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

by Mary Maxwell

  “I just love chamomile, don’t you? It’s so relaxing.”

  I nodded, waiting for the rest of what she had to say about Vito’s burglary.

  “Do you drink herbal teas, Katie?”

  I smiled. “Now and then,” I said. “I get up so early that I’m usually doing high octane coffee most days.”

  “Of course, that makes sense. But you should try herbal teas. They’re amazing. Did you know that mint tea can reduce the pain and bloating from gas?”

  “You don’t say?”

  She chuckled. “That’s kind of gross, but it’s true. My brother has a horrible time with gas. He can clear a room with one little toot.”

  It had been a while since June had mentioned her brother, a long-distance truck driver with a passion for bawdy jokes and bean burritos. He’d been staying with her for the past few months, trying to decide if he wanted to put down roots in Colorado or return to California.

  “Well, then it’s a good thing you know about the benefits of mint tea,” I said, hoping we’d return to Vito Marclay before she shared more intimate details about her brother’s gastrointestinal situation.

  “Actually,” she continued, “Stanley’s gas is the reason I have my doubts about Vito’s story.”

  “Oh, really? That’s an intriguing combination of things.”

  June shrugged. “What can I say? When we were kids, Stanley didn’t have such problems. I had no idea his tummy had become as delicate and sensitive as a baby’s butt.”

  “And the night of Mr. Marclay’s break-in?” I said. “Was Stanley sipping mint tea?”

  She laughed and covered her mouth. “Oh, goodness me, Katie! Please forgive me for even mentioning any of that. Stanley would be mortified if he knew I was telling you about his gassiness.”

  “Well, his secret’s safe with me,” I assured her. “Now, what can you tell me about the night of the alleged burglary?”

  She drank some more and dabbed at her lips with a tissue.

  “That’s just it,” she said. “It wasn’t really a break-in. There weren’t any masked intruders carrying things out of Vito’s house. It was him and Pia Lincoln.” She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’ve heard about the engagement.”

  “She told me the other day,” I said. “And I definitely detect something in your voice there, June. I take it you don’t approve?”

  “Oh, heavens! Who cares what I think? But I’m telling you the truth when I say that the two of them fight like crazy. Even the night they were loading all of those paintings into the van from Garfunkel’s Sporting Goods. They were hissing and cursing and calling one another every name in the book.”

  “The van was from Garfunkel’s?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Marty knows Pia’s sister,” she explained. “At least, that’s what Vito told me. He said Pia asked Marty if they could use his van to move some of Vito’s furniture.”

  “But you saw them taking paintings from his house instead?”

  She nodded. “A whole bunch of them, some big and some small. They were wrapped up in muslin and twine. Vito kept yelling at Pia to be careful because they were worth so much money.”

  “Did your brother hear all of this?” I asked.

  “Stanley?” She threw back her head and laughed. “He was sleeping and tooting up a storm in the spare bedroom. We ate at a Mexican place up in Fort Collins that night. It’s a family tradition. When it’s our brother Charlie’s birthday, we eat steak and baked potatoes at a place in Denver. And when Stanley’s turning a year older, everyone drives up to a place called José Sent Me in Fort Collins. I always get the taco salad because the rest of the menu is too greasy for my taste.”

  “And that night?” I said. “Stanley was a little gassy, so you were…where? Outside?”

  She nodded. “I went onto the front porch for some fresh air. It was between one and one-thirty, so I expected a nice, peaceful respite. But when I got out there and made myself comfortable on the loveseat, I heard words that made my cheeks turn red.”

  “Vito and Pia?”

  She frowned. “Horrible language! From the both of them. Just going on and on and on while they carried the paintings out to the van.”

  “And I guess they weren’t aware that you could hear them?” I asked.

  June shook her head. “Too dark,” she answered. “I was in the shadows out there. Even with the light by our front door, that part of the porch is always in shadows.”

  “Okay, so…you witnessed Vito Marclay and Pia Lincoln carrying paintings out to a van in the middle of the night?”

  June nodded.

  “And then what happened? At what point did the police arrive?”

  She thought for a moment, biting her lower lip and narrowing her gaze. “Well, it was probably about an hour later,” she said. “Once they’d loaded up the van, Pia climbed in and drove off. I was still outside, enjoying the crisp night air and thinking about going inside when I heard a car racing up the street.”

  “Did they have the sirens on?”

  She shook her head. “No sirens, but they were driving pretty fast.”

  “Was it a police cruiser?”

  “Crescent Creek Police,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it was Tripp Ardsley and Bridget…” She stopped, trying to remember the other officer’s last name.

  “Bridget Stanhope?” I offered.

  “Yes,” June said with a smile. “That’s her. Such a lovely woman. I see Bridget and her two kids at church every Sunday. They’re both so well-behaved.”

  “She does a great job with them,” I agreed. “But I’m not surprised. Her dad was a four-star general and she served in the military for a good long while before deciding to get into law enforcement here.”

  “I can’t imagine how she does it though,” June said. “Raising two children on her own and being a police officer.”

  “She demonstrates what it means to be strong and courageous every day,” I said.

