“Thank you.” He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and after a considering look placed a chocolate half on his plate. “Now, if you think you can calm me down with treats, you’re wrong. I’ll still eat them, but I am anything but mollified.”
“I know.” I tipped some cream in my mug. “I intended to tell you about the first one, but you were busy arresting me, and that was kind of upsetting so…”
“I didn’t arrest you. If I had I’d have read you your Miranda rights.”
I’d kind of known that.
“Listen, I went out fishing with a friend on his boat for a few hours, thinking, foolishly, that the town might not cave in on itself while I was gone but I no sooner get on the dock than my phone goes off with multiple calls from the station. And guess who all the calls are about?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I looked out the window at the fog, wishing for the peace I usually found here.
“Chloe, I know this is hard for you to hear, but you’re a target. I asked you not to try to find out who the murderer is, not to get involved.”
“And I’m not!” I faced him now. “I have done nothing but bake and be arrested.”
“You were not —”
Potato po-tahto!
He sucked in a long breath and ate a pie and a half before going on. “Look I need you to go somewhere for a couple of weeks. Whoever this is, even if you aren’t sleuthing anymore, the killer thinks you are. And that means you need to remove yourself from danger while I do my job.”
“No.” I cradled the mug between my hands. “I can’t leave right now. I’ll lose my spot, and I have everything invested in this business.” I didn’t mention the fact I was considering throwing the cart on the trailer and finding a whole new beach and town to do business in. Mostly because it wasn’t something I could afford to do…also the house wouldn’t fit on the trailer.
“Chloe…” He studied me closely then threw his hands in the air. “There is nothing I can say to convince you, is there?”
“Not a thing. No.” I pushed the plate toward him. “More pies?”
“Actually, I’d better get going, but first I want to look at the warning that’s still out there. I understand the officers took the plate with them. If I can’t convince you to be sensible, I’ll have officers drive by every so often, and you have my cell phone.”
“I do.”
“I won’t be going on any more fishing trips or anything else until this is resolved, so you shouldn’t have any trouble reaching me.” He stood up and started for the door with me after him, but before he went outside he stopped me. “Stay in here where it’s at least somewhat safe.” He examined the door. “And tomorrow get a locksmith up here to put in a deadbolt. It’s better than nothing.”
Then he was gone, leaving me feeling like a burden and generally sick to my stomach. The coffee wasn’t helping. Since I was now 100 percent wide awake, I wandered back into the kitchen to clear away the coffee stuff and start another recipe trial. The fog would keep me company.
Chapter Seventeen
I glanced at the time, and it was nearly two in the morning. I’d baked to my heart’s content and until I’d stopped shaking. But even without the nervousness in the pit of my stomach, I couldn’t stop ruminating.
I’d even tried a few online matches of Uno but got some angry faces when I didn’t play my turn fast enough.
Flicking all of the lights on made me feel better but at the same time worse. If this person, the murderer, was watching me, my lights would surely make them think I was scared and on edge—probably just what they wanted. But I didn’t care. If they were going to make a move, it would not be in the dark. I needed any advantage I could get.
Tippy had long ago retired for the night but gave a tiny meow every time I paced in front of her.
Feeding my paranoia, I pushed the sheer curtains in the sitting room aside just a smidge and looked out. A car I didn’t recognize sat between mine and the next house with the lights off. But the hot air coming from exhaust against the cool night by the ocean let me know the car was running. Someone must be in there.
Bull pucky on a bun, this was not good.
With renewed shaking, I reached into my skirt pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and called Roger.
“Chloe, is everything okay?” he answered before it even rang on my end. Just hearing his voice gave me a small semblance of comfort.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. There’s a strange car outside my house. It’s been there for a while, and it’s running. I know it seems ridiculous but I kind of feel watched.”
“Chloe, you’re very observant, and that’s a good thing. But it’s okay. It’s me in the car. I decided to keep watch over you myself since no one else was available. I’m here. You can turn off all those lights and try to get some sleep. I’ll pull up closer if that helps you.”
I blew out a long breath. Yes, it would make me feel better, but also, he wouldn’t be as covert if he were closer.
And a swirling in my stomach took me off guard. It was awfully sweet of him to look after me himself.
He’s just doing his job.
“No, that’s okay. Stay where you are. It’s fine. It’s just been a long, tumultuous day.”
Roger made a sound of agreement and I could also hear some classical music in the background. Didn’t take him for a Mozart person, but there it was. “Try to relax, Chloe. I promise you’re safe tonight.”
Reminding myself that he was simply doing his job and not trying to be my knight in police armor, I said goodbye, disconnected, and went upstairs. After a long, hot bath with my favorite lavender salts, I was able to get some sleep but before I did, I quelled the thoughts of packing up and leaving town. Roger was doing his very best to keep me safe and I wasn’t the type to knuckle under and flee like a coward.
This was my town now and I had a thriving business and a beautiful home.
No way in heck I was letting him win.
