Murder for Millions (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 7) by Mary Maxwell Page A

again. “I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Not at all. That sounds really
yummy.”
    “So? What was that about Utah?”
    “Oh, the PI that was with Boris
Hertel,” I said. “Burt Dahlquist told me that she might be from Utah.”
    Viveca frowned. “Okay, now I’m
lost. What does Burt have to do with anything? And why was a private detective
from Utah here in Crescent Creek with Boris Hertel?”
    I raised my wine. “That, my friend,
is the question of the day.”
    “Did you ask her?”
    “Are you kidding? I had just approached
Boris when she waltzed up and shut me down. After that, they left the bar.”
    “What about Burt Dahlquist?” Viv
said, reaching for the wine bottle. “Did you ask him?”
    “The second they were out the
door,” I said. “He told me that she and Boris had been talking to some guy before
I arrived.”
    “Could it be Boris Hertel’s son?”
    I thought about the question for a
moment or two. Trent had mentioned something about Hertel’s daughter-in-law,
but I didn’t know anything about the man’s son other than his first name.
    “Are we ready to order?” the server
said, suddenly appearing beside the table.
    Viv smiled. “Katie? Should we hear
about the specials?”
    I nodded and the man launched into
an energetic presentation about entrée selections prepared especially for the
night. I barely listened as he talked, but Viveca was hanging on every word.
She asked a few clarifying questions while I was replaying the bizarre
encounter at the Poke-A-Dot in my mind. By the time I realized they were both
staring at me, I felt my face flush pink with embarrassment.
    “Sorry, sorry!” I gushed. “I’m
going to have the grilled salmon with asparagus.”
    Viv ordered the same thing. When the
server left, she asked me again about Boris Hertel.
    “What about him?” I said.
    “Do you think the woman at the Poke-A-Dot
could be his daughter?”
    I shook my head. “Boris and his
wife only had one child, a son named Kevin. But he’s married, so I suppose
there’s a chance the woman with Boris this afternoon could be…” My phone buzzed
in my purse. “…married to Mr. Hertel’s son.”
    I glanced at Viv.
    “Go ahead,” she said. “It could be
a pie emergency!”
    When I pulled out the phone, I saw a
text from Trent Walsh: 911. Call me ASAP!
    “It’s urgent,” I told Viveca. “Do you
mind?”
    She smiled and picked up her wine
glass. “Not at all, sister. Knock yourself out.”
    I quickly dialed Trent and waited.
I could tell from his voice when he answered that it wasn’t good news.
    “Remember that list?” he said. “The
one written like a poem?”
    “Yes. What’s wrong?”
    “Ira Pemberton’s body shop,” Trent
said. “It’s engulfed in flames. Somebody came in, clocked Ira on the head and
knocked him out cold. Then they poured accelerant all over the place and lit a
match.”
    “Is Ira okay?”
    “Physically, yeah. But the rest of
him isn’t doing too well. I’d say he’s in a pretty deep state of shock.”
    “Is he at the med center?”
    “He should be, but the guy’s more
stubborn than a pig-headed mule.”
    “Did the EMTs at least check him
over?”
    “They did. Well, Robin Bellmore
did. She and Andy Davidson answered the call. Ira took one look at Robin and
said she could examine anything and everything she wanted.”
    “Okay, so it sounds like the ornery
lobe in his brain wasn’t damaged when he got clobbered.”
    Trent snickered. “No doubt. But I’d
like to talk to you again, Katie. We’re obviously dealing with something more
than a drunk guy delivering a scribbled to-do list.”
    “I can be there in ten minutes,” I
said.
    “It can wait until tomorrow. I’ve
got my hands full on the scene at the moment, and there’s no telling how long
I’ll be here.”
    “Okay. Do you want to call me later
when you’re finished?”
    “That works,” he said.
    “Don’t worry about waking me, okay?
At the moment, I need to satisfy my curiosity more