Slice of the Pie

by Maxwell Miller

  He just murdered his ex-boyfriend and father, Becca thought. But she miraculously kept the words inside. Congratulating herself for her newfound ability to remain silent, she snapped an old cookie off of the counter and ate it, ignoring the crumbs cascading to the floor as she walked back into the living room.

  “My ex-husband showed symptoms one might expect from ricin poisoning. At first, it was just severe abdominal pain and bloody stool. But, you know, he was into so many different bad habits that he sometimes had these issues, anyway. He got really mad when I showed compassion and tried to help him. He was in such pain that all he wanted to do was escape into the bedroom. Alone. He actually left quite the mess behind,” Saffron said. She sniffed. “Anyway, he died within a few days after showing those first symptoms. I didn’t really know what to do at the time. I was distraught. But it wasn’t until later on that I began to sense some changes in Ben. He made some odd comments, started behaving odd, even for him. And, you know, at first, I just thought maybe it was grief,” she said.

  “You’re busy. You’re sick of me. Okay, I get it. So, point is, my son was growing castor beans in a hothouse or whatever. I guess they only normally grow in tropical regions. But he just brought the tropics to us. So, yeah. It was actually a hothouse that belonged to one of his biology teachers. That’s how I got the hint, actually,” Saffron laughed. The sound had a sad, cynical quality.

  “The teacher called me and started asking questions about Horace’s death. I caught on pretty quickly and concocted some lies on the spot. But, yeah, I guess castor beans have a lot of good qualities. Enough that it wasn’t suspicious at all for a boy who really, really liked plants to ask to grow them. They’re surprisingly common in some areas. Also highly toxic,” she said.

  Becca went silent as she digested that information. She chewed her nails and stared at the wall, her mind a blank slate. Finally, she nodded. “That makes sense. Very good reasons to suspect your son,” she said. “But, even if I hate to do it, the way you made it sound, your former husband was very abusive. That’s not really an excuse to murder someone,” she said. But, in the back of her mind, Becca wondered if maybe it were a justification. Self-defense was a valid defense to murder. What if that protective act just took an unorthodox form? One could probably argue that Horace would have eventually gone overboard and killed Saffron. So, getting Horace first didn’t seem so bad, in context.

  “It’s not an excuse. And I’ve lived with this dread and guilt and just… HORROR. I get anxiety, nightmares. I wake up sometimes thinking that someone might know. I guess it’s kind of odd. I get upset sometimes that I don’t feel as bad for Horace. But, like you said, he wasn’t always a saint. My biggest fear was always that someone might come and arrest him. Or, well, you know, that he might actually do it again. To someone that didn’t actually deserve it,” Saffron said.

  “Seems like a perfect segue into Ben’s relationship with Giovanni, doesn’t it?” Becca asked.

  Chapter 18

  “I know who killed him!” Becca said.

  “I found the girl!” Lawrence said.

  They both spoke at once, their high-pitched tones exultant. It took a second for each of them to register just what exactly had just been said.

  “Okay, what, now?” Lawrence said, the first to express his surprise. “You said what?” he asked.

  Becca took a deep breath. The full import of what Lawrence had said hit her. It served as a reminder that there were still unresolved issues out there, loose ends that needed to be tidied up before the case could reach a suitable denouement. Finally, after hesitating for what felt like too long, she went on with reporting her good news. “I found the killer. The person responsible for Giovanni’s death,” she said.

  “That’s what I thought you’d said. Back up a minute here. I need to hear this,” Lawrence said, his tone full of wry amusement. He clearly didn’t believe her.

  “Thanks, Lawrence. I knew you believed in me,” Becca said.

  “Wait a second. I didn’t say anything,” he said, vaguely offended.

  “You didn’t have to,” Becca said, slightly miffed. She chewed on her bloody fingernails and glanced at the door. “Anyway, I kind of just stumbled on it. I saw I had a new neighbor. Happened to be the son of the dispensary owner. He was tending to some very odd plants in a very weird way. That and he started acting strange when I started talking about the death at the Three Sassters. So, yeah, my gut started telling me that something was off. That I needed to follow-up,” she said.

