The Cherry Chip Murders

by Mary Maxwell

  The thoughts rippling through my mind suddenly skidded sideways.

  “Say that again, please?”

  “Sheila didn’t go to Nevada,” Dina said in a clear, focused tone. “She lied. To her husband. To everyone at the company. To her family and friends.”

  “And to you,” I added. “When she called you after Darren went missing, she told you that she was at Mandalay Bay, right?”

  “MGM Grand,” Dina said. “But close enough.”

  “Okay, I thought it was the other one.”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Dina said. “But the important point is that Sheila Rigby may no longer have an alibi for the night that her husband was kidnapped or the evening that Tony Hett was murdered.”

  CHAPTER 36

  “I had a sense that you’d be back for more,” the woman said when I stepped into Klatch & Company late that afternoon.

  I walked up to the display case and studied the assortment of cupcakes, muffins and other baked goodies.

  “The kringle was delicious,” I said. “My husband and I devoured both of them in record time.”

  Her laugh was infectious as she swept one hand over the case.

  “There’s always more where those came from,” she said. “I’ve got what you see here as well as a handful of kringles in back. In fact, let me get you a sample of my new one. It’s a blueberry cobbler with cream cheese frosting.”

  “That sounds like a winner,” I said.

  “Do you want to try it?” she asked.

  “I’ll take one with me,” I said. “Zack and I both love blueberries in every possible form.”

  She grinned. “That was an easy sale!”

  “You had me at blueberry,” I said.

  “Do you want something for now?” She motioned at the display case again. “Slice of kringle? Cupcake? Coffee?”

  “No, but thanks,” I said. “I really just stopped in to ask you a couple of questions.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Uh-oh,” she joked. “Your mood just crossed over into serious territory. What have I done now?”

  “You’re fine,” I replied. “I wanted to ask if you know someone named Liz Winchester.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Can I show you a picture?”

  She nodded. “As long as it’s not me from sixth grade when I had braces and a bad perm.”

  “It’s not,” I said with a laugh. “It’s the woman that I just asked you about.”

  I pulled out my phone and navigated to a picture that I’d downloaded from the Rigby Engineering website. It showed the corporate leadership team—including Darren and Sheila Rigby, Liz Winchester and a jolly guy named Luke Sinclair who loved the peach cobbler at Sky High.

  “This is her,” I said, pointing at Liz. “She’s the one with the chunky glasses and the bangs.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “I’ve seen her a few times. What was the name again?”

  I answered her question. Then I asked if Liz came in alone or with someone else.

  The woman’s mouth swooped into a sheepish grin.

  “She’s occasionally with two younger men that work at the self-defense studio,” the woman said. “But mostly she’s here with her husband.” She pointed to Darren Rigby in the photograph on my phone. “And I don’t know about you, but those May-December relationships always confound me a bit.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, deciding not to explain that Darren was married to someone else.

  “Oh, you know,” she began, “I suppose it makes me a fuddy-duddy, but I think husbands and wives get along better if they’re within a few years of one another. You know, like, maybe four or five? But there must be a good fifteen or twenty years difference between the woman in that picture and her—” She stopped short. “Did she do something wrong? Why are you asking questions about her anyway?”

  “It’s related to something that happened in Crescent Creek,” I said, trying to be simultaneously honest and judicious.

  The woman winked at me. “I was wondering about all of the whispered conversations.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Is Liz doing something shady with her husband and the two brothers?”

  “Which brothers?” I asked.

  “I know they’re not twins because I’ve heard them joke about one being older,” she said, “but they look almost identical in appearance.”

  I smiled. “What can you tell me about the brothers?”

  “They’re both burly brutes,” she answered. “And I think one works for the police. I sure wish I had somebody that rugged and strong in my life. There have been so many times when I wish that one of my neighbors could help me move furniture or carry something heavy in from the car. But everyone on my block is way deep into their AARP years, if you get my drift.”

  I smiled. “I get it. But what was that about one of the brothers working for the police?”

  She nodded. “They didn’t tell me that directly,” she said in a hushed tone. “But voices carry in a place this small, especially when there’s only them up here and me in the back. I think people forget that they’re not alone when nobody else is in sight.”

  “So you heard them talking about his work for the police?”

  “Not so much that,” she answered. “Just a lot of buzzing about a detective having trouble with something. It made me wonder if Liz’s husband was working alongside the detective and he was frustrated with the lack of progress on whatever matter they were trying to resolve.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said, deciding to play along. “I never knew that her husband worked for the Denver PD.”

  “People are funny that way,” she said with a laugh. “You think that you know them, but one day they pull a quick left turn and leave you scratching your head. My husband was the same way before he passed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” I said.

  She sighed and made the sign of the cross. “My dear man,” she said softly. “May he rest in peace. During our marriage, there were a half dozen times when I thought that I knew everything about him. But then, maybe like your friend’s husband, my Billy came home with something right out of the blue. One time, it was an archery set. He’d never once mentioned an interest in that, but he spent a small fortune on all the equipment that you need. He set it up in the back yard, used it twice and then put it on eBay.”

