“You’re a little boring, but most young people are.”
“Thanks.”
“Give it time. You’ll make memories.”
I kicked a loose stone. It rattled down the hill and bounced against a cypress. “Whatever.”
“All that bother over toilets,” Charlene said.
I fiddled with my collar. A teensy part of me had thought Mark might be involved in the murders, but his only crime had been contraband plumbing. “And no Bigfoot or aliens either. Are you disappointed?”
“Nonsense! We solved two of the crimes in Joe’s casebook in one blow.” She swung her fist. “That’s cause for celebration.”
“It’s hard to believe they went to all that trouble for plumbing supplies.”
Her gaze flicked skyward. “That Loomis, he’s spent his life living in his head and dragging other people into his fantasy world. If you ask me, he should spend more time on planet Earth.”
Gee, that didn’t sound like anyone I knew. Nope, not at all.
“We should report that jaguar to the police.” She pushed aside a low branch. “It’s not normal that it’s so close to people’s houses. It might attack a pet or a child.”
The branch thwacked me in the chest, and I sighed. “Mountain lion.”
Chapter 20
Sunday at Pie Town was about the same as Saturday—tourists filled most booths, and a good number of locals popped in for pies to go. Relieved by the uptick, I worked in the kitchen with Hannah, filling crusts for a blueberry pie and remembering the good times I’d had with Mark. And there had been good times. It was after we’d gotten engaged that he’d grown snappish and sullen. I hadn’t challenged his new, churlish behavior, assuming he was stressed over restarting his realty business in San Nicholas. Now I regretted my lack of curiosity. I might have learned something before I’d bought that damned dress.
Had we rushed things? I’d always been more enthusiastic about the wedding than Mark. But he had asked me to marry him, proudly announcing our engagement to our friends in Southern California. But once the excitement of the announcement faded, reality had set in. Maybe the financial risk I’d taken with Pie Town had scared him off. Maybe the time and energy I’d put into it rather than into him had wrecked things. For whatever reason, he’d changed his mind about marrying me. Instead of telling me outright, he’d made us both miserable until I’d given him an ultimatum. And then we were done.
Charlene snapped her fingers by my ear. “Pie Town to Val. What planet are you on?”
I jerked away, startled, and sugared blueberries scattered across the metal counter. “Charlene! It’s after lunch. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see how things were going. We’ve got a decent crowd today, nice. Not our best Sunday, but respectable.”
I swept the errant blueberries into the doublewide sink. “Isn’t it great? Things are finally turning around, aren’t they?” Glancing at the ceiling, I said a silent prayer of thanks.
She tapped her chin. “There’s more to your good mood than sales. What’s going through that head of yours?”
“Nothing.”
She snorted. “That I can believe.”
“I’m making pie! It’s not intellectually taxing. What am I supposed to be thinking about?”
She glared at Hannah, and the girl scuttled into the flour workroom, shutting the door behind her.
“The case,” Charlene said. “Last night. By the way, I called the police when I got home about that jaguar.” She frowned. “I don’t think they believed me.”
“I called them too and told them about the mountain lion.” I’m not sure the police believed me either, but mountain lion sightings weren’t unheard of in this area. “We were lucky Mark was there.”
“Mark? Mark didn’t save us, Loomis did.”
My cheeks warmed. “Well, they all did. Anyway, it was a good thing.”
“You’re not turning that weasel of an ex into some sort of hero, are you? He left you at the altar. That’s not exactly hero material.”
“I wasn’t at the altar. We hadn’t even hired the caterer yet.” And it was a good thing we hadn’t, or we would have lost a huge security deposit.
She waved her hand. “Details. You dodged a bullet with that one, Val. Let him go.”
“Of course.” I blew out my breath. “It’s totally over,” I said. “Done.”
“You’re too good for him, and there are other fish in the sea.”
My part-time cashier stuck his shaggy head in the kitchen. “Val? There’s someone named Joy here to see you.”
“Joy? From the comic shop?”
