“That’s Randy for you. He was always willing to bend over backward to support me, to play the part of the good husband to a hard-working mayor.”
“I see.”
“Besides, he always sleeps on the plane anyway.”
Was it possible that he had murdered the assistant and then skipped town? Was this whole thing planned out?
Maybe Mr. Kreer really was jealous of Mr. Downwater.
“Wow. Did he know this was murder?”
“No, he doesn’t. He’ll call me once he lands and I’ll tell him then.”
“Does the detective know he’s gone?” Bert pressed forward with her questions. Even if there was no confirming evidence of murder the night before, would Mannor really have just let the mayor’s husband skip town?
“He does. I told him on the phone this morning.”
“And he was okay with that?”
Mayor Kreer shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. We didn’t tell him Randy was leaving last night. We just didn’t see any reason to worry him with extra details.”
“Oh, I’m just surprised.”
Then the mayor’s face grew long. “You don’t think Detective Mannor suspects Randy?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Bert comforted her, not wanting to say anything to make her upset.
A low jingle rang through the air, coming from the mayor’s cell phone on the counter. “That’ll probably be Randy. Will you excuse me for a minute?”
“No problem,” Bert agreed, watching as the woman disappeared into the next room.
More and more, it was looking like the mayor’s husband could be the one behind this whole fiasco. Bert remembered the way she’d seen Mayor Kreer and Mr. Downwater interacting in the costume shop. They were a little too friendly.
Maybe there was some sort of relationship there, and Randy had found out and taken matters into his own hands.
Glancing down at her feet, Bert wondered if she should just leave. That’s when she noticed something sitting just in the space between two bricks of the hearth, almost as if it had fallen from the fireplace and landed there.
Squatting down, she pulled it out of the crack. What was left was a corner of what appeared to be a letter along with a grainy picture. It had clearly been meant to burn in the fire, but had made its way out and fell among the artistically placed masonry. Bert had seen before how a good strong fire could lift a piece of paper or other debris and toss it aside.
Despite the blackened edges, Bert could still just make out the words in the newspapers and make a deal.
The mayor and her assistant had been talking about letters at the costume shop. Was this burnt up item what they’d meant?
Bert let out a low gasp. Maybe the mayor was being blackmailed.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
Slipping the evidence into her purse, Bert said a quick goodbye to Mayor Kreer and headed out of the apartment and got into the elevator. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to do with the burnt letter and blurry piece of a picture, but she knew they had to be important to the investigation.
As the elevator doors opened and she prepared to step out, Bert about fell over when she saw Detective Mannor standing right outside talking to the officer on duty.
The grim expression on his face led her to believe he wasn’t happy.
Before she could make a move, his eyes had wandered up and landed on her. Instantly, his already furrowed brow deepened.
“Uh-oh,” she whispered.
Marching through the front door and into the lobby, the detective looked Bert right in the eye. “What are you doing here, Bert?”
“I was dropping off a pie. I thought the mayor might like something sweet after such a hard night.”
Making a sound in his throat like a growling dog, Mannor folded his arms. “Is that so? You’re not here to ask questions about last night’s incident?”
“You mean murder,” she pointed out.
“Excuse me?”
“The mayor already told me. I knew it last night that it was murder, and I knew it was poison.” She announced with a flair of triumph.
“Well, you’re a regular amateur private eye, aren’t you,” he snapped. “I thought I told you not to worry about any of this.”
“Your concern is touching, Detective, but last night it seemed like no one would listen to me when I had something to say.” She knew she was digging herself a deeper hole, but sometimes when her temper got going, she was like a running freight train and couldn’t stop.
“That’s because it’s a police investigation and you’re a civilian.”
“Turns out I was right, though, wasn’t I?”
“I didn’t say you were wrong, but it is a simple procedure to acquire hard evidence before jumping to conclusions.”
Bert put her hands on her hips. “How about this conclusion? Your prime suspect hopped on a plane this morning without you even knowing about it until the mayor said something on the phone a half-hour ago. Am I right?”
The detective’s cheeks were flaring with a hint of red.
“Not to mention, I found a piece of evidence your men missed last night,” she said without thinking. It had just slipped out as easy as pie.
Unfolding his arms, he balled his fists. “You what?”
Bert’s lower lip quivered as she tried to answer him, realizing she’d really fallen out of the pie tin and into the fire this time. “I found a piece of a burned note in the ashes of the fireplace,” she admitted. Digging into her purse, she retrieved them from the little pocket she’d placed them in for protection. Obediently, and with a hint of shame, she handed them over to him.
Carefully taking the two little pieces of paper from her, he gingerly looked at them, reading over whatever happened to be legible. His silence as he examined the evidence and the way the lines in his face softened, she knew what she’d found was significant. “You said you found these in the fireplace?”
Gaining a hint of her composure and confidence back, she nodded. “That’s right, and I think it may be blackmail notes. The picture probably had some sort of incriminating images that got burned up.”