Chapter Eighteen
Swimming alone late at night in the ocean was never a good idea, and I couldn’t even remember how I got here, or why I decided to skinny dip, but the Pacific was unusually pleasant for so early in the season, and the sky overhead sparkled with stars. The beach lay not far away, the waves were slow and rolling, and I lay on my back and floated, relaxed for the first time in a long time. At least I didn’t think I was the main suspect anymore, but I didn’t know who else the police might be looking into. Roger would probably tell me eventually. Or, after an arrest was made, I could read about it in the paper. The warm water supported me, helped me relax even more than my bath earlier.
All was good. My eyes drifted closed, and I wondered what would happen after this case was closed. Was Roger interested in me? In a town where the winter population was so small, there weren’t a lot of available men who lived there full-time. Sure, in summer they were there in droves, lying on the sand and partying in the clubs at night. Last year I’d been too busy getting my cart going to pay attention but when I’d visited as a teen I’d dated a few of the tourists around my age. And even as I’d been trying to make and sell enough hand pies to cover my expenses last summer, I’d turned down some invitations to dinner or dancing.
I hadn’t been ready to date yet, anyway. I missed Eric too much. I still did, but if Detective Roger asked me out for a seafood dinner, would I say no? Maybe I should invite him to Daisy’s for lunch one day. To talk about the case. No…he wouldn’t want to do that. As friends. A woman could always use friends, and he had gone out of his way to help me out, even if half the time I felt more like a person of interest or suspect than a damsel in distress.
The blare of the foghorn from the lighthouse on the point north of town accompanied by the splash of a wave in my face flung me facedown in the water and I came up splashing and gasping.
While I floated, lost in my thoughts, the fog had closed in. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I tried. And the easy seas had been replaced by an
gry, towering, white foam-crowned waves, one of which loomed over me, rising higher and higher. I couldn’t see anything else in the murk, but the cresting swell that would kill me…that seemed to stand out as clear as anything. Maybe it was always like that. Maybe what was going to kill you was always obvious. But that didn’t make it any better. I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched my nose with one hand, flinging the other over my head as if it could shield me from multiple tons of rushing water.
Nobody would ever find my body.
But where was that music coming from?
The strains of “Cake by the Ocean,” my ringtone since there was no “Pie by the Ocean” tore the wave to shreds and washed me ashore. Figuratively. It did drag me from a dream so realistic I thought I wondered if the old adage about dying in a dream killing you in real life was true. I reached blindly for my phone and found it on my nightstand lying on its charger where it belonged. Of course, if it were anywhere else it wouldn’t have been so loud.
“Hello?”
“Your cart is out front.”
“What?” I forced my eyes open. “Roger? Out in front of where?”
“Your house. We dropped it off before dawn so nobody would see. If you’d try to keep it under wraps in the garage or something for a few days it would be appreciated.”
“Uhhh…” The garage, hoarder heaven? I’d have to spend a week just throwing stuff out to fit my cart in there. “I can wheel it around back onto the patio if that will work? There is not room in the garage.”
“As long as it’s not visible from the street. Maybe toss a tarp over it there?”
“Sure, and I’ll put it up against the house and roll out the awning so it will be pretty invisible.” I was trying not to dance with joy as I dashed to the window to see my baby in the driveway. “I don’t know how you made this happen, but thank you. So much! You’re my hero!”
Gushing! I was gushing!
And then I remembered what he really had done for me. “Roger, I hope you’re calling from home in bed?”
“Why, Chloe, did you want to come tuck me in?”
My cheeks flamed. Luckily he couldn’t see that. “I-I you know that’s not what I mean. I just…you were outside babysitting me all night, and you must be tired. Did I thank you?”
His chuckle was so warm and sensual, I couldn’t help picturing him lying in the middle of a king-sized med, the covers pulled up to his waist in a display of sensual masculinity. Jerk. Probably what he intended. On some level. Or not. He wasn’t responsible for my fantasy voyeurism. Yeesh. When did I become a fantasy voyeur? “You probably did, but it doesn’t matter. All in a day’s work.”
“Still, can I buy you lunch at Daisy’s? You don’t even know the dream you just saved me from. A tidal wave was about to drown me.”
“No wonder you think I’m a hero. Sounds like a nightmare. Just a second.” He covered the phone, muffled tones carrying over then he was back. “Listen, I think we are closing in on the killer, so that’s going to make them even more dangerous. Stick close to home, and stay alert okay? I’ll check in with you later.”
“Sure. Okay, and just in case, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He disconnected without saying goodbye, but that was okay.
Energized, I dressed quickly and brushed my teeth before racing downstairs to move my cart. The rest of the day was taken up with cleaning the cart outside and inside, touching up the logos with a tiny brush and jars of paint I’d kept when I originally designed the whole thing. Despite my promise to stick close to home, I convinced myself the storage units and the restaurant supply weren’t far from me, so I made a trip to pick up the other items at the storage then stock up on paper products and some other things I was a little low on before returning home and putting it all away.
