by Mary Maxwell
I nodded at the comment and asked if he had the new phone number for my parents.
One hand touched his pocket. “Got it on my smartphone,” he said with a bemused grin. “I’ve had the thing for going on a year, but it hasn’t made me feel one lick wiser than before.”
We stood beside the beer cooler for a brief moment. I was tempted to mention his daughter, but decided to leave that alone since Rita had hinted at past trouble in the Pemberton family. His smile softened slowly and I tried to think of how to address the elephant huddled in the corner.
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about the fire,” I said eventually.
His mouth twisted into a frown. “Yeah…” His gaze tapered more as he stared at the selection of beer. “That was quite a surprise alright.”
There was something about his tone that seemed lifeless and flat. I wondered if he was still in shock from the incident. It’s only been a short time, I thought as his hand reached for the door handle. He’s probably still walking around in a fog.
“How are you doing?” I asked. “I mean, I heard they actually attacked you before setting the fire.”
His fingers drifted from the door handle to the back of his head. “Clobbered me good, don’t you know. And it was all because I was in the wrong place at not the right time.”
He chuckled softly. “But I’m tough, Kate. I was unconscious for a few minutes, just flat on the floor in the office. As soon as I came to, I ran out and…” He coughed and blinked. “I mean, as soon as the firefighter helped me to my feet, I ran after the son of a bi—” His eyes crinkled. “—the son of a biscuit, but it was too late. He was long gone and my shop was lit up like a bonfire! I’ve never seen an inferno so close before, but it’s really something! There were flames shooting out every window and through the roof!”
I nodded. “Sounds absolutely terrifying. It’s amazing the CCFD got there so quickly.”
“No doubt about that,” he agreed. “I don’t know who made the 911 call, but I’m sure glad they did.”
His remark touched on something I hadn’t heard about from Trent. I made a mental note to ask later who had called to report the blaze.
“I guess that’s one good thing about living in a place like Crescent Creek,” Ira said. “Although the flipside is everybody whispering behind your back about matters that don’t have a thing to do with them.” He paused and put one hand to his mouth. “Like the misunderstanding with my wife and me all those years ago. It was none of their business, but it sure didn’t stop the old witches from speculating.”
I forced a smile. I didn’t want to dig into his dirty laundry, so I ignored the comment and invited him to stop by Sky High sometime for a complimentary breakfast or lunch.
“That’s real neighborly of you, Kate. I may just take you up on the offer.”
“I hope you will! Make sure you ask Harper to tell me when you come by, okay? I’ll want to come out and say hello.”
“You bet,” he said, reaching again for the cooler door. “I should probably buy my beer and skedaddle. Nice talking to you, Kate.”
“You, too, Mr. Pemberton. I’ll look forward to seeing you at Sky High soon.”
He mumbled a response and turned to walk away. I kept my eyes on him for a few seconds, wondering again about where the fire and Jacob Lowry’s murder intersected with Velma Lancaster’s BMW and the stolen license plates from Utah.
“Must be a full moon,” I said to myself. “Either that or Mercury’s in retrograde again.”
CHAPTER 23
I sent Trent a quick text as I walked to the car from the MiniMart: Who called 911 about Pemberton fire?
He replied within seconds: Good Samaritans. There were actually two calls.
I opened the car door, put the milk on the seat and let my fingers fly: Did you listen to the tapes? Do you know who it was?
A couple of seconds later, as I slipped the key into the ignition, my phone buzzed and Trent’s name flashed on the screen. I swiped to accept the call and tucked the phone between my chin and shoulder.
“Hey, Deputy Chief Walsh! Do you know who made the calls?”
“You mean, like, names and addresses?” he asked in a crotchety tone. “Or were you looking for favorite colors and shoe sizes?”
I felt a flash of exasperation with his attitude, but took a moment to let it soften. Then I said, “Sounds like somebody’s in a cranky mood.”
“Nope. Just trying to be specific, Katie.”
“In that case, a name would be specific enough for the time being.”
He snickered. “Maybe they didn’t identify themselves.”
“You sure?”
The phone crackled with static. I waited until it passed, but Trent didn’t say anything.
“Hello?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still here.”
“How am I supposed to know? You didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t know what to say. My integrity and intelligence were both a little bruised by your—”
“Oh, c’mon, Trent! Cut the bull! I was just trying to confirm something, not ruin your day.”
He laughed. “Gotcha! I was teasing you, Katie.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever, big guy. Now, back to the calls—two people reported Ira’s fire, but the dispatcher didn’t get their names?”
“Actually, the first one was Duane Schulte. He called after seeing the smoke.”
“And the second?” I asked. “Who else called?”
“Well,” Trent said slowly, “we didn’t get her name, but the second call came in about ten minutes later. The voice was faint, but it was definitely a woman.”
“Anything in the background to suggest where she was calling from?”
“Hmmm…” Trent grumbled briefly. “I’d have to check with the techs. I only heard it a couple of times, and Tyler Armstrong wrote the report. He talked to the dispatcher that night. Why don’t I check with him and get back to you in the morning?”
