by Mary Maxwell
“Detective?” Mac Seaforth called to Dina from inside the motel room. “We found some kind of checklist in here.”
“Okay,” Dina said. “I’ll be right there.”
“And Kate?” the CCPD officer added. “It’s got your name on it.”
Dina’s slight smile slipped away. “Did he just say what I think?”
“Unfortunately,” I said. “Do you mind if I have a look, too?”
She shook her head. “Let me get in there, Katie. I don’t want to blur the lines, especially since we don’t know what we’re dealing with just yet.”
“Okay, sure,” I said, feeling a sharp swirl of confusion and concern after Mac’s comment. “I’ll hang here for a while. If it looks like you’ll be more than a half hour or so, I’ll probably head home.”
She nodded solemnly and slipped the pad and pen back into her pocket.
“Looks like a short night for both of us,” she said. “No matter how you slice it.”
CHAPTER 35
A few minutes after eleven the next morning, as I measured flour for a batch of peanut butter cookies, my phone rang in the front pocket of my apron. Staying busy with prep tasks and special orders was helping to keep my mind occupied while I waited for news about Pia Lincoln and Vito Marclay.
“You’re popular today,” Julia quipped. “Should I answer and tell them to leave you alone?”
“I’m good,” I said, digging into the pocket. “I can stick up for…” I saw the name on the screen and smiled. “And this is one call that I wouldn’t want to miss.”
“Hey, handsome,” I said to Zack after swiping the screen. “How are you?”
“I’m good, babe. The client’s happy. We’re ahead of schedule today. And we’re going to Maria’s for dinner.”
“Oh, is that the place with the blue corn enchiladas?”
“You got it,” Zack said. “Want me to eat one on your behalf?”
I laughed at the offer. “Yes, please. And drink a blue agave margarita for me, too.”
“Oh, you bet! They go hand-in-hand anyway, babe. I don’t think you can go to Maria’s without the blue corn enchiladas or at least one margarita.”
“I wish I was joining you,” I told him.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “What’s going on, Katie?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m just running on fumes after a kind of short night.”
“Uh-huh. And why the short night?”
I hadn’t told him anything about Pia Lincoln and Vito Marclay. But while I was sitting in the car at the motel waiting for Dina the previous evening, I’d sent a quick I love you text without explaining why I was awake after midnight.
“It’s my friend Pia,” I said. “She’s in some trouble.”
Zack sighed. “I know, Katie. When were you going to tell me?”
“You already know?”
“Gretchen called me from the newspaper this morning,” he said. “She heard it on the street from someone else. I guess the buzz is all over town.”
“Sure, of course. But I didn’t want you to think…I mean, I didn’t want you to worry if I told you about what happened last night.”
“You mean, if you told me that you were at the Moonlight with Earl Dodd and some poor guy that had been roughed up pretty badly?”
“Wow! Gretchen gets the scoop, doesn’t she?”
He laughed. “She’s a newspaper editor, Katie. She’s got sources in every nook and cranny of Crescent Creek and all across the region.”
“Okay,” I said. “Now you know.”
“Right. What’s the latest?”
“I haven’t heard anything from Trent or Dina all day,” I said. “Except for a quick text to let me know that Mr. Bickerton was doing okay.”
“Is that the man that was assaulted at the motel?”
“Yes. He co-owns the—”
“Hey, sweetheart,” Zack cut in. “Sorry to interrupt, but they’ve reset the lighting. I need to get back to work.”
“Okay, handsome. Go take some great pictures! Make that jewelry look like a million bucks!” I cringed at the lame comment. “Or… make it look like whatever the retail price is going to be.”
Zack chuckled again, told me that he loved me and promised to call sometime after he finished his dinner at Maria’s.
“Don’t forget my enchilada,” I said before he hung up. “And an extra-strong margarita!”
CHAPTER 36
Blanche Speltzer was perched on a bench in front of Java & Juice when I arrived for our chat that afternoon. She was holding a straw delicately with one thumb and forefinger, slowly sipping a dark green concoction from a plastic cup.
“This stuff is the cat’s pajamas,” she said. “It makes me feel like I’m eighteen instead of eighty!”
I sat down beside her and dropped my purse on the seat between us.
“Which one is it?” I asked, studying the smoothie in her hand. “Great Big Greens or Spinach Spectacular?”
She glanced at the drink and shrugged. “Heck if I know, Katie,” she said. “The real kicker is the secret ingredient that I add after they whip it up for me.”
“And what would that be?”
She raised one eyebrow. “If I tell you,” she said, “it won’t be a secret.”
I leaned over and lowered my voice. “Is it in a flask in your purse?”
Her mouth crashed open in surprise. “Me? Add a splash of hooch to a health drink?”
I nodded.
“Oh, what do I care?” she said with a laugh. “I’m an old woman. I’ve earned the right to jazz up my smoothie with a little rum if I want.”
“Just don’t drink and drive, okay?”
She smiled. “Boris is back from his walkabout with the boys. He’s meeting me here in a half hour so we can go buy a few things for dinner.”
