Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

CHAPTER
27

I was nearly finished frosting two
dozen Cocoa Loco Cupcakes when someone knocked on the kitchen door. I put down
the spatula, zipped across the room and peered through the window. It was
Viveca, cradling a small mountain of padded envelopes and photo albums.

“Come in, come in,” I said, opening
the door. “What’s all that?”

“Research,” she said. “After I
talked to you last night, I decided to dig around in the attic. My brother
stashed a bunch of boxes there a few months before my uncle died. Tim was
moving around a lot, so he figured Uncle Chester’s attic would be a safe place
to keep some of his old scrapbooks and pictures. I thought it might be helpful
if you want to look through these and get an idea of who my brother really is.”

I cleared a spot on the counter so
she could deposit the collection of her brother’s keepsakes. Then I offered to
pour her a cup of coffee.

“I’m okay for now,” she replied.
“Too much caffeine tends to make me jittery.”

“That happens to me if I have too
much of anything,” I said, smiling with the hope that it might calm her nerves.
When my effort didn’t produce the desired results, I decided to try and divert
her attention. “How about a cupcake?”

She shook her head.

“Are you in the dumps today?”

“Basically,” Viveca answered.
“Today. Last Thursday. The day before that.” She pulled a stool from beneath
the counter and sat down. “I feel like I’m falling apart, Kate. I’m still
reeling from my bookstore closing and moving to Crescent Creek. And now, this
thing with my brother…” Her chin dropped against her chest. “…it’s really
making me crazy. I’ve never been involved in anything like this before. I just
don’t know what to do, you know?”

I returned to the cupcakes. They
were the last thing on the prep list; my final obligation before I made a quick
trip to Denver to visit the AA meeting on York Street. I’d decided to start
there to see if anyone would be willing to talk about Tim and Delilah. With my
responsibilities at Sky High, I couldn’t invest endless hours in the case. But
I wanted to do something to try and help Viveca. From the sallow skin, dark
circles under her eyes and the way she slouched, I could tell she wasn’t
getting any sleep at all.

“Do you feel up to a few
questions?” I said with a smile.

She shrugged unenthusiastically.
“I’ll do my best.”

“Just let me know if you decide at
any point that you don’t want to talk, okay?”

Her answer was another meager
shrug.

“Does your brother attend AA
meetings?”

The question actually made her
smile. “How can I answer that? It’s supposed to be…” She chuckled softly.
“…anonymous, isn’t it?”

I held her gaze. When she realized I
was ignoring the rhetorical question, she confessed that Tim had been to rehab
twice and was trying AA meetings again after he relapsed while on tour with his
band.

“As far as I know, Delilah is still
going with him,” she added. “And most nights there’s a whole group that goes to
eat dinner together after the meeting. He was being stalked by one of the other
members, so I think Delilah felt like she needed to protect her boyfriend from
other women.”

I felt a slim quiver of recognition
in my stomach, the sensation that I used to feel when I was working a case in Chicago
and the clues began to align.

“Here’s what I propose,” I said,
carefully slathering one of the moist cupcakes with frosting. “Once I get these
beauties finished, I’m going to freshen up, change my clothes and drive back
down to Denver. I’ve got a hunch about the AA connection. I want to see if
somebody at one of the meetings might know where Tim and Delilah would stay
when they’re keeping a low profile.”

Viveca sighed. “Oh, Kate,” she said
softly. “You really are amazing.”

I glanced over. She was rubbing her
eyes and shaking her head. I wanted to give her a hug and offer words of
comfort and encouragement. But I decided to keep working on the cupcakes so I
could get to Denver before the AA meeting started at six-thirty.

“I should go with you.” She began
gathering the scrapbooks and photo albums into her arms. “Maybe we can sift
through my brother’s stuff tomorrow.”

“I’ve got another idea,” I said.
“Why don’t you take those home? I can look through them later, and you should
try to maybe get some rest this afternoon.”

Her eyes flickered at the
suggestion. It seemed like she was genuinely torn between the desire to stay in
Crescent Creek and the sense of duty to join me while I poked around into her
brother’s disappearance. I reassured her again that I could handle the quick
trip to the city, and she seemed to relax a bit.

