by Krista Davis
“We’ll start with the children’s contest. Moms and dads, please remain close by. Everyone cheer for your favorite contestant! And . . . go!”
Bernie stood beside me with a stopwatch. We didn’t want anyone to get sick, especially not children.
The crowd yelled encouragement. One skinny little fellow devoured pies at an amazing speed. If I were a betting person, I’d have put my money on him. Most of the kids had whipped cream and butterscotch cream pie filling from their foreheads to their chins.
When Bernie blew a whistle signaling the end of the contest, Peter walked over to the skinny boy and raised his right hand.
“What’s your name, son?” asked Bernie.
“Paul Evanright.”
Bernie coaxed him up to the microphone and handed him a sixteen-inch-tall trophy bearing a plastic slice of strawberry pie with whipped cream on the top.
The crowd cheered and Paul’s grin was priceless. His proud daddy exclaimed, “I got it all on video. You’ll go viral!”
“And now for the adult contest. Ready, everyone? Go!”
I leaned forward a bit to watch staid, tidy Alex. He had no problem dipping his face into the pie. Remy handed him another one!
One by one the participants stopped eating. Two of them paused, but kept taking a bite or two as if they didn’t want to give up.
When Bernie blew the whistle, there was only one guy with his face in a pie—Alex. He lifted his head and looked around.
Peter walked over to Alex, raised his hand, and said, “That was amazing. And you’re not even tubby like me.”
Alex bounded up to the microphone and gave me a big smooch, taking care to rub some chocolate cream pie filling and whipped cream in my face in the process. That brought more cheers and laughter from the audience.
I handed him the trophy. “Ladies and gentlemen, our winner is Old Town’s own Alex German. Who knew he had this kind of skill?”
Bernie took the microphone and made a few remarks, telling everyone the vendors would still be around for a few hours and that he would announce the winners of free pies at four in the afternoon.
I was through with my duties. A good thing, too, since half my face was covered with sticky, sugary chocolate and cream. I eyed Alex. “How did you learn to do that? You chowed down longer than guys who are twice your girth.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I had a sordid past that I haven’t told you about. Let’s just say this isn’t the first eating contest I’ve entered. But it was more fun. It’s much harder to eat a lot of hot dogs or burritos.”
“Do you have any other secrets I should know about?”
He grinned. “None that I’m telling you.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but I suspected he was just teasing me.
Wolf walked over to us. “You two really need to learn about using napkins.” He motioned to us and to Bernie.
We followed him away from the microphone and the crowds of people.
I wiped my face with paper napkins but they didn’t help much.
“It’s going to be on the news tonight, and if I know Old Town’s rumor mill, it won’t be long before inaccurate information spreads. We’ll know more after the autopsy, but it now appears that Patsy Lee died of an overdose of caffeine.”
Alex frowned at Wolf. “How does that happen? Was she drinking those super-caffeinated beverages?”
“Just coffee,” I said.
Wolf shook his head. “It was something more than regular coffee. Even the caffeinated drinks shouldn’t have affected her this much. Sophie, could I have a word with you in private?”
“Sure.”
Bernie and Alex took the hint and stepped away.
“You said Patsy Lee was at a house with someone last night. Can you get me the address pronto? I’d like to speak with the person who was with her.”
“Of course. I’ll go right now and call you with the address.”
“Thanks.”
When Wolf walked away, Bernie and Alex descended upon me, asking what he had wanted.
Wolf wouldn’t have asked privately unless he wanted it kept quiet. Bernie already knew, but Alex didn’t. Besides, it was the perfect time for me to give Alex a little taste of his own medicine. “I, too, have secrets!”
I hurried away before they could rib me about it. Besides, the sweet pie filling on my face was beginning to itch, and I was eager to wash it off. I paused at the little house where Patsy Lee had been and texted the address to Wolf.
Mochie greeted me at the door. “Were you lonely without Daisy?” I asked.
