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

by Mary Maxwell

  My heart shuddered. If the person responsible for attacking Kevin’s father knew that he’d come to my apartment, that meant the assailant was either following Boris or had somehow learned about the visit through another means.

  “What is it?” Kevin was saying when I brushed aside the strands of theory and conjecture. “Your expression changed. Do you know something about my father’s assault?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I think it’s apparent that someone was—”

  “Yeah, I’m way ahead of you. They followed my dad to your place and then clocked him after he got back home.”

  “Where did the attack take place?”

  “Just inside the front door,” Kevin answered. “My dad went in, reached for the light switch and smelled the guy’s aftershave. Then the guy clobbered him with a roundhouse punch. After that, I guess dad stumbled around and ended up outside on the front porch.”

  “Who do you think did it?” I asked.

  Kevin’s face tightened as his fingers folded into chunky fists. “If I knew that,” he said, “you and me wouldn’t be talking right now.”

  I took a breath. I understood the impatience and anger. I’d been there myself, back in Chicago when I was dropped into a murky ocean of directionless rage by my mentor’s death, my boyfriend’s betrayal and the impending loss of my apartment.

  “Do you want me to leave?’

  Kevin shook his head and then shifted in his chair, a slight tilt to the left. His hands slowly relaxed and the herky-jerky tempo of his breathing began to level out.

  “What about Carter Devane?”

  The smirk on Kevin’s face was sharp. “What about him?”

  “Do you think he’s responsible?”

  A rowdy laugh slipped from behind the simpering expression. “Why would he attack my dad or burn down someone’s body shop?”

  “I did a little checking,” I explained. “Mr. Devane didn’t file a claim with the insurance company for the things taken during the burglary.”

  Kevin laughed again. “So? The guy’s got enough money to buy a diamond mine, let alone replace some flashy jewelry that his wife never even wears.”

  “Okay, so you don’t think it’s a big deal that he—”

  “No, I don’t. If you want to see a big deal, take a look at my father. He’s got tubes coming and going from every possible spot on his body. There are pins and screws holding his shattered bones together. And there’s a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll lose the sight in his left eye.” He paused, swallowing hard. “That’s a big deal, Kate. Not some stupid old book and a pair of gaudy earrings.”

  We sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the inexplicable events of the past few days. Kevin began tapping one foot, a slow and steady tempo that eventually started to get on my nerves.

  “I guess Carter’s housekeeper discovered the break-in,” I said finally, just to keep the flow going and hopefully stop the anxious patter of his toes.

  He wasn’t interested in the topic. “I’m going to check on my dad,” he said, pushing out of the chair. “If you want to know about the burglary so bad, why don’t you go down to Aspen?”

  As he slowly walked along the gleaming linoleum floor toward his father’s room, I realized that Kevin Hertel had a point. I quickly pulled out my phone, called Trent and asked him for Carter Devane’s address.

  “Why?” he said.

  “I was thinking about driving down and having a look around,” I told him.

  “A look around Aspen? You’ve seen it before, Katie. Probably a thousand times.”

  “True,” I said. “But I’ve never been to a millionaire’s place to ask his housekeeper a few questions.”

  Trent groaned. “What are you up to, Katie?”

  “Following the clues,” I said. “What about you, Deputy Chief Walsh?”

  “I’d like to be enjoying the first bites of a burrito over at Viva Royale,” he said. “But I guess I’ll sit tight and help Dina interview a suspect in another case we’re working on.”

  “Probably the best choice, big guy. Take care of your professional responsibilities first. Then go over and indulge your passion for spicy food.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Although I’d read the police report in Trent’s office about the burglary at Carter Devane’s place, I was still interested in talking to the single witness quoted in the Aspen PD documents: a British woman named Cressida Falls who worked as the family’s live-in housekeeper.

  On the drive from Crescent Creek to the posh ski resort, I listened to a CD that my sister had sent me recently. Labeled WHAT KATIE NEEDS TO RELAX, the disc featured six uninterrupted hours of soothing sounds from nature: waves splashing on a beach, birds chirping in the trees and rain drops thrumming against windowpanes. I’d scoffed at the gift when it first arrived. Whenever I needed to relax, I usually turned to a glass of wine, a long bubble bath or a calming slice of chocolate cake with raspberry sauce. But I’d listened to the CD a few times while driving and the restful sounds actually did make me feel less anxious.

  I was about twenty minutes into the chirping birds section when I reached the log-and-stone mansion in Aspen where Carter Devane lived part of the year. It was located on Willoughby Way between Red Mountain and the Roaring Fork River; a luxurious six-bedroom residence that seemed just right for someone who’d recently sold their company for millions of dollars.

  I parked my car at the edge of the expansive brick auto court and walked toward the covered entryway. As I reached for the distressed brass button mounted on a wide hewn log, the front door suddenly opened.

  “May I help you?” asked a tall woman with pale blue eyes and dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. From the faint accent and crisp apron, I guessed she was the housekeeper who discovered the burglary.

  “Are you Cressida?” I asked.

  She confirmed her identity with a subtle smile. “And you are?”

