Slice of the Pie

by Maxwell Miller

  “Huh?” Mario asked. Then he smiled. “Oh, the D.A. has been the interim District M.E. for a while. Years. Pretty much ever since I moved here. Bend doesn’t get many murders. Neither does the county. All the big stuff and all the money happens on the other side of the state. It’s too boring for the folks in Portland to poke their noses in Eastern Oregon affairs,” he said.

  “You sure sound like you know the place, even if you’re not from here,” Becca said.

  “Well, I’ve been here for a bit. But I’m actually from Boston,” Mario said. “New England connection, maybe?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “My father used to say that nothing good ever comes from Boston,” Becca said.

  Mario laughed. “Well, to get back to the business at hand,” he paused, searching for the right words. “Having the police come in and launch some big investigation, that could shut down your store for… days? Weeks? Who knows how long? And maybe they might need to call in health inspectors?” he asked.

  “Excuse me, but are you threatening me?” Becca asked, tensing and growing defensive. She wasn’t about to let anyone push her around.

  “No, no, just trying to help convince you why it might be in your interest to take the unusual step of not calling the police,” Mario said. “It really could cost you lots of money. And your reputation. And, truth be told, we don’t know what’s going on, yet. My friend the D.A. has to investigate the cause and manner of death, anyway. The police would just get in the way,” he said.

  “This all seems very strange to me,” Becca said. Fishy was the right word. But she didn’t want to come right out and say that right then, for some reason.

  “It does appear odd, doesn’t it? No, I can see that,” Mario said. “I just want this because I want a fast resolution. And I don’t want too many people talking. The grief is already going to be very hard on my family. The last thing we need is everyone in town sending us cards and showing up with casseroles,” he said. “You may have noticed, but it’s not a large town. It’s a pretty tight-knit community here. Once the word got out, which it might have already, anyway, it could really cause a panic,” he said.

  Becca tried to digest all of what she’d just heard. It seemed shallow. Glib. Too rehearsed to be true. Yet, she had no real way to dispute the facts as presented. Attempting to absorb the data dump provided by the charismatic man, she went through the various scenarios in her mind. She could call the police in blatant disregard of the guy’s wishes. But he owned the trendy Italian restaurant across the street from her pastry shop. And she’d belatedly realized Mario was a regular guest. He always came in and ordered Espresso and a bagel, taking a seat near the window by the entrance.

  A cat suddenly darted out from behind a nearby dumpster. Becca jumped. She paled as her eyes darted toward the feline. “Jeez,” she said. “Thing startled me.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Mario said. “Say, we need to get the ball rolling here. Can’t just let bodies lay around forever, you know?” he said.

  “You seem way too casual for someone who just lost their son,” Becca said. “There has to be more to this than you’re telling me,” she said.

  “Perceptive,” Mario said. He snapped his fingers. “Tell you what, how would you like to do a little digging? I’ll pay you. Maybe you might be able to find out what happened?” he asked.

  Becca pointed a finger at herself. “Me?” she asked, her tone rising and her eyebrows arching in mild dismay.

  Suddenly, Tank interrupted, poking his head out the door. He held up his thumb and pinkie, mimicking a phone receiver in the universal gesture for you’ve got a phone call. “Becca, Denise is on the line,” he said. Then he returned to his work.

  “Um, I’m sorry. I, uh, I need to go,” Becca said, blushing. Something about the invocation of her daughter’s name in the presence of the cold, enigmatic figure sharing the alley with her embarrassed her. And caused her concern. Whatever it was about Mario that seemed off, it was enough to set off multiple alarm bells in the back of her mind. She didn’t know whether or not she was simply being irrational due to the emotional trauma inflicted by the moment or if she’d sensed something more. But her intuition rarely failed her. And her gut instructed her to keep her family and personal life as far from Mario as possible.

  “No, I understand. I have a family, too,” Mario said. He cleared his throat. “When you got back, it’ll be like this incident never happened. The body will be gone. In the government’s hands,” he said.

  “Sure,” Becca said. Then she retreated back inside.

