An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9)

by Mary Maxwell

  I could tell from the pinched look on Amanda’s face that there was more.

  “And Pia?” I said.

  Amanda shook her head. “She wasn’t there, but we’ve got her purse and cell phone.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Dina Kincaid was leaning against the counter in Pia’s kitchen when Amanda escorted me inside through the back entrance. She was reading something on her phone and slowly pulsing the tip of one finger against her chin.

  “Oh, hey,” she said after glancing up. “Thanks for waiting, Katie.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  For a split second, I saw Dina smile. But it was gone in an instant as she answered my question.

  “Keep your fingers crossed,” she said. “At this point, we’re doing everything we can to figure out how this connects with the scene at Vito Marclay’s yesterday.”

  “The car is one link,” I said.

  Dina frowned. “Pia’s car?”

  “No, the Aston Martin out front. It was parked in front of Marclay’s yesterday when Pia arrived.”

  “It was?”

  “Yes, didn’t Trent fill you in?”

  The detective answered first with a long, deflated sigh. Then she said, “I’m running on fumes at this point. Maybe I skimmed the case file too fast.” She rolled her shoulders and slipped the phone into her jacket. “But that’s my worry, right?”

  I smiled.

  “The next thing we want to do is talk to Pia’s sister,” Dina said. “We found her business card in the living room along with some other things.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Pia told me that her sister has been spending a lot of time in Crescent Creek in the past few months.”

  Dina smiled. “So goes the world of mergers and acquisitions,” she said. “The Denver firm where Pia’s sister works acquired Mitch Langhorn and Caitlin Diebel’s law practice over on Crestview.”

  “I’d heard about the acquisition, but not the details.”

  “Makes two of us,” Dina said. “I guess Mitch and Caitlin wanted to keep things quiet during the transition. They’re both planning to stay with the firm for a few more years, so the most immediate changes are internal adjustments related to ownership, corporate charter, billing and things like that.”

  “Do you know Liza’s last name?” I asked. “Pia told me at some point, but I can’t recall it at the moment.”

  Dina nodded. “Liza Canfield,” she said. “Married to a guy that owns a bunch of real estate in Colorado Springs.”

  I didn’t recognize the last name. And I hadn’t met Pia’s sister. But I figured that our paths might cross at some point soon.

  “Did you talk to her at all?” I asked.

  “No, Tyler’s helping me with the investigation, so he’s going to have a chat with Liza. She’s staying at the Crescent Creek Lodge while she’s in town.”

  “Divide and conquer,” I said with an encouraging smile. “It can be the quickest way to get the scoop and crack the case.”

  “Something like that,” Dina said. “Speaking of which, do you mind if I ask you a couple of quick questions?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Whatever I can do to help.”

  She motioned at the table and four chairs near the sliding glass doors. I followed her over and we sat across from one another.

  “Let’s go back to when Pia called you,” Dina said. “What did she say? What was her demeanor?”

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts before answering the questions. I told Dina that I was sleeping when the phone rang. Then I shared everything I could remember: Pia’s breathless whisper, the fact that Vito was at her house covered in blood, mumbled and cryptic remarks about a scam and then the sudden end to the bewildering call.

  “And that was it?” asked Dina.

  “Well, I called her right back,” I said. “Hoping that, you know, maybe she’d somehow accidentally disconnected the phone when we were talking.”

  “But she hadn’t?”

  “No. Well, she didn’t answer. So I left a couple of quick messages and dialed 911 and…” I glanced around the kitchen: pristine countertops, a tea kettle on the stove, three bananas arranged in a bright blue ceramic bowl.

  “And here we are,” Dina said.

  “Yep,” I agreed with a sad smile. “Here we are. For the second time in as many days, Pia Lincoln is at the center of something weird and random and unsettling.”

  “And she’s the last person in town that I would ever expect to be involved in any type of crime,” Dina said.

  “Exactly. She’s prim and proper and totally…well, totally together. I know that’s a lame way to describe her, but it’s fitting.”

  “Do you know this Vito Marclay guy?” asked Dina.

  I shook my head. “Never met him. But from what Pia told me, he’s quite a famous artist.”

  “If you like that sort of thing,” Dina said.

  “What sort of thing?”

  She reached into her pocket and came out with the phone again. I watched while she swiped at the screen before using her thumb and forefinger to resize an image. When she held the phone toward me, I felt an instant chill twine around my shoulders.

  “Creepy enough for you?” Dina asked.

  I was staring at a painting that depicted a dismembered body scattered on a beach. The arms and legs and torso were vibrant yellow, the head was neon pink and the heart had been painted with a matte black. Pale peach sand circled a lagoon filled with red waves capped with tufts of coral blue.

  “Um…” I didn’t know what to say about the artwork, so I went for the next most obvious question. “Is this one of Vito’s?”

  “Yes,” Dina said. “Care to guess what it sold for at auction last month?”

  “No,” I said. “Maybe you could just tell me.”