In the pantry and the first floor guest bedroom. Not optimum, but every time I went back to the “scene of the crime” I could see Richard lying on the floor there. Gave me the creeps. Plus, all day I’d felt like someone was following me. I never got a look at them, and it was probably all in my mind, but still…
Then the sun was setting and a familiar car parked outside. He’d never answered me about lunch, but he had to eat sometime, so I put on a hoodie and as soon as it was dark dashed outside with a few samosas from a batch I’d taken out of the freezer and reheated for dinner.
He chastised me…but he ate them.
Chapter Nineteen
I pumped my fists in the air and moved my hips back and forth, my own little version of a happy dance. My cart was clean and touched up for the season. Despite it being covered up by a tarp and under the awning of my back porch, my view of a sliver of the handle of it from my kitchen gave me hope.
The season was still salvageable. I was in a crunch and I would have to work my brioche buns off to get everything ready in time, but the hope bloomed inside me.
I was never one to slough off hard work. My counters were lined with my huge storage jars of ingredients for the dough. Flour, some white and some wheat, baking powder, salt both for baking and sprinkling (in the case of my salted-caramel-topped pumpkin empanadas), along with enough bowls and baking sheets to make pies for the entire season were set out and ready for me.
The reason for my dough’s flakiness, vodka, was sitting in a bottle next to the ice water it would be mixed with.
Everything was clean, and the oven preheated.
I was ready. Tourist season, here I come.
Priding myself on the freshest ingredients, I tended to do things the laborious way, and that included the pumpkin filling. I’d frozen a mountain of last Halloween’s leftover pumpkins, bought for a song on November 1, in the fridge after cleaning them out and roasting it to perfection. After letting it thaw all night, it was now ready to be whirred through the food processor and mixed with spices. I could almost smell them baking in the oven already.
I mixed up a triple batch of dough by memory alone, got the pans out, and greased them with the best butter I could find on the West Coast, which turned out to be from Ireland of all places. The sultry, velvety smoothness of it made all the difference I’d experimented with a cheaper variety once, and it was the only time my customers didn’t rave. The next day I went back to the Irish butter and sold out by noon.
While waiting for the pumpkin batch to bake up, I decided to whip up some lemon curd-cream cheese filling. The pumpkin ones were heartier and the lemon would offer a fresh, tart-sweet alternative for those customers who wanted something on the brighter side.
Tippy stretched in the sunlight then hopped onto the window sill. She let out a drawn-out Meow, and I liked to think she was greeting the cart just outside.
The fickle beast was probably hoping I would give her some pie, but that wasn’t happening. Eric had once fed her a piece of a peach hand pie and, three rolls of paper towels later, he vowed never to give her human food again.
I washed the used bowls and wiped down the counters while I waited for the ding. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help but think of Roger. He had stayed out all night again, protecting me and my home. When would he sleep? Maybe some more of my pies would be a fitting thank you for all he had done for me.
Eric’s face popped into my mind. He loved my pies, especially the pumpkin ones. They were the first ones I ever tried to make, and Eric claimed that his love for me tripled that night. He loved to tease me and, on our anniversary, every year, I made him pumpkin hand pies with some kind of variation. One year I added a few chili flakes for a bit of kick. Another time I threw in some ginger and star anise. But he loved the ones topped with salted caramel the most.
Ding!
I jumped at the sound of the timer going off. Setting the pumpkin pies out to cool, I decided I would, in fact, drop some of these to Roger at the station. The lemon batch went in next, and I decided to go ahead and make up the caramel drizzle for the others.
Hours later, I stood in the reception area of the police station holding the white bakery box of
crescent-shaped goods by its string. I kept the bakery boxes in stock for larger orders and liked to use string as I remembered a bakery doing when I was young.
“Is Detective Aguirre in?” I asked the sullen woman at the front desk.
“Nope. In the field today,” she crowed back.
“Well, can I leave these here for him? You’ll give them to him?” I asked, hoping she would.
“Sure.” She slapped the counter where, apparently she wanted me to set them. “Leave them. He’ll pop in and out, I’m sure.”
Later that night, I looked out the window, but Roger’s car was nowhere to be seen. I had been excited and a little giddy to know he was right outside, but now that he wasn’t, disappointment swirled in my belly.
Well, the man did have to sleep after all. He had done so much for me. And he wouldn’t leave me unprotected if he thought I was in danger. Maybe they had a tail on their suspect? If they were sure of who it was…or some other police procedure I didn’t know about.
I closed the curtain and filled Tippy’s bowl again, pleased as punch with the work I’d done during the day. The kitchen was spotless and ready for the next morning of baking. A list was on the counter, outlining all the old favorite recipes along with a few surprises.
With resolution, I flicked off the lights and went to bed. Mystery or not, I was going to make this the best season for my hand pie cart ever.
Chapter Twenty
Day before season opener…
I had wild dreams all night of everything that could possibly go wrong going wrong. Thunder and lightning. Fog. A tire fell off my cart. My pies all tasted like kerosene. The tidal wave put in another appearance—I wasn’t sure if an offshore swell was still called that, but I didn’t have time to spend in research on giant killer waves just now. The final nightmare, the one I was struggling through when the alarm went off was the worst of all.
A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 7