The Cherry Chip Murders

by Mary Maxwell

  I snickered. “Probably not,” I said, gently taking his elbow and guiding him toward the door. “In my world, when it comes to big, fat zeros, they usually come along one at a time.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Zack stared at me silently for a few seconds, wild-eyed and bemused, before he asked the same question again.

  “How much did he offer?”

  It was two hours after Tony Hett’s departure. We were at the kitchen table in our apartment above Sky High Pies, finishing dinner and discussing the unexpected proposal to exchange millions of Tony Hett’s Silicon Valley loot for the business that my grandmother had started more than four decades earlier.

  “He never actually got more specific than a range of ten to twenty million,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He just kept sputtering and boasting about how wealthy he is and how many zeroes would be on the check. But you and I both know there’s no amount of money that will get me to sell this old Victorian or the land that it sits on.”

  Zack laughed. “Well, that goes without saying, sweetheart. But I’m a little surprised at how upset you are that he came by.”

  “It’s not the visit that bothers me,” I replied. “People pop in after hours fairly often. But that’s the first time in ages that I’ve been around a loudmouthed, supercilious buffoon.”

  “What about Chad Liston?” he asked. “Two weeks ago at The Wagon Wheel.”

  I rifled through my memory. Chad Liston was a tall, burly guy who worked the overnight shift at Food Town. He stopped at Sky High on the way home most mornings for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, two scrambled eggs and a double side of bacon. After standing behind the cash register for eight hours, he usually just slumped at a table, gobbled his food and went on his way. But if you ran into him at Red Hancock’s bar on a Saturday night, Chad could be a handful, especially if he’d already spent half the night at the bar with his friends Johnny Walker and Jim Beam.

  “Oh, well that doesn’t count,” I said. “He was celebrating his engagement to Melinda.”

  Zack raised one eyebrow. “But didn’t you tell me later that he was loud and pompous?”

  “The worst,” I said. “But I’ve only witnessed that once. And I see where you’re going, but there’s no comparison between Chad Liston and Tony Hett. One’s a big teddy bear who was over the moon because he’d proposed to the girl of his dreams. The other one’s a nightmare.”

  “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting either guy,” Zack said. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Some people might like Tony because he throws money around,” I said. “But I’m not in that crowd.”

  “Do you think that he’ll be back with another attempt to change your mind?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  “Did he tell you any details about his plan?” asked Zack. “I’ve heard a few things at the newspaper.”

  “Such as?”

  He shook his head. “None of it’s good, Katie. The guy thinks that millions of dollars and an ego the size of Texas grants him the right to be so unpleasant.”

  “I wish that he’d stayed in California,” I said. “Crescent Creek could do without the stress that he’s created for so many people.”

  Zack nodded. “I hear you,” he said. “But aren’t there some folks that have already sold their property or business to him?”

  “A few. And I can see their point of view, particularly the Strohmeyer family.”

  “I don’t know that name,” he said. “What did Hett buy from them?”

  “Do you know the building at the corner of Broadway and Osage Creek Road?”

  He shook his head.

  “We drive by it all the time,” I said. “It’s an old retail space that’s been boarded up for the past couple of years.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. I waited until they popped open again before giving him a few more details.

  “Someone from Winter Park almost bought it last summer,” I said. “They were going to turn it into a micro brewery, but then their loan fell through.”

  Zack shrugged. “Still can’t picture it,” he said. “Is that what the Strohmeyer family sold to Tony Hett?”

  “Yep. That building and three more they own in another part of town.”

  “Do you know what he’s planning to do with them?”

  I smiled. “Probably something like what he wants to do here on Pine Street,” I answered. “Level everything and recreate a village that he knows in Switzerland.”

  Zack chuckled. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “Money, money, money,” I said. “That’s not exactly a direct quote, but why else would he do it?”

  CHAPTER 4

  The call from Dina Kincaid came in the next morning at eight. I was in the dining room helping Harper deliver a large order to a table of senior citizens when my phone began chirping in my pocket.

  Harper shot me a puzzled look. “What’s that noise?”

  “It’s the new ringtone for our favorite Crescent Creek PD detective,” I said. “I always tease her that she sings like a nightingale, so Zack switched it for me last night.”

  After placing a short stack of whole wheat pancakes in front of a silver-haired woman with an angelic face, I asked if anyone at the table needed something else.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “Answer your phone and stop that insufferable racket!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I told her, reaching into my pocket. “I hope you enjoy your breakfast.”

  “Thank you, dear,” the old woman said. “I will once you quiet that bird.”

  I followed Harper across the room and behind the counter.

  “Granny Wheeler went easy on you,” she whispered.

  I smiled. “Who?”

  “The short stack gal you just served,” Harper said with a subtle nod toward the woman drowning her pancakes in syrup. “That’s Mindy Wheeler’s grandmother. She’s visiting from Florida.”

  I glanced back at the table of happy eaters. I didn’t recognize anyone in the group, but they were all about the same age as the woman with the silver hair.

