Killer Chocolate Pie (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “You’re following me?”

  “I’m doing no such thing.”

  “Probably trying to kill me, too?”

  “I sure I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that two men have been killed at your shop.”

  Bert was shocked, unconsciously taking a step back from the woman’s verbal accusation.

  “That’s right. I looked it up. What are you, some old murderous woman who gets her kicks by knocking off poor lonely men like my father?”

  “Excuse me,” Bert snapped. “I have done no such thing, and you have no right to blame me. I simply wanted to offer my condolences.”

  “Save your breath for the courtroom,” she held up a hand silencing her.

  Either this woman was simply delusional, or she was purposefully manipulative and vindictive.

  A second later, the coffee shop’s manager appeared. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

  Abagail turned with a furtive brow. “Your staff refuses to give me two extra shots of cream and syrup free of charge.”

  The manager tilted his head knowingly. “Well, our policy is to charge for extras like that, ma’am. My employee was only following my instructions.”

  “I should have known as much. Don’t you worry. I can see to it you lose your job as well if I don’t like the way I’m treated,” she barked.

  “You’ll have to contact the district manager for that,” he noted.

  “I intend to.” Standing up straight, she jutted her nose in the air. “I’m going to own you, all of you,” she threatened.

  Bert couldn’t help but let her jaw drop again in shock.

  Turning on her expensive heel, Abigail faced Bert one last time. “I’m sure I’ll see you in court when this murder comes to trial.”

  With a flip of her hair, she waltzed past her and out the door.

  “Sorry about that,” the manager sighed.

  Bert walked up to the counter. “It’s nothing you could control, I’m sure. Do you get customers like that often?”

  “She’s been coming in every day for the last few weeks, acting rude, like she owns the place,” the timid barista admitted.

  “She acts like that every day?” Bert gasped.

  “Worse sometimes. She seems to think we all owe her some great debt or something,” the manager confessed, shaking his head.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Never mind that. How about a drink on the house?” he offered.

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Great. What’ll it be?”

  Bert smiled. “I’d love to try the pumpkin spice coffee, please.”

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Finally arriving at Pies and Pages, all the while delightedly sipping her festive coffee, Bert parked her car and got out. As she approached the front of her shop, she paused. For a moment, she was sure that Abigail Blinketon was standing outside the front door, staring up at the windows.

  “Oh, great. What does she want now?” Bert grumbled, not in the mood to be accused or berated anymore.

  Honestly, what possible reason could she have for killing a stranger like Daniel Blinkerton? It was simply ludicrous. Why was Abigail jumping to such wild conclusions?

  As she got closer, however, Bert realized it wasn’t Abigail at all—just someone who had a similar stance. She was an older woman whose hair had begun to gray along the edges. Her figure, however, seemed to be too perfectly preserved and Bert secretly wondered if there had been any elective surgery involved.

  “Good morning. Can I help you?” she greeted the woman.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, turning with a start and placing her hand at her throat. A pinkish hue invaded her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Quite alright, dear. It’s my fault completely. I was lost in thought.”

  “If you’re looking to get a slice of pie, I’m afraid that I don’t open until ten. I haven’t even started the baking yet. If you’re just looking for a book, though, I’m more than happy to let you in a little early to browse.”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” She turned back with a wistful look in her eyes, examining the shop front.

  “Then what is it, ma’am?”

  “Oh, I’m sure this sounds silly, but my ex-husband just died yesterday. I’m sure you’re already aware, because he was shot right here.”

  “You’re Daniel Blinkerton’s ex-wife?”

  “That I am. Soria Blinkerton,” she introduced herself.

  Bert stepped forward holding out a hand. “My name is Bert Hannah.

  “Did you know him, my ex-husband I mean?”

  “Not at all. I only met him and your two children yesterday during the Autumn Walk.”

  The woman shook her head. “Those children. Still living at home with their father, I assume, like two little parasites. I never did know what to do with either of them, especially that girl.” The mother turned slightly pale as she spoke of the past, almost as if she didn’t like thinking of it.

  Was this woman indicating that she didn’t like her own children? Bert hesitated. “I wouldn’t know.”

  She let out a small laugh. “Neither would I. I haven’t had any real contact with them in the last two years.”

  “Really?” Bert asked, trying not to sound too judgmental.

  “They both have . . . problems. The boy is spineless and the girl . . . well, she’s something else altogether. I wanted no part of their lives, anymore.”

  “I see,” she responded, a little awkwardly.

  “Trust me, if you knew the history, you’d be on board with me,” Soria noted, having read Bert’s expression.

  “Oh, I’m not one to judge someone else’s situation or choices. It just surprised me is all.”

  “Look, after spending over twenty years in a house with a man who argued with me at every turn, condescended my choices, treated me like I was less just because I was a woman, I had to get out of there. The kids’ problems—good heavens—were just sort of the kicker, ya’ know?”