  “Was he able to sell it fairly quickly?”

  She rumbled a throaty laugh. “Quickly? The junk’s in the attic as we speak. But I’m glad it’s there, too. Reminds me of Billy once a year.”

  “Just once?”

  The follow-up chuckle was softer, gentler. “I meant when I decorate for Christmas,” she explained. “But I think of him every day.”

  “Sounds like you and he had a happy marriage,” I said.

  “The best,” she said, wiping a tear from one eye. “But all things must pass.” She cleared her throat. “Now, should I go get that blueberry kringle or did you have more questions.”

  “I’m ready for it,” I said. “And maybe a half dozen of the cherry chip cupcakes, too.”

  “Coming right up,” she replied. “And it’s funny that you’re asking for those. The two burly brothers that come in with Liz both gobble those cupcakes every time they’re here.”

  “Do they really?” I glanced into the display case again. “Liz’s burly friends like cherry cupcakes?”

  “They both do,” she said. “But one brother eats twice as many.”

  “Do you know their names?” I asked.

  She pursed her lips for a moment. “One is Dwight,” she said. “And the other is…” She hummed a little tune. “Is it Gregory? Or maybe it’s Grant?”

  “Could it be Graham?” I asked.

  Her eyes lit up. “That’s it! Dwight and Graham. My two favorite cherry chip cupcake fanatics!”

  “That’s really helpful,” I said. “Thank you so much for the information.”

  “No problem,” she said. �
�They’re both like little boys whenever they eat the cupcakes. They can’t stop talking about the edible gold. It just tickles their fancy like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I smiled. “Oh, I believe,” I said. “At this point, when it comes to this group of crackpots, I’ll believe just about anything that I hear.”

  CHAPTER 37

  After I left Klatch & Company, I walked around the corner, found an empty bench and called Dina. When it went to voicemail, I left a quick message and then decided to try her friend at the Denver PD.

  “Detective Lund?” I said when she picked up the phone. “It’s Kate Reed from Crescent Creek. Do you have a moment?”

  “Most definitely,” she answered. “And by the way, you’re the only Kate that I know, so why don’t we stick to a first-name basis?”

  “I’ll remember that next time,” I told her.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked.

  Since I didn’t know the woman, I launched into as concise a query as possible. I explained that Dina had informed me about the traces of cherry frosting found in Tony Hett’s house and Darren Rigby’s hotel room. Then I described my encounter with Darren’s cousin, my visit to the self-defense studio and the fact that there was a bakery down the block called Klatch & Company.

  “Sounds like you’ve been busy,” she said as I prepared to segue to Liz Winchester’s brawny young friend. “How is all of that related to our investigations?”

  “Darren Rigby’s assistant has visited the bakery several times recently in the company of two burly guys with a yen for cherry cupcakes.” I paused for a moment, hoping that she’d connect the dots on her own. “She didn’t offer last names, but she said they’re brothers named Dwight and Graham. The Crescent Creek Police found a phone at Tony Hett’s place that belonged to someone named Graham Rankin. I have a hunch that he’s the same Graham that visits the bakery with Liz Winchester.”

  “Go on,” Jane Lund said. “I’m waiting for the big reveal.”

  “Do you have a list of Leachman’s known associates?”

  “I do,” she said. “It’s like a literal rogue’s gallery of the city’s least desirable criminals.”

  “Anybody originally from Wisconsin?”

  She laughed. “That’s pretty specific, Katie. Do you have your eye on someone for a possible suspect in the double homicide?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But after Dina told me about the cherry frosting, I also saw an SUV parked near the self-defense place on Spring Street. It matches the description from the eyewitness at Tony’s place the night that he was abducted.”

  “And how is that related to Wisconsin?”

  “License plates on the SUV and kringle,” I answered. “Well, the bakery that I mentioned sells kringle. When the woman there identified Liz Winchester in a photograph from the Rigby Engineering website, she told me that the guys that came in there with Liz are big fans of cherry cupcakes and kringle.”

  “What makes you think these guys are involved?” she asked. “Besides their love for specific types of baked goods?”

  “On the night Tony Hett was kidnapped,” I said, “the pizza delivery driver took a couple of pictures as the two masked men walked toward the house.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Jane said.

  “One of them was wearing a jacket with a distinctive emblem on the back. It looks like two large gears with a wrench above and a screwdriver underneath.”

  “Are we going somewhere with this?” she asked.

  “I believe so,” I said. “I did some digging and found the logo online. It belongs to a trade school in Racine, Wisconsin. The SUV’s back bumper was like a tapestry of stickers from the school. Oh, and you probably know this already, but kringle is huge in that part of the country.”

