A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

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A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 4

by Violet McCloud


  I decided as I handed over my debit card that when I went over to the police station.

  Chapter Eight

  I was finally able to get my license back and, with a new spring in my step, headed to the police station. I needed my cart and could finally catch up on prepping for the tourist season.

  Except when I got to the police station, Detective Nosy and Accusatory wasn’t there. They said he was on a crime scene, but I could leave a message. I felt like less than an idiot going to him for permission to get my own cart out. Like I was asking my father.

  Not only did I leave a message with the prim-and-proper officer at the desk, but I took out my cell along with the business card Detective Aguirre gave me and gave him a good talking to over voice mail. And by good talking to, I meant I politely asked for permission to get my cart out of storage and let him know I’d gotten my license.

  Not that it was any of his business.

  With one thing checked off my list but frustrated as all get out, I scurried home, excited to bake up my new chocolate pies. I still had to come up with a name. Chocolate Decadence. Chocolate Supreme. I hadn’t decided. Once I got a bite in my mouth, I knew the inspiration would make me come up with a name.

  Plus, there was no better cure for any ailment, including extreme frustration, than desserts. Desserts which happened to feature chocolate in the middle were absolute saviors.

  I’d just gotten one pan of the gooey-filled hand pies into the oven when my doorbell chime rang out, almost scaring me half to death. I really had to cut back on the caffeine. A snort came from my nose. Who was I kidding? There was no way I was going to cut out my coffee.

  Maybe I just needed a vacation.

  “Who is it?” I sang out as I opened the door. The chocolate and baking had put a new pep in my step but that all shrank and shriveled as I realized who was on the other side of my door.

  “You know, GPS has a hard time finding this house for some reason. So I stopped at the corner store at the bottom of the hill and, as soon as I mentioned your name, the woman lit up and said, yeah, huge pink house, you can’t miss it.”

  I cocked out my hip and squinted. “Remind me to thank her. What can I do for you, Detective Aguirre?”

  “Roger. You can call me Roger, Chloe. And I came to ask you a few more questions.”

  “Sure. Why don’t you come in?”

  He waved his hand. “I think I’m better out here. So, Chloe…” He took out that narrow notebook and clicked his pen, ready to jot down something. “What…”

  Tippy slid past me, her sleek fur rubbing against my calves. She then, with a meow, walked over to Roger and pushed her chunky self in between his legs, purring all the while.

  “What’s her name?”

  I pursed my lips at my not-so-loyal feline best friend. She was literally flirting with the enemy. “Her name is Tippy.”

  Roger bent down and cooed at Tippy, scratching her behind the ears, ramping up her purring. She was a traitor. See if I fill up her bowl every five seconds from now on.

  A chilly breeze kicked up, and I pulled my baby blue cardigan tighter around my chest. “You had a question, Roger?” Not only was Tippy a traitor, but her loving on Roger felt like a twinge of betrayal. The last man she really paid attention to was Eric. I tampered down the anger before it got the best of me. The last thing I wanted Roger to see was that he was rattling my chains.

  He stood and cleared his throat. Back to business again. Tippy got the point and came back inside after giving me some side eye. “I was wondering when Richard last came to see you.”

  I didn’t have to think for more than three seconds before answering. “The night before he died or was killed or whatever, actually. He was here, when I got home from having dinner, waiting to make me an offer on the house—again.”

  Roger nodded, but his face gave nothing else away. I was well aware of how the situation sounded, but no way in heck was I capable of murder. “And he was around pretty often, huh? Must’ve gotten annoying. He sounds like he was pestering you quite a bit.”

  “It was annoying, yes. The man didn’t know how to take no for an answer. But I wasn’t the only one.”

  His dark brows drew down, revealing a deep wrinkle in his forehead. “What do you mean?”

  I scoffed. He wasn’t much of a detective if he didn’t know what Richard was doing to this whole community. “Richard wasn’t only trying to buy my house. He was trying to buy every house on this cliff, Roger. But he told me himself that if he got my house, the others would follow suit.”

