Pies & Peril

by Janel Gradowski

  "We've pulled into the driveway." Carla took her foot off the gas pedal and let the car slowly coast up Amy's driveway. She stared into the rearview mirror. The pickup hadn't reappeared after it blew past them, but a black truck could easily have hidden in the dead of night on a dark, rural road. She had never been so happy to see the Victorian-style iron street lamps that lined the streets in Amy's neighborhood. The porch light on the house filled the car with light that was far less sinister than the headlights from ten minutes earlier. The faint, frenzied whine of a siren heralded the approaching law enforcement cavalry. "I can hear the police sirens coming. Please let them know my friend and I are in a red Nissan Juke parked in the driveway. The vehicle that was trying to ram us was, I think, a black, full-sized Chevy pickup. Thank you for your help."

  There was another pause and then the operator said, "I've relayed that information to the officers. I can stay on the line with you until they arrive if you would like, or you can hang up."

  Carla glanced at Amy. Her friend's eyes were so wide she looked like a cartoon character. "The police cars should be here any moment, so I'll hang up."

  "That's fine. I'm glad you are safe."

  "Me, too," Amy whispered as she touched the phone screen to disconnect the call.

  "Are you okay?" Carla asked as she gently patted Amy's knee.

  "Nope. Not at all. Not one bit." She stared at the lighted hanging lantern next to the side door on her house. "I thought somebody was trying to scare me away from competing in the pie contest. That's it. Just cruel words to psych me out. A big, nasty truck is much scarier than grammatically incorrect sentences."

  Carla opened her door. "Let's go into the house and get some coffee going. Between the cocktails and the drive home, I'm sure you can use some."

  The sirens continued to get louder as they hurried up the short walkway. As Amy punched in her security code the noise stopped. Hopefully the officers were being considerate of the neighbors and the fact that it was after 11 p.m., not called away for something else. Amy hadn't even made it to the coffee maker before the answer arrived. Two squad cars stopped on the street in front of the house.

  "Did you re-arm the security system?" Carla asked with her hand on the door handle. The last thing Amy needed was the added stress of trying to shut off a screeching false alarm.

  Amy shook her head without turning around as she measured coffee beans into the grinder. "No, you can open it."

  "Do me a favor and call Alex. He needs to know about this," Carla called as she walked out to greet the officers, one of whom was already squatting at the back bumper of her car. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I'm sure your hands are full with all of the drunks downtown."

  "It is a busy night," a tall, skinny officer said as he strode toward her. "Do you think the person who hit your car was drunk?"

  "No. I'm positive those were deliberate attempts to shove me off the road into the river. Whoever was in that truck knew exactly what they were doing. I was driving my friend home from Shots & Whatnots. With so many roads closed or clogged with parked cars, I figured the easiest way to get back here was to take River Road. Unfortunately, whoever was driving the truck figured out it was the perfect place to cause an accident. My friend has been receiving death threats in connection with the murder case at the pie contest a few weeks ago. Looks like someone was trying to make good on the threats."

  A blue pickup pulled up behind the squad cars parked at the curb. For a second Carla's heart clattered in her chest. Had the truck been blue instead of black? Then Bruce jogged around the front of the vehicle. Her pulse was still elevated, but for a much more pleasant reason. He wore faded blue jeans and a tight, green V-neck T-shirt that practically molded itself to his abs and pecs. As he walked across the lawn he pulled his badge out of his back pocket and flashed it at the patrol officers. Carla's thigh muscles twitched. She wanted to run and throw herself into his arms, but it wasn't the time for that.

  Five minutes later the overwhelming need for physical contact hadn't dissipated. She had recounted the harrowing drive, and Bruce had given instructions to the other officers to collect paint transfer and photographic evidence. How much longer would they need to stand around acting like casual acquaintances? He pointed at the kitchen door. "I assume Amy's in the house. I need to speak with her."

