Murder for Millions (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 7)

by Mary Maxwell

  She scoffed. “Finer points? There’s nothing fine about Marla Soble. Except maybe the pointy end of her horns.”

  I smiled. “But you’re certain that Kevin told the mayor about the exchange with Marla?”

  She nodded.

  “And Ira Pemberton was talking to Marla Soble about the rhyming hit list?”

  She held up one hand. “What do you mean ‘rhyming’ hit list?”

  “Oh, sorry. If you haven’t actually seen it, then you—”

  “And you have?”

  “It’s a long story,” I explained. “Long and pretty weird. But I think both you and I are on the same page with this thing. We both want to do what’s right to protect the people mentioned on the list from harm.”

  She snickered and one eyebrow lifted. “Is Marla on the list?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Okay,” Dee said. “Then you’re right; we’re both on the same page.”

  “I thought so. But I’m curious about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why’d you come to Sky High this morning to tell me all of this? Why didn’t you go to see Deputy Chief Walsh or maybe Dina Kincaid at the CCPD?”

  She folded her notes and put them back in her purse. Then she came out with a second piece of yellow paper.

  “Because of this,” she said. “It’s my day to pick up lunch for the office. Everyone wanted Sky High goodies for dessert, so…” She laughed again. “It’s ‘two birds, one scone,’ Katie.”

  “Oh, that makes perfect sense!”

  “Besides,” Dee added, “Blanche Speltzer told me to come see you if I ever heard about anything truly odd or suspicious in town. She said that you’d be able to do some snooping around because you used to work as a private detective.”

  “That’s true. I did that in Chicago before moving back to Crescent Creek.”

  “Well, thank goodness you did,” she said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Trent Walsh and Dina Kincaid both do really good work to serve and protect, but sometimes there’s nothing like an independent, feisty woman to help snoop around and find the truth.”

  CHAPTER 8

  When the Sky High lunch crowd thinned later that afternoon, I told Julia that I was going into my office to prepare the order sheets for an upcoming catering event. But before I began converting my hastily scrawled notes into a neat, tidy plan for the party, I dialed my parents’ condo in Florida.

  “Good afternoon, sweetie!” my mother said when she heard my voice. “I’m getting ready to go out for an iced plum pomegranate tea with Tabby and Sylvia, so your timing is impeccable. Another five minutes and I’d be off the grid.”

  “Off the grid?”

  She giggled. “It’s something that I learned from Ernesto. He says that unplugging from the digital shackles of the modern world is one of the most important things we can do to harmonize with the universe.”

  I resisted the temptation to laugh. Instead, I asked my mother about Ernesto since I’d never heard her mention the name before.

  “He’s the barista at my local coffee shop,” she said in a dreamy tone. “He’s tall and tan and his eyes are like two emeralds, just the most gorgeous shade of green.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Are you having an affair?”

  She answered with a long, shrill yelp. “Are you crazy, Katie? I’m married to the most amazing man on the planet. Why would I have an affair? Your father is sweet and kind and sexy and wise and funny and adorkable.”

  “Adorkable?”

  “An adorable dork,” she said. “I heard some of the younger residents use that one down by the pool the other day.”

  “Sure, I’ll agree that dad’s an adorable dork. But the way you were talking about Ernesto sounded kind of…lovestruck.”

  She yelped again, finishing with a stern warning about leaping to conclusions. Then she reminded me that she couldn’t talk long because was getting ready to meet her girlfriends at the coffee shop.

  “Okay, I’ll get to the reason for my call,” I said. “Do you—”

  “So you weren’t simply missing your dear, darling mother?” she asked. “You didn’t call just to hear my voice and be reminded of how lucky you are to have such a loving and patient mama?”

  “Yeah, of course. That’s always part of the reason I call.”

  “Okay, sweetie,” she said. “That’s enough of that. What’s up? What did you want to talk about?”

  I laughed at the sudden reversal of her tone before asking if she remembered Boris Hertel.

  “How could I ever forget him? The guy was always such a gentleman whenever your father had his friends over to play cards.”

  “But I thought they played upstairs at Sky High,” I said. “Back when dad used the second floor for his man cave.”

  “True, true. But they also played at the house sometimes.”

  “And Mr. Hertel was a good guy?”

  “Exceptionally good,” she said. “Until Edith passed away. May she rest in peace. It was such a shock to Boris. Well, to everyone really. She seemed to be in perfect health, but they said later that her heart was a ticking time bomb.”

  “And Mr. Hertel fell apart after she died?”

  “Oh, heavens! That’s putting it mildly. The poor thing had never really been much for hard liquor, but he took a dive into a bottle of scotch the day of her funeral and never came up for air.” She paused and sighed. “He spent so much time at Burt Dahlquist’s that he probably should’ve been paying rent on the bar stool.”

  “The Poke-A-Dot Lounge?”

  “Yes, the place that Burt and his brother opened after they sold the hardware store,” she answered. “Not my cup of tea, but to each their own.” She shared a brief critical analysis of the bar, concentrating on the lack of décor, the fried food and the fact that Burt’s brother always remarked about her shapely rear. “I mean, the guy obviously has good taste, but I never liked being objectified as a sex symbol.”

