Greer didn’t sit with us for long, she was too focused on making the perfect pie. After a few minutes she left the table and went back to work, muttering ingredients in the background as we worked on the case.
“What do you have?” Charlie asked Hansen.
She had her own stack of notes piled up in front of her, making my eyes widen at the amount of information they had gathered so quickly.
“When did you do all this?” I asked.
“It’s my job,” explained Charlie.
If only I could have so much direction in my work life. Not that there was anything wrong with pet sitting, but sometimes it was difficult for me to remember that my true calling was witchy.
We spent most of the morning poring over the stacks of paper the two reporters had gathered. Somewhere along the way, puttering away across the room, Greer finally decided to use the blueberries. Her decision became apparent when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her sneak to the pantry, carry something over to her work counter, and surreptitiously dump a bit of the contents into her latest pie mixture.
Charlie and I exchanged knowing looks. If Hansen noticed he had the decency not to comment.
By the end of the meeting, three facts had crystallized:
Tabitha had been killed my someone she knew well.
The person likely drove a black car.
Whoever had killed her had also killed Mrs. Tootsie.
Okay, four things:
It was all because of the Mintwood Summer Fair.
If we could just find one person who fit with all those clues, we’d have our killer.
“Thanks for coming over,” said Charlie when Hansen made as if to rise from the table long after her third cup of tea had gone cold.
“My pleasure,” said Hansen. He leaned around in his chair to ask the bartender turned amateur pie maker, “Greer, how goes the baking?”
“Better,” she said.
While the last pie baked, she had slipped out to shower and change. She now looked much less like an angry cat doused in water and more like the friend we knew and loved.
Hansen headed out to go back to his office before he returned to Mintwood for the final night of the fair.
“I can’t understand why he’s come to the Fair so much this year,” said Charlie as she re-organized her stacks of papers. “There are other events going on in the area. Sure, they aren’t as exciting, but he isn’t from here. I’m confused.”
“Yeah, it’s a mystery of epic proportions,” Greer drawled as she went over to the counter to check her pie, which was cooling perfectly.
“Are we ready for the fair?” I asked.
Greer looked at me and smiled. I’d seen the two pies she’d made in the earlier rounds, and neither of them had looked like this one. This one was golden brown and perfect. The whole house smelled like blueberries.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
“Then let’s go,” said Charlie.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We spent our afternoon at the fair very quietly. Mostly I sat in Liam’s tent, reading a book. Greer went off to do her baking competition duty, while Charlie strolled around interviewing attendees for a piece she was doing for the Gazette. Something about the case niggled at the back of my mind all afternoon, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I kept going back to my book in hopes that the elusive thought would come to the fore if I stopped worrying at it.
Maine’s sunsets are typically lovely. Long before the evening sky goes dark, the colors start to change. The blues deepen, there’s more pink, and the underbellies of the clouds turn golden from the light of the sinking sun. This is the time when I typically know that soon I’ll be looking for dinner.
“Food?” Liam asked. He’d been working at the front of the tent all day. I had acted as his lieutenant whenever he needed to pop out of the tent for a few minutes, but otherwise he’d just done his thing. Between him and Gerry the place was well covered.
“Yes, please,” my stomach rumbled.
We grabbed something to eat, then met up with Charlie and headed for the baking tent, which was already overflowing.
The final judgment was about to be passed down.
Fearne, Frannie, and Mrs. Stone arrived to great fanfare, escorted by Detective Cutter himself. His chest was puffed out and he looked in both directions as if a masked marauder was about to jump out and attack the judges.
I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen.
The moment they walked into the tent they were met by Pickle Eves, who began whispering into their ears. She went on at length, and none of the judges seemed all that pleased to hear what she had to say. Their resistance didn’t stop her, though. Even from my vantage point at the edge of the crowd I could see that her clipboard was covered in scribbled notes.
“Does that girl ever just rest and enjoy the fair?” Liam shook his head. “She’s like me during the window display competition.”
“Trust me, no one is quite like you,” said Charlie with a grin.
At the front of the room the three finalists were standing in front of their pies. Mrs. Barb, smiling brightly, looked at ease in a perfectly pressed apron.
“She’s never baked in that,” I muttered. “It’s too clean. I saw Greer this morning. There was so much flour on her person that she looked like a snow-woman.”
“Mavvie doesn’t look much better,” Charlie commented.
Something struck me again about the woman who had always finished second. Could she be so resentful of never having won the competition that she had taken it out on the judges?
I looked closely at her face and followed the direction of her eyes, only to realize that she was glaring at Mrs. Barb. Maybe all she really did want was for someone from Mintwood to win. Then again, I’d be glaring at Mrs. Barb no matter what town she was from.
But the other thing I noticed was that the perennial second-place finisher had a glint in her eye. Until that moment I wouldn’t have thought she was capable of killing anyone, but now I had the distinct impression that if she didn’t win this time, she just might.
The judges went to each pie in turn. Each bite the three judges took was followed by a deep inhalation of breath and an excited exhalation. There was also a lot of neck-craning, nodding, and frowning.
