Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (5 page)

CHAPTER
7

Viveca was slumped in the guest
chair in my office when I found her a few minutes later. Julia had fixed her up
with a cappuccino and blueberry scone, but they sat untouched on my desk.

“What’s going on?” I asked, rushing
through the door. “Harper said you were pretty upset.”

Her gaze drifted slowly toward me.
I gasped quietly when I saw her face: red eyes, puffy cheeks and smeared
mascara. Her hair was a swirl of tangles and there was a grayish tinge to her
skin.

“Oh, Viv!” I hurried over and knelt
beside the chair. “What’s happened?”

She sat up, smoothed a few wrinkles
from her skirt and slowly lifted her eyes again. “Everything fell apart in the
last couple of hours,” she said quietly. “The man that was poisoned—you know,
my brother’s neighbor? He was found dead in his hospital bed. And whoever did
it left a note threatening to do the same thing to my brother!”

I dropped into my desk chair.
“Okay, hang on a sec,” I said. “Repeat what you just told me.”

After she went back through the
chain of events again, I asked what her brother was planning to do.

“I’m not sure,” Viveca answered. “I
was driving when I got the news. I pulled off the road because my hands were
shaking so badly I didn’t think I could keep from wrecking the car. And once I
regained my composure, I came here. I thought maybe you could help me figure
out what to do next.”

“Who told you about this?”

“My brother. But when I called back
to ask him a few more questions, it went right to voicemail.” She folded her
arms across her chest. “Same thing when I tried his girlfriend’s phone.”

“Has he already been in touch with
the police?”

I waited for her to answer. But
when her eyes slid down again to stare at her hands, intertwined and motionless
in her lap, I asked her to tell me what she was thinking.

“Oh, uh…” She suddenly sat up again
and squared her shoulders. “Sorry, Kate. I’m pretty much a wreck at this
point.”

I reached over and patted her knee.
“It’s okay. Take a breath.”

The office was silent. I could hear
Julia singing an old Simon and Garfunkel tune in the kitchen. I listened to the
melody, thinking about how much my mother loved the song.
Sail on silver
girl, sail on by.
Viveca sniffled softly before reaching out, lifting the
cappuccino and holding it just below her chin.
Your time has come to shine.
She
let the plumes of steam rise up and dampen her face, smiling briefly before
enjoying a leisurely sip.
All your dreams are on their way.
When she put
the cup back on my desk, she seemed calmer and more composed.

“Thank you for being so amazing,
Kate,” she said eventually.

I smiled and asked her to continue
telling me about her brother. “I want to know whatever you’ve learned,” I said.
“And there’s no rush. Take as much time as you need.”

“I don’t know what else to say.”
She raised her chin. “I don’t know what he’s doing or where he might be.”

“And his phone?” I asked.

“I called a million times,” she
said. “He doesn’t answer.” She heaved another breathy sigh and fell back in the
chair. “I’m freaking out, Kate. My brother’s all I have left. Our parents are
both gone. My marriage is over. The guy I was dating got back together with his
ex.” She trembled against a sudden shiver and buried her face in the crook of
her arm. “Everything’s falling apart right around me. Nothing is going the way
I thought it would.”

“Okay, Viv?”

She muttered something that was
lost against her sleeve.

“Sweetie?” I gently tapped her
knee. “Can you do me a favor and sit up?”

It took a moment, but she
eventually unfolded her body, pressed against the chair and stared at me with
unblinking eyes.

“The most important thing you can
do for Tim right now is keep it together,” I said. “There will be plenty of
time later for tears. And I hope they’re shed for joy and nothing more.”

She swallowed and rubbed her eyes.
“I’m so tired, Kate. And I can’t believe he just…I don’t know…it’s like he
just…
vanished
.”

As I watched her face, I wondered
how I’d respond if my brother or sister was in a similar situation. In all my
years as a PI, I was always amazed at the strength, courage and tenacity that
some people revealed during difficult and trying times. In Viveca’s case,
despite the smattering of tears and despondent remarks, she remained a
resilient, plucky woman.

After we sat quietly for a few
seconds, I cleared my throat to get her attention. “Hey, Viv?” I waited until
she’d fixed her eyes on mine. “Maybe your brother didn’t vanish. Is it possible
that he and Delilah went somewhere to hide? I mean, can you blame them after
what’s happened?”

“But where?” she asked. “He’s got
that place in Denver, but it’s a tiny two-bedroom apartment.” She held her
hands a few inches apart to stress the minuscule size of her brother’s home.
“And they can’t hide at Delilah’s since she lives in the same building.” She
waited for a nod of confirmation from me before going on. “And the only other
place he stays is here in Crescent Creek.”

