Pies & Peril

by Janel Gradowski

  She paid and stuck a red sticker printed with DD, for designated driver, on the front of Carla's shirt. "According to the event map, if you wear the sticker you can get extra treats. And I think you, my dear, dedicated bachelorette, are in love."

  Carla stuck her index finger up and twirled it around. "Yippee. I get to look like a clown in training and then not fit into my skinny jeans tomorrow. I'm not in love, either."

  Their hands were stamped with small red ink stars, and they were in. Two blocks of Main Street had been cordoned off for the event. Instead of the usual mass of cars, parked or searching for a place to park, there was a shifting sea of people in the area. On the sidewalk in front of most of the businesses were tables filled with plastic shot glasses and trays or baskets full of goodies. Forget about wine or beer events, Kellerton had decided to go the extra bartending mile and organize a cocktail event.

  "How do you want to do this?" Carla asked as she surveyed the scene. "Check all of the offerings out first or just wander around and pick whatever looks good?"

  Meandering like a lost puppy wasn't a method that Amy preferred to tackle any task with. Maybe it was years of cutting hair, a process that needed to be carried out in an orderly sequence. Maybe it was developing recipes for the contests where every ingredient had a purpose and specific time to be added. Maybe she just had a dislike for randomness. Even getting snockered needed to be planned out, at least a little bit.

  "There's Sophie." She pointed at the owner of Riverbend Coffee, who was chatting with a customer at the front of the long line queued up for her offerings. Two of the baristas from the shop also stood behind the table, taking tickets and distributing treats. "Let's start there, and we can work our way down each side of the street."

  Five minutes later Amy was finally close enough to the coffee shop's table to read the descriptions of the offerings, displayed in thick wood picture frames. Half of the table was covered with coffee liqueur shots topped with brown sugar whipped cream and dusted with cocoa powder. A quartet of glass cake stands showcased vanilla maple scones nestled in gold foil cupcake wrappers. Instead of chunks of larger pastries cut down to bite-sized portions, the scones were adorable, miniature triangles. Shiny, tan glaze topped each shrunken masterpiece.

  "I have to try one of those," Carla said as she pointed at the flaky pastries.

  "I'll take one of each." Amy exchanged tickets for a shot glass and the morsel of buttery baked good perfection. "Might as well get some carbs in ASAP, and I know these are going to be good."

  Sophie motioned for her to step around the side of the table, so they could chat without holding up the line. "So what do you think of this event? Judging from the number of people in my line, I'd say it's a success already," she said.

  Amy nodded. "We just got here. It's amazing how crowded it is for only starting half an hour ago. How's it going?"

  "Wonderfully, for the most part." Sophie glanced to her right. The Maxson's Bakery tables were set up about 10 feet away. "Some people have interesting marketing tactics."

  "Oh boy, what's going on?"

  "Nothing that seems to be affecting us much," Sophie sighed, "But I had thought this event would be a little friendlier between businesses. I'm sure you'll hear her when you get closer. Kristi is telling everybody that you don't have to pay extra for trendy atmosphere when you buy their baked goods. I'm pretty sure the barb is meant to jab me."

  "Or just about any other foodie business downtown who actually provides tables and chairs for their customers." Amy placed her hand on Sophie's forearm and leaned a bit closer. "You know, the trend that allows customers to enjoy their purchases immediately instead of schlepping them back to their car or office. Making people wait to get their sugar fixes can't be good for business."

  Sophie's serious expression morphed into a smile as she laughed. "I didn't think of that! Thank you for pointing it out."

  Amy licked the whipped cream off the top of the shot and grinned at the beleaguered coffee shop owner. "You're welcome. Besides, I don't think her reasoning is working with most people. Even a hearty buzz can't stop them from seeing through the underhanded tactics. Looks like Maxson's has the shortest line of any table at this end of Main Street."

  Sophie wrapped her in a hug. She whispered into Amy's ear, "I owe you a free latte. I can't thank you enough for lightening up my mood. Stop in whenever you have the time next week."

