Murder for Millions (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 7) (15 page)

CHAPTER
33

After Julia and Harper departed for
the day, I called Zack to see how he was doing in California. When it went to
voicemail, I left a message and grabbed my keys before walking outside to the
car. Although I didn’t know Boris Hertel and his son all that well, I still
felt compelled to make a brief stop at the hospital to see how they were both
doing. Before I started the engine, the phone whirred and Dina Kincaid’s office
number at the Crescent Creek PD popped up on the display.

“Katie?” she said after I answered.
“It’s Dina.”

“What’s going on? Have you
recovered from the encounter with Mrs. Lancaster?”

She said something disparaging
under her breath. Then she added, “What are you talking about? I could take
that mean girl down with one withering glance.”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” I
said. “She’s not my favorite person at the moment either.”

“I doubt if she’ll ever be anyone’s
favorite,” Dina commented. “She’s got an arrogant streak a mile wide running
through her core. People like that are a burr under my saddle.”

“A very large burr,” I agreed. “With
a very expensive wardrobe and flawless skin.”

She laughed. “Botox. And maybe some
of that elephant placenta goop that I—”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear about placenta
goop.”

“Sorry, Katie! One of our
dispatchers reads
The National Enquirer
. She was telling me about a new
miracle elixir that takes years off in just a few hours.”

“Oh! In that case, sign me up!” I
joked. “Although I’m pretty skeptical about most of those claims.”

“Same here,” Dina said. “I’m also
skeptical about Marla Soble. I talked to her after our little chat with Mrs.
Lancaster.”

“What did you find out?”

“Botox,” she said again. “Marla has
even smoother skin than Velma.”

I chuckled. “I can see that. She also
has a reputation for being pretty shifty. Blanche Speltzer told me a story
about Marla that made my hair curl.”

“Was it the one about the male
stripper in Las Vegas?”

“Yes! And it sounded like a very
adult version of the game Clue, right? It was the hunky male stripper in the
thousand-dollar hotel suite with the tube of extra strength super adhesive, the
vial of gold glitter and the middle-aged rich lady from Colorado.”

“Marla said the EMTs had to use
something that stung really badly to separate her caboose from the hunk’s
shoulders.”

We laughed together for a few
seconds.

“Who on earth would put glue on someone’s
skin anyway?” Dina hooted.

“Marla Soble,” I said. “She told
Blanche that they were a few hundred miles past tipsy and he offered to hoist
her up on his shoulders so she could get a better view of the desert at midnight from the balcony of her suite.”

“Well, that makes absolutely no
sense whatsoever,” Dina scoffed.

“Unless you’re in Vegas and the
hotel keeps sending complimentary bottles of expensive wine to your room.”

“True. I’ve never been in that
position myself, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Okay, back to Marla,” I said. “You
mentioned that you’re skeptical about her. Was it something she said?”

Dina snickered faintly into the
phone. “More like
every
thing she told me, Katie. It was just a gut
feeling, you know? I asked a dozen or more questions—her whereabouts at the
time of Jacob Lowry’s murder, whether she knew Carter Devane, if she’d seen or
heard anything suspicious about the fire at Pemberton’s body shop.”

“And?”

“And she had an answer for every question,”
Dina said. “She’s got an alibi for the entire day leading up to the fire at
Ira’s place. Which means she didn’t kill Jacob Lowry
or
set the blaze.”

“Okay, so that’s one name off the
list,” I said.

Dina didn’t respond. I waited for a
moment, but I heard only silence on the other end.

“Detective?”

“Oh, sorry, Katie. I was just…”

When her voice faded again, I asked
if she was okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “But I
just got a text from Tyler Armstrong. He’s at the hospital talking to Kevin
Hertel about the attack on Boris.”

“I was actually driving over there myself,”
I said. “I wanted to pay my respects and let Kevin know that we’re thinking
about his father.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“I know my dad would want me to,” I
said. “And my mom. Before Ira’s wife died, the four of them were pretty close.
I haven’t called Florida yet to tell my parents, but I will as soon as I have a
chance to talk with Kevin and see how Boris is doing.”

“That’s what Tyler just texted me
about,” she said. “Boris is awake now. They’d sedated him pretty heavily when
he first arrived at the hospital.”

“Is Tyler getting a statement?”

She laughed. “That was the second
part of his text. I guess the combination of medication, being confined in bed
and not being able to watch baseball last night has left Boris in a fairly
uncooperative mood.”

“Think Kevin can mediate?”

