It was the jail door slamming closed followed by Roger telling me he’d known I was the killer all along. That he’d just pretended to be my friend until he could close the case. A framed needlepoint over the single metal cot in the six by eight concrete walled cell read: Last Stop. I’d just interpreted it as an indication I was to be executed in the morning when my cell went off and dragged me awake.
I was either in love or hate with “Cake on the Beach.”
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Daisy. I wondered if everything worked out okay?”
Despite the fact I had only one day to finish getting ready for everything, I carried the phone with me as I brushed my teeth and washed my face and dressed for the day. A shower could wait until tonight. I’d need it after spending all the hours on my feet preparing my pies. By the time I’d given Daisy the scoop and was mixing dough for the new chocolate silk pie recipe, the sun was well over the horizon and climbing, pushing back the fog along the way.
I pulled up the list for the first week, and I still needed to work on the savory pies, but I also needed to get down to the beach and check out my spot, make sure it was ready for me. Should be no problem, but strange things had been known to happen. The city promised to remove any graffiti or garbage and steam clean the walk…but sometimes things got put off for budget reasons or someone simply forgot.
Also a break sounded good.
I’d been so busy with everything going on for the past week, I hadn’t had a chance to appreciate the beauty of the community where I lived. The sun blazed down, an early indicator of what every day would be like in a month or so. Not a cloud or s shred of fog marred the blue sky, and as I walked down the hill, I promised myself to be more aware of my good fortune. People came from all over to stay here for a few days, and I got to wake up and go to sleep in this town every single day.
Auntie’s plans to make our home a B&B came back to me. She’d put a lot of time and most of her money into the kitchen, but the house was large and historically interesting. Maybe I could do something with it? Rent out rooms if not a B&B? If I did something just during tourist season I’d still have peace and quiet the rest of the year and it would help with expenses. I could use the funds from one rental to fix up another part of the place? Or maybe I should be teaching cooking classes in my amazing kitchen?
A block away from the beach all those relaxed and interesting thoughts jerked right out of my mind. The silver-and-bronze truck parked by Founders Park was unmistakable…as was the line snaking along the sidewalk and past the swings and slides of the playground.
Oh hell no.
Nobody was supposed to be set up and selling until tomorrow. Why did she think she was special? Silly question. She’d spent so long one upping me, she probably couldn’t help herself. Annoyed beyond the use of good sense, I crosse the street and stomped toward the truck, but my steps flagged when I saw Victoria standing by the memorial statue talking to a man in khakis and a button down shirt. Beach formal. Her assistant was manning the customers, and not doing that great a job if the line offered any indication. What would make her ignore her business on a day where she was already chancing a fine? Wouldn’t she want every dime she could get her hands on? Or at least not to lose customers due to excessive waits?
Victoria leaned in to the man and her lips moved fast. Whatever she was doing there, it was important to her, and before I called in a report on her, I wanted to know what she was up to.
Ducking behind a tree near the statue, I strained to hear the murmured voices. Her companion’s was louder, which helped, but I could make out enough.
“Now that Beckham is out of the way, we can get started. Several of the neighbors had already promised to sell to him.” She darted a gaze around. “Let’s get right to it.”
The man shook his head. “If we move too fast, it will look bad. The boss wants to wait until later in the season when things are busier and we’ll be less noticeable.”
“If we do that, we won’t be able to start construction. We need the visitors to see the start of things, and they will all want to make plans for next year. My family’s vacant land is the idea place to break ground for the main building. Richard was really not making it happen. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough signed contract to even get started.”
What? Had Richard been working for whoever this guy was? Or the boss? Was it a mafia thing? I reached in my pocket for my phone and drew it out, prepared to record every word they said. If Victoria was wanting in on the same kind of deal Richard had been…wasn’t it to her advantage to have him out of the picture?
“Chloe, what are you doing here?”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent a shriek that would reveal my spying.
“Are you spying on those people?”
Dammit!
“Roger, I am standing in a public park.” I was proud to have gotten myself together this quickly. “And I overheard Victoria plotting to take over Richard’s work now that he’s ‘out of the way.’ I think I found our murderer.”
He grabbed my arm and steered me away. “Chloe, I thought you weren’t going to sleuth anymore. Weren't those warnings enough for you?”
“I’m not! I was on my way to the beach and happened to see them here.”
“And happened to stop and hide behind a statue to listen in with your phone on record.”
“No…I didn’t…I mean…I hadn’t even hit record yet.”
“Well don’t bother. Don’t you think we investigated anyone involved with his land scheme?”
“Umm…”
“Honestly, Chloe, have a little faith in your local police force. Now, can I give you a ride somewhere?”
“Lunch at Daisy’s?”
Because, I might be wrong about some things, but I knew where to find good food.
“I would if I could. Rain check? I’m on a murder investigation.”
Nice reminder.
Chapter Twenty-One
Since my lunch date was a no-go, my mind was chattering to me on an endless loop about V and her plans.
