I needed something rich and creamy. Something that would soothe the soul. A pie fits that bill. I was also craving salty. Pretzels? Pretzels would pair well. My wheels were spinning. I started to make a list for the store. One quick trip to the Curb Market, and I could put this recipe into action.
6
A few hours later, I again stood on Miss Jeanie’s porch, a pie cooling in my hands. It was the third time in less than two days, and I wondered, why hadn’t I done this more often?
I was always throwing out extra food I made for the blog. Miss Jeanie always looked like she could eat. Why hadn’t I thought to bring her over the extra?
“Allie?” Jeanie opened the door. She was in a faded pink robe and a matching pair of fuzzy slippers. She appeared confused by my presence. But as she took in the whole scene, seeing the pie in my hand, she forced a smile. “More food. I haven’t eaten all the buckeyes—or the ice cream.”
Despite her protests, her hands went straight for the pie. “Come on in,” she said.
I followed her into the kitchen. She had a couple of bar stools at the counter that she nodded toward.
“So, what do we have here?” she asked, peeling off the tin foil. “It sure smells good.”
“I couldn’t get chocolate and peanut butter off my mind,” I told her. “I created a pie for you using those flavors.”
“And what happened here?” She pointed toward a precut piece.
“Oh,” I said. “I took it out to photograph it at home—for the blog. Then I eased it back in to its rightful place. I hope you don't mind.”
“Mind?” she said. “How could I mind? My pie’s going to be famous. The buckeyes were enough. You didn't have to do this.”
“I know I didn’t. But I wanted to. And it’s a write-off since I used it for the blog.”
“That does make me feel better.” Jeanie eyed the pie. “You know, I was feeling a little hungry. Would you care for a slice of the pie you made?”
“Don't mind if I do.” I smiled.
Jeanie fetched us each a plate, and she found a pie server, and two forks. She knew her kitchen well. That made my heart happy.
She gave me the slice I’d already cut. Then she cut one roughly the same size for herself.
“What's this crust?” She brought the plate up to eye level and scrutinized it. “Pretzel?”
“It sure is,” I said. “The salty and sweet should pair well, and the pie filling is as smooth as velvet.”
She looked at me critically. “You mean you haven't tried it before?”
“Nope.” I laughed. “I hope you don't mind being my Guinea pig today.”
“I'll let you know in a second.” She slid her fork through the smooth pie filling and then broke through the crispy crust.
I prepped my first bite as well. “Cheers,” I said, lifting my fork up to her.
We both took our first bite. It was everything I had hoped it would be—just the right amount of sweetness. It was rich and creamy with a bite of crisp salt in the flavorful crust.
“This is amazing,” Miss Jeanie said. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know. “You can make me your Guinea pig anytime.”
“I might just hold you to that,” I told her.
We finished off our slices, then agreed to half another slice.
“Now that I've got you buttered up,” I began, “I wanted to let you know that I haven’t heard anything else from my friend, Detective Portillo. I can give him another call later.”
Do I really need to call him? I wondered. Or do I just want to?
“No need for that,” Miss Jeanie said flatly. “Dr. Campbell already talked to the coroner. They agreed to do an autopsy.”
“You must’ve been some third grade teacher.”
“I was pretty good,” she admitted. “Teacher of the year twice in my time.”
“But thanks again for getting your friend involved. I just hope to get the peace of mind, knowing what happened to Mel. His daughter should be here tomorrow. She called me about an hour ago.”
“I understand,” I said.
“And I sure do appreciate the pie.” She gave my hand a squeeze.
“You're welcome,” I said. “It’s the least I could do. So, I never asked, and I hope you don't mind me asking now, but how did you and Melvin come to be…uh… friends?”
Miss Jeanie smiled nostalgically. She straightened a bit in her seat.
“Oh, I don't mind talking about it. But thank you for being sensitive. Actually, you know, I think it might help for me to talk about it. Mel and I met down at the Bingo Hall. I’m sure you’re surprised.”
She knew I wouldn’t be. In our years as neighbors, we’d had more conversations about bingo than anything else.
I nodded, smiling. I didn't want to interrupt her.
“He had a few other lady friends in that time. But recently, he was like a whole new person. More carefree. It was refreshing. He asked me to have coffee with him. And that was that. I never knew how funny he was. And, Allie, he was so sweet. And sweet on me. We had a wonderful time.”
“I'm glad you got to get the chance to know the real Melvin.”
“Me too,” she said. “But now I'll miss him even more.” She wiped away a fresh set of tears. “Silly as it may seem, I may miss watching Celtic Woman on the public broadcasting channel with him the most.”
“It's the little things.” It was my turn to squeeze her hands.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I picked it up. Luke had texted. But what surprised me was the time. I’d been here longer than I planned to be.
“I’d better get going,” I told her, pursing my lips. Miss Jeanie was so sweet. I felt bad for her. I wanted to stay here a little longer and hear about Melvin.
“But I'm here for you if you need to talk,” I told her. “Just wave, and I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”
“You’re too kind, shug. Thank you for everything. Well, everything except my expanding waistline. Maybe next time, you could bring me one of your famous casseroles.”