  I waited to see if there was more, but it was clear my mother wanted a response.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “I can see how that would be a problem.”

  “Horrible,” my mother quipped. “Yet another thing I have in common with Sophia Loren.”

  I bit my lip to keep from giggling. “What are the others?”

  “Oh, Katie. They’re far too numerous to mention at the moment. I’ve only got another few seconds before I need to go. Let’s get back to the reason for your call, sweetie. Why are you asking about Boris Hertel?”

  “He came by yesterday morning,” I told my mother. “He smelled like a distillery and was fairly confused, muttering about Sky High serving liquor and his wife telling him not to come home until he was in a better mood.”

  My mother gasped. “Oh, my goodness! That’s right, sweetie. Those were the very last words that Edith spoke to him before she died.”

  “I know. Becca Warren told me when she was in for breakfast yesterday.”

  “Oh, she was always so sweet. How’s she doing?”

  “She seemed fine. She was in with Lydia and Ellie.”

  “Well, isn’t that something! I wondered if those three would keep meeting for breakfast every week after what Ellie did to Lydia’s brother.”

  I smiled. “Do tell.”

  “Maybe another time, dear. I don’t want to be late for my date with the girls. And you still haven’t told me why you were curious about Boris Hertel.”

  “Yes, I did. Because he came in drunk yesterday morning.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks, Katie! That’s no big deal. He used to do that fairly often when your father and I ran the place.”

  “No big deal? Are you serious?”

  “Most assuredly,” she said. “Boris Hertel was always the most responsible drunk I ever knew. Whenever he was on a bender, he rode his bicycle around town instead of using his car. Is that what he did yesterday?”

  “No, someone else was driving.”


  She chuckled. “Well, how about that? He must be moving up in the world, although I don’t see how that’s possible since he lost nearly every last dime after Edith passed away.”

  “I haven’t heard about that,” I said. “But I do know for a fact that he was neither driving himself nor riding a bike yesterday.”

  “Alright,” my mother said. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Not a thing. I just…you know what? I didn’t call to debate Mr. Hertel’s transportation choices. I was more curious to find out if you knew if he’d ever been involved with any shady characters.”

  More laughter came over the line. “There was one incident with Patricia Hart.”

  “Not that kind of shady character, mother. I mean criminals.”

  “Well, sweetie. Did you ever see Patty Hart when she was going through her tube top phase? That was pretty darn criminal. I think she broke at least a dozen laws just walking from her front porch to the car.”

  I smiled at my mother’s comment. Then I tried to get her back on track by repeating my question about Boris Hertel’s involvement with nefarious individuals.

  “Not really,” she answered. “He and Edith had one son, but I never believed the rumors around town.”

  “What rumors?”

  “About their son,” she answered. “It’s a long story, sweetie. And I don’t really have time to get into it now.”

  “That’s fine, mom. I know you’re getting ready to meet your friends.”

  “Tabby and Sylvia,” she said. “You’ll love them both, Katie. I can’t wait until you come down for a visit.”

  I blurted out a laugh. “A visit? Did you forget that I’m running Sky High Pies, mother?”

  “Oh, nonsense! Your father and I were able to take vacations while we ran the place.”

  “Uh-huh, sure. Those were called Sundays.”

  My mother giggled again. “I remember, darling. But don’t you fret. There will come a time when Julia and Harper can manage without you. Until then, remember that every day is a gift that you should open with joy!”

  CHAPTER 9

  After talking to my mother and finishing the notes for the catering job, I went into the kitchen and checked the whiteboard on the wall. I studied the roster of impending prep tasks for a few minutes while Julia hummed and frosted a batch of cupcakes.

  “We’re in pretty good shape,” I said. “I’m going to run a couple of errands if you don’t mind.”

  She was standing at the sink, rinsing the last wisps of chocolate frosting from a spatula.

  “Sounds good,” she said. “The cupcakes are for the display case in front, and I also just packaged the order for Miss Preston’s piano recital. She’s coming by at four-fifteen to get the cookies she wanted along with a cherry streusel coffee cake.”

  “Tell her that I said hi, okay?”

  Julia smiled. “Anything else?”

  “Actually, there is,” I said. “Tell her that I’m working on ‘Yankee Doodle.’”

  “Is that code for something?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It just means that I’m still learning to play the song without sheet music.”

  “But you don’t have a piano, Katie.”

  “Which explains why I’m still working on the song.”

  She turned off the water and reached for a towel to dry the spatula. “You’re talking in circles. What are you trying to say?”

  “I was joking,” I confessed. “When I was ten, my parents sent me to Miss Preston for lessons.”

  Julia’s face lit up with a bright grin. “Oh! And you didn’t do so well?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I answered. “Olivia was a child prodigy. Brody did really well on both piano and guitar. But I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.”

  “Really? That’s so sad. Nearly everyone can play something as simple as ‘Yankee Doodle’ on the piano.”

  I grabbed my purse from the counter and checked to make sure my phone was inside.

  “True enough, but I’m the exception rather than the rule when it comes to music lessons.”

