* * *
Alex pulled open the door of the Fellowship Hall of St. Peter's Church and gestured for Amy to enter. "Ladies first."
"You're such a gentleman."
"Keep telling yourself that. I just want to watch your cute, little ass for a bit."
She slapped his arm as she passed by. Typical behavior from her charming husband. One off-color comment was all it took to break the layer of tension that had been building since she woke up that morning. She sashayed into the coat room, adding a bit of extra wiggle to her stride. The scent of sweet fruit and buttery pie crust slammed into her. She gasped as memories of finding Mandy Jo's body under the table full of pies rushed into her mind. Alex slipped his arm around her waist and asked, "Are you okay?"
She shook her head quickly as a ball of nausea formed in her stomach. "Not really. I didn't think of how scents can trigger memories."
"Do you want to leave?"
"No." She faced him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're with me, so I know I'll be fine."
He kissed the tip of her nose. "You're sure? Considering how Carla and the detective were looking at each other, I'd bet they wouldn't mind being told there's no reason to meet us now."
Amy giggled. "I'm sure you're right, but I think we need to stay for a bit. We won't hang around long. Judging from some of the looks I was getting at the funeral home, the gossip gloves will be coming off. I'll soon be fair game for people fishing for details about what happened at the town hall. All of those innocent looking, pie baking grannies can sniff out a juicy rumor from a mile away."
Alex hugged her tightly for a few seconds. "Just say the word, and we're out of here. I can think of much better ways to spend the afternoon."
"Then let's get out of this coat room and see what's going on," she said as she walked into the main room. Two tables full of pies were arranged in front of the kitchen pass-through. The Formica counter was being stocked with clear plastic cups full of autumnal colored liquids, orange pop, red fruit punch, and murky brown instant iced tea.
A flash of white blonde hair, attached to Mandy Jo's touchy-feely cousin, swooped from the left like a marauding vulture and stopped in front of Alex. Apparently ballsiness combined with an absolute lack of respect were family traits. The inappropriate advance needed to be waylaid before any of the women pouring refreshments in the kitchen got wind of it. Amy gritted her teeth and flashed a toothy smile at the woman just as she was opening her mouth to say something, "I'm so sorry for your family's loss. I apologize, but there is someone we need to speak with."
The blonde predator's mouth snapped shut. Amy pinched the side of Alex's stomach. He flinched then got the hint.
"Yes, so sorry," he mumbled as he squeezed through the gap between two groups of chatting people. He grabbed Amy's hand and tugged her toward the pie tables. She glanced back. Blondie looked like her head was about to explode, but hopefully they were out of shrapnel range. Maybe she should warn the priest standing in the corner, balancing a wedge of voluminous lemon meringue pie on a flimsy paper plate, that he may need to perform an exorcism soon.
"Let's go to the other side of the room. I see a few seats over there. It's the perfect place for me and Shepler to scope out the suspects." As Amy pointed to the open chairs, she noticed Elliot Maxson standing at the end of one of the pie tables. He had set the donation jar from the bakery on the corner. Of course, this was the perfect place to get people to open their wallets, despite their feelings for the memorial's honoree. Why hadn't she thought of that? Elliot had business smarts. Maybe finances, instead of general ruthlessness, really were behind his refusal to donate to the memorial. Maybe.
She and Alex sat in the folding chairs at the end of a table in the corner. Her feet thanked her. She was used to padding around in the kitchen with bare feet on most days. Sure, she was short and often wore high heels in public to make up for her height challenges. That didn't mean her feet felt any better when forced to balance on her tippy toes. Even with 4-inch heels she was still short, so the pain wasn't worth the gain on most occasions other than date night with her hubby.
Elliot turned and caught her looking at him. He walked over and sat in the chair beside Amy. "Don't worry. I'll take the jar back to my shop when I leave."
"Oh, I wasn't worried. I'm happy you thought to bring it. Thank you for helping." She tilted her head. "I don't see Kristi. Is she here?"
He shook his head. "No. She returned to the bakery after the service, so I am in attendance solo now."
