Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 12

  Luckily, she was smiling brightly as Julia and I removed her order from the car’s backseat.

  “You’re right on time!” she called, slowly descending the stairs. “I’m expecting Gabby and Isadora any second to help get the dining room ready.”

  I recognized the names. Gabby Mahler and Isadora Goldstein were twin sisters about Blanche’s age. They were renowned in Crescent Creek for wearing identical outfits they made themselves on an ancient sewing machine their grandmother had brought to Colorado from New York. Gabby was a former bank teller; her sister had worked for the Crescent Creek Gazette as features editor until she retired a few months after her seventieth birthday. They came to Sky High every so often for something that involved chocolate: ice cream sandwich, muffin, cream pie or milkshake. I looked forward to their visits because they were so cute together.

  “You look beautiful!” Julia gushed, balancing the boxes of muffins and scones as she went through the gate. “That gown is really lovely, Mrs. Speltzer.”

  Blanche brushed one hand down the front of her dress. “Ravishing, isn’t it?” She did a slow pirouette so the layers of fabric floated out from her tiny waist. “Giorgio made this for me on the thirtieth anniversary of our first meeting in Milan.”

  Julia’s mouth fell open. “Giorgio Armani?”

  Blanche smirked. “Heavens no, dear! Giorgio Confortola. He was the sweetest man. My husband and I were staying at our usual hotel near the Piazza del Duomo. We met Giorgio and his wife one night in the lobby. It was a million years ago; he was just starting his fashion design business and she was pregnant with their first child.”

  As she recalled the long ago encounter, Blanche’s face lit up with a joy that she rarely displayed around town. She liked everyone to think of her as a tough cookie, but most people realized it was an act. After decades teaching unruly children about history, she’d developed an unbreakable outer shell.

  “And he made that dress for you?” I asked, coming up behind Julia with three-tier pie carriers in both hands.

  Blanche answered with a gentle nod. “A few weeks before he stopped working,” she said, her voice colored by an inflection of sorrow. “And that was shortly before he passed away.”

  “Well, it’s absolutely stunning!” I waited at the bottom of the steps while she gathered the voluminous skirt in one hand and climbed to the porch. “Are you wearing it for your party?”

  “Are you nuts, Kate?” she snapped. “This is vintage Confortola. I particularly like putting it on when I’m feeling especially happy!”

  “Then you must wear it every day,” Julia offered.

  Blanche skewered her with a sneer. “Who are you kidding? I’ve got good days and bad days just like everybody else.” She shook her head and sashayed toward the front door. “A couple of weeks ago, I was in the dumps after I found a picture of my darling hubby before he got really sick.”

  We stood on the porch for a moment as Blanche relived something from her past. There was a faraway look in her eyes and her thin lips trembled slightly.

  “I’m sorry you were feeling bad,” Julia said, gazing at the old woman with a hopeful expression. “Was that one of the times your beautiful dress made you feel better?”

  “Yep,” Blanche said, “I put on my Confortola, made a gin martini and watched The Wheel of Fortune until I fell asleep in the recliner.”

  I decided to smile and keep quiet. Blanche held the door open while Julia and I carried the goodies inside.

  “Let’s put those in the kitchen for now,” Blanche said, hurrying past us toward the dining room. “It’s just through here and to the left.”

  Once the pies, muffins and scones were situated on the table, I returned to the car for the liquor. Blanche was in the middle of a story about her most recent trip to Italy when I came back in the door. I waited until she finished before hoisting the two paper bags up for inspection.

  “We brought a little special surprise for you,” I said.

  Blanche squinted at the sacks. “You did?”

  “Yes, I thought it would be nice to buy the first round of drinks for your friends.”

  She came over, gestured for me to lower the bags and then peered into both. The expression on her face went from suspicious scowl to cheerful grin in less than a second.

  “Well, isn’t this a lovely treat?” she said. “I may have to revise my opinion about you, Kate. When you took over the pie shop from your parents, I wasn’t happy. And then when I came in the first time and saw the crazy things you were doing, I just felt it was the end of an era.”

  “You mean like free wi-fi?” Julia asked delicately. “And savory pies on the menu?”

  Blanche cringed. “Some classic things should be left alone,” she said. “Like my Confortola gown. Or the waistband on my control top pantyhose.”

  Julia giggled. “What was that?”

  “I’ve been buying the same hose for years,” explained Blanche. “And they started using a different kind of material for the waistband that cuts into my tummy.” She made a face and muttered a few colorful words. “They should’ve just left it alone. It’s like my daddy always used to say: ‘Don’t fix things if they ain’t broke.’”

  I nodded at the two bags. “Where would you like me to put these?”

  “Right this way!” Blanche said, retracing her steps toward the kitchen. “The liquor cabinet’s pretty full at the moment, but we can stash those things in the laundry room.”

  After the bottles of booze were neatly stacked on top of her washer and dryer, Blanche and I rejoined Julia in the living room.

  “I hope your meeting goes well,” I said, digging in my pocket for the car keys. “We should probably get back to Sky High. There are a few things to tackle before we call it a day.”

