The Cherry Chip Murders

by Mary Maxwell

  I flashed a smile. “I’ll take shotgun,” I said. “We can listen to the new Madonna CD that Zack bought for me.”

  “I’m not going,” she replied. “We received an anonymous tip today. A woman called from a number in Denver to suggest we talk to the maintenance guy at the place where she works.”

  “Did she tell you the name of the business?” I asked.

  “No, but we traced the number,” Dina said. “It belongs to a self-defense school on Spring Street.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “Is the school called Ultra Violet?”

  She frowned. “Maybe. What do you know?”

  “I met a woman earlier today at Darren and Sheila’s house,” I said. “She was wearing a T-shirt from there.”

  “How does she know Darren and Sheila?”

  “She’s Darren’s cousin,” I said. “And now that we’re having this conversation, I realize that Liz told me once that her sister’s name is Violet and she teaches krav maga.”

  “Liz Winchester?” Dina asked.

  “That’s right,” I said. “It sounds like Darren’s assistant is related to the woman that owns the business where your anonymous call originated.”

  “It’s a small world after all,” Dina said. “I can’t wait to hear about your visit later.”

  “I’m happy to go,” I said. “But shouldn’t Jane Lund handle those things in Denver?”

  Dina’s mouth formed an impish grin. “She should. And she will. But in the meantime, there’s no reason other people can’t pay a visit to Spring Street.”

  “And by other people, you mean me?”

  She nodded.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Just take a look around,” she said. “Let’s see who you find, how they handle a couple of softball questions and whether or not there’s any sign of Darren Rigby.”

  “Don’t you trust Jane Lund to ask those questions?”

  Dina shook her head. “It’s not about trust,” she said. “It’s about me wanting you to check out the place. You know how I think. You know what I’d be looking for. And Jane will approach it from her viewpoint.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She’s more focused on the Denver angle,” Dina said. “Which is completely reasonable. But I want to know why two goons wearing Spider-Man masks abducted one of our local residents.”

  “Two local residents,” I said.

  “I don’t really consider Tony Hett a local,” Dina said. “He was more like a modern-day carpetbagger. He was an unscrupulous opportunist, Katie. The only reason he was in Crescent Creek was to exploit the fact that some segments of our local economy are suffering through a downturn. That’s why he was buying empty storefronts and overpaying for houses and offering people like Sheila and Darren Rigby a small fortune for their company.”

  “I thought he wanted to rekindle some childhood memories,” I said. “Isn’t that what Tony told everyone when he first came to town?”

  She smiled. “Did you believe him?”

  “It seemed pretty convincing,” I said. “Yes, he was arrogant and pompous, but there also seemed to be a kernel of truth beneath all of the flashy watches and fancy cars.”

  “Maybe so,” she replied. “But that was then, this is now. I’ve been talking to someone at the FBI, and they—”

  “Whoa! So the FBI really is working on the kidnapping case?”

  “That’s right,” she answered. “I obviously can’t get into the minutiae of those discussions, but I can tell you that Tony Hett is involved in plenty of shady deals that have nothing to do with childhood memories.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” I said. “Can you give me a hint why you think the self-defense academy is connected to Darren and Tony’s disappearance?”

  “Besides the fact that one of the kidnappers was wearing a sweatshirt from the place?”

  “That could be completely innocent,” I said. “Maybe they’re students.”

  “At a business that caters almost exclusively to women?”

  “Okay, so…” I paused. The determined look on her face told me that I wasn’t going to win the debate. “So I’ll drive down and have a look around. Is tomorrow afternoon okay? I’ve got quite a bit of work to do around here this afternoon and then we’re meeting Viveca and Antonio for dinner.”

  “They’re still together?” she asked.

  “I’ve stopped counting the months,” I said. “It looks like this might be the one for Viv.”

  Dina grinned. “That is so good to hear. If anyone deserves to find happiness with the right man, it’s—”

  “You!” I said.

  The blissful smile on her face imploded. “Leave me out of this,” she muttered. “I’m married to the job.”

  “Said the woman who didn’t want to risk getting her heart broken again.”

  She shrugged and turned toward the door.

  “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say that,” she replied. “Even if it’s true.”

  Before I could say another word, she thanked me again for driving into the city to check out the self-defense academy, reminded me to call her later with an update and scurried out of the room.

  CHAPTER 31

  The next after around five, I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Ultra Violet Self-Defense Academy, studying the signs taped to the front windows: Your mind is your most powerful weapon! Freedom from fear begins with focus! A sharp spirit cuts through even the darkest shadows!

  I didn’t quite understand the last one, but it didn’t matter. From the twentysomething women in the accompanying photographs, I wasn’t part of in the target audience. But I’d completed a regimen of krav maga classes when I worked as a private investigator in Chicago, so I knew the physical and psychological benefits of the training. I also knew it was a little strange for me to be gaping silently at the front door while students came and went, so I moved closer and began to follow a small group of younger women toward the building.

