Devil's Food Cake (6 page)

Shawn!

She hurried to the driver’s door and reached under the seat for her purse. Quickly retrieving her phone, she saw that Shawn had texted her four times—each text a little more anxious than the one before. News traveled fast in a small town and she hated that he was worried about her on his weekend home. She slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut, trying not to shiver as she typed a reply to his most recent text—sent six minutes earlier.

It seemed like it took forever to text back the message that she was fine and she’d talk to him at home. In addition to the texts, she saw she had a voice mail message. She assumed it was also from her son, but she looked up the call log just to be sure. The call was from a number she didn’t recognize with a Denver area code. Who did she know in Denver who would call her tonight?

Glancing at the closed kitchen door, she decided to take a few seconds to satisfy her curiosity about the mystery message. Besides, Gayle might not be ready yet, and Sadie wanted to put off the moment where she apologized profusely a little longer.

The voice in the message was familiar, but not instantly recognizable. “Hi, Sadie, I’ve got some questions for you. Give me a call as soon as you get this, okay?”

Sadie furrowed her brow and replayed the message, hoping she’d recognize the voice if she heard it a second time. She didn’t. It was definitely a woman, though. Obviously, whoever it was expected Sadie to know her since she hadn’t left a name.

Shawn texted back saying he’d tried to come to the hotel, but the parking lot was blocked off. Sadie assured him she’d be home within the next half hour and that he should stay home until she arrived. After sending the message, she considered calling the Denver number, but decided against it. She’d call once she was home and things had settled down. She put her phone on the passenger seat, cursing the fact that formal gowns didn’t have pockets. After shutting the car door behind her, she hurried back inside to gather the other cakes. She reviewed the phone message in her mind again, annoyed that she couldn’t pinpoint the voice. It was right there—a wispy memory hovering just beyond her frontal lobe.

Denver? Hmm.

Sadie reached the door that would lead her back to the kitchen, but before she’d even touched the handle, the door flew open, missing her face by mere inches only because she reeled backward, completely losing her balance as she dodged the metal door. Her arms windmilled and her back tensed while she pleaded with gravity to have mercy on her. Just as she realized she was going down, a hand grabbed her arm and steadied her. Relief washed over her until she realized that whoever saved her was also the one who caused her to almost fall in the first place. She looked up into the face of her attacker-slash-rescuer, prepared to give him a reprimand—in the set of her eyes if nothing else—when she realized she’d seen him before. A black camera bag was slung over his shoulder, the word Nikon clearly printed on the top of the leather case.

The photographer!

He was holding a cell phone to his ear with the hand not holding her up.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone, barely paying her any attention. “I’ll come back for the car. How far away—”

“You?” she said, astonished.

He let go of her arm and looked at her for perhaps the first time, lowering the phone from his ear. “Me?” he asked as his eyebrows came together behind his glasses.

Sadie nodded. “You were taking photos.”

He paused a moment, and when he spoke his tone was intent on his words. “What goes around comes around.”

“I beg your pardon.” Sadie pulled back slightly. “There was a murder tonight and you were snapping photos like some kind of tourist. The police are looking for you.” She glanced toward the door, willing an officer to come crashing through it. Though she was quite proud of her Tae Kwon Do skills, she
was
in a dress and heels.

“Looks like there were
two
murders, lady,” the young man said. “I wanted proof it had finally come full circle. Maybe the police will actually figure this one out.” He looked over his shoulder briefly and then stepped around her while putting the phone back to his ear.

“You here yet?” he said into the phone. A car pulled into the lot and he took long strides away from Sadie. The Carmichael Hotel had a loading dock in back for deliveries and staff that was separate from the main parking lot out front provided for guests. As Sadie watched the car pull up next to the photographer, she looked around and realized how isolated they were—and how perfect the back lot was set up for a getaway. And that’s exactly what the cryptic photographer was doing—getting away!

“Wait just a minute,” Sadie called to him. She picked up her skirts to follow him, but mincing steps in pinching shoes were no match for his long legs. He didn’t even look at her as he snapped his phone closed and slid it into his camera bag. By the time she’d moved a few steps, he’d already reached the car. He pulled open the door, and Sadie startled as the dome light lit up the face of the driver—another face Sadie recognized.

Trixie-Bambi looked momentarily panicked as she met Sadie’s shocked expression and then shooed the photographer into the car.

The photographer didn’t seem to be in any rush, however. He turned to Sadie and held her eyes. “He’s not a good man,” he said quickly, folding himself into the front seat of the car. Before he pulled the door shut, he added, “Not all deaths are tragic ones.”

Chapter 7

The door snapped shut and the engine revved as the car headed out of the lot. Why hadn’t the police blocked it off yet? Did they even know it was here? Sadie could do nothing but stand and watch while the snow continued its lazy descent.

“Who wasn’t a good man?” she asked herself.
Mr. Ogreski?
What was the photographer’s connection to Mr. Ogreski? And did Frank know his niece was involved in this? Whatever
this
was. Sadie thought back to the girl’s ignorance about Thom and his book. But obviously she knew more than she’d been letting on at dinner.

“Two murders?” she mumbled to herself as she turned back to the kitchen, deep in thought. What did it mean?