“And you
really
don’t mind?”
she asked.

I reached into one of the
cupboards, grabbed a small box and loaded it with two Cocoa Loco Cupcakes. I
carefully positioned it on the top of the books in her arms. Then I gave her a
playful swat on the rump.

“I don’t mind,” I said, holding the
door open so she could head home. “And I promise to call you later with a full
report.”

I stood on the back porch and
watched her walk slowly across the expanse of grass between Sky High and the
matching Victorian that she’d inherited from her uncle. I’d only known Viveca
for a short time, but a sisterly bond had already formed between us. She was
the first neighbor to greet me when I returned to Crescent Creek. And she was
the first guest I’d invited over for a glass of wine. Whatever else happened in
the days ahead, I wanted to do everything possible to help unravel the knots of
anxiety that were now tied around her heart.

CHAPTER
28

An hour later, after I finished the
prep list and cleaned up the kitchen, my sister called from Denver. I hadn’t
talked to Olivia in a couple of weeks. When her name appeared on the phone, I
cringed with guilt about visiting the city without letting her know.

“When are you coming down to see
me?” It was the sharp, cutting tone that I imagined she used when
cross-examining witnesses in court. “I know you’re busy, but it’s been a
million years since we got together.”

I sighed. “It’s been less than a
month, Liv.”

She was quiet for a few seconds
before asking me to explain why her husband saw me the other day walking into
an apartment building on Franklin Street. I felt my stomach twist and my cheeks
turn crimson.

“I’ve actually been down a couple
of times this week,” I told her hesitantly. “But I was with Viveca and we
were—”

“And you didn’t stop by and see
me?” she blurted, sounding annoyed and hurt.

“I would’ve, but I was with Viv.”

“I’ve met her,” Olivia said. “I
think she’s nice.”

“But we were kind of doing
something that needed our undivided attention,” I offered.

She huffed loudly into the phone.
“Like
what
?”

I flipped through a quick list of
playful possibilities in my mind: face lift, tummy tuck, shoe shopping. Since I
knew my sister would never believe anything quite so colorful, I decided to
tell her the truth.

“Snooping around?” she said
dismissively. “But I thought you gave that up when you left Chicago.”

“I was just helping Viveca because she’s
pretty upset,” I explained. “It’s too complicated to go into right now, but it
involves her brother.”

“Is he in some kind of trouble?”
Olivia asked. “Is whatever you’re doing in Denver dangerous?”

I laughed. “Not any more dangerous
than having dinner with your family.”

As I feared, she didn’t find humor
in my silly joke. Instead, she asked when I was coming back to the city.

“I’ll actually be down there this
afternoon,” I said.

“Well, I’ve got a doctor’s
appointment. Can you reschedule the visit for another day so that we can at
least meet for coffee or something?”

“What I’m doing this afternoon
can’t exactly be rescheduled.”

She snickered. “What is it—brain
surgery?”

I pressed my lips together to keep
from laughing. “It’s actually an AA meeting.”

There was no sound on the other end
of the line. I finally asked if my sister was still there.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said quietly.
“And I’m so sorry, Kate. I didn’t realize you had a…problem.”

I’d been so intent on answering her
questions honestly that I didn’t understand what she meant for a brief moment.
When it did make sense, I started laughing and told her not to worry.

“I’m not going there because I have
a drinking problem,” I said.

“Then what it is?” she demanded.
“Why are you going to an AA meeting?”

“Ah, c’mon, Liv. You know I can’t
tell you that.”

“Why not?” she asked in a hushed
voice. “Is someone there with you?”

“No, Liv,” I said. “Because it’s
like Vegas.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You know,” I added. “What happens
at AA meetings stays at AA meetings.”

She answered the bland deflection
with a few colorful words that Nana Reed would never condone before the line
went dead.

“Thanks for calling, sis,” I
mumbled, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. “Always good to catch up.”

