A Vintage View of Murder

by Mary Maxwell

  The remark elicited a sly smile from the elderly man. “Today?” he said, leaning closer. “Are you referring to the pie business, Kate? Or are you doing some undercover detective work right here in Crescent Creek?”

  “That’s a perfect segue,” I said, “to the second thing that I wanted to ask you about.”

  He smiled. “What’s the case?”

  I retrieved my phone from my pocket. Then I quickly navigated to the pictures of the briefcase and green tag that I took before turning it over to Dina Kincaid.

  “Do you recognize this?” I showed him the briefcase. “Maureen Vinton bought it from you recently.”

  “Did she?” he said. “When was that?”

  “Just a few days ago,” I replied. “It was included in your annual storewide sale.”

  The hazy look in his eyes cleared. “That’s right! Maureen did come in last week! It was an absolute madhouse. More people than I’ve ever seen in the store at one time.”

  “Well, I’m interested in where the briefcase came from,” I said, switching to the image of the Vintage View hangtag. “The date on your tag is November 2009. Do you happen to recall who sold it to you?”

  Tobias rubbed his chin. “Can you read the initials?”

  “Sure,” I said. “They’re AVK.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t remember off the top of my head,” he said with a chuckle. “But if I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning, there’s no way I can tell you who sold me that briefcase ten years ago.”

  “Would you have the transaction history in a file somewhere?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “Anything that old would be in a box in my storage unit. I only started keeping track of transactions on my phone last year.”

  “Would it be too much trouble for you to look through the old files?” I asked. “I’d be willing to go with you and help.”

  He shook his head. “Kind of you to offer, but not necessary. I can get over there in the next day or two. Would that be acceptable?”

  “That would be great,” I said. “It will be very helpful if you’re able to find anything about the briefcase’s original owner.”

  “You got it!” Tobias said cheerfully. “It’s been ages since my CCPD days, but I’m always ready, willing and able to protect and serve!”

  “I’ll let Detective Kincaid know that you’re giving us a hand with that,” I said.

  “Come to think of it,” he said. “I might also have another copy of The Big Sleep in my storage unit. Do you want me to give you a call if I find it?”

  “That would be awesome! I really think Brody will like it. And it’ll save me time if you can find it through your used book sources.”

  He smiled warmly. “Anything for you, Pie Lady. Anything at all.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Eleanor Rivera was sprawled in a chaise lounge on the front porch of her house when I pulled up to the curb a half hour later. She’d answered my call as I was leaving the CCPD Crime Lab, and suggested that I come right over. “It’s the quiet before the storm,” she’d explained. “I’m leaving tomorrow for a gem and mineral show in Las Vegas that kicks off a full month of travel.”

  As I climbed the steps to the covered veranda, Eleanor asked if I wanted anything to drink.

  “I just made coffee,” she said. “We also have coconut water, root beer, a nice pinot grigio and just about every flavor of tea under the sun.”

  I sat down on another chaise, dropped my purse beside me and reached inside for the pictures of the turquoise ring from Maureen Vinton’s briefcase.

  “I appreciate the offer,” I told her. “But I had a cappuccino and cookie earlier.”

  She grinned. “That will always be a mystery to me,” she said. “How you can live surrounded by all of those delicious things to eat and drink and still stay as fit and trim as you do.”

  I patted my midsection. “Spanx and corsets,” I said with a wink. “Once I take everything off, I’m the size of a double wide.”

  Eleanor’s laugh sounded like air racing out of a balloon. It was high-pitched, concentrated and loud.

  “You kill me, Katie,” she said. “Just like your mother. I miss hearing that woman’s jokes and stories in book club.”

  “She’s only a phone call away,” I said. “I know that she’d love to hear from you.”

  Eleanor narrowed her gaze. “Are you kidding? Your mother and I talk at least once a week. We can’t break up the Dynamic Duo.”

  “Dynamic Duo?” I smiled. “There must be a good story behind that name.”

  She nodded. “Hasn’t Audrey ever told you that one?”

  I shook my head.

  “It was eight or nine years ago,” Eleanor began. “There was a charity talent show to raise money for a little girl who got hit by a car while riding her bike. She was very lucky, too; a few tiny scars on her chin, but nothing worse than that. Her parents were always getting after her to wear a helmet, but she was a hellion. If you told her the sky was blue, she’d argue that it was pink. That girl was passionate about being ornery. But she turned out so sweet.”

  “And the talent show?” I asked. “It sounds like you and my mother performed?”

  Eleanor chuckled again. “The Dynamic Duo,” she said. “We were a singing, dancing magic act.”

  “How’d that go for you?”

  She offered a half-hearted frown. “It wasn’t our brightest achievement,” she said. “The rabbit escaped before we went on. The flaming baton nearly caught the stage curtains on fire. And your mother almost choked on a quarter during the disappearing coin trick.” She paused long enough to laugh again. “It was the greatest disaster in the history of singing, dancing magic acts.”

  “So the Dynamic Duo’s career was cut short?”

  “Dead on arrival,” Eleanor quipped. “But we looked really cute in our sequined tuxedos.”

  “Are there pictures anywhere?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Your mother confiscated every last one and burned them.”

