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

  “Hold on there, detective!” Trent said, suddenly more interested in the conversation than his next meal. “How’d you hear about Jacob and Kevin discussing poetry?”

  “Same source that told me about Kevin and his dad: Rita Benedict. She called us after she heard that Jacob was found at Ira Pemberton’s.”

  “And how’d she know about that?” I asked.

  “This is Crescent Creek, Katie. News travels fast.”

  “I know that,” I said. “But don’t you think it’s strange that she’d overhear both conversations?”

  Dina smiled. “Not really. Rita quit her job at Herman Bright’s agency. She said the insurance business no longer made her happy. So she’s slinging hash at the burger place while she figures out her next career choice.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Since Zack was in California and I wasn’t in the mood to go back to an empty apartment, I decided to treat myself to a cheeseburger, curly fries and a cold beer when I finished my errands. After what Dina had told me about Rita Benedict overhearing Jacob and Kevin, I decided a stop at Burger & Brew would allow me to satisfy both my curiosity and the rumble in my stomach.

  The popular dining spot was located in a refurbished gas station. The place boasted a casual charm that was perfect for a quick bite to eat. The interior had been painted bright white and the stench of motor oil and automotive fluids was long gone.

  As I walked through the front door, I saw Rita delivering a pitcher of beer and frosty mugs to a couple of guys in a booth. She smiled and waved before I sat at a small table near the bar.

  “Hi, Katie!” she said a second later as she headed my way. “How’ve you been?”

  “Really great, thanks!” She put down a glass of ice water and cutlery wrapped in a white paper napkin. “Business at Sky High is clicking along.”

  She reached into her apron for an order pad. “And how’s Zack?”

  “He’s perfect,” I answered. “He’s in California this week for work.”

  “And so you’re wining and dining yourself at our fine establishment?”

  “I’m in the mood for a burger,” I said. “I don’t normally go out by myself, but the thought of even boiling water tonight was too much.”

  “Rough day?”

  “Just in the mood not to cook,” I said. “Do you ever feel that way?”

  Rita laughed. “Monday through Sunday! Since I started working here, I haven’t done much in my kitchen at home besides open the mail and make coffee.”

  “How do you like the change in jobs?”

  Her eyes expanded with delight. “Oh, are you kidding me? I love Herman Bright to death, but sitting behind a desk got to be too dull. I like to be on my feet, moving around, talking to all the different people that come and go through a place like this. I’ll be thirty-two next month, so I figured I should take a little break from office work to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. My husband thinks I’m nuts, but he wants me to be happy.”

  “I hear you. Staying active and meeting people are two of my favorite things about Sky High.”

  “No doubt. Except I think you guys have more fun things to eat than we do.” Her energetic smile weakened. “Not that I get over your way much anymore.”

  “How about I drop off something special for you one day soon?” I suggested. “Pick your poison, and I’ll…” I flinched at the choice of words. “Just name it, okay? Cookies? Maybe a pie?”

  She laughed again. “That’s not necessary, Katie. I’ll come by sometime if they ever hire another server here.”

  “What happened to Libby?”

  Rita rolled her eyes. “I believe his name was Scooter,” she said.

  I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I asked her to fill me in.

  “Libby met Scooter at a club in Denver one Friday night,” Rita explained. “By the following Saturday, she’d quit her job, moved out of her apartment and shipped everything to his place in Aurora.”

  I smiled. Libby was nearly fifty, so the impulsive changes seemed like either a midlife crisis or the very late arrival of teen anguish.

  “I’m happy for her,” Rita added. “She called me the other night and said they’d rescued a puppy from a shelter. Poor little critter only has three legs, but she’s happy as a pig in mud.”

  “Who? Libby or the new dog?”

  Rita’s melodic laugh filled the small room again. “Probably both,” she said. “Now, tell me, girl. What can I get for you?”

  After I ordered my usual Burger & Brew meal, Rita walked the ticket to the kitchen and came back a moment later with my beer.

  “Mind if I ask a quick question?” I said as she put down the mug.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember the other day when Kevin Hertel and Jacob Lowry were in?”

  She nodded.

  “Dina Kincaid told me that you heard them talking about poetry,” I said. “Is that right?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said with another nod. “But they weren’t exactly talking. It was more like a shouting match.”

  “Dina didn’t tell me that part.”

  Rita pulled out the opposite chair and sat down. Then she leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “I need to be discreet,” she whispered with a quick nod toward the two guys enjoying their beer. “I don’t want customers to think I’m listening to every little thing they say.”

  “It’s okay. I know how it goes. We hear all kinds of crazy things working at Sky High, either in the dining room or sometimes when I’m back in the kitchen.”

  “Why are you interested in what Jacob and Kevin were talking about?”

  “Just between you and me?” I asked.

  She smiled. “As always, Katie.”

  While she listened with keen interest, I quickly explained the situation. I told her about Boris Hertel delivering the strange note to me at Sky High. Then I explained that the fire at Ira Pemberton’s was foretold by the anonymous missive. And then I gave her a quick recap on the apparent connection between Kevin, Jacob, Carter Devane and Velma Lancaster.