I smiled. Not only was Miss Jeanie a fan of the blog, but she must’ve figured out about the leftovers and was giving me an open invitation.
On the short walk back home, my phone buzzed again. I expected it to be Luke again, but was surprised to see it was from Javi.
Meet me at the station tomorrow @ 9AM.
That’s odd, I thought, wondering why in the world he’d need to see me in person—and at the police station. I was guessing it wasn’t for his picadillo.
TO: Foodie Allison
FROM: Doreen Edgewater
SUBJECT: Many Thanks
Dear Allie,
I just wanted to say thanks for your article this month, The Best Date Restaurants for Valentine’s Day. I sent it to my husband in hopes that he’d, ya know, get the hint. Fingers crossed he makes a reservation at Casa di Pasta.
I'm sure I won't be the only person thanking you for it! I’d feel bad for those poor ladies who end up at Piggies for their romantic dinners, except that’s been me ten years running.
I look forward to seeing what you write next month. Your reviews are my favorite. And I LOVE your blog!
Sincerely,
Doreen
7
No matter how many times I set foot inside the Lanai Police Station, I would never feel comfortable there. Butterflies welled in my stomach as if I’d committed some petty crime. I’d never so much as stolen a pack of gum—but you couldn’t convince my tummy of that.
Javier met me up front ahead of the station secretary. She shot me a quick smile and a suggestive wink. We’d only interacted a few times, but she was a nice older woman around my mother’s age. I had to guess Javier hadn’t brought Clara Clearwater into the office. I hated to disappoint the secretary, but Javier and I were in two separate relationships.
Javier handed me a still warm cup of coffee from The Java Hutt. “It’s your usual,” he said. “I had Gertie whip it up. I know we a
greed that you owed me a cup. But as you’re about to find out, it’s the other way around.”
“Thank you,” I said. But I didn’t think anything I could’ve done justified so much coffee.
“It’s nothing, really. And Gert asked if she should add an extra shot. I told her no—I hope I wasn’t wrong.”
“No. It’s perfect.” I took a sip and confirmed it.
He led us through the bullpen where uniformed officers sat.
“Let’s grab a seat in my office,” he said, ushering me toward a room with his name on a placard beside the door.
I took a seat across from a very tidy desk. Javier and I were opposites in almost every way. He was an organized detective, not a scatterbrained food writer.
“I heard from the coroner,” he said. “Lorelei Hansen—do you know her?”
I shrugged. “The name sounds familiar.”
“It should,” Javier said. “Ninety-nine percent of the county voted for her. The other one percent left it blank. She was the only one on the ballot.”
“Ah.” That was why her name sounded familiar. Even without competition, she had bumper stickers and signs all around town the past November.
“As an elected official, she has a physician perform the autopsies. And, well, Lorelei looked over Mr. Fleming’s preliminary results last night.”
“And?” I asked, not allowing a beat of silence to go between us.
“Listen, Allie. The thing is, this conversation stays in this room. I couldn’t meet you at The Java Hutt. We’re quite sure that Mr. Fleming didn’t die of natural causes.”
“What?” This wasn’t exactly what I’d thought I was going to hear. I had thought Javier had asked me here as a courtesy. Then he would give me the news that there was no news about Melvin. This was more of a shock.
“I mean he died of asphyxiation,” Javier said grimly.
“Wait…” I was still processing everything. “Melvin was strangled?”
“Not exactly.” Javier shook his head. “There’s not any bruising around the neck. No, it looks like Mr. Fleming was suffocated.”
I sat back in my chair. My hands went limp. And before I could stop it, the coffee that Javier had so generously bought me fell to the floor with a splash. Coffee covered my newish Brooks running shoes.
“I’ll get that.” Javier out of the office and found a roll of paper towels. He was back in a few seconds, tearing off sheets, and sopping up the spilt drink.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, finally coming back to myself after processing the information fully.
“No, no, it’s okay. I should’ve warned you. I knew it’d be a bit of a shock.”
A bit of a shock? The news was much more than that. Melvin was murdered. And in the comfort of his home—his own bed. And the same place my grandmother laid her head every night. My blood ran cold.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Only a day or so ago, it was natural causes. How could something like this be missed? And who did it?”
I was shaking. Javier left the paper towels on the floor and made his way toward me. He put both of my hands in his own, attempting to comfort me.
“It was our mistake.” He lowered his voice. “The officer that was on the scene that day has already been dealt with. And I'm sure Mrs. Hansen will rip him a new one the first chance she gets. But until this all gets sorted out, I’m asking for you to use discretion. Don’t let this hit news or the Gazette.”
“Really?” I wanted to laugh at him. “You’re asking me to keep this from my boss and my best friend? You want me to be fired and friendless?”
“No.” He smiled. “It won’t be for long. It’s just the investigation’s already behind schedule. Things were missed. It’d do us some good if the perpetrator didn’t know we were on their trail while we play catch up. You understand?”
“I do,” I said.
“Hank’s over at Mossy Oaks this minute. He’s helping with the cleanup, if you get my drift.”
“I do,” I said again.