He purred, rubbed his head against my hand, and then rushed toward his empty food bowl, raised it, and let it clank on the counter.
“You little rascal. All you want is more to eat.” I spooned Savory Salmon into his bowl. The sweet fellow purred while he ate.
After a much-needed shower, I poured myself a glass of iced peach tea and retreated to the computer in my little home office to Google the address of the house where Patsy had been the night before. I was hoping to identify the owner, too. To my annoyance ads popped up for vacation rentals and short-term accommodations. Apparently, I had to go to the courthouse to get the name of the owner, but one site identified them as B*****d F**i and M******l W*****n.
I stared at those initials for a long moment. They looked way too familiar to me. I reasoned that there were a lot of short surnames that started with F. But the longer I looked at them, the more I thought they might be Bernard Frei and Marshall Winston.
Chapter 10
Dear Natasha,
I love lattice top pies. Do I divide the dough in half to make them? Or do I just use scraps?
New Baker in Cherry Grove Beach, South Carolina
Dear New Baker,
Never use scraps! Make a double-crust pie dough and reserve 1/3 for the lattice.
Natasha
My hair was still wet when I crossed the street to Bernie’s house. He would still be at the pie festival, but chances were good that Mars was home.
I knocked on the door and heard Daisy whining.
Mars swung the door open, and Daisy bounded out to kiss me.
“You’re not picking her up already, are you?” Mars looked distressed.
“You poor little doggy,” I said to Daisy, stroking her soft head. “Everyone wants you! Actually, I thought I might take her home with me, but I really came over to ask you a question. What do you know about a cute little two-bedroom house just off King Street that—”
Mars burst out laughing. “Bernie wins.” He motioned me inside the cool mansion and ushered me to the family room, where he had been watching golf on TV. “Another week and I’d have won.”
I perched on the seat of a plush leather chair. “What are you talking about?”
“Bernie and I bet on how long it would take you to figure out that we had bought that place. Bernie said it would be less than two weeks, and here you are.”
“That’s embarrassing. Am I that nosy?”
“How did you find out?” asked Mars with the most annoying grin on his face.
I stared at him. I knew Mars better than I knew just about anybody. He still looked great and kept himself in moderately good shape. Half the women in Old Town were chasing him. But somehow I couldn’t see him having an affair with Patsy Lee. Curiously, I couldn’t picture her with Bernie, either. “Did you or Bernie know Patsy Lee when she lived in Old Town?”
Mars quit smiling. “Can I get you a cold drink? Maybe an aspirin? Were you out in the sun too long today?”
“I’m fine. Why are you dodging my question?”
“Sophie,” he said gently, craning his neck to peer at me more closely, “we were talking about the house Bernie and I bought and you jumped to the subject of Patsy Lee.”
He didn’t know about Patsy Lee being at his house? I could see the concern on his face. I thought he would have come clean if he had met with her there. “Just this morning no one could find Patsy Lee.” As I spoke, it dawne
d on me that if Mars and Bernie owned the house, and one of them had been with her, they would have known where Patsy Lee was. Maybe it was a rental? Now I was confused. “Did Patsy Lee rent it from you?”
Mars stared at me without blinking. A smile spread slowly across his face. “That old dog! Patsy Lee was at our new house?”
I cocked my head. “Who’s the old dog?”
“We bought the house as an investment, thinking we would rent it out, but then Bernie talked to some guy who’s making a bundle with short-term rentals over the Internet. It’s easy to do, and given the cost of hotel rooms and rentals in Old Town, it’s an interesting prospect. So we thought we’d give it a try.”
“Who rented it this weekend?” I held my breath.
“Patsy Lee’s ex-husband, Peter. He lives farther south, a couple of hours away, and he didn’t want to drive back and forth.”
“And he needed a private place to meet with Patsy Lee,” I added.
“Gotta give the guy credit. Sometimes old loves don’t wither away.”
I shot Mars a doubtful look. “Do you think Peter murdered her?”