I heard her laugh again before she
told me that Kevin Hertel was being even less helpful than his father.

“Must run in the family,” I said.

“Pigheadedness can be an inherited
trait.”

“You’ve got that right! We both know
that from all the years we’ve spent around Deputy Chief Walsh.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“It’s too late,” I confessed. “I’ve
told Trent on many occasions that he’s stubborn, inflexible and a P in the A.”

CHAPTER
34

The waiting area at the hospital
was a small alcove tucked between the elevators and a storage closet. It was
around four-thirty when I arrived. Kevin Hertel was the lone occupant, sitting
in one of the brown upholstered chairs with his elbows planted on both knees
and his face in his hands. A paper cup decorated with vibrant blue and green
flowers sat on the floor between his feet. From the lack of steam, I guessed
the coffee inside had cooled while he stared at it glumly.

“Kevin?”

He grunted at the sound of his name
and his head jerked back.

“Sorry,” I said gently. “I didn’t
mean to startle you.”

One side of his mouth went up,
forming a dozy grin. “You didn’t. I’ve been waiting for the doc, so I thought…”
He reached down, surrounded the cup with one meaty hand and then took a long
sip. “Are you here visiting someone?”

“I wanted to check on your dad,” I
said.

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I heard about what
happened. I was concerned.”

An attendant pushed a cart loaded
with bed linen down the hallway past the waiting area. One wheel squeaked and
whined as the load of fresh sheets, towels and blankets lumbered along. As he
approached the storage closet, the man slowed the cart, glancing briefly in our
direction. When our eyes met, he lifted his chin slightly and nodded a silent
greeting.

“Would you be here if my father and
I hadn’t approached you about my situation?” asked Kevin.

“What do you mean?”

“If we hadn’t asked for your help?”

Between the strain in his voice and
the wary look in his eyes, it was obvious the guy was slowly approaching the
end of his rope. I couldn’t blame him. Someone had been sending anonymous
threats and his name was on the list. They’d burglarized one home, killed an
innocent man, set fire to a local business and violently assaulted his father.
I’d never experienced similar circumstances, but I’d seen enough during my days
as a private investigator to know that everyone has a breaking point.

“Yes, Kevin. I would be here. Our
fathers are friends. They used to play cards together all the time. When my dad
heard what happened last night, he called me right away, sick with worry about
the news. I didn’t tell him about the anonymous threats because he would just
fret even more.”

He managed to shrug and smile
before turning his gaze to the back of one hand. He distractedly rubbed it with
the opposite index finger, as if he was trying to erase a smudge of ink or dirt
from the skin.

“How’s your dad doing?” I asked
finally.

He stopped massaging his hand. “He
keeps trying to talk, but it comes out more like gibberish than real words. I
can tell that he’s really struggling to say something, even with the heavy
sedation and broken jaw.”

I winced. “Oh, no. I hadn’t heard
any details. They broke his jaw?”

“It was bad,
really
bad. A
broken jaw, deep lacerations on his face, a fractured arm. Whoever did this to
my dad was out for more than his wallet. The cops suspect it was somehow
personal, like the guy that attacked my father was settling some kind of
score.”

“With your dad?”

He nodded. “It’s crazy, but that’s
the theory. My father asked for paper and a pencil so he could write notes. The
most important one was that he’s pretty sure he’s heard the guy’s voice before,
so that should be helpful.”

“The person that attacked him?”

“Yeah. He said it was a man with a
low, kind of raspy quality to the way he talked. My dad’s still pretty
confused. He said he’d heard the voice before, but couldn’t come up with a name
yet. The doctor said it could be the medication. And it’s weird. My dad
couldn’t tell us the man’s name, but he was one-hundred percent certain that the
guy kept saying that he shouldn’t have gone to your place the other night.”

My heart shuddered. If the person
responsible for attacking Kevin’s father knew that he’d come to my apartment,
that meant the assailant was either following Boris or had somehow learned
about the visit through another means.

“What is it?” Kevin was saying when
I brushed aside the strands of theory and conjecture. “Your expression changed.
Do you know something about my father’s assault?”

I shook my head. “No, but I think
it’s apparent that someone was—”

“Yeah, I’m way ahead of you. They
followed my dad to your place and then clocked him after he got back home.”

“Where did the attack take place?”

“Just inside the front door,” Kevin
answered. “My dad went in, reached for the light switch and smelled the guy’s
aftershave. Then the guy clobbered him with a roundhouse punch. After that, I
guess dad stumbled around and ended up outside on the front porch.”

