Murder by the Slice (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 3

  “Do you know where the files went?”

  “Files?” I frowned. “You mean his notes and things?”

  “Exactly. We’re following a new lead that deals with one of Mr. Alexander’s last cases. It seems the file for that job has gone missing.”

  I shook my head. “Everything was boxed up and put in storage,” I said. “Rodney’s wife didn’t want any of it coming to their home.”

  Carson nodded solemnly. “I can understand that. It’s bad enough losing her husband. The last thing she needs is to be surrounded by ghosts from the past.”

  The phrase struck me as oddly poetic for an FBI agent. When I asked him to repeat it, Carson smiled before looking at his notebook again.

  “Does the name Gustave Landecker mean anything to you, Miss Reed?”

  I thought for a second. “No,” I said. “Who is he?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say much more,” Carson answered. “As I mentioned earlier, we’re following new leads related to Rodney’s accident, and we—”

  “Don’t you mean his murder?”

  One corner of Carson’s mouth lifted. “Yes, of course,” he agreed. “We’re doing everything we can to identify and apprehend the person or persons responsible for what happened to your boss.”

  “And my friend,” I said softly. “Rodney was a good man, Mr. Carson. He treated me like a younger sister. He and his wife would invite me to Thanksgiving or New Year’s at their house. I used to watch their two kids when their regular sitter wasn’t available. And before my relationship ended, my boyfriend and I would go on double dates with Rodney and Elena.”

  It felt so strange speaking their names with a total stranger, especially in the context of a murder investigation. I was a thousand miles from Chicago, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of a beautiful Victorian house on a warm summer day. The flowers were blooming. The trees were green. The sun was high overhead.

  And my friend, my mentor, my boss was gone.

  “I can tell that you really liked him,” said Carson.

  I nodded.

  “And I’m sorry that you had to revisit such terrible memories to answer my questions.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m happy to do whatever I can to help catch Rodney’s killer.”

  Carson lifted his chin slightly, gazing at me silently for a moment. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’m going to sound like a broken record, but do you know if any of Rodney’s files might’ve been stored elsewhere? Or maybe sent to someone? Possibly another investigator or associate?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “I was the only other person with a key to the office. I packed up all of the files myself. If something looked even remotely important or related to one of Rodney’s cases, I put it in a box. And all of those boxes went to the storage facility.”

  Carson nodded. “The one on Addison?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Rodney had originally rented the units a couple of years ago when the office file cabinets started to overflow.”

  He made a note on his pad. “Thank you for confirming this information,” he said. “It’s been really helpful talking with you, Miss Reed. And if you don’t—”

  The front door squeaked open.

  “Kate?”

  I looked over my shoulder. It was my sister, scowling like someone who’s just stepped in cow dung in their favorite high heels.

  “What’s up?”

  She gestured wildly with her hand. “Please,” she said sharply. “Come inside! I can’t figure out how to override the error message on the cash register and Gertie Bing is about to have a major meltdown.”

  I turned back to Ben Carson. “Looks like I’m needed,” I said apologetically. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I have what I need for now.”

  “Sorry for the interruption.” I shrugged and smiled. “It’s my first day, and I’m trying to keep a million plates in the air without any significant catastrophes.”

  “No pun intended?” His eyes crinkled into a smile.

  “Oh, I…” I felt my cheeks go pink. “Not at all. I just meant…” I glanced at my sister, tapping her toe on the front porch. “Okay, but remember—you’re welcome to come by after we close and continue our conversation if it’d be helpful.”

  He slipped the note pad into his jacket. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. “I’m juggling a couple of other loose ends today, so it will just depend on how well my partner does with his assignment.”

  “Okay,” I said, getting up from the rocking chair. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Carson.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “Please,” he said. “Call me Ben.”

  When our fingers touched, I felt a surge of warmth in my stomach. And then, as I gazed into his blue eyes, the warm tingle was replaced by a bolt of something strange. Not quite fear. And not quite panic. But there was something about Ben Carson that seemed slightly insincere.

  “I think he likes you,” my sister whispered as we walked inside.

  I scoffed. “You’re crazy,” I said, gently digging my elbow into her side. “And, as I already told you, I am not in the market!”

  CHAPTER 4

  The office at Sky High Pies was a tiny room in the back tucked between the kitchen and the storage closet. It was a stuffy, windowless space lined with overflowing filing cabinets, shelves brimming with cookbooks and an old roll-top desk. The walls were covered with blue ribbons from county fairs and local cooking competitions along with dozens of framed photographs. Most of the images featured family members, favorite customers and celebrities who’d stopped by over the years to sample our sweet treats and Rocky Mountain hospitality.

  After staring at the towering piles of paperwork for a few minutes, I gazed up at a picture of my grandmother with George Clooney. He’d visited Sky High on his way to Telluride for the film festival a few years earlier. My parents were running the place at the time, but my grandmother happened to be in the dining room that morning. My mother later told me that when Clooney climbed back into his SUV that day, his cheek was smudged with Nana Reed’s signature Jungle Passion Red lipstick.