“Whoa! Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?”
“She died of caffeine poisoning.”
“She could have done that to herself. Maybe she was tired and she went overboard with caffeinated drinks. You know she must maintain a hectic schedule.”
“Brock! He would know if that was her habit. That guy kept an eye on her every minute. Mars,” I said, “Brock was the one who brought coffee to Patsy Lee. And to me, too.”
Mars scowled at me. “You’re too inclined to jump to murder. She probably overdosed on something she thought would give her energy.”
“Then why is Wolf asking for the address of your rental house?”
Mars paled. “That does point to Peter. Maybe Wolf is being cautious, just in case. He’s that kind of guy.”
I hoped Mars was right.
“So Bernie says some creep is following you around.”
I tried to be nonchalant about it and flipped my hand at him. “I’m not one hundred percent sure. But he was hanging around outside my house the other day. He walks along our street every morning on his way to work.”
Mars squinted at me. “The skinny guy with the briefcase?”
“Do you know him?”
“Bernie does. He’s married to a chef or something. Bernie knows all the great chefs and cooks in town because of The Laughing Hound. He says he needs to stay on top of the food business in Old Town.”
“That makes sense. I’m beginning to think he wasn’t following me, anyway. Maybe he just happened to be in the neighborhood. But he did take off around the corner when we spotted him. . . .”
“You win. Daisy can go home with you.”
I hadn’t talked about the dark shadow for that reason, but I was happy to take her home.
* * *
That night I turned out the lights and went to bed early. I was exhausted after the long day and Patsy Lee’s death. From my bed I could see pink streaks in the sky as the sun set, indicating good weather for the next day. I drifted off until Daisy nudged me.
“Don’t tell me you have to go out,” I grumbled. I turned over, but she persisted by sticking her cold nose under my blanket and prodding me. “Okay, okay.” My eyes closed, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
Only then did I hear someone knocking on the door. Adrenaline kicked in. My eyes opened wide. This couldn’t be good. I threw on a bathrobe and stumbled down the stairs as fast as I could go.
I flicked on the outside light. When I peered through the peephole, I couldn’t see anyone. Uh-oh.
I gazed at Daisy, who didn’t seem concerned. She looked at me expectantly as though she was wondering why I didn’t open the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
A small voice responded, “Aly Stokes.”
Chapter 11
Dear Sophie,
I found my grandmother’s recipe for apple pie. At the end, it simply says egg wash. What is that?
Granddaughter in Apple Canyon Lake, Illinois
Dear Granddaughter,
An egg wash is an egg, egg yolk, or egg white that is beaten with a small amount of water, cream, or milk and brushed over the top of a pie to give it a shine. Some people like to sprinkle coarse sugar on top of it for added sweetness.
Sophie
I checked the peephole again and tried to look downward. Was that a little head?
With a sigh I unlocked the door and opened it. Sure enough, a little girl stood there. In fact, I thought it was the same one I had seen at the pie contest.
“Are you Sophie Winston?” she asked.
I peered into the darkness behind her, hoping she wasn’t bait to get me to open the door. “Come inside, Aly.”
I felt relieved when she entered the house and I could lock the door behind her. Daisy was busy licking Aly’s face. That was one vote of approval.
I turned on the lights and ushered her into the kitchen. Unlike me, she wasn’t wearing sleep attire. Little Aly wore baby blue shorts and a matching white short-sleeved shirt with blue polka dots. A white headband held her hair back out of her face. She carried a beige canvas bag with a huge artistically swirled letter A on each side.
“Would you like a glass of milk and a slice of pie?” I asked.
She turned clear blue eyes toward me. “I’m here on business.”
I smiled at her. “You can still eat.”
She nodded. “Okay. My mom is a pie baker. What kind is it?”
“Cherry.”
“Sounds good. Mom used to bake a lot of pies for us.”
Oh no, I hoped this precious little girl hadn’t already lost her mother. “May I ask how old you are?”