  “How do you know that’s her grandmother?”

  “I saw them a couple of nights ago at Mindy’s daughter’s piano recital,” Harper explained. “It’s a long story, but it ended with one of the kids playing ‘Chopsticks’ while they held a pair of—”

  “Nunchucks?” Julia called from over my shoulder.

  Harper whipped around. “Hey! You ruined the punchline!”

  Julia giggled. “No, I didn’t. Katie’s visitor just came through the backdoor, so I was trying to expedite your story.”

  I leaned over and looked through the pass window. Dina was standing just inside the door, reading something on her phone as she shrugged off her jacket.

  “Jared heard about the ‘Chopsticks’ performance from someone that was at the recital,” Julia added. “The kid is really into both martial arts and music, so it was his idea of an artistic statement.”

  Harper glared at our chef. “I’m going to give you my idea of an artistic statement if you don’t stop ruining my stories,” she said. “That’s the second time this week!”

  “Sorry, Harps,” Julia replied. “I’ll keep it zipped.”

  While they continued their friendly banter through the pass window, I hurried into the kitchen. Dina was still staring at her phone when she heard me approaching.

  “Oh, hey! Did you get my message?”

  “When did you leave it?”

  “About five minutes ago,” she answered. “I wanted to give you a heads up that I was on the way to see you.”

  I smiled. “And here you are!”

  “So?” She held up her phone. “Did you get it?”

  “I haven’t listened to it yet,” I said. “I was helping Harper in the—”

  “You know the rich guy from Silicon Valley that moved here?”

  “Tony Hett?” I said
.

  “We’re investigating an incident at his house last night,” she said. “One of the first responders found your name on Hett’s calendar from late yesterday afternoon. I wanted to talk to you about your meeting and see if you noticed anything unusual about his behavior.”

  “What kind of incident?” I asked.

  “I’ll explain that in a sec,” she replied. “How was his mood when you talked to him?”

  “The usual,” I said. “Arrogant and entitled.”

  She made a face. “I’m serious, Katie. I’m trying to put together his last twenty-four hours, so no joking.”

  “You’ve met the guy,” I said. “I wasn’t joking. He always comes across as haughty and smug.”

  Dina pursed her lips. “Well, right now the guy’s coming across as missing.”

  “Oh, that’s…awful,” I said. “What do you know so far?”

  “Well, we received a pair of 911 calls last night,” Dina said. “First, at around eleven-fifteen, Tony Hett reported that Darren Rigby was trying to break into his house.”

  “Darren?”

  “Hard to believe,” Dina said, “but that’s what Tony reported.”

  “What did your officers find when they got there?”

  “The door was wide open and the house was empty. Otherwise, they found a bunch of overturned furniture, broken glass and trails of blood drops leading from the kitchen out to the front porch and into the garage.”

  “Does he have security cameras?”

  “He does,” Dina answered. “But they were offline.”

  “That’s not exactly helpful,” I said.

  “We work with what we find,” Dina told me.

  “Speaking of that,” I replied, “you mentioned that Tony Hett was missing, but what about Darren?”

  “Same status,” she answered. “Although his car, phone and keys were recovered at the scene.”

  “What about the second call to 911?” I asked.

  “Do you know Axel Barbosa?” she asked.

  I ran the name through my memory. “Isn’t that the high school kid that delivers pizzas for Pepper & Roni’s?”

  “That’s him,” she said. “He called 911 a few minutes before midnight with quite a story. I’ve heard the recording at least half a dozen times and I still feel horrible for the kid. He was so agitated and wobbly that he sounds like a 10-year-old girl after inhaling a bunch of helium.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “He was sitting in his car at Tony Hett’s after delivering a pizza,” Dina explained. “He was in the shadows off to the side of the gravel area near the house. Just as he was getting ready to leave, an SUV pulled in and Axel saw two men get out. They were wearing Spider-Man masks, so he instantly thought it was a hoax or something sketchy.”

  “At that point, it could’ve been both,” I said.

  “There was a third person in the SUV,” Dina continued. “Axel didn’t get a look at their face, but he heard one of the men call out a name to the passenger in the back seat: Junebug.”

  “Probably a nickname?” I asked.

  “That was my thought,” Dina said. “After that, Axel watched the two men approach the front door, open it and walk into the house. A half hour later, the men came back out with two other guys wearing blindfolds.”

  “Tony and Darren?”

  “Chances are,” she said.

  “What about Sheila?” I asked. “And did someone call their kids?”

  “Grace and Will are both studying abroad this semester,” she said. “I talked to them briefly and promised to call with updates as soon as we know more.”

  “Did you talk to Sheila yet?”

  Dina shook her head. “According to her assistant at Rigby Engineering, Sheila is in Las Vegas. I guess there was some kind of convention and she wasn’t scheduled to fly home until Sunday. The meeting runs until the end of the week. After that, some of Sheila’s friends from Ohio were meeting her for a girls’ getaway.” She paused to move closer. “Why are you frowning like that?”