She had to talk to Pete, although she wondered how he’d make any more sense of this than she had. Sadie was nearly to the door of the kitchen when it was thrown open again and she lost her balance for the second time. This time, though, it was a police officer who grabbed Sadie’s arm to steady her at the precise instant she realized she was going down.

“Did a man come through here?” the officer asked without even apologizing, looking around the parking lot as if hoping to find who he was after. “In a tuxedo? With a camera bag?”

“Yes,” Sadie said with a nod as she regained her balance and the officer let go of her arm. “A car just picked him up. Has there been another murder?”

The officer headed toward the driveway but stopped and looked back at her. “Another murder?” he repeated, clearly confused and a little wary of her question. “What do you mean?”

“The man said there were two murders.”

The officer lifted his eyebrows and grabbed the speaker-thing on his shoulder. “Harper to dispatch—cameraman has left the building through the back; told someone there was another murder. Call in Fort Collins. We might have a serial killer on our hands.”

“A serial killer?” Sadie looked toward the darkened entryway through which the car had disappeared. That wasn’t what she’d meant to imply, but there was no denying what the man had said. Did serial killers wear tuxedos? Sadie thought of Ted Bundy. He’d been the type who would definitely wear a tuxedo . . .
and
take pictures of a corpse.

The officer returned to Sadie and pulled open the kitchen door. “Come with me,” he said sternly.

Sadie nodded and followed him, wishing she’d brought her
cell phone so she could call Shawn and tell him she was going to be late.

Ten minutes later she was seated in a corner of the ballroom, tapping her foot. Sadie had told the officer about the getaway car, but that didn’t stop him from ordering four officers to take up an exterior search. All the exterior doors had been locked to make sure no one came back in since now they were shorthanded. Apparently they believed her enough to keep her close, but not enough to accept that the photographer was halfway to Denver by now.

But wait,
Sadie thought,
he said he’d be back for his car.
Did that mean he was staying in town somewhere? If his car was still in the lot, maybe the police could run the plates!

Invigorated by her idea, she looked around to find someone she could tell, but there was no one close by and all the officers were talking to someone else or to each other. She slumped back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Gayle was still in the kitchen with Andy, and while Sadie was sure her friend was in good hands, it wasn’t in Sadie’s nature to simply wait around. She needed to finish loading the cakes, take Gayle home, and assure Shawn that she was all right. What she
didn’t
need to do was sit here and cool her heels until someone came and asked her the questions they said they wanted to ask her. Urgency was warranted here, and she wasn’t seeing very much of it. It didn’t help that while she waited, she had to stare at all the plates of unfinished cake set out on the few tables that were still standing. She’d used her friend Sandra’s Chocolicious Frosting for the cakes, and it was the perfect accompaniment to the dense devil’s food. It was a tragedy for it to go to waste like this, and she wished she dared steal one of the untouched plates. Never mind that she’d have three cakes all her own once she got home.

Pete came toward her, grabbed a chair and spun it around so he was facing her. He had so much finesse. She wondered if he sat this close to everyone he took statements from or if he were purposely sitting closer to her. She preferred to believe the latter. He didn’t smile this time; certainly the weight of the investigation was getting to him as the minutes ticked by.

“So, the photographer said something to you on his way out?” Pete said as he flipped a page of his notebook and wrote some things down. Sadie had an instant flashback to their first meeting in her living room when he’d been asking questions about the death of her neighbor. She’d thought him kind and handsome that day. It was discouraging to realize their relationship wasn’t much different now than it had been then. She knew more about him, of course, and they’d spent time together, but as far as levels of relationships went, they weren’t much beyond the typical get-to-know-you conversations. How very sad. Was it different now that he’d called her his girlfriend? She tried to note a different expression on his face, a kind of welcome to this new place they were in. However, if anything he seemed more guarded, less at ease.

“Sadie?”

She shook herself back to the moment and smiled to cover up her wandering thoughts. “Yes,” she said with a nod, catching up with the question he’d asked. “I spoke with the photographer.”

“Please relay to me the conversation,” Pete said in a formal tone.

Sadie cleared her throat and sat up straight, attempting to match his professional manner. If this was how he needed to play it, she’d go along with it. “Well, I said ‘You?’ and he said ‘Me?’ and I said he’d been taking photos like he was a tourist and then he said there had been two murders and he took the pictures as proof that everything had come full circle.” Through the course of murder investigations she’d been involved in, she’d become rather good at giving her statements in as few words as possible. “Oh, and he said Mr. Ogreski wasn’t a good man and not all deaths were tragic.”

“That’s all he said?” Pete looked up at her with a searching expression in his eyes.

Sadie nodded. “He was also on the phone at the same time and talked about the parking lot being blocked off. I’m pretty sure he was talking to the gal who picked him up a minute later: Trixie-Bambi.”

“Who?”

“Oh,” Sadie said, realizing she’d left that part out. She hurried to describe Frank’s niece—Michele—the driver of the getaway car. By the time she’d finished, Pete looked as confused as she felt. “A lot of planning went into this, don’t you think?” Sadie prodded.

Pete didn’t answer her, and she tried not to take it as a reprimand.

“Where did the serial killer statement come from?” Pete asked, looking back at his notes. “Did you come up with that?”

“Of course not,” Sadie said, offended. “It would be a completely unprofessional jump to conclusions for me to make that type of assumption.” And though Sadie was prone to conclusion-jumping, it was something she was working on. She didn’t appreciate being falsely accused.