Pointing a finger at her and shaking it, his voice dropped to a whisper. “You know I could have you arrested for tampering with evidence?”
“I know,” she sighed. “And I’m sorry.”
“I’m only going to warn you this time.”
“Thank you,” she replied, knowing just how dangerous of a situation she’d placed herself in. She’d been so concerned about proving herself right, to show that this really was a murder, that she hadn’t acted very honestly. “I really am sorry, Detective.”
“You’ve pulled other stunts like this before, but I’m only giving you a warning,” he held up the papers close to his face, “because these may be crucial to this investigation.”
Watching the way his eyes looked down at the evidence, scanned the writing, a light bulb suddenly turned on in her mind. “You’ve seen this handwriting before, haven’t you?”
Pausing, he only looked at her. It was answer enough.
“Have you intercepted blackmail notes to other people in this city? Politicians and local celebrities, maybe?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that,” he retorted, his body stiffening up.
Her eyes gave him a quick up and down. “That’s a yes.”
“It is nothing of the sort,” he defended himself, trying to cover his tracks as best as possible. “And I don’t want you digging into it.”
“But, Harry, wait,” she pleaded, using his first name again without thinking.
This made him pause. A hint of that hidden kindness started to show through, softening the areas around his eyes. “What?”
“If there is someone blackmailing people, it’d have to be someone who was familiar with the community of politicians, who often attended their social events and gatherings.” Her gaze jumped down to the letter in his hands. “You don’t think that it was Bobby
Downwater, do you? Was he blackmailing his employer?”
Putting up one hand for her to stop, Mannor made a hushing sound. “No. Now, wait. I can’t do anything until I at least have my analyst compare the handwriting.”
“So, there are other blackmail letters?” Bert exclaimed.
The detective groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Or maybe it wasn’t Downwater at all. Maybe he found out who was doing the blackmailing and was trying to put an end to it.”
“Bert. We aren’t talking about this.”
Bert waved both hands in front of her for him to be patient. The wheels in her mind were turning. “Just hear me out, okay? Remember the day we were in the costume shop?”
Unamused and uninterested, he started moving toward the door.
“The mayor and Downwater were there too.”
This made him stop. “What did you say?”
“I said, they were both there. Downwater was helping the mayor to pick a costume for the party. They were in the next aisle over and I heard them talking.”
Shuffling back toward her, his ears finally perked up and ready to listen, he stopped only inches away. “What did they say?”
“They were talking about doing something about the letters, these letters.” She pointed at the evidence still in the detective’s hand.
“Anything else?” he urged her on, knowing that whatever was said might be crucial to the investigation.
“Downwater said he was taking care of it, for her not to worry.”
Mannor scratched his chin as he considered this new bit of evidence. “And you think he tried to take care of it but ended up getting a death cocktail instead?”
She snapped her fingers. “Exactly.”
Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Mannor brushed his mustache back and forth. “That doesn’t exactly narrow down the suspects.”
“Well, whoever it was had to be someone who had easy and frequent access to members of the local political party, right? So, it’d have to be someone who was there at almost every single social function and event.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t narrow down the suspects much,” he pointed out, not seeing where her train of thought was taking her.
“Oh, my gosh. It’s so simple,” she exclaimed.
“What is?”
“I think I know who did it, but we’ll have to do a little test to find out.”
Despite the hint of hesitation in the detective’s eyes, she had a feeling he would be on board.
CHAPTER 10
* * *
The cherry pie in the backseat of her car was awaiting a new home, and Bert had a good idea who might enjoy it. Parking just outside of a bar in the midtown area, she peeked out her window and across the street, just to double check that Detective Mannor was still there. Sure enough, his car was parked directly across.
“Are you ready, Mrs. Hannah?” Patricia, the woman Mannor had sent over with Bert asked from the passenger seat. She had her grey hair tied up in a tight bun atop her head that made her come off like a schoolmarm ready to grade papers.
“I’m ready,” she agreed, opening her door and stepping out into the slush of the street. Getting the pie out of the back seat, she headed inside with Patricia hot on her heels. Walking through the front door of MaCamrey’s Pub and Restaurant they quickly found themselves amid a light show.
A birthday of a local entrepreneur, a twenty-two-year-old who’d designed an award-winning phone application, was in full swing.
“Hey, hey, ladies. This party is by invite only,” the large bald man with tattoos on his head boomed, blocking the doorway with his bulk. The way his muscles bulged out of his t-shirt made Bert think of the bodybuilders she sometimes would see at the gym lifting weights.
He eyed them both with one cocked eyebrow, but a hint of amusement in his eyes. This was clearly a hip joint intended mostly for a younger crowd, especially today when there was a birthday going on. So, the presence of two older women was probably a shock.
“Hi, we’re from the Pies and Pages shop, and we’re here to drop off a pie for the spread.”