  Bert paused, surprised about how blatantly open this woman seemed to be about her personal problems. She’d met types like this before, a few at her church, who took any opportunity to share their own personal sorrow.

  She decided it would only be polite to offer the woman an ear for a few minutes, if that’s what she needed. She motioned to the door. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, maybe a slice of pie once I get the first one made? On the house.”

  Blinking in surprise, the woman smiled. “You’re serious?”

  Bert shrugged. “We all need a friend sometimes.”

  “In that case, I’d love to.”

  “Great.” Unlocking the door, she led the way inside.

  “I appreciate this. I’ve just finished a long drive through the night to be here.”

  “You drove here?”

  She nodded. “From Wyoming. I guess the kids gave that Detective my information, heaven knows how they had it. Anyway, he calls me up and tells me there’s been a murder and he wants to ask me some questions. I offered to drive in to talk to him in person.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive.” Bert walked behind the counter and scooped two tablespoons of coffee into the machine.

  “I was married to the man, for heaven’s sake. Even if I didn’t like him, I thought I owed him the respect of coming down this way.”

  Turning on the pot, Bert walked to the freezer and pulled out another set of pastry dough she’d prepared ahead of time. “And your kids?”

  She sighed. “I guess there’s no getting around it. I’ll have to see them at some point while I’m here.”

  Sprinkling some flour onto the counter, Bert laid the dough down and grabbed her rolling pin. “Do you want to see them?”

  There was a pause while the woman thought. “I suppose, some part of me does. As a mother, you always have a connection with
your children, even if you can’t stand them. What kind of adult child lives at home well into their twenties?”

  “Well, day to day costs are more than they used to be,” Bert offered.

  She scoffed. “Still, have some respect. Of course, Daniel enables them like crazy—especially Abigail. He always gave her whatever she wanted, spoiled her. It was his way of trying to make up for her problems, I guess.” She shook her head, sneering in disgust. “He just made things worse. Meanwhile, he purposefully tied Charleston down, never let him get a leg up. I couldn’t say or do anything to fix it.”

  Bert rolled out the dough into a flat round. Grabbing a ceramic pie plate from the cupboard, she placed it upside down on top of the dough and then flipped the whole thing over, letting the crust settle into the dish.

  “Anyway, I’d finally had it and just up and left. That was two years ago.”

  “And you haven’t seen any of them since?”

  Taking a seat at an empty table, she shook her head. “No.”

  “But you drove through the night to come here today?”

  “That’s right. Like I said, I feel like I owe them something, even if it’s small. I won’t stay long. I’ll give my statement, maybe say hello to my children to save face, and then be on my way back to Wyoming—back to my new life.” She waved a hand at the window. “I walked away from all of this years ago.”

  Bert couldn’t help but wonder at this strange family dynamic. In some way, she could see Abigail’s bad attitude being a result of both her parents. On the other hand, Soria seemed outwardly more genial than her daughter.

  “Well, it looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” Bert commented as she trimmed the edges of the crust and slipped it into the oven while it heated.

  Soria looked down at her hand, at the expensive rings and watch there. “Yes, single life has treated me very well. I was finally able to start using that law degree I got all those years back.”

  “You studied law?” The coffee pot finished filling and Bert poured two mugs.

  “When I was much younger, yes. Then I met Daniel and he wanted to start a family, wanted me to stay home. I was foolish and young and believed it was for the best. Luckily, I had an old college friend up in Casper. Despite years not using my experience, he got me an entry job at his firm.”

  Setting the mugs down, Bert took a seat.

  As soon as she had, there was a loud knock on the door. Looking up, Bert was surprised to see Detective Mannor standing outside impatiently.

  Hopping back up, she opened the door. “Morning, Detective.”

  “Is Soria Blinkerton here?”

  Bert’s jaw dropped open. How did he know that? “She is. Why?”

  Without another word, the large man had pushed his way into the shop and over to the table. “Soria Blinkerton?”

  Blinking in astonishment, she glanced up. “Yes?”

  “I’m going to need you to come down to the station with me.”

  “Oh, I’ll be glad to. I was going to head over there right after this. Let me just finish my coffee.”

  “No, now.”

  She gasped, putting her palm flat on the table. “Now? That’s rude, Detective.”

  “Either come willingly now, or I’ll place you under arrest.”

  “Place me under arrest? What for? I hope you don’t mean for my ex-husband’s murder.”

  He was silent for a second, not answering the question.

  “But, I wasn’t even here in town. How can you even think to charge me?”

  “I’m not . . . yet.”

  “Like I said, I wasn’t even here.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, ma’am. We have sources that say otherwise.”

  She sat with her mouth hanging open for a moment, but finally stood up. “Very, well. I’ll come along.” Heading for the door, she turned to Bert. “Do you mind contacting my son about this?”

  “Me?” Bert protested.

