Murder for Millions (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 7) (14 page)

CHAPTER
31

As soon as I was back at Sky High,
I went into the kitchen, dropped my purse on the counter and dialed Blanche
Speltzer. She answered on the first ring with a cheerful greeting delivered
against the muffled roar of a loud television. I smiled when I recognized the familiar
theme song playing in the background.

“Are you watching
The Bachelor
again?” I asked.

“Is that a crime?” she said. “I
happen to enjoy seeing beautiful people fall in love.” There was a brief pause
as she clicked the remote to silence the television. “Well, fall in love,” she
continued, “or fight like cats and dogs. These reality shows are mindless fluff
for the most part, but I think there are kernels of true sentiment buried just
below the artificial exchanges and exaggerated emotions.”

“I’ll take your word for it,
Blanche. I don’t watch much TV these days. I’ve been catching up on movies and
the news when there’s time to sit down.”

She laughed. “The news? Now, that’s
where you’ll find artificial exchanges. All of the ‘breaking news’ this and
‘breaking news’ that. In the good old days, they actually reserved the
hysterics for events that were truly significant. But now…” She grumbled and
groused for a few seconds. “Oh, who even cares about all of that, dear? I’m
sure you didn’t call to ask my opinion about popular culture.”

“Not exactly, but I did want to ask
you something.”

“What’s that?”

“When we talked the other day, you
told me that Matt Soble was a misfit loner during high school. You mentioned
that he lusted after girls that wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

“That’s right,” Blanche said. “A
misfit, a loner, a horn dog with no sense of good manners.”

“Did he know Velma Lancaster?”

“Well, yes, of course. He tried
desperately to woo the girl, even though she made fun of him in front of his
classmates.”

The casual comment left me
momentarily speechless, so I listened to Blanche ramble on for a few minutes
about Matt Soble as a teenager. He was a short, tubby boy with bad skin, unruly
hair and the unfortunate habit of bathing less often than most people.

“He absolutely
reeked
,” Blanche
said brusquely. “I sent a letter home to his mother on one occasion.”

“What did Marla Soble do?”

Blanche giggled softly. “What did
she
do
? She came by the school and scolded me to within an inch of my
life. She used horrible language, Katie. As I recall, she was so close to my
face that I could smell the piña colada that she’d had for lunch.”

“It could’ve been worse,” I
suggested. “Thank goodness it wasn’t garlic and onions.”

Blanche scoffed. “The woman’s a
terror. I was in Food Town the other day, comparing the sodium in two brands of
tomato soup, when I saw her trundle down the aisle toward me. She was
blathering on her phone, completely oblivious to the fact that she was in a
public place.”

“That’s way too common these days.”

“You’re telling me! I’ve learned
more things about some people from their screeching phone conversations in
public than from actually sitting down to talk with them in private.”

I smiled. “Oh, yeah? Care to
share?”

“Not at the moment,” said Blanche.
“I’ve got a chicken in the oven and it needs to come out in a couple of
minutes.”

“Doesn’t that sound good? Roast
chicken with garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed string beans is one of Zack’s
favorite meals of all time.”

She clucked with delight. “Mine,
too! And that’s what I’m planning for dinner, Katie. I mean, everything but the
beans. Do you want to swing by and join me?”

“Oh, thanks for the invite, but I
still have to catch up on some Sky High business.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for
the past couple of days,” I joked.

“Well, how about a rain check? We
can share a meal next week. Maybe Zack can join us, too.”

“That sounds really nice. I know
he’ll be delighted after eating fast food while he’s in California.”

I heard the oven timer ringing in
the background.

“That’s for me,” Blanche said.
“I’ll be happy to call you back later if you have more questions about Matt or
Marla.”

“Actually, just a couple more quick
ones now?”

“Okay, doll. But let me take care
of the chicken first.”

While she busied herself with the
task, I listened to her humming cheerfully in her kitchen. It sounded like an
old Barry Manilow song, but I wasn’t sure. When she got back on the line, I
asked for the name of the tune.

“I have no idea, sweetheart. It’s
something they were playing at the beauty shop yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, it sounded lovely. You seem
really happy tonight, Blanche.”