  “Intuition is an odd thing. A lot of us LEOs, we have real debates about that. I swear by it. Some hate the idea,” Lawrence said.

  “Well, it worked wonders for me. So, yeah, that’s the context. Maybe you’ll believe me now that I divulged how happenstance it all was. Not some great feat of detective work. Just me poking my nose into others’ affairs,” Becca said.

  Lawrence laughed. “I’m sorry I doubted you. But, still, tell me more. You have to admit, a strange neighbor isn’t exactly evidence of murder. If it were, we’d probably all be locked-up by now,” he said.

  “I took pictures of the plants. They’re monkshood. Poisonous plant. David recognized them. He said they were used in ancient warfare. I confirmed it, though,” Becca rushed to point out. “After I heard that, I called his mom. And she immediately launched into this whole tirade about how she’d lied to me earlier. Long story short, Ben- that’s my neighbor- has a fairly long and sordid past. He’s a little touched,” she said.

  “Hmmm… what kind of past?” Lawrence asked.

  “If you must know, he probably started off killing small animals. Eventually graduated to probably killing his own dad. Wet the bed and started fires, too,” Becca said, spouting off some of the random knowledge she’d gleaned during a sleepless night of scouring the depths of the internet.

  “A lot of probablies there,” Lawrence said.

  “Well, his mom was the one who told me all of this. And he was growing castor beans at the same time his dad died a death eerily similar to what one might expect from ricin poisoning. And, you know, castor beans contain ricin,” Becca said.

  “Where was this? When was this?” Lawrence asked, his tone stern.

  “I, uh, well, I didn’t ask that. But I believe her,” Becca said, her tone uncertain.

  “Okay, that’s all well and good. But sometimes people lie. They even lie about things that seem so crazy. False confessions, all that. Who knows what motives the mom might have for claiming these things?” he asked.

  “Thanks for all the logic and stuff,” Becca said. She scrunched up her nose and glared at her phone.

  “You’re welcome. Logic is important when you’re conducting an investigation. A CRIMINAL investigation,” Lawrence said. Then he softened his tone. “Overall, good work. It’s more than a good start. It’s a GREAT one. Really, a lot of cases are solved based on a hunch and one stray bit of information. What marks a barely competent detective from a truly special one is the ability to recognize those things when they crop up and act on them,” he said.

  Becca beamed. Soaking up the rare bit of praise from Lawrence, she waited a second before asking him about his own excited disclosure. “So, tell me about Emma,” she said. Then she thought of something. “I forgot to add that Ben was Giovanni’s ex-lover,” Becca said.

  Lawrence snapped his fingers. He whistled. “THAT kind of seals the deal, doesn’t it? I would say that with that bit of information, you’d probably have enough to convince most prosecutors. Motive is one of the hard ones. A jilted lover or a fat wad of cash usually does it, though,” he said. He chuckled. “Oh, yes. MY piece of good news. Maybe I was so poopy because I had my moment to shine ruined. I almost literally spent all night searching for every Emma who’d ever passed through our system,” he said.

  “And you found her?” Becca asked, pleasantly surprised by the revelation.

  “I did. It wasn’t easy. But it’s also not a common name. More so recently, but still. So, ye
ah, with that and the fact that we don’t get a lot of female offenders, it was doable. We had fifteen, I think. Within the past five years, anyway. Thankfully that was as far back as I had to go. So, our Emma was arrested ONCE as an adult. Misdemeanor. She was processed in and almost immediately released on her own recognizance. She went to court, unlike a lot of people in those situations, which unfortunately made my job more difficult,” he said.

  “How do you even know it’s her? I mean, I never got you that photo. Or, at least, I don’t think I did,” Becca said. She smiled ruefully. “It’s been a busy last few days. Maybe I did. I don’t know, honestly. At this point, I’m a little happy I’m even able to string together a single coherent sentence,” she said.