"Excuse me," he said as he stood again. "I see an old friend I would like to converse with."
"Of course, thank you again for bringing the jar."
Elliot smiled as he walked away. Carla and Shepler appeared in the doorway of the coat room. Amy stood up and waved to catch their attention. The couple took a circuitous route through the pie-eating mourners.
"Smells good in here," Shepler said as he sat down next to Alex. "I love pie."
Amy wrinkled her nose. "Smells like the town hall did when I found Mandy Jo."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to stir up disturbing memories."
"It's okay. I'm a big girl. I'll live." She leaned forward and whispered around Alex. "I figured we could check everybody out from this vantage point."
"Good idea," he said. Although he didn't look that interested in anybody in the hall other than Carla. "Can we go up and get pie anytime?"
"Yes. I've seen a lot of people go through the serving line already. We'll stay here and save our spots." Amy leaned toward Carla. "Get a bunch of different kinds so I can sample some from your plate, too."
"Checking out the competition? I thought your pie was perfect."
"Nothing is actually ever completely perfect, even my pie, even though I hate to admit it. I know you'll use that information against me."
Carla laughed as she and Shepler walked to the back of the line of people waiting to load up on free pie. Twenty minutes later Amy had tried over a dozen different pies between the slivers she had arranged on her plate and the bites Carla and Alex offered from their selections. Concentrating on analyzing the baked goods helped her get over the nausea caused by the memory of finding Mandy Jo. A couple samples were tooth-achingly sweet to the point that the fillings tasted like commercially made jam straight from the jar. One was underdone, though the crunchy pears definitely had an intriguing texture. There were two pies that were excellent. Of course, they both happened to be apple, just like her intended entry into the contest. Flaky crust, firm yet tender apple slices, a mix of sweet and tangy fruit, just the right amount of spice. In short, if those pies had been entered into the pie competition she may have lost. Would they be on the tables at the make-up contest?
"I wish I knew who made these pies."
Carla stopped making goo-goo eyes at her new paramour long enough to say, "Look on the bottom of the pie plates. Most people put their names on them at things like this."
"Good idea, but a little too obvious. I think almost everybody who was at the meeting to reschedule the contest is here. I would never hear the end of it if one of them spotted me snooping."
"Come on," Carla waved around a plastic forkful of pumpkin pie. "You're more creative than that. Tell them you're looking for your pie dish."
"But I didn't bring a pie. Just the members of the church contributed."
"So. How many other people know that?"
Amy wrinkled her nose. "That's a bit sneaky for me. The ideas you come up with…sometimes I really wonder about you."
"I do too." Carla looked at Bruce. "Pay no attention to that statement."
He laughed and turned to Amy. "Take notes. Try keeping a notebook in your purse. Write down what you liked or didn't like, any theories about what ingredients they used. I can't tell you how many notebooks I've gone through as a police officer."
"That's a great idea. Thank you."
"Glad I could help."
She slid her fork through a mound of whipped cream on her plate. "Well
I hope you've been taking good notes about this case. There are a couple big cooking contests I want to enter soon, and the stress from wondering if I'm next to bat in the killer's lineup is messing with my recipe development schedule."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Sugar and coffee. Stat," Carla said the moment Amy opened the door. Stopping in after her overnight shift to share an impromptu breakfast was a semi-regular habit for Carla, but usually she wasn't this desperate for sweets and caffeine. "I feel like a zombie."
Amy grabbed her friend by the shoulders and steered her toward the breakfast nook then veered to the coffee maker. As she grabbed the insulated carafe and the largest coffee mug in the cupboard she asked, "Rough night? I don't know how you stay awake all night, but I have to say I've never seen you this tired after a shift."
"It's your fault," Carla said as she snatched the mug out of Amy's hand and began spooning sugar into it, from the ever-present sugar bowl on the table. "You're the one who wanted me to hook up with Bruce. I don't know what secret ingredient was in that banana bread, but I think you've created the Viagra of the baked goods world."