  “I’m not,” I said.

  “Yes, you are,” Dina told me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, it just seems weird that Sheila went to Las Vegas without mentioning it,” I said. “She invited me and Viveca for dinner a couple of nights ago when Zack, Antonio and Darren helped Father Armitage set up the parish hall for the ice cream social this weekend.”

  “Maybe it slipped her mind,” Dina suggested. “I mean, didn’t they just get home from a big trip to Europe?”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  “Then maybe that explains it,” she continued. “Although just between you and me, I’ve heard Sheila and Darren are disagreeing about whether or not they’ll actually sell their company to Tony Hett. One of our officers told me that they witnessed a shouting match outside of Java & Juice the other day.”

  “Sheila and Darren were shouting at one another?” I asked.

  Dina nodded. “There might be trouble in paradise,” she said. “Which is really sad when you consider how long they’ve been together and how hard they worked to build their company.”

  “I hope those rumors aren’t true,” I said. “And if they were arguing, maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

  “Oh, I agree about the rumors being wrong,” she said. “I hope that’s the case. But all of that may explain how her Las Vegas trip fell through the cracks when you had dinner with her.”

  “I suppose so,” I said after a moment. “But that doesn’t seem like Sheila.”

  Dina’s phone chimed, but she kept her eyes on me.

  “What else is bothering you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, c’mon,” she said. “I can tell when something’s bugging you.”

  “Well, it’s the idea of Darren Rigby doing anything violent,” I said. “I love the guy, but he’s not in the best of shape. The last time he and Sheila came over for dinner, Darren was totally out of breath climbing the steps to our apartment.”

  “He’s fifty or so,” Dina said. “And he’s put on a few pounds during the last couple of years. Sheila blamed it on his knee replacement. He stopped working out after the surgery, and he’s never really gone back to a regular gym routine.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems like something smells bad over there.”

  “Sorry!” Julia called from the front line. “That’s my fault, guys.”

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I burned some toast,” Julia explained. “I thought that’s what you were referring to.”

  Dina walked up and stood at the end of the front line.

  “How are you, Jules?” she asked.

  “I’m good,” Julia replied. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re looking into a situation,” Dina told her. “Sorry to take Katie away from the action momentarily.”

  Julia laughed. “No need to apologize,” she said. “The timer’s broken, so the toast could’ve burned even with Katie up here.”

  “Hey!” I called. “Easy there, partner.”

  Julia blew me a cartoon kiss. Then she moved closer to Dina and lowered her voice.

  “What’s the situation?” she asked. “I heard you mention Darren. Were you two whispering about the rumors?”

  Dina looked at me long enough so I could shrug before turning back to Julia.

  “What rumors?” she said.

  “About Darren and a mysterious redhead,” Julia answered. “I’ve talked to three people who spotted them together around town.”

  “Which three people?” I said, walking up beside her.

  “Penny Murdoch, Ally Hunter and Bess from the bank,” she said. “And all three of them described the woman the same way: slim, sultry and dripping in diamonds.”

  I laughed. “At least you know that it’s not me!” I teased. “I could buy a red wig, but that’s as close as I could get to matching that description.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The next morn
ing arrived with rain, wind and the uneasy feeling that my neighbor was involved in a violent crime. While Zack burrowed beneath the blankets for another hour of sleep, I headed for the Sky High kitchen at five-thirty to start a pot of coffee. Then I went into the office, sat behind the desk and fired up the laptop to see what I could find online about Tony Hett.

  Most of the search results highlighted the early days of his career as a venture capitalist in Silicon Valley. Tony was studying psychology at Stanford when his father, a real estate developer in Denver, died and left a multimillion-dollar fortune to his only child. According to his Wikipedia page, Hett used the inheritance to invest in a handful of successful technology companies that propelled his fortune into the stratosphere.

  One of the more recent articles described Tony’s move from California to Colorado along with his intention to build a new business empire by acquiring a collection of small businesses and real estate to recreate the wonder and allure of a small Swiss village.

  “Grimentz,” I grumbled. “I’ve lived more than thirty years without a clue the place existed, and now I hear about it twice in one week!”

  After I finished reading the story, I was scanning the search results again when I heard footsteps in the hallway and Julia calling my name.

  “There you are!” She shuffled into the office. “Did you hear the news about Darren?”

  I smiled. “Are you feeling okay? We talked about that yesterday after Dina was here.”

  “I mean the latest news!” She dropped into one of the guest chairs facing the desk. “He killed that rich guy and then kidnapped some woman!”

  “Hold on there,” I said. “Who told you that?”

  “I stopped to get gas on the way in,” Julia replied. “Clark Randolph was at the other pump, and he told me that one of his neighbors ran into a friend late the night Tony went missing. That guy was driving past Tony’s house and saw a bunch of police cars. When he stopped and asked one of the first responders what was going on, the officer wouldn’t say anything. But a few minutes later, he overheard the EMTs talking about murder and kidnapping.”