  Blanche thanked us again for delivering her goodies. Then she gave me a little peck on the cheek.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “For being such a sweet young lady,” she said. “I’m going to call your mother later and tell her what a good job you’re doing.”

  The praise left me speechless. After I gave her a quick hug, I headed for the door.

  “Wow!” Julia whispered as we walked toward the front gate. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in such a good mood before.”

  “Maybe I can really win her over as a fan,” I said, climbing into the car. “That actually went better than I expected.”

  “And way better than the last time I delivered pies to her,” Julia said. “When I got here that time, it was a terribly windy day. Blanche was wearing a bathrobe because she’d just finished in the shower. As she opened the front door, a gust of wind came out of nowhere.” Julia closed her eyes and giggled. “I saw things that day I’ll never forget, Kate. It was like that old Ebenezer Scrooge story, where the miserly man sees his future.”

  I tried not to laugh at Julia’s misfortune, but the image of Blanche’s eighty-year-old figure on full display was too much.

  “I mean, I saw just how far certain things sag after you’ve been around for that long,” Julia added. “And I’m here to testify, Kate. Gravity wins every time!”

  CHAPTER 24

  “Delilah is a felon?” Viveca gasped. “What did she do?”

  It was around seven that evening. We were sitting on the front porch at Sky High Pies. The prep work was done. I was still giddy that the delivery to Blanche Speltzer went so well. And I was slowly sipping a glass of mint tea over peach-infused ice cubes. When Viveca called earlier, I invited her to stop by so we could talk about her brother’s situation.

  “Delilah and a couple of her ne’er-do-well friends committed mail fraud,” I answered. “And money laundering. She was nineteen at the time.”

  Viveca stared into her glass of tea. She swirled the cubes around, whispering softly under her breath. I caught her brother’s name and something about repeating mistakes before she asked me what else Trent had reported.

  “That was it really,” I said. “He�
�d been talking to Adam Caldwell about a presentation they’re working on together. Adam mentioned that you and I were visiting Tim’s building when we...” I let her fill in the blanks without bringing up the gunshot victim or the disheveled state of Delilah’s apartment. “I think Trent’s just trying to protect us,” I said. “He’s concerned that we’re in over our heads.”

  I took a leisurely sip of tea while Viveca processed the information. After another long day running between the kitchen and dining room, I was beat. It felt good to sit on the porch with the early evening breeze and something cool to drink.

  “Do you think we are?” she said quietly.

  “What—in over our heads?”

  She nodded. “Didn’t you deal with this sort of thing before?” Her voice quivered slightly. “When you were a detective in Chicago?”

  “I did, but that’s my old life,” I explained. “And whenever my boss and I happened upon something like you and I found yesterday, we got the police involved immediately.”

  “Which we did,” Viveca said. “I mean, which you did by calling 911.”

  We sat quietly for a moment. I could tell that she was trying to maintain her composure. And I couldn’t blame her. The past few months had been especially difficult for Viveca. After struggling to say afloat for several years, her bookstore in Boise had finally closed, leaving her deeply in debt and heartbroken. When her uncle passed away and she inherited the house next door to Sky High Pies, she’d moved to Crescent Creek to start over. At first, things were working out as planned—until her brother and his girlfriend somehow ended up in the middle of a double murder.

  “What’s next?” she said after finishing her tea. “How do you suggest I find my brother?”

  I took a sip to buy myself some time to think of a suitable reply. I wanted to help. But I also had a business to run. I couldn’t afford to drive to Denver every afternoon when Sky High closed to try and dredge up clues about Tim’s whereabouts.

  “Kate?”

  I put down my tea. “Viv?”

  “I’m scared,” she murmured. “I don’t want my brother to end up like that guy in Delilah’s apartment.”

  “Nobody wants that,” I said. “But since we don’t know how to get in touch with any of his friends, there’s not much we can do.”

  “So then what—I just sit here and wait?”

  “Well, there is actually one thing I was thinking about earlier,” I said. “If we did some sleuthing, maybe we could find your brother and figure out who’s responsible for the murders.”

  “Okay,” Viveca said. “How do we do that?”

  I got up from the rocking chair, walked across the porch and leaned against the railing. “It’s what I used to do in Chicago,” I said. “You gather clues. You put them together. And you hope the mystery is unraveled or the crime is solved.”

  “I’m ready,” Viveca said. “Just tell me where to start. I know you’re busy with this place. I can drive back to Denver in the morning.”

  I smiled. “I know you can, but I want to think this through first. Give me the night, okay? I’ll go up and soak in the tub. That’s what I used to do in Chicago when I was starting a new case.”

  She laughed. “Did you really?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s so you, Kate. I mean, Sherlock Holmes plays his violin. Miss Marple knits or gardens. And that little French guy—”

  “Hercule Poirot?”

  “That’s the one, he—”

  “He’s actually from Belgium,” I said quickly. “I was a voracious reader when I was a kid. I read all of those books at night before bed.”

  “Okay, so he’s not French,” said Viveca with a shrug. “But you know what I mean. It’s just cute that you run a bath and then think about how to find a missing person or solve a crime.”