Beckham was out of the way. That’s what she had said. If she offered me a pie with anything remotely red in it, I was headed for the hills.
I bet she had that preppy assistant of her do it. He seemed like the lackey type.
Who wanted muffins on the beach anyway? Not me.
Thought they did smell heavenly.
I shook my head and pinched my nose, trying not to smell anything she had cooking. Ugh, she had to try and best me at everything. When we were in college she’d hit on Eric once. He didn’t fall for it of course. We’d been best friends then, he and I, but neither of us had acknowledged our huge crush on each other for fear the other didn’t share it.
V’s flirting actually gave Eric the gumption to admit his feelings to me. And then I’d gushed about mines for him.
I should thank her, but I wouldn’t. She was trying to push into my territory with her fancy schmancy shiny metal foot truck that even had twinkle lights under the awning and a big fat picture of her face plastered on the side, over-whitened teeth biting into a muffin.
Muffin But a Good Time. What a stupid name for a food truck.
Okay, it was pretty genius, but still.
I leaned against the tree and pretended to be lost in the ocean waves while Roger walked away. He looked back several times and put both fingers to his eyes and then pointed at me, a gesture that meant he was watching.
What he didn’t see couldn’t hurt him. Once he was out of sight, I turned and resumed my spying. I patted my pockets for my phone and found it no problem. Making a mental note to buy myself some super spy binoculars, I turned on the camera app on the phone and zoomed in to get the look at the front of the truck I was hoping for.
Not only did she have muffins, but cupcakes by the dozen lined up behind her like a showcase of donuts. Vanilla, brown sugar and the almost tart smell of strawberries and, if I wasn’t mistaken, kumquats, filled the air. A bank of ove
ns inside the truck baked it all fresh and a fan at each end made the scent permeate the beachside walkways and lured in so many customers that there was a line waiting.
I’d had my share of lines at my cart, but nothing like this.
A bird whistle on my phone let me know that not only was there a line and puffs of tailored scents through the air, but she had someone running a social media account for her. They had tagged me in the twitter-flitter thing about how excited V was about opening season and how she wished everyone good luck.
Poop on a pomegranate popsicle. She didn’t want to wish anyone luck—she wanted to rub her new truck in everyone’s face.
Daisy had been tagged as well and almost immediately shot V back a reply saying she should watch her muffin back.
Their muffins and cupcakes were delivered to customers in cute little pale pink bakery boxes stamped with her logo, a simple muffin with a bite in the shape of a V bitten out.
I sighed and leaned my head sideways, hitting it a little harder than necessary on the bark.
The California sun beat down on me as I watched, hoping for something but not knowing exactly what that something was. It wasn’t like V was going to stick her head out of the truck, holding a red velvet cupcake and announce she killed Richard or had him killed.
Shoot. I could’ve been perfecting my savory chicken green chile pies instead of doing this.
And yet, there was no looking away.
“Chloe Cotton, I can’t believe you.” A hand on my biceps tore me back into the present moment. Crab rangoons in the fryer, it was Roger.
“Did you come back to take me up on that lunch, Roger?” I asked, swinging my hips side to side trying to work the innocent angle and completely failing. Roger’s brow was drawn down, and his cheeks were stained red. I hoped it was because he was enamored with my naive act, but I assumed it was the sun.
“No, Chloe, I did not. I was on my way back to the station to follow up on a lead when I heard a call over the radio. You know what that call was, Chloe?”
I was intent on keeping up this act as long as I could. “That there was a cute hand pie saleswoman on the beach, and I should be arrested for taking people’s attention off the billowing waves?”
He rolled his eyes and pulled me away from the tree and the truck and my new hobby—spying.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe. The call was for a suspicious person stalking the people in line at the food truck.”
I put my hand on my hip. “I can only guess who called that in.”
Roger sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter who called it in. They think you’re a stalker, Chloe. Think about your business. When’s the last time you wanted to buy food from a creepy person skulking around her competition’s storefront?”
I scoffed. Okay, he was right. “She is so not my competition. You take that back.”
“This is my last warning to you, Chloe. Stop the amateur sleuthing. Stop the snooping around. Stop all of it. Or…or the next time I catch you, I will arrest you. You can’t sell pies in jail.”
The nerve of this one. “You would throw me in jail for trying to find Richard’s killer?”
He leaned in, his nose almost touching mine as his brown eyes searched my own for something. “Try me, pie princess.”
Ouch.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go home.”
I walked away sullen but not defeated. I told him I would go home, not that I would stop. And I wouldn’t stop, not until I’d found Richard’s killer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I finally did make it down to the beach where I located my spot and found it remarkably graffiti free. Thank you, city council, or maybe the chamber of commerce. Because our little town had its share of hooligans who found it amusing to deface just about anything they could find. And I took no comfort in the fact that at least one of them was the teenage daughter of a city councilman. But the beach walk was spiffed up to within an inch of its life, and since my last trip down, they’d actually added some potted trees and beachy shrubbery. I didn’t remember what it was called, but I had seen it elsewhere growing wild along the coast and it had pink blossoms and berries later in the season, looking stunning against the gray-green leaves.