“I am happy. Boris is taking me to Las
Vegas next week for a little couple’s getaway.”

“Va-va-va-voom!” I cheered. “It’s
exciting to hear you having such a good time.”

She snickered. “I
always
have a good time, Katie. With or without a man by my side. Life is much more
fun when you have an attitude for gratitude.”

“Amen to that!”

“Now, what else did you need to
know about Marla?” she asked.

“I was more curious about Matt.”

She laughed once more. “Yeah,
‘curious’ is a perfect word for him. The kids used to call him King Doofus. Did
you know that?”

“I wasn’t aware of that.” I felt a
twinge in my heart; underdogs and misfits always elicited a sense of compassion
when I heard about them or met someone who fit the bill.

“It wasn’t nice at all,” Blanche
continued. “They bullied the poor guy something terrible.”

“Did he ever act out against the
other kids?”

“Once or twice, but it wasn’t
anything violent. He mostly called them silly names.”

Another timer chimed in Blanche’s
kitchen.

“That’s for my potatoes!” she said.
“I should probably get going, Katie.”

“Of course. I called at a bad
time.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I’ll be
around later if you have more questions.”

“Maybe just one more?” I said. “Do
you by any chance have a picture of Matt Soble?”

She answered first with a bouncy
laugh. “As a matter of fact, Boris took a shot of Marla, Matt and me last week
when we ran into them at the VFW chili fundraiser.”

“Do you mind sending it to me?”

“Not at all, dear. Let me get the
potatoes out of the oven and I’ll zap that right over to you. My nephew showed
me a new shortcut for attaching things to my emails. I’d been doing it in a
roundabout way on the laptop, but he explained that I can actually do it on my
phone with one of those app thingies.”

“That’s cool. Maybe you can show me
sometime.”

“I’d be delighted to, Katie. Check
your email in a few minutes. I’ll get that picture to you in a sec. And,
whatever you do, please don’t look at my hair, okay? I was caught in an updraft
on the way inside that day, so I look a little bit like an elderly female
version of Bozo the Clown.”

When the photograph arrived later,
my eyes went right to Blanche’s hair. It wasn’t as bad as she’d described it,
although there was a little more frizzy volume than usual. But she looked
bright and happy, with a sideways grin and her head angled toward Boris Hertel.

“They look so sweet,” I murmured to
myself. “Like teenagers on a first date.”

After admiring their engaging
expressions, I glanced at Marla Soble. She looked icy and aloof, with heavy
mascara on her lashes, candy apple red gloss on her lips and an oversized
chunky necklace accentuating her cleavage.

“Floozy,” I grumbled.

My eyes shifted to the man on her
left. I could see the resemblance between mother and son: the same
almond-shaped eyes, fair complexion and dark hair. Matt Soble was neither
smiling nor frowning; his mouth was a flat line and his eyes were lifeless
marbles fixed on the camera.

“King Doofus,” I said, shifting my
attention to his attire. “You dress like a street urchin, Matt.”

He was wearing ripped and faded
jeans, a pair of scuffed Red Wing boots and a blue jacket that seemed about two
sizes too small. His pale hands jutted from the sleeves like fleshy paddles and
the bottom of the coat fell slightly below his waist. As I contemplated why he
would be dressed in such an unsuitable jacket, I noticed a detail that set off
an alarm bell in my brain.

“The buttons,” I said, squinting at
the image on my phone. “Gold with an embossed eagle insignia.” I used my thumb
and forefinger to enlarge the picture for a better view. “Just like the ones on
Ira’s jacket the other night
and
the one found at Carter Devane’s house
after the break-in.”

CHAPTER
32

When Harper came into my office the
following morning, her face told me something was wrong. Before I could ask,
she hurried over and perched on the edge of the desk.

“There’s more bad news,” she said.

I leaned back in my chair. “I can
tell that. Did you break another cake plate?”

Her mouth remained in a rigid frown.
“It’s Trent,” she said. “He’s on line two.”