“Is he cooking?”
“Boris?” Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “The only thing that man can cook is cold cereal with milk.”
“I guess that means you’re the designated chef tonight, huh?”
“Pan-Seared Scallops with a Yukon Gold Potato Mash and Basil Oil,” Blanche said, raising one eyebrow for emphasis. “And for dessert—Classic Coeur a la Crème with Raspberry Coulis.”
“Wow! Any chance there will be enough for three?”
She giggled. “I’m afraid not, sugar. It’s date night. Once a week, I make something special and Boris serenades me with his ukulele and old country tunes.”
“That’s so sweet!”
She looked away as she blushed. “It is,” she said softly. “I hit the jackpot with old Boris Hertel.”
After a brief respite of silent reflection, Blanche slurped on her straw and asked why I wanted to get together.
“If it’s about the tourism thingamabob,” she said, “we’re still waiting on June, Gilda and Roxie to finish writing the draft of the bylaws.”
“What’s taking so long?” I asked.
Blanche rolled her eyes. “What else?” she said sharply. “June Calloway! That woman is forever claiming that personal matters kept her from getting anything done.”
“Is she okay?”
“How do you mean?” Blanche asked. “Physically, emotionally or psychologically?”
“How about all of the above?”
She drank more of her rum-spiked smoothie. When she finished, she put the cup on the bench, tugged an embroidered handkerchief from her purse and dried the corners of her mouth.
“That is absolutely delicious!” she cheered. “Something naughty and something nice, altogether in one package.”
I smiled. “Sounds like you, Blanche.”
She glared with dissatisfaction. “I’m not naughty, dear,” she said. “I’m frisky and animated. There’s a big difference.”
“I agree,” I said. “Now, what’s going on with June?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t talked to her. It’s probably got something to do with her broken heart.”
&n
bsp; “What broken heart?” I asked. “I thought she and her new man were going strong.”
Blanche groaned. “Oh, Katie, Katie, Katie! Keep up, will you? If the woman’s heart is broken, that suggests she’s no longer dating the oaf.”
“Oaf?”
“A complete fool,” Blanche said. “And to think that June still treats him with civility when they run into one another.”
“Who are we talking about?” I asked.
“That stupid painter,” Blanche answered. “Vito Marclay.”
“Oh! I didn’t know they’d dated.”
“Who did? I only found out about it after the fact. Apparently, they both know a lot about being sneaky and secretive.”
“When did they break up?”
Blanche smiled. “As soon as he met his next conquest.”
“Pia Lincoln?”
She nodded. “Don’t look so flabbergasted, Katie. You already knew about that one.”
“Yes, but…” I considered the complexities of the situation. Pia and June had been good friends for years. If Vito dumped June to take up with Pia, there might be more than a little bad blood now between the three of them.
I was lost in thought when Blanche tapped my arm.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Oh, you know,” I smiled. “The distress of a love triangle in a small place like Crescent Creek.”
“Well, you should know,” Blanche said with a sly smile. “I haven’t forgotten that you once dated Deputy Chief Walsh before he fell for Dina Kincaid.”
“That was high school,” I protested. “It’s ancient history.”
“Yes, but you know what they say about history, Katie.”
“That it repeats?”
She nodded. “You best take care,” she said. “I’d hate to see you fall back into the quicksand of love with Trent Walsh so that he can once again kick you to the curb for that gorgeous detective.”
“Um, they’re both happily involved with other people,” I said. “And I’m more than content with Zack.”
“Never say never, dear.”
“Well, in this case, I’m going to,” I said. “I will never fall in love with Trent Walsh again.”
She giggled. “I know that, sweetheart. I was just teasing you.”
“I figured as much,” I said. “And, since I also know that you don’t have much time, can we get back to June and Vito?”
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“What have you heard about Vito?”
She sneered like someone who’d just taken a bite of something sour.
I smiled. “That good, huh?”
“It’s like I told you the other day,” Blanche said. “The guy talks a good game, but I think there’s something shifty under his handsome artist shtick.”
“Have you heard why he and June broke up?”
“I already told you,” Blanche said. “He met Pia Lincoln.”
“And you’re pretty sure that June is still pining for him?”
She snickered. “More or less. I think June has good days and bad days. There are times when it seems like she’s totally over the chump. And then there are other instances when it feels like she’s plotting to have someone string him up by his heels in the middle of town.”
“Are you kidding?”
“About which part?”
“June saying that she wanted to harm Vito.”
Blanche frowned. “She wasn’t serious. It was just blowing off some steam.”
“But now that he’s gone missing,” I said. “Don’t you think—”
“Oh, no way!” Blanche blurted. “June Calloway is incapable of such nonsense. She lives in fear of breaking a nail. And I know for a fact that she faints at the sight of blood.”
“How do you know that?”
“She was over for dinner the other night,” Blanche explained. “I accidentally nicked my thumb with a vegetable peeler and there was a gusher of Type A everywhere! June went white as a ghost and just about hit the deck.” She laughed at the memory. “I had to get Boris and the man June was with to prop her up and escort her from the kitchen back to the living room sofa.”
