An Imitation of Murder (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 9) (19 page)

CHAPTER
46

When Julia scrambled through the
backdoor into the Sky High kitchen the next morning, I was waiting with a fresh
pot of coffee and two white chocolate pecan scones.

“Oh, my word!” she gushed. “I heard
the news, Katie! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, handing her a
mug.

“Blanche told me that you helped
catch Pia’s kidnappers! I called to see if it was true, but you didn’t answer.”

“I turned the volume off on my
phone at some point when I was downtown,” I explained. “And after I got home, I
called Zack. We talked until midnight, so I figured it would be okay to tell
you this morning.”

She sipped her coffee and pulled a
stool from beneath the counter.

“Here,” she said, patting the seat.
“You sit down and tell me everything while I get started on prep.”

“I did it already,” I said with a
wide grin. “It was kind of impossible to sleep last night, so…” I pointed at
the front counter. “I’ve got the grill heating, the waffle irons plugged in,
the reach-in restocked and just about everything else set to go.”

“You’re a nut!” Julia giggled and
shook her head. “After a crazy night of excitement, I wouldn’t be able to sleep
either. But you didn’t have to do my work.”

I sat down and she joined me on the
next stool. As we sipped our coffee and enjoyed the scones, I brought her up to
speed on Vito Marclay’s harebrained scheme to swindle Dionne Bach.

“Is he also responsible for
shooting the man they found on Morris Springs Road?” Julia asked quietly.
“Blanche sent me a text after she heard about it from Amanda Crane’s sister.”

I nodded. “Looks that way.”

Neither of us said anything for a
few minutes as the sorrow and gravity settled in around us. Julia had known Pia
much longer than me, so I wasn’t surprised by how confused she was in the
aftermath of the inexplicable crime spree.

“I mean,
murder
,” she
whispered finally. “Could you ever imagine Pia’s fiancé doing such a thing?”

“Never in a million years,” I
answered. “But jealousy and rage can be powerful motivators.”

“And money, right?”

I nodded. “You bet,” I agreed. “If
they’d been successful, they could’ve sold the paintings and had enough to live
on for the rest of their lives.”

“Is that true?” Julia asked.

I nodded. “I suppose it depends on
how frugal you are,” I said. “But Dina told me that a guy she knows in New York
estimated that the profits from selling those paintings would be ten or twenty
million.”

She laughed. “I could make that
work,” she said. “For more than one lifetime.”

“Unless you go overboard on shoes,”
I suggested.

“True. But I’d probably move to Fiji
or somewhere like that, so shoes wouldn’t be of much interest.”

“I bet you’d still shop online,” I
joked. “It’s in your DNA at this point.”

Julia smiled and we both sipped our
coffee. I silently considered everything that Pia had been through in the past
few days.

“What are you thinking about?”
Julia asked eventually.

“The whole thing,” I answered.

“I know,” she said. “It’s such a
sad, sad turn of events.”

I finished my coffee, walked my mug
to the sink and told Julia to stay put.

“But there’s work to do,” she
protested.

“Just sit tight for a second,” I
said. “There’s something in the office for you.”

I hurried out of the kitchen and
down the hall. When I returned a moment later, Julia was still perched atop the
stool.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing
at the box in my hand.

I held the package out and she
accepted it with a timid smile.

“It’s not my birthday or anything,
Katie. What’s the deal?”

I laughed. “It doesn’t have to be
your birthday,” I said. “Or any other special occasion for that matter. I
wanted to do something nice for you.”

As she carefully placed the box on
the counter and began loosening the twine, I watched with delight. Although I
liked receiving gifts from friends, family members and my gorgeous boyfriend, I
loved giving them so much more. As the brown paper fell away and she peeked
inside the box, the hesitant grin on Julia’s face blossomed into a massive
smile.

“Oh, this is
so
sweet!” she
said. “How did you know?”

“Harper told me. I know how much
you love the group. And I was sad to hear that your kids had broken some of the
set that Jared gave you.”

As she pulled out one of the New
Kids on The Block wine glasses, her lower lip trembled slightly.

“This is one of the kindest things
anyone’s ever done for me, Katie.” Her voice was weightless and filled with
appreciation. “Thank you so much!”

At first, I thought she was joking.
And I considered saying something witty about her being easily impressed with a
silly little eBay purchase. But as I watched her inspect the six sparkling
glasses, I realized that the emotion was genuine and heartfelt.

“You’re welcome, Jules,” I said
after a few minutes. “Should we inaugurate those with some of that cran-raspberry
juice you ordered the other day?”