  “That’s it?” she asked with a tinge of doubt. “A trade school jacket, cherry cupcakes and a particular type of Scandinavian pastry that’s popular in Wisconsin?”

  “And there’s one more thing,” I told her.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “I looked at Liz Winchester’s bio on the Rigby Engineering website again,” I replied. “A few years before she moved to Colorado, she worked in the Admissions Department at a trade school in Racine.”

  “Well, that is interesting,” Jane Lund said. “Good work, Katie.”

  CHAPTER 38

  “That’s all she said?” asked Dina when I called her a few minutes later. “It’s interesting?”

  “That was it,” I said. “I don’t know the woman, so I wouldn’t want to try and interpret her comment.”

  Dina laughed. “I’ve known Jane for a long time. That’s a word she uses when she’s trying not to give anything away.”

  “Meaning what?” I asked. “She thinks that Liz Winchester is mixed up in this mess?”

  “Probably,” Dina said. “But again, we’re dealing with two jurisdictions, two different organizations and two individuals at the top of the team working to crack two cases that appear to be related.”

  “It’s like Noah’s Ark,” I said with a soft chuckle. “Two by two. Except everyone has the same goal: catch the bad guys.”

  “Obviously,” Dina said. “But not everyone appreciates circumstantial evidence the way that you might.”

  “Or you,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “Are you saying that I’m not making a valid point?”

  She sighed. “Don’t be so sensitive, Katie. I’m processing what you’re telling me with what we already know.”

  “Well, it’s a fact that Axel Barbosa saw two individuals wearing Spider-Man masks, right?”

  “Correct,” said Dina.

  “And one of them was also wearing a jacket with a trade school logo, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And Liz Winchester worked at a trade school in Wisconsin that uses the very same logo that was its website, promotional materials and—”

  “Jackets,” Dina said. “But there are other ways that guy could obtain that particular coat. Maybe he bought it at a thrift store. Maybe it was given to him by someone who attended the school.”

  “But we keep coming up against the same brick wall,” I said. “We don’t have any idea what they look like. We don’t have fingerprints from either scene. We don’t know if they’re local or came in to commit these crimes. And we don’t have definitive proof that they’re connected to Liz.”

  “Maybe you should bring her in for a little chitchat,” I suggested.

  Dina laughed. “I had the same thought,” she said. “But guess who seems to have dropped off the face of the earth?”

  “Liz Winchester,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Dina replied. “And if looks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Pearl White answered the phone at her boutique with a reminder that her annual winter sweater sale was just around the corner.

  “Well, now that I’ve made that plug,” she said, “how can I help?”

  “It’s Katie,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Peachy,” she said. “You doing okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “But I have a question about the red cowboy boots that you carried last year. I mean the red ones with the little green inserts on the side. Do you remember those?

  “I do,” she said. “But we sold out, Katie. I don’t know if I can find a pair for you.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t need a new pair of boots right now. I was more interested in seeing if you remember who bought them. Specifically, if you remember one customer in particular.”

  “What’s the name?” she asked.

  “Sheila Rigby,” I said.

  Pearl snickered on the other end. “That’s so weird,” she said. “I had an inkling that you were thinking about her. In all the years that I’ve had my shop, I’ve sold two pairs of shoes or boots to the same person. I mean, the exact same style in the exact same size.”

 
“Are you saying that Sheila bought two pairs of those boots?”

  “She did,” Pearl answered. “But when she got them home that day, she hated the way they looked with the skirt she planned to wear to some big shindig they were hosting for their company. She brought her pair back the very next morning.”

  “What about the other pair?”

  “Well, I’m delighted to report that the other pair found a very happy home,” Pearl answered. “I’d have to guess that Liz liked them a lot because she wears them constantly!”

  “Wait a sec,” I said. “Sheila bought the other pair of boots for her husband’s assistant?”

  Pearl nodded. “Sheila told me that things at the office had been really tense before that,” she explained. “Apparently, she suspected that Darren and Liz were having an affair, but they both assured her it wasn’t true. I didn’t know that before Sheila came in the shop, of course. She confided in me while we were ringing up the sale.”

  “Well, that’s all pretty darn intriguing,” I said.

  “Is this related to the trouble with Darren and Tony Hett?” asked Pearl.

  “I believe so,” I said. “And if trouble is an accurate way to describe what’s happened up to this point, I can assure you that it’ll be much, much worse for at least a couple of folks that you and I both know.”

  “Who?” Her voice spiked with excitement. “I’d love to know if you can tell me.”

  “I’m going to keep that to myself for the time being,” I said. “But as soon a I get the green light from Detective Kincaid, you’ll be the first person that I call.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Kiera Durwood was dressed in powder puff blue from head to toe when she came into Sky High Pies late the next afternoon. Harper was taking an order from two young women wearing scrubs, and I’d just started a fresh pot of decaf.

  “I need some of that,” Kiera said.

  “It’s unleaded,” I told her.