“Maybe they’re with friends,” I
suggested.

She considered the idea and called
off a short list of men and women who might invite her brother to sleep on the
sofa or use a spare room.

“Do you have numbers for any of
them?” I asked.

Viveca shook her head. “No, but
maybe if I went to his place…” She looked up, her eyes registering a glimmer of
hope. “I know his password,” she said. “If his computer is there, maybe I can
find something useful, like phone numbers or addresses.” Her mouth shifted into
a hazy grin. “Do you still have time to go into Denver today, Kate? I don’t
know if I can make the drive down and back by myself, so can you go with me?”

CHAPTER
8

It took less than fifteen minutes
to explain my sudden departure to Julia, change my clothes and return calls
from two special order customers who would only talk to me.

“But weren’t you planning to go
later in the afternoon?” Harper asked as I headed for the front door. “Izzy
Yoder is coming in sometime soon to talk with you about her mother’s birthday
cake.”

I stopped in the middle of the
dining room. “We don’t have an appointment,” I said. “Did she just call?”

Harper nodded. “From the road.
She’s running errands and asked if you were here.”

“Well, please apologize and tell her
that something unexpected came up,” I said. “And maybe ask if I can call her
tonight after eight. We should be back by then.”

Harper smiled. “I’ll try, but you
know how Izzy can be.”

“Yes, I do!” I turned and resumed
my trek toward the door. “She can be an absolute angel.” I grabbed the handle
and gave it a tug. “Or she can be a wildcat out for blood.”

Harper responded with a nervous
giggle. “Well, I hope she’s wearing her halo and wings today or I’ll be turning
in a request for hazard pay and workmen’s comp.”

I gave one final goodbye wave,
closed the door and hurried down the front stairs. Viveca’s midnight blue BMW
flew around the corner and up the driveway as I hit the bottom step.

“I figured it might be faster if I
drove,” she shouted above an old Alan Jackson song blaring from the speakers.
“You okay with country music?”

I popped open the passenger door,
slid in beside Viv and buckled my seatbelt. “I’m okay with anything that’ll get
us to Denver and back home again in one piece.”

As we drove through Crescent Creek,
I sent a quick text to Trent. He’d mentioned a detective friend at the Denver
Police Department, and I thought it might be a good idea to get the guy’s
contact info before Viveca and I reached the city.

Why do you need Adam’s number?
Trent responded in typical overprotective mode.
Something wrong?

I was sending a quick reply—
Everything
okay with—
when my phone rang and Trent’s name appeared on the screen.

“Viv, I’ve got to take this,” I
said.

She smiled and lowered the volume
on Alan Jackson singing “I’ll Love You All Over Again.”

“Hey, Trent?” I said as soon as the
call connected. “Can you just shoot me Adam’s number? I’ll explain everything
when you get back from Grand Junction.”

He groaned. “Uh-oh. That’s a sure
sign that you’re in some sort of trouble.”

“No, it’s not. But it
is
a
sure sign that I can’t really talk right now.”

“What’s the matter, Miss Reed?” he
said in his Bart Simpson voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

I told him that I wasn’t joking. I asked
him again to send Adam Caldwell’s telephone number. Then I announced that I was
hanging up.

“Kate, don’t do that!”

“Jeez Louise,” I said. “What is
it?”

“I’m not coming back until
tomorrow,” he answered. “The stenographer had some kind of seizure this morning
before we could finish up. I have to stay over one more night.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “We can do
dinner another time.”

“Thanks. I knew you’d understand.”

“I hope the stenographer’s okay.”

“She is,” Trent said through a
light burst of static. “I guess her doctor gave her a new prescription and it—”

The line went dead before he
finished describing the woman’s condition. I tapped my phone, sent a quick text
and reminded him to forward the phone number for his friend with the Denver PD.
A couple of seconds later, he replied to my note:
Sorry. Call dropped. Adam
Caldwell is at  303-555-9807.

“Was that your ex?” Viveca asked
after I put away my phone.

“It was.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured. “I thought
so.”

I turned to catch a better look at
her expression, but she was concentrating on the semi that was slowing to a
stop in the road ahead.

“Why’d you think so?”

She smiled, giving me a quick
glance as the truck carefully swung a little to the right and turned the
corner. “I could just tell.” She flashed a quick grin. “By the way you said his
name.”

I smirked. “Trent. Samuel. Walsh,”
I said, carefully articulating every syllable. “Deputy Chief Trent Walsh.” I
paused, but she was snickering softly. “Okay, so there are two different
versions, but they don’t sound like huge clues to anything at all. What’s so
special about the way I said his name?”