  “My name is Kate Reed.” I held out my hand, but she ignored the gesture so I dropped the arm. “I’m consulting with the police in Crescent Creek about some incidents that we believe are linked to the break-in here a couple of weeks ago.”

  Her smile was fixed and resolute, the sort of expression that often accompanies cagey witnesses who know more than they’re willing to admit.

  “I understand that you discovered the burglary,” I continued. “You’d gone out to the store and came home to find the back door open and a couple of valuable items missing.”

  The smile dwindled to a faint smirk. “What was your name again?”

  “Kate Reed.”

  “And what do you mean by ‘consulting with’ the authorities?”

  “I used to be a private investigator,” I said. “The police in Crescent Creek have asked me to help them a time or two with investigations.”

  “That’s lovely,” she said. “But this isn’t Crescent Creek. It’s Aspen. So…” Her eyelashes fluttered like manic butterflies. “…I’m not sure what there is to discuss.”

  “I know it may seem out of the ordinary,” I began. “But the situation in—”

  “It’s more than out of the ordinary,” she cut in. “It’s also out of the jurisdiction of the Crescent Creek Police Department.”

  A sudden gust of wind came up from behind, sending a chill through me that was followed by an involuntary shudder.

  “That’s quite a breeze,” the housekeeper said. “Why don’t you step inside so we can finish this?”

  Her sudden swerve from terse and frosty to gracious left me smiling.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “I know. I seem like an ogre, but I’m really not. It’s just that…well, working for Mr. Devane here at the Aspen property comes with its share of uninvited lunacy.”

  I followed her into the living room, expecting to sit on one of the overstuffed love seats. But we stopped just over the threshold and stood together not far from a hulking gray vacuum.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” I offered. “I interrupted your work.”


  Cressida rolled her eyes. “My work is never done,” she said with a lighthearted inflection. “Whether the family is here or not, there are always things to do. Not to mention the revolving door for Mr. Devane’s friends. He’s forever inviting people to stay and enjoy the area, whether he’s in town or not.”

  “That’s very generous of him.”

  She pressed her lips into a tight grin. “Yes, maybe too generous, considering that things go missing on a regular basis. But it’s not my place to say.”

  Her remark seemed like an invitation, so I asked her to explain.

  “Well, the most recent theft was definitely shocking,” she said. “The rare book and expensive earrings are among the most valuable of Mr. Devane’s belongings to vanish. But, over the years, he’s had high-priced bottles of wine walk right out the door along with designer clothes, a ten-thousand dollar Rolex and quite a few other things of a similar nature.”

  “Did he report those to the police?”

  She chuckled. “Heavens, no! He just sends one of his personal assistants out to buy replacements. It wasn’t until the most recent incident that he called the authorities.”

  “You mean the burglary a couple of weeks ago?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you suspect one of Mr. Devane’s friends might be responsible for the break-in?”

  “That would be very surprising,” she said. “The people that Mr. Devane knows wouldn’t sneak in while the house is empty. They’d simply get sticky fingers as they packed up to leave after a visit.” She laughed again. “At least, that’s how it’s always happened in the past.”

  “It sounds like you’re pretty certain of that.”

  “Very certain,” she said. “I once watched an actresses who’d received both an Oscar and an Emmy pack a bottle of 1951 Penfolds Grange Hermitage into her suitcase.”

  “I’m afraid that I’m not much of a wine connoisseur,” I admitted. “Is that a good one?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “It was among a very limited number of bottles in the entire world,” she explained. “It was worth forty-thousand dollars, give or take a few.”

  “Wow! That better be an excellent bottle!”

  Cressida nodded, gently fluttering her eyelashes. “Everything Mr. Devane owns is excellent. He’s done very well for himself in business, and he treats himself very well in life.”

  “How about recent visitors?” I asked. “Have there been houseguests who might’ve accidentally packed the rare book or earrings?”

  She frowned. “No! Absolutely impossible! The last guest was actually three months ago, a very sweet British actress and her family. She and Mr. Devane are working on a project together about an Olympic skier. He suggested she stay in Aspen for a couple of weeks to get a feel for life in the mountains.”

  “Okay, so…” I hesitated, hoping the woman would take the hint. When she didn’t, I said, “Anyone else? Perhaps a local resident that stopped by? Or a member of Mr. Devane’s extended family? Someone from his group of friends?”

  She scoffed. “The only visitor we’ve had lately was a very rude man. I still haven’t figured out for the life of me how they know one another.”

  “Because they were so different?”

  She smiled. “That’s putting it mildly. Mr. Devane is urbane and worldly; the visitor was gruff and discourteous, the type of person that none of us enjoy spending time with.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Did Mr. Devane seem to know the visitor?”

  “Yes. And he didn’t like him.”

  “Can you describe the man?”

  As she slowly remembered details about the visitor, I made a mental list of the characteristics: tall, short hair, loud voice and a seemingly endless barrage of obscenities when Carter Devane refused to loan the man a sizeable amount of money.

  “How much did he ask for?” I said.

  Cressida smiled. “Two hundred thousand,” she said, her mouth lifting into a sheepish grin. “And he wanted it in cash that very day.”