  “Oh, well,” I said. “That’s a slice of family history that I hadn’t heard. Thank you for the illuminating lesson.”

  “No problem,” Eleanor replied. “Your mother looked absolutely radiant in her costume. It’s a shame her pride and vanity got so badly bruised.”

  “No doubt,” I said. “And speaking of pictures, can I show you the ring that I mentioned earlier on the phone?”

  I held out the photocopied images. Eleanor took the pages, unfolded them carefully and then reached for a pair of reading glasses on the side table.

  “I still feel twenty-five,” she said. “But my vision is forty years older.”

  She peered through the lenses at the front view of the piece of turquoise and sterling silver jewelry. Then she looked at the second picture; running the tip of one finger over the three words etched on the back: Gabriella Spencer, Sterling.

  “Pity these are black-and-white instead of color,” she murmured. “It’s been years since I saw any of Gabriella’s early pieces. She passed about five years ago after a long battle with cancer.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. “Was she a close friend?”

  “Indeed,” Eleanor answered. “She got started in making jewelry about six months after I opened my first store. I can still remember the day that she came to see if I would carry her work. I knew instantly that she was going to be a superstar. Her design and craftsmanship were impeccable.”

  “And your prediction came true,” I said. “I read a couple of articles online about her reputation.”

  Eleanor sighed and placed one hand over her heart. “I miss that woman still,” she said with a mournful tone. “Gabriella put her joy of life and beautiful spirit into every piece of jewelry that she made.” She held up the picture showing the top of the ring. “Truly exquisite metalwork and she always used the best natural turquoise that she could find.”

  “So…that particular piece,” I s
aid, pointing at the images in Eleanor’s hand. “Did you carry it in your shop?”

  Her eyes brightened. “Did I?” She raised one eyebrow. “I still do! There are two on display as we speak at the shop in Aspen. Gabriella made an even dozen of this particular piece. But that was years and years ago.” She held up the picture of the inside of the ring. “Do you see the mark under her first name?”

  I moved closer and squinted at the image. I’d missed it earlier, but a small number four was also etched into the silver just below Gabriella.

  “Did you have an exclusive on selling her work?” I asked.

  Eleanor smirked. “I wasn’t that lucky, dear. Gabriella didn’t believe in such things. I originally had five of her rings and another dealer in Taos had the other seven. Over time, some of my customers grow tired of things in their collection. They come back and use older pieces to barter with me for new ones. In fact, I know that I’ve sold the ring in those pictures three separate times during the past thirty-five years.”

  “Do you keep records of those transactions?”

  She made another face. “What do you think?”

  “That’s what I figured,” I said. “But I don’t like to assume anything.”

  “Do you need to know the details?” she asked.

  “It would be very helpful,” I answered.

  “I suspected as much,” Eleanor said. “But you haven’t even told me why you’re interested in this particular piece of Gabriella’s work. Are you looking to buy a special gift for someone?”

  “Not in so many words,” I told her. “Although it would be like a gift if we can find out who owned the ring about ten years ago.”

  “Ten years ago?” she said. “So that would be 2009. Is that correct?”

  I nodded. “Specifically, if you could tell us who owned it during that summer, it would be very beneficial to our investigation.”

  She smiled. “You mentioned that on the phone. I was curious if you could tell me how it is that you’re working for the police. That seems an unusual hobby for someone who runs her family’s bakery café.”

  “It isn’t a hobby,” I said. “I worked in Chicago as a private investigator for more than ten years before I moved back to Crescent Creek. Deputy Chief Walsh and Detective Kincaid have asked me to consult on a few cases since I got back home. This happens to be the most recent one.”

  “Why are the police trying to find out who owned a piece of jewelry a decade ago?” she asked. “That seems like a fairly bizarre thing for them to look into.”

  “On its face, yes,” I said. “But this particular piece of jewelry may be connected to a pair of crimes that were committed in the area during the summer of 2009.”

  “Oh, my,” Eleanor said. “Then it really is serious, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “And if you can possibly tell us who owned the ring back then, it could help lead us to more details about one or both crimes.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be who possibly owned it, Katie. I can tell you for certain.”

  “Really?”

  She tapped her forehead with one finger. “When it comes to my business and these beautiful works of art, I have a gift for remembering every buyer, every piece they bought and any that they resold to me before buying something else.”

  “In that case,” I said, “we’re very lucky that they bought this particular ring from you.”

  “Indeed,” Eleanor said. “If someone asks me to keep the transaction confidential, I most definitely respect their wishes. But this particular family never once made that request. I think the mother liked flaunting their refined taste and the father enjoyed showing off their wealth.”

  “If I guess their name,” I said, “will you tell me if I’m right?”

  She laughed. “Most definitely! Who do you think I’m talking about?”

  “I’ve had a hunch for the past couple of days,” I said. “I may be wrong. But between what you just told me and a few other things that I’ve heard around town, I actually think I might know who you’re talking about.”

  “Well, then,” Eleanor said. “Go ahead. What’s the name?”

  Out of habit, I glanced around to make sure we were alone.

  “There’s nobody else here,” she said with another giggle. “Who are you referring to?”

