An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9) (7 page)

CHAPTER
17

The note was scribbled on a sheet
of lined paper:
Google this guy—Elmyr de Hory.
Below the name and
cryptic suggestion, I saw two more things written in the same flowery script:
Sissy—970-555-9835
.

I sat in the car, staring at the
message as my mind sifted through the reasons a stranger had gone out of her
way to leave the enigmatic communiqué on my car.

“There’s only one way to find out,”
I said, pulling out my phone.

I dialed the number and waited.
When she answered, I told her my name and asked if she was the young woman from
Make It, Mail It & More.

“Who else would I be?” she said.
“Or do people leave stuff on your windshield all the time?”

I ignored the mumbled retort and went
right for the most obvious question.

“Who is Elmyr de Hory?” I asked.

She scoffed. “Google him.”

“Can’t you give me a clue?”

“No, I’m at work,” she said,
lowering her voice. “Just Google the guy. I think it might help you with
whatever you’re looking for.”

“Why?” I asked. “Do you know Mr.
Hoffmann?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know him well?”

She didn’t answer, but I heard Mr.
Bureaucracy in the background.

“Sissy?”

“What?” she whispered.

“I appreciate the information,” I
said. “But if you can just give me a hint as to why this name relates to—”

“The guy you’re asking about is a
painter, right?”

“Yes, but his name isn’t Hoffmann.”

“Well, duh,” she rasped. “That’s
the whole point.”

“The whole point of what?”

“Look,” she said sharply. “I saw
that bank slip that you asked my cousin about. And I recognized the name
because that painter guy was always nice to me when he came in to get his mail.
He told me one time all about Hoffmann and why he picked that for his phony
name.”

“Phony name?”

“Google it,” she said.

“And he had a box here in
Steamboat?”

“Yeah. He picked up most Fridays,”
she answered. “But there were some weeks when he didn’t come in at all.”

“Do you know anything about him?” I
asked.

“I know he’s a painter,” she said.
“And he was nice to me. One day when I was doing my homework at the counter, he
noticed the art history book I was reading. He told me that he was an artist
and asked if I’d heard of a movie called
F for Fake
or some dude named
Elmyr de Hory.”

“The man you want me to Google?”

“Uh-huh. Because I can’t really
talk much more. My cousin is kind of a nit-picker. He’s all about rules and
stuff.”

“Then I should probably let you
go,” I said.

“Probably,” she agreed. “But you
seemed like a nice person. And I like Mr. Hoffmann.” She paused and I heard a
feathery laugh. “Or whatever his name is.”

“Right,” I said. “Whatever it is.”

We both chuckled at the possibility
that we were talking about someone without knowing his true identity. I wanted
to follow up with another question, but Sissy beat me to it with one of her own.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

Since his whereabouts were still
unknown, I told her that I hoped he was fine.

“Me, too,” Sissy said. “The last
time he picked up his mail, he had a black eye.”

“Did he tell you how it happened?”

She laughed. “Yeah, but he was
pretty embarrassed. He said it was from getting sucker punched by a woman he
was dating.”

“Did he tell you her name?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it was a
while ago.”

“It would be helpful if you could
remember,” I said.

I waited while she searched her
memory, hoping that she would recall the name and it might dovetail with
another that I’d already heard in the past couple of days.

“I’m sorry,” the young woman said
finally. “I can’t remember. I know it was a short name. But it wasn’t, like,
Susan or Betsy or anything like that.”

“What about Liza?” I said. “Or
maybe Pia?”

“Possibly,” she mumbled. “It
could’ve been one of those or something else. I’m sorry that I can’t be more
helpful. Like I already said, it was a while ago.”

“When did you last see Mr. Hoffmann?”

“Um…” She hummed, trying to call up
the recollection. “I’m not really sure.”

“Was it within the last two or
three weeks?”

“Oh, definitely! Because I was
still going out with Robbie. Me and Mr. Hoffman traded dating horror stories
fairly often.”

“Did he have a lot of them?”

She giggled. “Are you serious? The
guy was either a prolific liar or a Don Juan. It seemed like he was dating a
different woman every time he picked up his mail.”

“And one of the more recent
girlfriends clocked him?”

“You mean hit him?”

“Same thing, yeah. You mentioned
that he had a black eye.”

Sissy laughed again. “A nasty one.
It was black and purple and red. There was even a gash from the ring she was
wearing when she…what was that you said? Clocked him?”

“Right,” I answered. “Do you know
what they were fighting about?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Sissy said.
“But I think it was about another woman. I guess that whoever hit him had
recently caught Mr. Hoffman in a compromising position with an ex-girlfriend.
Even though he promised to be faithful, she double-crossed him anyway. And
that’s why he was so upset.”

“She double-crossed him?” I said. “By
doing what?”

“She took some things from his
house that belong to someone he works for,” Sissy told me. “He was pretty
freaked out because he said that if they weren’t returned in the next couple of
weeks then he’d have to leave town.”

“Do you have any idea what was
taken from his house?”

“Nope. But whatever it was, Mr.
Hoffmann was pretty sure it was the worst trouble he’d ever been in before.”

