Murder for Millions (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 7) (5 page)

CHAPTER
10

The Poke-A-Dot Lounge smelled like beer,
fried food and disinfectant spray when I walked inside an hour later after
running a couple of Sky High errands.

“Hey, there!” Burt Dahlquist called
from behind the bar. “You’re right on time, Katie!”

“For what?”

I quickly scanned the room. A dozen
patrons were scattered down the length of the bar or seated at tables. An old
Dolly Parton song spilled from the overhead speakers and an employee named
Brenda was making her way toward the front of the room with platters of potato
skins and mozzarella sticks.

“Free appetizers for the next
hour,” Burt said proudly. “It’s our grand opening!”

“But you’ve been here for almost
twenty years.”

The middle-aged bartender laughed.
“Right, but this is our first day being open again after Dex Wasserman took out
the kitchen door and half of the back wall with his Silverado a couple of
nights ago. They just finished the repairs this morning around ten.”

My stomach lurched at the news. “I
hadn’t heard,” I said. “Was Dex okay?”

Burt shrugged. “Want to define
‘okay’ for me?”

“Was he hurt?”

“His pride was DOA, but he was
fairly well intoxicated so there were no broken bones. The doctor said he was
so relaxed that he didn’t tense up when he saw the building coming his way.”

“I guess that’s good.”

The ruddy-faced bartender smirked. “For
Dex, yeah. Not so much for the kitchen door.”

“What did they charge him with?”

“Lack of common sense,” Burt said. “And
being hopeless as a box of left shoes.”

I didn’t want to probe further to
hear about the actual charges, so I let it slide. I climbed up onto a barstool,
ordered a club soda with lime and asked Burt if he’d seen Boris Hertel lately.

“Yep.”

“How was he?”

Burt nodded toward the far side of
the room. “You can ask him yourself if you’re so inclined.”

I swiveled around on the stool.
Boris Hertel was sitting at a table with the woman I’d seen earlier climbing
into the BMW in the CVS parking lot.

“Small world,” I said quietly.

“You know her?” Burt asked.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“Well, you two have a lot in
common. Her name is Velma Lancaster. She’s a PI from Utah. Or maybe she said Nevada.
I wasn’t exactly paying close attention.”

“Is that so?”

He dug in his shirt pocket, pulled
out a business card and handed it to me. On the front, in dark lilac ink
against a pale gray background, I saw the woman’s name,  telephone number and email
address. There was no mention of her home state. And nothing about driving
luxury cars with stolen plates or serving as the accomplice to an inebriated
widower when he delivers a startling to-do list.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Burt
said.

I shook off the idle conjecture
about the tall brunette dressed in pink leggings. Then I asked for a glass of
chardonnay to go along with the club soda.

“Drinking on the job, huh?”

I narrowed my gaze. “I’m off the
clock, but thank you very much.”

He chuckled. “I know your deal,
Katie. Your dad used to come in here on Tuesday nights for our Hungarian
goulash while your mom was at her book club.” He paused to wink. “And, by book
club, I mean drinking fancy cocktails with her girlfriends while they pretended
to discuss the newest Joan Collins or what have you.”

“I’ve never heard my mother talk
about a Joan Collins novel before.”

Burt laughed again. “My point
entirely! Because those ladies never read the books, you see. Their club was
all about cocktails and gossip.”

From the lilt in his voice to the
mischievous glint in his eyes, it seemed Burt had intimate knowledge of my
mother’s former book club. When I asked how he knew so much, he puffed out his
chest, stood a little taller and announced that he had been the only male to be
included in the group.

“My ex-girlfriend was a member,” he
explained. “She got me in because I used to leave early on Tuesday nights.”

“Then how’d you know about my dad
and his fondness for goulash?”

Burt shrugged. “You missed a clue
there, Katie.”

“Oh, your
ex
-girlfriend. So
when the romance went south, you got the heave-ho?”

His smile wilted. “Yeah, but it all
worked out in the end. If I was still going out with Lynn and pretending to
read those books, I never would’ve met Kristen.”

“Happily ever after, right?”

He held up his left hand and
pointed at the thin gold band. “Four years and counting,” he said proudly.
“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My heart fluttered as he went on to
describe the bliss and wonder of married life. After he explained how Kristen
resolved the dilemma of his icy feet in bed during the winter—a tale that
involved a spicy foot massage, hot packs warmed in the microwave and mohair
socks—I reminded Burt about my glass of wine.

“Darn it, Katie!” He slapped his
forehead with one hand. “I’m sorry about that. I start talking about my
sweetheart and I’m a goner!”

While he went to the opposite end
of the bar for a fresh bottle of chardonnay, I looked over my shoulder again.
Boris Hertel was now alone at the table. He was vigilantly picking at the label
on his beer bottle and muttering to himself. I quickly slid down from the stool
and hurried across the room.