“Who do you think did it?” I asked.

Kevin’s face tightened as his fingers
folded into chunky fists. “If I knew that,” he said, “you and me wouldn’t be
talking right now.”

I took a breath. I understood the
impatience and anger. I’d been there myself, back in Chicago when I was dropped
into a murky ocean of directionless rage by my mentor’s death, my boyfriend’s
betrayal and the impending loss of my apartment.

“Do you want me to leave?’

Kevin shook his head and then shifted
in his chair, a slight tilt to the left. His hands slowly relaxed and the
herky-jerky tempo of his breathing began to level out.

“What about Carter Devane?”

The smirk on Kevin’s face was
sharp. “What about him?”

“Do you think he’s responsible?”

A rowdy laugh slipped from behind
the simpering expression. “Why would he attack my dad or burn down someone’s
body shop?”

“I did a little checking,” I
explained. “Mr. Devane didn’t file a claim with the insurance company for the
things taken during the burglary.”

Kevin laughed again. “So? The guy’s
got enough money to buy a diamond mine, let alone replace some flashy jewelry
that his wife never even wears.”

“Okay, so you don’t think it’s a
big deal that he—”

“No, I don’t. If you want to see a
big deal, take a look at my father. He’s got tubes coming and going from every
possible spot on his body. There are pins and screws holding his shattered
bones together. And there’s a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll lose the sight in
his left eye.” He paused, swallowing hard. “That’s a big deal, Kate. Not some
stupid old book and a pair of gaudy earrings.”

We sat quietly for a moment,
contemplating the inexplicable events of the past few days. Kevin began tapping
one foot, a slow and steady tempo that eventually started to get on my nerves.

“I guess Carter’s housekeeper
discovered the break-in,” I said finally, just to keep the flow going and
hopefully stop the anxious patter of his toes.

He wasn’t interested in the topic.
“I’m going to check on my dad,” he said, pushing out of the chair. “If you want
to know about the burglary so bad, why don’t you go down to Aspen?”

As he slowly walked along the
gleaming linoleum floor toward his father’s room, I realized that Kevin Hertel
had a point. I quickly pulled out my phone, called Trent and asked him for
Carter Devane’s address.

“Why?” he said.

“I was thinking about driving down
and having a look around,” I told him.

“A look around Aspen? You’ve seen
it before, Katie. Probably a thousand times.”

“True,” I said. “But I’ve never
been to a millionaire’s place to ask his housekeeper a few questions.”

Trent groaned. “What are you up to,
Katie?”

“Following the clues,” I said.
“What about you, Deputy Chief Walsh?”

“I’d like to be enjoying the first
bites of a burrito over at Viva Royale,” he said. “But I guess I’ll sit tight
and help Dina interview a suspect in another case we’re working on.”

“Probably the best choice, big guy.
Take care of your professional responsibilities first. Then go over and indulge
your passion for spicy food.”

CHAPTER
35

Although I’d read the police report
in Trent’s office about the burglary at Carter Devane’s place, I was still
interested in talking to the single witness quoted in the Aspen PD documents: a
British woman named Cressida Falls who worked as the family’s live-in
housekeeper.

On the drive from Crescent Creek to
the posh ski resort, I listened to a CD that my sister had sent me recently.
Labeled WHAT KATIE NEEDS TO RELAX, the disc featured six uninterrupted hours of
soothing sounds from nature: waves splashing on a beach, birds chirping in the
trees and rain drops thrumming against windowpanes. I’d scoffed at the gift
when it first arrived. Whenever I needed to relax, I usually turned to a glass
of wine, a long bubble bath or a calming slice of chocolate cake with raspberry
sauce. But I’d listened to the CD a few times while driving and the restful
sounds actually did make me feel less anxious.

I was about twenty minutes into the
chirping birds section when I reached the log-and-stone mansion in Aspen where
Carter Devane lived part of the year. It was located on Willoughby Way between Red
Mountain and the Roaring Fork River; a luxurious six-bedroom residence that
seemed just right for someone who’d recently sold their company for millions of
dollars.

I parked my car at the edge of the
expansive brick auto court and walked toward the covered entryway. As I reached
for the distressed brass button mounted on a wide hewn log, the front door
suddenly opened.

“May I help you?” asked a tall
woman with pale blue eyes and dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. From
the faint accent and crisp apron, I guessed she was the housekeeper who
discovered the burglary.

“Are you Cressida?” I asked.