  "Aww, thank you. You don't need to do that. I was planning to stop in anyway. I've become a wee bit addicted to your vanilla and nutmeg lattes." She waved goodbye. "I think we need to keep moving or we'll never see everything. Have a good evening."

  As they munched on the scones, Amy and Carla plunged back into the crowd. Directly ahead, Kristi Maxson's auburn-haired topknot bobbed over the heads of people milling about. Surely Elliot was nearby, trying to hawk a garishly colored treat or temper his wife's snarkiness. He was the last person Amy wanted to chat with. Maybe if she and Carla moved toward the middle of the street, instead of staying close to the sidewalk, they wouldn't be noticed by the baker.

  She touched Carla's arm. "Let's walk in the middle of the street for a while. We can check out stuff on both sides."

  Carla raised an eyebrow. "Highly unlikely in this crowd, especially for height challenged people like you, but whatever you want to do."

  As Amy tried to squeeze between a large flock of women wearing sparkling rhinestone tiaras with pink feather boas wrapped around their necks and a knot of businessmen still dressed in their workday suits, a hand clasped her shoulder. She turned. Evasive maneuver failed.

  "Good evening," Elliot said. "I was wondering if you have had a chance to make any progress on my proposal to procure funds for your little memorial project."

  "Nope." She grinned at him like a little girl who had been given a lollipop. Or at least that was the look she was going for. The sweet smile could very well look more like a cat baring her teeth at an enemy. That was how she felt. Blackmailing her into stealing a recipe, because there was no other way she'd get it, was not a decent proposal. Besides, she didn't remember indicating that she would help him. "I've decided to buy a less expensive memorial brick with the money that has already been raised, instead of continuing to ask for donations for the bench. Thanks for checking in with me. I'll stop by this week to pick up the donation jar and money."

  Elliot blinked slowly a few times. The combination of the slanted evening light and his fake, orange-tinted tan made him look like a strange department store mannequin. Amy grabbed Carla's hand and plunged them deeper into the throng of liquored up humanity. The crowd was a little less dense in the middle of the road, as opposed to close to the sidewalk and the coveted cocktails. They walked side by side, discussing which business had the best looking treats. Half-way down the block Carla pointed at a table, "That stuff looks really good. I vote to stop there."

  Amy giggled, despite the run in with Elliot, as she made her way toward the table Carla had targeted. The coffee liqueur must have been pretty high proof. "You look like a stewardess pointing at the exits."

  Carla rolled her eyes. "That Elliot guy really is a creepy asshole. What's up with the stuck up English professor routine?"

  Amy exchanged a ticket for a glass that appeared to be full of yellow highlight marker ink. Since the display was in front of a stationery and pen store, the cocktail color couldn't have been more appropriate. Lemon Lime Zinger was the name, written in fancy calligraphic script, on a paper taped to the front of the table. "I don't know. He's just strange. I bet he buys a new word-a-day calendar every year, and he's determined to get his money's worth out of the purchase."

  "Ha!" Carla said as she popped a square of puff pastry into her mouth. "I still think you may be right about him being involved in the murder. He just doesn't seem quite…right."

  "I'll toast to that." Amy raised the glass to Carla. Her eyebrow twitched involuntarily as she took a sip of the lemony sour concoction. It was zingy, as advertised. Definitely more of
a slam it and get it over with kind of drink. Not something that could be sipped and savored, unless the drinker was a fan of sour gummy worms. It tasted exactly like one. She tipped the glass up and emptied it with one gulp then tossed the plastic shot glass into a nearby trash can.

  She and Carla continued down the block in the same manner. Moving forward in the less crowded confines of the roadway and then swooping in to peruse interesting tables. Some of the snack offerings were savory. A nice contrast to all of the sweet desserts. By the end of the first block of businesses they had tried everything from the stationery store's tiny rectangles of lemon curd-filled phyllo dough that looked like miniature edible books to deviled eggs topped with maple candied bacon bits from a men's clothing store.