  But something caught my eye as I approached the entrance. There was a dark blue Ford Explorer parked at the curb. On any other day, it would’ve looked like any other vehicle in front of any other business. But that particular afternoon, three things made it stand out: the bumper was covered with stickers from Wisconsin Trade & Technical College, one of the taillights was broken and someone had written Please wash me, Dwight in the muck covering the back window.

  “One more breadcrumb,” I said under my breath. “Let’s go inside to see if we can find more.”

  The reception area was spare and sleek: black lacquer counter on the left, a busy juice bar to the right and a corridor straight ahead that I guessed led to the training spaces and locker rooms.

  “You look lost,” someone said from behind the reception desk. “Can I help?”

  It was a woman with a narrow face, friendly hazel eyes and blue streaks in her glossy black hair. The gold name plate around her neck read Cherie, but the floral tattoo on her arm said Dora Lee. When she noticed my gaze zipping back and forth between the two, she laughed and put one finger on the necklace.

  “This is me,” she said, moving the finger to the colorful ink design. “And this is my grandmother. She passed last year, so I wanted something to keep her close.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said. “My name is Kate. I was just passing by, and was curious to learn more about the classes that you offer.”

  Cherie reached for the top brochure on a nearby stack. Then she unfolded it on the countertop before briefly describing the types of courses they offered, the credentials of the instructors and the satisfaction of members and their guests.

  “Is this your first time with self-defense training?” she asked.

  “No, I took classes a few years ago,” I said. “I was just thinking about some maintenance work.”

  “That is such a good idea,” she said. “Our founder actually preaches that all the time.”

  “Smart guy,” I said, baiting the hook.


  I knew from the online research that I did before leaving Crescent Creek that the place was the brainchild of a retired Marine named Violet Martin. But I thought a little bit of trickery might help me seem more genuine and less nosy.

  “Actually,” said Cherie with a smile, “Ultra Violet was founded by a woman. We don’t discriminate against anyone, of course, but most of our warriors are female.”

  I gave her a smile. “Warriors?”

  She pointed at her head. “Your mind is your most powerful weapon,” she said, mimicking the message in the front window. “And that begins with how you think of yourself.”

  “Tired and bewildered,” I replied, tapping one finger between my eyes. “That’s how I think of myself half of the time.”

  She laughed. “Then you need to get in here!” Her voice rose in volume. “Get in here and get focused! Get in here and get fired up!”

  “Do you have single-class pricing or just the monthly and annual memberships?” I motioned at the poster on the wall behind her.

  “We’ve got it all,” she said. “Our classes start at forty dollars an hour.”

  I was getting ready to ask if they offered financing for such lofty prices when two men approached the counter. The tall, bearded guy was carrying a toolbox. The other one, half a foot shorter and clean shaven, had a long extension cord looped around one shoulder and a power drill in his hand. Cherie apologized for the interruption before walking over to greet the men.

  “I’m with someone, Dwight.” Her tone was arctic and her gaze was locked on the taller man. “Can’t it wait?”

  The second guy punched Chad’s shoulder. “Told you she’d say that.”

  “And I told you to keep it zipped,” Chad hissed at his friend.

  “Look,” Cherie said, “Violet left a list on her desk of the stuff she wants you to do, okay? Mostly moving boxes upstairs, but I can talk to you about it as soon as I finish with our newest warrior.” She glanced at me and smiled. “I was just getting ready to page Tonya so she can give her a tour.”

  “She’s out back having a smoke,” Chad said. “She won’t hear the page.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” replied Cherie. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to—”

  “We’re also waiting to get reimbursed for the gas money and those stupid costumes,” Chad said. “Driving up and back to that crap town was a full tank, okay? And payday isn’t till next Friday, so tell Junebug that I need the money pronto! I mean, if she’s even doing the books this week. And if she’s not, can’t we just take it out of petty cash or something?”

  Rather than answer his questions, Cherie did a quick pivot and returned to where I was waiting.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said, lowering her voice. “Some of us weren’t created equal in the IQ department.”

  “It’s no problem,” I told her. “And I actually don’t have time for a tour this afternoon. I’ll be in the area again soon though. I’ll come back to get the full dog and pony show.”

  She frowned slightly. “It only takes a few minutes,” she said. “Tonya’s our senior warrior consultant. She’ll be able to answer all of your questions about our instructors, classes and fee schedules.”

  “Great!” I said, starting a slow drift back toward the front door. “I’ll be sure and ask for her when I come back.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied sadly. “Are you sure we can’t make time for that tour today? Remember this, okay? A sharp spirit cuts through even the darkest shadows!”

  I kept myself from laughing. “Thank you again for your time,” I said, picking up the pace. “And here’s another one to remember: Don’t burn any bridges until you’ve crossed them!”

  CHAPTER 32

  After I left the self-defense school, I walked down the street to a coffee shop with a sign in the window advertising cherry-cranberry kringle. During the first few years at Sky High Pies, Nana Reed had offered the Scandinavian pastry as part of her annual Sweet Salute to Dough & Delicacies, but my parents had quashed the tradition after they took over the business.