  As she passed the bathroom, she glanced over. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered in vivid detail the body on the floor.

  Chapter 2

  “What’s going on?” Becca asked.

  She cast intermittent glances back toward the bathroom. She couldn’t help it. The idea that there could be a dead body in her little sweets shop profoundly disturbed her. Her eye twitched as she gripped the phone, tapping one foot on the tile floor under her feet. As she waited for her reticent daughter to spit out whatever was troubling her, Becca listened to the quiet that had descended upon the pastry bar.

  Raising one hand to her mouth, she began nibbling on her nails. Then Becca looked down at her fingers, a moue of disgust crossing her lips. “Gah.” She forced her appendage back behind her, holding it there for several seconds until the urgent desire to indulge the old, distasteful habit overwhelmed her capacity to resist it.

  “What’s wrong, mom?” Denise asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I’m just, well, I started biting my nails again,” Becca said.

  “MOM!” Denise said, exasperation heavy in her tone. “You better not start smoking again,” she said.

  Becca smiled. At the mention of her other old habit, she suddenly experienced an intense craving for the delectably bad cancer sticks. “I should go get a pack. You want to take David up to the reservation? Get some ciggies for your dear old mother?” she asked. Part of her was serious. But she mostly just wanted to give her daughter some grief. After years of putting up with the creature’s crap, it seemed like Becca had earned the right to the occasional prank.

  “GROSS, mom,” Denise said.

  “So, why are you calling me?” Becca said. She needed to get back to business.

  “Well, David is having a serious panic attack right now. He needs some of those oils you have. The CBD stuff?” Denise said.

  “Well, you know where they are,” Becca said. She sighed. She nibbled on her nails, pausing to smile and awkwardly wave at a customer who shot her a look on their way out.

  “Yeah, but that’s the problem, mom. You’re out. And David hates going to the dispensary,” Denise said.

  Sighing, Becca looked over at Tank. The big, burly black man worked at arranging pastries in the clear display case. “Hey, Tank, do you think you could manage here alone for a bit? Mama drama,” she said.

  “Oh, I hear that. Yeah, take the day. I think Charlie is supposed to be in in a few, anyway,” Tank said. He stood up wiping his hands on the front of his apron. He smiled. “Might be better for everyone if you just took the day, anyway,” he said.

  “Hey, speaking of which, the… I guess it’s the District Attorney, but, anyway, the DA should be coming soon. The creepy restaurant guy from across the street…” Becca shivered. “It’s like something from a bad mafia movie,” she said.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it, Becca. And, even if it is something crazy, you’re a good person. Plus, who’d hurt the lady who makes the good pies? Nanaimo bars trounce hate any day, you ask me,” Tank said.

  Reaching out, she caressed the man’s smooth babyface. “I’m so lucky to have you,” Becca said. “How did I ever stumble upon you?”

  “Well, if I remember correctly, I stumbled upon you. I ETS’d out and needed a job, since my baby’s growin’ up and in school and the old lady is too busy executiving to pay me any mind,” Tank said. “You just happened to be pretty much the only one crazy enough in
town to accept a washed-up old 92 Golf with PTSD, tinnitus, and lots of family needs. Not to mention I’m pretty much the only black guy in Bend, to boot,” he said.

  “You and your Army slang,” Becca said. “You’d get along with David,” she said. “I think he needs someone to talk to,” she said. Suddenly she straightened up. She needed to get moving. “Anyway, none of that matters. I love ya. You really are a life-saver. I seriously couldn’t run this place without you,” she said.

  “Well, I couldn’t pay for my daughter’s AAU basketball without the checks you give me,” Tank said, winking.

  Then the bell above the entrance dinged, signaling a new patron had entered the establishment.

  Waving, Becca retreated into the back of the house, where she couldn’t resist re-arranging a few things and checking some of her frozen doughs before finally leaving.