She didn’t respond for a few
seconds. Then she reached over and patted my leg. “It’s okay, Kate. I’m still
carrying a flame for my high school sweetheart, too.”

“Oh, I see what you’re getting at,”
I said. “I’d like you to know that is so
not
what I’m doing, okay?”

She giggled again. “Oh, absolutely.
But remember this, my friend: Denial is a powerful force of nature.”

I moaned, dropped back against the headrest
and closed my eyes. “Oh, c’mon! First my sister and now you? You’re both acting
like matchmakers, trying to push me into starting over where Trent and I
stopped—he and Dina smooching in the corner at a high school dance and me
kicked to the curb with a broken heart.”

Her giggle had stopped. Now she was
nodding her head in a sideways motion and whispering something under her
breath.

“And would you please speak up?” I
demanded. “I can’t tell what you’re saying!”

She stopped bobbing her head. “Love
is love, Kate. That’s what I’m saying. And I’ll bet that’s what Olivia meant.
Love is love. Once you found Trent, he won your heart.” I opened my mouth to
deny the claim, but she held up a finger. “And you won his. The two of you are
perfect together. I don’t understand why you can’t see what everyone else is
talking about.”

I waited to make sure she was
finished. Then I took a slow breath and turned slightly in my seat. “I don’t
see what everyone else is talking about,” I said, “because there’s nothing to
look at.”

CHAPTER
9

The apartment building was on Franklin
Street between Colfax Avenue and Cheesman Park. I knew the neighborhood; my
parents would tell you that I knew it too well. When I was in high school, my
friends and I would drive to the city to catch our favorite bands at the
Bluebird Theater, waste countless hours in the park or wander down Colfax
searching for things we didn’t need and couldn’t afford.

As Viveca steered her car to a spot
at the curb, I surveyed the three-story tan brick art deco building. A short,
curvy woman wearing a faux fur jacket came out of the front door and walked
slowly toward the street. She had a phone clamped between her chin and
shoulder, wraparound sunglasses over her eyes and an unlit cigarette wedged in
the corner of her mouth. A plastic KFC bag dangled from one hand and a six-pack
of Diet Coke from the other.

“Don’t look now,” I said. “My inner
child is coming this way.”

Viveca swiveled in her seat,
glanced at the woman and then smirked. “If that’s your inner child,” she said,
“you’re doing a very good job of faking it in the real world.”

She silenced the engine, plucked
the keys from the ignition and grabbed her purse. I was already on the sidewalk
by the time she climbed out and locked the doors. We both watched the woman in
the fur jacket teeter on bright red stilettos toward a battered brown Ford
Taurus.

“I hope your inner child doesn’t
trip and break anything,” Viveca said with a muted giggle.

I joined in the laughter as we
stood on the sidewalk and inspected the front of Tim’s building.

“How long has your brother lived
here?” I asked.

“A couple of months. He was sharing
a house with another guy. But his roommate left town, so Tim and Bad Dog came
here. It’s a sublease arrangement with a creepy guy named Toby. Delilah was
already living there in another unit that Toby had.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s a lot of
moving parts. I didn’t think to ask earlier, but do you have a key to Tim’s
place?” She held up an assortment of silver, brass and gold keys looped
together with red string. “I made him give me a copy. For exactly this type of
situation.”

We walked up a short flight of
concrete steps and along a gently curving sidewalk. A man dressed in white bib
overalls, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and paint-spattered steel-toed boots was
on a ladder painting the window trim on the second floor. He glanced down as we
approached, giving us a silent nod before turning his attention back to the
brush in his hand.

“I’m kind of freaking out right
now,” Viveca said. “What if we find something bad?” I reached down and squeezed
her hand. “No matter what,” I said, releasing her fingers. “We’ll get through
it together.”

The entrance was tucked beneath a
small overhang that protruded from the building.

“Tim’s place is on the top floor,” Viveca
said, unlocking the front door. “Up the steps and in the back.”

I followed her inside. As we headed
for the staircase, a guy came around the corner.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said. “You
new in the building?”

He was tall and slender, with a
dark Fu Manchu mustache and bald head. His mouth was small, his lips slight and
there was a mole on his left cheek the color of molasses. Two gold hoops clung
to his left earlobe and mirrored aviator sunglasses perched on his hairless
dome like safety reflectors on a double-wide.

“We’re just visiting,” I said,
continuing toward the steps. “We know someone who lives here.”