  “No, you didn’t bring me a photo. But that was okay. Turns out the duty Sergeant had heard about the whole ordeal. His wife was actually in the Three Sassters on that day. Stroke of luck, I guess. Anyway, he caught wind of what I was doing, started snooping. I didn’t even bother trying to lie. But, thankfully, he not only didn’t seem to care but even offered the crucial clues. Damon had been worried about the girl and had actually been scouring missing persons every night,” Lawrence said.

  “Huh,” Becca said. She touched her chin and looked at the ceiling. Outside, a woodpecker made a racket. Casting an annoyed glance toward the noise, she got up and slammed the window. “That thing is horrible,” she said.

  “What?” Lawrence asked.

  “Oh, sorry. We have this annoying woodpecker who likes to come out and remind everyone of his existence. He’s pecking away right now,” she said.

  “Have Mousse go out and bark at him,” Lawrence suggested.

  “Not a bad idea. But, with my luck, he’d just go make friends with the guy,” Becca said.

  “Anyway, we should get together this evening. I have two days off. Night shift messes with my Circadian rhythms, but I’ll muscle through. Be good to discuss next steps,” he said.

  “Circadian rhythms, huh? You’ve been reading a lot lately,” Becca said.

  “Hey, what can I say? It gets pretty boring when you’re up all night and things are quiet as a funeral home. Plus, if the bossman is going to pay for it, why wouldn’t I take advantage? How often is it I can get one over on the County?” he asked.

  “You work for the County,” Becca observed.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Nor does it mean I feel adequately compensated,” Lawrence said. “When the County decides to stop treating me like a custodian for the local mentally ill and homeless, maybe I show a little more deference and respect. Until then, I’ll never get promoted because I’m actually honest and don’t like the little games. The bureaucracy here is beyond insane,” he said.

  “Why don’t you find something else? You’re a fairly intelligent being,” Becca said. “Plenty of good experience.”

  “What else is there in central Oregon? Run a bed and breakfast? Use all that money I have saved up to build a hotel? Ha. They pay me just enough to keep me on the hook. I might be able to run a little fishing side business. Some of the corporate clients pay decent money to send interns on little retreats. Can you imagine me, handing out waivers to thin, pale grad students from Seattle so they can traipse around near a lake and snap photos of a fish I caught for them?” Lawrence asked, chuckling.

  “That’s funny. Anyway, so, yeah, I do think it’d be a great idea to talk. Uh, so, I have to extract a promise from you on this. And you absolutely can’t go back on it. If you do, I will definitely hate you forever,” Becca said.

  “Whoa. That is a hefty threat. Forever is a long time. What is that, like, a trillion years plus one?” he asked.

  “Whatever it is, that’s how long I will hate you. Okay? It’s super important that I tell you, but I can’t if you’re just going to blab about it,” she said.

  “I mean, you’re blabbing. I bet you’re about to tell me because you already told someone else,” he said.

  “Oh, my gosh, you are too perceptive,” Becca said. She smiled. “Okay, but even if you’re right, the facts still remain. I need your advice. But if it’s that big of a deal, then I’ll have to figure it out on my own,” Becca said. She began stroking Catterina’s fur as the cat jumped up on her lap.

  “Fine, Becca. But I suspect this is going to really test me,” he said.

  “It will, for sure. Okay, so, Mario confirmed that he is in the witness protection program. He’s a really bad character. He’s involved in some bad stuff. He’s a member of some mafia thing. I can’t remember the name. It’s a weird one. So, anyway, he was stalking me. Trying to keep tabs on me or whatever. Make sure I wasn’t telling on him. Which is funny, since I’m telling on him now BECAUSE OF THAT. Plus, why would he expect me to go out to a national forest to do that? How paranoid is that? Really. He could just tap my phone,” she said.

  “Maybe he did. There are some apps for that. It’s honestly not that hard,” Lawrence said, taking the news relatively easily.

  “Well, if so, we’re in trouble. He threatened to kill me, Lawrence. Not only that, but he said he’d blame it on you,” Becca said.

  “That’s disturbing. But it’s usually the spouse. Or a jilted lover. That sort of thing,” Lawrence said.

  “Can you please take this seriously for just ONE MINUTE,” Becca said.