“Mr. Hertel?”

He looked up, glancing sideways
through beady red eyes. “Who are you?”

I told him my name before reminding
him that we’d talked the day before. “You stopped by Sky High Pies,” I said.
“It was right after we opened in the morning.”

His gaze shifted back to the beer
bottle. “Impossible,” he mumbled. “I was in Houston yesterday.”

The response left me momentarily speechless.
What was the point of talking to someone so muddled and intoxicated? If he
didn’t remember our conversation, how could he possibly tell me anything about
the—

“May I help you?”

The voice was prickly and scornful.
When I turned toward its source, the brunette from the BMW was standing a few
feet behind me. She had one hand on her hip and both eyebrows arched with
suspicion. I held out my arm, but she made it clear that a handshake was out of
the question.

“My name is—”

The jagged voice cut me short. “I
know who you are,” the woman said. “Why are you talking to my client?”

Boris Hertel raised the bottle and finished
the last of his beer. Then he said, “Yeah? Why’re you talking to her client?”

I glanced back at Burt behind the
bar. He was watching the strange interlude as he poured my glass of wine.

“I’m sorry, Miss…” She ignored the
pause, so I kept going. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I saw Mr. Hertel
sitting here alone. And I simply wanted to ask him about something.”

“There’s nothing simple about going
where you’re not wanted, Miss Reed,” the woman said. “In fact, why don’t you go
back to what you were doing? My client and I were just leaving anyway.”

Boris Hertel frowned. “We were? I
need another beer.”

The woman glared at him. “Need?”
she said. “Or want?”

The tipsy man looked at the empty
bottle on the table. “Both,” he mumbled. “It’s a need
and
a want.” A
mischievous smile flickered on his face. “And, by the way, Miss Lancaster, it’s
nonnegotiable.”

“Not here,” she said. “We can find
another place where we won’t be bothered. And, by the way, it’s
Mrs
.
Lancaster.”

I watched silently as she reached
into the expensive handbag looped around one wrist, pulled out a twenty and
dropped it on the table. Then she grabbed the empty bottle and headed for the
bar.

“Mr. Hertel?” I said softly.

He pushed the chair away from the
table. “Just leave it,” he said, glancing nervously at the woman. “My son and I
have got a plan to stop them, Miss Reed. And it’ll work perfectly well as long
as you keep yourself on the periphery.”

I checked on Velma Lancaster. She
was talking to Burt, waving one hand through the air like a knife gone rogue.

“What’s going on?” I asked as Boris
stood and turned toward the door.

“Never mind that!” He suddenly sounded
less inebriated, as if the slurred words and mumbled cadence were an act intended
to mask ulterior motives. “Just focus on the things I left with you yesterday. There’s
no telling who to trust at this point. My son and I wanted you to be aware of
what’s going on so you can—”

“Okay, that’s about enough,” Velma
Lancaster said. “Let’s go, Boris.”

I reached out and took his arm.
“Wait just a second,” I said. “Before you go, I’d like to ask you one
question.”

Her eyes gleamed with contempt. “The
list?” she asked. “Is that what you wanted to discuss?”

I nodded. “Yes, actually. Do you
know about it?”

She pursed her lips and raised her
chin slightly. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the situation with you.”

“But I—”

Velma Lancaster tugged Boris
Hertel’s arm from my grasp. Then she guided him toward the door, simultaneously
whispering in his ear and glaring at me until they were gone.

CHAPTER
11

Viveca and I had agreed to meet for
dinner at Café Fleur that evening at six-thirty. I briefly considered canceling
our plans so I could do some online sleuthing into Velma Lancaster, but Viv had
called to remind me and the excitement in her voice was irresistible. We hadn’t
been out together in weeks, so I decided waiting two hours to research the
strange PI with the silver BMW and stolen license plates would be better than
disappointing my neighbor.

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing
this!” she said as I shrugged off my jacket and joined her in a booth. “I want
to hear how things are going with you and Zack.”

I smiled and pointed at my face.
“Here you go! This grin is way more informative than anything I could ever
say.”

Viv made a face. “Oh, c’mon! I want
to hear all the juicy details. Have you guys booked the trip to Mexico yet?”

“I ordered new beach towels,” I
said. “Does that count?”

She giggled. “Not really. But I
suppose every little step forward will get you to the goal eventually.”

Our server approached the table
with two wine glasses and a bottle of pinot grigio on ice.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Viv said.
“I ordered this while I was waiting.”

“That’s perfect! I need a glass
after my latest weird encounter with Boris Hertel.”

We both watched as the server
uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount for Viv. She took a quick sip,
pronounced it amazing and the man filled both glasses to the midway point.

“Would you like to hear about our
specials tonight?” he said, returning the wine to the ice bucket.