  June chuckled. “And forgiving. Did you know that she and her ex-husband and his new wife are all good friends?”

  “I did know that,” I said. “They bring the kids in sometimes for Saturday pancakes.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t be me,” June said. “I mean, heck. I’ve got enough on my hands with Stanley and his gas.”

  I laughed at the barbed comment. Then I asked June if she’d told the police about seeing the individuals carry paintings to the van the night of the so-called burglary.

  “I did,” she said. “I told Bridget all about it.”

  “That’s great. I’m kind of surprised that Trent didn’t mention it, but there must be a reason.”

  “Deputy Chief Walsh?” she asked. “Were you talking to him about all of this?”

  “I was. I’m doing a little snooping around town to see if I can help them find Pia.”

  June’s eyes suddenly went round with surprise. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “You make it sound like she’s been kidnapped or something.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, it does appear that way,” I said. “I won’t go into the whole story, but there’s reason to believe that Pia has been abducted and it has something to do with Vito Marclay.”

  June shook her head. “As of when?”

  “Do you mean when did Pia go missing?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, a couple of days ago,” I said. “She called me in the middle of the night to say that Vito had turned up on her doorstep covered in blood. But when the police got to her place, there was no one home.”

  She giggled. “Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding,” June said. “I mean, he’s an artist, Katie. You know how those guys can be—flaky, impulsive and unconventional.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Marty Garfunkel was hanging Colorado Avalanche hoodies on a rack near the front of his sporting goods store when I arrived a half hour after leaving June Calloway’s house. Marty and I were in the same class at Crescent Creek High. I’d always appreciated his wry s
ense of humor, keen intellect and lighthearted approach to life. A short, roly-poly guy with bright red corkscrew hair, freckles from ear to ear and a proclivity for practical jokes, Marty had married his high school sweetheart shortly after graduation. Together, they ran the sporting goods store that his father opened about ten years after Nana Reed started Sky High Pies.

  “Hey, Katie!” he called brightly after glancing up from the rack of blue sweatshirts. “How’s it going?”

  “Smooth and steady,” I said. “How’re things around here?”

  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Can’t complain. The kid I hired to help my son stock merchandise called in sick, so I’m having some pretty heavy flashbacks to when I first started working here for my dad.”

  “Ah, the glory days,” I said with a smile.

  Marty groaned. “If those were my glory days,” he said, “then I’m in real trouble.”

  I punched his shoulder lightly and asked if he minded answering a couple of questions.

  “About when I was a kid stocking this place?”

  I shook my head. “More like present day. It’s something that involves your van.”

  He frowned, turning his smooth forehead into a patchwork of wrinkles. “I don’t follow you, Katie. What about my van?”

  “Have you loaned it to anyone lately?”

  The look of confusion vanished. “A couple of times in the past few weeks,” he said. “My neighbor used it to bring a new mattress home from the store. Saved them fifty bucks on the delivery fee, and I know his wife is going to bake me some of her knockout chocolate chip cookies in return.”

  “Sounds like a fair exchange,” I said. “What about the other time?”

  “You know Pia Lincoln, right?” he said.

  “Very well. Did she borrow it?”

  “No, it was her sister,” he said. “Liza is my friend’s lawyer down in Denver. He called and asked if I could do her a favor because the fleet over at Bledsoe’s only has two vans and they were both rented that night.”

  “Sounds like she was in a hurry, huh?”

  “Isn’t everybody these days?” Marty said. “I guess she was helping a friend move some stuff.”

  “Do you know who she was helping?”

  Marty shook his head. “I don’t know who it was, but the place was on Balsam Drive. Liza gave my son a couple hundred bucks to help her move the things to a storage locker at a place on Colfax down in Denver. It was your basic deal, although they did it in the middle of the night for some reason.”

  “And Matt helped Pia’s sister?”

  Marty smiled. “He’s a good kid. Working as hard as he can to save for college.”

  “Sounds like it. I talked to Oscar King at the art gallery. He told me that Matt works there a few hours a week.”

  “That’s right,” Marty said. “But it’s not as steady as Matt hoped it would be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Marty chuckled. “The last few times Matt was scheduled to work, Oscar called to say that he didn’t need him to come in. I don’t know if money’s tight over there or what, but my boy was pretty disappointed. He turned down an offer from Java & Juice because Oscar promised him a certain number of hours each week.”

  Between the slight frown on Marty’s face and the information that he’d just divulged, I wondered if Oscar King’s story about bruising his knuckles might be less than honest.

  “Did Oscar tell Matt not to come in this week?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact,” Marty said. “I don’t think Matt’s actually been on the clock at the gallery since last month.”

  “That’s too bad. College tuition is pretty pricey these days. I’m sure your son wants to earn as much as he can before the fall term starts.”

  “You bet. That’s why he’s probably going to turn in his notice at Bickerton Gallery and find something else. As it is, he’ll be living at home and commuting up to Boulder again this year.”

  “My brother did that for a couple of semesters,” I said.

  “Yeah? And Brody turned out okay, so maybe there’s hope for my Matt.”

  We shared a cheery smile and Marty asked if I wanted to buy two of the Avalanche hoodies.