  He grunted and scribbled something down on his notebook.

  “And what about my cart? Did you get my messages?” As I spoke, the faint smell of pastry and chocolate filled my nose. The timer on the oven hadn’t gone off yet, but already they smelled divine.

  “I did. Your cart will be released to you soon. In fact, here is your key. But don’t go there until you are given the go ahead.”

  I rolled my eyes. Couldn’t be helped. I had no time for his generic, diplomatic answers. “Soon?”

  He tapped the notebook with the tip of the pen. “Yes. Soon. That’s the best I can do right now.”

  “Anything else?” I asked, getting tired of all of this. I’d come upon a victim, and now I was being treated as the culprit.

  “Not right now. Something smells good.” He craned his neck and tried to look inside. What a nosey rosy. I’d invited him inside and he declined. Now he wanted to snoop.

  “Chocolate pies. The thing is, I have no cart to sell them on.”

  His soft eyes met mine. “I know. I’m working on it. Soon. Well, I’ll see you, Chloe. Bye, Tippy.”

  Roger waved to the cat, which I found more endearing than annoying like I should.

  “Oh and Chloe, you’re not really going to try and solve this murder, are you? Just let me do my job, okay?”

  As I shut the door, I thought maybe Roger was onto something though he didn’t even know it. It looked like I had some neighbors to question.

  Chapter Nine

  My neighborhood was beautiful, the perfect, calming place to call home. But the truth of the matter was, my neighbors and I kind of stayed to ourselves most of the time.

  That’s why as I buttoned up my sweetest-looking scallop-necked mauve dress and put on my silver Mary Janes, I knew there was only one way to handle them.

  Butter them up with sweets.

  And to look sweet and innocent on top of that.

  Not like a nosey-rosy on the prowl for information.

  I couldn’t sell my hand pies on the cart yet, but I could use them to lure out answers from the people in the neighborhood who had also been hassled by Richard.

  While the images of him lying here in a puddle of his own blood still haunted me, they showed up in my thoughts less and less. Three cups of honey chamomile tea the night before solved my lack of sleep and I woke up with a new sense of purpose.

  See number four on the list.

  Fresh pies in hand, or in my case, in a gingham cloth napkin lined basket, I made my way to the bottom of the hill with a bit of a spring in my step. I intended to start my investigation, I mean, question asking, at the farthest point away from my house and make my way up.

  These pies were sure to pull out answers from even the tightest of lips.

  If not, I’d woo them with my charms.

  I knocked on the first house, a canary-yellow cottage-looking home that boasted intricate decorative white fencing and perfect landscaping. There was a metal headboard and footboard stuck into the ground with tons of flowers planted in between them as if to make a quilt and a true flower bed. If I hadn’t inherited the house from my aunt, I was sure this kind of place would be one I would try to buy. It was beautiful and classic, yet had its own unique twist that made the decor seem one of a kind.

  A frail-looking woman hobbled to the door using one of those metal canes with the tennis ball on the bottom. The front window was open and as she approached the door, even be
fore she had opened it, a smile rose on her face. Her hair was put up in a chignon and the loose ends were secured in place with silver bobby pins. Her flowery dress contrasted the outside of her house and yet, seemed to fit into the theme just perfectly.

  Her lips were painted in the faintest magenta.

  She was happy, that much was visible.

  Older people loved visitors. My grandparents always had.

  “Well, hello. How can I help you?” The woman might’ve been older, at least eighty if I was judging correctly, but her voice was light and airy like a hopeful child. The floors creaked as she spoke to me.

  “Hi! My name is Chloe. I live up the hill.” I pointed as though the woman could see my house from her vantage point. She looked that way and nodded.

  “Oh, the pink one? I’ve always loved that house. Bernice used to live there.”

  Just hearing her name nearly brought tears to my eyes. “Bernice was my aunt. She left the house to me in her will. She was absolutely the best.”