CHAPTER
29

The AA meeting that I decided to
try first was held at the York Street Club, a red brick mansion in Denver’s
Capitol Hill neighborhood. After finding a place to park on Gaylord Street, I
walked down Thirteenth Avenue and around the corner onto York. As I approached
the stately structure, I paused at the foot of the long stone steps leading to
the front door. I took a moment to appreciate the grand old mansion. It was a
magnificent building with neatly manicured shrubs and landscaping, a
wrap-around porch and a steeply-pitched roof punctuated by attic windows.

As I made my way up the staircase,
a man came in the opposite direction. He was scowling at his phone as his
thumbs tapped on the tiny keyboard.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up
briefly. “How’s it going?”

I smiled. “Good, thanks,” I said.
“Do you know where—”

But he was gone before I could
finish my question. I watched him scramble down the rest of the stairs before
going inside. The entryway was empty, but I heard voices somewhere above and
headed for the stairs going up to the second floor. When I reached the landing,
I noticed two women standing outside an open doorway.

“Welcome,” one of them said warmly.
“You’re a new face.”

I nodded. “Yes, this is my first
time here.”

She gestured across the threshold. “We’ll
be starting in just a few minutes.”

With another nod, I stepped into a
room outfitted with folding chairs and tables. I smiled at a couple of
middle-aged men sitting together before crossing the room to where a woman with
green-tinted hair stood alone beside a long wooden table. She was struggling to
remove a clear plastic sleeve from a stack of paper cups. Besides the
distinctive hue of her hair and the unlit cigarette tucked behind one ear, I
also noticed that all of her fingernails except one were painted pitch-black
and speckled with tiny spots of yellow. A quick glance at her right thumb
revealed the telltale splotch of dried solvent used to apply acrylic nails.

“Excuse me,” I said.

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Do you mind if I ask a couple of
questions?”

She fixed her almond-shaped eyes on
my face. “What is it?” she said in a flat tone.

“Do you know Delilah Benson?” I
asked. “Or Tim England?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s this
about?”

“Oh, my name is Kate Reed,” I told
her. “And I’m helping Tim’s sister look for—”

The muscles in her jaw tightened.
“Are you here for the meeting?”

I shook my head. “No, my neighbor’s
brother has gone missing,” I explained. “I suspect that he and his girlfriend,
that’s Delilah, might both come here for—”

“Then maybe you should talk to the
police.”

“But do you know them?” I asked
again.

“That’s not how this works,” the
woman said as she positioned the stack of cups on the table beside a large
stainless steel urn. “Alcoholics Anonymous is just that—
anonymous
.” She
paused briefly to let the word—and the melodramatic emphasis of her tone—sink
in. “We’re not here so that police detectives can barge in with a bunch of
questions about members.”

“But I’m not with the police,” I
explained. “I’m just trying to help a friend find her brother.”

“Then you should go to the cops,”
the woman said. “I’ve heard that’s in their job description.”

It was a few minutes before the
meeting was scheduled to begin. A trio of twentysomething men came through the
door, talking in hushed voices and nodding in unison like hipster bobbleheads.
Between their facial scruff, knit caps and baggy cardigan sweaters, they looked
like the guys I used to see in the galleries and restaurants in Wicker Park
before I left Chicago.

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you,”
she said, finally softening her cynical shell. “It’s just not what we’re all
about.”

“I appreciate you telling me that,”
I said. “But isn’t the point of your group to help people?”

She nodded, keeping her attention
on the cups she was organizing into a small army of identical stacks. “Yeah,
but we help them with addiction and recovery,” she said. “We’re not babysitters
or stormtroopers.”

A man walked by us, leaving the
aroma of patchouli in his wake. The woman’s nose wrinkled and a groan came from
her frowning mouth.

“I can’t
stand
that smell!”
she hissed.

“Patchouli?”

She nodded. “My sister’s roommate
thinks it somehow harmonizes with her body chemistry.” Her eyes tumbled up and
back in her head. “As if anything could
ever
match her big fat—” She
stopped the crude comment before adding the final twist of the knife. “Sorry,”
she apologized. “It’s been a really awful couple of days.”

