Killer Caramel Pie (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 6)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Parking in downtown Culver’s Hood turned out to be far more of a challenge than either Mannor or Bert had expected. The usual parking garages were stuffed full, leaving only tight-packed on-street parking as their option. People mulled all about the sidewalks, making it hard to navigate the web of usually peaceful streets, at least in comparison to the way activity was on New Year’s Eve. Couples and groups all headed to their favorite venues and bars to ring in the brand-new year in style.

  However, no one would be ringing it in in more style than those attending the mayor’s party.

  Finally finding an open space, Mannor managed to tuck his oversized SUV into the itty-bitty space between two economy cars. “It’ll be a miracle if we can get back out tonight,” he joked.

  “I’m just impressed you were even able to get in. I still can’t parallel park, despite having tried for years,” she admitted.

  “I’ve seen your car parallel parked out in front of your shop,” he reminded her.

  “Keep in mind, I always arrive at four or five in the morning, before anyone else has even bothered waking up.”

  Mannor managed a gravel-laden laugh. “I suppose that is true.”

  Getting out of the car, the couple rushed along with the crowds down the frozen streets until they reached the building where the mayor lived. Christmas decorations still adorned all the front windows, sending a multi-colored glow out onto the snowy sidewalks. A fresh fall had just begun, coating everything in a thin layer of white. Bert could feel her heart pounding as they approached and mounted the steps. She’d never even been in a place as fancy as this before, and she was excited to see inside. A bouncer stood at the entranceway to check them in and give them the temporary access code for the elevator.

  The mayor’s penthouse was located at the very top level of the tallest high-rise in the city. The building was partially offices, partially apartments, and partially entertainment venues. As the door opened into the apartment, Bert instantly realized that it was a little bit of each one. The huge living space and open-air deck allowed for a great place to entertain guests. Meanwhile, there was a whole kitchen and other doors leading to sections of the penthouse unseen.

  There was even a black staircase leading up to a second-floor balcony that looked over the room. Bert could bet that at least one of those doors led to a private office that the mayor utilized during her hours at home.

  It was a strange and unfamiliar lifestyle that Bert had no comprehension to understand.

  “Ah, Detective Mannor. I’m so thrilled you could make it again this year,” a woman announced as she approached the tall man.

  Bert instantly recognized the pink and feathery outfit she’d seen in the shop the day before. This was the mayor, to be sure.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mannor replied, a truthfulness in his voice. Bert couldn’t help but wonder if she was a contributing factor to his good mood.

  She instantly felt a tinge of guilt for still always referring to him as Detective, instead of calling him by his first name as he had asked. She’d tried it for a bit and didn’t like it but felt like she could get used to calling him “Harry” if she just tried a little harder.

  “And who is this vision of loveliness?” the mayor asked, turning to Bert.

  “Oh, this is my date, Bertha Hannah.”

  Bert felt herself cringe slightly at the use of the word date.

  “A date? Oh, Detective, I’ve never seen you bring a date to one of these before.”

  Ignoring the teasing jab, Mannor continued his introduction. “She owns the Pies and Pages shop in the Old Market.”

  The mayor’s jaw dropped out from behind her mask. “You are the mind behind that amazing shop? Why my husband and I are simply in love with that place. We just got a pie from there the other day, and it was the most divine thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  Bert blushed, feeling hot under the mask. “Thank you. You must have gone in when my employee, Shiv, was running the show.”

  “Yes, a young woman, the same one who is always helping at the soup kitchen. Am I correct?”

  Bert was taken aback that the mayor knew this bit of information. Maybe she was more involved than Bert had given her credit for.

  “She’s the very one.”

  “Well, she was a delight, and sold us the most delicious pie.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Did I hear the word pie?” a male voice boomed. A man dressed in a similarly colored costume to the mayor beamed as he approached them.

  Bert had to admit, he looked slightly silly in the light pink hue, but it didn’t seem like he minded much. If anything, it gave off an almost renaissance era vibe.

  “Oh, dear, there you are. I was just telling Mrs. Hannah how wonderful her pie is,” Mayor Kreer placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, not so differently from the way she’d affectionally touched the other young man the day before.

  “So, you’re the mastermind behind that delicious little shop,” he chuckled heartily.

  “Mrs. Hannah, this is my husband, Randolph Kreer.”

  “A pleasure,” Bert said, shaking the man’s firm grasping hand. This definitely wasn’t the man she’d seen yesterday. He was much older and shorter. His salt and pepper hair was neatly combed behind his mask.

  So, who was it Bert had seen Mayor Kreer with at the costume shop?

  “Ah, hello, hello, hello,” another voice entered the conversation.

  Turning slightly to see who was talking, Bert suddenly recognized the very person she’d spent the last few moments wondering about. Dressed in an emerald green suit and holding a gem-encrusted mask in one hand, the familiar twenty-something man with slicked back hair waltzed over, his skinny legs carrying him like a professional ballet dancer.

  “Ah, Detective, Mrs. Hannah, I’d like you to meet my personal assistant, Bobby Downwater.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she greeted, holding out a hand to shake. She had a feeling she would end up doing a lot of that throughout the evening.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” the young man declared, clicking his heels together like Dorothy and bowing to kiss Bert’s hand.

