Killer Chocolate Pecan Pie

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “I thought you’d feel that way,” Pastor Chimney said, his face brightening for the first time that day with a big smile.

  “Huh?” Bert wondered out loud, still a little confused about where he was going with this.

  “Mrs. Hannah, you are one of our most dedicated and faithful congregants and I can’t think of a better replacement for choir director than you.”

  Bert’s eyes widened so largely that they looked like Thanksgiving dinner plates. “Me?”

  “That’s right, Bert. I want you to director our Christmas choir this year for the concert.”

  Bert left the church that afternoon feeling completely baffled. Why did Pastor Chimney think she was a good choice as a choir director? She didn’t have any musical experience. She hardly sang unless it was church hymns or in the shower.

  Surely, she was some last-ditch effort to save the concert. She felt completely under qualified.

  More importantly, why the heck had she said yes?

  She complained about the situation to herself as she drove back to the shop and all throughout the rest of the day while she served customer pie and rang up books. Wyn, one of Bert’s two employees, was busy as a bee wrapping up the purchases in colorful and seasonal paper—a new service they were offering this year to customers who didn’t have the time to wrap presents themselves.

  Wyn seemed to be a natural at it, making the gifts look prettier than anything Bert had ever wrapped.

  “My, you’re too good at that,” Bert noted, admiring the craftsmanship. “You must have nimble hands from all those years as a dental assistant.”

  Wyn chuckled, her thick dark curly hair bouncing. “No. I actually used to work at one of the department stores in the mall across the river. That’s how I paid for school.”

  “Well, I’m blessed to have those skills in my shop now,” she admitted, taking a customer’s cash and handing a slice of the newly popular Chocolate Pecan Pie across the counter. “Enjoy.”

  “Merry Christmas,” the customer beamed before taking a seat at the table with her holiday treat.

  “We’re almost out of the stock of your cookbook again, Bert,” Shiv, Bert’s other younger employee, announced as she walked behind the counter with the inventory pad in hand.

  “Oh, my. Who knew a homemade cookbook would sale so darn well,” she sighed. To Bert, it was little more than a cheaply printed and spiral bound book of her own pie recipes she’d created over the past couple years for the shop.

  However, to regulars of the store, it was a treasure trove of delights.

  “I’ll have to call up the print shop and ask for another run of them.”

  “Already done,” Shiv informed her, hanging the inventory pad on the hook on the brick wall.

  “You girls are a wonder. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” That got Bert thinking about the coming mornings that week, the mornings in which she would have to drive across town to direct the choir. “By the way, girls, I’ll need to talk to you about this week whenever we get a slow spot in the day.”

  “Sure thing, Bert,” Shiv said, returning to the floor to stock the books that had been bought out.

  Chapter Eight

  Bert was thankful for her employees. They’d agreed to work extra hours while Bert went to direct the choir in the mornings, much to her relief.

  Without them, she wondered how the shop would ever stay open.

  Once again, they jumped in to help when Bert got a call at five from Harry. He wanted her to come down to the station to identify the suspect she’d seen at the church in a line-up—which just seemed ridiculous, but she supposed it was normal police procedure.

  She knew good and well who it was she’d seen in the basement that morning, Gracie Jones.

  There was no doubt about, but Harry had insisted. As she walked out the back door of Pies and Pages, it had begun to snow, creating fresh drifts in the corners of the alleyway. Climbing in her car, she cranked up the heater and drove out onto the road.

  As she made her way to the station, she couldn’t help but feel a little odd about the whole situation. Could it be true that she was really going to pick poor Mrs. Jones out of a line up of potential criminals? No matter how rude she was, Gracie didn’t deserve this. It still seemed so odd that the woman was the main suspect in the case, but it was only to be expected.

  What else could be said for someone who was found at the scene of the crime with the weapon in hand and then fled when someone showed up?

  Still, Bert refused to believe she was a killer.

  The snow was really coming down hard when she arrived at the station. Jumping out of the car, she ran in the front doors to the lobby. She was quickly checked in and ushered to the back with Harry. “Sorry to make you do this,” he said, leading her into an empty room with a window looking into another small room.

  Bert knew there was a mirror on the other side so the suspects in the line-up couldn’t see her as the identifier.

  They stood in silence for a few minutes while they waited. Soon, the door in the next room opened and the line of women, all looking very similar to one another with their grey permed hair and glasses, filled in and stood before the blank wall.

  “All right, Bert. Can you point out the woman you saw in the church basement this morning?” Harry asked.