  “Yes, he’ll need to know what is going on. He’s probably the only one who’ll be willing to help if it comes to it.” Digging in her purse, Soria pulled out a notepad with an address already scribbled on it. “Here is the address. Thanks.”

  Then they walked out the door.

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  Bert wasn’t sure how she got roped into these situations. If it were up to her, she’d lead a simple and quiet life, baking pies and selling books—not getting dragged into one murder case after another. The whole thing seemed ridiculous.

  Still, she was a woman of honor and decency, and felt it was only right to do as Soria had asked, even though they had just met.

  She’d offered the coffee and pie in good conscience, thinking that a woman who had just lost a loved one—even if it was an ex—might like a little comfort.

  There were a few little things that did confuse her, however, as she looked at the sticky note. Why did she have a pre-prepared address written down in her purse? It was almost as if she had planned on the possibility of being arrested, knowing she’d need to pass the note off at the last second.

  On top of the note, what the detective had said was confusing. Soria had been there in town during the murder, even though she’d specifically said that she drove through the night to be there? That alone wasn’t reason enough for arrest. So, what else was missing from this formula?

  Bert arrived outside the small house around nine, having rushed to get the morning pies done and in the warmer before dashing off to see this young man she’d hardly met to bring him news about family matters she knew little about. If she was fast, she could see the son—Charleston was his name—and make it back to the shop in time for opening. Parking on the street, she got out and walked up the sidewalk to the door.

  Knocking, she waited anxiously while tapping her foot.

  A minute later, the door opened. “Yes? Can I help you?” the young man asked without opening the screen.

  “Hi, my name is Bert Hannah. We met briefly yesterday.”

  Charleston narrowed his eyes, scanning her features. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re the lady from the pie shop.”

  Bert smiled awkwardly. “Yep. That’s me.”

  Charleston’s face turned grim. “What do you want? I’m done talking about my father’s murder.” He went to close the door.

  Bert held up one finger for him to wait. “Hold on.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m actually here about your mother, not your father.”

  This caused him to pause, his brow furrowing in confusion. “My mother? What about her?”

  “She asked me to come and tell you that she was taken down to the police station this morning. She happened to be at my shop when it happened and I was the only person around to bring you the message.”

  Charleston stepped forward and opened the screen. “You mean she was arrested?”

  By the tone of his voice, Bert couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew his mother was hanging around. He clearly showed little to no surprise about the fact that his own estranged mom was in town after two years.

  “Not exactly, but the detective did take her in for questioning. He threatened to arrest her if she didn’t come willingly.”

  “He can’t do that,” the young man argued.

  “He can, and he has.”

  “What for? She hasn’t done anything wrong,” his voice was raising higher and higher with each sentence, and his face was beginning to redden.

  “According to the detective, there are witnesses who saw her here in town yesterday, which means she would have been around during the time of the murder.”

  Charleston’s face drooped in shock. “No, no way.”

  Bert hesitated. “What is it?”

  “Dang,” he sighed, leaning on the door jamb. “You say she sent you?”

  “That’s right. Just to tell you what’s going on.”

  “You better come in for a second.” Stepping aside, he motioned for her to step past
the threshold.

  Bert hesitated. “Okay,” she agreed a little reluctantly, not wanting to get dragged into this family drama any more than she already had been. Glancing into the corner, she noticed a fabric rifle case sitting there. It was empty.

  Had the murder weapon come from this very house? That made Bert nervous to be alone with the young man.

  Closing the door behind himself, Charleston moved into the musty living room. He was audibly mumbling nonsense as he passed into the room. “She must have seen us. I just know it.”

  “Who?” Bert pressed.

  “My sister. Abigail.”

  Bert shook her head, a little lost at this point, and took a seat on the couch. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  Charleston groaned. “Okay, well you see, I’ve been trying to get up enough funds to go to the community college here in town.” He began pacing the floor at this point, anxious as he told the story.

  “Okay?” Bert said, still not seeing how anything he’d said was relevant or made any sense without some sort of context.

  “I originally asked my dad for the money, and he blatantly told me no. He said it was a complete waste of time and effort and that I didn’t have enough talent.”

  “Wow.”

  “He claimed he didn’t have the money, but I knew he was full of it. He’s always buying stuff for Abigail. She was the favorite.”

  Bert knew that little tidbit of information just based on the one uncomfortable encounter they’d all had outside the shop the day before.

  “I mean, I know she was sick when we were younger, but does that mean she deserves all the attention?”

  “She was sick?”

  “I’d say so. My mom and dad were always taking her off to the doctor when we were in middle school.”

  “And you don’t know what it was?”

  “Nope. They never told me. Anyway, I knew I shouldn’t have asked him in the first place. He never supported me in anything I’ve ever done or wanted to do. He’s always trying to put me in my place, told me I needed to just go get a job bagging groceries or flipping burgers because it was all I’d ever be good at.”