“Works for me,” I said.
“Cool beans. What’s going on with you this evening? The Zackinator’s out in Hollywood, right?”
I groaned. Trent had a habit of bestowing silly nicknames every now and then with certain people. I’d never been sure if the habit was motivated by sociability or a deep desire to disparage others.
“Yes, Zack’s in Los Angeles for work.”
“Does that make you foot loose and fancy free?”
“Not really,” I answered. “I’m heading home to watch a movie.”
“Man, that sounds nice! Wish I was that lucky.”
“What’s on your schedule?”
“Two words,” he said. “Paper and work.”
“Poor guy.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said, sounding less grouchy. “But I love the work, so I’ve got to love the paper.”
I laughed. “A match made in heaven,” I said. “Have a good night, big guy.”
“You as well,” he said. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow after I get a chance to ask Tyler about that 911 call.”
CHAPTER 24
By the time I got back to Sky High, my mind was spinning through the conversation with Rita at Burger & Brew. I parked in back and climbed the stairs to my apartment. Then I slipped out of my jacket, kicked off my shoes and flopped into one of the living room chairs. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, I dialed Blanche Speltzer, leaned back against the cushion and closed my eyes.
“Katie!” she said after a brittle click. “What can I help you with, dear?”
She sounded breathless and jittery, so I asked if I’d called at a bad time.
“Well, I’m racing around getting ready for my guests,” she answered. “But I can talk for a second or two.”
“I can call tomorrow if you’re expecting company.”
She laughed. “It’s just Marla Soble and her son. She and I had planned on having a girls’ night, but I guess Matt’s feeling kind of needy. Poor thing! I remember when he was
my student; a misfit loner lusting after girls that wouldn’t give him the time of day.” She sighed at the memory. “Anyway, the three of us are going to have a little dessert and watch The Bachelor finalé.”
“It’s already the last show? Julia usually tells me about it the morning after. I didn’t realize the season was coming to a close.”
Blanche chuckled again. “It already did! I taped it last week, so this is my…oh, heavens! Never mind about that, Katie! What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why do you—”
“Because you sound kind of anxious.”
“Oh, well…” I reached down and unbuttoned my jeans to stop the waistband from slicing me in two. “I just ate a big burger and every last French fry.”
“From your lips to your hips, my dear,” Blanche said with a giggle. “Although that does sound pretty darn good.”
“It was delicious. I stopped by Burger & Brew. Zack’s out of town and I didn’t feel like cooking for one.”
“I understand that perfectly well,” she said. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“Ira Pemberton’s daughter.”
Blanche jeered. “Yuck! She’s nothing I want to discuss, Katie. I lived through that nightmare years ago with Ira and his late wife.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, sweet child. There’s not enough time right now to go into great detail. Let me see…how can I summarize the whole sordid affair?”
“If it’s too complicated, why don’t we talk tomorrow?”
“Hang on there,” Blanche said. “I’m going up to Boulder in the morning with a couple of the girls from bridge. Probably best to give you the skinny now if you need to know.”
“Well, just the highlights, maybe?”
“The highlights, huh? How about this—Ira’s daughter accused him of cheating on her mother as part of a blackmail scheme.”
My mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. Goodness.”
“Uh-huh. And none of it was true. Ira loved his wife until the day she died. Never once even looked at another woman. I used to have lunch with her every so often, and it was always ‘Ira’s so wonderful,’ ‘Ira’s such a dream,’ ‘Do you want to know what Ira did for me this week?’”
“Sounds like true love.”
“From the second they met,” Blanche said. “And the fact that their daughter turned out to be so…well, just insensitive and rude, Katie. Despite the fact that some folks say she’s changed now, I still remember her as a wicked little fiend trying to manipulate her parents out of spite. I guess the whole thing started when her father refused to buy her the kind of sports car one of her girlfriends had.”
“I’m surprised that my mother or sister never told me about any of this.”
“Not too many folks know the real story,” Blanche said. “And it was so truly shocking that most people were too polite to rehash the whole scandalous affair after Velma left town.”
The name hit me like a left hook. “What was that?”
Blanche repeated the last part of her sentence.
“Her name is Velma?”
“Yes, dear.”
“The same Velma that I saw with Boris Hertel at Poke-A-Dot?” I asked. “A tall, attractive brunette with long legs and more confidence than anyone could ever need?”
“Sounds like her,” Blanche said. “Velma is a very striking woman, although she’s amplified her natural beauty over the years with quite a few tucks and tweaks.”
“I’m just…” I hesitated, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the slightly hostile woman in the bar with Boris was also Ira Pemberton’s daughter. “I’m just surprised that my mother never told me about her.”
“I’m not,” Blanche said. “She’s older than you, dear. And all of the bad blood between Velma and her father happened a long time ago. Why are you asking about her anyway?”
“Well, someone else told me that Jacob Lowry and Kevin Hertel were talking about her,” I said. “But I never realized the woman in the silver BMW was Ira’s daughter.”