  She refrained from scoffing at the question. How could she not pick Gracie out of the lineup? She’d known the woman for years and knew she wasn’t mistaken in her encounter earlier that day. On the other hand, she understood the need for all these legal steps.

  There needed to be solid evidence, which was gotten through witness identification in this manner. For instance, what if Bert had by some random turn of events mistaken the woman in the basement as Gracie when it was really someone else?

  While Bert was positive that wasn’t the case, she was willing to cooperate.

  In an instant, she picked Gracie out, sure it was the person she’d seen with the gun at the church. “That’s her, Harry. Number two.”

  Hitting a button on the electronic dashboard on the wall, Harry spoke into a mic. “Can everyone please turn to their left?”

  The line of women obeyed.

  “Take another look and tell me again. Are you still sure?”

  “Yes, Harry. Number two is the woman I saw in the church basement.”

  Bert took a seat in the lobby after having finished with the police line-up. Letting out a huge whoosh of air she hadn’t realized she’d been keeping in, she pulled her purse up against her chest and hugged it.

  The sensation of her heart beating in her ears became apparent.

  She hadn’t realized it right away but having to point out a fellow churchgoer in a police line-up had felt almost like doing something wrong, like a preschool kid snitching on the little boy who was pulling the girl’s ponytails.

  However, this was no little thing like pulling someone’s hair. This was murder.

  While Bert didn’t believe that Gracie was capable of such a heinous crime, she also was beginning to doubt herself. After all, the Christmas season had a way of making people desperate—especially those who were all alone during the holidays.

  All the cheer could drive you insane being alone. Bert understood because it was how she’d felt the first Christmas after Howie died.

  Bert looked up to see Harry standing there. “Thanks for your help,” he said.

  “I really wish I hadn’t had to do that.”

  He gave his familiar stiff nod. “I understand”

  “What’s going to happen to her?” she wondered.

  He walked over and stood in front of her, careful not to show too much public affection in front of the officer stationed at the front desk. He was a young blonde man with an uppity attitude who Harry disliked working with, as Bert well knew.

  “She gets one phone call. She’ll probably use it to call a lawyer. Most people do,” he informed her.

  “What if she doesn’t have a lawyer?”


  “She can choose whoever she wants. It isn’t up to me.”

  “Well, I hope she’s smart about it. She’s elderly, you know, and I don’t know if she completely understands everything that’s happening. I feel horrible having had to point her out,” she complained, setting her chin in her hands.

  “The ladies in the line-up couldn’t see you, ya know?” he reminded her.

  “Like it makes a difference. Gracie knows who pointed her out. She may not know how police procedure works, but she knows enough to smell a rat,” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

  Harry tilted his head and looked down at her with his calm yet questioning eyes.

  Almost able to read his thoughts, she knew he was wondering why she wasn’t jumping all over this chance investigate this case like she’d done with so many others—especially considering it was one of her fellow congregants who was in the clink. “It’s Christmas, okay?” she told him with a sigh. “I was just hoping that this year we wouldn’t have to deal with any crimes. You know? Just enjoy the spirit of the season.”

  Harry gave her half a sympathetic smile, crinkling up his eyes. It was his silent way of comforting her. “I am sorry about this, Bert.”

  Nodding her understanding in return, she got to her feet. “I guess it is just the reality of dating a homicide detective, eh?”

  He chuckled quietly. “I guess so. Come on. I’ll show you out.” He waved for her to follow.

  Suddenly, Bert’s phone began to buzz. Looking down, she was surprised to see that it was Gracie.

  Chapter Nine

  “Hello?” Bert noted, stepping outside into the cold. She hadn’t told Harry it was Gracie calling and just said she needed to take it outside.

  “You did answer. I thought you would,” Gracie gasped, her voice sounded worn down from only a few hours in jail. With how sick she appeared earlier, Bert didn’t like the idea of this elderly woman being stuck behind bars during Christmas.

  Pastor Chimney hadn’t been kidding when he’d noted her health. Everyone could see it at the church that day.

  It was amazing she’d been able to run out of the crime scene as fast as she had. Either she was faking how sore she was now, or she’d had just enough of an adrenaline burst to get some extra speed.

  Bert was guessing the latter was true. Something about a dead body really got your blood pumping. “How are you doing?” she asked, trying to be sympathetic to a woman who’d always been nasty to her. Still, no one deserved to be potentially wrongly accused of murder.

  Bert slipped down onto the bench outside the police station while she talked.

  “How do you think I am?” she groaned.

  Bert chewed her lower lip, not sure what to say next. “You know, Gracie, this doesn’t look good.”

  “You think I don’t know that? Why else would I call you?” she insisted.

