A Vintage View of Murder

by Mary Maxwell

  I smiled. “It’s more like living in reality,” I said. “We’re both over the moon about the fact that we found one another in this crazy world. And we’re so excited that the wedding’s just around the corner. But we’re also realistic about things. We know this isn’t a fairy tale.”

  She laughed. “Seems like one to me.”

  “And to me, too,” I said. “But Zack and I are human. We still have disagreements. We can get moody from time to time. And we’re still trying to figure out a few things when it comes to the transition from one phase to the next of our relationship.”

  Viveca drank a few more sips of her wine. Then she asked if we could change the subject.

  “I still want to hear about the latest developments in the wedding plans,” she said.

  “Fair enough,” I replied. “And here’s a preview: My mother has finally admitted that I chose a really good dress.”

  Viveca applauded the declaration before raising her glass.

  “We have to toast that,” she said. “I never thought dear, sweet Audrey would come around.”

  “Nobody did,” I replied, lifting my wine. “It was just a few days before my sister’s wedding when they finally stopped bickering about Liv’s dress.”

  She made a face. “Why do they do that?” she said. “It’s the bride and groom’s big day, not the mother and mother-in-law.”

  “It’s a mystery to me,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a rite of passage for everyone involved.”

  She shrugged. “Possibly. At the rate that I’m going, I’ll never have to worry about picking out another wedding dress.”

  I put down my wine and reached for her hand.

  “Stop being so hard on yourself,” I said, giving it a squeeze. “We need to change the subject. That’s enough love and romance talk for the night.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Here’s a new topic: Evie Hale. Your message earlier said that you wanted to ask me about her.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Didn’t you do a project for her last year?”

  Viveca’s eyes brightened. “The guest cottage!” she said. “That was such a perfect experience, too. Evie had a clear vision of what she was looking for. She didn’t take an eternity to make decisions. And we’re still talking about a complete refresh of her pied-à-terre in New York.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Must be nice to have money,” I said. “Doesn’t she also have a place in North Carolina?”

  Viveca giggled. “It’s actually South Carolina,” she said. “Andrew inherited that from his grandmother when she passed away a few years ago, but Evie got it in the divorce last year.”

  “Like I said.” I smiled and raised my wine glass. “Must be nice to have money.”

  “I’d rather have what we both have now,” Viveca said. “Real lives and work that we love and friends that care about us.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  Viveca frowned. “Oh, c’mon. You heard the same rumors that I did about Evie and Andrew.”

  I smiled. “That they were wealthy and stylish and constantly traveling to somewhere amazing?”

  “That was perception, not reality,” Viveca replied. “Between Andrew’s depression and her passive-aggressive response to it, the marriage was doomed.”

  I hadn’t heard a peep about either, so I asked her to fill me in on the details.

  “I witnessed one of Evie’s bitchy outbursts before they divorced,” Viveca said. “We were in Denver shopping for new furniture for the guest cottage. I’d gone off to use the ladies’ room, and when I found them on the sales floor Evie was being so cruel to Andrew. I had no idea that he dealt with depression and anxiety, but I certainly heard all about it that day. Even in the car on the way back to Crescent Creek, she wouldn’t stop going off on the poor guy.”

  “That seems so unlike her,” I said.

  Viveca’s eyes went wide. “See? That’s what I thought. It reminded me of Jekyll and Hyde; totally normal one minute and then completely unhinged the next.”

  “Do you know if Andrew was being treated for it?”

  Viveca shook her head. “I wasn’t going to pry,” she said. “But Evie muttered something about pills and shrinks, so I figured that meant he was working with someone.”

  “It’s so common, you’d think she would be more understanding,” I said.

  “Heck, yeah!” Viveca’s voice got louder. “And even if it wasn’t common, she shouldn’t have been such a bitch to her husband. I mean, think of all the other things they could have dealt with during the marriage, like infidelity, addiction, physical abuse or financial problems.”

  I blurted a laugh. “I don’t think money was a problem, do you? Andrew was from a wealthy family. And Evie not only rescued the family business, she made it much more successful than it was when her father was alive.”

  Viveca smiled. “I just meant…you know, couples face all kinds of challenges and troubles in the world today. If someone has anxiety or depression, that’s often inherited from relatives or the result of trauma.”

  “That’s a good point,” I said. “Either way, I’m really sorry to hear that they grappled with all of that when they were together.”

  “Sure, of course,” Viveca said. “So why did you want to talk about Evie anyway?”

  “Oh, right! We keep getting sidetracked.”

  “We always get sidetracked,” she replied. “If we didn’t, I’d worry that one of us wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Okay, so…Evie,” I said. “And this is between you and me, okay?”

  She giggled. “Go on. I’m dying to hear what this is about.”

  “It sort of started at Vintage View,” I said.

  Her smile expanded. “Don’t you just adore Tobias? He’s the most lovable geezer in town!”