I hadn’t noticed the light blinking
on the desk phone, but I instinctively reached for it before Harper could say
another word.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in lieu of
a traditional greeting.

“Hey, Katie,” Trent said in a
somber tone. “It’s Boris Hertel.”

I felt my heart as it began to
jackhammer in my chest. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“He’s in the hospital,” Trent said
calmly. “Intensive care. His son found him this morning on the front porch.
He’d been beaten severely, Katie. The doctors aren’t sure he’s going to make
it.”

A filmy image of Boris Hertel came
and went in my mind: the twinkling eyes, jovial smile and ruddy cheeks.

“What do you know?” I asked.

“That’s about it,” Trent said.
“Kevin told us that his dad has been really struggling with booze again.
Despite what most people in town think, Boris hasn’t been sober since he got
back from Betty Ford.”

“I know. He admitted as much to me
when we talked the other day.”

“Did he tell you about his son’s
connection to Carter Devane?”

“Yes. He also suspects that someone
local is responsible for Jacob Lowry’s death as well as the fire at Ira
Pemberton’s place.”

“Kevin shared that with us, too.”

“Did he say why they hadn’t come
forward earlier?”

“Ego,” Trent said. “I mean, he
didn’t
say
that; it’s what I suspect.”

“What about it?”

“I think that Boris and Kevin
thought they could outwit whoever is behind the murder and arson. Kevin’s been
a part of Devane’s inner circle since college, right? And he’s been an on-again,
off-again employee at Minty Dog. I guess he took a leave of absence a few years
ago and never went back. But then Devane reached out to him and dangled a
pretty attractive carrot.”

“Salary and bonus?”

“And then some,” Trent said. “Kevin
was making five-hundred grand up until last month when he quit again.”

“Why’d he walk away from that kind
of money?”

“I don’t usually like to repeat
myself, Katie. But I’d say it’s the same reason—ego. Kevin didn’t reveal all
that much, but I got the impression that he and Devane had some sort of
argument. And I’d guess it was something insurmountable if Kevin left the
company again. He’s told a few people confidentially that he came back to help
his dad, but I suspect it was also because of the friction with Devane.”

“Did you talk to Carter about all
of this?”

Trent laughed. “Cone of silence,”
he said.

“Can you interpret that for me?”

“Sure thing,” he answered. “It’s
the megarich guy defense. ‘Have your people call my people and then my people
won’t return the call from your people.’”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope. I had Denny Santiago and
Amanda Crane go to the Crescent Creek Lodge to invite Mr. Devane in for a
little chitchat. But the guy was gone. Connie said he left about an hour before
Denny and Amanda showed up.”

“Where’d he go? Home to Aspen?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Trent
said. “Maybe he went to the store. Or maybe he’s trying to give us the slip for
some reason. I don’t know where he might be, but I do know for a fact that his private
jet’s still at the airport in Aspen. The PD down there also sent a car to his
house on Willoughby Way, but the housekeeper claimed Devane was still up here in
Crescent Creek.”

“Ah, so now he’s playing a shell
game, huh?”

“I suppose so. But it’s only a
matter of time. I called the PD in Palo Alto and explained the situation.
They’re keeping watch for Devane at his place out there.”

“Even so,” I said. “The guy’s worth
ninety million. He can buy his way in and out of almost anywhere.”

Trent scoffed. “Not on my watch,
Katie. We will find Carter Devane and he will come in for questioning. The
evidence and statements suggest very strongly that there’s a link between his
company and Jacob Lowry’s murder. And now, with the assault on Boris Hertel,
I’d say the stakes are even higher. If the old guy doesn’t make it, that would
be two murders, one case of arson and a whole host of other charges.”

“Do you suspect Devane killed
Lowry?”

“We can’t prove who did it yet,” Trent
said. “But my gut’s telling me that either the guy’s involved or somehow connected
to the person or persons responsible for the burglary as well as the fire and
Lowry’s death.”

“What’s the motive?” I asked.

“One of the oldest in the world,” Trent
said. “Money. I don’t know how all of this goes together yet, but I’m starting
to suspect that Devane’s fortune and the future of his company are smack dab in
the center of the mess.”