“What’ll it be?” Bert asked, opening the storage cooler where the leftover pies were kept. “We’ve got some blueberry today and cherry.”
“Both please.”
“Do you want ice cream with that?”
“Always,” she declared. Bert decided, despite her large meal, that she too would have two slices. She plated the pie and brought it to the table with the full tub of ice cream. One of these days, she planned on working with a local creamery to stock their ice cream instead of the bulk store-bought kind.
One thing at a time, she always told herself.
When she’d opened the shop, she had plans for book groups, book signings, literary events, pie eating contests, and a whole assortment of other things. However, just getting the shop up and running had been work enough on its own. So, she’d decided to take it slow. There was no rush and she knew she’d get to all those other wonderful things eventually.
That included outsourcing for ice cream.
“It’s serve yourself tonight,” she announced handing her friend the scoop.
“Think I can get my plate nuked before I put the ice cream on?”
Bert put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Picky, picky,” she joked, taking both plates and heading back to the small convection oven and microwave combo she used for various tasks such as melting down butter in a jiffy. A few customers complained that their pie was too cold on occasion. The glass display with the warmers installed in it was enough to keep the desserts hot and ready to serve, but some people were picky.
Some of them were downright nuts. One gal had complained her pie was too cold when Bert could see the steam coming off it.
While the pies warmed, Bert started the coffee. She didn’t always do coffee at night, but sometimes she enjoyed it. Somehow, it helped her get to sleep, even though it also helped her wake up in the mornings.
“Here you go. Two slices of hot pie,” she declared setting the finished plates on the table.
“Yummy.”
“You’re one of my most picky customers, you know?”
“I am?” Carla pouted.
“But you get a pass because you’re my friend,” Bert laughed, sitting down to her own plate. The coffee would brew and be done shortly.
“So, do you still think it was murder? Even after talking to Karen?”
“If anything, I think it even more. With a history like that, surely someone was waiting in the wings to get their revenge.”
“I could see it,” Carla agreed. “It’s like some of those reality TV shows. All the nicest folks turn out to be horrible.”
Bert disliked reality TV, preferring to watch old sci-fi movies in black and white, but Carla enjoyed them which was fine. “I just hope Harry doesn’t jump down my throat if Karen asks him about it.”
“You know he’s going to,” Carla said through mostly closed lips as she took her first bite.
A small ding indicated the coffee pot was done and Bert stood up. “I’ve dealt with similar situations.” Heading over to the pot she poured two mugs. Turning back toward the table, a glimmer of light caught her line of vision outside. It seemed to flicker and move like a flame. It was hard to make out through the reflection on the glass. “What’s that?” she wondered out loud.
Almost as soon as the words had left her mouth, she saw the light growing bigger and bigger, flying toward the shop. Her eyes widened in realization. “Carla, get down,” she screamed, practically tossing the cups of coffee as she hit the tile floor.
The sound of breaking glass was followed by an eruption of angry orange flames engulfing the pie shop’s display window. Luckily, Carla had also hit the floor. Her purse was beside her. “We need to get out of here and call nine-one-one,” Bert yelled as the fire roared nearby.
The heat was almost unbearable as the two women retreated toward the back door.
Chapter 11
“Now do you believe that Susan Green was murdered?” Bert demanded as Harry embraced her in a tight hug.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, squeezing her tightly as she sat in the back of the ambulance with a blanket over her shoulders. He held on like that for a good minute before holding her at arm’s length. “But, you shouldn’t have been poking into this case. I told you not to.”
“Hey, where is my hug,” Carla joked from where she sat next to Bert, trying to divert the conversation away from the investigation.
“This is why I tell you to let the professionals handle it,” he pointed out, ignoring Carla’s joke.
“I thought you were just glad I was okay?” she protested, throwing his words back at him.
“I am, but whoever killed Susan is clearly unhappy with you.”
“So, you do believe it was murder.”
“I’ve always kept it open as a possibility, Bert.”
“But this clinches it.”
“It definitely makes me wonder,” he admitted, scratching his head. “After Karen called me this evening, I knew you’d been up to your old ways.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I just knew it couldn’t have been an accident,” she defended herself.
“I know that, but the similarities between the time Susan and Karen were threatened with a Molotov cocktail and this incident are just a little too close.”
“And that it happened right after Karen and I talked about it.” Bert’s jaw dropped open and she gasped. “That means the killer was there tonight, listening in on our conversation.”
“That is definitely a possibility.”
Or perhaps, Bert wondered, Karen was behind it. Maybe she played nice at the bar but was now warning Bert off with the cocktail attack. It could be a way to divert suspicion away from herself, mimicking the attack from before.
“Anyway, until we know more, I’m going to have one of my men patrol this area vigilantly.”
Bert spotted a firefighter walking toward her from across the street. “What’s the damage?” she asked.