“Oh, that’s a perfect idea!” she
said, putting the glasses down on the counter and heading for the walk-in.
“That and another cup of coffee will get my motor running for the day!”

CHAPTER
47

As soon as the lunch rush subsided,
I helped Julia tidy the kitchen. Then I went into my office with a fresh cup of
coffee and considered which nightmare I wanted to tackle first.

“Paperwork?” I murmured, studying
my checklist. “Or return Lucy Kringle’s call?”

I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect
of filing a stack of documents. But it sounded better than listening to someone
gripe about the fact that her siblings hadn’t lifted a finger to help plan the
celebration for their parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. I glared at the backlog
of invoices and statements for a moment. Then I decided that I deserved a brief
respite before getting back to work.

“Just five minutes,” I said,
reaching for the coffee mug. “I’ll have a sip of—”

A loud knock interrupted my
strategic planning.

“Miss Reed?”

I turned in my chair.

Desmond Bach was standing in the
hallway beside the woman he’d talked to the other night at The Crescent Creek
Lodge. She was elegantly attired in a simple black dress and matching pumps. He
was wearing a blue business suit with a shirt and tie.

“Mr. Bach,” I said, getting up from
my chair. “What a surprise!”

He stepped aside and allowed the
woman to enter my office while he waited outside the door. Then he followed her
in and we stood in the center of the small room exchanging tentative smiles.

“This is my mother,” Desmond said
finally. “Dionne Bach.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the
woman said as we shook hands. “I felt a little awkward after we talked on the
phone the other day.”

“Have a seat,” I said, motioning at
the two guest chairs. “Could I get either of you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Dionne said. “This
will be a brief visit.”

“What can I help you with?” I
asked, sitting again behind my desk.

“Actually,” she said, “we simply
wanted to take a moment to thank you for being more than a little discreet
about things.”

I smiled. “What things are we
talking about?”

“The Vito Marclay affair,” Dionne
said. “It’s a terribly tragic set of circumstances. Brad Maddix was a very kind
and very capable young man.”

The pained expression on her face
was genuine as she added a few more thoughts about the bodyguard who had been killed
by Vito Marclay. Since I hadn’t heard anything from Dina or Trent about the
murder, I simply nodded and listened as Dionne explained her understanding of
the man’s death.

“At first, I didn’t want to believe
it,” she said. “When the two officers came to the hotel the other night, I kept
hoping it was a mistake or some type of misunderstanding. Brad has been with us
for a decade. He’s provided security for our New York gallery and our residence
in the city since he left the military. It was an enormous shock to learn that
he was working with Vito and Phil Bickerton to defraud our family.”

When she paused and looked at
Desmond, I expected him to continue the narration. But he simply smiled and
nodded before taking out his phone to check messages.

“Under normal circumstances,”
Dionne Bach said as her son idly scrolled through emails, “we are a very
private family. But this episode with Vito, Phil and the others will obviously
play out in very public trials here in Colorado.”

“Chances are,” I said. “Unless they
plead guilty and make a deal.”

Her mouth drifted into a lazy
smile. “Vito knows all about making deals,” she said. “Especially if it’s
behind someone’s back.”

I didn’t know how to respond to the
barb, so I kept quiet.

“Do you know how much time and
energy we’ve invested in that man?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I imagine it’s been a
considerable amount, but I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

“Neither would I,” Dionne said. “Because
I’ve never tried to keep track.” She reached over and took Desmond’s hand. “My
husband and I were blessed with three of the most wonderful children in the
world, Miss Reed. But we always considered Vito like another son. We gave him shelter.
We paid his legal fees on multiple occasions. And we formed the partnership
with Phil Bickerton to provide Vito with a safe haven far away from New York.
It was supposed to be a place where he could stay sober, paint as often he
liked and cleanse his soul. In the end, it didn’t exactly work out as planned.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said.
“But can I ask a couple of questions?”

She smiled, granting permission by
fluttering her eyelashes.

“How were Vito and Phil planning to
defraud you?”

“By selling a trio of very valuable
paintings that I’d loaned to Vito,” she said, slowly shifting in the chair.
“Vito is a very gifted counterfeiter. During the past few months, he forged
flawless copies of the three canvases. To an untrained eye, they looked identical
to the originals. A knowledgeable dealer, curator or collector would spot that
they were fakes, but Vito wasn’t selling to anyone like that. His intended
target was a very wealthy businessman in Hong Kong.”

“And he was going to sell the
originals to someone else?”