  “I never had the pleasure of knowing her personally. Oh, well come in. Maybe I can remedy that by getting to know you. And what is that delicious smell? I’m Agatha, by the way.”

  I lifted the cloth napkin inside the basket and showed her the hand pies, still piping hot from the oven. “Chocolate hand pies.” She’d opened the screen door and escorted me inside.

  Her entire face lit up like a kid seeing their first fireworks. “Chocolate should’ve been my middle name. And I’ve just put on a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

  I giggled at her description. “Well, if your middle name is chocolate, then my middle name is coffee. I’d love a cup. Thank you.”

  We sat down at her table. The inside of her home was decorated much like the outside, charming but quirky and whimsical. She had a white tablecloth on the round table with embroidered daisies along the lace edges and a cat-shaped cuckoo clock was perched above a vintage white phone on the wall. I offered to help her with the coffee, but she pushed me off and claimed she had to keep moving lest she die or get stiff.

  Soon she sat down, taking her time with the motion. “So, I think you have something to talk to me about, Chloe. Is that right? People your age don’t just stop by and chat. Used to be a thing back in the day but now everyone had their faces glued to those dumb phones.”

  Guilt threaded through my chest. She wasn’t wrong. But I did laugh at the dumb phones comment. I had to admit, no one looked very smart hunched over those things, including me.

  “Well, I came to ask you if you received an offer on your home from Richard Beckham.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she clinked her spoon down on the saucer with a little more force than necessary. She screwed up her magenta lips and her brow furrowed. “That rascal. He was here once a day for weeks and then poof, nothing, like he disappeared off the face of the Earth. I, for one, am glad he stopped. What a menace. If I wanted to sell my house, I’d pick up that phone and call a realtor. A real one who isn’t so pesky.”

  Richard certainly wasn’t popular around here. “Well, Richard has actually passed away. His body was found near the storage units in town.”

  His body was actually found inside the storage unit building, but I thought I might skew the details, hopeful that someone would correct me and thus, reveal themselves.

  She sat back in her chair and gripped her cane. “Oh, my. Well, I am glad he’s not coming around anymore, but I never wished for him to die. What happened?”

  “Someone murdered him, it seems.”

  She put one hand to her chest and gasped. “Blessed be! That’s terrible.”

  “It is. I was just wondering if you knew anyone who disliked him or had any kind of grudge against him. Any enemies you are aware of?”

  She chuckled after taking a bite of one of my hand pies. “Everyone up and down this street, dear. You are certainly asking the right people, in my opinion. I’m sure the police will be by as well. You should try Mr. Travis up the road. He has the little powder-blue house with the lovely irises growing out front. He and Richard had a knockdown drag out just days ago. Might want to start there.”

  We continued to make small talk while sipping on the overly strong coffee and nibbling on my hand pies. I left her two and then made my way up the street. Maybe Mr. Travis would know more about Richard.

  Note to self: Don’t go into Mr. Travis’ house like I did with Agatha. I had a feeling he might not be as nice, and chocolate might not win him over as well.

  Poop on pumpernickel. This sleuth stuff was tough work.

  Chapter Ten

  Mr. Travis wasn’t home. I wanted to question him or at least see him so I could be on the lookout, but no dice. The other neighbors didn’t have much else to say other than the standard running theme of Richard was a pest, followed by, Richard didn’t deserve to die. Some had agreed to sell, others hadn’t. But none seemed especially wound up either way.

  Either way, by the time I got home, I’d worked up a sweat and had few clues but an empty basket. The hand pies went over well. One or two of the neighbors had actually placed custom orders, so the day wasn’t an entire waste.

  Tippy greeted me at the front door. Before I could even take off my cardigan, she was pawing at her food bowl. This time there was no empty space at the bottom.

  “You greedy gut girl. Here.” I put a few pieces of food in the bowl and received, as a reward, the worst stink eye in the history of cat stink eyes. “Now you’re really not getting any more.”