“I didn’t know she was squeamish about things like that,” I said.
Blanche nodded. “June’s a funny girl alright. She can faint at the sight of a few drops of blood or browbeat her ex-boyfriend to within an inch of his life. In fact, I saw her shrieking at Vito not that long ago.”
“Where?” I asked.
“The post office,” Blanche answered. “I guess they ran into one another on a day that June was raw with emotion. He smiled and asked how she was doing. She hissed and nearly clawed out his eyes.”
“Doesn’t sound pretty,” I said.
“It wasn’t pretty,” Blanche agreed. “But it was informative.”
“How so?”
“I learned some interesting curse words,” she explained. “And I learned how to say ‘I hate your ugly face’ in French.”
“Who said that?”
“June,” Blanche answered. “I guess she bought one of those Berlitz tapes when Vito promised to take her to Paris.”
“But they never made the trip?”
Blanche shook her head. “Never did,” she said sadly. “And they never will.”
“Hey! I thought you told me a second ago that we should never say never.”
“Did I say that?” Blanche asked with a wink. “Well, it’s like everything else in life, dear. There are exceptions to every rule, so you’ve got to leave a little wiggle room!”
“I’ll remember that the next time my mother gives me a hard time about something,” I said.
“Oh, she means well,” Blanche said. “She just wants the best for her little girl.”
I blushed at the reference to my mother. “I suppose so, but…” I didn’t know where to take the thought, so I decided to loop back to June Calloway. “Did you say that June brought a date to dinner the other night?”
Blanche took a deep breath. “He wasn’t a date, Katie. He was a hunk of perfection!”
“Who was it?”
“He’s not local,” she answered. “I think June said he was a newspaper reporter from New York. She met him in the cocktail lounge at Connie Larson’s place.”
I felt a rush of goose bumps tumble down my back.
“Is there any chance his name was Desmond?” I asked.
Blanche’s eyes crinkled with delight. “Oh, goodness! Do you know him? Isn’t he the epitome of masculine perfection, Katie?”
I shrugged. “He’s definitely masculine,” I said. “But I’m not sure how perfect he is.”
CHAPTER 37
Later that day, I was making a batch of chocolate espresso shortbread cookies, when Harper lightly tapped my shoulder. I’d been so engrossed in thoughts about Pia, that I flinched and spun quickly around.
“Sorry, Katie!” Harper apologized. “I thought you heard me call your name.”
“It’s fine. I’m just really tired today.”
“Short night?”
“More like no night,” I said. “But it’s fine.”
“Okay,” she said. “You have time for a phone call?”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Earl Dodd. He said it’s important, but I told him you might not be able to talk right now because of all the orders.”
“I’ll take it,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel. “Thanks, sweetie.”
I hurried into the office, leaned over the desk and picked up the phone.
“Earl?”
“Hey,” he said. “Am I interrupting anything important?”
“Two dozen cookies for a customer,” I said. “But her husband’s not picking them up until this afternoon.”
“Okay, cool,” he said. “I wanted to let you know what my dad told me about that Desmond guy.”
“What is it?” I felt a spike of adrenaline at the sound of Bach’s name.
Earl chuckled faintly. “We
ll, to begin with,” he said, “the person that paid for that room wasn’t a he. It was a she.”
“Okay,” I said. “Were the records somehow flipped? Did the last name Bach end up on Phil Bickerton’s registration? I heard through the grapevine that he told the police he went to the room with a woman he met in a bar.”
“No, the computer files were correct,” Earl said. “And Bickerton wasn’t registered with us. Maybe it was Desmond’s sister or something, although, if you ask me, that whole story is starting to smell pretty fishy.”
“And you’re certain that your father didn’t get a first name on the registration for Room 108?”
“Absolutely,” Earl said. “He just got initials. But it was definitely a woman with the last name of Bach who had a New York driver’s license and a Platinum Visa.”
“When did your father tell you this?” I asked.
“About twenty minutes ago,” Earl answered. “He got pretty upset in the middle of the night when he found out about the scene in Room 108. I made him take a sleeping pill to try and calm down. It worked so well that he’s been out cold since then.”
“And when he woke up, you asked him about Desmond Bach?”
“Not in so many words,” Earl said. “We got to talking about poor Mr. Bickerton. You know—getting the stuffing knocked out of him like that. And then I told my dad that you’d been asking about the man who paid for the room. That’s when he told me it was a woman.”
“A woman, huh?”
“That’s what he told me. A woman with a thick New York accent and buckets of makeup and a dress that was so tight my dad said he could see her—”
“Okay, I probably don’t need to hear the rest of that,” I said. “But I do appreciate your father’s attention to detail.”
Earl laughed again. “Yeah, he’s an old goat, but his eyesight is perfect.”
“What else did he see then?”
“On the woman’s body?” asked Earl.
“No, did he notice anything about her that stood out?” I said. “Like, was she alone? Was she with Pia Lincoln? Did he happen to catch what kind of car was she driving?”