  When she was able to pull herself away from the many demands of her small business, Becca walked out into the mild sunlight. She smiled as it caressed her bare arms. Striding across the parking lot, she patted her pockets, searching for her keys. Pausing, she grunted. Frowning, she experienced a spike in her heart rate as she moved her hands frantically about, trying to find her keys. “I always lose the darned things,” she muttered to herself as she struggled to maintain her composure. All of the stress of the day threatened to upend her newly minted calm in the face of that one small challenge.

  “I can’t drive without my keys,” she said. “D is going to hate me. I’m never on time. I’m never there when she needs me,” Becca said to herself. Throwing her hands up, she turned and stormed back toward the Three Sassters Pastry Bar. As she moved through the parking lot, Becca noticed trash cartwheeling across the pavement, making little skittering noises as it scraped its way around. Bending down, she snatched the offending piece of thin cardboard- an apple pie container from a nearby fast food joint- up, frowning at it. Not only did the litter lower the perception of her establishment, but it also showed how little respect people paid for the bountiful gifts they’d been given. Without the natural resources, such as the Three Sisters after which her shop had been eponymously named, that provided the main draw to the area, no one in Bend would be able to sustain themselves.

  “I can’t believe some people,” Becca said, her anger at the trash exacerbated by the myriad difficulties presenting themselves at that very moment.

  Walking inside, Becca noticed Tank gesturing, trying to secure her attention. Forcing herself to smile, she paused. For anyone else, she would have ignored them. But Tank was practically a member of her family. He worked hard for her. She wasn’t the type of business owner who was willing to build a comfortable lifestyle for herself at the expense of others. Her philosophy was that if she expected people to make sacrifices and go above and beyond for her, then she needed to return the favor. “Hey, Tank. I forgot my keys,” Becca said, feeling the need to explain her sudden return.

  “Oh, they’re still hanging on the hook in the back,” Tank said.

  Becca smiled and began immediately walking in that direction. “You’re a life saver,” she said.

  “Hey,” Tank interrupted her.

  “What is it, Tank? I’m really sorry, but Denise is expecting me,” Becca said.

  “Oh, sorry. I, uh, I didn’t realize you in were in that big of a hurry,” Tank said, frowning.

  “No, it’s okay,” Becca said, waving a hand dismissively. She chided herself silently for being so short with him. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Well, one of the customers was asking why we call it three sassters,” Tank said. “And I didn’t know. You know me. I don’t like not knowing things. Plus, it inspired my curiosity,” he said.

  “My sister and I, we used to call each other that all the time. Still do, actually. Even though we talk less now that we’re actually only a few hours apart,” Becca said. She smiled sadly. “Make sure to keep your family close while you can,” she said, imparting a bit of wisdom before rushing off.

  As she grabbed her keys and again exited the premises, Becca couldn’t help but think about her sister. Beth was such a different woman. Yet, as Becca’s older sister, she’d always held a vaunted, almost sanctified position in the hierarchy of Becca’s ideals. Adventurous and kooky to the extreme, Beth had never been one to depend on a man- or anyone else. For anything. She’d defied their father and gone on to school in Maine to become a photographer. And she’d carved a life for herself out of the many beautiful images just waiting to be captured in Baxter State Park. After which, she’d traveled the world as a paid photojournalist for one of the premier nature magazines of the world, earning opportunities few could even dream of. The woman had spent time in villages with cannibals amidst revolutions. She’d stopped guerilla warriors from poaching elephants, child soldiers from murdering gorillas, and mafia hitmen from destroying songbird populations, all while serving with the only tool she had: her camera.

  After retiring, Beth had settled in a tiny town called Elgin. Located in northeastern Oregon, the place was Heaven to the woman who’d survived the densest cities and most remote landscapes the world had to offer. It was quiet. The people were nice. And one remained close enough to the wilderness that a five-day jaunt into the forest was never out of the question. Despite dropping out of college, Beth had managed to get a job at a nearby university, where she taught part-time.

  “I need to go see her,” Becca said to herself as she started her old station wagon.

  …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

  “What took you so long, mom?” Denise asked, rushing toward the door as soon as Becca came in.