  My stomach rumbled for something more substantial than hand pies and coffee. I opened the refrigerator, but nothing seemed to yell out at me, plus I was out of cooking energy.

  What I needed was a burger. And I knew just the person who was always up for a sloppy one. I picked my phone out of the pocket of my skirt and held down the number two button.

  Daisy answered. “I just closed up shop and was thinking about calling you. Do you have ESPN?”

  We laughed at the corny joke together. In the background, I could hear her pulling down the metal gate that guarded her place while it was closed followed by the click of the padlock.

  “I am in need of a cheeseburger, extra greasy, with a side of sweet potato fries. You in?” I cut right to the chase since my stomach had begun to eat me from the inside out.

  “Yeah, I’m in. Come meet me at Dino’s. But you have to do me a favor in return.” Gosh, Daisy’s favors were never really favors. Mostly, she dragged me to places she didn’t want to go alone.

  “What is it?” I asked, mentally cringing at what her request would be this time. Once she had me go to a screaming heavy metal band concert that had my ears ringing for nearly a month.

  “Tonight is salsa night at the Kalimbo. Get your low-cut red dress on and join me. Hot guys swinging their hips and half-price margaritas for the ladies.”

  I paused apparently a little too long for her liking. She knew my hesitation.

  “Come on, Chloe. I know you lost Eric, but I’m not asking you to take a guy down the aisle, just dance and have fun. Let loose. Would Eric want you not to have fun?”

  She knew just how to needle me. My stomach growled as I grabbed my keys and purse. My heart thumped overtime just thinking about Eric and dancing with another man. I simply wasn’t there yet, but I hated to tell her no. Besides, a margarita felt like the perfect way to end this day.

  “I’ll go, but I’m not promising to dance with any men. But I’ll shake my booty all by myself. Deal?”

  She blew out a breath. “That sounds like a deal. Now get down here. You want a double-double with everything? I’m going to order.”

  “Yes. And I’m on my way.”

  The great thing about my house was that while it offered me a semblance of peace from the bustle, it was also just a short walk from the business of the beach and all it had to offer. By the time I got to Dino’s, Daisy was taking the tray from the server and just sitting down at a small circular table near the front. She always had to have the ocean
view and would stand and wait for a table to open if there wasn’t one available.

  The place was packed as the mouthwatering scent of grilled beef, melty cheese, caramelized onions and fresh-baked buns filled the air. The sizzling sounds of the oversized griddle along with the popping of oil as fries were dropped by the basket into the bubbling oil gave the small business its own atmosphere.

  “Took you long enough,” Daisy said, but smiled at me. Her hair was up in a bun, and she had no qualms about wearing the shirt advertising her own business to this one. She was bold and wild and free and those were the best things about her. “By the way, this was a fantastic idea. I haven’t had a burger in too long.”

  I bit into the double stacked monstrosity, complete with grilled onions, fresh tomatoes and onions, and so much cheese that it flooded out the side.

  “Tell me about this club. Are you sure the red dress is okay?”

  She put a Cajun-seasoned fry into her mouth and did a little dance signaling that it was good. “It’s a small club. Live band. They have a passion fruit-guava margarita that is to die for, just like you are, you delicious treat.” The last sentiment was spoken to her half-eaten burger. She talked to food just like I did. It was an endearing trait to say the least. “And yes, the red dress is perfect.”

  We finished our burgers talking about the day. I left out the part about Richard and the clues. Daisy had enough on her mind.

  After we finished, she made me promise to show up at the club and I did.

  Salsa dancing, here we come.

  The place was not nearly as busy as I thought it would be. In my head, I’d imagined a packed room with red flashing lights all around, making the already sweating bodies even hotter as they pressed together dancing in a passionate way that I wished I could.

  Eric wasn’t much of a dancer with the exception of slow dancing, mostly at our wedding.

 

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