  Carla inhaled deeply and then slowly released the breath. Someone had tried to kill her best friend, and herself in the process, yet all she wanted to do was slip her hands under that tight T-shirt and make Bruce forget that he was a cop, kind of like the way she had forgotten, until that moment, that she was a nurse who was supposed to be at work in a few minutes.

  "Shit."

  "What?" he asked as he tapped on the glass of the door to get Amy's attention. "What's wrong?"

  "I need to call into work." She pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket and looked at the clock on its screen. There was no way she would make it. "I'm supposed to be there in fifteen minutes."

  Bruce opened the door after Amy waved him in. He stood in the open doorway and turned to Carla. "Don't just tell them you'll be late. Tell your boss you won't be in at all. You can't work after getting shaken up like this."

  Carla smiled grimly then walked around to the front of the house as the phone dialed the direct number to the nurse's desk in the ER. Amy hadn't turned on any other lights in the house. The front porch was dark and shadowy, to match her mood. She sat on the wooden hanging swing at the far end and swayed as she gave a brief account of the hellish drive to the head nurse then apologized profusely for not being able to make it in. A replacement could easily be found, her boss assured her. The obvious concern in the other woman's voiced tipped Carla over the edge she had been teetering on for the last half hour.

  Hot tears trickled down her cheeks as she choked out a goodbye. What was wrong with her? She didn't cry. She just didn't do that. Ever. She held it together while people's lives crumbled around her in the emergency room. Sick children, grandparents with strokes, husbands with heart attacks, all with terrified family members. Keeping her emotions in check was a crucial component of being an ER nurse. Two years ago she had been held at knifepoint by a stoned junkie who had checked into the hospital in hopes of stealing more drugs. She talked the crazed patient into handing the knife over to her. And she didn't fall apart.

  She swiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand and took a shaky breath as she tossed the phone on the swing cushion beside her. A shuddering sob tore through her body. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and covered her face with her hands. She listened to the voices of the sheriff's officers speaking with Bruce, then the thumps of car doors and engines firing up as they left. She couldn't go back into the house. Amy knew she never got upset. If she saw her blubbering like a scared child, everything would get worse. Amy and Bruce would know exactly how close they had come to plunging into the river. How hard she had fought to keep the car under control. How terrified she was through the entire ordeal.

  The sound of a vehicle quickly approaching drew Carla's attention. She picked her head up and watched Alex's black Jeep careen into the driveway. Within seconds he was out of the vehicle and into the house. Amy would be fine now that her loving, ferociously protective husband was home to take care of her. The poor guy would probably never let her out of his sight again until the murderer was behind bars.

  Carla stared at the Colonial style house across the street. Every window was lit up and an old man with fuzzy white hair stood in the living room window. The neighborhood probably hadn't seen so much excitement in years. Finally the tears were drying but most likely had left red blotches in their wake.

  "Everything okay out here?"

  Bruce stepped up onto the other end of the porch. His boots thumped like a heartbeat on the wooden planks as he approached her. "I need to make a few phone calls, but I'm pretty much done. Is your car drivable?"

  She splayed her fingers and ran them through her hair.
"It's just body damage, I think. It seemed to be driving fine. Why?"

  "I want you to come back to my place for the night. I'll follow to make sure that creep doesn't reappear. I had just picked up a pizza when I got the call from the 9-1-1 operator. I tossed it in the oven to keep warm. Come share it with me?" He held his hand out to her. "You can't be alone tonight."

  Carla placed her hand in his and let him help her to her feet. "I'll go to your apartment, but I want more than pizza," she whispered as his warm lips closed over hers.

  She looked into the kitchen as they passed by the window. Amy clung to Alex, her face buried in his chest. Carla tapped on the window and waved goodbye when Amy looked up. Her friend waved back then returned to the same position.

  "Looks like she's all set now that Alex is here." She stepped off the porch. "I'll check with her tomorrow. Let's go."

  * * *

  Amy's eyes snapped open. The bright green glowing numbers of the clock on the nightstand made her eyes throb. She closed them again. Too late. A marble of pain expanded to fill her head. Somehow her beating heart migrated to her skull. Thump. Thump. Ouch.

