Murder by the Slice (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Maxwell

  “Can’t two old friends just drop by to say hello?”

  “Sure,” Olivia said. “But that’s not what that was.”

  I stopped working the dough in the tin and glanced over. She was drumming her fingertips on the counter and clenching her teeth repeatedly.

  “Then what was it?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Because I was too far to overhear most of the conversation.”

  “So take my word for it—Trent and Dina were in the area on police business. They popped in and—”

  “I call donkey dust!” my sister blurted.

  I did my best to keep a straight face.

  She wagged one finger at me. “And arkymalarky! You and I both know that Trent and Dina aren’t going to pay a social call when they’ve got real stuff to do.”

  The expression on her face was classic Olivia: trembling lower lip, narrowed eyes, puffed out cheeks. I’d seen it enough times in my life to know that a powder keg was about to explode if I didn’t diffuse the situation.

  “Donkey dust?” I asked after a few seconds.

  My sister jutted out her chin. “Yeah?”

  My mouth fluttered into a soft smile. “And arkymalarky?”

  “What’s your point, Kate?”

  “I think you’ve been spending way too much time with Julia,” I said.

  Her nostrils flared. “Well, I’m trying not to cuss so much. And Julia taught me a few inoffensive things to use instead of bulls—”

  “Whoa, whoa!” I said, holding up my dough-speckled hands. “I get it, okay? Just take a breath. Your face is as red as Nana Reed’s raspberry jam.”

  Her lower lip bobbled for a second as she pulled in a deep breath. “I don’t know why you can’t just tell me what’s going on,” she sputtered. “It’s been like this since you were a little snot-nosed nuisance running around with stinky diapers.”

  I cringed. “Thank you for that blast from the past, Liv.”

  The ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “Well, it’s true. Mom used to have me watch you, but you’d mess your diaper and then take off running. You thought it was hysterical.”

  “Maybe back then,” I said. “But not so much at the moment.” I nodded at the pie tins and bubbling pot of strawberry-rhubarb filling on the stove. “The last thing I want to think about while I’m cooking is a dirty diaper.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, pulling up a stool and taking a seat. “Enough about that. Tell me what Trent and Dina wanted.”

  I went back to work on the pie dough, gently pressing it into the tin. “Do you remember Ben Carson—the FBI agent that stopped by the other day?”

  Olivia nodded. “Yeah, the hunk in the dark suit.”

  “Well, he wasn’t really with the FBI,” I said, crimping the dough along the edge of the tin.

  “And he was—”

  “So he lied to you?”

  “He was killed last night,” I continued. “Earl Dodd found him in a room at the Moonlight Motel.” I walked the pie tins to the cooler so the dough could relax for a few minutes before I finished prepping it for the oven. “And I may have found the murder weapon here at Sky High Pies this morning as I was—”

  “Slow down!” my sister yelped. “You’re going way too fast and I need to concentrate on one thing at a time.”

  I walked back to where she was sitting and draped one arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Liv. Take a breath.”

  “But you’re stressing me out!” Her cheeks were flushed and her voice was quivering. “Did you really just say that the police found the murder…” She paused and frowned. “This is just like an episode of Law & Order that I saw once,” she continued. “Was it a gun? Or some poison? Or was it—”

  “It was a carving knife,” I said. “From Sky High Pies.”

  She pushed my arm from behind her neck and lunged from the stool. “What?”

  I reached out and took her hand. “Liv! Please calm down! You getting upset won’t help Ben Carson.”

  She shuddered and put one hand on the counter to steady herself. “I need some fresh air,” she whispered. “Can you give me a sec?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I motioned toward the backdoor. “Why don’t you go sit outside for a few minutes? I need to blind bake those crusts, so I can do that while you collect your thoughts.”

  She mumbled something about fear for my safety before wobbling across the kitchen and out the door.

