Killer Apple Pie

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  He gladly took her hand and shook it with a firm grip. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Hannah. If we can work out something here that will help both you, me, and Mr. Pennyworth, I’m thrilled to talk business.”

  “As am I. Brinkley being an old friend of mine. If we can keep him upright, I am more than happy to offer a helping hand.”

  “It’s about time someone took over the business, anyway,” Brinkley added with an honest smile, something he hadn’t been able to do for months. “Shall we all adjourn to the office?” He motioned for them to follow and led the way into the cramped back room of the bookstore.

  “Whew, it’s warm in here,” Bert admitted, taking a seat on a wooden chair in front of the desk. Kyle sat in the seat next to hers.

  “Yes, you’ll have to forgive me, but I always shut the vent when I’m working back here.” He pointed up at the ceiling. An old metal grate was situated directly above the desk.

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  Brinkley set down a file folder full of paperwork on the desk. “I keep a lot of papers and other similarly light items out here.” He indicated the multilevel paper tray, his sticky notes, his pens, a long silver letter opener, and his pile of pocket items—keys, wallet, loose change, a stick of gum, and even a little lint. “Whenever I leave that vent open, the wind comes in from outside and blows all my things around and makes a mess, so I preemptively closed it for tonight. I didn’t want any of this important paperwork to get messed up.” He tapped the brown folder.

  “These are old buildings, Mrs. Hannah. Sometimes these things can be a little finicky. However, what you lack in modern amenities is made up with the charm of having a shop in the official historic Old Market,” Kyle added his two cents worth on the matter.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she smirked.

  “Shall we get down to business?” Kyle asked, motioning to Brinkley.

  “Of course,” he said, taking a seat behind the desk. “I had all these papers drawn up this afternoon by my lawyer, whom I also owe a small sum. Still, with the knowledge that I would be getting money out of this deal to pay him, he agreed to help me out.”

  “Shall we go over the basics?” Kyle suggested.

  “A good idea. These papers, at their very simplest, transfer my entire business, all the merchandise, shelves, and material here in the store to you. In the end, we sign the papers and I walk off leaving everything as is for you.”

  “Crystal clear so far,” Bert said.

  “Also, you’ll take over my lease here with Mr. Jankes. I’ll remain responsible for the money I owe to him for the months I’ve been here, but will no longer be held accountable for future payments, including this month of August.”

  Kyle only smiled and nodded.

  “Sounds alright to me,” she asserted.

  “Did you get a chance to read over the agreement I sent you earlier?” Kyle asked.

  “I read your e-mails and it all seems very fair,” she agreed.

  “In the end, there will be only one item that I keep from the shop.”

  Bert held up a finger for him to stop. “Let me guess. Your family heirloom?”

  He chuckled slightly. “That’s the one.”

  “I feel that is very agreeable,” she said.

  “As do I,” Kyle added. “Now, there is one other thing I want to know before we sign anything. This shop has been struggling for some time now. Mrs. Hannah, what makes your business plan different? Do you have a vision to change things up so that the business becomes profitable again?”

  “I do have a plan, in fact,” she told him with a wide smile. Instantly, she started into her practiced speech she’d prepared and memorized. It was the same one she’d used at the bank when discussing the possibility of a business loan. She talked about all the ins and outs of Pies and Pages. “Not only will it be a combination pie shop and bookstore, but we are going to start selling new merchandise as well, new books by up-and-coming authors. This will allow for lower prices on the used books.”

  “I have to admit, Mrs. Hannah, I’m in love with your idea. I think adding the food element is an excellent idea.”

  “Thank you very much,” she smirked, feeling proud of her business plan.

  “However, I still have my concerns.”

  This came as a small blow to Bert. She’d worked hard on her presentation and had made sure it was perfect. She had wowed the loan specialist with it, so what was wrong now? “Oh?” she asked, trying to remain polite.

  “You seem like a capable woman, but do you have any experience in business? How do I know you’ll be able to handle a venture of this magnitude?” he asked.

  She nodded, carefully formulating her answer. “It’s an honest question, but I can assure you that I know my way around. My late husband ran a successful carpet laying business for over thirty years, and I was always the one to balance the books.”

  “And what has happened to this business?”

  “When my Howie passed on, I sold the company for a considerable sum which I have in a savings account. So, you see, I not only have an upcoming loan from the bank for this venture, I also have the extra capital to give this location the real renovation and spark it needs.”

  Kyle couldn’t help but smile with utter satisfaction. “You certainly seem like a woman who knows what she’s doing.”

  “I am that, thank you,” she agreed.

  “In that case, I have no other qualms or questions.” He motioned to the file folder on the desk. “Shall we sign the papers?”

  * * *

  Once they’d completed the deal, Kyle and Bert stood up and prepared to leave for the night. It was already nine and they’d been sitting for a couple hours going over the details.

  “Here is your key,” Brinkley held out the brass key.

