by Mary Maxwell
“We’re waiting for another couple,” I added. “We can stay at the bar.”
“Oh, well…” She quickly surveyed the room; several tables and booths were occupied with couples and groups of four or five. “It’s up to you. We’re not overly busy tonight.”
“Let’s go ahead and sit down,” Zack said, turning back to Drea. “Thank you for the glass of wine.”
“Don’t thank me,” she said. “You can thank…” She frowned. “Well, come to think of it, I don’t know the man’s name.”
“Let’s call him Daddy Warbucks,” Zack suggested.
Drea giggled. “I like that,” she said, lowering her voice. “Who does that make his friend?”
I glanced at the guy in the hoodie again. He looked sullen and upset, turning the highball glass around and around with one hand.
“Maybe Rooster Hannigan,” I suggested.
Drea frowned. “Was that the dog?”
“No, the dog’s name was Sandy,” I answered. “And Rooster was—”
Her face lit up with a wide smile. “Oh, yeah! He was the brother of that crazy lady at the orphanage.”
“That’s him,” I said, noticing that the guy in the hoodie was coming our way. “But we can rehash the rest of it another time.”
Drea winked. “Enjoy your dinner,” she said as the sullen-faced man walked by and headed for the door. “The pork chops with garlic smashed potatoes look especially good tonight.”
CHAPTER 3
After Zack and I had dinner with Viveca and her new boyfriend, we all went to Scoops of Joy for ice cream cones. By the time Zack dropped me off at home, it was nearly ten. I climbed into bed a half hour later with my favorite Janet Evanovich, a dog-eared copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and the most recent issue of Food & Wine. On most nights, reading a few pages of a novel, cookbook or magazine helped me fall asleep. But when I’d already plowed through six chapters of Two for the Dough and a handful of Julia Child’s recipes, I suspected that Mr. Sandman had other plans for me.
An hour later, after flipping through the Food & Wine once in each direction, I realized my hunch was correct. I turned on the television and watched the end of Sixteen Candles for the third time in as many months. Then I fluffed my pillows and counted so many furry animals leaping through my restless mind that I almost thought I heard a bunch of nuns singing “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” in the next room.
Around midnight, I finally grabbed a quilt and went into the living room. After turning out the lights and getting comfortable on the sofa, I remembered the two red velvet cupcakes in the kitchen.
“Don’t be tempted,” I muttered to the dark room. “Resist the urge.”
Despite my valiant efforts to stand firm, I was in the kitchen a few seconds later, nibbling on the sweet treats like a ravenous vulture. After a small glass of milk, a trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth and a few more restless minutes sprawled on the sofa, I finally fell into a fitful slumber.
A few hours later, after trundling down the back stairs and walking into the Sky High kitchen, I found Julia humming and singing as she organized the reach-in cooler below the front counter.
“Morning, Jules!” I called, stumbling toward the coffee pot. “You sound cheery today.”
Her response was lost in the depths of the reach-in, so I filled a mug with high-octane java, added a splash of cream and walked over to where she was working.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “You’re in a good mood today.”
She stopped arranging the stainless steel hotel pans that we used to store sliced cheese.
“I’m cheerful every morning,” she said, glancing up with a grin. “It’s just that sometimes you’re in a grouchy mood so you can’t tell.” She paused for a split second before giving me a good-humored wink. “I’m just teasing you, Katie. How was your dinner last night with Zack?”
“It was really good,” I answered. “We met Viveca and her new paramour at Café Fleur.”
Julia frowned. “Paramour? Didn’t she and Holt just start going out?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t treat her like a doormat,” Julia said with a scowl. “Or cheat on her like he did Annabelle and me.”
“Maybe he’s changed,” I suggested. “Stranger things have happened.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s a man, Katie. And remember that Maya Angelou quote.”
“Which one?”
“Oh, c’mon,” she said. “You’ve probably heard me say it a thousand times.”
“Okay, but how about a thousand and one?”
She laughed and got to her feet. “‘When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.’”
As she spoke the words, I instantly remembered hearing Julia invoke the same adage dozens of times in recent weeks. Since it was a few minutes after five and the sky was still a deep dark blue, I attributed my momentary forgetfulness to fatigue. And maybe a very slight red velvet cupcake hangover.
“Oh, right!” I gushed. “That Maya Angelou quote!”
Julia reached for a mug on the counter. “Yep. And it’s so true. Holt showed my friend Annabelle and me that he was a rogue and a cheat.”
“Maybe he’ll show Viveca something different,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “She’s got such a kind heart. When we first met and she told me that she was done with men, I was surprised. But I understand why she’d say that. Her husband was a complete jerk.”
Julia moaned softly. “I just hope she’s not going down the same road with Holt.”
I held up one hand. “Wait a sec. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.”
She drank some of her coffee and shook her head. “I don’t know, Katie. Annabelle has some pretty intense stories from the years they were married.”