He shrugged, his sandy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s what she said.” He vanished into the dining area.
“Maybe she found another clue in some of Joe’s things.” Charlene nudged me. “Go and find out.”
Peeling off my gloves, I strode into the dining area and wiped my damp hands on my pink and white Turn Your Frown Upside Down apron.
Joy sat in a booth at the front window, her expression impassive. A curvy blond sat across from her, talking and patting a baby, snuggled against her chest. It burped and spit up on the cloth over her shoulder. The blond wiped the baby’s mouth and picked up a set of large, plastic keys from beside her coffee cup, jiggling them.
The baby clapped his hands.
I approached the table. “Hi!”
Joy ran her fingers through her curtain of black hair. “Hi, Val. This is Frank Potts’s daughter, Tandy, and, uh . . .”
“Joshua.” Tandy smiled. “I’d offer to shake hands, but they’re a little full at the moment.”
“Tandy couldn’t get a sitter,” Joy said.
“He’s adorable,” I said. The baby arched for a better view of the ceiling. “How old is he?”
“Nine months. I hardly ever get out anymore, so I was thrilled when Joy invited me for lunch. My dad mentioned there was a new pie place in town.” Her eyes grew misty. “He really loved dessert.”
“My condolences on your loss. You might not remember, but we met at your father’s funeral.” I didn’t know if Joy had told Tandy my fears about her father’s death, and I hoped she hadn’t. If I was wrong, it would only upset her. But if I was right . . .
“Of course. I remember you now.” She grabbed the spit-up towel and dabbed her eyes. “Sorry. My dad and I were pretty close. I live in San Francisco, and tried to see him as often as possible. But when Joshua was born, it got difficult.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I lost my mom a year ago, and it still hits me at random moments. Have you ordered?”
Joy motioned toward the counter. “Yeah. I ordered at the register.” She looked out the window. “Val and I think the police are incompetent and are taking up Frank and Joe’s mantle as amateur crime solvers.”
Tandy’s brow wrinkled.
“I wouldn’t say incompetent,” I said, shifting my weight. “Did Joy tell you about the casebook of Joe’s we found?”
Tandy nodded. “I knew about their cases. Well, not the details, not until the investigations were complete at least. Dad got a real kick out of them.”
“How did they get started?” I leaned my hip against the side of the pink booth.
Tandy scooted over, and I sat beside her.
“They were both Sherlock Holmes fans,” Tandy said, “and they would argue about the stories. Conan Doyle was terrific, but they found all sorts of plot holes. And then, they started arguing about the local crime blotter. All petty stuff, but Sherlock’s cases also often seemed trivial and then turned into bigger things. So they began investigating—armchair stuff, but they had fun with it.”
“My piecrust maker and I might have solved two of their four open cases,” I said.
Joy straightened, her dark brows drawing together. “Oh?”
I told them about the high-flow toilet smugglers, and Tandy burst into laughter. “That’s perfect! But what are the other cases?”
“A Whispering Wanderer,
as yet unknown, and a case about a local woman named Antheia Royer,” I said. “Did your father mention anything about either of them to you?”
A shadow passed across Joy’s face.
“Antheia Royer?” Tandy bounced the baby standing on her lap. “The name sounds familiar. Why don’t you ask her?”
“She was killed.”
“Oh.” Tandy stilled. “That seems a bit more serious than Dad’s usual cases.”
“He could have been investigating Antheia or carrying out an investigation on her behalf.”
“Who was she?” Tandy asked.
“A lawyer,” I said. “She was also on the library board.”
“The library board?” Tandy said, her tone uncertain. “Dad didn’t care for them much. I’m surprised he would work with her.”
“Why?”
“He thought the new library was a waste of money. It seemed strange, because he was a big reader, and he loved the old library. But maybe that’s why he resisted the new one. He was never a big one for change.”
“Joe said the same thing,” Joy said. “Wouldn’t set foot in the place.”
“Tandy,” I said, “did Joe come to see you after your father died?”