  “He’s great,” I said. “But this isn’t really about him. It’s about something that someone bought from his shop.”

  “Something?” She snickered. “And someone? This must be good if you’re talking in such vague terms, Katie.”

  “Well, that’s appropriate,” I said. “Because this whole thing is a bit puzzling at the moment.”

  “Can you just cut to the chase?” Viveca leaned toward me. “Is this about another case that you’re consulting on for the police?”

  “It’s starting to look that way,” I said. “The something that someone bought from Tobias was an old briefcase loaded with suspicious items, like a ransom note, a map supposedly leading to a buried body and a picture of a woman who appeared to be dead.”

  Viveca’s mouth dropped open. “You’re serious?”

  I nodded.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “No idea yet,” I said. “But two people were mentioned by name in the ransom note.”

  “Was one of them Evie?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “And the other was her father. The ransom note was address to Mr. Hale and said that if he didn’t pay a quarter million dollars by the following day at sundown, the family would never see Evie again.”

  Viveca considered the information. Her eyes narrowed and then grew wider again. After a moment or two, a tentative smile appeared.

  “Well, if was the first of April,” she said, “I’d guess that you’re playing an April Fool’s trick. But it’s not April.”

  “And this isn’t a trick,” I said. “I gave the briefcase to Dina Kincaid at the CCPD. She’s going to look into the matter, but she did confirm one thing before I left her office this afternoon.”

  “What was that?” asked Viveca.

  “Someone kidnapped Evie Hale ten years ago,” I said. “But before the police could get very far with an investigation, her father paid the ransom and she was found safe and unharmed the very next day.”

  “Have you heard about this before?”

  “No, but that’s not surprising,” I said. “Dina told me that there had been a spate of kidnappings in and around the state that year. Her best guess was that the Hale famil
y asked the police to keep things quiet since Evie came back home safely. They were probably worried about the family reputation and didn’t want to attract any attention in the press.”

  “I can understand that,” Viveca said. “But Evie and I have had some pretty intimate conversations during the time that I’ve been working on projects for her. It seems odd that she never mentioned it.”

  “Maybe she wants to forget the past,” I said.

  “Or maybe,” Viveca said, “she wants to manipulate the truth about another episode from her life. She does it all the time about Andrew and their marriage. Why wouldn’t she do the same with the kidnapping?”

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning after the breakfast rush subsided, Julia and I huddled together in the Sky High kitchen with my grandmother’s master list of recipes. We’d agreed to compile a list of twenty options for the proposal that I was writing for Kenzie Harwood.

  “How many is she expecting?” asked Julia.

  “A dozen,” I said. “But I thought it would be a good idea to start with more to give Kenzie and her daughter options.”

  “Wouldn’t it be even better to start with fewer?” Julia said. “We always seem to get into trouble by giving finicky people too many choices.”

  “Do you think Kenzie’s one of those people?” I smiled. “I’ve never considered her to be fussy.”

  “Oh, she’s not,” Julia said. “But Becca can be.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  “Personal experience,” she replied. “Becca and I volunteer at the recycling drop-off center on the third Tuesday evening of the month.”

  “I didn’t know it was open at night,” I said.

  She smiled. “That was my idea. There are tons of families like ours that find it tough to get there on Saturday. With me working here and Jared taking the kids to all of their activities, the recycling bins in our garage were constantly overflowing. So I suggested that they—” She stopped abruptly and laughed. “Anyway, we don’t need to get into all of that. Suffice to say, I’ve witnessed Becca Harwood being fussy.”

  “About recycled cans and bottles?”

  Julia giggled again. “About everything! The types of paper and tin cans she could touch, what disposable gloves were okay for her to wear, what music was acceptable to play in the little office where volunteers take breaks and what kind of soap was suitable for the staff restrooms.”

  “Well, she sounds like a young woman who knows what she likes,” I said.

  Julia rolled her eyes. “Or a scheming young woman who drives other people absolutely mad because she’s so picky about certain things!”

  I nodded. “Such as one very talented and occasionally opinionated chef that I know?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not the pot-kettle thing, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I can be opinionated and I know what I like, but I’m not going to get bent out of shape if I go somewhere to do volunteer work and they don’t have Eau du Soir.”

  I smiled. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Perfumed soap that costs forty bucks a bar!” Julia made a face. “I guess Kenzie Harwood has fairly fancy tastes. But you know how it is, right? Like mother, like daughter.”

  “I’ve never been to their house,” I said, “so I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Just you wait!” she said. “I took Becca home one night. Their place is like Restoration Hardware and Neiman Marcus had a baby. Very upscale, very plush and very ‘take your shoes off at the door.’”

  “In that case,” I said, “I’m glad we’re now hosting Becca’s party here. She originally wanted to do it at their house. But I don’t think that I’d be comfortable working in those little blue booties that cops wear at crime scenes.”

  “Oh, me either!” Julia agreed. “If I can’t wear my chef’s clogs, I don’t think I’d be able to do anything properly. It’s like asking a ballerina to wear hiking boots.”