The man came closer. I detected the
unmistakable aroma of earthy, pungent patchouli mixed with stale whiskey. He
was dressed in faded jeans, a John Deere T-shirt and motorcycle boots that were
badly scuffed and nicked.

“Oh, yeah?” he said. “Who’s that?”

“My brother,” Viveca answered. “He
gave me a key so I could come and check on things when he’s away.”

With a subtle nod, the guy stepped to
one side so we could continue toward the staircase. As he shifted into a shaft
of sunlight, I got a clear look at his eyes: bloodshot, suspicious and hooded.

“Have a nice day,” he said in a
tone that was far from friendly.

I smiled, but didn’t say anything
as we began climbing the stairs to the third floor. I could feel a whirl of
anticipation in my stomach; the jittery omen that we were approaching something
potentially troublesome.

At the top of the steps, Viveca
turned left and walked quickly to the last door on the right. “Okay, this
doesn’t make me feel any better,” she said, pointing at her brother’s
apartment. “The door’s not even closed all the way.”

I moved up beside her, quickly
appraised the situation and reached into my bag. When she saw the barrel of my
Glock 36, her face went slack and her eyes climbed quickly to meet mine.

“Just in case,” I said.

She covered her mouth. “You brought
a gun?”

I nodded. “Force of habit from my
days in Chicago,” I said quietly. “Any good PI is going to take precautions.
Since what we’re doing here is kind of like—”

A sudden noise came from inside the
apartment. It sounded like a heavy object slamming against a solid surface. I
instinctively raised my arm and gently nudged Viveca to the side.

“Stay behind me,” I said in a
hushed voice. “And don’t say a word once we get in there.”

She nodded, gulped in a breath and
wrapped both hands around the strap of her purse.

“Should we call the police first?”
she whispered.

I shook my head, put a finger to my
lips and gently pushed against the bottom of the door with my right foot. It
opened slowly, emitting a muted creak and surrounding us with the stench of
sour cigarette smoke.

“Follow me,” I said, inching
through the open doorway. “And stay close.”

As we moved into the apartment, I
swept the room with a quick series of side-to-side glances. Tim wasn’t much of
a housekeeper; the motley collection of threadbare furniture was decorated with
crushed beer cans, empty pizza boxes and overflowing ashtrays. A Janis Joplin
poster, askew on the wall above the sofa, added a forlorn vibe to the room. I
glanced over my shoulder at Viveca. One hand was still on her purse, but the
other was now firmly planted across her nose and mouth.

“Okay,” I whispered, peering
through a doorway into the vacant kitchen. “We’ll cross the room and go down
the hall.”

I kept the Glock aimed at the
floor; my trigger finger resting loosely on the safety. My entire body was
simultaneously tight as a coiled cobra and calm as a sleeping child. It was
something that Rodney had helped me learn when we worked together in Chicago.
These days, I generally employed the technique at Sky High when the prep list
seemed overwhelming or a cranky customer was complaining that their slice of
pie wasn’t identical to the one that they’d enjoyed during their last visit.

As I carefully slid my right foot
from the faded green shag carpet in the living room onto the hardwood floor in
the hallway, another clattering sound erupted from behind the closed door at
the end of the corridor. Two additional doors stood open between us and the
commotion; one on each side of the narrow passageway. I heard Viveca whisper
softly behind me, but I didn’t look back as I crept silently along the floor.

When I reached the first room, I
glanced quickly through the open door. It looked like the aftermath of a
violent storm or argument; clothing everywhere, a wicker chair on its side, an
uncovered mattress speckled with unfortunate stains. On the opposite side of
the hallway, the opening revealed a bathroom with turquoise tile, a dark blue
plastic shower curtain and mounds of damp towels on the floor.

“It’s clear,” I whispered to Viveca
before moving forward.

When we reached the second bedroom,
I stopped and held my breath to listen. There was a muffled scratching coming
from the other side of the door.

And then the irritated and very
loud cry of an angry cat.

“My money’s on Bad Dog,” I said,
turning to Viveca and putting away my gun. “That’s the name, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “The poor thing’s
probably hungry.”

“Sounds about right.” I turned the
knob, cracked the door and peered into the opening. I saw a small orange tabby
with one snaggletooth and four white paws. “I’d say he’s hungry and pretty
peeved.”

When I opened the door a few more
inches, the cat suddenly lurched from where it was huddled on the floor and
rocketed into the hallway. Viveca screamed, I heaved myself out of the way and
we both scurried back toward the living room.

“The door’s still open!” I cried.
“We should close it before he escapes.”