  “Thank you very much,” she said, graciously taking it. She felt somewhat powerful holding the key and knowing the shop was officially hers.

  “I am truly grateful to you. With this money from selling the business, I’ll be able to finally pay off my debts.”

  “And we are all thrilled to know that,” Kyle laughed, patting Brinkley on the back.

  “Now, I’ve kept a copy of the key. I’ll finish closing up tonight and take a few moments to say goodbye if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Bert noted, completely understanding the need to have rituals in life.

  “When I’m done, I’ll lock up the place and then slip the key through the mail slot for you.”

  “Perfect,” she replied, forming her thumb and index finger into an “O” shape. “I hope to see you around still.”

  He nodded with a smile. “Trust me. You will.”

  With that, they all shook hands one more time, and Bert and Kyle headed out into the night, walking in separate directions to their cars.

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  Bert woke up the next morning with a delighted anticipation, a sensation she hadn’t felt since Howie was alive. Sliding out of bed and going about her usual routine, she could hardly contain her excitement. Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t wait to get into the shop and get down to work.

  There was a lot of planning to do, a lot of cleaning, and a lot of moving. Luckily, she knew, when it came time to clear out the left side of the shop, a few of the young men from the church would be willing to help move items back and forth for her. Boxes of books weren’t exactly light, after all.

  Unusual as it was, Bert skipped reading the newspaper that morning and instead grabbed her coffee and muffin and headed out the door.

  She was already keenly aware that she was going to have to change her usual morning schedule around slightly. While the bookstore never opened until ten in the morning, and Bert intended on keeping those hours, the new pie aspect to the shop would require her or other employees she hired to arrive early and start preparations for the day’s menu items.

  As she drove away from her cottage home, she formulated plans in
her mind about how the menu would work. She knew that there should always be a few well-known staples available: apple, cherry, lemon, coconut, chocolate, and a few more she hadn’t settled on yet. She might even set them on a rotating daily schedule throughout each week.

  On top of the regulars, she decided she would also do weekly specials, delicious new pies for patrons to try and enjoy.

  However, pies weren’t the only thing on her mind. There were, of course, books as well. She had a plethora of wonderful ideas about how to bring the local writing community together with readers. Signings, readings, children’s hour, book clubs, and so much more were on the table as fantastic new ways to interest the public in the store.

  It was all so thrilling she could taste it already. Also, being just around the corner from her best friend’s Christmas shop was an added bonus.

  Bert finally arrived at the Jefferson Street Booksellers and parked. Getting out, she breathed deeply.

  The streets of three-story brick buildings really made this part of town seem like something preserved in time. The cobblestone streets mixed with the classic storefronts. The wrought iron street lights–which looked just like old gas lamps—created an ambiance she had always loved.

  It was why she’d been so drawn to it all these years. Many of the shops even had the gothic style iron fences out front or around concrete stairways that led down to basements or kitchens where the hired help used to go in and out.

  She was happy to see that she could also see the main square and Old Market Gardens at the middle of the historic district.

  When spring rolled around the following year, there would be beautiful blooms to see.

  Breathing in deeply, she took in all the excitement and beauty. It all seemed serendipitous. Even though it was against her usual nature to just make such a big decision on the fly, she couldn’t help but feel it was meant to be.

  It was a dream come true.

  Finally turning to her new shop, she unlocked the door, which was firmly latched, and stepped inside. Glancing down at the entrance mat where patrons could wipe their feet, she looked for the key.

  However, after some inspection, it appeared that the key wasn’t there at all.

  “He must have just forgotten to slip it through,” she said out loud, confident he would come back whenever he realized he still had it and give it to her. It was no problem.

  Setting her purse on the counter, she took in the cluttered, yet cozy atmosphere of the store around her.

  That was when she noticed a light still on in the office, seeping through the crack of the slightly open door and casting a line through the dim shop.

  “He is forgetful,” she complained, heading through the stacks to the back. He’d not remembered to return the key or turn off the light before he locked up and left the night before.

  Opening the office door, she grabbed the switch to turn it off.

  However, before she could plunge the room into darkness, she froze stiff, staring at the strange and unexpected sight presented before her. Leaning back in the office chair, his eyes wide open in a death stare, was the dead body of Brinkley Pennyworth—a bloody wound seeping through his nice white shirt.

  Bert screamed.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  Bert sat in the upstairs break room at Christmas in July with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands and a warm, freshly made donut sitting on a napkin in front of her—both from a local café and compliments of her dear friend Carla.

  The police detective placed in charge of the case took control the instant he was on the premises—and that included sweeping Bert aside for the time being.

  Detective Harold Mannor seemed like a stiff, by-the-rules kind of guy, and had somewhat poor bedside behavior when it came to situations like this. He’d been firm, but demanding in his assertion that Bert wait for him to finish up preliminary investigations before he would ask her any questions.

  He preferred that she not remain inside the shop while they did their initial walk-through for evidence. Bert suggested she go and stay at a friend’s shop until he was ready to talk to her.

