by Mary Maxwell
The Cherry Chip Murders
Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries / 31
Mary Maxwell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2019 Mary Maxwell 07312019A
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recorded or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
NANA REED’S SKY HIGH RECIPES
CHAPTER 1
“I lost count again,” Julia moaned. “Can we please take a break?”
“I thought that you’d never ask!” I dropped my clipboard onto a crate of lettuce. “How about a cup of tea and some sugar cookies?”
“That sounds perfect,” she said. “It’ll give us a boost to finish the rest of what we need to do.”
It was late in the afternoon. We were in the walk-in at Sky High Pies, conducting the monthly inventory for my family’s bakery café while we discussed the latest gossip in Crescent Creek. A couple named Tim and Caitlin Berenson were selling their furniture store to a wealthy newcomer who’d recently started buying property and businesses in the area for astronomical amounts.
“Someone at church told me that they’re moving to Europe after the check clears,” Julia replied, following me out of the cooler. “They’re trying to decide between a small village in France, an island in Greece or a townhouse in London.”
I filled the kettle, put it on the stove and lit a burner. Then I took two cups from the cabinet, placed them on the center island and removed the lid from a container of cookies.
“Did you hear me?” Julia said.
“Yes.”
She laughed. “And you have no comment?”
“Sorry, Jules,” I said. “I’m still trying to figure out why Tim and Caitlin would suddenly decide to leave town. They spent a fortune renovating their store a few months ago. They just moved to their dream home a short time before that. And their youngest daughter finally feels comfortable at the new school.”
“I heard that something shady might be going on,” Julia said.
“What kind of shady?”
“The guy that’s buying the store found some dirt on Tim from the past,” she answered.
“Apparently, he was in prison in his early twenties. That’s why neither of them talk about where they grew up or went to school. Haven’t you noticed that before? Whenever someone asks Tim or Caitlin a question about high school or college, they always find a way to change the subject.”
Julia dropped tea bags into the two cups.
“Maybe there’s another reason they don’t talk about the past,” I suggested.
The kettle started whistling, so I lifted it from the stove, switched off the burner and filled both cups with the boiling water.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve met more than a few people who come from modest backgrounds and sometimes feel ashamed when they’re asked about their childhood.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Julia said. “Who cares about someone’s past if they’re a good person now? I mean, as long as they’re not a serial killer or something.”
“I agree completely,” I replied. “But you know how some people can be: pretentious and petulant.”
She smiled. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
I nodded.
“Anyone you care to name?”
I shook my head.
“Well, what about Liz Whitlock?” She paused for a mischievous laugh. “Or the other two members of her coven: Stacy with the bad breath and the redhead that makes snide remarks about everyone in town?”
I nodded. “Those three can be a bit much.”
“They’re truly evil!” Julia said. “Have you heard what they did to Barb McTavish?”
“Does it involve taping a snarky sign to the back of her sweater?” I asked.
Julia made a face. “That was ages ago. And Barb ended up thinking it was hilarious. I’m talking about last week. They invited her to lunch, but gave her the wrong time. So when she showed up at Café Fleur, they were paying the check. Stacy and the redhead put on a big show, acting like they were confused about why she didn’t come to lunch and telling her that they were worried something horrible had happened to her.”
“You’re joking,” I said.
“Nope. They were talking about it at yoga last night.”
“As in, boasting about it?”
She sipped her tea. “I guess you could call it boasting. I was coming out of the ladies’ room when I heard Liz say something about how hilarious it was watching Barb’s mascara run down her face when she burst into tears at the restaurant.”
“Those women know better,” I said.
“They’re so hateful,” Julia replied.
I waited until the tinge in her cheeks had softened from bloodcurdling red to mildly annoyed burgundy. Then I nudged the conversation back to Tim and Caitlin Berenson.
“Do you really think they’re leaving town because of something in the past?”
“That’s the buzz,” Julia said.
“Doesn’t that seem surprising though? They’re both such nice, selfless people. If Tim did anything bad years ago, it seems inexplicable that he’d be blackmailed into selling their company because some jerk dredges up ancient history.”
“I totally agree with that,” she said. “But I’ve heard three different people mention it as the reason.”
For the next twenty minutes, as we drank our tea and nibbled on cookies, Julia and I debated the likelihood that a past indiscretion was behind Tim and Caitlin’s decision to leave Crescent Creek.
“Well, if you hear anything more about it,” I told Julia after finishing my tea, “please let me know, okay?”