  “Could you guess how old he was?”

  She scowled. “I’ve cared for toddlers with better manners! But I’m really not that good at guessing ages. My twin sister was always much better at it than me.”

  “A twin sister? How lovely is that?”

  “On a good day, it’s a blessing.”

  “And on the others?”

  “A curse!” She smiled and giggled. “But I’m actually joking. My sister and I get along famously most of the time.”

  I nodded. “I know how that goes. My sister lives in Denver, so we don’t see one another as often as we’d like. But we talk and text pretty frequently.”

  The woman’s smile tightened and she glanced at her watch. “I hate to be rude, but there are a few things that I need to attend to before Mr. Devane arrives later.”

  “Oh, of course. I appreciate your time today, Miss Falls. Is there anything else you remember about the man that visited?”

  She tapped one finger against her lips. “Well, let me see…”

  “How was he dressed?” I added. “A business suit? Casual clothes? Or maybe—”

  “A knit cap,” she cut in. “White with navy stripes and a big black stain on it.” She lifted her hand and pointed at her right temple. “On this side, right above his ear. And blue jeans, relatively new ones, with a jacket of some kind that had gold or brass buttons.”

  When she stopped and shook her head, I waited to see if more details surfaced. She kept tapping her finger on her mouth, concentrating on the appearance and demeanor of Carter Devane’s unwelcome guest. After a few moments of silence I was getting ready to thank her again and make my exit when her eyes suddenly went wide with excitement.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this first!” she gushed. “He kept saying this one thing, over and over.”

  “What was that?”

  “A phrase,” she answered. “It’s something people say a lot, but he twisted it around in an unusual way.”

  I smiled. “Do you mind telling me what he said?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. But then I need to get back to work. Mr. Devane drove down to Denver earlier for a meeting. He’s stopping here briefly before going back up to Crescent Creek. I promised him the floors would be finished by the time he got here.” She giggled faintly. “He’s a very nice man,” she added. “But he hates the sound of the vacuum cleaner.”

  “Well, we all have our pet peeves,” I said.

  Her laugh got louder. “Absolutely, we do! I hate olives stuffed with cheese! And my sister thinks…” She suddenly stopped. “I’m sorry about that. I have a tendency to ramble when I chat.”

  I nodded, but didn’t say anything. Cressida gave me another broad smile and started walking toward the door.

  “Do you want me to have Mr. Devane call you?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. But…you were going to tell me what the man said…”

  She blushed. “Oh, yes! My mind’s on cleaning and laundry. Uh, the man that came by…the rude man with the stained cap…before he left that afternoon, he kept saying that Mr. Devane didn’t want to be ‘in the wrong place at not the right time.’” She frowned. “Isn’t that odd? ‘In the wrong place at not the right time’? Don’t most people say ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time’?”

  “Yes, under most circumstances,” I said, reaching for my phone. “I promise this is the last thing that I’ll ask you.” I quickly opened the attached photos from the email that Dina Kincaid had sent to me. “Do you mind looking at a couple of pictures?”

  She smiled. “I really need to get back to work.”

  “I know. And I promise this will take just a sec.”

  I held up my phone and began swiping through the images of Kevin Hertel, Matt Soble, Ira Pemberton and Jacob Lowry.

  “Do you recognize the man who confronted Mr. Devane?”

  As I scrolled through the portraits, o
ne image slowly replacing the next, the woman suddenly called out and pointed at my phone.

  “That’s him!” she said firmly. “I’d recognize that lunatic anywhere, with or without that grease-stained hat!”

  CHAPTER 36

  As I started the car and prepared for the return drive to Crescent Creek, I called Trent again to give him an update.

  “I think I may have a suspect for you,” I said. “As well as a motive.”

  “For what?” He sounded jittery and distracted. “I’ve got a bunch of people in my office right now, Katie. Can you be more specific?”

  “Jacob Lowry’s murder,” I said. “I think he was collateral damage, and the real motive was money. I just talked to Carter Devane’s housekeeper here in Aspen. She told me that a lunatic came to see Mr. Devane shortly before the burglary.”

  “A lunatic?” Trent said.

  “She didn’t get the guy’s name when he arrived,” I explained. “But she was in the next room a few minutes later when the man demanded that Carter Devane give him two-hundred thousand dollars.”

  “For what?”

  “She didn’t hear that part of the discussion. But I got a description that sounded more than a little familiar and she also identified someone from a photograph.”

  “Okay,” he said. “That gets my attention. Who is it?”

  I told him the name.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. Based on the housekeeper’s account, Carter Devane was pretty rattled by the man’s unannounced visit and his aggressive stance.”

  “Did she use those words?”

  “What words? ‘Aggressive stance’?”

  “Yes,” Trent said. “Did the woman use those exact words?”

  “Not precisely. I’m paraphrasing what she told me.”

  “Well, either way, that’s helpful. I’m going to ask Tyler or Dina to drive down and interview the woman.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Anything new on your end?”

  He laughed. “There’s always something new around here. For instance, we now know that the gun found with Jacob Lowry belonged to a man named Archie Morris.”