I thought about all of the moving
pieces that Sissy had just described.
Vito. A current paramour. An
ex-girlfriend. Stolen goods. And a very angry boss.

“It sounds like he really trusted
you,” I said.

“I guess. He’s a cool guy. We just
sort of clicked the first time we met.”

I was getting ready to thank her
again when I heard Arlo snarl in the background.

“Oh, shoot,” Sissy whispered. “He’s
coming to see if I’m doing what I’m supposed to be—”

And she was gone with a hefty sigh,
a muttered curse word and a crisp
clack
.

CHAPTER
18

I had my eyes on the chicken pasta
primavera as it rotated slowly beneath the harsh glare of the bright bulb
inside the microwave. After I arrived back in Crescent Creek, Blanche Speltzer
had called with a last-minute invitation to dinner, but I felt like spending
the evening at home with three of my favorite guilty pleasures: Lean Cuisine, a
small bowl of Chubby Hubby and my beloved copy of
Mamma Mia!
It wasn’t
the best movie in the world, but it always made me happy to sing along with the
old ABBA hits and fantasize about being on a Greek island. Before the movie, I
also planned to see what I could find online about the tip I’d received from
Sissy in Steamboat Springs.

As I waited for the microwave to
finish, I heard the muffled sound of my phone ringing inside my purse in the
living room. I’d plopped it down when I got home from my field trip, intending
to clean it out at some point during the movie.

Hoping it might be Zack calling
from Santa Fe, I darted into the next room and grabbed my phone just in time to
hear the most welcome sound on the planet.

“Katie?”

“Hi, handsome,” I said as the
familiar surge of tenderness and calm pulsed through my body from head to toe.
“How are you?”

“Feeling really saintly,” he said
with a hint of mischief in his voice.

“And why do you feel saintly, Saint
Zachary?”

He laughed. “We knocked off early
today and did a little sightseeing. We went to the Loretto Chapel and the Saint
Francis Cathedral.”

“Wow! That’s a great way to spend
part of the day.”

“No kidding,” he said. “Have you
ever been?”

“My parents took us when Nana Reed
was running Sky High,” I answered. “It was one of the last family vacations we
all went on together.”

“Maybe you and I can come here
sometime,” he suggested.

“That would be nice.”

We both listened to the silence for
a few moments. I didn’t know what Zack was thinking about, but my mind was
fluttering from one image of him to the next: laughing as he washed the dishes
at his place the night before he left; falling asleep on the sofa one time with
a box of M&Ms balanced on his stomach; kissing my neck as we spooned
together in bed on a recent Sunday morning.

“So?” His voice pulled me back from
the series of hazy snapshots. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Oh, you know me,” I said. “A
little dusting, a bit of vacuuming and a few loads of laundry.”

He laughed. “You’re funny, Katie.”

“What?”

“I’m guessing you’re going to eat
some fast food, like maybe a burger or slice of pizza. Then you’ll get into
your PJs. And then you’ll watch
The Notebook
or
Sixteen Candles
again for the fifty gazillionth time.”

I smiled at his joke. Then I told
him the truth.

“Well, two out of three isn’t bad,”
he said. “I’ve never seen that ABBA movie.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why would I lie about something
like that?”

“Hmmm…” I tried to think of a witty
reply, but the microwave timer chimed in the kitchen. “Ah, there’s my dinner,
sweetie.”

“Leftover pizza?”

“Heck, no! I’m having a healthy,
gourmet meal.”

“Carrot sticks dipped in that stuff
you make out of yogurt and Grey Poupon?”

“Oh, much more gourmet than that!
I’m having a Lean Cuisine.”

“Yum!” he said. “And I thought my
plans were dodgy.”

“What are you doing for dinner?”

“I got a couple of beef sliders
from Del Charro,” he said. “It was on the way back to the hotel from our
sightseeing trip.”

“And then what?” I asked.

“
Top Gun
is on,” he
answered. “It’s one of my favorites, and I haven’t seen it for a while.”

“Maverick and Goose!” I cheered.
“Man, I love that one, too.”

He laughed. “Well, there’s a cool
idea for one night after I get back,” he said. “We can get a bottle of good wine,
a pizza from Pepper & Roni’s and watch
Top Gun
and
Mia
Mommy
or whatever it’s called.”

“
Mamma Mia!
” I teased. “But
you knew that already, didn’t you?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Babe?”

There was still no reply, so I held
the phone away from my ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Zack?” I heard a little wrinkle of
worry in my voice. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he answered finally.

“Where’d you go?”

“It’s just…” He stopped and I heard
him inhale deeply. “Oh, shoot, Katie. It’s just that I kind of miss you a lot
whenever I’m away.”

“Ditto,” I said.

“But I’ll be back in a couple of
days, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered. “And, in the
meantime?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“‘I still don’t know what you’ve
done with me,’” I sang, quoting one of my favorite ABBA hits. “‘A grownup woman
should never fall so easily.’”

“What do you mean?” Zack asked.
“Did you slip or something?”

I laughed at his innocent question
before explaining that my remark was from one of the songs on the
Mamma Mia!
soundtrack.