  “What do you think, handsome?” I murmured to the Hollywood heartthrob’s image. “Should I sift through these spreadsheets and receipts or go upstairs and take a little break?”

  It was nearly four o’clock. I’d been on my feet for twelve hours, running and racing and smiling and baking. My entire body ached; from the dull twinge in my feet to the pulsing spasm lodged between my shoulders. I had a thousand things to do, but only one sounded appealing: sipping a glass of wine in a bubble bath surrounded by jasmine candles.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed the back of my neck. My parents had warned me about the grueling schedule. “But don’t worry,” my mother had told me again as they left for their flight to Florida. “You’ll get used to it.” Dad had chuckled and wagged one finger at me. “And if you don’t,” he’d added, “you can sell the place and go back to Chicago.” Despite the twinkle in his eye, I knew he wasn’t serious. And there was no way I was going to let them down.

  When I worked for Rodney, my days were fairly routine: nine to six with an hour for lunch. Now and then, he’d ask me to stay late and listen while he sorted through various theories related to especially tricky cases, but most days I was out the door shortly after six.

  Sky High Pies was an entirely different proposition. We were open from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon, six days a week. Then it was time to clean the dining room, restock the supplies, prep and bake for the next day, do the books, make a bank deposit, order whatever was needed to replenish the pantry and supply closet. Even though we were closed on Sunday, I anticipated using those quiet afternoons to catch up on paperwork, test new recipes and thank my lucky stars that things were going so well.

  I leaned back in my chair and stared at the desk. It looked like a hurricane had swept through just minutes before I walked through the door. I could
hear Julia singing to herself in the kitchen. She was working on an eleventh-hour special request for the following day: six apple pies for Minnie Battdorf, a local realtor who often called with spur-of-the-moment orders for open houses and client events.

  I was thinking about how nice it would be to sip a glass of wine in a bubble bath when a voice boomed down the hall and into my office.

  “Kate?”

  “In here!” I pushed back from the desk. “Is that you, Angus?”

  Before I got to my feet, Angus Martin appeared in the doorway. He was a tall, stout man with a salt-and-pepper crew cut, wire-rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose and a belly that entered the room a few seconds before the best of his body. Angus was a former railroad engineer who retired and moved to Crescent Creek after his sixtieth birthday. When retirement drove him stir crazy, he started working as a handyman around town. My parents had originally hired him to help rebuild the rickety wooden steps that lead from the small back porch up to the apartment on the second floor. He did such a great job that they called him on a regular basis for repairs and renovations to the property.

  “Hey!” he called in his deep, resonant voice. “There you are!”

  “Here I am,” I echoed. “How are you?”

  He shrugged. “Still upright,” he answered. “And still ornery.”

  “Both good qualities,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Did the cable guy get everything all fixed for you?”

  It took a second for my weary brain to process the question. “What cable guy?” I asked finally.

  “The one that was here earlier,” Angus said, slowly lowering his ample frame into the guest chair beside my desk. “When I waved at you.”

  I wasn’t following his explanation, so I asked him to tell me more.

  “You were on the front porch talking to some serious-looking chap in a suit,” said Angus. “Is he your new beau?”

  “My new what?”

  “Your new boyfriend. I heard about what happened with your ex in Chicago, Katie. I was really sad to hear how you were treated by that good-for-nothing parasite.”

  I winced at the description. “That’s ancient history,” I said. “Besides, how did you hear about my break-up with Will?”

  Angus chuckled. “Crescent Creek’s a small place,” he explained. “Everybody knows everybody’s everything; bad news, good news, weddings, baby on the way, kids in hot water with the school principal.” He paused and brushed one cheek with a weathered hand. “So then,” he continued. “Is the chap in the suit your new beau?”

  “No, Angus. I don’t have a new beau. I barely have time to breathe let alone fall in love.”

  His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “True enough. But there’ll be time later.”

  “Okay, I want to get back to what you were telling me about the cable guy.”

  “What about him?”

  “When did you see him?” I asked. “And what did he say?”

  “Well, it’s like I already told you, Katie. I walked by and waved at you on the front porch. Then I went around to the shed so I could finish up the new screening on the first-floor windows. When I got around back, I saw the cable guy half way up the outside stairs to your apartment. I’d noticed his van earlier, but didn’t think much of it, you know? Figured he was here for breakfast or one of those cappuccinos you started making. I hollered out and asked what the heck he was doing. He climbed down, showed me one of those laminated identification cards and explained that he was retrofitting all of the cable boxes in the neighborhood.”

  “I already have a new cable box,” I said. “And it’s working fine.”

  Angus made a face. “Well, isn’t that strange?”

  “Very,” I agreed. “Did you see him actually go inside?”

  He answered with a wobbly nod. “I figured you’d given him the key.”

  “But I didn’t call about my cable,” I said again. “It’s working fine.”

  Angus smiled. “Do you hear the echo in here?” he asked, shifting on the chair and crossing his legs.