“Yes, he asked if he could have my dad’s last casebook. I gave him the key to Dad’s house and let him take what he wanted.” She turned her head toward Joy. “I’d love to get that notebook from you, when you get a chance.”
A bead of sweat rolled between my shoulder blades. How was I going to get Frank’s pilfered casebook to Joy without her despising me forever? “Your father’s house? Is it still vacant?” I asked Tandy. Maybe there were clues hidden inside.
“It sold in a week. We had to hustle to get all Dad’s stuff out.”
Joy slid from the booth. “Where’s the ladies room?”
I pointed, and she strode toward it.
Joshua grabbed a fistful of Tandy’s hair, and she winced, prying herself free. “I can’t believe my dad and Joe are gone. I think Dad’s death was hard on him.”
“On Joe?”
She nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, Joe had a great life. He loved that comic shop, and he loved Joy, but he and Frank were almost brothers. Funny how families come together.”
I nodded. Funny how quickly they can unravel too. My family had died with my mother.
“At least he still had Joy,” she said. “She was like a daughter to Joe. I heard some of her relatives are upset she inherited, but Joe was pretty open about whom he planned on leaving his money to and why. Joy was the only one who visited Joe regularly. She stopped by at least twice a month, and usually spent the night. She deserved every penny Joe left her. She never took a dime from him while he was alive, and she could have used the cash.”
“Oh?”
“Out of work for two years?” She shook her head. “I don’t know how she managed.”
“It sounds as if you and Joy were close.” And Joy had intimated they weren’t. What was up with that?
She flushed. “We’re not anymore. I shouldn’t be repeating gossip. Joe talked to my dad, and he talked to me. I wish I had a friend like Joy again, the way my dad and Joe had each other to pal around with. But these days I’m pretty much all baby, all the time.”
Joshua gurgled, and she bounced him.
The counter clerk whisked two mini-potpies to the table and hustled into the kitchen. She gazed, wistful, at the steaming pie.
“I can hold him for a bit, so you can eat while the pie’s still hot,” I said.
“Would you?”
She handed the baby to me and flipped the spit-up cloth over my shoulder. Joshua’s blue eyes widened, as if startled by the sudden shift, and he grabbed my nose. I screwed up my face, and he laughed.
Joy returned to the table and picked up a fork. “Best business neighbor ever.”
“Joy, that homeless man you told me about, did he ever return?”
“No, thank God.” She dug into the pie.
“You said he was weird. How?”
“He had this creepy, whispery voice. You had to lean in to hear him, and trust me, I did not want to lean in.”
The Whispering Wanderer had come to Joe’s comic shop! Maybe he was a detecting client as well. “Did he and Joe know each other?”
“I doubt it,” Joy said.
“So he didn’t ask for Joe when he came in?” The baby wriggled in my arms.
Joy put her fork down and stared at me. “I could only hear every third word he said. What’s up?”
“One of the cases in the books—the Case of the Whispering Wanderer. It might be him.” Too late I realized my mistake.
“I don’t remember any whispering wanderers in Joe’s book.”
“Oh . . . Maybe it was in one of his older books.” The case had been in Frank’s book, not Joe’s. Would either of them catch my misstep?
“I guess I didn’t study the book for very long,” Joy admitted.
I flopped back in my seat, relieved. “Tandy, did your father mention anything strange or upsetting going on in San Nicholas?”
Tandy paused between bites of potpie. “Upsetting? No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.” Her father’s death was presumed to be an accident, but so was Joe’s. And Antheia’s was considered a random crime. Could Frank’s death have been murder? I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
* * *
Early Monday, I stumbled from my closet and into my office, remembered we were closed, and sat hard on my desk chair. Had I done the right thing by closing Mondays? When my mom and I had plotted our fantasy pie shop, we’d neglected the stresses of management, the tough decisions, the long hours. I’d thought I’d gotten past the hard part, the start-up, but would the hard part ever end?
