Killer Apple Pie

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Anyway, the point is, I’ve spent the whole day today trying to scrounge up some extra cash and I’m ready to up my offer to two-hundred dollars.” She lifted the cash from her purse.

  The woman’s pitiful and dishonest offer agitated Bert’s sense of justice. “Two hundred for a five-thousand-dollar book?” she blurted out before she realized what she was saying. Instantly, she regretted the words, biting her lips closed.

  Pearl paused, her face becoming grim with irritation. “So, I guess you figured it out, huh?”

  Sighing, she nodded. “I just couldn’t understand why you were so eager to get your hands on it, so I looked up the real value.”

  “How inconvenient,” she sneered, shoving the cash back into her purse.

  “I assume it’s something Brinkley never knew since he wasn’t exactly computer savvy.”

  “No, he was just stubborn. Family heirloom, he said.”

  “Why didn’t you just take the book when you left the shop?” she asked, stepping into dangerous territory. Her morbid curiosity had gotten the better of her.

  The woman tilted her head with surprised eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Bert swallowed hard, worrying she’d said too much. “You were here Friday night, correct? To see Mr. Pennyworth about the book?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You overheard, maybe from my friend Carla, about how I was planning to purchase the business. You assumed that Brinkley would take the book with him if he left, so you assumed that was your final chance to get your hands on it.”

  The woman’s lip twitched nervously. “You’re wrong. I never came near the place.”

  “You didn’t show up after you saw me and Mr. Jankes leave?”

  “No, I did not,” she snapped, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her purse.

  “And you didn’t come in here, offering again to buy the book?”

  “No.”

  “When he refused, you lost it. Without thinking, you picked up the letter opener from his desk and jammed it into his chest.”

  “No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “The same weapon you hid in the book you brought into the shop yesterday?”

  “No, no, no.” The woman was frantically digging in her purse, retrieving her medication bottle. Tipping the bottle, the one remaining pill toppled onto the floor, rolling to Bert’s feet. “See what you’ve done?”

  Leaning down, Bert picked it up. The little white pill suddenly sparked her memory. She’d seen this somewhere before. In all the items the detective had collected from the desk—the keys, the change, the gum—the thing they had both mistaken as a mint was actually one of the woman’s pills.

  “I bet these cost quite a lot of money, even with the help from insurance.”

  “Give me back that pill.”

  “Is that why you’ve been trying to get ahold of that book? You could turn around and sell it for thousands.”

  “I need my medicine,” she exclaimed, tears coming to her eyes.

  Bert’s eyes lowered to the poor woman. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “How do they expect a woman of my age, with pitiful retirement and no job, to pay for this kind of thing?” she groaned. “Oh, they think you’re in good health just because you can get around without a cane or walker, that you’re not totally dependent on someone else, but I’m not.”

  “You hoped you could make some quick, easy money by buying and reselling that rare book.”

  “I-I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was just so desperate for the money, and when that stubborn old man wouldn’t give the book to me, I finally went into a blind rage. It was like I wasn’t even myself. I picked up that letter opener and jammed it into him.” She shook her head, her hands shaking. “The next thing I knew, he was dead. I panicked, grabbed his key, and ran out of the shop. I locked the door behind me.”

  “You didn’t even think to grab the book, the whole reason you came in.”

  “I was afraid. Once I was outside, I realized I had the key.”

  “And you’ve been to this shop so many times throughout the years, you knew a lot about the building.”

  “I climbed up the fire escape to the roof and dropped the key back down inside through the vent.”

  “And then you came back the next day, hoping I’d sell the book to you.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do…” she paused as a knock came at the door.

  “That’s going to be the detective,” Bert noted.

  “Detective?” her voice wavered.

  “You’ll want to tell him what you told me,” she instructed her, going to let him in. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Detective Mannor standing there with a pizza box in his hands.

  “Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of paying for your pizza,” he grunted.

  Chapter 16

  * * *

  “And here we are. The very first pie baked here in the Pies and Pages bookstore,” Bert announced, setting the steaming apple pie down on the table in front of Carla and Kyle. They were sitting at the corner table, an antique piece crafted out of wrought iron and heavy oak. A fringed maroon tablecloth draped over it.