  She snickered softly. “Two hundred thousand,” she whispered. “And that’s apparently one of his less successful canvases from the past couple of years.”

  “Fudge nuggets!” I said. “That’s a whole lot of dough!”

  Dina laughed again. “Yes, indeed. And I can’t wait to ask Mr. Marclay to interpret this freaky masterpiece for us. I can only imagine what the different colors represent and why he put the poor woman’s shoes and sunglasses on the poodle.”

  “On the what?” I asked.

  “The poodle,” she said, leaning in to point at one corner of the screen. “That’s what this is down here; a purple poodle wearing orange sunglasses and lemon-lime high heels.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Waiting for the phone to ring is one of the most excruciating things in the world, especially when it’s the middle of the night and a friend’s life is in jeopardy. As I left Pia’s house an hour earlier, Dina had promised to call as soon as they finished processing the Volvo in the alley behind the hair salon.

  After driving back to Sky High Pies, I went into my office and attempted to develop a list of sample menu options for an upcoming catering job. But the effort ended in frustration. I couldn’t stop thinking about Pia: the tangle of fear and torment in her voice the last time we spoke, the horror in her eyes the previous day at Vito Marclay’s house, and the news that her car had been abandoned in an alley.

  When it was obvious that working on menu ideas wasn’t going to be enough to distract me, I went into the kitchen and made a cup of tea. Then I watched the clock on the wall, staring at the slender red second hand as it ticked past the black numbers.

  “Come on, Dina,” I muttered to the silent room. “How long can it take to drive over and check out Pia’s car?”

  I repeated the question a few more times before the phone finally rang shortly before five.

  “Are you still awake?” asked Dina.

  “Yep. It’s just me and a cup of lukewarm tea over here.”

  “Well, I wish there was better news,” she said.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “About Pia?”

  “Yes,�
� I said, feeling my heart race again. “None of this makes sense. I mean, she’s a caterer who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She gets along with everyone, volunteers at the food pantry and—”

  “Slow down,” Dina interrupted. “You sound like you’re about to hyperventilate.”

  “I think we’re way past that point. Do you know how many awful scenarios have run through my mind?”

  “Probably the same number that I’ve been thinking about,” she answered. “The good news is we didn’t find her in the Volvo’s trunk.”

  “How is that good news?”

  “I’m going to stay optimistic,” Dina said. “I’m going to believe that she’s out there somewhere, unharmed and soon to be released.”

  “You’re right. Staying hopeful is the best approach.”

  She chuckled softly.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “Not funny,” she said. “Surprising. You’re the one who’s usually so upbeat about everything.”

  I thought about the comment for a moment. Dina was right; optimism and hope were the hallmarks of my personality. Somewhere between the first call from Pia when she was at Vito Marclay’s house to her inexplicable disappearance overnight, my mood had shifted away from its usual buoyant, sanguine center toward a gloomier place.

  “Okay,” I said after brushing away the comparisons. “Anything on the car?”

  “The Aston Martin?”

  “Yes, the one in the driveway at Pia’s.”

  “It’s a rental,” she said. “We’ll check with the agency later today to find out who signed the contract.”

  “And then?” I asked. “What’s our next step?”

  Dina laughed again. “I don’t know about you,” she said. “But I’m going home to take a shower and change my clothes. Trent called a meeting for seven to go over what we know so far and I want to be a little more refreshed than I am at the moment.”

  “Sounds about right,” I said.

  “What’s going on over there, Katie? Don’t you usually get out of bed at this hour?”

  “Close to it,” I said. “If it was a normal morning, I’d be just about ready to come downstairs and start the first pot of coffee. But I’ll be racing up there in a second or two to get dressed for the day.”

  “We both deserve a nice long nap at some point,” she joked. “Although that point might be a few days from now.”

  “No doubt,” I grumbled. “Will you call me as soon as you know something about Pia?”

  “Absolutely,” Dina told me. “And vice versa. I know you’ll be doing your own thing around town, Katie. Let me know if you uncover anything relevant to the case, okay?”

  CHAPTER 15

  The morning was a blur of prep tasks, special orders and one cup of coffee after the next. By noon, I felt simultaneously groggy and fully awake, like half of my body was upstairs snuggled in bed and the other half was bouncing around the Sky High kitchen. Julia and Harper had both heard the news about Pia and Vito, but we’d been so busy that there wasn’t much time to speculate about the situation.

  “Your mom’s on the phone,” Harper called through the pass window around two-thirty as I stared at the remaining prep list. “Want me to take a message?”

  I shook my head. “She’ll just call back in a couple of hours,” I said. “What line is she on?”

  Harper smiled. “The one that’s blinking,” she said. “I guess you haven’t noticed, but it’s a pretty darn slow day out here.”

  I’d been so focused on working at the back counter while Julia handled breakfast and lunch orders that I hadn’t realized the dining room wasn’t very full.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Harper shrugged. “Who knows? We were slammed all last week, so maybe people are giving their waistlines a break.”

  Julia snickered. “Not everything we sell is fattening,” she said.