She confirmed her identity with a
subtle smile. “And you are?”

“My name is Kate Reed.” I held out
my hand, but she ignored the gesture so I dropped the arm. “I’m consulting with
the police in Crescent Creek about some incidents that we believe are linked to
the break-in here a couple of weeks ago.”

Her smile was fixed and resolute,
the sort of expression that often accompanies cagey witnesses who know more
than they’re willing to admit.

“I understand that you discovered
the burglary,” I continued. “You’d gone out to the store and came home to find
the back door open and a couple of valuable items missing.”

The smile dwindled to a faint
smirk. “What was your name again?”

“Kate Reed.”

“And what do you mean by
‘consulting with’ the authorities?”

“I used to be a private
investigator,” I said. “The police in Crescent Creek have asked me to help them
a time or two with investigations.”

“That’s lovely,” she said. “But
this isn’t Crescent Creek. It’s Aspen. So…” Her eyelashes fluttered like manic
butterflies. “…I’m not sure what there is to discuss.”

“I know it may seem out of the
ordinary,” I began. “But the situation in—”

“It’s more than out of the
ordinary,” she cut in. “It’s also out of the jurisdiction of the Crescent Creek
Police Department.”

A sudden gust of wind came up from
behind, sending a chill through me that was followed by an involuntary shudder.

“That’s quite a breeze,” the
housekeeper said. “Why don’t you step inside so we can finish this?”

Her sudden swerve from terse and
frosty to gracious left me smiling.

“Yes, yes,” she said. “I know. I
seem like an ogre, but I’m really not. It’s just that…well, working for Mr.
Devane here at the Aspen property comes with its share of uninvited lunacy.”

I followed her into the living
room, expecting to sit on one of the overstuffed love seats. But we stopped
just over the threshold and stood together not far from a hulking gray vacuum.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” I offered. “I
interrupted your work.”

Cressida rolled her eyes. “My work
is never done,” she said with a lighthearted inflection. “Whether the family is
here or not, there are always things to do. Not to mention the revolving door
for Mr. Devane’s friends. He’s forever inviting people to stay and enjoy the
area, whether he’s in town or not.”

“That’s very generous of him.”

She pressed her lips into a tight
grin. “Yes, maybe
too
generous, considering that things go missing on a
regular basis. But it’s not my place to say.”

Her remark seemed like an
invitation, so I asked her to explain.

“Well, the most recent theft was
definitely shocking,” she said. “The rare book and expensive earrings are among
the most valuable of Mr. Devane’s belongings to vanish. But, over the years,
he’s had high-priced bottles of wine walk right out the door along with
designer clothes, a ten-thousand dollar Rolex and quite a few other things of a
similar nature.”

“Did he report those to the
police?”

She chuckled. “Heavens, no! He just
sends one of his personal assistants out to buy replacements. It wasn’t until
the most recent incident that he called the authorities.”

“You mean the burglary a couple of
weeks ago?”

She nodded.

“Do you suspect one of Mr. Devane’s
friends might be responsible for the break-in?”

“That would be very surprising,”
she said. “The people that Mr. Devane knows wouldn’t sneak in while the house
is empty. They’d simply get sticky fingers as they packed up to leave after a
visit.” She laughed again. “At least, that’s how it’s always happened in the
past.”

“It sounds like you’re pretty
certain of that.”

“
Very
certain,” she said. “I
once watched an actresses who’d received both an Oscar and an Emmy pack a
bottle of 1951 Penfolds Grange Hermitage into her suitcase.”

“I’m afraid that I’m not much of a
wine connoisseur,” I admitted. “Is that a good one?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “It was among
a very limited number of bottles in the entire world,” she explained. “It was
worth forty-thousand dollars, give or take a few.”

“Wow! That better be an excellent
bottle!”

Cressida nodded, gently fluttering
her eyelashes. “Everything Mr. Devane owns is excellent. He’s done very well
for himself in business, and he treats himself very well in life.”

“How about recent visitors?” I
asked. “Have there been houseguests who might’ve accidentally packed the rare
book or earrings?”

She frowned. “No! Absolutely
impossible! The last guest was actually three months ago, a very sweet British
actress and her family. She and Mr. Devane are working on a project together
about an Olympic skier. He suggested she stay in Aspen for a couple of weeks to
get a feel for life in the mountains.”

“Okay, so…” I hesitated, hoping the
woman would take the hint. When she didn’t, I said, “Anyone else? Perhaps a
local resident that stopped by? Or a member of Mr. Devane’s extended family? Someone
from his group of friends?”