"No secret ingredient." Amy plopped down across from Carla. "It's been a long time since I've heard you mention even going out on a date. I think you were probably sending out some kind of pheromones. Aren't those the things that the opposite sex smells when it's mating season?"
Carla raised an eyebrow, a feat that hadn't been seen since the Botox treatments. "I'm not a monkey."
"I know I've seen somewhere that humans excrete them, too."
"Whatever. Don't care. Need sugary baked goods." Carla folded her arms on the table then plunked her head down on top of them. "Walking dead here."
"Muffins are in the oven. Just a few more minutes." She studied Carla's hair. It was soft and rather downy, like there was no styling product in it. The difference was definitely noticeable as she usually used, at the least, a bit of gel to get the stylishly messy look she loved. Carla styled her hair to go to the gym, but worked the entire night with the naturally dried, cotton candy fluff hairdo? Interesting. "I hope you like strawberries."
"Yeah, sounds fantastic," Carla mumbled into the tabletop.
Amy got up to check on the muffins in the oven. Sometimes they got done quicker than anticipated. With the changes she had made to her basic muffin recipe, that could definitely happen. They were golden brown when she flicked on the oven light. "Is Bruce looking into Kevin as a suspect? The spouse is always under suspicion in a murder case, aren't they?"
A quiet snore, instead of an answer, came from Carla. Making her take a nap in the guest room, instead of driving home after breakfast, would be a good idea. In the state she was in, even after the coffee and muffins, she would probably fall asleep sitting at that long stop light on the corner of Mason and Higgins. The electronic timer began beeping. Carla's head snapped up. "What's wrong? Does an IV need to be changed?"
Poor thing. The beeping must sound like one of the alarms at the hospital. "Nothing's wrong. Just my oven timer."
Amy snatched a strand of uncooked spaghetti out of the jar she used specifically for the cake testing pasta. It was the perfect thing to poke into cakes and muffins, instead of splintery toothpicks, to check for doneness. She stuck the pasta into a couple different muffins. Just a few moist crumbs clung to it. She donned her favorite pair of oven mitts made of red fabric adorned with tiny, screen-printed white hearts. As she set the muffin tin onto a trivet she said, "The muffins need to cool for a few minutes. While we wait, how about you tell me if you found out anything from Bruce. Sounds like you two spent enough time together."
Carla ground her fists into her eyes and shook her head slightly. "She was strangled. I'm pretty sure something was wrapped around her neck, but Bruce wouldn't positively confirm that."
"What about Mandy Jo's husband?"
"What do you mean?"
"So you weren't fake snoring a few minutes ago just to get out of answering me?"
"Uh, no. I don't fake anything." She yawned then her eyes bugged out. "Oh god, please tell me I don't snore like a lumberjack."
Amy plucked the hot muffins out of the tin, using the corners of the pointed parchment wrappers as handles. Forget about letting them sit. If she waited to let them cool much longer, Carla could fall back asleep. "It was a very cute, feminine snore. You were all scrunched up in a weird position with your head on the table anyway. I bet any person would snore in that circumstance. Probably squished your nose or something."
"A cute snore is an oxymoron."
"Whatever, back to Kevin," she said as she set a platter full of crumb-topped muffins in front of Carla. "Aren't spouses always suspects in murders? Has Shepler had him checked out? I swear he actually seemed happy yesterday, laughing and joking while he stood right in front of the casket."
"I haven't asked him." Carla peeled the paper off a muffin and broke it in half. A little puff of steam rose from the yellow cake studded with pockets of ruby colored strawberries. She popped a chunk into her mouth. "Mmm…these are really good."
"Do you think so? It's a new recipe. I replaced most of the butter with applesauce, to make them low fat."
"Really? I never would've guessed that." She tore off another chunk. "Are these for some kind of healthy baking contest? I don't remember you ever making low-fat or reduced calorie goodies before now. You're usually in the real butter, real sugar and heavy cream camp for baked goods."
A healthy baking contest. Amy made a mental note to search for one of those. Since she had decided to try lowering the fat, and calories, in a few of her favorite recipes. If they all turned out good, she may as well see if she could win something with the recipes.