“You’re pretty lucky. The cocktail never even hit the window. It broke on the sidewalk in front of the shop. At most, you’ve got a little smoke damage and scorching on the bricks. Thankfully, we got it out pretty quick before it spread.”
“That’s good news,” Carla said, rubbing Bert’s back warmly.
Bert put a hand on her heart. “Thank goodness.”
“I’ve got to get to work,” Harry noted, consulting his watch. “Will you two be okay the rest of tonight?”
They both nodded. “I think we will,” Bert said.
“I want you both to stay at Carla’s apartment, got it?” Harry instructed, knowing it would make protecting them both easier that way.
“I love sleepovers,” Carla said.
* * *
“I need to run down and see Kyle this morning,” Bert noted, pulling on a long gray cardigan over her white t-shirt and jeans.
Carla remained at the table, sipping her second mug of coffee. “Kyle Jankes?”
Bert pulled her purse onto her shoulder. “That’s right. It’s already the third and I haven’t given him the rent check for the shop yet.”
Carla’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my gosh. Is it really already September?” she exclaimed, looking at her small golden wristwatch which displayed the date as well as the time.
“Yes, ma’am. Summer is practically over. Can’t you feel that chill in the air this morning?” she said, grabbing up the check off the kitchen counter she’d just finished filling out and folding it in half to slip inside the front pocket of her purse.
“I guess you’re right. This is the first chilly morning we’ve had.”
“Anyway, I’ll wait for you to come along, too, if you need to pay as well,” she pointed out, having deduced that her friend forgot which day was the first as well. What with the murder happening, they’d both lost track of time.
“I do need to pay, but I always just do it online,” she admitted.
“Online?”
“Yep. It’s a lot e
asier than walking down to his office every month.”
“True, but I just like the old-fashioned method of handing over a check in person.”
“I’ll just need to dig out my laptop, wherever it got to.”
“Suit yourself,” Bert told her with a wave of the hand.
Carla took another sip of her coffee. She paused, looking off into space.
“What’s up?” Bert inquired, knowing there was something on her friend’s mind.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay going on your own?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that someone attacked your shop last night.”
“It’s bright and sunny outside. I don’t think anyone is going to try anything this time of the day.”
Carla thought for a moment, twisting her lips to one side. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’ll also be stopping by Wild Herbs to finally get my phone back from Karen,” Bert added onto her verbal itinerary as she headed for the door leading to the shop.
“Wait a minute. You’re going to see Karen?” Carla said, standing up and putting her hands on the table.
“Yes.”
“She might have been the one to attack us, you know?”
Bert hesitated, realizing her friend was right. While she’d considered the possibility, she had been focused on getting her phone back. It had been torture trying to organize her life without it. Also, she’d not been able to call up Harry whenever she wanted like she usually did.
“I’m coming with you,” Carla changed her mind, picking up her coffee and polishing it off before running into the bathroom and partially closing the door to get changed.
“But won’t that put us both in danger?” Bert asked.
“Strength in numbers,” her friend called back. “And there is still a cop patrolling the Old Market.”
“I guess so,” Bert said. Surely nothing bad would happen if they didn’t step inside the shop proper and just waited at the door for the phone.
* * *
“Bert, Carla, how good to see you,” Kyle beamed upon seeing the women enter his office from the street. While he was a fairly wealthy man, seeing as he owned most of the buildings in the Old Market, he had never employed a secretary. He preferred interacting with all his tenants personally.
Therefore, his office was just a small corner shop space that most people weren’t interested in renting because the size just wasn’t enough to accommodate most needs. At one time, it had been a pizza joint, but now the old counter worked as a modified desk space. The room had a somewhat modern feel with the furniture and abstract decorations Kyle had chosen.
“Morning. We’re just here to pay rent,” Bert noted, producing the check. Carla pulled out her own checkbook and began writing out her sum for the month.
“A few days late. That’s not like you,” he pointed out, taking the check from Bert and examining it.
“I already included the late fee,” she informed him.
“Yes, I see that, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“But that’s what the lease states.”
“The two of you are easily my best tenants, never causing me any trouble or complaining about things. And with the random attack on your shop last night, Bert, I think I can let it slide this one time. Thankfully there was no damage, and no one was hurt,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“Why, thank you,” Carla accepted his generous offer.
“I’ll just put the late fee on your check toward your next month’s rent, Bert,” he told her, standing up to file the check away in the cabinet. “Sorry news about Susan Green, though,” he said, making small talk about the recent events.
“But I bet you’re glad the sister’s going to stay on with the shop.”
Turning away from the cabinet and sitting back down on his stool at the counter, he smiled. “Yes, I am. Also, if rumor holds true, I lucked out in some small respect—no offense to the deceased, of course.”
“We also heard that Karen was a better money manager,” Carla said, handing over her check as well.