  “I’m serious,” I said. “I didn’t call for service or repair. And I didn’t give anybody the key to my apartment.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say. The fella seemed to know what he was doing.”

  “Was he wearing a uniform and everything?”

  “A blue one with the squiggly lightening bolt on the front,” answered Angus. “He waved a piece of paper and said it was the work order. Since your parents lived in their place on Dubuque and the apartment up there had been empty for so many years, I figured that maybe you were dragging it into the twenty-first century. I didn’t realize you’d already had cable installed.”

  My brain was exhausted and my feet had been worn down to nubs, but I wasn’t so tired that I didn’t feel a niggling sense of apprehension in my chest. I figured it was the long stretch of time in Chicago, where crime was as all too common and Rodney warned me every night as I left work to stay alert.

  “Hey, you okay?” Angus asked.

  I nodded and gave him a weary smile. “Yeah, just thinking about an old friend.”

  “From the look on your face, it’s not a good memory.”

  “It isn’t,” I said. “But I don’t want to go down that road at the moment. I want to hear more about the cable guy that was here earlier.”

  Angus reached for one of the stress balls I kept on my desk. He squeezed it a few times and tossed it overhead.

  “I told him you were inside, but he said you’d already approved the service call,” Angus explained. “But from the look on your face…” He wiggled his nose and brushed one finger across his chin. “None of this sounds familiar to you, does it?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t call the cable company. Maybe it was a mix-up on the address?”

  “Could be. But he knew your name and said you’d ordered the same service package that you had in Chicago.”

  I felt my stomach shudder. “Okay, this is now officially making me nervous,” I said, pushing back from my desk. “I think I’m going to run upstairs and make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Want me to come with?”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. “As long as you saw the guy leave.”

  Angus nodded. “Yep. He left about twenty minutes later while I was working on the windows.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Told me to have a good day.”

  I considered the strange episode as I walked toward the office door.

  “Sorry if I got you upset,” Angus said, getting up from his chair and putting the stress ball on my desk. “But the guy seemed to know what he was doing.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m hoping it was some kind of clerical error. When I canceled my service in Chicago, I gave them this address for the final bill. Maybe someone jumbled all of that into a request for transferring the account instead of closing it.”

  Angus smiled. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable. The way things are these days, wires get crossed all the time. My Marjorie had something like that happen with her Lane Bryant credit card. Some kind of snafu where they sent her a bill for five thousand lace babydoll tops.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a mischievous smirk. “She likes to keep comfortable when she’s lounging at home, don’t you know.”

  I blushed slightly. “Of course,” I said. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Anyway, it was a simple typo. Marjorie had ordered five babydoll tops, not five thousand. It was all cleared up with one phone call, so maybe this cable company deal is a similar mistake.”

  Angus patted his ample belly. “Boy, howdy! Did you hear that grumble?”

  I smiled, knowing he was angling for a slice of pie. Besides being the most reliable handyman in Crescent Creek, Angus was also an aficionado of the namesake selections at Sky High Pies.

  “What can I get for you?”

  He flashed a childlike grin. “Me?”

  “How about a slice of peach?” I suggested
. “Or we’ve got a new savory pie on the menu. It’s corned beef with onions, potatoes, leeks, celery, carrots and a really nice Swiss cheese.”

  Angus pursed his lips. “A slice of sweet peach would be just right,” he said. “On account of my Marjorie stopped making desserts at home. She thinks I need to go on a diet. Told me that my waistline’s gone past the point of no return.”

  I joined him in a moment of carefree laughter before looping one arm through the crook of his elbow. “This way to the kitchen,” I said. “I’ll find you something to eat before I run upstairs to make sure the cable guy didn’t steal my autographed Julia Child cookbook.”

  CHAPTER 5

  When I climbed the back stairs and stepped into my apartment, my mouth fell open and a bewildered gasp rippled from somewhere deep inside. Instead of a comfy warren of neat and tidy rooms, my home had been transformed into a ransacked wasteland. Every drawer had been emptied. Every unpacked box from my recent move had been upended. And the clothes in my closet were scattered around the bedroom like leaves after a violent storm.

  I walked from room to room, surveying the mess and trying to imagine one good reason someone would turn my place upside down. Especially when I was one floor below at the very same time hustling through my first day at Sky High Pies. Like a lot of things that had happened in my life during the past few weeks, it made absolutely no sense and left me feeling confused and frightened.

  While my eyes continued surveying the carnage, I reached into my apron pocket, pulled out my phone and dialed my sister. The call went right to voicemail. I tried to remember what Olivia had told me when she left earlier in the day. She’d offered to help clean up after we closed, but I shooed her out the door. She was staying in Crescent Creek for a few days, and I wanted her to enjoy the respite from her hectic life in Denver doing something besides working at Sky High. I was midway through my second attempt to remember what she’d said when the metallic voicemail tone flooded my ear.

  “Oh, hi,” I mumbled. “You’re not going to believe what I’m looking at. Someone came upstairs and made a total mess of my apartment. They went through all of my stuff, dumped all of the drawers on the floor and—”