  “I warned you before you even got involved in this,” Lawrence said. “I mean, I do take it seriously. However, unfortunately, it’s not like I can just waltz in and shoot the guy. Being a bad dude isn’t cause for homicide, last I checked. And if we brought that before the D.A., they’d laugh. Freedom of speech and all that,” he said.

  “Okay, well, I told David. And he WOULD just waltz in and shoot the guy. So, what should I do?” Becca asked, frustrated by the man’s cavalier attitude.

  “Tell him not to?” Lawrence suggested.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Becca said. She hung up angrily. Then, belatedly realizing she hadn’t given her on-again, off-again boyfriend a specific time, she gave an exasperated sigh and called him back. “Seven,” she said, abruptly ending the second call. She threw her phone at the bed, frowning at it as it landed on a pillow, taking a soft bounce before settling on the edge. Clenching her fist and tensing her jaw, Becca glared at the device. Then, slowly, the absurdity of her reaction began to dawn on her. “I am going crazy.”

  Unable to contain her nervous energy, Becca did the only thing she knew in such moments: she fled to the kitchen. Besides hiking, exercising her master culinary instincts was her primary coping mechanism. It was the way she got through hard times. And, considering she’d never experienced anything as difficult as her present circumstances, it was more imperative than ever that Becca find relief. And quickly. She needed her phone. And she couldn’t afford to buy a new one every time Lawrence angered her. Becca would have to settle for smashing dough, not Androids.

  Marching into the kitchen, Becca leaned up on her tippy toes, groaning as she strained to grab a bag of flour from the very back of the wooden cabinet. Unable to reach it, she grunted. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temple, she decided to surrender her pride and call for help. “David!”

  Standing there, leaning against the counter, tapping one foot nervously on the floor, Becca tried to remain patient. The last thing she wanted to do was snap at her future son-in-law. However, as her mind raced and she waited, the obscene urge to scream at the top of her lungs became more and more fervent. Just as she was about to indulge that base desire, David appeared.

  Smiling, his hair sticking up in the back, he appeared to have just gotten out of bed. Something about his appearance conveyed a juvenile air. As if David had been trapped in an earlier decade. “What’s up?” he asked, a line of confusion forming on his brow. “You called, right?” he asked.

  Becca blew out air. She smiled tightly and shook her head. Crossing her arms over her chest, she silently inclined her head toward the cabinet. As she watched David reach up and quickly grab the desired flour, Becc
a chuckled. “I’m not short; I’m vertically-challenged,” she said.

  “Whatever,” David said. “Was that it, Miss B?” he asked, already heading back toward his room.

  “No. Hey, come here,” Becca said, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt for the anger she’d directed toward the good-natured kid. Even if he hadn’t known about it, Becca still felt the need to make amends. “You know, you remind me of a teenage boy. You’re just so sweet and innocent,” she said. She opened her arms up and clucked her tongue, ushering her future son-in-law in for an obligatory hug. “Oh, thank you,” she said.

  Stepping back, David smirked. “Um, Miss B, what’s up? Are you really this excited because I got your flour for you?” he asked.

  “No, David. I’ve just been having a rough few days. My mind is kind of out of whack, if you know what I mean. And, honestly, it’s never bad to tell the guy my daughter loves that I appreciate him. And I do appreciate you. I really do. Even if you never come out of your room to actually work at the pastry bar. What is it you do in there, anyway?” she asked, becoming curious.

  “Do you really want to know?” David asked, color rising to his cheeks.

  “Kind of. But…” Becca held up both hands, palms-out. She shook her head and made a sour face. “Okay, you know what, hit me. Just try to spare me the sordid details,” she said.

  David chuckled. “I mostly play video games. Call of Duty,” he said.

  “All day? Really?” Becca asked, mildly incredulous. It seemed odd to her that someone could be so occupied with and engrossed in such activities. However, after her initial wave of surprised skepticism passed, she began to wonder about how the violent video game might impact David’s mental health. “Isn’t that weird? Playing war games like that? That’s what that Call of whatever is, right? It’s a shoot-em-up thing? And, I mean, don’t you crave normal human interaction?” she asked.