“A pie? I thought the restaurant was catering?”
“We got a call earlier that said they’d prefer to have the official dessert be something from outside the pub here. So, I made my famous cherry pie.” Bert held it up under the bouncer’s nose.
Taking a deep whiff, she could see the smile brighten in his eyes. “Okay, go ahead, but don’t hang around too long,” he ordered, holding up a finger like a man trying to teach a grade schooler a lesson.
Bert had to hold back a laugh, knowing all too well that these big men often had a soft side. “Thank you,” she said, pushing past him into the pub.
A multicolored projector sent streams of light across the floors, walls, and ceiling. All the while, upbeat rap and hip-hop music played. It wasn’t Bert’s favorite, but she wasn’t here to socialize.
It only took her a moment to spot her target, the young bartender from the New Year’s Eve party. “There she is,” she whispered to Patricia.
“Very well, lead the way.”
The two women pushed and nudged their way through the crowd, dodging gyrating dancers until they finally reached the bar. “Hello, we’re here to drop off a pie for the birthday boy,” she said, talking over the loudspeaker nearby.
The bartender leaned in. “Oh? I didn’t know he was getting a pie.”
“He is, and here it is.” In the same fashion, she lifted it up so the young woman could smell.
“Well, I guess you can just leave it on the counter or something.”
“Actually, we have to have someone sign for it,” Bert insisted, setting the pie on the counter in front of her.
At this, the bartender widened her eyes as if trying to get a better look at the women. “Hey, were you at that party the other night, the one at the mayor’s penthouse?”
“Guilty as charged,” she joked, putting up one hand as if swearing an oath.
“And you say you need a signature for this pie?”
“That’s right.”
The bartender looked around the room as if looking for someone who was in charge. That wouldn’t do at all.
“The bouncer said you’d sign for it.”
“I didn’t order it, though,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter who signs it. Just so long as we’ve checked off that someone accepted it when we dropped it off.” She knew that having someone sign for a pie delivery was a bit odd, and maybe stretching things a little bit, but this was one easy and covert way to get an honest signature.
The bartender hesitated for a moment, but then finally shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Handing over the slip, Bert watched as the woman eagerly signed it and passed it back. “There you go.”
“Thanks a million.”
“No problem.”
Taking a few steps away from the counter, she handed the slip to Patricia—the police department’s handwriting specialist or Graphologist as was her official job description. Reaching into her jacket, she retrieved the photocopy of the evidence from earlier, along with a few other writing samples.
Finding a well-lit spot in the corner, she looked back and forth for a second and then nodded, taking out her police radio which she’d hidden beneath her coat. “We’re a go, Mannor.”
“Roger,” came the gruff voice over the sound waves.
A minute later, Detective Mannor had walked in the front door and flashed his badge at the door guard. Bert’s eyes followed him, a sense of excitement at watching him act in such an official manner, marching across the room in his trench coat to the bar.
“Ms. Rika Brown?” he asked.
“Yes?” the bartender responded, raising a confused eyebrow.
“I’m Detective Mannor,” he said, holding up his badge for her to see.
“I know who you are,” she admitted without batting an eye.
“I’d like y
ou to come down to the station with me and answer a few questions if you don’t mind.”
CHAPTER 11
* * *
“Ta-da! Happy New Year!” Bert exclaimed, setting the chocolate and caramel pie in the middle of the table at the Pies and Pages shop. It had a sparkler in the center to give it a hint more of a flair.
Shiv and Carla applauded the entrance of the specialty dish, both eager to dive in and give it a proper taste-test.
“Let’s just get this out of the way,” Bert said, taking the sparkler out and dipping it into a pitcher of water to put it out. “Now, who wants a piece?”
“I know I do,” Carla said, rubbing her hands together.
“You can count me in, too,” Shiv said.
“Coming right up.” Bert cut into the chilled pie, her mouth already watering. She’d been waiting days to actually get a taste of this recipe, but the whole party and murder investigation had gotten in the way.
“I still can’t believe you were part of a sting operation,” Carla squeaked excitedly as Bert handed her a slice of the oozing pie.
Bert rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t a sting operation.”
“But it was a police operation. I mean, you’re basically an honorary cop now or something, right?” Shiv joked.
“It was nothing of the kind. I was just delivering one of my pies to a local party.” She downplayed her involvement in the minor sting operation, handing over a plate to Shiv.
“But she really was the murderer?” Carla asked.
Bert took a seat, ready to eat her own slice of the pie. “That’s right. After being confronted with the plethora of blackmail letters she’d been sending, she confessed. She was keeping tabs on big name people and stalking them to get incriminating evidence. In the end, Bobby Downwater caught onto the scheme and figured out it was her. Turns out he was planning a secret meeting with her after the party on New Year’s Eve.”
“But Rika came prepared,” Shiv noted.
Killer Caramel Pie (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 6) Page 6