KILLER COCOA PIE
Page 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS
KILLER COCOA PIE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
Killer
Cocoa
Pie
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Seven
BY
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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KILLER
COCOA PIE
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Seven
PROLOGUE
* * *
Pies and Pages, the popular combination bakery and bookshop, sat dark, vacant, and empty. The mid-February snows had dusted the sidewalks and windows in a thin layer of translucent white. The muffling power of the low hanging clouds accompanied by the deserted streets of the Old Market created a deafening silence that masked the world in its embrace.
Red and pink construction paper cutouts hung on the inside of the shop’s window. Hearts, cupids, and the word “love” all were reminders of the quickly approaching holiday—the tail end of the season of celebration.
One flyer declared a weekly special for the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. Customers could select a romance novel from the bin along with their preferred flavor of pie. A personal sized version of the dessert would be baked, wrapped up, and delivered along with the book to the loved one of their choosing.
One customer, in particular, found themselves standing outside on the sidewalk in front of the building, staring in. In dark jeans and a black hoodie, the person hid their face from any potential onlookers.
No one looked back at the anonymous voyeur from within the storefront, but there was still the sense that someone was there, hiding away in the shadows.
Clearly, this wouldn’t be a good enough view.
Turning from the shop, the person walked over and opened the door on a large unmarked van. Climbing in, they started the engine, creating an uncomfortable eruption of sound in the silent city.
It only took a minute or so to circle the block and drive back down via the alleyway behind the line of brick shops. Stopping the van, the hooded figure climbed out, grabbing a long instrument off of the passenger seat nearby.
It was there at the back wall that they placed the long cylindrical item against the face of the brick. With a free hand, they began to turn the crank end of the tool, starting the lengthy process ahead.
Soon, a low scraping sound echoed through the night, and the brick began to crumble away.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
When Bertha Hannah rose from bed the next morning, she pulled the curtains on the back window of her apartment and looked out into the alleyway. This was her first week living in the space above her pie shop and she was still getting used to the smaller space. A few moving boxes remained in the living room, waiting to be put away into their respective spaces.
It was a cozy little nest for the older woman, and she was truly grateful that she’d finally made the choice to move. Not having to drive across town in the ice and snow every morning was the biggest bonus of all.
On top of everything else, it was significantly cheaper to heat the small apartment than her entire cottage home. Now, the power and heating bill for that house would be up to her new renters—a young married couple from her own church congregation.
Cradling her first cup of coffee of the morning, she noticed the tire tracks in the snow that seemed to stop at her loading zone. Paying it no mind, and figuring someone had just pulled into the alley on accident, she headed into her kitchen to start preparing breakfast.
She had a lot to do before the day started. She had thought that Christmas was going to be the busiest time of the year, but much to her shock, this past week leading up to Valentine’s Day had proven to be a madhouse of customers all scrambling to get their significant other a tasty gift.
She knew that her latest sales campaign was partially to blame, seeing as she was offering to personally deliver books and pies to people’s homes.
Bert couldn’t be happier to have Shiv as an employee. Shiv had manned a car and ran around the city for the past few days, and they had a few days more until it was actually Valentine’s Day.
As she was pulling the egg carton from the fridge, a knock came on the door. Setting the carton on the counter, she adjusted her bad case of bed head with the flat of her hand before dashing down the staircase to open it.
“Morning, Bert,” Carla greeted with an all too wide smile, entering the apartment.
After the pie shop owner had made the choice to move into the space above the store, her best friend had made the same move into the apartment over Christmas in July, Carla’s year-round holiday business for decorations. “This way we can always be close to each other,” she’d said.
Bert had agreed with her at the time, not realizing that it meant Carla would be over at her door every morning. Although, at this point, she realized she should have made that guess since her friend had always been at the pie shop before opening each day anyway.
“Morning, Carla. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Bert asked, shutting the door to keep out the chilly air and leading the way back up to the apartment.
“That sounds lovely,” her friend stated as she slipped her red leather purse off and set it on the island separating the kitchen from the dining area.
Grabbing the carafe, Bert poured another steaming mug and set it on the table where Carla had taken a seat. “I was just about to put breakfast on if you’re interested,” she noted, knowing all too well that her friend would whole-heartedly accept.
