Shamrock Pie Murder

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “You see, Bert, unfortunately not all of my fellow professionals are as honest as I am.”

  “In what way?” Bert asked.

  “Well, some may use treatment methods they know don’t actually do much of anything to help their patients, but they cost a pretty penny, so they use them anyway. Others push all sorts of costly vitamins and supplements onto their patients.”

  Bert closed her eyes for a second, trying to gather the facts. “I’m sorry. So, there are chiropractors who are doing this to people who come to them for help?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “That’s horrible,” she gasped.

  “Well, it’s a very small handful of doctors.”

  “But those few manage to give everyone a bad name,” Carla added her two cents worth, motioning to the protestors for proof.

  “But how can they get away with it? Won’t their license be taken away or something?”

  “No, that won’t happen,” Sean answered. “The ones who do it are smart businessmen who know how to go about taking advantage of patients without ever actually breaking any laws or codes.”

  “But these people here feel they have been wronged,” Carla added.

  “That’s why they gather each year to protest our luncheon and other events like it,” her brother said.

  Bert glanced back at some of the people shouting at them. “Okay, so some of your peers use methods that don’t show results? Like acupuncture?” she asked, remembering the man who’d come up to her window.

  “No, no, acupuncture is actually very effective, and there is science behind it to prove it to be so,” he said. “It’s actually one treatment I use often.”

  “But they’re trying to take that away from him,” Carla complained. “The acupuncture, I mean.”

  For the first time since Bert had met him, Sean’s smile disappeared. “That’s not something to discuss right now, Carla.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? You said Travis was trying to make it against code for chiropractors to practice acupuncture; that you have to choose one or the other.”

  Bert felt a hint of fear, but also excitement, at the sheer hardened expression of anger that engulfed Sean’s face. “Drop it, Sis,” he ordered, clearly not wanting to discuss the situation at the moment.

  Feeling an awkward tension filling the car, Bert tried to distract herself. Glancing out, she noticed a young woman standing on a wooden milk crate. She had a bullhorn in one hand and was shouting through it. Underneath a red ballcap, she had stringy blonde hair and a red complexion.

  “That’s Tera Rierson,” Sean pointed out, glad for the chance to get away from the heated conversation. “She and her husband are the ones who hunt us down every year and organize the protest. Around six or seven years ago, it was just her, her husband, and a handful of others doing the protests—but over time they’ve rounded up more and more people to participate.”

  Bert watched as a black car pulled up in front of the building. Instantly, the police officers pressed back the protestors. An older man, with a completely bald head and wearing circular wire glasses, and a woman dressed in formal clothing stepped out of the backseat once the area was partially cleared.

  It looked like they would make it through to the front doors without too much of an incident, but Tera wasn’t going to stand for it. Leaping from her crate, she ran toward the couple with the bullhorn in front of her mouth, shouting all manner of obscenities and insults. “How does it feel to be a fake and a con, Mr. Shatner? You’re someone who takes advantage of people in pain,” she demanded.

  “Get this woman out of my face,” the old gentleman snapped.

  Two of the cops stepped forward, instructing Tera to step back.

  Reluctantly, she complied, but not before yelling out one more insult. “How many of your very own patients have you conned?”

  Without another word, the man dragged his wife inside the doors.

  “Sheesh. You’d think there was a more civil way to express your opinion,” Carla muttered.

  Bert had to agree. Just how angry did you have to be to come out on the street on a chilly morning and yell at strangers?

  “Honestly, I can’t say I blame them,” Sean commented with a breath of air through his nose. He shrugged. “I know a lot of these people have been taken advantage of.”

  Bert looked at all the angry faces of the protestors. “They all must feel pretty passionate about it.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Some of my fellow doctors will even keep a patient coming back for weekly appointments, even when the issue they came in for has been fixed. It’s very dishonest.” Sean narrowed his gaze on the front entrance of the building.

  Bert looked at Tera again. “I can see why some people get upset.”

  Carla decided to chime in again. “I still never understood the need to come out on the streets and shout at strangers. Why can’t people just express their opinion in a quieter way?”

  “They probably wouldn’t feel heard,” Bert said.

  Folding his arms, Sean smiled. “It’s true. They’ve signed petitions, held meetings, even written to the board of chiropractors, but with little results. At least this way they have a chance to face their opponent in person.”

  “I can’t help feeling bad for them,” Bert said with honesty. She’d never had any trouble with doctors or chiropractors in the past but could see how others could become angry.

  “Anyway, I hate to say it, but one of the men at this dinner is one of our largest spokesmen, and he’s caused a lot of trouble and bad publicity for our community as a whole. In fact, I’d go as far to say he has single handedly brought our image down in recent years.”

  Bert looked toward the building. “Who is it?”

  “The man you saw just a few seconds ago, our chairman of the board, Travis Shatner.”

  CHAPTER 3

  * * *

  “How did this Shatner character get to be chairman if he’s so dishonest?” Bert asked as she climbed out of the car, grabbing a few trays from the backseat. They’d finally managed to push through the crowd of protestors blocking the parking lot entrance and move in behind the building.