  While she was gone, I retrieved the two pie tins from the cooler. Then I lightly pricked the dough with a fork before gently pressing a piece of parchment paper against the bottom. I was filling both of the tins with pie weights when my sister rushed back in the kitchen.

  “Did he show you a badge?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Trent?” I joked.

  She muttered. “No, Katie. The fake FBI guy.”

  I shook my head. “No, but he seemed legit. And it was so busy around here that I didn’t even think for a second that he might be up to no good. He told me that he’d been at Rodney’s office with all of the other cops and investigators.”

  “What happened there anyway?”

  “With my boss?”

  My sister nodded. “Mom said he died after somebody tried to rob him or something?”

  “That’s what the Chicago PD initial surmised,” I answered. “But the case is still open. And they haven’t named any potential suspects or arrested anyone yet.”

  Olivia bit her lower lip. “Can I be honest with you?”

  I smiled. “When aren’t you?”

  She stuck out her tongue. “This is all making me really freaked out, Katie.”

  “It’ll be okay, Liv. Trent and Dina are the best. They’ll figure out who killed the bogus FBI agent. And they’ve increased the number of patrols by Sky High.”

  “Maybe you should hire a private security company?”

  The suggestion had crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to dig the debt hole any deeper. Angus had changed all the locks and installed a new deadbolt on the front door of my apartment. I’d also found my brother’s old baseball bat in the attic and positioned it strategically beside my bed.

  “Katie?” My sister tapped my arm lightly. “Did you hear me?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. You said I should hire—”

  “It’s a good idea,” she said. “I’m going back to Denver in the morning. I don’t want to worry any more than I already am about you.”

  “You’re my big sister,” I said. “That’s your job.”

  She made a face. “No, it’s not! I’ve got my hands full at home. Between Cooper and the boys and work and soccer practice and…” She flopped back against the sofa, closed her eyes and groaned. “I mean, is it any wonder that I’m half crazy most of the time?”

  I gave her a little poke in the side with one finger. “Only half crazy?”

  She opened one eye. “Screw you, Katie.” The lid clamped down again. “I need a vacation. I actually thought that coming up here to Crescent Creek would be kind of relaxing.” She sat upright and heaved a sigh. “But between the dead fake FBI agent, your apartment being burglarized and Blanche Speltzer lecturing me about skincare, I haven’t had a moment’s peace.”

  I reached over and patted her leg. “Why don’t you go back to the motel?” I suggested. “It’s been a long day. Maybe you can take a hot bubble bath and catch forty winks before we go out to dinner. What do you think of that idea?”

  She answered with a wide grin. “I love that idea!” She grabbed my hand and squeeze. “Sure you won’t mind?”

  “Absolutely sure,” I said. “If I didn’t think it would be a good idea, I wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.” She pushed against the cushions and got to her feet. “Where are we going to dinner?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about pizza,” I answered. “Does that sound good to you?”

  She patted her waistline. “Not very figure-friendly, but I think splurging on my last night in town would be awesome!�
��

  After a quick hug and a few more muttered complaints about her stressful life in Denver, Olivia scrambled out the door and down the stairs. I waved goodbye and headed back inside. I knew there was a mountain of paperwork on my desk, but I wanted to do a little digging into the late, not-so-great Ben Carson before I tackled the backlog of Sky High bills and bank statements.

  CHAPTER 37

  The cursor pulsed in the empty Google Search box. I’d tried a dozen different ways to find information about Ben Carson. I’d entered variations on his name and title: Benjamin Carson; B. Carson; Carson, Benjamin; Special Agent B. Carson; FBI’s Benjamin Carson, Special Agent. In the end, none of them directed me to anyone who even vaguely resembled the handsome man who had asked me about Rodney’s last case in Chicago.

  As I sat in the Sky High Pies office, glaring at the cursor as it appeared and disappeared like a silent metronome, I remembered that Dina had promised to send me the Las Vegas mug shot of the woman whose fingerprint had been found on the bloody knife. I plucked my phone from the desk, dialed the Crescent Creek Police Department and asked to speak with Detective Kincaid.