A few more people came into the
room. They were a mix of ages and races, but it was clear that they shared
common ground as warm hugs and friendly greetings were exchanged. I checked the
time on my phone. I had less than five minutes before the meeting was scheduled
to begin, but the green-haired gatekeeper kept her focus on arranging paper
cups.

After a few more pointless attempts
to engage her in conversation, I drifted toward a small cluster of attendees in
the corner. A woman wearing a faux fur jacket was at the center of the group,
holding court as two men and a second woman listened with rapt concentration. I
recognized her immediately; it was the woman that Viveca and I saw leaving
Tim’s apartment building when we arrived the other day. She was built like a
water heater, no curves or hips, just a short, stout body encased in a black
spandex sheath, bright pink leggings and dark ankle boots.

“Hi, guys,” I said, approaching
slowly and stepping into another cloud of patchouli. “Can I interrupt for a
sec?”

The woman in the jacket squinted at
me suspiciously. “No problem,” she said. “What do you need?”

I met her steely gaze with a friendly
grin. “My name’s Kate,” I said as everyone drifted away except one guy with
pockmarked skin. “And I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping you might be
able to help me with something.”

“I’m Lois,” she said with a warm,
radiant grin. “Is this your first time at York Street?”

As I explained that I wasn’t there
for the meeting, I noticed something on one of her ears and stepped slightly to
the side for a better view. It looked like pale emerald paint; a faint splotch
of watery green that was nearly hidden by the curtains of light brown ringlets
framing her face. The hue was similar to the color of the other woman’s hair,
so my eyes darted back to where she stood for a quick check. Then I glanced at
Lois again, adding that I’d come to the meeting looking for information.

“What kind of information?” She
looked nervously at the man standing beside her, but he was staring at his
phone.

“I’m trying to find Tim England,” I
said as the friendly expression on her face dimmed. “And his girlfriend Delilah
Benson. And, you know what? I actually think I saw you the other day outside—”

She put one hand on my arm. “We
don’t use last names here,” she told me in a no-nonsense tone. “And whatever
trouble Delilah’s gotten Tim into, they both deserve it and I—” The rush of words
stopped as quickly as it began. “Wow!” Lois said. “I am
so
sorry! I
guess that I’ve had too much coffee and not enough sleep in the past couple of
days. I really hope you’ll pretend that I didn’t just say that.”

There was a sharp disparity between
her feathery voice and the harsh glare in her eyes. I’d obviously struck a
nerve, but I wasn’t sure if it related to Tim, Delilah or my accidental
violation of the group’s code of anonymity.

“Thanks very much.” I pressed a big
smile onto my face and swept the crowd before looping back to the man with
pockmarked skin. He’d finally looked up from his phone. “Do
you
know
someone named Delilah?”

The guy nodded. “Yeah, the girl
with the—”

Before he could finish, the woman
with green hair suddenly appeared on my right.

“This isn’t cool, okay?” She
pinched my elbow between two acrylic talons. “If you want to stay and share,
that’s totally fine. But you can’t just interrogate everyone in the group.”

Lois blinked in confusion. “She
wasn’t interrogating anybody. She just asked if we know Delilah.”

The green-haired woman scowled.
“Because she’s with the cops or something. And I’ve already explained that
we’re anonymous.” She glared at me with blistering contempt. “As in we don’t
cross-examine people who come here. This is a safe space; everyone is welcome,
but it’s not cool to try and ask a bunch of nosy questions.”

The fire in her eyes was set on
Singe
& Scorch
, so I took a deep breath, expressed regret for the intrusion
and made my way out of the room.

“Strike one,” I muttered, striding
slowly down the corridor. “My skills have gotten rusty since Chicago, so it’s a
good thing I’m in the pie business now.”

Light footsteps echoed over my
shoulder. I stopped and looked back as another woman approached on tiny black
ballet slippers. She was a petite blonde; a nearly perfect clone of the woman
with green hair.

“Hey, hold on,” she called. “I
wanted to apologize for Heidi.”

