my desk. “I think that…”
He paused, swallowing hard. “I think that someone
murdered
her, Miss
Reed! And I think it might be Benny Calhoun!”

The eruption was sharp and sudden,
leaving my guest with bright red cheeks and a faint sheen of perspiration on
his upper lip. I reached into my purse, retrieved a travel pack of tissues and
offered it to him without a word. He smiled, plucked the top tissue from the
package and used it to dry his face.

“Thank you,” Green said when he
finished. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t get emotional.”

I nodded gently. “Some promises are
easier to keep than others.”

We sat quietly for a moment or two
until his breathing calmed and the crimson in his cheeks faded. Then I asked if
he would resume telling me about the reason for his visit.

“Lacy was having an affair,” he
said. “I believe the man she was involved with is responsible for her death. I
also think Benny Calhoun also had something to do with it.”

The declaration was unexpected and
shocking. In a town as small as Crescent Creek, extramarital romances were
often grist for the rumor mill, but rarely discussed with someone you didn’t
really know.

“Why do you suspect that Lacy was
seeing someone else?”

Green took another tissue and
pressed it against his mouth. “Because she told me all about it,” he answered.
“I never knew his name or what he did for a living. I just knew that she hadn’t
been happy with the boyfriend she had when the affair began, so it made some
kind of sense that she might seek comfort in the arms of another man.” He
winced at the awkward subject matter. “But, I guess everybody makes choices in
life, right?” His eyes met mine and I nodded. “I’m not saying that I’m perfect
by any means, but I don’t believe in adultery or being involved with a cheating
spouse.”

“Life’s tricky,” I agreed.
“Everyone has to figure out what they can and can’t tolerate.”

“Like being duplicitous,” he said.
“Or carrying on with a married man because your last relationship didn’t go as
planned.”

I smiled. “Like I said, tricky.”

Green’s mouth lifted into a weak
grin. “Sounds
very
tricky,” he agreed. “When Lacy confided in me a few
weeks ago, I couldn’t believe she was stepping out with another woman’s
husband. And when she told me about the ultimatum she gave to the guy, I became
really concerned for her safety. I guess he’s got quite the temper, so—”

“Sorry to revisit this,” I said.
“But you didn’t have any idea who she was seeing?”

Green shook his head. “She never
told me his name. And I certainly didn’t want to know any of the sordid
details.”

“But if you did know,” I said,
“you’d share the information with the police?”

“Of course,” Green said.
“Everything’s clearer in hindsight. I mean, when she told me, I asked if it was
someone else at the bank. But Lacy assured me that it wasn’t. I figured it was
some kind of fling, you know? Something that she was doing to get over her breakup
with Ron.”

“Did she tell you anything about
the married guy?” I asked. “Anything that might help identify him?”

Green thought for a few seconds,
nervously rubbing his hands on his thighs and tapping one foot. “I got the
sense that the guy was an executive wherever he worked,” he said slowly. “And
he was into boating and skiing. I guess he and his brother worked for the ski
patrol when they were younger.”

“Is that it?”

“It’s like I already told you, I
didn’t want to know about the guy.” He paused, stared down at the floor and
then sighed. “Although now I wish I’d asked more questions.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Green. You didn’t—”

“Thomas,” he said. “I have to go by
Mr. Green at the bank, so it’s nice to actually hear my first name once in a
while when I’m not there.”

“I didn’t realize it was so
formal,” I said.

He smiled playfully. “That’s what
N.C. prefers,” he said with a puckish grin. “And by N.C., I mean Nathaniel
Craig. We have to address him by his initials, but all of us have to use our
last names.”

“Nathaniel Craig?” I asked. “The
bank president?”

The mischievous smile appeared
again. “That’s the one.”

“Is he the man that—”

“I doubt it,” Green said. “Lacy
couldn’t stand the guy. She always called him ‘a weasel dressed in
thousand-dollar suits,’ although that’s pretty much what everybody thinks of
N.C. anyway.”

“Could that have been subterfuge?”
I asked. “Maybe her way of keeping people from suspecting that she and Mr.
Craig were involved with one another.”

He considered the suggestion. “I
suppose anything’s possible. But I always thought Lacy had more…” His eyes
narrowed as he saw the clock on my desk. “I am so sorry to do this, Miss Reed,
but I should be going.” He was on his feet and heading for the door in a flash.
“Our quarterly reviews are this week and I can’t afford to ruffle N.C.’s
feathers.”

“Okay, but wait!” He was reaching
for the doorknob. “You can’t leave yet. I have a couple more quick questions.”

He stopped, pivoting on his heel.
“What’s that?”

“Someone told me that they heard you
threaten Lacy in the library the other day.”

He smiled. “Mrs. Speltzer?”

“I can’t confirm or deny that,” I
said through a smile. “What was going on? Why did you tell Lacy that—”

“It was for the Crescent Creek
Community Theater,” he said. “Lacy and I were on the selection committee for
the upcoming amateur showcase.”

I wasn’t familiar with the event,
so I asked him to explain.

“How can you not be familiar with
it?” he said. “It’s the big annual fundraiser. We do it every December to bring
in a few extra dollars for our operating budget.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve only been back in
town for a few months.”

He smiled. “Ah! That makes sense.
It started about five years ago. The theater’s board of directors thought it
would be a good way to supplement the money we earn from ticket sales and a
couple of smaller fundraisers that we do during the summer.”

“And so…you and Lacy were at the
library, but you got into an argument?”

“Not at all,” Green answered. “We
were going through a couple of plays that we found in the library’s drama
section. I think Mrs. Speltzer overheard me reading one of the lines from a
play about a murder on a country estate.”

“Sure, that makes sense. I mean,
Blanche is eighty, so her hearing isn’t exactly top-notch all of the time.”

“Well, it was that day,” he said
with a laugh. “She charged around the bookshelves, rushed toward me and
threatened to call 911 if I didn’t leave Lacy alone.”

“And then what happened?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Lacy
explained that we were working on something for the theater showcase.”

“I see. I wish Blanche had thought
to mention that little nugget when she was telling me the story earlier.”

“Yeah, but she loves drama just as
much as anybody else,” Green said. “And she knows how to tell a story.”

“That she does.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Was that it
then?”

“One more quick thing,” I replied.
“You mentioned that Lacy gave the man an ultimatum recently?”

Thomas Green nodded.

“What did she tell him?”

He took a quick breath and
swallowed nervously. “She told him that he had one week to tell his wife about
the affair.”

“And if not?”

“Then Lacy would tell her.”

“And what did the man say to that?”
I asked.

Green’s eyelids fluttered again.
“He told Lacy that she’d live to regret it,” Green said. “If, that is, she
lived at all.”

BOOK: Deadly Desserts (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 6)
6.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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