Chocolate Most Deadly (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (4 page)

I heaved a sigh and glanced at the
whiteboard on the wall.

“What’s next on the list?” I asked.
“Berry Cheesecake Bites?”

Julia shook her head. “Those can
wait until tomorrow,” she said. “I was getting ready to start on Eliza’s order.
If you don’t mind helping, I think we can get it finished lickety-split.”

“Then let’s do it!” I said, washing
my hands. “I’ve got an errand that I can run tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll take
the goodies to her on the way.”

CHAPTER
5

“That one right there,” the man
said, scowling at the assortment of pies in the display case and jabbing his
pudgy fingers against the glass. “Is that mincemeat or what?”

It was half past nine on Wednesday morning, and I was behind the counter while Harper circled the dining room
with a fresh pot of decaf. The place buzzed with the sound of contented
customers eating breakfast, drinking coffee and trading tidbits of gossip and
local news.

“Well?” Mr. Scowl demanded. “What
kind is it?”

I leaned down to check. “That’s our
Apple-Blueberry Breeze,” I said. “It’s a blend of apples and blueberries with—”

“I hate apples,” he announced,
dragging his hand along the pristine glass. “How about that one?”

I followed the smudged trail of fingerprints.

“I’m sorry, sir. That one contains
apples, too.”

He stood up, wrinkled his nose and
leaned closer. “Is that all you’ve got—nothing but apple pies?”

“No, sir.” I moved toward the far
end of the case. “Our cream pies are all really delicious.” I pointed through
the glass. “We have chocolate, vanilla, banana, toasted coconut, raspberry,
cappuccino, pistachio and—”

“Cappuccino’s something you drink,”
he said, grimacing as if in pain. “And I’m not thirsty, lady. I’m hungry.”

I took a quick breath and smiled.
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” I offered. “Sky High has more types of
pie than—”

“Just gimme a slice of that.” He
leaned closer, pressing his nose against the glass. “The one right there with
the whipped cream and whatnot.”

The peaks of the pie were dusted
with cocoa powder and chocolate shavings. I guessed those two items fell into
the
whatnot
category in Mr. Scowl’s book.

“Very well,” I said, keeping my
smile soft and bright. “Is that for here or to go?”

He gestured toward the door with a
solitary nod of his Carhartt cap. “I got a truck of cattle parked in your lot,”
he said. “Better make it to go unless your customers enjoy the smell of manure
with their apple pie.”

My smile wavered briefly before I
recovered, quickly packaged a large slice of chocolate cream pie and sent the
trucker on his way.

“He was a peach,” Harper said,
sliding up beside me at the register. “What was his deal?”

I shrugged. “He’s not a fan of
apples. But that’s okay by me. The guy was all about satisfying his sweet tooth
and getting back on the road.”

Harper giggled. “I can handle
things out here,” she said, glancing around the room. “If you need to help
Julia in the kitchen.”

“I probably should. We got a very
last-minute special request that needs to be finished by three o’clock.”

“Go on then,” she said. “If I get
in the weeds, I’ll send up a flare.”

I smiled at my childhood friend and
headed for the kitchen. When Harper learned that my parents were retiring and I
was returning to Crescent Creek to take the reins at Sky High Pies, she’d
immediately offered her services. Besides being my friend and one of the most
patient people you’d ever meet, Harper single-handedly managed customers at the
ten tables and eight counter spots on most days like an amazing combination of a
symphony conductor, a nimble juggler and an even-tempered diplomat.

The staff at the bakery café had
always been small. Nana Reed started the enterprise with a two-member team and
the occasional assist from my grandfather. My parents were at the helm for
twenty-five years, almost exclusively managing the dining room by themselves
with one person in the kitchen. During summers and school holidays, my sister,
brother and I pitched in as much as our parents would allow. And now that I was
calling the shots, I wanted to keep things equally simple. Harper managed the
dining room. Julia covered the kitchen. And Angus Martin, a retired railroad
engineer with ruddy cheeks and an ever-present chuckle, served as Sky High’s
official handyman whenever something needed to be repaired or replaced. It was
a true dream team; capable, talented individuals who knew the value of mutual
respect and camaraderie.

“How’s everything up front?” asked
Julia went I came through the swinging door from the dining room. “I watched
you helping that last guy through the pass window. You did a great job of not
losing your cool, Kate.”

I smiled. “He was a piece of cake,”
I said. “A little rough around the edges, but I’d bet he’s got a heart of gold
and a willingness to help any stranger in a storm.”