  She giggled and put the spatula in a drawer. “Who cares though? You’re incredibly gifted at a bunch of other things. That’s all that matters, right?”

  “I suppose so,” I said. “And right now I need to be good at crossing a few things off my to-do list.”

  I waved as I dashed out the door and headed for the car. I sat behind the wheel for a few minutes, trying to decide between an old ABBA CD and the new Kelly Clarkson. In the end, I opted for neither because a story on the NPR station about love in the age of smartphone apps caught my ear. As I drove from Sky High into town, I listened to the report, feeling a sense of relief that I was already in a wonderful relationship with Zack and didn’t need to worry about the pros and cons of modern dating.

  As I pulled into the parking lot at CVS, I spotted two things at the same time: a primo space near the door and a silver BMW with Utah plates. It was the same car that Boris Hertel climbed into at Sky High the previous day. Instead of getting out and snooping around the lot, I dialed Trent’s number at the Crescent Creek Police Department. It rang twice and then I heard his warm, friendly voice.

  “Deputy Chief Walsh,” he said. “Is that you, pumpkin?”

  My mouth fell open. “Um…hey, Trent. It’s Kate.”

  He bellowed loudly. “I knew that! I was just yanking your chain.”

  “Okay, sure. Because the last time someone called me pumpkin was never.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Katie! Lighten up!”

  “I’m light,” I said. “Super-duper light!”

  He muttered something about bull excrement before asking what I needed.

  “Can’t I just call a friend and shoot the breeze?”

  He repeated the line about manure.

  “Okay, calm down there, deputy chief. I was calling for a favor.”

  He didn’t say anything, but I could hear him wheezing into the phone.

  “Will you please run a license plate for me?”

  The wheezing stopped, but he remained silent.

  “It’s a silver BMW,” I said. “Newer model with a small dent in the back bumper and Utah plates.”

  Trent coughed. “What do I get in return for doing you a favor?”

  “Free cupcakes for a month?”

  He hesitated briefly, muttering to himself about friends and good deeds for the day. Then he said, “What’s the plate?”

  I quickly read the letters and numbers from the car tag, paused for a moment and then repeated the information.

  “Got it the first time,” he said as the faint sound of his fingers on the computer keys filtered into the phone. “This shouldn’t take but a quick minute.”

  “Thanks, Trent. I really appreciate you—”

  “Don’t do it, Katie,” he said firmly.

  “Do what?”

  He grumbled. “And don’t do that either. The thing where you play games and pretend that you don’t know what I’m telling you.”

  I asked him to elaborate and listened patiently while he advised me not to approach the car or its driver. While he was summarizing the suggestion for the second time, I noticed a woman walking through the parking lot. She was a tall, attractive brunette with long legs, dark polish on her nails and a confident stride that suggested it would be unwise to come between her and whatever she wanted. She was wearing bright pink leggings, a black lace tunic and white running shoes. There was a bulky blue scarf around her neck and an expensive handbag on her arm.

  “The plates were reported stolen a couple of days ago in Provo,” Trent said in a flat, even tone. “And they aren’t registered to a silver car, so that’s even more reason for you to stay away and let the professionals handle the situation.”

  “I’m going to heed your recommendation,” I said as the woman got into the BMW. “Because the car in question is about to be driven out of the parking lot by a vixen dressed in pink.”

&nbs
p; He grumbled again. “By a what?”

  “A vixen.”

  “I don’t even know that is,” he complained.

  “It can be one of several things,” I said, grinning slightly. “A female fox, an angry and unpleasant woman or an all-female glam rock band from the—”

  “That’s enough!” Trent said crossly. “I can tell you’ve had way too much coffee today, Katie. And I’ve got too much to do to listen to you tell me about female foxes and whatever else you just babbled.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But can you at least put out a BOLO on the car if the plates are stolen?”

  He sighed loudly. “Done and done,” he said. “While you were blabbing away, I sent a text to Denny and Amanda. They were already answering a call not far from there, so maybe they’ll see your vixen on the way.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Poke-A-Dot Lounge smelled like beer, fried food and disinfectant spray when I walked inside an hour later after running a couple of Sky High errands.

  “Hey, there!” Burt Dahlquist called from behind the bar. “You’re right on time, Katie!”

  “For what?”

  I quickly scanned the room. A dozen patrons were scattered down the length of the bar or seated at tables. An old Dolly Parton song spilled from the overhead speakers and an employee named Brenda was making her way toward the front of the room with platters of potato skins and mozzarella sticks.

  “Free appetizers for the next hour,” Burt said proudly. “It’s our grand opening!”

  “But you’ve been here for almost twenty years.”

  The middle-aged bartender laughed. “Right, but this is our first day being open again after Dex Wasserman took out the kitchen door and half of the back wall with his Silverado a couple of nights ago. They just finished the repairs this morning around ten.”

  My stomach lurched at the news. “I hadn’t heard,” I said. “Was Dex okay?”

  Burt shrugged. “Want to define ‘okay’ for me?”

  “Was he hurt?”

  “His pride was DOA, but he was fairly well intoxicated so there were no broken bones. The doctor said he was so relaxed that he didn’t tense up when he saw the building coming his way.”