  The numbers 4:16 were tattooed on the inside of her eyelids. What was she doing awake at that time of the morning, and why did she feel so terrible? A clunk answered the first question. Some kind of noise woke her up. She managed to pry one eye back open to see Alex emerging from the master bathroom. He had opened the door before shutting off the light. The flash of light slammed her tortured brain to its knees. She yanked the sheet over her head and groaned.

  "Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Alex murmured as he snuggled in behind her. "Are you okay?"

  "No. My head hurts, and it's 4 o'clock in the morning."

  He burrowed under the sheets then pushed her hair aside and kissed the base of her neck. His other hand traced circles on her hip.

  "I'll tell you what. Keep your head covered for a bit while I get something to help with the hangover." The bed wobbled as he slid back off of it. "Be back in a few minutes."

  The atmosphere in the sheet cocoon lightened from black to gray. A couple shuffling noises, a bang, and a thump followed. Amy lay still, trying to put together the pieces of the previous night. Alex just said he'd help with her hangover…which would be the logical result of downing almost a dozen potent cocktail shots. The later parts of the evening were a bit fuzzy, but, damn, she and Carla had fun. The luscious scent of chocolate drifted through the cotton barrier as the horrific journey home played out again in her mind. How close had they come to plunging into the dark, deep water of the river?

  The air in the tent-like space that had been comforting a minute earlier soared to unbearably hot. She threw the sheets back and squeaked. Alex was standing beside the bed, a steaming mug of something that smelled chocolaty in his hand. He set the mug on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress. As he smoothed sweat-drenched hair away from her face he said, "You know, I thought a hot drink maker in the bedroom was a bit extravagant when you bought it, but now I'm so glad you did. I can take care of you without even leaving the room."

  "I appreciate that," she said as she reached for the mug, but the nightstand was too far away for her embattled body to reach. She gave up the quest with a sigh.

  "No problem." He placed the dark blue, ceramic mug into her hand and then kissed her nose. "What else can I do?"

  She took a sip of the mystery beverage. Hot chocolate. More precisely, salted caramel dark chocolate. Her husband definitely knew her well. What a wonderful thing. A not so wonderful thing was almost taking an unscheduled underwater excursion.

  "Tell me why somebody wants to kill me." Her voice sounded like a dog whistle. The shrill, whiny tone made her head throb again. How pathetic. Hopefully Pogo was sleeping downstairs, out of hearing range.

  Deep lines grooved his forehead as he frowned. "I would love to, if only I could." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. "But I think Detective Shepler is more qualified to do that. I will keep you safe the best that I can until the maniac is behind bars."

  Amy blinked. Reality settled on her chest like a heavy rock. She had figured the person behind the notes was just a trophy-hungry pie baker trying to scare her away from the contest. Letting her guard down, an evening out with her best friend, almost got both of them killed.

  "What did I do to make the killer come after me? Mandy Jo was the wicked witch of Kellerton. She may have pissed off the wrong person at the wrong time. I thought I had this figured out. Rayshelle was sending me the notes to throw me off my game so she could win the pie contest, while Kevin or his lover, or maybe even Elliot, killed Mandy Jo."

  She drank the rest of the luscious chocolate, made a bit saltier from the tears dripping into it. The jackhammer hangover had settled down to an annoying rattle. Thoughts were zipping around in her brain at the nearly normal frenetic pace. Chocolate really was a super food.

  Alex scratched the stubble on his chin and yawned. He yelped when she slapped his knee. "I could still be right! Lucy's friend was running around downtown last night yelling about her pregnancy. Anybody within twenty feet heard it, but Lucy went bonkers when she realized I'd heard, too. Not to mention she didn't look impressed when Carla told her off for getting in my face. Carla said pregnancy hormones are wicked. Most likely Lucy didn't send the notes, but me figuring out that the new widower is her baby daddy flipped her out. It's possible we were just victims of pregnant mama road rage last night."