  An audible huff came from the mayor’s husband, and Bert glanced up just in time to see an exaggerated eye roll within the holes of the pink mask.

  “Bobby is a lifesaver. He takes care of all of my needs and more.”

  Bert couldn’t resist raising one curious eyebrow and wondering if there was some sort of double meaning there. Suddenly realizing that her imagination was running wild, and that she was beginning to act like some of the gossipy women at church, she quickly erased the expression from her face.

  “It’s more than a mere husband can do, I guess,” Randolph noted, obviously trying to make a joke. It came off as childish pouting instead.

  “Shall we get some drinks?” Mannor offered, gently placing his hand on the back of her arm to guide her further into the room.

  “I’d like that,” she agreed, wanting nothing more than to remove herself from the awkward, and a somewhat tense, triangle of people.

  CHAPTER 4

  * * *

  As the evening wore on, the room became more electric with excitement as everyone prepared to ring in the new year. The gallant and flashy costumes helped to add to the overall ambiance of the party.

  Bert was downright surprised at how good of a time she was having, even despite the somewhat wooden mannerisms of Detective Mannor. He was polite, official, but not exactly free-spirited. No surprises there.

  Of course, Bert knew she wasn’t one to judge seeing as she hadn’t acted the part of a social butterfly.

  No, she’d spent much of her evening over at the snack table, munching away on the many delights. A delicate silver tray overlaid with handcrafted chocolates and truffles was one of the main temptations, and Bert didn’t hesitate to place a few on her clear plastic plate. Caramel filled with cherry drizzle, white chocolate and strawberry cream, and even a marzipan graced
her plate. Additionally, there were various candied and roasted nuts, locally crafted fruitcake, and even some expensive summer sausages.

  The highlight of the table, in Bert’s opinion, was the enormous cheese tray. Not many people knew, but she was a complete fancy cheese fanatic. In fact, her favorite kind of pie wasn’t pie at all. It was cheesecake.

  Spread out before her was a selection including a light-colored dill Havarti, a smoked gouda, a raspberry swirled Bellavitano and many more. She made sure to stack her plate high with them, along with the thin rice crackers to eat them on.

  Of course, in usual holiday fashion, there was a tray of miniature pies—in pecan, pumpkin, and apple—but they looked store bought and unappetizing.

  “I should have catered this event,” she’d whispered to Mannor jokingly upon first seeing the pies.

  “I bet you could have, but the mayor had booked caterers months in advance for this. Next year, I bet she’ll call on you, seeing as she loves your shop so much.”

  Bert rolled her eyes more out of embarrassment than anything else. Her pie and bookstore was growing in popularity, and it thrilled her to the core. Even still, she had a mild case of timidness when it came to showing off and sharing her own talents.

  To the left of the intricate food display was an open bar. A beautiful young woman in a smart looking black dress was manning the station. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, so she could go about her work. She, too, had on a masquerade mask—but it couldn’t hide the girl’s vibrant blue eyes.

  Heading that way, Mannor had caught Bert admiring the woman’s beauty and class. “She’s one of the best bartenders in the city and she is almost always at these functions,” he’d informed her.

  “Oh? I never knew you could be a popular or famous bartender.” It was simply a profession she’d never really taken into consideration.

  “Well, you can. Rika is usually booked out months in advance.”

  Bert nodded. “That’s very interesting.”

  The bar was easily the busiest place all night long, and people buzzed around it like bees to a clover patch. Partygoers could order as many drinks as desired, and many of them were taking full advantage.

  Bert herself wasn’t against having a drink, especially on an occasion like this one, but never cared for the feeling of being tipsy. Still, after taking her first few sips she found herself smiling, laughing, and even holding onto the detective’s arm.

  She had to admit, she was really enjoying her time with him.

  Now, if she could just get used to calling him Harry.

  Bert couldn’t help but guess that it was partially the alcohol that was giving her the boost. While she wasn’t a social drinker—usually preferring a nice glass of white wine in the evening or on the weekend—the red wine they were serving was one of the absolute best tasting drinks she’d ever had.

  She was grateful for her self-control in situations like this and had limited herself to only two glasses. She only took a sip every few minutes from her glass, to make it last up until midnight.

  The fancy cheeses and the mini chocolates were a different story. By eleven forty-five, she’d already gone through at least three plates of them. She knew she’d emotionally regret it in the morning, but tonight she was just in too good of a mood.

  She and Mannor were standing near the enormous fireplace to stay warm as the midnight hour approached. Guests continually opened the door to the outside balcony, many of them just stepping out for some fresh air, others just trying to cool off.

  It only made Bert chillier.

  Looking down at the bottom of her second glass, and seeing that it was basically empty, she decided that one more drink couldn’t hurt. After all, she’d want something to drink as the new year hit. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get a refill.”

  “Okay. I’ll just be here,” Mannor agreed, continuing his conversation with another one of the men from the force whom Bert wasn’t familiar with.