“Oh, goodness,” Blanche said in a hushed, sad tone. “I can see how that would come as a bit of a surprise.” She clucked softly. “And that poor Jacob Lowry. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since I heard the news.”
“That makes two of us,” I said.
“It’s a horrible thing, Katie. Whenever one person takes another’s life, it’s just…well, I believe it’s a crime against all of humanity.”
“I agree with you. A crime against humanity and an irrevocable tragedy.”
“Did that person tell you what they said about her?” asked Blanche.
“Sorry? What person?”
“Whoever told you that Jacob and Kevin were talking about Velma?”
“Not really. We didn’t get into too much detail. But she was certain Jacob and Kevin were discussing Ira’s daughter.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Blanche quipped.
“What do you mean?”
“Those three were nothing but trouble when they were growing up, especially that Velma! Besides the stunt she pulled with her parents, she was caught shoplifting more than once and I recall a particularly colorful incident when she painted obscene graffiti on the exterior of her uncle’s house.”
“Dare I ask?”
“I’m not going to say it aloud, Katie. It was a bunch of filthy words and especially crude drawings of a man and a woman performing a very adult act.”
“Okay, I think I get the picture.”
“In the end, when Velma cranked things up way behind teenage mischief and tried to blackmail her own father, that was the last straw. Her parents threatened to disown her and throw her out of the house.”
“And what happened?”
Blanche laughed. “Velma beat them to the punch. She took the money that her mother kept squirreled away in the kitchen cabinet, packed a suitcase and headed to California.”
“Was this before or after Jacob and Kevin had started at Berkeley?”
“After,” Blanche said. “Velma never even applied to go to college. She was somehow convinced that her father would cave and write her a big check.”
“So she was an angry, delusional teenager looking for a quick payday?”
“Probably still is,” Blanche said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had something to do with the anonymous threats going around town.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Money, Katie. It’s the root of all evil.”
“I thought the root of all evil was Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.”
“It can be! But money’s much worse. It causes sane people to go bonkers.”
“And you think Velma fits into that category?”
“Yes, based on what I’ve heard over the years,” Blanche said. “After she ran away from Crescent Creek, she landed in Sacramento. Her Greyhound stopped there to refuel and Velma met a handsome older man at the McDonald’s next to the bus depot.”
“The PI that she eventually married?”
“Eventually? That girl moves quicker than a fox chasing chickens! She met the guy, wrapped him around her little pinky and they were buying new china and living room furniture in less than a week.”
“What was his story?”
“Blind fool with no common sense,” Blanche said. “And the guy works as a private detective, Katie. You’d think that he would have more on the ball than the average guy. Know what I mean? If he spent his working hours helping to uncover the truth for his clients, he should’ve been able to do the same thing for himself. Their marriage has been a roller coaster ride, sometimes on, sometimes off. Who knows where it stands today?”
“Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly when they first met,” I said. “On account of Velma’s dazzling beauty and her feminine ways.”
“And her skintight wardrobe,” Blanche said with a sharp tone. “Not to mention the buckets of makeup and a moral compass that always pointed straight south to you-know-where.”
“Dallas?” I quipped.
Blanche snorted. “No, Katie! Not Dallas!”
“I know what you meant. I was just trying to—”
“Work my last nerve?”
I winced. Then I apologized. And then I listened as Blanche gave me a few more details about the tawdry past of Ira Pemberton’s estranged daughter. She described a few fragmented conversations that she’d had with Ira’s wife about the situation, brief exchanges over coffee at Java & Juice or in the produce aisle at Food Town. “Her heart was just broken in two by the whole thing,” Blanche said finally. “Between the anxiety that Ira really had cheated on her and their daughter trying to blackmail her husband, I wasn’t surprised at all that her health failed not too long after that.”
“Are you telling me that Ira and his daughter haven’t talked since Velma left town?”
Blanche snickered. “That would be the most logical outcome, but Velma actually saw the error of her ways about five years ago. She came back to see her dad, but he refused to even let her in the front door. After three or four failed attempts, Velma asked Marla Soble to intervene.”
“Ira’s girlfriend?”
“That’s one way to describe her,” Blanche said. “Another would be gold digger. And a third would be grifter. I know it probably seems crazy that I’m friendly with the woman, but I promised her dear mother that I wouldn’t cut Marla out of my life.”
“Are you saying that Marla’s kind of shady?”
“Not ‘kind of,’ Katie. Very shady. The woman’s as crooked as the Colorado River! And her son’s just as ornery! He can match his mama’s every twist and turn when it comes to figuring out how to get maximum returns on minimum investments!”
“Well, how do they compare to Ira’s daughter?” I asked. “Velma certainly seemed…well, aggressive is one way to describe her behavior at the Poke-A-Dot.”
Blanche scoffed. “Aggressive? How about immoral? Or depraved? I mean, what kind of young woman accuses her father of having an affair and then trying to blackmail him to keep the news from her mother?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I suggested that it was always possible that Velma Lancaster had changed her ways somewhere along the line.