  Furrowing her brow, Bert folded her free arm around her body to stay warm. “Well, I’m not sure still. Why did you call me? You should have contacted a lawyer.”

  “I don’t have money for a lawyer,” she muttered dismissively.

  “I see. That still doesn’t explain what you want me for.”

  The old woman grunted. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I honestly have no idea.”

  Gracie sighed in her usual way. It was her way of saying you were stupid. “You can find the real killer,” she whispered.

  “What?” Bert exclaimed, sitting up straight.

  “Oh, come on, dear. Don’t be so darn modest. Everyone at church knows how you’ve solved all those other murder cases.”

  Bert adamantly shook her head. “I didn’t. The police did.”

  “Bullpucky, hon. Those killers were all caught because you stepped in and took charge.”

  Bert highly doubted that, but it seemed Gracie was determined. “What in the world can I do?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the sleuth. Not me.”

  Bert rolled her eyes. “What the heck were you doing in the basement anyway?” she demanded, determined to get to the bottom of this without getting in over her head. She did not want to spend Christmas running around town looking for clues or a killer.

  She wanted something quiet, maybe some alone time with Harry to figure out exactly where the relationship was going. Or, even if they didn’t talk about that, just enjoy time eating holiday treats and watching all the black and white classics they could manage before the year ran its course.

  “I’m a church member. Do I have to have a reason to be in the building?” she acted defensively, not answering the question.

  Bert instantly knew there was more to this than Gracie was admitting. In response, she raised a knowing eyebrow. “Come on. The building was basically deserted when I arrived. You can’t tell me that you were hanging out there that entire time. I thought you’d left after the incident with the choir.”

  Gracie’s grew silent, yet Bert couldn’t tell if it was from anger, embarrassment, or both.

  “Pastor Chimney had no right to replace me.”

  Letting out a sigh, Bert looked down at her feet, shaking her head. “You see? That sort of attitude isn’t going to go over well in this investigation. It makes it look like you have a motive.”

  “Hey, I didn’t like the girl, but I’m not a killer,” she insisted.

  She didn’t like anybody, it seemed, Bert thought. The only reason she was being civil toward Bert now was that Gracie desperately needed her help in clearing her name. “Okay, I understand. Still, think about how all of this looks. You were seen in a public incident with Shay just before she was killed. Basically, the whole choir, as well as myself and Carla, knew you were angry about the situation.”

  “They shouldn’t have replaced me. What else am I supposed to do with my holidays, huh? No kids to call my own. Husband long dead. They only dang thing I had to look forward to every year was leading that choir,” her voice started to choke up, finally revealing a hint of her true feelings. It was only happening because these were dire circumstances. “They took it away from me. The only thing that brought me any semblance of Christmas cheer or meaning.”

  The older woman grew silent again and Bert wondered if she was crying now.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t need your sympathy,” the old woman cracked.

  “Look, I understand how hard the holidays can be when you’re alone.”

  “No, you don’t. Everyone just looooves you,” she snapped, her voice wavering so much it became hard to understand her.

  Bert was sympathetic to the woman. Obviously, there was a whole lot of stress and resentment building up here. Perhaps the reason Gracie had always insulted Bert’s pies was that they got Bert attention. She would be lying if she didn’t admit that she got all sorts of praise from the other church members, especially the youth group.

  She swallowed hard, coming to a decision. “Okay. I’ll help look into the case.”

  “You will?” Gracie exclaimed with a big gasp.

  “Yes,” Bert affirmed. She hated to see a fellow churchgoer, no matter how nasty, end up in such a sad predicament. She honestly felt for the woman. “However, no more tiptoeing around the bush. Get right to the point. Tell me why you were at the church this morning. Why did you have that gun in your hand?”

  Gracie was silent.

  “Gracie?”

  “I-I was going to put something into your pies.”

  Bert squinted. “Like what?”

  “Like those stupid laxative pills, my doctor gave me. I refuse to take them.”

  Bert’s jaw dropped nearly to the floor. “You were going to put laxatives in the pies? What the heck for?”

  “To teach that choir a lesson for kicking me out.”

  “To teach the choir a lesson? They had nothing to do with the switch. As for that matter, neither did Shay. Pastor Chimney made the choice. Not to mention that they all agreed to still let you help with the choir, which you refused after making a scene at rehear
sal today.”

  “Believe what you want, but I know they all got together to convince him to replace me.”

  Bert rolled her eyes widely. “That is the most absurd thing I’ve heard all day. The choir wasn’t out to get you. Pastor Chimney was worried about your health and thought you should take it easy this year.”

  “Likely story,” she grunted.