“You bet! There’s a going away party in a couple of weeks at Sally Corcoran’s house. You’re welcome to join me if you want to.”
“I’d love that,” I said. “I don’t really know Tim and Caitlin that well, but I’d like to wish them good luck on their new adventure.”
She giggled. “You know what I’d love? To be finished with this inventory. Should we get back to it?”
I groaned. “I’d rather sit here and eat cookies,” I said. “But then we’ll both owe Harper twenty b
ucks.”
“We should’ve never made that bet,” Julia said, sliding off the stool.
“Help me remember not to do that next time,” I said.
She laughed again. “I did! But you forgot!”
“Oh, well. The money will go to a good cause.”
Julia smiled, arching one eyebrow. “Did she tell you what the cash is for?”
“Higher education!” I said. “Harper and Bobby have started college bank accounts their kids.”
“That is so smart,” Julia said. “Maybe Jared and I should do the same thing for our three little ones.”
“Probably a good idea,” I replied. “If college is expensive now, imagine what it’ll be like when they’re ready to apply.”
Julia grimaced. “Hush now!” she told me. “No more talk about that, okay? I don’t want anything to spoil my good mood!”
CHAPTER 2
“I’m still waiting for the car,” Zack said when he called at six that night. “They had to order a part.”
The interruption was a welcome respite from the stacks of invoices that I’d been moving around the desk for the past half hour. Although I knew it was a pivotal part of my role, I had a tendency to procrastinate when it came to the more administrative aspects of running Sky High Pies. During the years that my parents were at the helm, my father took care of the paperwork while my mother managed the kitchen and a small catering business. Now that I was in charge, I juggled all of the Sky High managerial duties as well as pitching in to help Julia in the kitchen and Harper in the dining room.
“Do you want me to swing by and pick you up?” I asked. “You can drive my car in the morning, and then we can get yours when you finish at work.”
“That’s okay, hon,” he said. “It shouldn’t be more than an hour. The part arrived a few minutes ago. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I’m a bit behind schedule.”
“Well, I have plenty of paperwork to do,” I said, glaring at the invoices. “Do you want to pickup a pizza on your way home?”
“Can do,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Just you and a pizza,” I said. “I’ll whip up a salad to go with it.”
“Sounds perfect,” Zack said. “I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”
After we finished, I went into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. Our supplier had left samples of a new line of herbal flavors and I wanted to take Cinnamon Caramel Craving for a test drive. While I waited for the water to boil, I reached for one of the chocolate chip cookies that Julia made shortly before she left for the day. I held it to my nose and inhaled the sweet aroma of chocolate and walnut with a hint of coconut. As I started to take my first bite, the back door creaked open.
“Those look mighty tasty,” said an unfamiliar voice.
When I turned around, two thoughts flashed through my mind: Why didn’t I lock the door? And What is he doing here?
Tony Hett had started buying property and business in the area the previous year. A Silicon Valley multimillionaire with a reputation for snobbish arrogance and heavy-handed charisma, Hett was tall, slim and tan, wearing a jade linen shirt, faded jeans and immaculate alligator cowboy boots that could double as rear view mirrors. He was around sixty, although the dyed black hair and trendy clothes made it obvious that he would do anything to appear younger than his years.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I called earlier, but hadn’t heard back. I was leaving your neighbor’s and saw the lights on. I figured this was a good time to chat.”
He followed the remark with a casual shrug. Then he walked over and took one of the cookies from the wire rack. In the few times that I’d talked to Tony, I’d learned that his personality seemed to have three settings: Entitled & Pushy, Entitled & Bored and Entitled & Annoying. Harper told me that whenever he came in to eat, he always found a place in the conversation for his ranking atop The Richest Business Titans You Need to Know, an annual list compiled by a Silicon Valley gossip site.
“You were at Viveca’s?” I asked.
Tony shook his head. “Your other neighbor,” he said. “Darren Rigby.”
“How’s he doing?” I asked. “I had dinner with Sheila last week, but haven’t seen him since they got back from—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony interrupted. “I heard all about the trip.” He faked a wide yawn. “Dull as dirt from the sound of it.”
I kept my smile fixed on maximum wattage while Tony criticized nearly every aspect of Darren and Sheila’s romantic getaway to Europe. When they married twenty years earlier, Paris was their fantasy honeymoon destination. Since the budget at the time only allowed for a weekend in a nearby motel, they decided to visit Paris whenever finances allowed. When they became pregnant the following year and then again two years later, raising their kids and starting a small business put the European trip on the back burner. When they originally booked the trip, they’d just started negotiations to sell their electrical equipment company to Hett. I hadn’t discussed any of the details with Darren or Sheila, but rumors were sweeping through town that the sale had hit a snag due to the couple’s differing views on the matter.