“That’s correct,” Dionne said.

“How did you learn about all of
this?” I asked.

She laughed softly. “I received a
call a few days ago from a trusted friend in Brussels,” she answered. “Vito had
contacted Lucas to see if he would help sell both the forged artworks as well
as the originals. When my friend heard which pieces Vito planned to put on the
market, he called me instantly with a confidential warning.”

“Telling you that Vito was going to
take you for a ride?”

Her gentle laugh returned. “That’s
it exactly. Lucas has been a friend of our family for nearly thirty years. He’s
loyal and trustworthy. As a matter of fact, he occasionally helps broker
transactions when I buy and sell pieces for our private collection, so he’s
well aware of what we own. The very next day after he heard from Vito, Lucas
called to warn me. I then called Vito, but I didn’t mention my conversation
with Lucas. I wanted him to think that I was merely getting in touch to collect
the artwork that I’d loaned to him.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m a
little confused. You loaned the paintings to Vito that he was going to copy and
sell?”

“That’s correct,” Dionne said. “I’d
loaned them to him when he moved here, just a little something to make his new
home a bit brighter. At the time, I made it clear that it was only for a matter
of months. So it didn’t seem unusual for me to call him and say that I wanted
to fly out and retrieve the paintings.”

“But then Vito told you that they’d
been stolen in a burglary?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Dionne.
“However, after checking with your local police department, I discovered that
Vito had lied to them. And he also lied to me. Vito told us that the paintings
were taken during the break-in at his home, but he told the Crescent Creek
authorities that the thieves took only a few art supplies and inexpensive
personal belongings.”

“How did Brad get involved?” I
asked.

“We still can’t answer that
question,” Dionne said. “From everything that we’ve learned so far, he wasn’t
having financial problems. Normally, you’d expect someone engaged in such
nefarious actions to be desperate for cash or something. But Brad didn’t fit
into that category.”

Desmond glanced up from his phone.
“He was in it for the thrill.”

Dionne frowned. “Don’t say that,
Dez. We have to wait until the police finish their investigation.”

“Hopefully, they’ll be able to
answer all of your questions,” I said.

“That’s what we’re looking forward
to,” Dionne said, reaching for her son’s hand again. “We should let Miss Reed
get back to work, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing,” he said, slipping his
phone into a pocket and giving me a smile. “Thanks for your time.”

As we all stood and walked toward
the hallway, I asked Dionne if she minded one final question.

“Of course,” she said.

“Do you know what happened between
Brad and Vito?” I asked.

She sighed loudly. “Do you mean why
Vito felt it was necessary to kill Brad?”

I nodded.

“No idea whatsoever,” Dionne Bach
answered. “I’ve thought about that nonstop since we got the news.”

“It’s the same old thing,” Desmond
said, stepping into the hallway. “Greed, arrogance and stupidity.”

His mother frowned and tapped his
arm. “Don’t judge,” she said as I followed them across the room. “We’re all
capable of both good and evil, sweetheart. We just need to do our best to be
our best and treat others as we would like to be treated.”

“And that,” Desmond said with a
wink, “is the lesson for the day.” He laughed and the raucous sound bounced
down the corridor. “It was good to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.
“I’m sorry that I was kind of a jerk when we first talked, but I didn’t know
who to trust around here.”

“Since you mentioned that night,” I
said, “I was wondering how you got the picture of Pia tied up in the motel
room.”

Desmond shook his head. “I still
don’t know,” he said, “but it was clearly a bit of trickery. Someone used a
disposable cell phone to text the photo to me. When I replied to the text, they
said that Vito’s girlfriend was in danger and he’d been killed. The whole thing
turned out to be part of his master plan to steal my mother’s art and then
vanish without a trace.”

“Why didn’t you mention any of
that?” I asked.

He smiled. “I already told you,” he
said. “I didn’t know who to trust.”

“He was just doing what he thought
was necessary to recover the paintings,” Dionne added. “That was the reason for
Dez telling people he was a journalist.”

“I’m way ahead of you there,” I
said. “I used to work as a PI, so I know how it goes.”

She raised one eyebrow. “I’ve heard
about your previous work,” she said. “I must say that running a bakery sounds
much less dangerous than all that undercover business.”

I chuckled. “Depends on the day,” I
said as we walked down the hallway. “And the customers that come through the
door.”

“Well, from what I can see,” Dionne
said. “It’s a delightful place. I’ll look forward to actually joining you for a
meal when we come back to Colorado for the first trial.”