Kyle was on his feet again to put that one away as well. “Yes, and it seems she was at least half of what made Susan successful in the past.”
“Yes, I believe that is correct,” Bert agreed.
Turning back and sitting down again—Bert wondered if he was trying to get more movement in his day—he clasped his hands. “In any case, I think I lucked out with the Green sisters, with or without Susan.”
“I guess it’s always good to fill up empty shop space,” Carla said.
“Well, these days I always have people clamoring for slots here in the Old Market whenever a vacancy opens up. There was a touch of competition for the spot where Wild Herbs is.”
Bert furrowed her brow. “There was?”
“Yes, ma’am. I held off on one applicant because I wanted to see if Susan would snatch it up—and boy am I glad I did.”
“The other prospect turned out to have a poor background?”
“Not necessarily, but it seemed as if she was just doing it to try and undercut the Green sisters. At least, that’s what I realized after I gave the spot to Susan.”
Instantly, Carla and Bert looked at one another. Someone trying to step on Susan’s toes? Could it be the same person who threw the cocktail at Pies and Pages? Could it be the murderer? “Who was it?” Bert inquired innocently.
“She was an odd woman who sort of walked with a slight limp and could ramble on for hours if you let her.”
“Was her name Tayler?” Bert blurted out.
Kyle hesitated, an open-mouthed look of shock coming over his face. “Why, yes. Tayler Haddie. Do you know her?”
“You could say that,” Bert noted.
Chapter 12
“Hi, Bert,” Karen greeted them at the front door of the shop. “And who is this?”
“This is my friend, Carla. She owns the Christmas in July shop here in the Old Market,” Bert answered, anxiously wringing her hands.
“Oh, I love that little place. It’s so cozy,” she praised Carla, not noticing either woman’s distress.
“Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.”
“Do you mind if we come in?” Bert asked.
“Uh, sure,” the shop owner replied, taken aback slightly by the shortness in her voice.
Stepping in, they shut the door behind them.
“Let me just get your phone from the stock room.” She started to head toward the back of the shop.
“No, not yet,” Bert insisted.
Karen paused, furrowing her brow as she turned back toward the women. “What is this? What’s going on?”
The two friends looked at each other. “We think we know who killed your sister,” Bert said.
Karen’s jaw dropped wide open. “What? So, it really was murder?”
They both nodded.
“I thought you were on to me,” came an all too familiar voice from the back of the shop.
The three women all turned to face the culprit. Tayler stood there with a bottle of vodka in her hand with a cloth stuffed in the top, brandishing it so they knew she meant business. In her other hand was a lighter.
“You?” Karen exclaimed, taking a step forward.
“Don’t move a muscle or this whole place goes up in flames.” She waved the bottle in the air.
“Hold on. Aren’t you one of Susan’s students?”
“Was. I was one of her students.”
“Are you two old rivals or something?” Bert blurted out, having gathered enough clues to guess that much.
“You could say that.”
“Did you blame her for your stroke?” she continued, having finally realized where the crooked smile and limp had likely come from.
The woman bared her teeth like a wild dog. “It was her fault.”
“Whoa, hold on for a moment here,” Karen interrupted. “You’re the woman who threatened to sue us over having a stroke?
”
“I should have gone through with it and not let that lawyer of yours scare me off.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. How could you possibly blame Susan or me for what happened to you?”
“Because,” she shouted, holding the bottle high while her face turned red with anger. “She was constantly stepping on my toes throughout my entire career. In college when we were both studying botany, she always got better grades than me, got all the awards.”
“You went to college together?” Bert asked.
“Yes. Not that Susan would ever know that. She had no idea I ever even existed, one step behind her, always trying to one-up her. She was too self-absorbed and proud of herself to realize I was right there.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you can blame her for your health troubles,” Karen noted.
“Oh, but I can. I’ve spent my life trying to make it as an herbalist like her, constantly following in her steps but always failing where she succeeded. I even tried to start my own apprenticeship program, which fell flat when she won the Better Business Award. I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong, so I signed up to be a part of her program. Even that I couldn’t do right. She said I was too anxious all the time and was making the other participant nervous. She asked me to leave the program.”
“And that’s when you had the stroke?” Bert deducted.
Tayler looked down at her feet. “I suppose the stress became too much for me. I was in the hospital and rehabilitation for over a year—a year of suffering caused by your sister,” she hissed, pointing with the bottle at Karen. “When I finally was back on my feet, I knew I had to get back at her somehow. I had to ruin her life the way she ruined mine. My first thought was to burn down the farmhouse where she did her apprenticeship, but I even failed at that.” She groaned, closing her eyes as if she were tired.
“I think you need to sit down,” Karen calmly instructed.
Tayler’s eyes flew back open. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
“I take it your most recent attempt to undermine her was to open up a shop with the same name and in the same location she was planning on?”
Tea, Thyme, an Murder (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 13) Page 6