The low wall that separated the walk from the sand had another new addition. Signage! Well, kind of. They had painted the vendor’s business name on the wall behind their spot, and while it wasn’t our logos, it looked really nice. A blue rectangle with our company name spelled out in a font that looked a little like waves. Then concrete underneath was clean enough to eat off.
Despite the fact that V had managed to start selling a day early by parking somewhere besides the actual beach, I was too pleased with the evidence of the city’s use of our money for something helpful for once to think about it right now. The trees and plants set between our spots made them more like real shops. I snapped some pictures of the location and those nearby.
I cut into Daisy’s for a second and was lucky to find a burrito she’d “accidentally” made wrong with hotter salsa than the customer ordered—yum for me! She knew and I knew that she’d seen me outside and made it for me. Who else wanted their tortilla extra blackened but me? But I’d make it up to her tomorrow with some goodies. I liked our system of taking care of one another. Many of the vendors had such deals going, and tomorrow we’d all be in action again.
I’d missed the other cart and stand vendors, since only the brick-and-mortar people were open in the off season, and not even all of them. Starting tomorrow, we’d all be there together, and I couldn’t fight off the frisson of excitement. After work, we often met for drinks or sometimes shared our leftovers on the beach, even taking a swim on the rare nights it was warm enough.
When Eric died, I’d lost the sense of seasons we’d had together. A teacher’s schedule follows them in ways many other jobs don’t. We usually traveled in the summer, if he didn’t teach summer school, or at least for a few weeks afterward if he did. It was such a special season and as I prepared to go forward without him, I’d mourned our happy road trips. We weren’t rich enough for anything else, but it was still fun.
I waited for a few cars to pass to cross the street at the foot of the hill, closing my eyes to picture those days. Riding up Highway 1, camping in our little tent most nights, staying in a cheapish motel when the weather didn’t allow it or we just wanted a few conveniences.
When he died, so did summer…until last year when I found a new way to celebrate the long days and sunshine of this season. My new friends didn’t replace Eric, nobody ever would, but they brought a lot of joy into my life, and I’d forever be grateful.
I opened my eyes and checked to make sure it was safe before crossing the street, nibbling on my burrito. When I got to the other side my phone buzzed and I checked it to find a text from Sandy Sanchez, the ice cream bar vendor who had the spot next to mine. She would be arriving later that day, unusually late, but was very excited to start the season tomorrow. I replied with the picture of the sign saying Sandy’s Homemade Paletas and received a squee emoji in return.
On the way up the hill, I ran over the clues in my mind and then, instead of going inside, I walked right around to the patio and sat down, looking over the town below. The storage building was off to my right, and I studied it, trying to think of who or what had happened to Richard. Even though I was not a suspect, technically, anymore, I still couldn’t let it go. Victoria was also not a suspect, apparently. What a shame.
But if she didn’t do it, who did? Who else had reason to want to kill Richard? This land was valuable, and while some of my neighbors might resent the deal falling apart with his death…had it? I thought it had. I actually didn’t know if it had. Richard hadn’t been alone in this deal, had he?
I needed to check with the neighbors who had signed to sell. Find out if anything was still happening or if the deal had totally fallen apart.
Mr. Sling emerged from the front door of the storage building car
rying a big cardboard box, the kind I’d seen people use for their tax files. Eric had one like that when he was doing our family bookkeeping, as simple as it was. With my business, I needed a full-on filing cabinet.
The box must be heavy, the way he was bracing it on his legs as he dug in his pocket for his keys before opening the trunk and stuffing it inside.
Odd…he had an office at the units, where I assumed he kept our leasing agreements and things. Why would he be carrying a big box like that away. I was leaning on the railing, trying to get a better look before I straightened and laughed at myself. I’d gotten so suspicious, I was seeing sneakiness in everything. Poor Mr. Sling was probably so overwhelmed with work he had to take some home.
Hell, for all I knew the box was filled with…stuff he stole from lockers? No. He wasn’t supposed to have a way to get into them. When we rented, we put our own locks on and they cut them off if you didn’t pay so they could then sell your stuff. When I signed up, we’d joked about how he wished that TV show would film there when they had their auctions so they could draw a bigger crowd and maybe make some of their losses back.
But someone had gotten into my unit, hadn’t they? The knife was not in my cart when I locked it up the previous fall. So if someone could get into mine, somehow, couldn’t they get into someone else’s and maybe steal stuff?
How would they do that, though?
My phone buzzed again. Another friend in town, and I turned away from the railing with a sigh. I still had so much to do before the next day, and I needed to get a good night’s sleep if my excited friends didn’t text me all night.
I grinned.
The season started tomorrow, and my pies were going to be better than ever.
Look out, tourists! Your taste buds are in for a treat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
No need for an alarm clock this morning. This girl had been up all night. My cart was on my porch, and the tourist season was on my mind.
A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 8