“We’re not in a hurry,” Viveca told
him. “Maybe we’ll enjoy this for a few minutes before we think about food.”

After the server nodded silently and
drifted back to the kitchen, Viv looped right back to my comment about Boris
Hertel.

“That’s the drunk guy who was in
Sky High yesterday, right?”

I nodded.

“Did he come back or something?”

“No, I ran into him at the
Poke-A-Dot because my mom told me that he was a regular.”

Viveca cringed. “Yuck! I cannot
stand that place! It just stinks of grease and desperation.”

“It’s not the most upscale joint in
town, that’s for sure. But I wasn’t looking for ambiance. I wanted to see if I
could talk to Boris.”

“And?” Viv said, sipping her wine.

“Good news, bad news,” I answered.
“I found him, but he was with a supercilious private investigator.”

She took another sip from her
glass. “Hmmm, this wine is delicious! Did you try it yet?”

I sampled the pinot and agreed with
my neighbor. “Is it too soon to order another bottle?” I asked. “Or should we
pace ourselves?”

Viv smiled, drank more wine and
motioned for the server. When he reached our table, she asked for spinach dip
and root vegetable chips.

“I’m totally starving,” she said
after he left again. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. That sounds really
yummy.”

“So? What was that about Utah?”

“Oh, the PI that was with Boris
Hertel,” I said. “Burt Dahlquist told me that she might be from Utah.”

Viveca frowned. “Okay, now I’m
lost. What does Burt have to do with anything? And why was a private detective
from Utah here in Crescent Creek with Boris Hertel?”

I raised my wine. “That, my friend,
is the question of the day.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Are you kidding? I had just approached
Boris when she waltzed up and shut me down. After that, they left the bar.”

“What about Burt Dahlquist?” Viv
said, reaching for the wine bottle. “Did you ask him?”

“The second they were out the
door,” I said. “He told me that she and Boris had been talking to some guy before
I arrived.”

“Could it be Boris Hertel’s son?”

I thought about the question for a
moment or two. Trent had mentioned something about Hertel’s daughter-in-law,
but I didn’t know anything about the man’s son other than his first name.

“Are we ready to order?” the server
said, suddenly appearing beside the table.

Viv smiled. “Katie? Should we hear
about the specials?”

I nodded and the man launched into
an energetic presentation about entrée selections prepared especially for the
night. I barely listened as he talked, but Viveca was hanging on every word.
She asked a few clarifying questions while I was replaying the bizarre
encounter at the Poke-A-Dot in my mind. By the time I realized they were both
staring at me, I felt my face flush pink with embarrassment.

“Sorry, sorry!” I gushed. “I’m
going to have the grilled salmon with asparagus.”

Viv ordered the same thing. When the
server left, she asked me again about Boris Hertel.

“What about him?” I said.

“Do you think the woman at the Poke-A-Dot
could be his daughter?”

I shook my head. “Boris and his
wife only had one child, a son named Kevin. But he’s married, so I suppose
there’s a chance the woman with Boris this afternoon could be…” My phone buzzed
in my purse. “…married to Mr. Hertel’s son.”

I glanced at Viv.

“Go ahead,” she said. “It could be
a pie emergency!”

When I pulled out the phone, I saw a
text from Trent Walsh:
911. Call me ASAP!

“It’s urgent,” I told Viveca. “Do you
mind?”

She smiled and picked up her wine
glass. “Not at all, sister. Knock yourself out.”

I quickly dialed Trent and waited.
I could tell from his voice when he answered that it wasn’t good news.

“Remember that list?” he said. “The
one written like a poem?”

“Yes. What’s wrong?”

“Ira Pemberton’s body shop,” Trent
said. “It’s engulfed in flames. Somebody came in, clocked Ira on the head and
knocked him out cold. Then they poured accelerant all over the place and lit a
match.”

“Is Ira okay?”

“Physically, yeah. But the rest of
him isn’t doing too well. I’d say he’s in a pretty deep state of shock.”

“Is he at the med center?”

“He should be, but the guy’s more
stubborn than a pig-headed mule.”

“Did the EMTs at least check him
over?”

“They did. Well, Robin Bellmore
did. She and Andy Davidson answered the call. Ira took one look at Robin and
said she could examine anything and everything she wanted.”

“Okay, so it sounds like the ornery
lobe in his brain wasn’t damaged when he got clobbered.”

Trent snickered. “No doubt. But I’d
like to talk to you again, Katie. We’re obviously dealing with something more
than a drunk guy delivering a scribbled to-do list.”

“I can be there in ten minutes,” I
said.

“It can wait until tomorrow. I’ve
got my hands full on the scene at the moment, and there’s no telling how long
I’ll be here.”

“Okay. Do you want to call me later
when you’re finished?”

“That works,” he said.

“Don’t worry about waking me, okay?
At the moment, I need to satisfy my curiosity more than I need sleep.”