  Rita frowned. “Velma who?”

  “Lancaster,” I said. “She’s a private investigator. It’s a long story, but there was a burglary in Aspen that may be linked to other crimes in the area. Velma Lancaster works for a guy named Carter Devane. He recently sold his company and made a cool ninety million.”

  “Dollars?” Rita said, raising one eyebrow.

  I nodded. “Super lucky guy!”

  “And super rich! Maybe I should ditch my hubby and get his number.”

  I made a face. “Don’t bother,” I said. “He’s already married. Not to mention that he doesn’t seem like a very nice guy.”

  “I’ll take your word on that one.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “Now…back to Velma Lancaster?”

  Rita grinned. “Oh, right. Is she the tall girl with dark hair?”

  “I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘girl’ myself,” I said with the hint of a smile. “But she’s a leggy brunette who has curves in all the right places.”

  Rita grumbled something too faint to hear. Then she said, “I think she was in here with Kevin and his dad a couple days before the blowout between Jacob and the younger Hertel.”

  “No kidding?”

  She smiled. “Cross my heart, Katie. I mean, I’m guessing it’s probably the same woman. The three of them seemed pretty tense, but nobody raised their voice or threw any furniture.” She laughed. “Which was something I worried about when Kevin and Jacob got into it.”

  “Pretty wild argument?”

  “Yes! And it was over a stupid poem.”

  “Did you hear any of it?”

  “The argument?” She sneered and shook her head. “I was just glad nobody else was here because their language got pretty nasty.”

  “I can imagine. But I was actually wondering if you heard any of the poem. Did you catch anything specific?”

  “Um…” The corners of her mouth d
rooped as she considered the question. “Well, I didn’t really hear too much. But it was short. And things rhymed. You know? Like a ‘moon,’ ‘June,’ ‘swoon’ sort of thing.”

  I leaned closer. “Like maybe ‘desire’ and ‘fire’?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Yes! Now that you said it, they definitely kept talking about those two and a couple of others.”

  “Was it ‘blue’ and ‘you’ by any chance?”

  She squinted again. “Well…I can’t say for sure, but—”

  The front door opened and a woman came in trailed by two kids: a boy of about ten and a slightly older girl. The mother waved at Rita and crossed the restaurant to a table with four chairs.

  “Sorry,” Rita continued. “Like I said, I can’t recall exact sentences or anything, but I know for sure they were talking about ‘desire’ something or other and ‘fire’ something or other.”

  I smiled. “That’s really helpful. Thank you so much!”

  “Oh, sure. No problem.” She looked at the new arrivals. “I should go and greet that table.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. “I’ve got another couple of questions after that if you don’t mind.”

  She smiled and went over to the newcomers. The two kids scowled as their mother ordered small milkshakes instead of the large ones they requested.

  “When I was your age,” the woman said, “I was lucky if my mom took me for a milkshake even once a month.”

  The young boy stuck out his tongue. “You were never my age!”

  “Actually,” the mom said, “I was your age once, but it’s a long time ago.”

  While the trio debated the differences between present day and, as the girl described it, “like, fifty million years ago,” I pulled out my phone and checked my calendar. The week ahead was stacked with special orders, a follow-up meeting for a potential corporate catering job and a presentation that I’d agreed to give to a group of high school students interested in the challenges of running a small business.

  “Sorry about that,” Rita said, rushing back to my table. “Jody’s kids are usually sweet as punch, but not today.”

  I stole a quick glance at the mother and children: three red faces, two sets of arms clamped across heaving chests and one adult attempting to explain why life wasn’t fair one-hundred percent of the time. A quick flashback to my own childhood shot through my mind: my brother, sister and me in the backseat of my dad’s car as we headed south to visit relatives in Oklahoma. A disagreement about the radio station had smoldered for an hour before the entire sedan became engulfed in three adolescents screeching at the top of their lungs until my mother switched off the music altogether. “There!” she’d said in a crisp, definitive tone. “See how you like listening to nothing for a few hundred miles!”

  “Did I interrupt your work?” Rita was saying when I swept away the memory.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, okay,” she continued. “It just looked like you were distracted or thinking about something.”

  “Ancient memories,” I confessed, smiling at the mother and her children. “Their bickering reminded me of my family.”

  Rita laughed. “Oh, heck! It’s like every family, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. But…well, two or three more quick questions?”

  “Go for it!”

  “Okay, so…back to the other day when Jacob and Kevin were here,” I said. “What did you hear them say before they argued about the poem?”

  She put one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Well, they were talking about college,” she said. “I remember that much for sure—college and an apartment they shared with somebody else, another guy I think.”

  “Carter Devane?”

  She frowned. “Sorry?”

  “Did you hear them say that name in relation to their college roommate?”

  Rita’s forehead creased as she strained to recall the details of the overheard conversation. “Well, you know,” she began, “I don’t think they said that name. But there were times when they were whispering, so I missed some of what they discussed.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, Kevin Hertel had a sheet of paper that they kept passing back and forth. Like they would read it, then talk about it, and then read it some more. I don’t think I know the other guy—what was his name again?”