  Heading across the room to the bar, she waited behind two other people before finally approaching the young lady.

  “Another?” she asked with a smile.

  “Yes, please. Just wouldn’t be proper to have an empty glass when midnight hits in a few minutes.”

  The young woman chuckled. “That’s true. What’ll you have?”

  “Another round of that red wine, please.”

  “Coming right up,” she agreed, taking a fresh bottle off the ice.

  “So, I hear you’re the best bartender in the city,” Bert noted, making conversation. She was honestly interested in the young woman and her career.

  “That’s right. Who would have guessed,” she shrugged with a smile, uncorking the bottle.

  “I’ve just never heard of anything like it before. Most bartenders I’ve ever known just work at one restaurant or brewery and serve drinks—not much else.”

  “I didn’t get into this business thinking I was going to excel. It was just something to pay the bills. Next thing you know, however, some regular at the old joint I worked in downtown—and who very much enjoyed my drinks—asked if I’d be willing to tend a party he was throwing. I needed the extra money, so I said yes. Turns out, he was a big shot CEO of some company.”

  “Which company?”

  “The Koffee Haus.”

  Bert took a step back, truly shocked by this information. “Wow. That’s not some small company.”

  “Nope, it isn’t. Next thing you know, everyone is asking me to run parties. So, I quit my job at the bar and now I just do events like this. I’ve probably met every single local celebrity and politician there is.” She held out the full glass of wine to Bert.

  “That’s exciting.”

  “It pays well, so I’m not complaining,” she smirked.

  “Hey, hon. Another drink please,” came a familiar voice as a man leaned in on the bar. It was Bobby Downwater again, and his cheeks looked flushed.

  “Same thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Coming right up.” Grabbing multiple bottles, she set about mixing a caramel colored drink.

  Meanwhile, Mannor came to stand near Bert, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s nearly time for the countdown.”

  Reaching under the counter and opening a mini fridge, the bartender used mini tongs to pick up two ice cubes from a little mold tray and place them into the liquid. “Here is your drink, sir,” she beamed, handing over the chilled glass.

  “Thanks, hon. You’re a star.” Pointing at the bartender, Bobby gave a mischievous wink as he headed back over toward the mayor and her husband who were standing out on the balcony.

  Bert couldn’t understand how they could bear to be out in that frozen air and blowing wind—especially this high up. She guessed that the amount of alcohol in their systems helped to desensitize them to it all.

  It was no matter to her.

  The room quieted down as the party all looked up at the TV screen on the wall which displayed the sparkling ball in New York City. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . . Happy New Year,” everyone cried, all applauding, some kissing, and others downing their drinks. It was at that very moment that Bert glanced up and realized Detective Mannor was moving in close to her.

  Her heart thudded louder than a racehorse. Was he planning to kiss her?

  Without thinking, she spun out of his grasp and took a few steps back, leaving him hanging there and looking somewhat silly with his puckered lips behind his bearded face.

  Feeling immediately guilty, her face grew so hot she thought her blush might just bleed right through the mask. She avoided eye contact and stepped out onto the balcony to cool off.

  The brush of the frigid wind sent a shiver through her body, but she managed to hold it off as she gave herself a bear hug.

  Realizing she was standing next to the trio of the mayor, her husband, and her assistant, she was about to give a polite hello when she noticed Bobby reach his hand up to his throat. In
the next instant, the man’s face had gone paler than the drifting snow around them.

  A quiet and sickly attempt to gasp for air ended short as a scream erupted from his throat.

  “B-Bobby. What’s going on? Are you alright?” Mayor Kreer asked, reaching over to touch him on the shoulder.

  Bobby wasn’t paying attention, his fingers were clawing at his throat, tearing at the neck of his costume and popping the buttons off like little candies. They tumbled to the floor as another scream echoed through the night sky.

  “Somebody help him. I think he’s choking,” the mayor shouted, trying to grab hold of her assistant as he went about flailing his arms and attempting to squeak out another scream.

  Bert, however, knew this was far more than simple choking. No, between the frantic motions and the color of his face, this looked more like poison.

  The party members were taking steps back, instead of moving in to help. No one wanted to get hit by the violent movements of the struggling man. She looked eagerly for the detective, hoping he’d be able to jump in and do something—anything.

  But he was trapped behind the clustered crowd that had formed and was still just trying to see what was happening.

  Finally, Bert decided it was up to her to try to grab him and calm him down. “Somebody call nine-one-one,” she ordered.

  “Oh, oh my goodness,” the mayor shrieked, digging into her clutch to grab her phone.

  Rushing forward, Bert reached out and attempted to grab his swinging arm. If she could just get him to slow down, to maybe even lay down, they’d have a better chance to save him.

  But she had no such luck. In a blink of an eye, the man had twisted out and away from Bert’s grasping fingers, knocking into a planter in the corner and losing his balance. His overly tall frame tilted one way and then the other, ultimately shifting his weight onto the railing.

  “No,” Bert shouted, making one last desperate attempt to get a hold onto the poor man.

  It was no use.

  That next second, Bobby Downwater had tipped over the edge of the balcony and plummeted down toward the street below.