“Ooh, eggs and bacon?”
“You know it.” Opening the carton, she cracked two eggs into the alre
ady heated pan.
Carla grabbed a handful of candy covered chocolate from the glass dish in the center of the table, popping them one at a time into her mouth as she turned in her chair to face Bert in the kitchen. She had a familiar look in her eye that Bert knew meant trouble.
“What is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she retrieved the organic bacon from the meat drawer.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got something on your mind, you’re just not saying what.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
Bert cocked one knowing eyebrow at her friend. Gingerly lifting a slice of bacon from the package, she laid it over the hot cast iron griddle. It sizzled and popped on contact. “Carla?” she scolded her friend.
Giving a sheepish shrug, Carla’s familiar and mischievous half-sided smile appeared. “I was just wondering what you were planning on getting Detective Mannor for Valentine’s Day.”
Hearing the detective’s name, Bert titled her head with a glare as she washed the bacon grease off her hands in the sink. “Absolutely nothing, that’s what.”
“Oh, come on. Why not?” Carla complained.
“Because we aren’t together.”
“Are you sure about that?” Carla teased, lifting her mug.
“Positive. I’m in my sixties. I don’t have time for a boyfriend at this point in my life.”
“And yet, you two have managed to get in at least five dates now, am I right?”
Bert scowled. “Carla!” she hissed, not wanting to talk about Harold Mannor again. With Valentine’s Day on the way, it was all her friend could talk about. She was living out her romantic dreams vicariously through Bert.
“You two hit up that Christmas movie in December. You hung out at the mall.”
“That doesn’t count.”
Carla continued her list without a beat of hesitation, despite the interruption. “You went to that fancy New Year’s Eve gala thing in the mayor’s penthouse, and I know for a fact you’ve had dinner together a few other times at the least.”
“We aren’t dating.”
“And you have coffee together down in the shop probably every day.”
“Not every day,” Bert fought back, pointing a threatening finger at her all-too-irritating best friend.
“At least every other day.”
Rolling her eyes and regretting ever having answered the door, she kept her back to her friend and concentrated on the fried foods in front of her. She knew she would be better off including some sort of fruits or veggies with the breakfast—like some cooked greens, an avocado, or even a sliced orange—but she just didn’t even want to think about it this morning.
“So, have you thought about what you’re going to get Harry?”
“Nothing,” Bert reiterated with a snap in her voice. “And as far as I know, I don’t have plans for Valentine’s Day, so don’t bother asking.”
“Fine, fine.” She put up both hands, surrendering to her friend’s scrutiny. “But seriously, Bert. How much longer are you going to go on lying to yourself?”
Turning around, Bert held up her index finger and opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted by another knock. “Sheesh, what is this, a circus?” she groaned.
“You’re a popular lady. Maybe it’s you-know-who,” Carla added with a hint of a song in her voice, standing up.
Wiping her hands on the yellow and white towel hanging from the refrigerator handle, she shook her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing of the sort. Harry has paperwork to do this morning. He said so last night.”
“So, you were with him last night?”
The knock came again, harder this time.
“If I’d known moving downtown meant being at the beck and call of the entire city’s population at six in the morning I never would have done it,” Bert bemoaned.
If it really was Harry, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
Walking out of the apartment and down the steps, Carla in tow. She paused in surprise.
The man standing just outside the glass door on her threshold wasn’t anyone she recognized, and he certainly didn’t look like someone she would know personally.
His gray hair was perfectly combed and slicked back, and he wore a black pencil-thin mustache that seemed out of date for the time. It was his suit, however, that seemed the most out of place. It was a perfectly tailored black suit with thin white pinstripes.
It was the kind of suit you only saw CEOs and executives of large companies wear. No one Bert knew, and likely no one in all of Culver’s Hood, Nebraska, could afford such an outfit.
Pulling on the doorknob and swinging the door open, she put on her best smile.
“Can I help you?” she asked, a feeling of self-consciousness due to her messy morning hair and frumpy clothing passing over her.
“Are you Mrs. Bertha Hannah, owner of the Pies and Pages shop?” he asked in a slight New England accent.