“Oh, I get it,” he said. “Two can
play that game, Katie.”

“Yeah?”

He laughed and started to sing,
“‘Highway to the danger zone. Ride into the danger zone.’”

I pressed the phone to my ear and
listened as my handsome boyfriend delivered one of the most off-key renditions
of the old song from
Top Gun
. When he finished, Zack asked what I
thought.

“You want me to be honest?”

“Yeah, babe,” he said. “Tell me
what you think.”

I felt another rush of happiness.
Then I said, “You take my breath away, Zachary Hutton. And I’m so glad that
you’re mine.”

CHAPTER
19

After doing the dishes, taking a
relaxing bubble bath and sending my parents an email update on Sky High Pies, I
settled onto the living room sofa with a modest one-scoop bowl of ice cream to
watch
Mamma Mia!

At the very instant that I aimed
the remote at the DVD player, my phone buzzed and
VIVECA ENGLAND HOME
appeared on the screen.

“Hey, neighbor!” I said.

“Katie?”

“Yeah. It’s me. How’s your
evening?”

“I figured it out earlier,” said
Viv. “Did you get my message?”

“What? About how your night is
going?”

“No, not that. I realized who I
heard in the hardware store talking about Eva King.”

I quickly dropped the remote and
put my ice cream on the coffee table.

“Who was it?”

“Well,” Viv began, “I dialed your
number the second I figured it out, but it went to voicemail. And then
something weird happened with my phone. Did you get the message?”

“Earlier today?”

“Around five or five-fifteen,” Viv
answered.

“I didn’t have a message from you,”
I told her.

“Well, that’s weird. And I guess it
isn’t important because here we are talking now.”

“Yep. Here we are.”

“When you didn’t call me back, I
figured it might be smart to try again,” she said.

“Sounds good. What did you figure
out? The woman’s name?”

“Yes, her name and how we both
actually know her,” Viv said. “I was downtown shopping late this afternoon. I
was supposed to be on a conference call about a potential job designing a
client’s condo in Vail, but she couldn’t take—”

“Viv?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk about your client
after
you tell me who you overheard at the hardware store?”

She sighed. “Sorry, Katie. I had a
huge cappuccino around seven o’clock. I’m pretty revved up. I think that was a
big mistake.”

“You might be up for a while,” I
said.

“For sure,” she agreed. “But that’s
my problem.”

I kept quiet, waiting for her to
get back on track with the story.

“The doctor said I need to drink
more decaf,” she said a moment later. “Do you agree?”

“I think that’s probably something
we should all consider,” I said. “And I hate to be grouchy, but can we go back
to the woman you heard the other day?”

“Sorry,” Viv said. “Whenever I have
too much caffeine, it’s really hard to stay focused.”

“Apparently,” I said with a faint
laugh. “Now, let’s give it one more try.”

She took a deep breath and cleared
her throat. Then she resumed her story, beginning at the point where her
conference call was canceled.

“And that’s when I heard her
again,” Viv said. “Because I went into that cute little shop on Worth Street,
the one where I got such a great deal on that vintage Versace dress a couple of
months ago.”

“Uh-huh. The one that makes you
look exactly like a movie star.”

She sighed. “That is
so
sweet of you to say, Katie.”

“Viv?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to pull my hair out if I
don’t hear the rest of your story.”

“Oh, shoot! My apologies. It’s
the—”

“I know, I know! It’s the caffeine.
Let’s try it once more, okay?”

After another deep breath and
something whispered, she began again. “Anyway,” she said, “I was in the shop
and found this really cute jumpsuit, so I went into the changing room to see if
it would fit. And I was just getting ready to step into it when I heard the
voice from the hardware store.”

She paused. I waited. Then she
said, “Aren’t you going to ask me who it was?”

I swallowed hard to keep from
screaming.

“Yes, Viv,” I said. “Who was it?”

And when she finally told me the
name, I suddenly realized that one of my hunches about the case was wrong and
the other was right on the money.

“Can you believe that?” she asked.
“I was pretty surprised when I realized that she was the one I heard talking to
the other woman about lying to the 911 operator.”

“I’m pretty shocked, too,” I told
Viv. “But it actually makes sense.”

She giggled. “Because she can be such
a witch?”

“No,” I said. “It makes sense
because she’s probably the last person in town that anyone would suspect of
being involved with kidnapping and murder.”

Viveca gasped on the other end of
the line. “Murder, Katie?” she whispered. “Do you really think someone was
killed at Vito’s the other day?”

“I don’t know about that,” I
answered. “But there’s good reason to believe that at least one person might
not get out of this alive. I mean, two people have gone missing. There was
blood all over Vito’s house. And I learned a few very intriguing things today
during my trip to Steamboat Springs.”

“You did?” Viv asked. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I learned that
imitation isn’t always the sincerest form of flattery,” I said. “There are
times when it’s also a criminal enterprise that seeks to squeeze millions of
dollars out of unsuspecting art lovers who think they’re buying the real deal
when they’re actually forking over their cash for a fake piece of art painted
in a house on Balsam Drive right here in Crescent Creek.”