  The workers had completed the remodel of the left side of the shop just the day before, transforming it from a humble room into an exquisite pie shop modeled after the Victorian style. They had even put in a false iron door to make the brick wall beside the counter look like an old-fashioned oven.

  During the winter months, the door would heat up, warming the patrons as they ate and read.

  “Oooh, it’s just beautiful,” Carla beamed.

  The pie itself, made from only fresh ground flour and the crispiest of farmer’s market apples, was a work of art. The golden-brown lattice work across the top glistened with the sparkle of melted sugar, and the scent of cinnamon and apples penetrated every corner of the room.

  “And you did it without your cookbook? I’m surprised.”

  Bert shrugged. “As a business owner, I’ve got to learn to be a little more flexible. Besides, I figured, now that I own a bookstore, why not write a cookbook myself?”

  Carla clapped her hands. “Ooh, it’s a lovely idea.”

  Kyle rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to get a taste of this.”

  Setting out two acrylic plates, each designed with embellishments to imitate fine china, Bert sliced and served the pie. The caramelized apple filling glistened as she plated it.

  Carla was the first one to take a bite, her lips squeezing together in glee as she savored the flavor. “Oh, my. You’ve really outdone yourself, Bert.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Kyle scolded jokingly, digging in and shoveling the first bite into his mouth.

  “Well, what’s the verdict? Do I have my landlord’s approval?”

  Kyle waited a moment while he finished enjoying the bit of apple pie he’d just eaten. Finally, he lifted his fork. “I think I made a wise choice allowing your business here in Old Market.”

  Bert clasped her hands like a delighted schoolgirl. “Fantastic.”

  “I can’t wait for the grand opening,” he admitted.

  Bert took a seat, setting down a third plate and serving herself a slice. “Well, that won’t be for another week and a half, at least. There is still a lot of work to do. I have to move some shelves in here to the pie shop and make sure they’re filled with the new releases I ordered, and I have to continue cleaning out that cluttered apartment and the storage rooms, too. I want it to feel cozy, but not too cluttered. I’m shooting for the first of October as opening day.”

  She had yet to do her street sale to thin out her merchandise but figured she’d have to do it this next week, or wait until the shop was officially open.

  “I’ll leave my calendar open,” he admitted, shoveling another delicious bite of pie into his mouth.

  “I can’t imagine a better way to begin fall than with a warm a
pple pie,” Carla admitted.

  “It is the first day of autumn, isn’t it?” Bert proclaimed, remembering it was now the twenty-second of September. The remodel had flown by in a blur, despite it having taken nearly seven weeks. Luckily, during all that time, she’d been sorting books, organizing shelves, and getting the bookshop prepared for the grand opening. However, there were still tasks to be done before October.

  Still, she was thrilled. She preferred colder weather to the hot days of summer.

  “Yep, and my busy season.” Carla finished her last bite.

  “Do you want another?”

  “Yes, please,” she smiled.

  Bert dished it out. “I just hope I can get the hang of running a business and survive the holidays at the same time.”

  “Oh, you’ll do fantastic. People will be clambering to get a warm treat while they’re out doing a little holiday shopping. You know, you should do hot chocolate and apple cider with the pies, too.”

  “Whoa, one step at a time. I have to make sure I’ve got everything under control first,” Bert said.

  “Maybe in the future, then,” Carla suggested.

  “Maybe, yes.”

  “So, have you seen much of that detective since you caught the killer?” Carla pressed, wiggling her eyebrows and cutting into her second slice.

  “Not really. I’m sure he’s busy with other things. Why?”

  “I don’t know, based on what you said, it seemed like he sort of liked you.”

  “Liked me? He couldn’t stand me. Half the time we were butting heads.”

  “That’s how it always starts,” she sing-songed.

  “She’s right, you know,” Kyle added.

  “Oh, what do you know? You’re too young.”

  “I say it how I see it,” he said.

  “Besides, I’m not interested in anything like that. I could never be with anyone else besides Howie. Also, I’m too busy with my new business.”

  “I still say he likes you,” Carla offered her opinion, munching on another bite.

  “I sure hope not. I don’t think we would get along.” She paused a moment, thinking about the bullheaded, irritating, and pompous detective. “Although, he did pay for my pizza. The least I can do is make him a pie, I suppose.”