  “Sure thing, Kate,” said the man on the other end.

  “How’d you know my name?” I asked.

  “I’m clairvoyant,” the man said.

  I groaned. “Oh, yeah? Then what am I wearing?”

  He thought for a moment or two before describing my flour-speckled jeans, bright pink polo and silver running shoes.

  “And there’s a smudge of chocolate frosting on the collar of your shirt,” he said.

  I glanced down. There was a smudge of chocolate frosting on my collar.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “Dean Carter,” he said.

  “Okay, Dean. How’d you do that?”

  He claimed to be psychic again, but I shot the explanation down and demanded to know what was going on.

  “Relax, Kate,” he said. “I’m just having some fun. Trent and Dina said you’re pretty worked up about the break-in and everything.”

  I took a long, slow breath. Then I exhaled even more slowly. And then I demanded to know how he knew that it was me on the phone.

  “From the Caller ID,” he explained. “It says Sky High Pies. And I know that you’re running the place now.”

  “But I didn’t tell you my name,” I said, feeling tendrils of fatigue creeping along my shoulders and down my back. “And I still don’t know how you guess what I’ve got on.”

  He snickered softly. “I was in your place earlier,” he said. “I’ve developed a very strong affinity for the Crazy for Coconut Pie.”

  “Ah, okay,” I said, feeling a wave of relief. “It was making me kind of freaked out that you knew what I was wearing.”

  “Besides, nothing much has happened in Crescent Creek since I started working for the police department,” he continued. “Until you moved back to town.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s just that the burglary at your place is the most exciting crime in the past six weeks.”

  I clenched my teeth, trying to decide whether I should chastise the guy for his casual tone or accept what was a very twisted compliment. In the end, I didn’t have to choose because Dean Grant saved himself with a heartfelt apology.

  “I am so sorry, ma’am,” the guy concluded after muttering a string of remorseful remarks. “I do hope you’ll overlook my lame attempt at humor.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Dean. Can you just transfer me to Dina?”

  “You bet,” he said. “But I think she’s gone for the day.”

  “Do you have her mobile number?”

  “I do, but we’re not at liberty to share that with the public.”

  I held the phone out, gave it an angry smirk and then pressed it against my ear again. “Even when she’s helping to identify the burglar that trashed my apartment?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s department policy. And I’ve only been here for six weeks, so I’m really not—”

  “It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll just leave her a message.”

  After I asked Dina to call me about the Las Vegas mug shot, I closed the laptop, turned off the office light and went into the dining room to recheck the front door. It was locked, the porch was squared away and the café looked as neat and tidy as it did when my Nana Reed was at the helm.

  “Cleanliness and order are the hallmarks of success,” she’d always proclaimed when my brother, sister and I spent time helping out after school or during summer vacations. “Without those two building blocks, Sky High Pies would crumble into chaos and crumbs.”

  I smiled at the memory of my elfin grandmother pushing an enormous broom across the gleaming hardwood floor. Then I checked the door again, turned out the lights and headed for the back stairs and a lavender-scented bubble bath.

  CHAPTER 38

  The phone trilled loudly just as I was drifting toward sleep. It was Earl Dodd, calling from the Moonlight Motel with a mouthful of something crunchy.

  “Katie?” he mumbled between bites.

  “Hey, Earl.” I checked the time and winced when I saw it was nearly eleven. “What’s going on?”

  “Same old thing,” he said. “My night desk clerk called in lazy, so guess who’s holding down the fort?”

  I smiled at his off-beat sense of humor. When we were in school together, Earl was voted Most Likely to Remain Untouched by Adulthood. It was good to see that some predictions come true.

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow. “Is that why you called?”

  He guffawed and munched on another handful. I listened to him chew and then asked if I could call him back in the morning.