  “Name three things,” Harper teased.

  Julia thought for a moment before offering a list: spinach salad with grilled chicken, an egg white omelet with fresh herbs and a bowl of oatmeal with raisins.

  “You forgot ice water,” I said. “And a naked angel food cupcake with fresh fruit!”

  I could hear them calling out additional suggestions as I headed for the office. Once I was behind the desk, I punched the blinking light on the phone and greeted my mother with as much gusto as I could manage.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Katie? I’m your mother. I’ve been your mother for the past thirty years, six months and five days. I know when something’s wrong.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “You’ve got too much time on your hands if you’re counting how long it’s been since I was born.”

  “Nonsense!” my mother snipped. “The day you were born was the most memorable of my life.”

  “What about Brody and Olivia?”

  She giggled. “Ditto for them. You three are the best things that ever happened to your father and me.”

  “That’s sweet, mom.”

  “So?” she said. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to pull it out of you?”

  I knew it was futile to resist, so I told her about Pia Lincoln and Vito Marclay, finishing with the fact that they were both missing.

  “That’s horrible,” she gasped. “Does Trent Walsh have any leads?”

  “They’re working on it,” I said. “Dina Kincaid’s actually handling most of the investigation.”

  “That’s good, dear. Men are truly dynamic in plenty of situations, but I believe women do a more thorough job with really sensitive matters.”

  I smiled to myself, but didn’t say a word.

  “Don’t you agree, Katie?”

  “I’ll tell you what I agree with,” I said. “My mother is one of the smartest, kindest, most loving people on the planet.”

  She didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then she said, “How much?”

  “How much what?”

  “How much do you need to borrow?” she asked.

  I laughed and told her that I didn’t need a loan.

  “Well, whenever your brother and sister butter me up like that, it usually means they want money.”

  “We’re actually doing really well this month,” I said. “We’ve increased the average number of covers for breakfast and lunch. The new carryout menu is getting tons of action and really good compliments. And the catering jobs are on track for a record year.”

  “Your father and I are both very proud of you, Katie.”

  “Thanks, mom. I appreciate that so much.”

  “You’re a very impressive young woman,” she said. “Smart and sweet and willing to go the extra mile to help anyone you meet.”

  I stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then I said, “How much?”

  My mother gasped again. “What are you talking about?”

  “Whenever someone pours it on that heavy, they usually want money or a favor.”

  She laughed. “Touché! You got me, Katie!”

  “See? I know how you operate, Mrs. Reed.”

  “You do,” she said. “But I’m not very good at being sneaky.”

  “What’s on your mind, mother?”

  “My friend Honey Tabler’s birthday is tomorrow,” she said. “And it completely slipped my mind. Normally, I’d send her a card and small gift. But I was hoping you could whip up a nice cake for her. Do you think? Something with pink and yellow roses, maybe vanilla with a raspberry crème between the layers?”

  “I can do that,” I said. “Do you want anything written on top? Like, maybe her age or something?”

  My mother snorted. “Honey’s no longer revealing her real age,” she said. “I asked her a few weeks ago. Know what she said?”

  “Maybe sixty-six?” I guessed.

  Another loud snort came over the line. “Try fifty-seven!” my mother roared. “She and I started in first grade at the same time! How can I be sixty-six and Honey’s suddenly
nine years younger? The poor thing has obviously been watching too much reality television. She actually believes that the anti-aging serum she slathers on her face every night is peeling away years as well as dead skin cells.”

  “I saw Honey last week when she was in with Blanche and Hildy for lunch,” I said. “She actually looked pretty darn good.”

  “Well, why not?” my mother said. “She finally talked her husband into a face lift, tummy tuck and collagen injections.”

  “For him?” I teased. “Or for her?”

  My mother exhaled loudly. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Did you hear about Honey’s trip to see her sister and brother-in-law in Tucson a couple of months ago?”

  “I did. She showed me some of the pictures on her phone.”

  “Well, aren’t you gullible?” my mother said sharply. “I have it on good authority that Honey went to Los Angeles for a little nip and tuck. The glamour shots with her sister were from two years ago.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

  “Because,” my mother said, “Honey told Blanche the truth. And Blanche told Hildy who told Roxie who sent an email to Dot Walker in Seattle.”

  I laughed at the list. Then I said, “So…what? Dot called you?”

  “Heavens, no!” my mother said. “Dot put it on Facebook. So now the whole world knows that most of Honey Tabler is sixty-six while her face, tummy and caboose are as fresh and dewy as newborn baby’s rump!”

  CHAPTER 16

  As I sat behind my desk in the Sky High office a few minutes after three that afternoon, paying bills and scribbling ideas for a new cookie recipe, I suddenly remembered the deposit slip that Pia had found at Vito Marclay’s the previous night. I’d taken a quick picture of it with my phone before she gave it to the CCPD forensics team. Whether it was my intuition as a former PI or some other gut instinct, I sensed that I would probably want to investigate possible connections between the blood-spattered piece of paper and the pillaged scene in Vito’s living room.