“Well, I think it’s amazing that they finally made it to Paris,” I said as he chomped eagerly into the cookie. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.”
Tony smirked. “You just did. And believe me, I went easy on the little lovebirds. I mean, c’mon, Katie. You fly all the way to France and you don’t even bother to—”
He stopped when a dog barked in his pocket.
“New ringtone,” he said, pulling out a sleek phone. “Hold that thought, okay?”
I shot a glance at a rolling pin on the back counter. I’d rather be holding that, I thought. High overhead before I bring down on your—
“Sorry for the disruption,” he said. “That was one of my art dealers in New York. I’m bidding on a Picasso tonight at Christie’s.” He paused, obviously waiting for a reaction. When I offered a modest nod, he continued. “I know, I know. It’s gonna be awesome to have a Picasso hanging in my new house in Colorado, right? It’ll look perfect beside the Renoir that I bought last month at Sotheby’s in London.”
“I have an original Lenny Smook upstairs in the living room,” I said. “Want to see it?”
He scowled. “Lenny what?”
“Smook,” I said. “He paints pictures of cats and dogs skiing. He works for the Crescent Creek Sanitation Department. He’s in here every Saturday morning for pigs in a blanket.”
Tony’s face looked like he’d just smelled something foul. “You put pigs in blankets?” he asked. “Isn’t that a health code violation?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Was there something that I can help you with?”
“Didn’t you listen to my message?” he asked. “I explained it all when I called this afternoon.”
“I’m so sorry,” I told him. “It was crazy around here today. I haven’t listened to any of my—”
“Long story short,” he cut in again. “I’d like to buy you out, Katie. That’s why I was talking to Darren again. I’m sure that you’ve heard about my acquisitions in Crescent Creek during the past few months. I have a grand vision to transform this ugly little stain of a town into a chic village. We’re a short drive from some of the best skiing in the world. The location is an easy flight for people all over the country. And the landscape around here is among the most beautiful in Colorado. In my vision of the new and very much improved Crescent Creek, this stretch of Pine Street will become a diversified complex of condos, retail shops and restaurants. I’m going to demolish all of the existing structures and build a replica of Grimentz. Won’t that be spectacular?”
I forced a meager smile. Arrogant people were usually easy to handle, but I was feeling a little sniffly and didn’t sleep well the night before.
“I don’t know what that is,” I said after the urge to throttle the guy had passed.
“It’s not a what, Katie.” He laughed, revealing a set o
f gleaming white veneers. “It’s a where! Grimentz is one of the most picturesque villages in Switzerland. My great-great-grandparents lived there before they moved to Zurich. Grimentz is the inspiration for my vision of Crescent Creek!”
I took a breath. Then another. And then I said, “I don’t think our town needs to be revamped whatsoever. It’s pretty darn perfect the way it is.”
Another one of his obnoxious laughs filled the room.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, “but you don’t know what you’re talking about. People these days are looking for luxury and glamour when they travel, not homespun charm and sleepy towns populated by a bunch of boring dolts. They want first-class accommodations and five-star dining and—”
I help up one hand to stop him.
“And I don’t mean to be rude either,” I said. “But I think you’re nuts. Some folks may want all of that fancy, ritzy stuff when they go on vacation, but there are plenty of other people who like the old-fashioned charm of a place like Crescent Creek.”
He smiled. “There I go again! I’ve obviously offended you. And I’m really, truly, deeply aggrieved about that.” He winked. “The truth is, money talks and old-fashioned charm walks. I’ve got a vision for this little burg, and I intend to see it through. I always get what I want, Katie. I’ve got more money than all of you rolled into one. I’ve got the best lawyers in the country. And I’ve got—”
“With all due respect, Tony,” I said, keeping my voice as level and calm as I could manage, “I’ve got gobs of work to do before my husband gets home. And I’m sure your vision makes perfect sense to you, but you’re talking about a place that isn’t looking for the kind of change you’re interested in. We like our little slice of heaven just the way it is. We don’t need luxury and glamour and five-star anything.”
He rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, sure. One of your neighbors feels the same way, even though their spouse is ready and willing to sign the contract. But I can be patient. Just wait until you see the big, fat check that I write to you. You’ve never seen that many zeroes in your entire life.”