  “Well, in Chicago it was more like how to snag the cheating husband or where the business partner hid the embezzled funds. Rodney and I didn’t actually get involved in things like murder or runaway family members. It was more domestic discord and white collar crime.”

  “Rodney’s the man you worked for, right?” she asked. “The one you told me about?”

  I nodded. “He was the best. And I miss him every day.”

  When I first arrived back in Crescent Creek, I’d told Viveca about my life in Chicago one night over a glass of wine. We bonded while chattering and laughing and sipping chilled chardonnay. She’d bared her soul about failed romances and the pain of closing her bookstore; I’d told her about the untimely death of my mentor in Chicago, a kind-hearted private investigator named Rodney Alexander.

  “I’m sorry that you went through all of that,” Viveca said gently.

  “Thanks.” I finished my tea and dropped the ice cubes over the porch railing. “And I’m sorry you’re going through this nightmare with your brother.”

  She yawned. “I appreciate that, Kate. You’re a good neighbor.”

  “And a tired one,” I said, covering my mouth as I mirrored her yawn. “These long days are brutal.”

  Viveca got up from her chair and wrapped me in a hug. When she stepped back, I saw tears in her eyes.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “One way or another. If your brother is involved in this, he’ll face justice. And if he’s not, the facts will prove his innocence.”

  She brushed at her eyes. “I know, but it’s so stressful.”

  “Maybe you should try a bubble bath when you get home,” I said. “It always makes me feel better.”

  With a sleepy smile, she promised to let me know if her brother called during the night. I told her that I would be in touch the next day after I’d had a chance to think about things. I watched until she was climbing the front steps at her place before I headed up to my apartment. My feet were killing me. My entire body ached. And the promise of a relaxing soak in a hot bath gave me the oomph I needed to clamber up the stairs, shed my clothes and fill the tub with steamy water fragranced with lemon and coconut.

  CHAPTER 25

  I was dreaming about Zack Hutton taking my picture in a pristine white room when I startled awake with a gasp.

  “Nice one, Kate,” I muttered, shivering against the icy water in the bathtub. “Fortunately, you didn’t drown yourself this time.”

  While I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t accidentally slipped beneath the sudsy water, I climbed out and grabbed a towel. Then I gasped again, catching a glimpse of the pale, shriveled prune in the mirror.

  “You look terrifying,” I told my waterlogged doppelgänger. “But I still love you.”

  As I dried my hair, I heard the phone ringing in the bedroom. I quickly abandoned the towel, wrapped myself in my robe and scrambled down the hall. I scooped up the phone just in time.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” Viveca said. “Is it too late?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “I just finished my bath. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to tell you something,” she said. “I was going through old emails that my brother sent me and I found one that mentioned his girlfriend.”

  “Delilah?”

  “Yes, Tim said they go to some kind of meeting together,” Viveca said. “I don’t know for certain, but maybe he was talking about AA.”

  “Did he say where it was?”

  “No, but there can’t be that many of them, right? I mean, maybe we could find out which one they go to and then see if anybody there knows where they might be.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I said. “Do you mind forwarding your brother’s emails to me?”

  “All of them?” she asked.

  “Just the ones that mention Delilah,” I said. “Or anything else that jumps out at you as strange or unusual.”

  She laughed. “That’s all of them, Kate!” She giggled lightly. “My brother’s a character. Ever since we were kids, he’s cracked me up with the way he views the world.”

  “Well, for the
time being, maybe just send me anything that seems like it might be related to what’s going on right now.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Great,” I said. “If you shoot them to me tonight, I’ll take a quick look before I go to bed.”

  She apologized for calling so late.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You may have actually saved me from drowning.”

  Another bouncy laugh came through the phone. “Did you fall asleep in the tub?”

  “Yet again,” I said. “I should probably start wearing a life preserver when I take a bath after I’ve been on my feet since the crack of dawn.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes about Tim and Delilah. Then I slipped on a nightgown and climbed into bed with my laptop. The emails from Viveca had arrived: ten short, cryptic dispatches from RinTinTim303 to V4Viveca. Some were so enigmatic—short bursts of words without any punctuation or capitalization—that it was like reading a foreign language: show last night nada bueno why u skip neighbor there and u could have met maybe next time bad dog says hi! Others were less obscure, but without the necessary subtext to understand what he was talking about: Remember when mom told us about Uncle Butch? Totally freaking unbelievable. It runs in the family, something that could happen to any of us, something that can kill me. But you dodged the bullet. Makes you lucky, lucky, lucky!!! Wish I was the same. Did I tell you my girlfriend took me to a meeting last Thursday? So cool. Makes me feel less alone with it somehow.

  Since I remembered seeing the Alcoholics Anonymous handbook on the floor in Delilah’s living room, I connected the dots and made a note to ask Viveca the next day if her brother was in recovery.

  It was nearly midnight. The alarm would ring in less than five hours, so I decided it was time to go back to sleep. The bathtub nap had left me feeling bleary, and staring at the laptop for the past half hour was making me drowsy all over again.