  “Oh, dang!” he said. “I’m sorry, Kate. I’m watching an old Broncos game on ESPN. Let me shut that off for a sec.” He fumbled and cursed with the remote before coming back on the line.

  “Okay, that’s better,” he continued. “How’re you doing tonight?”

  “Well, I was doing the sleep thing,” I answered. “But now I’m talking to you.”

  “Oh, double dang! I guess it is kind of late. But I just thought of something that I think you’ll want to hear.”

  I waited while he chugged from a can of soda to remove the last dregs of snack food from his mouth.

  “Still there?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, rolling onto my back and fixing my gaze on a crack in the ceiling. “I’m right here, Earl. What did you want to tell me?”

  “Well, after you came in to see me, I got to thinking.” His voice was suddenly serious; lower in volume and deeper in timbre. “You were wondering about that redheaded guy and his British girlfriend, right?”

  “I was. Did something happen in the meantime?”

  “No, I haven’t seen ’em,” Earl told me. “Although she called the front desk about two hours ago to ask if there was a sushi restaurant in Crescent Creek. I told her that wasn’t a dining option, but the Continental Divide Diner served a mean tuna salad sandwich.”

  I laughed softly. “Did that satisfy her?”

  “Oh, no way! She went off at me on the phone, dropping all kinds of foul language and telling me that we live in the armpit of America.”

  I closed my eyes and listened to him defend our humble little town for a few minutes. Then I interrupted to ask if he could fast forward to the reason for his call.

  “Oh, right. It’s just that I hate it when outsiders come here and get all arrogant about wherever they come from.” He paused to nibble on one of his crunchy nuggets. “But anyway,” he went on, “I was sitting here just now, watching the game and thinking about how nice it was to see you again, right? And then I remembered the other night, maybe it was Saturday or Sunday. The redhead and the British chick were in the parking lot talking to someone else. The reason I know is that their voices got a little loud and I was concerned the ruckus might bother our other guests.”

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?
”

  He snickered. “What else—money? And get this—the other person was a woman from town.”

  My eyes popped open. “Seriously?”

  “Dead serious,” he said.

  “Who was it?”

  There was a pause and he sipped more soda. Then he delivered a bit of disappointing news.

  “I don’t know her name,” he said. “But I recognized her voice because I’d heard it somewhere before.”

  “Then how do you know she’s from Crescent Creek?”

  “Because she said so. During the shouting match with the British woman and that guy Muldoon, she kept reminding them that they were in her hometown.”

  “Did you get a look at her face?”

  “No,” Earl said. “She was standing in the shadows and I didn’t want to go outside to get a better look. I was in the office, kind of peeking out between the slats of the blinds.”

  “Very cloak and dagger,” I said.

  “What’s that mean?” Earl asked.

  “It means you were acting like a stealthy spy. You know, maybe James Bond or someone like that.”

  “You think I look like James Bond?”

  I thought for a second. Then I remembered something he’d said once when another student asked him if he thought Leticia Hackett looked like Pam Anderson in Baywatch.

  “Yes, you look like James Bond,” I said. “From the ankles down.”

  His laugh was loud and sustained, so I held the phone away from my ear until it subsided.

  “You remember when I said that about Leticia?”

  “I do. How is she, by the way? I haven’t heard about her since I got back.”

  “Who—Leticia?”

  Earl told me that she’d moved to Los Angeles, spent a small fortune on cosmetic surgery and landed a lead role on a popular television show. “You know the one,” he said. “About the family that has all those secrets and someone wants revenge?”

  “Really! The lead actress is Leticia Hackett?”

  Earl chuckled again. “Not the star of the show,” he said. “Leticia plays the mother. Her name is—” He stopped talking and then began cussing like crazy. “What! Why did you pass it to…” Another string of expletives followed before Earl remembered we were in the middle of a conversation. “Oh, dang! Sorry about that, Kate. I cannot believe what some quarterbacks will do sometimes. It’s like they completely forget where they are.”