“No doubt. But only time will tell.”
“You’re right,” Julia agreed, pointing at the list of prep tasks on the white board. “And we’ve got better things to do than speculate about how Holt Crosby will treat Viv.”
I scanned the list, estimated how long it would take to do each entry and offered to make pancake batter and dice ham while Julia sliced cheddar and Swiss cheese.
“Deal,” she said, closing the reach-in door. “I don’t think we’ll need as much Swiss though. There’s still half a pan from yesterday.”
After collecting eggs and milk from the walk-in, I started working on the pancake batter in the large industrial mixer. As always, I thought about my Nana Reed doing the same thing when I was a little girl. I’d follow her around the Sky High kitchen as often as possible, listening to her words of wisdom about cooking, baking and taking care of customers. “Hospitality is an art form,” she’d say. “And I suspect that you’ll grow up to be a gifted artist one day, Kit-Kat.”
I was lost in the memory when I heard Julia call my name. I glanced over and she was smiling, obviously waiting for me to answer whatever question she’d just posed.
“Sorry, Jules,” I said with a shrug. “What did you say?”
“You missed quite a spectacle last night,” she said. “The séance at Maureen Dixon’s got pretty weird toward the end.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
“Fireworks,” Julia said. “Lots of shouting and some pretty salty language and, like, a verbal threat that left everyone in the room speechless.”
I smiled. “That sounds like you,” I joked. “What was the deal?”
“I’m not talking about me,” she said with a smirk. “It was some guy that Maureen said she met through her website. He was fine for the first hour or so. But when she asked if anyone wanted her to try and contact a specific individual, the guy got really grouchy.”
“Why? Did she refuse his request?”
Julia smiled. “It wasn’t exactly a request,” she explained. “It was more like…well, it was a demand. And he wasn’t very tactful about it.”
“What did he ask her to do?”
“Are you ready for this?”
I nodded.
“He wanted Maureen to contact a dead bank robber,” Julia said. “And he wanted her to ask the ghost where he buried sixty thousand dollars from the last heist he pulled off.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, but he told her to write down the information if the thief’s spirit answered. I guess he was afraid that someone else in the room would beat him to the loot.”
“How did Maureen handle all of that?”
Julia finished her coffee and headed for a refill.
“I think she did really well,” she said. “Considering he was pretty gruff with her.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like I said,” Julia answered. “The guy was snippy.”
When I asked her to explain, she told me a few more details about the man who asked Maureen Dixon to get in touch with a deceased felon. The first few things involved his choice of curse words and facial expressions. Then Julia told me how the other people at the séance reacted to his behavior. And then she described the man’s appearance and attire, elevating the conversation from a simple morning after recap of an unusual night to something truly intriguing.
“He wasn’t that old,” Julia said. “Maybe twenty-five or so. He was thin and pale, with short brown hair and a long, narrow face. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days.” She stopped, pursing her lips. “Oh! I also heard him tell Maureen that he works in a bagel shop.”
“What was he wearing?”
She flinched slightly. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Well, I’m pretty sure it was jeans,” she said. “And a Rockies hoodie.”
When I heard the final element, my breath caught in my throat.
“What was that, Jules?”
“What was what?”
“Did you say the guy was wearing a Rockies sweatshirt?”
She nodded. “Yeah. What’s so special about that?”
“Did you get a look at his shoes by any chance?”
Julia snickered. “He wasn’t wearing shoes,” she said with a sly smirk. “He was wearing boots.”
“Did one have tape around the toes?”
“Yeah…it actually did,” she answered, genuinely surprised by the question. “Do you mind telling me why you’re asking?”
“There was a bit of a scene at Café Fleur last night,” I explained. “A few minutes after I walked in, two men suddenly got into it. The younger guy was wearing scruffy old boots with gray duct tape around one. The argument didn’t last long, but they were going at it pretty intensely. Lots of growling and spitting and pawing the ground with their hooves.”
Julia frowned. “Huh?”
“I’m kidding,” I said. “Have you ever seen two bison fight for territorial rights?”
She shook her head. “I watched my brothers argue over a Nerf football one Christmas. They got into such a brawl that they knocked over the tree, broke my mother’s favorite ornament and got my great-grandmother to curse.”
I giggled. “What did she say?”
“‘Holy frijoles’ and ‘crappity crabcakes.’”
“That’s cursing?”
Julia smiled from ear to ear. “You never met my great granny. She was a very well-mannered woman.”
“I’d say so. I’ll have to remember those two the next time I burn something in the oven.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “I’ll believe that when I hear it.”
“What? You don’t think I can change my ways?”
She responded with a frothy giggle and then drank more coffee. I did the same and we enjoyed the warm morning custom. Then Julia checked her watch, looked at the list on the white board again and announced that we should get moving.
“True,” I said. “But I don’t think you finished your story about the séance.”
She frowned. “No, but it’ll take more than a few minutes to tell you everything that happened at Maureen’s house.”