“I turned twelve last month.”
“Would you prefer milk or tea?”
“Milk, please. I think it goes better with cherry.”
That surprised me. She sat calmly and stroked Mochie.
I went ahead and cut three slices of pie. I wasn’t the only nosy person in the neighborhood.
Sure enough, as I was setting the plates on the table, Nina showed up at my kitchen door.
I opened it to admit Nina. She was breathless from dashing across the street. “I saw your light . . .” She stopped when she spied Aly. “I see you have company.”
I introduced the two of them. As I had expected, Nina helped herself to a glass of wine while I delivered the milk and tea to the table.
I sat down on the banquette. “How can I help you, Aly?”
“May we speak privately?”
Nina blurted, “I’m her assistant.”
That was a blatant lie. I wasn’t sure what to say so she could save face, but I figured it didn’t matter, anyway. Besides, I had a hunch it was about her entry in the pie contest. Nina had been a judge, so she might be in a much better position to explain why Aly’s pie didn’t win.
I leaned back, cradling the mug of tea in my hands and waiting for Aly to speak.
“This is pretty good,” she said. “I entered a pie in the contest, but it didn’t win.”
Nina’s eyes went wide with discomfort.
“But that’s not why I’m here,” Aly continued. “I go to the library a lot after school. There’s an older kid there, Gavin Haberman, and he told me about you.” She drank some milk and delicately dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “His dad was murdered.”
Dread welled up in me. “Your mother was murdered?”
In a matter-of-fact voice, Aly said, “She’s in prison for murder.”
Nina choked on her wine.
Aly glanced at Nina. “I thought maybe you could help her get out.”
Nina choked again.
“I don’t know what Gavin told you, but honey, I’m not a lawyer. I don’t know how to get someone out of jail.”
Aly tilted her head. “I thought you solve murders.”
I nodded. “I have solved a few—”
Al
y sat up straighter. “That’s what I need. Someone to prove my mom didn’t do it.”
My heart broke for this serious little girl. Had I seen her smile even once? I didn’t think so.
“Who was killed?” asked Nina.
Aly was mature beyond her years. She didn’t cry. Her voice didn’t even crack. “Grainger Gibbard.”
Nina gasped, which didn’t help the situation. But I hadn’t expected that answer, either.
Sergeant Frank Gibbard and his son, Grainger, had opened Star-Spangled Pies in Old Town a few years back. The family was well-known, not because of the restaurant but thanks to Frank’s twelve children.
I didn’t know any of the family members personally, although I had eaten in their restaurant on occasion. The sergeant had a reputation for a short temper but the food was good. It seemed like Gibbards were everywhere in Old Town. His daughter sat on the city council, and his youngest son was a popular local artist. When one of their vast clan met his end in an alley behind the family restaurant, the killer was arrested within hours. That must have been Aly’s mom.
“Wasn’t that a few years ago?” I asked.
Aly nodded. “She went to prison five years, three months, and four days ago.”
“That’s awfully precise,” I observed.
“I mark it on a calendar every day so I won’t forget her. She’s going to be there for the rest of her life. And that means for the rest of my life I won’t have my mom.”
“Does your father know you’re here?” I asked.
I saw the first flicker of guilt in her eyes. “No. Please don’t call him. He thinks I’m in bed. We don’t live very far from here. I promise I’ll go straight home when we’re through.”
I couldn’t imagine having such a serious and sensible child. Maybe when your mom went to jail for murder, you had to grow up fast.
Aly pulled a stack of papers out of the canvas bag and placed them on the table. Looking me straight in the eyes, she said, “She didn’t do it.”
I felt fairly certain that every child would want to believe that about a parent convicted of murder. I wasn’t sure what to say to her. I feared that her mom had actually killed Grainger. Even if she hadn’t, years had passed since Grainger was killed. It was unlikely that we would manage to stumble upon anything that would exonerate Aly’s mom.