  “Just don’t go too far. I don’t want to end up having to track you down if you decide to run off,” he warned her in his husky voice.

  She didn’t like the sound of his tone and already knew she was being considered as one of the suspects. Still, she gladly left to find her dear friend at the Christmas shop.

  She’d been in a state of horror upon her arrival, but had finally managed to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Thankfully, the Christmas carols playing on the radio were rather helpful in this regard.

  “I just can’t imagine finding someone like that,” Carla noted, taking a seat at the table with her friend, her own cup of coffee in hand. The mug she was using was red with a white rim to look like snow.

  “The whole thing doesn’t seem quite real, yet,” Bert admitted.

  “Do the police really think it was murder?”

  Bert looked her in the eye. “If you’d seen what I had, you’d believe it was murder.”

  Carla shivered. “Spooky. How did he die?”

  “I’m not positive, but I think he was stabbed with something. That’s what it looked like.”

  “Stabbed? Oh heavens, with what?”

  “I didn’t stick around very long to find out, would you?”

  Carla nervously bit her bottom lip. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

  “Anyway, I don’t remember seeing a darn thing. No knife, no weapon of any kind. I mean, it isn’t like that room is totally clean and tidy, and neither was that desk.”

  Carla let out a loud gasp. “What if the killer hid it somewhere in there?”

  “With the mess in there, it could take the police days to find it.”

  “Take us days to find what, exactly?” echoed a male voice from the doorway of the small break room. Detective Harold Mannor stood there in his knee-length gray trench coat, white shirt, and red tie. His badge clung to his coat lapel in a lopsided manner that bothered Bert. The detective was an older man appearing to be in his late sixties, and was the sort of fellow you’d expect to have retired already. Instead, he was standing there with his silver hair, a bulldog of a face, and a small cardboard box under one arm.

  He was ready to ask some questions about the murder. “Well, what will take us days to find, Mrs. Hannah?” he reiterated his question.

  “The murder weapon.”

  “Are you admitting to tampering with evidence?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes in an accusatory way.

  “Certainly not,” Bert defended herself.

  Carla jumped in to her defense. “Bert was just saying that she didn’t see any murder weapon on the scene when she found the body, and we both guessed it could be hidden among the storage boxes in that office.”

  “And you are?” he shot a glance at the second woman whom he’d not met yet.

  “This is Carla Young, a good friend of mine and the owner of this shop,” Bert informed him, not wanting her to get mixed up in all this murder business.

  “I see,” the officer said, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Without asking to be invited, he pulled out a chair and sat at the table, setting the cardboard box down next to him.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, Detective?” Carla asked.

  “If you don’t mind,” he responded without so much as a please or thank you, never making eye contact with Carla. Instead, he had his gaze trained on Bert.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  “Black,” he harrumphed.

  Carla bowed slightly, not wanting to bother him any more than she already had since he seemed so annoyed. Walking across the room, she grabbed the carafe from beside the sink and poured a new cup.

  The whole time, the detective stared at Bert.

  Setting the pink, white, and red patterned Christmas mug in front of the officer, he picked it up and sipped from it—only stopping for a brief second to eye the cup’s design with a twitching lip of
distaste.

  “Mrs. Hannah, do you know what this is?” he asked, holding up a small brass key that was identical to the one she had inside her purse.

  “Brinkley Pennyworth’s key to the building, I assume,” she shrugged, not understanding why this was the first question out of the gate.

  “And, exactly, how do you know it’s a building key?”

  “Easy, it’s the same one I have to the building.” Digging into her purse, she retrieved her key and placed it on the table next to her donut.

  He eyed it with a curious gaze. “How, may I ask, did you get that key?”

  “Brinkley gave it to me last night.”

  “He gave it to you?” the officer pressed with an inquisitive stare.

  “Of course. I signed all the paperwork to buy the bookshop from him.”

  At this, Detective Mannor paused, scrunching his lips together. “You purchased the business?”

  “Just last night. Mr. Jankes and I were there to take care of all the papers and to collect the key to the building.”

  “Mr. Jankes? Who is that?”

  “Kyle Jankes. He’s the landlord to a few different pieces of property here in Old Market,” Carla chimed in.

  The detective paused, clearly unamused with Carla’s presence. “Mrs. Young, was it?” he asked, turning in his seat slightly.

  “That’s right.”

  “Would you please wait outside.” It was a command, not a suggestion.

  She paused, her mouth open slightly in shock. Bert knew that look. Her friend was offended. However, without a word of complaint, Carla was out the door, shutting it behind herself.

  “There, a little more privacy,” he grunted.

  “She was telling the truth. His name is Kyle Jankes and he is the landlord.”

  “I don’t doubt it. He has a key to the building as well, I presume.”

  “Of course. What landlord wouldn’t have a key to their own building?”

  The detective nodded and pulled out a notepad, scribbling down a few haphazard sentences.