  At the intersection in the middle of the two-block-long event space, Amy suddenly broke into an empty bubble that was void of people. On the other side of the open area, Lucy was being hugged by a woman yelling, "Congratulations! I can't believe you're going to have a baby!"

  Lucy wriggled out of the drunken hug. As she twisted, her gaze locked onto Amy. The death-ray stare of doom bored into Amy's brain, and she froze like a rabbit in the middle of a busy freeway.

  "Come on," Carla whispered as she tugged on Amy's belt, "Before you're a victim of a hormone-fueled psycho attack. Pregnant women can go from marshmallow sweet to Incredible Hulk in ten seconds flat."

  Amy struggled to push through a sudden, claustrophobic crush of partiers. Navigating between all of the swaying bodies and sloshing shot glasses made the flight away from Lucy frustrating. She kept checking behind her, but the only person following was Carla. Finally they made it across the street intersection, and the alcohol gods rewarded her with a table full of straight up rye whiskey at the cigar store. No mixers or ice to water down its potency, just pure, mind-numbing, panic-attack-curbing whiskey. Hurray!

  She held a red ticket up to the man behind the table, tossed it into the fishbowl being used for collecting them, and plucked a shot glass off the heavy, polished wood desk that was being used as a display table. She closed her eyes and swallowed. The alcohol burn made her eyes water. Her nose tingled like she'd inhaled a cloud of dust. She opened her eyes and was greeted by an extremely pissed off Lucy.

  "Stop stalking me, and mind your own business," Lucy hissed. She pointed a finger at Amy's nose. The black polish on her long nails made them look like talons on a bird of prey. "Don't ever spy on me again."

  Amy's mouth dropped open. The cocktails had canceled out any chance for her producing a snappy comeback. Carla saved her when she stepped forward to lock horns with the Mandy Jo look-alike who had now adopted her former shrunken twin's personality.

  "Look. I don't give a damn about you or who you're screwing. If you don't want half the town to know about your personal life, I'd suggest telling your drunken friends to stop shouting that you're pregnant in the middle of a crowd. I'm sure at least twenty other people heard the same thing Amy and I did, so back off."

  * * *

  "Other than the encounters with the freaks and geeks involved in the murder case, I have to say this has been a fun night," Carla said. The lights on her car flashed to indicate it was unlocked. "Thanks for asking me to come with you."

  "No problem," Amy said. "It was much better than staying at home with all the curtains closed waiting for another rock to land on the deck. Plus, you did a fabulous job putting Lucy in her place. I swear it was like she was channeling Mandy Jo's ghost."

  Amy gingerly stepped down from the curb and lowered herself into the passenger seat of the car. Carla had been nice enough to open the door for her. After checking to make sure all of her appendages and clothes were safely inside the car, she pulled the door shut then leaned forward to put her purse on the floor. The world tilted off kilter, but gravity prevailed, and everything went back to normal. The glitch was a harbinger. The bed would be spinning when she tried to sleep later. Obviously she hadn't calculated her carb versus alcohol intake correctly. She, without a doubt, was well and truly drunk even though she'd had no intention of ending up that way.

  Carla had climbed behind the wheel by the time her equilibrium reappeared. She patted Amy's knee. "With Main Street blocked and all of these cars parked everywhere, I'm going to have to take you home by the back way on River Road. I know exactly where I'm going. Don't play drunken GPS and tell me I'm going the wrong way, because I'm not. Okay?"

  "Okey-dokey." She snorted. "I sound like Lucy. She said okey-dokey when I called Kevin's office before I delivered the casseroles."

  Amy leaned her head back when the car lurched out of the parking spot. Carla's race-car-driver-being-chased-by-demons driving style would leave her wobbling like a bobblehead doll in an earthquake. Some stabilization via the headrest was absolutely in order. She closed her eyes because the street lights streaking past made her feel like she was traveling through a time warp in a sci-fi movie with a galactic-sized case of motion sickness nipping at her heels.

  "Stupid asshole!"

  The spaceship hit some turbulence. Amy's eyes popped open. Who was Carla talking about? The interior of the car was filled with yellow light. "What's going on?"