“That’s me. What can I do for you?” she desperately tried to smooth out her hair with the back of her hand.
“I’m Chase Bradford, of Bradford and Bradford Co. I was wondering if you and I could discuss the potential sale of your business.”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
After instructing the man to wait downstairs in the shop, Bert quickly ran back to the apartment and changed into fresh clothes, pinned up her graying hair, and slapped on a little makeup so she didn’t look quite so dead to the world.
“Bradford and Bradford,” Carla gasped as Bert emerged from the bathroom.
“Did you know he was going to be here?” she pressed, not having the extra time to listen to her best friend gush about how amazing the current situation was.
“Of course, not,” she exclaimed. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know, I was just reading something about them from the tabloids while I waited in line at the supermarket the other day.”
“Carla, don’t read those. They’re nonsense,” she pointed out.
“It was about one of the Bradford brothers, I’m pretty sure,” she continued without a beat.
Bert didn’t see what was so amazing about the whole setup. She’d only opened her shop six months prior and had no intentions of selling it—especially not to some multi-billion-dollar conglomerate like Bradford and Bradford. She’d heard the company name before, had seen it in ads and on paper, but didn’t really know much about them besides the fact that they owned a whole lot of brands and household names.
Now, one of the two Bradford brothers was sitting downstairs waiting to discuss buying Pies and Pages.
In any other case, Bert would have waved a solicitor off, told them to get lost. In this case, Bert felt it was only professional to have a sit down with the man and tell him that she wasn’t interested. Of course, she couldn’t help but inwardly complain about the unprofessional manner of him showing up unannounced on her doorstep at six a.m.
She had to admit, his behavior was odd, but who was she to pass judgment on one of the most successful businessmen in the region?
“Bert, this is a huge company you’re dealing with. What are you going to say?” Carla asked once she realized Bert hadn’t responded to her earlier exclamation.
“I’m going to tell him I’m not interested. Now, how do I look?” She held out her arms as if presenting herself.
“Great.” Carla shrugged.
“Good. Now stay here and enjoy the breakfast I made. No need for both of us to have to wait until it’s stone cold. I’ll be back in ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Got it.” Carla gave an army salute and grabbed a piece of bacon off the communal plate.
Walking down the large wooden staircase from the apartment into the shop, she paused to stand near the table. “Mr. Bradford, would you care for a cup of coffee or a slice of pie? I have some left in the fridge from yesterday.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Hannah.
I’ll only take up a few moments of your time.” He clasped his hands on the table in front of himself expectantly. It was clear he had other places to be and Pies and Pages was just one stop along his way.
Bert pulled out the chair across from him and sat.
“Now, Mrs. Hannah, as I understand it you’ve only been open for a few months.”
“That’s right.”
“And yet, the numbers for your business seem to be going up exponentially each passing week. Am I correct?”
“I’ve had some moderate success, yes,” she replied, underplaying the truth. Pies and Pages was doing better than she would have ever imagined. Thanks to the fact that so many residents and tourists visited the Old Market historic part of downtown, she had a constant and steady flow of customers. While book sales weren’t as high as they could be, pie sales were through the roof. “I’m sorry, what exactly is this about? You said you were interested in buying my shop?” she asked, wanting to get to the point.
His plastered-on smile straightened out into a tight line before returning to its upturned state. Clearly, there was a hint of agitation just below the surface. “As a matter-of-fact, that is exactly right.” He waved a finger at her as he grabbed his briefcase and set it on the table. “You see, we’ve been impressed by your business and would love to become a part of it.”
Bert raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m afraid to say you’re wasting your time. My shop isn’t for sale.”
“Hold on. Just hear me out.” He held up a hand to tell her to be quiet, something Bert didn’t care for.
Despite the fancy clothes, the strained smile, and the hint of friendliness in his voice, she couldn’t help but feel as if this man were purposefully demeaning her.
“Excuse me, but what exactly does Bradford and Bradford do?” she pressed, wondering what kind of scam this guy could be up to. She’d heard of successful businessmen purposefully targeting little mom and pop shops for liquidation. Based on this man’s robotic behaviors, she wasn’t too keen on spending much longer with him.