  "I hope you're right," he mumbled as he yawned again. "Why don't we go back to sleep? Shepler said he'd let us know if he found out anything, but I doubt he'll call at 5 a.m."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Amy poked the on button on the coffee maker and sighed. It was the third pot of coffee. The dry ingredients for the second batch of muffins were already measured into the mixing bowl, and Shepler still hadn't arrived. She had called him at 8 a.m. to suggest checking on the whereabouts of Lucy and Kevin during the road rage incident. If he waited much longer she would need to figure out what to do with the extra baked goods. She had planned on sending them back to the police station with Shepler, if he delivered his findings in person. If he just called with a quick update, the deal was off. No lemon cheesecake muffins for the good detective and his cohorts.

  She grabbed the kitchen shears out of the knife block and snipped the corner off a five-pound bag of sugar. The glass storage canister needed to be refilled. She lifted the bag, and a white stream of sweet, little granules arced into the container. A soft thump was greeted by a flurry of yippy barks from Pogo, who was outside sniffing for squirrels in the backyard. Sugar scattered everywhere when Amy slammed the half-empty bag back onto the counter. Not another rock.

  "What was that?" Alex called from his office at the back of the house.

  She turned and spotted the culprit. A car door. Not another boulder message delivery. "It's Shepler. He's coming to the side door. Can you let him in? I spilled sugar all over."

  Alex jogged through the kitchen as Amy wet a dishcloth. There were worse things than spilled sugar, but it sure was a sticky pain in the butt to clean up. The detective snuffled a bit when he walked into the kitchen. "Smells wonderful in here."

  Amy plowed a drift of sugar into her hand with the cloth. "Lemon cheesecake muffins and fresh coffee. Would you like some while we chat? That is, if you don't mind being a guinea pig. It's a new recipe I'm working on."

  "After trying the banana bread you made, I have to say I am more than willing to be a taste tester for your recipes."

  "Wonderful. The muffins came out of the oven a little bit ago, so Alex and I haven't had any yet." She pulled a platter off the baker's rack. "We can all have breakfast and discuss what you've found out."

  Shepler nodded. Had his expression changed to a grimmer version of a smile? "Sounds great."

  She was happy to see Alex settle onto one of the high stools at the counter side of the island instead of in the breakfast nook. Shepler perched next to him
. No stools left. That meant she was free to move around the kitchen, to burn off over-caffeinated nervous energy, while they all talked. Getting stuck in the middle of the U-shaped bench would've left her feeling trapped and anxious.

  Shepler took a deep breath and tossed his cell phone on the marble countertop while Amy placed a plate and coffee mug in front of him. He glared at the device like he was afraid it would come to life and eat his muffin. Amy put a golden, crumb-topped muffin on his plate and was pouring coffee when he blurted out, "It wasn't Lucy or Kevin driving the pickup last night."

  That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Amy set the metal insulated coffee carafe down in front of Alex. He'd have to pour his own, unless he wanted to wear it. Her hands were shaking like it was twenty degrees below zero in the kitchen. "How can you be sure?"

  "I started by checking their vehicle registrations. Neither one has a pickup…"

  "But…" Amy interrupted. Shepler held up his pointer finger to stop her.

  He continued. "But that doesn't mean they couldn't have borrowed one from a friend. So I pulled security tapes from the event. After that rash of break-ins downtown a few years ago, the city put in cameras to help keep an eye on everything. Both Kevin and Lucy are on several tapes when the truck was trying to run you and Carla into the river. Sorry."

  "So much for my hormone theory," Amy muttered as she took a big bite of muffin. They needed a little bit more lemon juice, to offset the intense creaminess of the filling.

  "Hormone theory?" Shepler raised his eyebrows as he stirred sugar into his coffee.

  "Pregnancy hormone triggered road rage resulting from me overhearing that Lucy was pregnant." She stopped and stared into her coffee mug. Memories of everything from 9 p.m. until she climbed into bed around 1 a.m. were a bit fuzzy. "I thought I told you last night that she was pregnant."

  "You did, and Carla backed it up. So you figured she had some sort of psychotic break because of hormones and tried to kill you?"