She laughed. “Oh, yeah? His name’s
Albert Hogben. My sister works with his ex-wife at the bank over on Hickory and
Elm. She can curl your toes with stories about Albert.”

I made a face. “My toes are just
fine, thank you very much.” I glanced at the whiteboard where we tracked
special orders and daily prep lists. “What can I help with next?”

“I’ve got this,” Julia said. “Why
don’t you go catch up on paperwork? I’ll come find you if the orders get out of
hand.”

“You sure?”

She waved her spatula toward the
hallway leading to my office. “Yes, Katie! I’m sure. I’ll handle things in here
while you go and shuffle paper around your desk.” She giggled and winked. “And
you know that I’m kidding, right?”

Julia’s sense of humor was only one
thing that I loved about her. I thanked my lucky stars every day that she was
in charge of the kitchen. After graduating from culinary school in New York and
working in Paris for several award-winning restaurants, she’d returned to Denver
a decade earlier to open her own place. When that enterprise shredded her life
savings and threatened to reduce her marriage to rubble, Julia and her husband
relocated to Crescent Creek after my parents hired her to be the chef at Sky
High. Luckily, she agreed to stay on when I took over the family business.

“Yes, Jules,” I said, grabbing a
mug of coffee. “I know you’re joking!”

After thanking her for being so
thoughtful, I left the kitchen and walked to the tiny, windowless room that
served as my office. The space smelled of cinnamon, furniture polish and
higgledy-piggledy stacks of paperwork. As I settled into the desk chair and
started organizing the latest invoices for baking supplies and paper products,
I glanced at the photograph on my desk of Nana Reed. She was a short, thin
woman with a cotton candy cloud of white hair, twinkling blue eyes and a joyful
smile.

“I miss you every day,” I said
quietly. “And I hope you approve of how I’m running the place now that mom and
dad are retired to Florida.”

In my mind, I imagined how she’d
snicker before reacting to the news that her son and daughter-in-law had
abandoned the Rocky Mountains for the Gulf of Mexico.

“They’ll be back,” she’d chirp,
fluffing her hair with a few gentle touches of her slender fingers. “Even if
only for a day or two. After all, there’s nothing like the aroma of a
fresh-baked pie made with love, patience and gumption!”

I smiled at the recollection of her
favorite motto:
love, patience and gumption
. When I was a little girl,
I’d always ask her to define the last entry on the list.

“Gumption?” she’d say as her eyes
crinkled into a tender smile. “That’s the same as courage or guts, Katie. Some
people are born with both. Others gain them through the years.”

I always felt that my courage was
from a combination of nature and nurture. One of my earliest memories was
following Nana Reed around the kitchen at Sky High, a pint-sized apron around
my neck and wooden spoons in both hands. It took a few attempts before I could
climb up on the step ladder and gaze at the ingredients whirling around the
mixing bowl. I never knew why it frightened me at first, but I was glad I
overcame the hesitancy. For years, I’d ride my bike to Sky High after school,
clamber through the door and join Nana Reed as she gossiped with whoever was
working at the time as chef. It took a special set of skills, but the place was
small enough to allow one person to juggle breakfast and lunch orders while
also handling the baking duties. I learned about the intricacies of life in a
small town during those sessions. I also learned the joy and satisfaction of
transforming assorted ingredients into pies, cakes, cookies and scones.

“It’s like Julia Child used to
say,” my grandmother would often tell me. “‘No one is born a great cook, one
learns by doing.’” A few seconds after she delivered that venerable homily, my
beloved grandfather, a gruff man with unkempt eyebrows and an empty pipe in the
corner of his mouth, would inevitably peer over the top of his rimless glasses
and add his two cents. “You know what else Julia Child said? ‘The only time to
eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook.’” Then he would
pat his ample stomach and smile. “Speaking of which,” he’d always conclude.
“How about another slice of strawberry-rhubarb, dear?”

CHAPTER
6

A short time later, as I wrestled
with a huge bag of flour in the pantry, Harper tapped me on the shoulder.

“There’s a
very
handsome man
in the dining room,” she whispered.

I groaned, slowly easing the bag to
the floor. “Does he want to help me get this into the kitchen?”

“Should I go ask?”

“That sounds awesome.” I considered
the idea. “On second thought,” I continued, “let me spare him from possible
injury. My arms are already warmed up and ready to go.”

I heaved the bag into the large
wheeled bin that we kept under the counter in the kitchen. Then I slumped
against the wall and looked at my trusted dining room overseer.

“What did I tell you?” I said as a
spasm of pain spread across my lower back. “Easy peasy!”

We both laughed and she raised her
hand for a high five. Then she reached over and wiped a bit of flour from my
chin.

“If he’s going to take your
picture,” she said, “you should be as presentable as possible.”

My eyes went wide. “Oh, the
newspaper photographer! Gretchen said he’d stop by this morning to take the
photo for the story she’s writing about Sky High.”

“What story?” Harper frowned. “I
didn’t know you were becoming a media darling.”

I smirked. “I’m not,” I said. “And
I won’t. Gretchen Goode is—”

“I know her,” Harper said. “She’s
editor of the
Crescent Creek Gazette
.”

“Well, we did a little phone
interview the other day,” I explained. “No big deal, but it slipped my mind to
tell you and Julia.”

“Is she going to interview us, too?
So we can give her the real scoop about what goes on around here?”

For a split second, I thought she
was serious. Then I realized she was trying not to smile.

“I’m kidding!” she sputtered
finally. “It’s so much fun giving you a hard time, Katie. You can be savvy and
wise, but then completely gullible.”

I shrugged. “That’s me,” I said.
“The perfect blend of wisdom and naiveté.”

“Well, you better get your naïve
wisdom out there,” she said.

“Has he been waiting long? I lost
complete track of the time.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s
ten-fifteen. When was he supposed to be here?”

“Right about now,” I answered. “Do
I look okay? Should I maybe freshen up first?”

Harper shook her head. “You look
totally fine! There’s a glow about you that will look really sweet in the
photograph.”

I smiled. “That glow is called
perspiration. Julia and I have been baking up a storm this morning.”

“Should I send him back?” she
asked.

“I’ll be right there,” I said. “I
don’t want him taking pictures in the pantry or kitchen. The place is a
complete wreck.”

The bell on the front door chimed in
the distance. Harper held up her hand again for another celebratory
palm-to-palm smack before turning on her heel.

After a quick stop in front of a
mirror in the hallway, I hurried into the dining room and nearly fell over when
I saw the handsome guy sitting at a table with a camera bag over his shoulder
and a vintage Nikon on a strap around his neck. He was tan, muscular and
gorgeous with a dimpled chin, ice blue eyes and short jet-black hair. Dark
stubble covered his face and a pair of tortoise-frame Wayfarers dangled from
the neck of his dark green T-shirt.

“You must be Kate Reed,” he said,
getting up as I approached. “I’m Zachary Hutton.”

My lips formed a smile at the sound
of his name. And my heart melted as I gazed at his face. He was a mirage of masculinity
and mountain charm, like someone from Central Casting in Hollywood had
dispatched him in response to a call for a flawless and rugged matinee idol.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Hutton.” I guessed that he was somewhere around thirty-five. “Sorry to keep you
waiting.”

He grinned. “Please,” he said. “I
prefer Zack.”

I felt my cheeks go pink. “Ah,
well…” I noticed Harper out of the corner of my eye, leaning in from a nearby
vantage point. “That’s good to know, Zack. Thanks for coming by this morning.”

He shifted the camera bag on his
shoulder. “Hey, you know how it goes,” he said. “When duty calls, a true
professional rises to the challenge. No matter how difficult or dangerous.”

The joke sailed right over my head
as I stared at his impossibly perfect face.

“Although,” he added, “you look
neither difficult nor dangerous.”

I heard Harper ask if we needed
anything.

“No, he’s fine,” I said, instantly
regretting the reply. “I mean,
we’re
fine.” I glanced at her and my
breath caught in my throat when I felt Zack’s hand on my arm. “Uh, at least…”
His fingers were warm and firm as he took my elbow. “I think we are.”

His laughter tumbled through the
air. “We’re doing great,” he said. “And thank you for the offer…” He took a
quick peek at her name tag. “…Harper, but I’ve only got about twenty minutes to
shoot this portrait before I’m due across town at the courthouse.”

“Okay, then,” Harper said. “You two
kids have fun.” She gave me a quick wink and headed back toward the group of
regulars that had just settled in at their usual table near the fireplace.

“I’d like to take one with you on
the front steps,” Zack said. “And then maybe in the kitchen while you’re
working on a pie.”

He gently guided me toward the
front door. As we walked through the dining room, my schoolgirl nerves
evaporated and I regained control of my senses.

“Could we skip the kitchen?” I
asked. “Maybe we could take the second one in the dining room?”

“That’s a great idea,” Zack agreed.
“I just want one of you in action.”

I knew what he meant, but still
wanted to avoid the kitchen. Julia and I had been so busy since we arrived at five o’clock that the place looked like a tornado had churned through that morning.