  “Jacob Lowry,” I said.

  She paused briefly before her eyes narrowed. “Is that the one that was…” She looked at the two kids at the other table as they began to squabble. “I didn’t think about it at first, Katie. But now that you said it again it’s ringing a bell.” Her voice had softened even more. “Didn’t he get killed at the body shop?”

  I nodded. “He was found by the fire department when they arrived to put out the blaze.”

  “I just think that’s awful,” Rita said. “Poor Ira Pemberton. So many years building up a business and then…” She stopped, lifted her hand and snapped her fingers. “Like, poof! It’s gone in a flash! Especially after all of the money trouble he’s been dealing with lately in the…” She cringed and shook her head. “See? There I go divulging things I overheard in here. I need to learn to do a better job of not listening to private conversations.”

  I smiled. “Sometimes it’s hard not to.”

  “Well, the main thing is that it seemed like Ira was dealing with enough stuff before the body shop burned. Is it true that he was also attacked before the fire?”

  “Yeah, somebody hit him on the head before it started.”

  “Like they were trying to kill him, too?”

  I shrugged. “That’s a possibility. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt too badly. And he’s got great insurance, so he’ll be able to rebuild.”

  “Amen to that.”

  The bell in the kitchen chimed. Rita pushed her chair back from the table and stood.

  “They’re playing my song,” she said. “I’ll be back with your food in a second, okay?”

  “I’ll be right here!”

  As she turned and walked toward the kitchen, Rita stopped, did a quick pivot and hurried back to my table.

  “I just thought of something else,” she said, slipping into the chair again. “Kevin and Jacob kept talking about Ira’s daughter.”

  “I didn’t know he had one,” I said.

  Rita sighed. “I know, right? They had a falling out a really long time ago. I don’t know what it was over.” She stopped, concentrating on the past. “And I can’t remember her name, but Janet Plunkett told me—she and Janet were friends in high school—and Janet said Ira’s daughter pledged to never again speak to her dad because she would never forgive whatever it was he did.”

  “Wow! It always amazes me when I hear something like that. Between my mother, sister and Blanche Speltzer, it seems like I’ve heard almost every scrap of dirt and gossip in town.”

  Rita smiled. “I know. But it’s still possible to keep a few things secret in a place this small. And that really takes some effort!”

  CHAPTER 22

  Later that evening, on the way home from Food Town, I realized that I forgot to buy milk, so I decided to make a quick stop at the MiniMart. A middle-aged woman that I didn’t know was behind the counter, staring intently at the phone in her hand. She looked up from the task and we shared a silent smile before I took a left at the beef jerky kiosk and headed for the dairy case in the back of the store.

  After comparing the dates on the available half gallons, I plucked one from the cooler and turned around to return to the cash register. I’d only taken a few steps when I noticed someone wearing a battered pair of Carhartt bib overalls and a gray sweatshirt under a loose-fitting blue jacket.

  It was Ira Pemberton. He was running one finger down the glass door of the beer cooler, peering intently at the selection on the other side. The knuckles on his hand were bruised and scraped, the crimson hue suggesting recent wounds. A large gauze pad was secured to the back of his neck with white a
dhesive tape. I guessed it covered the spot where the intruder had walloped him before setting fire to the body shop.

  I waited for a few seconds to see if he’d look up. When his eyes remained fixed on the bottles and cans inside the cooler, I approached slowly and spoke in a quiet, congenial tone.

  “Excuse me,” I said gently. “Mr. Pemberton?”

  He looked up, squinting until he recognized me. “It’s Kate, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Kate Reed. You and my dad used to play cards in the—”

  “That’s right! In the apartment upstairs from your family’s café.” His face softened slightly; I imagined he was thinking about a long ago night of poker and whiskey with my father and a few other men from town. “How’s the old goat doing down there in Florida anyway?”

  “He’s good…really good actually! My mother, too. They’re both adjusting well to retired life.”

  He chuckled. “Your old man probably goes to the beach every day to ogle the girls in their teeny-weeny bikinis.”

  I winced at the suggestion, imagining my mother catching my father with his eyes glued on some slender woman’s bronzed curves.

  “Maybe I should give them a call,” he said, glancing down at one sleeve of his jacket. “Take a trip and explore my options.”

  A long thread dangled from the cuff. As he tugged on it distractedly, I followed the slack white cord to the sleeve. The thread ended at a spot slightly below where an embossed button was firmly attached. As his weathered fingers pulled on the thread, he shifted his gaze back up with a smile.

  “This is what happens when there’s no woman in the house,” he said. “Everything goes to ruin.”

  “That sounds like something my dad would say,” I offered with a smile.

  “Yeah, but he’s got your mother to fix things like this.” The old man’s watery eyes narrowed and he slowly looped the thread around his finger. “Not that I should care since this coat doesn’t even belong to me. Marla’s kid left it at my place when they visited a couple of nights ago. I couldn’t find my own, so I grabbed this.”