  “Or a football player to wear flip-flops.”

  “Or…” She went quiet and bit her lower lip. “Or if we don’t stop now, we’ll waste an hour coming up with other comparisons.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Should we start listing recipes for Becca’s party?”

  “We should,” Julia replied. “Do you have any in mind already?”

  I pulled out my phone and navigated to the notes that I’d prepared in the middle of the night when I couldn’t get back to sleep.

  “How about you?” I asked. “Any ideas?”

  Julia smiled. “Tons,” she said, pointing at her head. “They’re all in here.”

  For the next few minutes, we went back and forth. She suggested a few vegan cookie and cupcake recipes. Then I proposed several other ideas for vegetarian casseroles and one-dish entrées. By the time we agreed to put the list on the back burner until the next day, we had twenty-five healthy and flavorful possibilities for Becca Harwood’s graduation party.

  “That was easy,” Julia said.

  I pointed at her head. “Only because you have a veritable encyclopedia of Nana Reed’s best recipes memorized and filed away in your noggin.”

  “As do you,” she said. “That’s what makes you so good at being able to multitask between Sky High and things like helping Dina and Trent with their cases.”

  “I’m just lucky to have the chance to do two things that I love,” I said. “Not to mention that I get to spend time with some amazing people doing both.”

  Julia blew me a kiss. “Likewise,” she said. “That’s part of what makes work feel a lot less like drudgery.”

  “Amen to that!” I said.

  “So what’s the latest?” Julia asked. “Any progress with the mystery briefcase you told us about?”

  “Dina sent everything to the lab,” I said. “She’s also digging around in the case files from ten years ago.”

  “And you?”

  “I went to talk with Tobias Armantrout about it,” I answered. “He’s going to see if he can find anything helpful in his business records. There’s a chance that he’ll be able to identify who sold him the briefcase.”

  “What about Louella Flint?” asked Julia. “Maybe she can tell you about Evie’s family and friends from back then.”

  I’d talked to Louella a handful of times at various social events, but didn’t really know her that well. She’d worked as a housekeeper for the Hale family for several years when Evie and her brother were in high school. Shortly after the kidnapping, Louella was hired as a front desk attendant at the Crescent Creek Lodge. She later transitioned to her current role in the Patient Services Department at the Regional Medical Center.

  “She’s your neighbor, right?”

  Julia nodded. “The little blue house on the corner,” she said. “The one with Christmas lights on throughout the year in tribute to her husband. He passed away during the holiday season six years ago. That was their favorite time of year, so it seems like a fitting tribute to his memory.”

  “I’d always wondered why the decorations were left up year round,” I said. “That’s actually really sweet.”

  Julia scowled. “Not according to Brian Tavish, the spoilsport that lives across the street. But he’s been a killjoy since the day he was born, so it’s to be expected.”

  “How well do you know Louella?” I asked.

  Julia smiled. “She babysits the kids when Jared and I go out for date night. We also invite her over for holidays since her husband died.”

  “That’s thoughtful,” I said. “Does that mean she doesn’t have any other family in town?”

  “No,” she replied. “It means that she doesn’t have anything to do with her other family members in town. There was a huge falling-out over a disagreement during a family wedding about five years ago.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t ask any more questions,” I teased. “I don’t want to jinx ours.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Julia replied. “Unless you or Zack are related to
people who think a disagreement about bowling scores is worth severing ties with blood relatives.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Nobody in our family is that passionate about bowling.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Julia replied. “But it’s a blood sport to Louella’s family. The dispute at the wedding ripped the family in half.”

  “You’re teasing,” I said.

  Julia shook her head. “It’s the truth. And if you do talk to Louella, don’t say a word about the pros and cons of plastic, urethane or reactive-resin bowling balls. That’s what started the whole Flint family feud in the first place!”

  CHAPTER 13

  At eight o’clock that night, Zack and I were sitting at his kitchen table with two legal pads, four black Sharpie markers and a bowl of caramel popcorn. It was the third time that we’d sat down to discuss the guest list for our wedding. Since the previous two attempts hadn’t been very productive, we’d pledged not to stop for the night until we’d both covered at least one sheet of paper.

  “Tammy told me at work today that it’s customary for dividing the list into three parts,” Zack said. “We get half and our parents both get one-fourth.”

  “Who’s Tammy?” I asked.

  He explained that she was the new graphic designer with The Crescent Creek Gazette. When he mentioned that the position was her first job after graduating from college, I asked if she had documentation.

  “What’re you talking about, babe?” He offered a toothy grin. “She isn’t being deposed by the prosecutor.”

  “No, but if this is her first job then she’s something like twenty-one or thereabouts, right?”

  He kept smiling.

  “You’ve got something stuck between your front teeth,” I said.

  He drank some water, closed his mouth and did a few rounds of energetic swishing and whooshing. Then he gave me another wide grin.