She scoffed. “The only visitor we’ve
had lately was a
very
rude man. I still haven’t figured out for the life
of me how they know one another.”

“Because they were so different?”

She smiled. “That’s putting it
mildly. Mr. Devane is urbane and worldly; the visitor was gruff and
discourteous, the type of person that none of us enjoy spending time with.”

“Do you know his name?”

The woman shook her head.

“Did Mr. Devane seem to know the visitor?”

“Yes. And he didn’t like him.”

“Can you describe the man?”

As she slowly remembered details
about the visitor, I made a mental list of the characteristics: tall, short
hair, loud voice and a seemingly endless barrage of obscenities when Carter
Devane refused to loan the man a sizeable amount of money.

“How much did he ask for?” I said.

Cressida smiled. “Two hundred
thousand,” she said, her mouth lifting into a sheepish grin. “And he wanted it
in cash that very day.”

“Could you guess how old he was?”

She scowled. “I’ve cared for toddlers
with better manners! But I’m really not that good at guessing ages. My twin
sister was always much better at it than me.”

“A twin sister? How lovely is
that?”

“On a good day, it’s a blessing.”

“And on the others?”

“A curse!” She smiled and giggled.
“But I’m actually joking. My sister and I get along famously most of the time.”

I nodded. “I know how that goes. My
sister lives in Denver, so we don’t see one another as often as we’d like. But
we talk and text pretty frequently.”

The woman’s smile tightened and she
glanced at her watch. “I hate to be rude, but there are a few things that I
need to attend to before Mr. Devane arrives later.”

“Oh, of course. I appreciate your
time today, Miss Falls. Is there anything else you remember about the man that
visited?”

She tapped one finger against her
lips. “Well, let me see…”

“How was he dressed?” I added. “A
business suit? Casual clothes? Or maybe—”

“A knit cap,” she cut in. “White
with navy stripes and a big black stain on it.” She lifted her hand and pointed
at her right temple. “On this side, right above his ear. And blue jeans,
relatively new ones, with a jacket of some kind that had gold or brass
buttons.”

When she stopped and shook her
head, I waited to see if more details surfaced. She kept tapping her finger on
her mouth, concentrating on the appearance and demeanor of Carter Devane’s
unwelcome guest. After a few moments of silence I was getting ready to thank
her again and make my exit when her eyes suddenly went wide with excitement.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of
this first!” she gushed. “He kept saying this one thing, over and over.”

“What was that?”

“A phrase,” she answered. “It’s
something people say a lot, but he twisted it around in an unusual way.”

I smiled. “Do you mind telling me
what he said?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.
But then I need to get back to work. Mr. Devane drove down to Denver earlier
for a meeting. He’s stopping here briefly before going back up to Crescent
Creek. I promised him the floors would be finished by the time he got here.”
She giggled faintly. “He’s a very nice man,” she added. “But he
hates
the sound of the vacuum cleaner.”

“Well, we all have our pet peeves,”
I said.

Her laugh got louder. “Absolutely,
we do! I hate olives stuffed with cheese! And my sister thinks…” She suddenly
stopped. “I’m sorry about that. I have a tendency to ramble when I chat.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Cressida gave me another broad smile and started walking toward the door.

“Do you want me to have Mr. Devane
call you?”

“No, that’s not necessary. But…you
were going to tell me what the man said…”

She blushed. “Oh, yes! My mind’s on
cleaning and laundry. Uh, the man that came by…the
rude
man with the
stained cap…before he left that afternoon, he kept saying that Mr. Devane
didn’t want to be ‘in the wrong place at not the right time.’” She frowned.
“Isn’t that odd? ‘In the wrong place at not the right time’? Don’t most people
say ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time’?”

“Yes, under most circumstances,” I
said, reaching for my phone. “I promise this is the last thing that I’ll ask you.”
I quickly opened the attached photos from the email that Dina Kincaid had sent
to me. “Do you mind looking at a couple of pictures?”

She smiled. “I really need to get
back to work.”

“I know. And I promise this will
take just a sec.”

I held up my phone and began
swiping through the images of Kevin Hertel, Matt Soble, Ira Pemberton and Jacob
Lowry.

“Do you recognize the man who
confronted Mr. Devane?”

As I scrolled through the
portraits, one image slowly replacing the next, the woman suddenly called out
and pointed at my phone.

“That’s him!” she said firmly. “I’d
recognize that lunatic anywhere, with or without that grease-stained hat!”