  Becca smiled, trying to fend off their massive boxer as the dog stood up on two legs and vigorously assaulted her with kisses. “Alright, Mousse,” she said, grunting as she attempted to keep the canine at bay. “Get down,” she commanded him. She smirked and shook her head as the dog almost frowned before slinking away. Mousse retreated to a spot mere feet away, resting his head on his paws and laying on his special blue shag carpet. The dog kept his large eyes on his mother, eagerly awaiting an order to get up and escort her. Or maybe it was just his flagrant effort to pry treats from Becca. She could never know with Mousse.

  She bent down and scratched him behind his comically floppy ears before moving into the living room. Becca plopped down on the gray couch and closed her eyes. “Will you please make your dear old mother a stiff drink?” she asked. “Just hit me some of the ol’ Whistlepig. No need to do anything elaborate. No maple syrup right now,” Becca said.

  “Yeah, well, were you going to tell me why you kept us waiting? David’s in the other room, convinced he’s having a heart attack,” Denise said.

  “D, I love you so much,” Becca said. “And I love David, too,” she said.

  “What’s that got to do with anything, mom?” Denise asked.

  “Everything. Just make me my drink, please,” Becca said. “I’m of no use to anyone right now without alcohol. I need to be promptly pickled.”

  Making a derisive noise, Denise nonetheless retreated into the kitchen without any further protests. Thankful for the momentary silence, Becca tried to think. She needed to digest the many facts that assailed the walls of her subconscious. All of the day’s events threatened to overwhelm her. Though, the more she probed the issue of Mario and the mysterious corpse, the more she found herself enjoying, even relishing the idea of taking on an active role in an ongoing investigation. It felt thrilling. She’d grown up reading mysteries with devious dicks and gritty female protagonists. Becca had often dreamed of someday conducting secret, dangerous inquiries into the corrupt and carnal affairs of others.

  “Here’s your drink, mom,” Denise said, unceremoniously handing the beverage to Becca.

  Gulping down the contents of the glass, Becca smiled. She relished the burn. It helped remind her that she remained al
ive and well. “For such an odd-named whiskey, this stuff sure is good,” Becca said.

  “Can we PLEASE stop with the chatter? What’s going on? I can’t remember seeing you like this. Not for a long time. You never get stressed out,” Denise said. Her voice trembled a bit, as if acknowledging her mother was not, in fact, infallible were some sort of attack on her.

  “The guy who owns the Italian place across the street, I guess his son died in my bathroom today. And now he wants me to investigate,” Becca said.

  “YOU?” Denise asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Yeah, that was my reaction, too,” Becca said. “You called right in the middle of all that. Right after I got my first good look at a freshly minted corpse,” she said. Becca shivered. “You know, that’s not something I exactly ever want to experience again.”

  She opened her eyes. Looking at her daughter, Becca took a deep breath. She knew she needed to get over her own troubles so she could help her child. “What’s wrong with David?” she asked.

  “Well, I told you on the phone, mom. Don’t you even remember? Like, hello?” Denise asked. She offered up a pouty frown of disapproval.

  “I’m sorry,” Becca said defensively. “But I was dealing with dead bodies and my business,” she said. Then, immediately, she felt ashamed at herself for snapping. “I apologize,” she said, doing her best to sound sincere.

  “Fine, I’ll just go tell David that he needs to man-up. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Just what he needs right now, you know? My mom has more important things than her daughter and her worthless veteran boyfriend who’s got a massive case of PTSD and a TBI. Maybe it’s because he’s also a felon,” Denise said. “Let me just go inform him he needs to get off his sorry behind and do this all himself,” she said.

  “Honey, I said I’m sorry,” Becca said. She resisted the urge to exacerbate the problem. Her daughter was just growing past her defiant teenage years. Becca reminded herself that Denise was a smart, good kid. It could be hard to recall such things at times. “You know I don’t think David is worthless. I mean, he’s one of my only employees. I trust him. And you know that,” she said. Becca sniffled. “I don’t really need this right now, okay? That actually really hurt my feelings, the more I dwell on it. It was a really mean thing to say,” she said.