“In action?” I repeated as we
stepped out onto the front porch. “You mean I could be pouring a cup of coffee
for someone?”

He stopped and squinted at me with
his striking blue eyes. “Your brother told me you’d be a tough cookie.”

“My brother?” I was dumbstruck at
the announcement. “How do you know Brody?”

He smiled. “We played in the same
baseball league when we were kids,” Zack said. “I was older than him, but we
somehow got paired for fielding drills all the time. He sort of became the
younger kid brother I never had. When Gretchen told me to come over this
morning, I gave Brody a quick call to let him know. He thought it was pretty
hilarious
—
his real big sister and his fake big brother meeting after all
these years.”

I said their names in my mind,
imagining what it would’ve been like to have two brothers instead of one.
Zack
and Brody. Brody and Zack. Zack and—

“Okay, this will be perfect,” Zack
said as he walked down the front stairs and gazed up at me. “Now, Kate,” he
continued, motioning with one hand, “I’d like you to stand right in the middle
of the top step, okay?”

I nodded. “But Brody’s been in California
for the past few years. When did he tell you that I’d be…” I couldn’t remember
anything about what he’d just said. “What was it my brother called me?”

Zack smiled, flashing a set of
flawless white teeth that glowed against his tanned skin. “A tough cookie,” he
said. “Now, let’s try a couple of frames so you can relax.”

Every nerve in my body went rigid.
“I’m fine!” I blurted. “Don’t I look relaxed?”

He lifted the camera and gazed at
me through the viewfinder. “Not really. You look a little tense.”

“Well, I’m not used to having my
picture taken,” I explained. “In my former life, I was the one with the
camera.”

I heard the soft
click, click,
pause, click
as he snapped a few frames.

“Right,” he said, lowering the Nikon.
“Brody told me you used to be a cop or something?”

I shook my head. “He never gets the
details right,” I sighed. “I was a private investigator.”

The perfect smile appeared again.
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. And Gretchen said you were in Chicago before moving to
Crescent Creek.”

“Yes, but you know this is my
hometown, right?” The question lurched out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“I mean, of course you know that.” I rolled my eyes and tried to make the
moment less awkward. “You played baseball with my brother, so…” There was no
need to finish the thought. I stopped yammering and waited while he peered
through the camera at me again.

“Maybe one hand on your hip?” he
said.

I changed positions, feeling more
than a little self-conscious.

“Perfect,” he called as the
click,
click, pause, click
sounded again. “That’s really nice, Kate. You’ve got a
beautiful smile when you relax.”

The instant I heard the word again,
my body went tight as a drum. I raised my hand from my hip and held it
overhead.

“No, that’s not what I had in
mind,” said Zack.

I grinned. “I know that, but I have
a question.”

“Oh, okay.” He lowered the camera.
“What’s up?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

He nodded.

“Can you maybe not tell me to
relax?” I asked. “Because every time you do, my entire body gets all tight
and—”

“I know,” he said brightly, peering
through the lens. “But then you actually
do
relax a second later and I’m
getting some great shots.”

I frowned. “You mean you took
pictures when I wasn’t relaxed?”

The camera came down again and he
raised one hand.

“Oh, now you’re just mocking me,” I
said with a laugh.

“No,” he said. “I have a question,
too.”

I smiled and waited.

“Can you do
me
a favor?”

“Yes, Mr. Hutton,” I said. “What is
it?”

“Can you enjoy the moment and let
me take a few more just like that?”

“Yes, but I—”

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he
interrupted. “And you’re running a successful business that your grandmother
started way before you were even born. So it’s an amazing story about a family
dynasty built on pie crust and chocolate and sugar and brains and hard work.”

The door behind me opened and
closed. Then I heard Harper.

“Kate?” she said softly. “I hate to
bother you, but your, uh, neighbor is in the—”

Zack walked toward us, motioning
Harper into the shot.

“Let’s get the two of you
together,” he suggested. “Just talk casually like you normally would.” He was
clearly addressing Harper. “So maybe you can put that beautiful frown on hold
for a sec.”

I turned and quickly surveyed the
look on her face. It was an expression that I’d seen before; the grimace of
someone caught in a difficult moment.

“What is it?” I asked Harper.

“Your neighbor,” she said, still
frowning. “She’s in the kitchen crying like someone died or something.”

Zack cleared his throat. “I just need
one or two more,” he called. “Then I’ll get out of here so you can carry on.”

I leaned toward Harper. “Do you
mind?” I whispered. “Just one picture and then we can go back inside.”