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

years
that the boys were at Berkeley, despite the fact that she was already married
to her husband, Velma had a crush on Carter Devane. From what we’ve learned so
far, the attraction went unrequited until they were both having trouble with
their marriages. They had a red-hot affair that burned out after a few weeks.
Eventually, they both went back home to revive their own version of wedded bliss.”
    “Does that mean Velma went to Berkeley
with Kevin, Jacob and Carter?”
    He laughed. “She may have driven by
the campus a few times or attended some of their parties. But if you’re asking
did she attend the University of California, that’s a big, fat no.”
    “Where did she go to school?”
    He laughed again. “Hard Knocks U,”
he said. “Have you seriously never heard her story before?”
    I shook my head.
    “Oh, shoot. It’s wild. When Velma
was a senior in high school, she basically flipped overnight from Little Miss Muffet
to Daughter of Lucifer. There was a really bizarre scandal that involved her
parents and a woman that lived around the corner.”
    “A juicy scandal that I know
nothing about?”
    “Hey,” Trent said. “Don’t blame me
if your mother and sister fell down on the job. I particularly can’t believe
your mom never mentioned it.”
    “Maybe she was trying to be
tactful,” I suggested.
    He grinned. “Or maybe there were
too many other spicy stories to tell you about.”
    “I suppose that could be true,
although my mother can turn an overheard whisper into a colossal tale of
infidelity and loose morals.”
    We shared a laugh and a warmhearted
moment reflecting on my mother’s love of innuendo and chitchat. When the memory
faded, I asked Trent to get back to the connection between Carter Devane, Velma
Lancaster and the dead guy at Ira Pemberton’s body shop.
    He groaned. “Didn’t I already cover
that? Somebody started calling Carter out of the blue a couple of months ago
with a cockamamie story about…actually, a cockamamie threat would be more
accurate. They claimed that Carter stole the original idea and formula for
those dog mouth wash chew thingies.”
    “Minty Dog?”
    “That’s it, yep.”
    “Sounds like a shakedown scheme
then.”
    Trent smiled. “That it does. When
the anonymous caller demanded a million dollars to keep quiet, Devane told the
guy to get lost.”
    “Anonymous calls in addition to the
notes?”
    “Yep.”
    “And the blackmailer is a man?”
    “Figure of speech,” answered Trent.
“Dina conducted the interview and I’m not sure if Carter actually specified the
gender of the person making the threats.”
    “Okay, so when did the scheme move
from telephone calls to anonymous notes written in verse?”
    Trent shrugged. “Sorry, Katie. I’m
juggling more than one hot potato. I didn’t memorize the dates.”
    “That’s okay.”
    “It’s not relevant to the overall
matter anyway,” he said. “I’ve got an arson and a murder to solve.”
    I held his gaze for a moment or
two, thinking about the connections between the longtime residents of Crescent
Creek and an anonymous extortionist.
    “Okay,” I said a moment later, “if
Carter Devane is the target for the scam, why were the other three included on
the unsigned note?”
    “You mean the crappy poem?”
    I nodded. “If Devane’s the rich guy
that someone is trying to blackmail into a million-dollar payoff, why include
Ira Pemberton, Velma Lancaster and Boris Hertel’s son? And what about Jacob
Lowry? He isn’t even mentioned in the note.”
    “Excellent questions,” Trent said.
“Feel free to connect the dots between the millionaire, the dog chews, the
arson and Mr. Lowry’s murder.”
    “All in good time,” I said. “You mind
if I do some sleuthing around town?”
    Trent laughed. “Don’t mind a bit,”
he said. “Just stay aware of the invisible line, Katie.”
    I asked him to explain.
    “The separation between the efforts
of a former private investigator,” he said, “and