“Maybe this afternoon when things slow down?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but the freakiest part was way later after I got home.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“Maureen called me about eleven o’clock,” Julia said. “I’d just fallen asleep, but she was totally freaked out and wanted to talk to someone who’d been at the séance.”
“What was that about?”
Julia took a deep breath and put her coffee on the counter.
“She found a miniature plastic skeleton outside her front door.” She shuddered slightly and reached for the sweater she’d left on a stool. “Along with a warning written on the back of a deposit slip from a credit union in Boise.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What was written on the slip?”
“It was super creepy,” Julia whispered. “The note said: Tell anyone about Roger Kovac and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
CHAPTER 4
The announcement sent a chill down my spine. I drank some coffee to chase it away and asked Julia to finish telling me about her late-night conversation with the local psychic.
“There wasn’t much more,” she said. “Maureen told me that she didn’t know the name Roger Kovac and couldn’t imagine how they’d heard about what was discussed during the séance.”
“What else?” I asked. “Did she see anyone lurking around? Had she received other threats recently?”
“I don’t know about that, but I told her to call 911.”
“Did she?”
Julia shook her head. “No, but I gave her another bit of advice after that.”
“Which was?”
“Promise you won’t get mad?” A shaky smile appeared as her shoulders lifted slightly. “I mean, I know you’ve got your hands full and everything.”
“Cross my heart,” I said. “What did you tell her to do?”
She made a face and looked at the floor.
“I told her to talk to you,” Julia said quietly.
I wasn’t all that surprised. Since moving back to Crescent Creek after ten years as a private investigator in Chicago, I’d been approached a handful of times by people asking for advice about hiring a PI, conducting an investigation or figuring out if their spouse was cheating. I’d also told both Julia and Harper that they could always refer my name to anyone who was concerned about matters related to safety or personal well-being.
“Is she going to call me?” I asked. “Or should I reach out to her later?”
Julia’s cheeks turned bright red. “Actually,” she said, “I told her to come by this afternoon.”
I waited.
“I can always call her back to cancel. I mean, if you don’t want to talk to her today.”
I smiled.
“Because I kind of remembered that you didn’t have any appointments later,” Julia continued. “Unless that’s changed since yesterday.”
“It’s fine, silly. I’ll be happy to meet with her, but I really think she should talk to someone from the CCPD.”
“Like Trent or Dina?”
“Deputy Chief Walsh would be a good place to start,” I said. “Or Detective Kincaid.”
I smiled at the sound of their official titles. Trent, Dina and I were around the same age, although I think they looked a bit older than early thirties because of their more stressful occupations. Trent had been promoted through the ranks to his current position a few years earlier. Dina, senior detective with the Crescent Creek Police Department, usually handled the more complicated cases in town.
Julia frowned slightly. “That’s just it,” she said. “I’m pretty sure that I know why Maureen was reluctant to call 911 last night.”
“What is it?”
The frown lifted into a sheepish grin. “Maybe I heard a rumor or two,” Julia replied.
“About Maureen?”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“What did you hear?”
I watched Julia’s face. Her lips squirmed slightly from
side to side as her eyes drifted back and forth. I’d seen the nervous twitching quite a few times, so I knew it meant she was trying to decide how to tell me the chitchat she’d heard about the psychic.
“I feel kind of bad even bringing it up,” she said finally. “But…well, someone told me that Maureen has a record.”
“A criminal record?”
“Yes, something in her past.”
“Well, who doesn’t have something in their past that they regret?”
Julia blushed again. “Um, that’s just it, Katie. I don’t disagree with you about that, but the rumor I heard was that Maureen was once arrested for embezzlement.”
“Arrested?” I asked. “Was she convicted as well?”
Julia shook her head. “Not according to what Blanche told…” Her eyes bulged and she clamped one hand over her mouth. “Darn it!” she continued a moment later. “I was trying to be discreet about who told me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Eighty-year-old Blanche Speltzer was not only the oldest resident of Crescent Creek, but the town’s most inexhaustible fan of gossip and rumor. Since she visited Sky High on a regular basis and I often ran into her around town, I was well aware that Blanche knew nearly everything about the residents of our tiny mountain community.
“Please don’t tell her that I spilled the beans,” Julia gushed.
“Who? Maureen or Blanche?”
“Both! I’m really trying to turn over a new leaf, Katie. I don’t want to get caught up in talking about other people.”
I smiled. “Since when?”
“Since Shepherd came home from school and told me that one of his classmates had several juicy things to say about Sky High Pies.”
I hadn’t expected that my family’s business would somehow be responsible for Julia’s newfound devotion to diplomacy. But I was more than a little curious to hear the latest gossip from Crescent Creek Elementary.
“So?” I said, raising one eyebrow. “What’s the buzz?”
Julia shook her head.
“C’mon, Jules. I’m big and tough. I can handle it.”
She mumbled a few words.
“What was that?”