Javier threw away the soiled paper towels and returned to his seat. He found his notebook on the desk and turned it a page. “Now, I have to ask you how well did you know the deceased?”
“This again?” I feigned mock dread. It wasn’t all that long ago I was sitting in an interrogation room with Javier, then Detective Portillo, asking me questions about Jessica Hayes’ murder.
“I don’t think I ever met the man,” I said.
“Then what was the concern?” he asked, perplexed. He probably didn’t remember why I’d asked him to look into Melvin’s death.
“My neighbor, Jeanie, and him were, shall we say, ‘friendly.’”
Javier raised an eye brow.
I shrugged. “From what I've heard since he died, Melvin was a bit of a lady’s man.”
“Maybe there’s a jealous ex,” Javier offered. “It wouldn’t be the first time a man was murdered for breaking someone’s heart. You wouldn’t happen to know any of these ladies’ names, would you?”
“Not really, besides Jeanie,” I responded. “But if I were you. I would talk to Dot and Thelma. They seem to know it all. Or at least all the comings and goings around Mossy Oaks.”
“Which brings up another point,” Javier said. “How about you let me do all the investigating? And you be you. Do the cooking and the writing and all the things that aren’t involved in procedural police work.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“That you have a habit. One of putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Sorry,” I said meekly. But at least he knew my place wasn’t only in the kitchen—it was also behind a laptop.
He sighed. “Do you have any last names for these ladies? Dot and Thelma?”
“No,” I answered. “But Dot and a lady named Bitsie are the ones who discovered the body. So, you should at least have her name from the report.”
“Dot is a nickname,” he said. “I’ve got her listed as Esther. That’s one down.”
“That’s good.”
Javier put down his pen. He gave me an odd look, a penetrating one. “How do you know all of this?” he asked. “Or do I wanna know?”
“My grandmother lives in Mossy Oaks,” I told him. “I was there the morning Melvin died.”
“Of course you were.” Javier chuckled grimly.
“What's that supposed to mean?” He’d already accused me of putting my nose where it didn’t belong. I didn’t like how this conversation had turned.
“Nothing. It means nothing. You’re just you. And I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing. Or not.” He checked the time. “I got to get outta here. Hank will start belly aching if I don't show up there soon. Let me walk you out.”
I followed him outside. He veered toward his unmarked cruiser while I went in the direction of my Civic. Then he turned on his heels toward me.
“Allie,” he said, “can you please try to stay out of it? For once?”
“I'll do my best,” I promised.
“And I tried to say this with coffee, but you ruined that gesture. So, I’ll say it now. Thank you. If you and your friend hadn’t contact me and Mr. Fleming’s physician, this murder would’ve gone uninvestigated. Your due diligence has already paid off. But don’t let that get to your head. All right?”
“It won’t,” I lied.
He smiled, shaking his head. “And don’t tell Kate or Kinsey. Not until I say it’s okay.”
“Who can I tell?” I asked.
“You can tell your neighbor. She deserves to know. But since she isn’t next of kin, we’re not really dealing with her.”
“Got it.” I nodded.
“Well, I'm out this way.” He pointed behind him.
“And I'm this way,” I said.
He lingered there a moment before turning. I had trouble convincing myself not to watch him walk away. How tight do pants really need to be?
I fumbled with my keys getting into the car.
A daunting task
lay ahead of me. I had to inform Miss Jeanie that Melvin didn’t die in his sleep. He was murdered.
8
“You know,” Luke said, “if I wasn’t on the road I’d be over there in a flash.”
Hearing Luke’s voice over the phone was a comforting way to end the afternoon. I recapped my day for him. The sound of road noise droned in the background. His job as a pharmaceutical rep had him driving all over the lower region of Georgia. This week he was in Savannah.
“I’d rather come to you,” I told him. “The food. Oh, my gosh, the food.”
“Where is it I’m supposed to go to again? The pink place?”
“The Olde Pink House,” I corrected.
“Right.” I couldn’t quite hear him groan, but I knew it was there. “And you’re sure it’s better than Outback?”
“Just get the fried chicken,” I said.
“Fried chicken. Got it.”
He hung up after assuring me he’d booked a table.
My talk with Miss Jeanie had gone about as well as I expected it would. Not good. She hadn’t taken the news well. And despite my protests, she made a billion phone calls to her many local contacts. I didn’t realize how many people a retired teacher can actually know.
In all fairness, I had kept my promise. I didn’t tell Kinsey or Kate. But by lunchtime both women had called me. Small town rumor mills worked faster than the evening news. But Kate wasn’t admitting defeat—not to little old ladies and their cellphones. She pressed me for all of the information she hadn’t cared to hear the previous morning.
Javier had texted me a little while later, telling me the ban was removed. Thanks. Figured that one out myself.
I decided to put my phone on silent for a bit. But as soon as I slid it onto the end table, I was surprised by a knock on the door. Who could that be? A jangling of keys clued me in. Mom.
“Coming,” I said. But I didn’t get off of the couch. The day had been taxing, more than any other in recent memory. And I hadn’t even cooked.
Foodie Files Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 23