Everyone had an opinion about whose pie was the best.
Everyone knew who should win.
Since she was the third place finisher so far, Greer’s pie was tasted last.
Frannie was the first judge to taste the blueberry pie. Greer looked nervous, mostly because she didn’t think Frannie liked her. The older woman had also just come from tasting a pie where she had gone back for seconds.
My friend did not look confident, but when Frannie took a forkful of pie, her expression changed instantly. The thieving old biddy’s face took on a delighted expression.
“Did she just eat chocolate cake? I’m pretty sure my face only does that when I’ve eaten chocolate cake,” said Charlie.
“You haven’t lived,” said Liam.
“What does that mean?” Charlie demanded.
Liam merely sniffed.
My eyes went to Mavvie again. She was clapping like a maniac. Charlie had figured out what I was now wondering, and we exchanged glances.
As each judge reached the last pie and tasted it, her face changed. Frannie, like the rest of us, watched the other two closely as they each used a fork to taste Greer’s pie.
Frannie was excited. As her fellow judges looked up, amazed, they were excited too.
Greer tried to remain calm, but I could tell she was happy.
Then I noticed someone surprising moving through the crowd.
Across the tent from us was Anita Dice.
Greer’s mother was a formidable lady despite her short stature. My friend caught sight of her mother just as Charlie and I noticed her.
Greer went paper white, while Anita Dice remained off to one side, overdressed and stern.
<
br /> I tried to catch her eye to say hi, because I figured Greer would appreciate it. But Anita was not the curious sort and she never so much as glanced at anyone around her.
“How’s she doing?” Deacon asked in a low voice.
He and Jasper had arrived together, both looking like they had showered recently.
“Early evening swim in Jasper’s pond,” Deacon said, noticing that my eyes had gone to his dripping wet hair.
“Ew, you’re covered in pond scum.” Charlie wrinkled her nose as if she could smell them and didn’t like it.
“No, we showered after,” Jasper laughed.
“She’s doing really well,” I told them. “I think she might win.”
“I knew she had it in her.” Deacon beamed with pride.
The three judges had stepped outside the tent to confer. It wouldn’t be long before they announced the final rankings.
“They’re coming back,” a woman yelled. She’d been watching the tent flap despite Pickle’s attempts to get her to give the judges some space.
As Mrs. Stone followed the other two judges back into the baking tent, even Mrs. Barb, who had seemed calm until now, started to look nervous. She kept glancing over at her son and giving him a shaky smile. Each time, he nodded encouragingly.
The mayor and Detective Cutter had both edged to the front of the tent. In fact, everyone in Mintwood was crowding into the baking tent at that moment, plus a fair crowd of people from other towns, including Hansen, who was there with a few people I recognized from Caedmon.
Standing with the Mintwood mayor was another man in a fancy suit who reminded me a bit of Keith from Mintwood Mucking. He was a little rough around the edges, but he was wearing expensive boots and he had a certain confidence about him that made me suspect he must be the mayor of Caedmon. He’d made a fortune in big city finance, then returned to the country, and now he was the mayor of the small town next door. Given that one of his residents had been in first place over two rounds of the baking competition, I wasn’t surprised to see him.
No pressure, but whether someone from Mintwood won this competition was a very big deal.
Greer couldn’t miss how many people were coming into the tent. She went another shade paler.
“Thank you all for coming,” said Mrs. Stone, coming to stand in the center of the judges’ table to announce the winners.
The tent went quiet.
The three finalists still stood in front of their pies.
“This year saw a change,” said Mrs. Stone, “one of many that I’m sure will come to the fair as we try to modernize.” From her tone I could tell that she didn’t much like this whole modernizing thing, but she stayed on message and went on to announce the winners.
“In third place is Mintwood’s Mavvie Davis,” said Mrs. Stone.
Amidst polite applause for Mavvie, the murmur that had started around the tent intensified. The rankings through the first two rounds had been consistent; now there was a change.
My heart started to beat. The worst Greer could get was second! That wouldn’t be good enough for her, but it was still an achievement!
Meanwhile, the smile on Mavvie’s face was glued there by sheer force of will. She wasn’t happy, and given how hard she had tried over the years I could hardly blame her.
Mrs. Stone cleared her throat to get the crowd’s attention again.
“The second place finisher, with an absolutely delicious peach pie, is Mrs. Barb from Caedmon!” said Mrs. Stone.
The whole tent erupted. Greer staggered a little. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mrs. Dice, whose expression never changed.
Mayor Clabberd’s face burst with joy. In pure delight he started clapping his hands, then remembered his manners and extended his hand to the Caedmon mayor, who looked distinctly sour.
When I looked again Mrs. Dice was quietly leaving. She had seen her daughter win, but she wasn’t going to stick around among all of us fair riffraff.
When the applause finally died down, Mrs. Stone gathered the crowd’s attention one more time. “I have an announcement to make,” she said. She had been arguing in a corner with Pickle for a long time and had just come to the judges’ table again.