  "Some idiot in a big SUV has his high beams on and is sitting on my back bumper. I think there's a spot to pull off up here. I'll let him by."

  The car slowed then lurched forward.

  "What the hell? He just ran into me!"

  Amy clutched the arm rest on her seat. Fear had miraculous sobering properties. To her right, the water in the river twinkled in the moonlight. River Road was infamous for its sharp curves and narrow shoulders atop the steep banks of the Cooley River. Carla had ample skills to drive the road, when she could see and wasn't playing bumper cars with an idiot.

  "There's a straight section of road ahead. Hopefully he'll pass. See if you can get the license plate number so I can turn the moron into the police."

  "I'll try." Amy grabbed her phone out of her pocket. "Do you want me to dial 9-1-1?"

  "No, I think he'll go past. Text yourself the plate numbers."

  "Good idea." Excellent idea. Carla's ability to think while under pressure was impressive. Nothing seemed to ruffle her composure. Amy poised her thumbs over the glowing numbers on the virtual keyboard. "I'm ready."

  "Here comes the straight stretch. I'm going to pull toward the shoulder to give the vehicle more room to pass."

  Amy glanced in the side mirror as Carla tapped the brakes and inched toward the river. The light filling the tiny car shifted as darkness chased it from the right. The offensive vehicle pulled into the other lane.

  "Shit!"

  The rumble of gravel under the tires was punctuated by a loud thump. The back end of the car veered toward the river. The engine roared and they shot forward as Carla stomped on the gas pedal. She corrected their trajectory and pitched the car sideways into a curve.

  "Now call 9-1-1. Somebody is definitely trying to run us off the road."

  A scream lodged in Amy's throat as she dialed the emergency number. "Hold the phone out so I can talk to the operator," Carla instructed.

  "Nine one one. What is your emergency?"

  "I'm driving on River Road, coming up to Crosswell Drive," Carla calmly said. "There is a vehicle driving erratically behind me. It just hit my bumper and almost pushed my car into the river. I'm pretty sure they're trying to run me off the road."

  "Are you injured?" the calm voice asked.

  "No, I'm still driving, trying to outrun it. I think it's a full-size pickup, but I haven't been able to see the whole vehicle yet to be sure."

  There was a pause. "My name is Alice. Please stay on the line. There aren't any police cars close to you, but they're on the way."

  "Thank you." Carla grunted. "Hang on. I think they're going to try to ram me again."

  Amy grabbed the arm rest on the door. Her heartbeat pounded so hard she could feel the repercussions in her toes. The headlight beams shifted again as the hulking vehicle pulled into the opposing lan
e. Tires squealed and Amy snapped forward, the seatbelt burrowed a groove across her chest, at the sudden deceleration. The phone clattered out of her hand. A black pickup shot past.

  "I can't read the plate!" Carla said.

  "What's happening? Are you okay?" The muffled voice of the emergency operator asked.

  Amy zeroed in on the glow of the phone's screen and picked it up out of the foot well. "We're okay," Carla answered. "Definitely a pickup. Black or possibly another dark color. It finally passed us. There was some kind of tinted plastic cover on the license plate. We couldn't see any numbers."

  Ahead the bright red glow of brake lights looked like the eyes of a gigantic, evil creature waiting to devour them. The lights dimmed and then faded into the darkness.

  "The truck is pulling away," Carla said. "Hopefully it won't turn around and come at us head on. I'm not going to park and be a sitting duck. We're only a few minutes away from the house. Alice, please have the police meet us at…"

  "Thirteen forty-three Oak Grove," Amy interjected.

  Amy held her breath as Carla accelerated again. Knowing the pickup truck could be lurking around the next corner made her dizzy with fear. The fun evening with her best friend had turned into a deadly game of cat and mouse.

  Carla continued talking to the emergency operator. "The truck hit my car a few times. There should be at least some paint transfer evidence. Please contact Detective Bruce Shepler with the Kellerton P.D. I know he's off duty, but I'm pretty sure this incident has something to do with one of his cases."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN