Pies & Peril

by Janel Gradowski

  Well, hell. Amy wasn't taking the long route around to what was bothering her. Sometimes figuring out what was really going on, hidden under layers of culinary chit chat, required code breaking skills. Not this time. "How did you find out about that?"

  "Alex asked me to pick out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral home from his company, to show support to his former client. That would be Pierce Accounting. Then Alex admitted Mandy Jo had flirted with him when Kevin wasn't around." Amy sliced a thick slab of bread from the loaf and set it on Carla's plate. Always the hostess even when she was pissed off. "Can you believe she stooped that low? What kind of woman would try to cheat on her brand new husband with another married man?"

  How could she answer those questions? There certainly wasn't a good or even reasonable explanation for Mandy Jo's behavior. "I don't know. She was crazy, possibly psychotic. You've said her abrasive behavior could be the effects from a messed up childhood. I bet even she couldn't explain why she did some things."

  "After talking with Alex last night I wish she wasn't dead so I could find out what she was thinking."

  "My guess would be she was just being a spoiled brat. Maybe her parents never told her no, so she was trying to take what she wanted. Or she was just a sore loser."

  The phone rang as Amy was slicing off more thick slabs of the delectable bread, since they had both devoured their first slices. "Excuse me," she said as she stood. "Help yourself, but save room. I have another version in the oven, and we need to compare the two."

  When Amy ducked into the other room to take the call, Carla plucked a slice of the dense, moist bread off the serving plate and spread it with butter. It wasn't like the generic, barely edible, banana bread she often got from the hospital cafeteria because that was the only sweet treat being offered in the middle of the night. There was something special about Amy's version that made it irresistible, even though she knew she would have to do an extra half hour on the treadmill to burn off the calories consumed during the morning.

  Amy returned to the kitchen as the magnetic timer stuck to the refrigerator started beeping. She pulled open the oven door and bent to peer inside. "Let's see if you're done," she mumbled as she retrieved a strand of uncooked spaghetti from a glass container sitting on the counter. She poked it into the bread, shook her head, and shut the door. "Not quite. It'll be a few more minutes."

  She perched on the end of the breakfast nook bench, rested her elbows on the table, and leaned toward Carla. "The call was from Detective Shepler. Apparently there are so many people that have a grudge against Mandy Jo, he's having a hard time narrowing down the suspect list. Thank goodness you were with me the whole evening or I'd be on it!"

  "Poor Bruce. He's probably going to have to interview half of Kellerton."

  "I'm sure you can think of some ways to make his life a little easier."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Amy grinned as she stood up to check on the banana bread again. "Come on, when are you going to tell me what's going on between you and the hunk-tastic detective? The electricity between you two is about as subtle as a flashing neon sign."

  Was it that obvious? They had both tried to be professional and nonchalant during the initial murder investigation interviews after Mandy Jo's body was found. What the hell had they done to tip off Amy?

  Amy donned oven mitts, removed the pan from the oven, and then set it on a cooling rack. A fresh wave of sweet banana scent drifted across the room. A diversion could throw her off track. "That smells so good. What's the difference between that loaf and the one we've been eating?"

  "This one has bourbon. The one we've already tried has rum." She tugged off the mitts and tossed them on the white marble topped kitchen island. "I found a dessert recipe contest where all recipes must have some kind of booze in them."

  Carla broke off a corner of her latest slice and held it up. "I bet you'll win. I love this one, but I'll be happy to try the bourbon version."

  "It needs to cool a bit, so while we wait let's talk about Shepler."

  Damn. The conversational left turn didn't work. "What about him?"

  Amy refilled both of their mugs with fresh coffee. "Come on. There was so much chemistry between you two at the town hall I felt like I should be wearing safety glasses and a lab coat. Spill it. What's going on?"

  "You mean, what went on. He used to date one of the other ER nurses. When I was dating Tom we all went out on a couple double dates, visited that brew pub in Ann Arbor, went to a comedy club. That's about it."

  "No, it isn't." Amy slid the plate with the remaining banana bread toward herself. "I was going to wrap up the extra bread from both loaves and send it home with you. Tell me the rest of the story, or you won't get a treat."

  "Blackmailer."

  "Absolutely. I want you to be happy, and I have a hunch Shepler might do that for you. When he walked into the town hall the other night you looked at him like you had the night from hell at work and he was the double chocolate fudge brownie that would make it all better. "

  How did Amy pick up on that? She had just found a body, but still noticed her friend drooling over a police officer. The woman's attention to detail was astounding. Not to mention, she was tenacious. No wonder every charity in town wanted her to be on their fundraising committees.

  "Like I said, we were both dating other people."

  Amy folded her arms over her chest. "What does that mean? I know you and Tom were never serious. He wasn't your type. You've told me that many times. Maybe Bruce wasn't your friend's type. One woman's unbearable geek can be another woman's knight in shining armor. Things happen, worlds collide, orbits shift, etcetera, etcetera. Have you two kissed?"

  "Yes."

  "More than a goodnight peck on the cheek?"

  "Yes."

  "What kind of underwear does he prefer?"

  "Briefs."

  "Yes!" Amy clapped her hands. "I just need one slice of the bourbon bread to try myself. You can have all of the rest to take home."

  "Gee, thanks. Twist my arm and then feed me sugar so I'll have to jog an extra two miles. You are such a sadist."

  "Don't tell him that. He'll throw me on the suspect, instead of possible future victim, list."

  The threat. Amy was being her normal, bubbly self. Deep down she had to be tough as steel to carry on like normal instead of running away or hiding. "Did you come up with any new ideas on who might've left that note?"

  "No, but you can help."

  "How?"

  "Use your feminine wiles to get Shepler to tell you who he's investigating, so I can cross-reference his suspects with the people I suspect…when I figure out somebody to suspect."

  Feminine wiles. Now there was an old-fashioned phrase she could put a modern spin on. Working odd hours at the hospital often left her surfing the internet, instead of sleeping, during the day. The clothing items and accessories offered by online stores fascinated her, especially when she hadn't slept in over 24 hours and her brain was running on empty. If the delivery guy in the brown truck knew what was in some of the boxes he was dropping off, well, she might need to offer him a towel to mop up drool instead of just smiling nicely as he handed over the packages. "Bruce is a trained detective. You're smart, but you're far from a professional sleuth…"

  "Hey, I watched Scooby Doo when I was a kid." Amy's face contorted into an exaggerated pout.

  "Seriously. Why do you want to go after a murderer?"

  "Because, judging from the note, the killer is thinking about going after me. Know your enemy. Always stay a step ahead. Be proactive. Better safe than sorry…all that jazz." She sighed. Her entire body seemed to deflate, like all of her usual happy enthusiasm had been expelled with the exhaled breath.

  "I hate to encourage you, because I don't want you to get hurt while snooping around, but I think it would be a good idea to figure out who may be behind the notes. You can protect yourself better if you have at least some idea about who your enemy is."


  Amy slapped the table. The spoon in the sugar bowl jingled. "I can figure this out. I have competed in cooking contests for years, so I know a lot of the people involved. There could be clues pointing right at the murderer that only a veteran cooking contest competitor, not a police officer who has Alessandro's Pizza on speed dial, can uncover."

  "So the Baking Queen is on the trail of a murderer?"

  "I guess so, but I need your help. Your old relationship has been sending out smoke signals despite your attempts to bury it in sand. Rekindle that flame with Shepler. He hasn't told me anything, even when I point blank asked him who he suspects, but I bet he would spill the beans to his hot lover if she asked. You are like the female equivalent of shoofly pie. Men will do anything for you. He has to have at least one suspect in mind, don't you think?"

  "I don't know. I'd say half of the town had a motive to kill Mandy Jo, so he's probably trying to whittle down the suspect list at this point." Carla spread a third slice of bread with butter. "Besides, why should I help you? You just compared me to something that attracts insects."

  "Because I'm your best friend, and I'll cut off your baked goods supply chain if you don't at least try. No more chocolate muffins for you." Another threat to withhold her favorite muffins? Not fair. Amy stood and walked to the kitchen island where the bourbon laced banana bread was cooling. As she flipped the loaf out of the pan she said, "Why don't you take this whole loaf to share with Shepler? I bet he'll be more amiable to share information with you if he's full of sugar."

  "How do you think I'm going to arrange to share it with him?" She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and held it to her ear. "Hiya, Bruce. Want to come to my place for boozy banana bread and some insignificant chit chat about your murder investigation?"

  Amy ripped off a sheet of parchment paper. Plastic wrap, aluminum foil and parchment paper dispensers were lined up at one edge of the island's countertop, ready for use at a moment's notice. She placed the perfect loaf in the center of the rectangle and then wrapped it like a present right down to securing it with red and white candy cane striped string. Those kinds of elegant touches were way beyond Carla's basic cooking and entertaining skills.

  "You were still planning on going to Mandy Jo's funeral tomorrow, right?"

  "Yes. She used to cut my hair before you and I became friends. Why?"

  "The bread will be even better tomorrow. All of the flavors will bloom after it rests overnight. The funeral is mid-morning, so you and Shepler can share it for breakfast before he accompanies you to the funeral."

  "What are you talking about? I'm going to the funeral with you and Alex."

  Amy plunked the wrapped loaf on the table and slid back onto the bench. "Nope, you've had a change of plans. A few minutes ago Shepler was very enthusiastic about my idea of accompanying you so he can inconspicuously check out the funeral goers for signs of a guilty conscience."

  * * *

  Amy plucked the paper off the deck of the printer and scanned the words for typos.

  Donations For A

  Mandy Jo Pierce

  Memorial Bench

  To Be Installed At

  Town Center Park

  The donation jar was almost complete. A giant blue Mason jar with a big brown and aqua striped ribbon bow tied around the neck. She trimmed the edges of the paper and stuck the square, adorned with milk chocolate brown lettering, to a square of light blue cardstock that was glued to the front of the jar with super sticky double-sided tape. It was turning out cute and, hopefully, appealing. A subtle contrast to the bakery's overwhelming mint green color scheme. She had deliberately left off Mandy Jo's picture, just in case people only knew her and her nasty reputation by sight instead of name.

  The timer began beeping again in the kitchen. The second loaf of bourbon banana bread was done. She hurried out of the craft room to retrieve the loaf before it over baked or worse, burnt. The scent of scorched sugar was not easy to get rid of once it permeated all of the curtains and upholstery. Been there, done that. When somebody baked as much as she did, accidents eventually happened. Luckily the bread looked perfectly browned when she flung open the oven door. The last ripe banana had gone into the batter. She hadn't planned on giving away the entire loaf before sampling it, but making the recipe again was a small price to pay for the benefits the bread could bring. Carla liked to act brave and say she would happily age into a single spinster, but deep down she didn't like to be lonely any more than anybody else. She needed to put her commitment phobias to bed, literally, with the fine detective. It was a nice bonus that the relationship could help Amy figure out who the killer was before they decided to go after her with more than notes.

  Amy set the pan on the cooling rack and went upstairs to change. Baggy khaki shorts and an oversized pink T-shirt were perfectly fine for hanging out in the kitchen. Not so great for roaming around in downtown Kellerton. Business suits or casually elegant designer outfits were the preferred uniforms of many of the people in town. The unique, and often very high-priced, boutiques and shops lining Main Street drew visitors from all over southeast Michigan. Affluent neighborhoods, like the one she and Alex lived in, circled the business district in a ring of quaint, remodeled architectural gems.

  She chose a white, sleeveless dress. The full, flouncy skirt helped camouflage the extra padding her hips had accumulated as she sampled piece after piece of pie for the contest. An aqua blue rhinestone belt and strappy wedge sandals added some spunk to the rather plain ensemble. She opened the doors of the jewelry chest that was only a few inches shorter than she was. Jewelry was one of her guilty pleasures, right up there with dark chocolate and silky smooth custard. The chest was packed to the bursting point. Sparkling cocktail rings with faux gems the size of walnuts mingled with the exquisite custom pieces Alex had given her on special occasions. She slipped on the ring he had surprised her with on their fifth anniversary. A thin silver band set with a bumpy, uncut aquamarine stone. Amy spritzed on some light floral perfume and went downstairs.

  The banana bread was cool enough to cut. She sliced a sliver off the end and tasted it. Good, but not quite as good as the rum version. Bananas, butter and rum—the flavor combination was a favorite of many people. How many diners order Bananas Foster for dessert at a restaurant? She scribbled a note on the edge of the recipe she had printed out. Maybe some banana liqueur would help boost the Bananas Foster flavors even more. She loosely wrapped the loaf in parchment paper to keep it from drying out. Time to visit Elliot.

  Fifteen minutes later Amy cradled the glass collection jar in one arm while tugging on the door of Maxson's Bakery. Opening the cantankerous door would be a challenge for even a prime athlete. For a petite woman, carrying a fragile vessel while wearing high heels, the task was nearly impossible. It seemed like the bakery wanted to keep people out by making them struggle to get inside. Finally the springs relented, and Amy bolted inside before the door slammed closed. Once again, the place felt more like a meat locker than a bakery. No one was behind the cases filled with cookies and cupcakes, all sporting icing in a rainbow of colors. Saturated, primary colors seemed to be the theme despite the pastel colored smocks and shirts all of the bakery workers wore. There wasn't a pastel pink or purple anywhere among the frosted baked goods. Mothers with small children probably avoided the place after having their progeny's clothing stained from dye-filled crumbs.

  Amy set the collection jar on the counter next to the cash register. It was late afternoon, but all of the trays were full of baked goods. Either they had just restocked, or not many people had been in that day. Kristi Maxson barreled through the swinging door of the kitchen, carrying a tray of chocolate glazed doughnuts. She jumped back when she saw Amy. "Holy crap! You scared me."

  Well, hello to you too. "Sorry. I guess the buzzer on your door isn't working."

  Kristi glared at the door. "I guess not. What can I get for you?"

  "I'm taking donations to buy a memorial bench for Mandy Jo, one of those engraved stone
ones at the park." She held up the oversized Mason jar and turned it so Kristi could read the sign. "Elliot said I could leave this here."

  "Good luck with that." Kristi wiped her hands on the work towel hanging from the apron ties wrapped around her waist. The fabric was smeared with swaths of blue and purple food coloring. The front of her jacket was also swirled with stains and clouds of cocoa powder. A dirty chef's jacket combined with the messy twisted up hairdo didn't make her look very professional. "Why would anybody want to memorialize that bitch? One of our counter girls quit last summer. She accidentally gave Mandy Jo the wrong flavor of muffin. The poor thing was sobbing like a baby after the brat's meltdown."

  Hopefully Kristi didn't work in the front of the bakery often. Her blunt attitude and unkempt appearance wouldn't exactly entice customers to buy anything. Apparently Kristi's saving grace was her talent with icing and piping bags. Maxson's was the premiere wedding cake bakery in the area. Amy wondered how many weddings and showers they did to make up for the lack of walk-in customers. "I agree. Mandy Jo wasn't nice, but she was the Pie Queen in the contests your bakery sponsors for five years straight. Elliot doesn't want to contribute to the memorial, but he did agree to let me leave the jar here."

  "You're lucky you sweet talked him into it. If it were up to me, I wouldn't let you leave that thing here. She…"

  A grunt interrupted the tirade that was picking up speed and venom. An older man with lustrous silver hair was doing battle with the heavy, glass door. He finally made it into the bakery and took a second to compose himself before addressing Kristi, "Excuse me, I would like to order a cake for my daughter's birthday."

  Amy stepped aside while Kristi directed the gentleman toward a picture album that was at the other end of the glass case. Could she just slip away and avoid riling up the agitated decorator? Would the jar be left out to serve its purpose, or would Kristi hide it as soon as she left? Maybe telling her that she would be back to collect the donations in a few days would help make sure the jar stayed by the register.