Opposite me, my wedding dress hung, stiff and hard with lace, accusing. My mom had talked a lot about my wedding day, even after we’d both realized she wouldn’t live to see it. An ache blossomed in my chest.
The heck with it. I might dither over Pie Town’s future, but there was one thing I could be decisive about. I was getting rid of the gown. Today.
Dressing in jeans and a long-sleeved, black, knit top, I put on a pair of black, low-heeled boots. No comfort shoes needed today; I wouldn’t be on my feet baking pies.
I made coffee in my industrial kitchen and wandered into the dining area, mug in hand. Through the windows, fog hung low on the street, the shops on Main Street shuttered. I checked my watch: six o’clock. There wasn’t a whole lot to do in San Nicholas at this hour, but the trails were open from sunrise to sunset.
Shoving the plastic-wrapped wedding gown into the back of my VW, I motored to the coast. I’d noticed a trailhead near Miss Pargiter’s house, and I pulled into its narrow dirt lot high on a cliff. A wooden sign marking the trail had been nailed beside a gap in the redwood fencing, leading to an overgrown path. The fog was thicker here, closer to the ocean, but beams of sunlight pierced the branches above, turning the mist golden.
A crow perched on a fence post. He clicked at me, his feathers ruffled.
Stomach going squishy, I stepped onto the path. It felt wrong to wander when I should be making pies, setting out coffee, polishing tables for the morning’s opening. And also: murderer on the loose! But it was time to grow up and get a life.
A gust of wind tossed the branches. The underbrush was dense and viney, and I passed what must have once been a house. Its walls were gone; only the foundation remained. Tangles of creepers twined across its concrete floor. The dirt path turned, sloping upward, leading into a low tunnel of unidentifiable shrubbery.
Uncertain, I ducked through it. The path opened up to a wide colonnade of cypress trees. Their branches arched above me, a natural cathedral. A fence meandered along one side of the trail, vanishing in places where the cliff had tumbled to the ocean. On my right, orderly rows of cypresses, an army of giants, cast deep shadows. Strange orange moss covered several of the trees closest to the cliff. The bright orange i
n the dark forest was weirdly lovely, but I wondered if the trees were diseased.
The forest was still, unmarked by birdsong, and even the ocean waves below seemed to have fallen silent. Hair prickled on my scalp, and I glanced around. The trail was empty.
Sunlight shone on the path ahead. Hurrying forward, I broke through the trees to a bluff overlooking the ocean to the west and houses to the north and east. A red-painted gypsy caravan parked beside a strip of sidewalk braced against the ocean. What would it be like to live in one of those? If Charlene’s tiny house fell through, I might have to find a place that was even tinier.
I’d reached civilization again, and the knot between my shoulders loosened. Bracing my arms on the rough fence, I looked down to the beach. Seals lolled on the rocks and in shallow pools of water. One inchwormed across the beach to another seal and slithered on top of him. The second flapped its tail and didn’t budge. I wandered down the path to the tide pools, admiring purple anemones and a giant starfish clinging to a rock. Only a few miles from Pie Town, and it was the first time I’d been on this beach.
Growing bored with the tide pools, I found a path that led north to a row of houses facing the ocean. Waves lashed the seawall, sending spray onto the sidewalk. I paused before a dome-shaped structure with a thatched roof, round windows, and a garden bursting with blooms. The sign said it was a yoga studio. If this was where Charlene practiced yoga, I might have to take it up. But with my piecrust maker, it was hard to separate fact from fantasy. For all her delusions, delinquency, and deceit, she had become a good friend. Her memories may have been fictional, but they were happy. Mine were anchors, weighing me down.
I walked on, catching a gust of sea spray in the face, and thought about my mom and her too short life. She’d been divorced, a single mom, and it seemed as if her life had revolved around work and me. She hadn’t had time for much else. Had she been happy? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that her choices had been limited, her focus intense. It must have been a relief when I was out of college and on my own, when she could finally pursue what she wanted, rather than what duty demanded. But cancer had cheated her. My vision blurred.
The Quiche and the Dead Page 20