  The lot was at the back, right up against the river’s concrete walkway.

  Carla’s brother shrugged, leaning on the open passenger side door. “Partially because he’s so outspoken. He goes after what he wants and takes it. Also, he’s one of the oldest working members of our community.”

  “Still, don’t you think everyone would elect someone new?” Bert asked, handing off one stack of trays to her best friend. “Thanks,” she told her, reaching in for another round.

  “Not really. Just like most people, a lot of these men are older and don’t like change. They make the same votes and decisions every year,” he sighed, closing his door.

  Bert twisted her lips to one side in thought. “I suppose. I just hope I don’t have to deal with this chairman too closely if he really is as bad as you say.”

  “He isn’t all that bad to interact with on a superficial level, it’s just when you get down to the nitty gritty that he can be a pain in the butt, for sure. He and I bump heads every time we’re together.”

  “I hope that back door is open,” Carla said, standing there shivering with the trays in hand.

  “Come on, let’s get these inside.”

  “Mind if I help?” Sean offered, taking the stack out of Bert’s arms without waiting for an answer.

  “Sure, go right ahead,” Bert replied with a smile.

  “And don’t mind your poor sister over here,” Carla complained.

  “Looks like you’ve got it okay,” he said with a mischievous smile.

  “Ooh, you.”

  Seeing as she was the only one without anything to carry, Bert ran toward the back doors to open them. As she drew near, she realized someone was standing there in a tan trench coat. “Harry? Is that you?” she called as she approached the detective.

  “Bert? Hi. I’d heard you
were in charge of catering the dessert course at this thing today,” he said with a smile. It quickly faded when he noticed the tower of a man who appeared to be helping Bert carry food inside.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be off doing homicide work or something,” she noted.

  He narrowed his eyes at the woman. “There isn’t always a homicide investigation going on, Bert. You should know that,” he accused her, his eyes darting to the large man as he approached.

  “How should I know that?” she demanded, not liking the tone he was taking with her.

  “This is a small city, after all.”

  “So?”

  “So, sometimes I just help out with normal grunt work when I need something to do. It’s a nice and relaxing break, honestly.”

  “Well then, Mr. Grunt. Do you mind letting us through?”

  “Not a problem, but who is this?” he jabbed a thumb at Sean. “I have strict instructions not to let anyone in but luncheon guests and employees. Can’t have any of those protestors sneaking through.”

  “This is my brother,” Carla groaned, looking like she was growing weary under the weight of the trays, not appreciating the delay.

  “Sean’s my name. I’m a chiropractor and a guest at the lunch today.”

  “Got any proof of that?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at him.

  Carla rolled her eyes up in her head in distaste. Bert took the cue and quickly relieved her friend of the trays.

  “Woo, thanks a million. I thought I was going to collapse under all those.”

  “Here, Sis. Take these,” Sean said, dumping the set of trays he was carrying into her arms.

  “Hey, what’s the big idea?” she moaned, but Sean ignored her.

  With a scowl creasing his forehead, he dug deep into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. Flipping it open, he produced a folded-up paper invitation to the day’s events. “There is my invitation. Satisfied, big guy?”

  Harry’s nose wrinkled up in dissatisfaction. “For now, but I’d appreciate you refraining from the lip service.” Again, the detective’s eyes passed from Bert to Sean and back again.

  Bert bit her lower lip to keep herself from chewing Harry out for acting like a child. Junior high indeed, she thought to herself with a quiet huff. She thought she’d acted a little silly earlier when Sean had arrived, but this was just absurd.

  Realizing he was the only one with a free hand, Sean stepped forward and opened the door, holding it for the women. “Ladies.” He motioned them through to the large kitchen beyond.

  “Thanks a bunch,” Carla said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Thank you,” Bert said sincerely, making sure Harry heard her.

  It wasn’t that she had any plans on pursuing a romantic relationship with Sean. Quite the opposite, she had plans to cut off all romantic ties from now on—especially with Harry. Bert had already been on the fence about the detective the past few months. The only real reason she accepted dates with him was that Carla wouldn’t stop pestering her about it.

  Enough was enough. She didn’t stand for petty drama back in school and she most certainly wasn’t going to stand for it now as an older more mature woman.

  “That guy was a big pain in the rear,” Sean said.

  “He’s like that,” Bert agreed, thinking of all the murder investigations she’d worked on and how frustrating Harry could be.

  “I’ll be right back. I left my briefcase in the car. I was planning on taking notes during the board’s presentation today.” Sean quickly disappeared out the door again and Bert hoped that Harry wouldn’t bother the poor man.

  Setting the trays down on a metal counter, Bert noticed that someone else was in the room with them. A janitor in a blue jumpsuit was mopping the floor on the other side of the room.

  “Oh, I’ll only be another moment and then I’ll be out of your hair,” the short, bald-headed fellow said when he saw Bert looking at him.

  She hadn’t realized she was staring. “Oh, no, no. You’re totally fine. Take your time.”