"No contest, just muffin top." She pulled up the bottom of her T-shirt a bit and pinched the roll of squishy fat hanging over the waistband of her jeans. "Mandy Jo's cousin literally threw herself at Alex twice yesterday. While I was standing right beside him. If women are going to keep going after my man, I had better get back into shape. I'm not going down without a fight."
"Stop being so paranoid. You're voluptuous and have sexy curves. I'd do anything to have your boobs."
Considering the Botox treatments were done at a plastic surgeon's office, she wondered if Carla had ever looked into getting breast implants. The difference between Amy and Carla's breasts were like the difference between grapefruits and plums. At least Carla didn't have to worry about finding super-supportive sports bras while she was bouncing around in her high-impact, yoga salsa aerobics classes, or whatever strange hybrid exercise classes she took at the gym.
"Thanks, but I have definitely put on some weight since we were married. I love entering cooking contests, but my belly is getting as smooshy as unbaked bread dough. So, I figured I'll try some low fat recipes to see how good I can make them."
Carla rolled her eyes. "Are you using tomatoes as a butter replacement or something? I swear I smell tomatoes, unless I'm hallucinating from being so tired."
Exhaustion hadn't affected her sense of smell. She had correctly identified the savory undercurrent of tomatoes mingling with the sweet muffin scent. "I'm making baked rigatoni casserole to take to Kevin, you know, to make sure he has something to eat."
"He probably already has a refrigerator full of food. The women in the church auxiliary usually take turns cooking meals for widowers for a few weeks after a funeral. Besides, it's not like you and Mandy Jo were friends. Do you even know him?"
"I've seen him at the Summer Festival."
"Wanna try again, with the real reason, you're taking him food?"
The caffeine must have kicked in. Carla was back to dismantling theories like normal. "Like I said, I think he seemed a little too chipper at the funeral. Not exactly the heartbroken, text book widower."
"People can react in odd ways when they're under stress."
Alex had said the same…damn…thing. It wasn't easy being a creative person surrounded by logical thinkers who based everything on straight lines and
proven facts. She should refuse to feed them whenever they snubbed her out-of-the-box theories.
"He could be stressed to the point of weirdness because he killed his wife. He really started laughing, big old gut buster guffaws, the closer Alex and I got to him."
"So? Maybe he was talking to someone who was very funny."
"Or maybe he laughs when he's nervous, and since he threatened me, the close proximity sent him on a one way trip to chuckle land."
Carla rolled her eyes. Again. A sure sign that she was a non-believer. Her eye muscles were getting an Olympic class workout. She refilled her mug and chugged all of the black coffee at once. "Why would he threaten you?"
Amy stirred the homemade tomato sauce, fragrant with fresh oregano and basil. "I admit I don't know what Kevin would have against me. I've seen Mandy Jo insult complete strangers, so I can only imagine what it was like for him to live with her. The list of reasons he could have to kill her might fill a five subject notebook. She could've caused all kinds of problems for him. What if Mandy Jo liked to pick fights with his mom and he's a mama's boy? Or maybe Mandy Jo was hanging around his office, on her days off from the salon, slinging insults at Kevin's customers to entertain herself."
"Remember, he asked her to marry him."
"True. I doubt she pulled the wool over his eyes so much he didn't know about her evil alter-ego, hell bent on insulting every person in the galaxy."
"So Kevin could very likely have had at least one reason to kill Mandy Jo, but none that you can think of to go after you. There must be another connection you have with Mandy Jo that the killer has put together."
Amy tasted the sauce. It needed a spoonful of sugar to counteract the acidity of the canned tomatoes. She barely knew Kevin. He was getting canned tomatoes, instead of fresh ones that needed to be peeled and seeded, in his meals. "The Summer Festival contests are the only thing I can think of. Someone really wants to win, so they're knocking off the top competitors. That would be very twisted, but there are many special varieties of crazy. Have you read a newspaper lately? Sometimes people commit murder for ridiculous reasons."
Pies & Peril: A Culinary Competition Mystery (Culinary Competition Mysteries) Page 8