  A few minutes later, after she told me that I was correct and I wished Eleanor a safe trip to Las Vegas and beyond, I got back into the car and sent a quick text to Dina: I was right about the ring, I wrote. Guess who owes me $20?

  CHAPTER 10

  Around four the next afternoon, as Julia worked on a carrot cake and I prepped onions and red peppers for a batch of marinara sauce, I remembered Evie Hale’s remark about the SUV parked in front of her house.

  “Jules?”

  “Hmmm,” she said, carefully smoothing frosting on the top of the cake. “What’s up?”

  “Do you know Clark and Robin Kilgore?”

  “I do,” she said. “Clark and my hubby are in the same dart league.”

  “He plays darts?”

  “Jared?” She stopped working long enough to give me a look. “You already know he plays darts.”

  “I meant Mr. Kilgore,” I said. “He’s pushing seventy.”

  She put the spatula in the bowl of frosting. Then she asked why I was being so judgmental.

  “I’m not,” I said. “I was simply surprised that—” I could tell from the way she was leering at me that it was time to stop digging. “Anyway, did you know that Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore live across the street from Evie Hale?”

  She shook her head. “Catch up, Katie. They moved six weeks ago. Don’t you remember the house warming for their new place? I wanted you to go, but Zack’s buddy was visiting from New York so you guys drove down to meet his flight.”

  “Charlie,” I said. “I’d forgotten about the house warming.”

  “It was so much fun!” Her smile was bright and relaxed. “Their grandkids put on a little talent show with songs and skits about what home means to them.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said.

  “And really clever,” Julia added. “You definitely missed a good party.”

  “Not the first time,” I said. “But I’m glad you went.”

  “Why are you asking me about the Kilgores?” she said.

  “It was something Evie Hale told me,” I replied. “She acted like they still lived across the street.”

  Julia grinned. “That’s odd. Evie was at the party. She even brought a date.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was like a mini scandal,” Julia told me. “Do you know Alan Thorpe?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, he’s her shrink,” Julia explained. “And it was pretty obvious from the way they were acting that the relationship had gone way beyond professional.”

  “Oh?” I raised one eyebrow. “How far beyond?”

  “I don’t even want to know,” she said. “What I witnessed that night was creepy enough.”

  “Was the good doctor taking advantage of his patient?”

  Julia shook her head. “It was the other way around. Evie was all over the guy. Like, hands, mouth, tongue.” She rolled her eyes. “It was disgusting! And I think she was doing it to make someone else jealous.”

  “Okay, I have to ask,” I said. “Who was the target?”

  “I don’t know his name,” Julia answered. “But Robin told me that he used to be Evie’s tennis instructor.”

  “Vince Stafford?” I said, thinking about the lone resident of Crescent Creek who taught the sport.

  Julia smiled. “Like I just told you,” she said, “I didn’t catch his name. Jared and I didn’t stay all that long. Once I noticed what Evie was doing, we made a quick exit. I mean, there were children at the party, little kids and teenagers, so it was just weird to see her carrying on like that with her therapist.”

  “She definitely marches to the beat of her own drum,” I said. “From what I’ve heard, Evie ha
s never worried much about what other people think.”

  “That’s what money does to some folks,” Julia quipped. “They think it gives them permission to be uncouth and calculating.”

  “And sometimes it works,” I said. “Until one day when it doesn’t.”

  CHAPTER 11

  My neighbor and I had dinner that night at Café Fleur. Zack was playing basketball with a group from work, so when Viveca called that morning in tears I suggested me get together and talk. “I’m single again,” she’d added. “I swear, Katie. I have the absolute worst luck, but I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”

  During the afternoon, as Julia and I toggled between preparing lunch orders and baking cookies, I tried to decide if Viveca’s most recent troubles were related to romance or one of the interior design projects she was currently juggling.

  When we met at the restaurant for dinner, she quickly answered the question: It was both. As soon as we ordered glasses of wine and an appetizer to share, Viveca announced that she was once again single after a short-lived romance with a client who’d claimed to be a bachelor when he hired her to redecorate his condo in Vail.

  “But guess what?” she said. “The guy turned out to be yet another cheating husband. I swear, it’s starting to feel like I’m a magnet for all the liars and creeps in Colorado. Maybe I really am a loser after all.”

  “Whoa! Why are you going down that path? Nobody said you were a loser.”

  “Nobody at this table,” she said, “but I was talking to an old girlfriend this afternoon. She listened to my story and concluded that I’m the one at fault.”

  “I don’t think that I like her very much,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know her, but why would she be so hurtful.”

  Viveca sighed. “Maybe it’s the truth, Katie.”

  “And maybe I’m a Victoria’s Secret model,” I said. “Shouldn’t friends support one another?”

  She offered a watery grin. “I guess so. But I still think Stephanie might have a point.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Well, I need to ask more questions when I meet someone new,” Viveca said. “I need to do a better job of checking online. And I need to expect the worst so I’m genuinely surprised when something actually works out the way I hope it will.” She picked up her glass and nipped at the merlot. “Kind of like you and Zack,” she said. “Look how happy you guys are! It must be like living in paradise!”