But it was too late. By the time we
reached the front of the apartment, there was no sign of Bad Dog. I followed
Viveca into the corridor and down the stairs. Just as we hit the second floor,
a woman came toward us with the wayward feline in her arms. Her hair was a
tumble of dark curls with one bright white streak above her left eye. She was
wearing a short silk kimono, black gladiator sandals and a pair of red mesh
basketball shorts.

“You guys looking for this?” she
said.

“Oh, yes!” Viveca gushed, scurrying
toward the stranger. “We thought maybe he’d get out through the downstairs door
and be lost forever.”

The woman smiled. “Not a chance!
He’s too dependent on canned tuna and kitty massages.”

I resisted the urge to laugh, but
she could tell from my face that I was amused by the last bit of information.

“I know, right?” She rolled her
eyes. “After Timothy moved in and I heard Bad Dog yowling, I went upstairs
immediately and told him the poor little guy just needed his chakras balanced
and his energy pathways opened.”

As a raucous laugh flew out of my
mouth, the woman shrugged and offered the cat to Viveca. When she made no
attempt to take the little creature, the dark-haired stranger tucked him under
one arm and scratched behind his ears.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I
didn’t mean to make fun. It’s just that I’ve never heard about cats getting New
Age treatments.”

“Oh, totally,” the woman said. “I
live in the apartment right below Tim’s.” She nodded at a door that was
decorated with miniature Tibetan prayer flags and a Grateful Dead poster. “I’m
his girlfriend.”

I glanced at Viveca, but she had
her eyes glued to the other woman.

“You’re Delilah?” she said in
disbelief.

The other woman put one hand on her
hip. “That’s me!”

“Well, I’m Tim’s sister,” Viveca
said. “And I’m—”

Delilah’s face lit up with a
massive smile. “Are you
seriously
? I’ve heard so much about you. All of
the funny stories about your Barbie collection and the wood chipper and—”

“Is Tim at your place?” Viveca
asked.

“No,” Delilah answered. “He’s at band
rehearsal until probably midnight or something.”

I watched as Viveca processed the
information, hoping that she would find some comfort in the fact that Tim was
carrying on with business as usual.

“Does he have his phone with him?”
she asked Delilah.

The other woman shrugged. “I guess
so. I haven’t tried to call since he left.”

Viveca nodded. “Okay, so…” Her gaze
drifted to the floor and the thought went unfinished.

Delilah looked at me. “Are you part
of the family, too?”

I shook my head. “My name’s Kate,”
I said. “I’m Viv’s neighbor up in Crescent Creek.”

“Okay, that’s cool.”

An uncomfortable silence slithered
around us as Viveca’s lips began moving silently. It seemed like she was
working something out about her brother, so I figured it was a good time to
engage Delilah in conversation.

“How long have you and Tim been
going out?” I asked.

“It feels like forever,” she
answered. “Even though I just moved in a couple of months ago. It was right
before Tim’s band did that gig in Dallas. The one where a reporter from
Rolling
Stone
caught their first set and wrote a glowing blurb in the magazine.”
She paused to beam proudly, revealing a small diamond in one tooth. “But my
tarot card reader believes that Timothy and I were together in a previous
life.”

Viveca grunted derisively. “Like
when he lived in Austin?”

Delilah didn’t crack a smile. She
was dead serious about the mystical connection that she shared with Viveca’s
brother.

“I should take Bad Dog upstairs,”
Delilah announced. “Then I can tell you more about our past lives if you’re
interested.” She shrugged and grinned. “Let me just close my door real quick.”

When neither Viveca nor I said a
word, Delilah returned to her apartment. Through the open door, I caught a
quick glimpse: an austere living room with an ornate wood and brass coat rack
just inside the front door. The rack was empty with the exception of a floppy
black hat and multicolored patchwork coat. The hat had a large feather tucked
under the plaid fabric band that ran along the brim.
Remember what Rodney
always said
, I told myself as I smiled.
Catch every detail. Don’t miss a
thing.

“Suits her, doesn’t it?” Viveca
asked in a hushed voice when she noticed the bohemian getup.

I nodded, but kept my mouth zipped.

After Delilah closed and locked her
door, she twirled around, flashed a wide smile and headed for the stairs.

“Okay, Bad Dog,” she said in a
singsong tone. “Back upstairs, buster!” She looked over at us. “You guys wanna
come with?”

Viveca was right on her heels.
“Yes,” she said, giving me a quick look. “Don’t we, Kate?”

I nodded and stepped into line,
trudging back up the steps and down the hallway without another word.

“Here you go, big kitty,” said
Delilah as we walked into Tim’s place again. “Why don’t we get you situated in
your room with some fresh water and a new bowl of Meow Mix?”