“This is Greer’s night, so I’m sorry for barging in, but this really must be said,” the longest-standing judge went on. “This competition has been the hallmark of the fair since its inception. As it should be. The talent of the bakers is incredible, which is why I’m so sorry to have to leave.”
A murmur went up around the tent.
“It’s my time to retire. I only waited this long because I wanted to bring continuity to the new group of judges who would take over. I will always miss Tabitha and Tootsie. We made a great team. But now it’s time for me to move on. Frannie and Fearne are great, but I was meant to do this with my dear old friends, and with both of them gone I just think that a complete new set of judges should take our place. Thank you so much for participating every year. It really means a lot to me.”
A round of clapping went up around the tent. Neither Fearne nor Frannie looked surprised. They also didn’t look that upset.
“Those two are the worst schemers in town,” said Charlie, noticing the same thing that I had.
I chuckled; she had a point. Fearne and Frannie would probably want to make a lot of changes next year. They’d have a cake-making competition and a cookie event and downgrade the pies. I could see it all now.
“Let’s go congratulate Greer,” I said, and we started to make our way through the crowd.
Greer was surrounded by happy faces. Even Mrs. Stone, who had seemed sad during her announcement, was now beaming.
“Your friend’s pie was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life,” she yelled to Charlie over the din.
“I’d love to do a feature with you about your last year at the fair,” Charlie yelled back.
“Certainly! Not tonight, I hope? It’s been a long weekend and I’d like to leave soon,” said Mrs. Stone.
“Sometime soon then,” said Charlie.
Mrs. Stone nodded.
It suddenly struck me that Mrs. Stone shouldn’t be walking to her car by herself. Either she was the killer and she was trying to get away with something, or she wasn’t the killer and she might still be a target, although why that would be so after the fair was over I had no idea.
“If you’re going to walk with me, can you help me carry my bags?” she asked when I said I was heading to the parking lot as well.
Greer saw us leaving and tried to get away, but she was swarmed by well-wishers. I tried to signal to her that Charlie and I would be right back, but I wasn’t sure she got the message.
Outside the judging tent the evening was cooling down. Most of the fairgoers had been inside the tent, and now that the rightful winner had been announced the crowd spilled out and brought the rest of the fair back to life.
The bags Mrs. Stone had asked us to carry were filled with various goodies, apples and locally made popcorn from the fair. When we got to the car she said, “Here, we’ll just put them in the car,” and started fumbling with her keys. While we waited, Charlie elbowed me hard in the ribs.
I glared at her, then realized why she was so upset.
We were standing in front of a black sedan.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The first thing I did was to remind myself that I had my wand. If Mrs. Stone tried anything, I’d be able to protect us.
Hopefully.
Then again, she had already murdered two judges, so I hoped I wasn’t being overconfident.
Mrs. Stone herself seemed oblivious as she busily took the bags from us and plopped them in the back seat of the car. If she noticed that both Charlie and I were frozen in place, she didn’t remark upon it.
As we waited for her to finish packing the car, I realized that despite the clue in front of our faces, something still didn’t fit. If all Mrs. Stone had wanted was to have Greer win the competition, what had been the point of killing Mr
s. Tolls and Mrs. Tootsie? Mrs. Tolls had been the one keeping outsiders from entering, and with her gone you’d think the winner would have been more likely to be someone from another town.
“What is it, dear?” she asked at last. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“If by that you mean she looks upset, I would agree,” said Charlie, frowning at me. “Mrs. Stone, are you sure you don’t know what happened to your fellow judges?”
For a split second she clearly didn’t understand Charlie’s meaning, then she saw the shrewdness in my friend’s eyes and she gasped and stepped back.
“How could you say such a thing?” she cried. “They were dear friends of mine! I cannot believe anyone would do anything so evil as to hurt them!”
In the background, laughter from the fairgrounds provided a strange contrast to the seriousness of the conversation taking place in the parking lot.
“Are you sure? Isn’t that your black car?” Charlie pressed.
“My black car? What does that have to do with it? But no, it’s not mine. What does that have to do with anything?”
“What about the papers I saw you burning?” I asked her, avoiding her questions for the moment.
Mrs. Stone frowned as she looked back and forth between us. “The old town records on water usage? They’d been in my car forever and I kept forgetting to recycle them at the Waste and Recycling Depot. It’s such a nuisance. I saw the big fire and just burned them, but I didn’t want anyone to know I wasn’t recycling.”
If the car wasn’t hers and the papers had nothing to do with the case then we were almost back to square one. Charlie’s mouth fell open slightly, while I pulled myself together enough to ask, “Whose car is it, then?”
“Mine,” said a voice.
We all turned to see Pickle step out from behind a row of parked cars. Her eyes were cold and she didn’t have her clipboard anymore.
“The black car is yours?” I asked incredulously.
Pickle cocked her head to the side. “Yes, it is. Well, it’s my grandfather’s, but he passed away and left it to me.”
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