  My nose detected cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee when I stepped through the door. A woman stood behind the counter, folding white bakery boxes and decorating each with two different pre-printed stickers. She looked to be in her mid-forties. She was on the tall side with a heart-shaped face and big brown eyes.

  “I haven’t had kringle in a very long time,” I told her when I reached the counter. “It reminds me of my grandmother.”

  Her rosy cheeks lifted with a smile. “Me, too! Mainly because she’s in the back making dough for a new batch.”

  “Oh, that’s nice! She works here with you?”

  The woman leaned closer. “Don’t let Granny hear you say that. She’s a little overprotective; Klatch & Company is her baby.”

  I looked around the room. I hadn’t noticed the sign when I was on the sidewalk. But now that she’d mentioned the name, I realized that it was prominently displayed throughout the cozy space.

  “Cute name for a bakery,” I said.

  The woman winced. “My grandmother isn’t a fan of that word,” she whispered. “Granny Goodman thinks cute should only be used for babies and puppies.”

  “She sounds feisty,” I replied. “And that’s something else that we have in common, although mine has moved on to the coffee klatch in the sky.”

  She smiled warmly. “I’m sorry to hear that, but it sounds like you and she had a good relationship.”

  I winked. “Until I accused her of being cute.”

  We both laughed at the silly joke for a moment before I ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of kringle.

  “Be right up,” she said, nodding at the empty room. “As you can see, we’re not too swamped at the moment.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see if I can find somewhere to sit.”

  After I got comfortable at the nearest table, I took out my phone and sent Zack a text asking if he liked kringle. His speedy reply made me laugh: Is that a trick question? YES!

  I’ll bring one home tonight, I replied. Found a coffee shop that sells them.

  Get two, he wrote back. One for me. One for you.

  Down, tiger, I typed. Let’s go with one. Love you.

  After a moment or two, Zack’s reply filled me with the familiar warmth that I’d come to cherish: Love you more. Now, forever, always.

  “Here’s that kringle,” said the woman, coming toward the table. “I didn’t know if you wanted cream for the coffee, so I brought some of that, too.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “I do use it.”

  She carefully put down a tray that held my coffee, a small plate with the pastry and a tiny porcelain pitcher filled with cream. A wicker basket in the center of the table was filled with paper napkins rolled around a fork, knife and spoon.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Actually, there is one thing,” I said. “Do you know the self-defense place down the street?”

  I noticed an instant change in her expression. It was small and subtle, but the corners of her mouth tightened and one hand gripped the back of an empty chair.

  “I know it,” she said. “Are you thinking of enrolling in classes?”

  “No, I don’t live in the city,” I said. “But my sister does. I thought she might like to know about it, although it drives her crazy when I just give her the name of a place without doing a little research. Since you’re right down the street, I was just wondering if you’d recommend it for someone who’s never taken any self-defense training.”

  She shrugged. “You know what? I think that’s up to each individual.”

  My inquiry had clearly touched a nerve, but she was trying to be circumspect. We were strangers. She was working. And the unexpected request for her to share an opinion about another local business probably crossed a line for her.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I’m putting you on the spot,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” she said, loweri
ng her voice. “You seem like a nice person. But I try to live by the Golden Rule. You know, do unto others as you would blah, blah, blah.”

  I laughed. “I’ve heard that one.”

  “And the truth is, I like Violet quite a bit,” she continued. “But her sister is a bit much. She handles the business side of things, so she’s not around all the time. But I’ve seen and heard about situations, primarily when someone gets antsy about payday, when Liz goes off and starts shrieking.”

  A bell in the back of my brain started clanging at the sound of the name.

  “Do you know her last name?” I asked.

  The woman shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t even know Violet’s last name, although someone told me that Liz is changing back to her maiden name soon.”

  “I guess that won’t make much of a difference to us, right?” I laughed. “We don’t even know what her married name was.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “But to be truthful I get the heebie-jeebies when Liz comes in.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “Your expression has totally changed just at the mention of her name. I’m sorry that I asked about the self-defense place.”

  “Oh, now!” She waved both hands. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m big and tough!”

  We both laughed at her wisecrack. Then she glanced over her shoulder toward the door leading to the kitchen.

  “I think that I just heard—”

  “Daria?” screamed a voice from the back. “Where’s the nutmeg that Bruce delivered this morning?”

  The woman’s eyes looped around. “I’d better scoot,” she said. “My grandmother wasn’t born with the patience gene.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I can keep myself busy with the kringle and coffee.”

  “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” she replied. “But before I go, can I share two of Granny’s favorite sayings?”

  “What are they?” I asked.

  “The first one is, ‘Life’s too short to waste time on tall tales!’” the woman told me with another warm smile. “And the second one is, ‘Every day’s a gift that we need to open with joy!”