I waited until she reached me
before thanking her for the gesture. “But it’s not necessary,” I added, deciding
that she was referring to the irritable gatekeeper in the meeting room. “I
figured it was worth a shot to stop by today. Unfortunately, Heidi didn’t
exactly agree.”

The woman held out one hand. “I’m
Hannah,” she said. “Heidi’s my twin sister. She’s not as bad as she comes
across.” The glimmer of a smile appeared and vanished. “Although when she’s in
guard dog mode, she can be pretty fierce.”

“Amen to that. She does a great job
of protecting you and your friends.”

Hannah smirked. “My sister’s a
control freak,” she announced with a long, fatigued sigh. “And the ultimate
mean girl. But I’m used to it.”

“I get that,” I said. “I have a
sister, too.”

I watched as her teeth clenched and
she inhaled deeply. “Well, Heidi is three minutes older than me.” Her voice was
quivering slightly and her hands began to tremble. “And she somehow thinks that
tiny blip of time gives her the authority to push me around and…” She stifled
the sudden rush of childhood angst with a muffled gasp. Then she took a long,
deep breath and dragged one pale hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she
continued. “You didn’t come here to listen to me complain about family
squabbles.”

The unexpected fury subsided as
quickly as it had erupted. Her face relaxed, her eyes brightened and the tremor
in her hands disappeared. It reminded me of a client that I had once in Chicago,
a demure woman who claimed her new husband was cheating on her. In the end, my
investigation revealed that she was lying the whole time. She’d engaged me as
part of a strange plan to leverage her groom into taking out a life insurance
policy, something that she’d profit from once he’d been killed by her lover. I
was trying to think of the woman’s name when Hannah lightly tapped my arm.

“Hello?” she said with a big grin.

I winced. “Sorry. I kind of spaced
there for a sec.”

“That’s okay.” She flashed another
smile. “You were asking about Delilah, right?”

“Yes. Do you know her?”

“Somewhat,” she answered. “We’re not
besties or anything, but we go for Chinese after the meeting now and then.”

“When was the last time you talked
to her?”

She furrowed her brow, searching
for the answer. “Uh, it was, like, three days ago. She showed up for a noon meeting, which was really random.” She paused and nodded, as if I would somehow
understand the meaning of the enigmatic reply. “Sorry,” she added a second
later. “Delilah’s usually a night meeting person. That’s what I meant by
random.”

“How did she seem?” I asked.

Hannah held my gaze, squinting
slightly. “Like, was she normal and everything?”

“Exactly.”

There was more squinting, a faint
nod and then the woman’s demeanor shifted dramatically. “Not at all,” she said,
lowering her voice and moving closer. “This guy we all know showed up about
twenty minutes after the meeting started. He sort of came in, wandered to the
coffee table, messed around with the cups and then stared at Delilah until she
got up and they left together.”

As Hannah continued describing the
strange encounter, a surge of optimism bubbled through my mind; it was the same
sense I felt in Chicago whenever Rodney and I discovered something important
related to a case.

“Is that good?” she asked after
telling me that the guy’s name was Anton. “I mean, will it be helpful in
whatever you’re trying to do?”

“Absolutely,” I answered. “Thanks
so much for sharing that with me.”

She cringed. “Heidi’s going to kill
me,” she said. “But I don’t care. She’s not the boss of me.”

I smiled at the childlike remark.
The longer I talked to Hannah, the more I could see the resemblance between the
two sisters. They both had almond-shaped eyes, a tapered nose with a smallish
bulb at the end and the same light olive complexion. With Heidi’s green hair,
however, it was easy to tell them apart.

“I should get back,” she said,
jabbing one thumb over her shoulder toward the meeting room. “I’m getting my
blue chip tonight.”

“Your blue chip?”

The question elicited a megawatt
grin. “I’ve been sober for a full year,” she said proudly. “And I plan to stay
that way.”

“Congratulations! That’s a great
achievement for you.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked
at the floor. “Thanks…” She frowned slightly. “I just realized that I don’t
know your name.”

“I’m Kate,” I told her. “Kate
Reed.”

“And you’re with the police or
something?”