  “It’s okay. I’m almost done,” he reiterated, going back to pushing the mop back and forth. He seemed timid but endearing. Bert couldn’t help but feel bad for people like that, always worried about being in the way or being a nuisance.

  She was sure many elite people rented out the Green Room for events, and she was even more sure that some of them treated the man poorly.

  She would not be one of them. “Would you like to try one of my pies?” she asked, pulling the cellophane wrapping off one of the trays. Steam rose up from the plate into the air, sending inviting aromas into the senses.

  At first, he wasn’t sure she was talking to him, but when he saw Bert looking directly at him, he shook his head and put up a hand. “Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t dare,” he replied.

  “Well, I need someone to taste one before I send them out to the dining room. How will I know if they’re good?”

  “I’d love to try one,” came a voice from the door, Detective Mannor entering the room. He’d been listening at the door.

  He was probably Bert’s biggest fan when it came to pies. He was in the shop almost every morning, if he got the chance, for a slice of warm pie. Since he’d saved her life on more than one occasion, she always gave him one for free.

  This, however, was a different situation.

  Bert scowled. “Detective, you’ve left your post. Don’t you have a job to do?”

  Smashing his lips together, he let out a stifled growl. Bert could practically see the anger and irritation running through his face.

  While it was true that she’d seen the man angry on many occasions, she’d never seen him like this. He was acting so childish. It was out of character for him.

  “You’re right, but you know I can’t resist your pie.”

  Bert could tell that he was attempting to make an underhanded half-hearted apology for his behavior outside but asking for a pie just so he could compliment her was hardly the way to go about it. Sometimes, he had the worst judgment of normal social situations, despite dealing professionally with out-of-the-ordinary situations in his line of work as a homicide detective.

  Without another word, Harry went back outside to guard the door against unwanted guests.

  Looking back toward the janitor, she nodded toward him. “Do you want to try one?”

  He licked his lips and wiped a hand on his uniform. “Well, I guess you don’t have to twist my arm,” he admitted, walking over and taking one of the green glittering skulls from the plate. He laughed slightly to himself. “I like that. Chiropractor’s get pies in the shape of a skull. Very fitting.” Opening his mouth, he took a big bite from the pastry. Green filling spilled out the side, running down his clean-shaven chin. Quickly, he wiped it up with a hint of embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

  “How is it?” Bert pressed.

  Finishing chewing the bite in his mouth, a look of pure bliss encompassed his face. “Mmm, mmm, that is probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Ma’am, you are a true goddess.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  A click drew everyone’s attention as the door leading further into the building swung open and a woman stepped inside. Bert instantly recognized her as the woman who had been on Mr. Shatner’s arm.

  She wore a long green sequined dress that matched the occasion, and her hair was up in a fashionable bun. Her appearance almost had a vintage quality to it. “How is everything going back here?” she asked.

  When she saw the janitor standing there with a pie in one hand, a mop in the other, and a green smear of Irish cream on his face, she stopped, her face twisting up in what seemed to be disgust.

  Without another hint or word, the janitor bolted past her and out of the room, much to Bert’s dissatisfaction.

  CHAPTER 4

  * * *

  At first, the woman seemed shocked, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the door where the janitor had just disappeared. After a tiny shake of the h
ead, she closed her mouth and turned with a smile to the others. “What was that about?” she asked now that she’d gained her composure, one eyebrow shooting up.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’m sure he’s just skittish,” Bert answered, not sure how to approach the stranger. If her look of disdain had been at the fact that a blue-collar worker was eating the same food as she would be eating. Bert had little sympathy for the woman. If, however, it was simply a look of honest surprise, it was more forgivable.

  However, based on Sean’s earlier description of the man she’d arrived with, Bert was willing to bet this woman considered herself a higher class than others, and therefore more entitled to her opinion.

  She’d dealt with far too many like her in her life, but Bert had managed to be civil in all cases . . . well, at least most of the time.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you again?” she asked, eyes passing over Bert and the trays of food.

  “I’m Bertha Hannah.”

  “Ah, the pie woman,” the green-clad lady nodded, her smile only widening, causing a twinkle in her eye.

  Was she mocking Bert? She couldn’t tell. Usually, she was an expert at reading people, but this woman just put her off.

  “That’s right. I’m catering the dessert course,” she finally managed to answer.

  “Very good. The other caterer should be here soon as well. He’ll get first precedent for the kitchen.”

  “I assumed there would be some sort of food warmer here.”

  “I wouldn’t know, personally. My husband simply asked me to come and check that things were at least underway.” Her smile twitched, almost faltering for a moment. “When he asks for something, he gets it.”

  She narrowed her gaze on Carla as well and was about to ask something else when the outside door opened, and Sean stepped in with his briefcase in hand. A look of recognition widened the woman’s eyes and her smile came on full force. “Why, Mr. Sean Young. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”

  Putting on his own winning smile, the same one he’d used on Bert, he walked across the room and took the woman’s hands in his. “Sharon, it’s been far too long. It’s a pleasure to see you as always.”