  “Two?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “One for you and one for Mr. Kate Reed.”

  I punched his arm again. “His name is Zack Hutton. But I think you know that already.”

  “I do,” Marty confessed. “But I’ll never grow tired of teasing you, Katie. It makes me think about all those long hours in Humpty Dumpty’s biology lab.”

  “Mr. Hampton was a sweet guy,” I said. “Even if his head looked exactly like a hard-boiled egg from the back.”

  “Bald and shiny and just waiting to be cracked open,” Marty joked.

  “Hey! That’s not very nice. What did he ever do to you?”

  Marty shrugged. “He made me rewrite my final paper three times. Everyone else was, like, gone for the weekend, but me and Humpty Dumpty stayed in his room until I finished.”

  “What was up with that?” I asked.

  “With what? Me having to rewrite the paper?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it may have had something to do with the fact that I hated biology.”

  “But why did you have to do the paper so many times?”

  Marty chuckled. “Because I was ornery and stubborn,” he said. “We were supposed to explain the relationship between a parasite and its host and I kept using my older sister and her boyfriend as the example.”

  I smiled. “Which one was the parasite?”

  “Depended on the day,” Marty said.

  “And Mr. Hampton disagreed with the example?”

  “Uh-huh,” Marty answered. “Mainly because my sister was going out with his son at the time.”

  “Ah, the good old days,” I said with a lopsided grin. “We can’t change our mistakes or deny our regrets.

  CHAPTER 42

  After thanking Marty for his time and promising to bring Zack in soon to shop for matching sweatshirts, I went outside and sat on a bench in front of the store. I wanted to check in with Trent to let him know that Liza Canfield had borrowed Marty’s van to move something out of Vito Marclay’s house in the middle of the night. There might be a logical explanation for such a seemingly covert activity, but it seemed like it could also be something nefarious.

  “Hey, Katie,” Trent said through a connection peppered with static and noise. “Can you hear me okay?”

  “More or less. Where are you?”

  “Body shop,” Trent answered. “Somebody hit my car in the parking lot at Tipton’s Liquor Mart last night.”

  “Did you give them a breathalyzer?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know who did it, but the damage isn’t too bad. I was driving by Buck Westridge’s place and decided to get a quick estimate. I’d prefer not to file insurance if the repair cost is reasonable.”

  “I agree completely. Rates can mysteriously bounce up if you file a claim.”

  He mumbled a few sharp words and asked what I needed.

  “Can’t I call just to shoot the breeze?” I joked.

  “With me?” he said. “That’s not very likely, Katie. What’s up?”

  “It’s about Pia and Vito,” I explained. “Marty Garfunkel told me that her sister borrowed his store’s delivery van recently to move some things from Vito’s house to a storage facility in Denver.”

  “Why is that important?” he asked.

  “Because June Calloway claimed that she saw the van from Garfunkel’s Sporting Goods at Vito’s house a couple of nights before he reported a burglary.”

  “And?”

  “And June said she very clearly saw Pia and Vito loading the van with items from his house.”

  Trent didn’t say anything.

  “Doesn’t that sound suspicious?” I asked.

  “Which part?”

  “The whole thing,” I answered. “June said it was the middle of the night when
she saw Vito and Pia carrying what looked like paintings wrapped in cloth out to Marty’s van. But Marty told me that Liza’s sister borrowed his van and hired his son to move the paintings from Vito’s.”

  “I’m still not following you, Katie.”

  “The stories don’t match up,” I said. “June told me one version. Marty told me another. And I also learned that there’s a discrepancy between Vito’s statement to the CCPD about the burglary and what he told his benefactor.”

  There was a loud burst of machinery in the background— zeep-CA-CHUG-zeep-CA-CHUG-zeep-CA-CHUG—that sounded like the high-pitched, rapid-fire squeal and thud of a pneumatic drill.

  “I didn’t catch that last part,” Trent said. “Can you repeat it?”

  “Vito told the Crescent Creek Police that the burglar only took art supplies and some personal belongings. But someone told me that a few very valuable paintings were taken during the break-in.”

  “According to who?” he asked.

  “Phil Bickerton,” I said. “And Vito Marclay.”

  “And who told you this?”

  “It’s a long story. I can explain that part later. I basically just wanted to see if you or anyone else from the CCPD had talked with Liza Canfield or June Calloway about the night of the burglary.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Trent said. “But I’ll check with Dina and Tyler. They’re running down a couple of leads. We got a tip about something suspicious out on Morris Springs Road.”

  “Related to Vito and Pia?”

  “I can’t comment on that yet, Katie.”

  “Any idea what it’s about?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Like I already told you, something suspicious out on Morris Springs.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait to get the scoop from you on that later. I’m going to swing by Langhorn & Diebel to see if I can catch Liza at work. I wanted to ask if she knew anything about Vito’s belongings going to a storage unit in Denver. I’ll let you know if it proves fruitful.”

  “That’s a deal,” Trent said. “I’ll give you a call if the tip about Morris Springs Road leads to anything.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, big guy.”

  After another cheerful laugh, Trent asked if I had anything more to share about the case.