A Good Day to Pie

by Carol Culver

  He shrugged. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “No reason.” So I knew something Sam didn’t know. Maybe more than I thought.

  “I gotta go. Sorry about the blast. I’m serious about getting together under normal circumstances. After this murder business is cleared up.” He grabbed my hands, pulled me up out of my chair, and looked down at me. “Anyone ever tell you you look good in soot?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  He ran his fingers down my cheekbone and tilted my chin with his thumb. “Always good seeing you, Hanna. Glad we reconnected. I’ll call you.”

  I watched him leave then sank back down in my chair, stunned and out of breath. I wished I’d had a moment to think. I would have said, “Wait, did you just finger your mother in the murder of your grandmother and why?” Or “I’d love to get together, especially after the reading of the will so you can tell me if your grandmother left all her money to some disadvantaged dogs? Or maybe you’ll be celebrating because you’ll never have to work another day in your life because of your cushy trust fund?” But it was too late. I didn’t say a thing.

  I watched him get into the family Hummer and wave as he pulled away. I felt like I was seventeen again, just as thrilled to have a guy like Blake stop by the pie shop. Sure I was older and wiser and I wanted to be able to trust a man again, but I wasn’t quite ready for that. All I really wanted was to absolve my grandmother.

  Back in the kitchen, I pulled the pan of blackened ruined turnovers out of the oven and called Ike, Grannie’s faithful appliance repair man, who was now in business with his son Ike Junior.

  “I told Louise she should get a new oven,” Ike Senior grumbled. “Knew something like this would happen.”

  “Can you come right away? I’ve got more pies to bake. My inventory is shot.”

  “In an hour,” he promised.

  I was so busy scrubbing the ashes off the burners on the antique stove I didn’t hear Sam come in. He looked even more surprised at my appearance. He stood staring for a long moment, then his mouth twitched in the way it does when he doesn’t want to laugh or cry. I was thinking laugh. But I was laughed out. So I brushed my face with the back of my hand, knowing I must look like a zombie.

  “Good God, what happened? An explosion?”

  “A mishap.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Ike the repair man is on his way. I’d rather Grannie didn’t know about this … event. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about besides being a murder suspect.”

  “If you’re referring to her polygraph test …”

  “I’d feel better knowing everyone was getting one.”

  “Everyone isn’t, but I do want to show you something at the station you might find interesting. How about tomorrow?”

  “I’m pretty busy,” I said.

  “At your convenience,” he said.

  “What if it isn’t?”

  “Then let’s say nine and get it over with. It will just take a few minutes of your time.”

  “Come on, Sam, you’re doing this to annoy me. Why can’t you show me something here and now?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I sighed loudly. “Okay, I’ll be there. Now if there’s nothing I can get for you, you’ll have to excuse me while I clean up the kitchen.”

  “Hold on while I get my camera.”

  “No photos until I wash my face and comb my hair.”

  “Stand next to the stove.”

  I reluctantly struck a pose next to the damaged oven and he took my picture. “I’m not going to file an insurance claim, you know.”

  “We’ll need this in case the oven has been tampered with,” he explained.

  “Oh please. Not you too. There’s no need to tamper with an old oven, they do funny things from time to time. Ike will fix it.”

  “Did it ever occur to you someone may not want you to meddle in this murder business? Someone besides me, that is?”

  “And that someone sabotaged my oven?” I asked. I was a little worried but trying to act like I’d never heard of anything so ridiculous. “If you’re trying to scare me …”

  “I’m trying to make you aware of the danger out there.”

  “Is that why you’re making me come to the station?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  I couldn’t imagine what he had to show me. And frankly I didn’t want to think about it. It was late and I was exhausted, shaky, and yes, maybe a little scared.

  I tried to ignore him while he looked around the kitchen, opening drawers and inspecting the cupboard while I called Grannie’s cleaning lady. She said she had a key and promised to come by later with her crew. I knew I couldn’t do it, and with Blake’s check in my pocket I felt like I could afford a professional job.

  “Okay,” I told Sam, “take pictures of the damage while I go take a shower and change my clothes.” I had planned to stop by Heavenly Acres after Blake left, but cleaning the oven had taken priority to solving a murder.

  When I came downstairs, with the soot and ashes washed off and dressed for the party, Sam was still there taking pictures.

  He took a step back when he saw me, studied my clean face and my white-washed skinny jeans, my flower-print cardigan over a Nile green T-shirt and a pair of Urban Outfitters strappy sandals in a neutral shade, and frowned as if he didn’t like what he saw. Or maybe that was just my old insecurity cropping up. Then he held his camera up and snapped another picture.

  “What’s that for?” I asked. “Your files of suspects?”

  “Evidence. To show how you’ve changed,” he said. “Much better. Going someplace?” His tone was casual, but I thought he might really want to know. But why? For personal reasons or professional?

  “To a sex toy party. All girls.” I don’t know why I said that. It was way too much information he didn’t need to know. Maybe I wanted to shock him, to jolt him out of his complacency, or even make him pay attention to me. What was wrong with me?

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really. How does that work?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been to one. But I’ll let you know. I’m supplying the pies and, of course, I’ll keep my ears open.” I didn’t say what for and he didn’t ask. We both knew I had no intention of following his orders not to meddle.

  He offered to help me load my station wagon with pies, and while we were outside Ike and his son arrived to fix the oven. Sam and I followed them back inside. Ike was already squatting on the tiles in front of the stove. He turned and held up a large cast iron part. “See this? It’s the burner element. Fell out of place, who knows how come. One leg is missing. Looks like it’s broken. It’s an old stove. These things happen.”

  “Then you don’t think someone was fooling with it?” I asked anxiously.

  “Nah.”

  “But it could have been fooled with, couldn’t it?” Sam said. He leaned over to survey the broken burner and take a picture of it.

  “Sure. Who knows?” Ike said. “When it fell, the gas jet went straight out, must have been like a blow torch.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

  “I’ll have to weld this here cast iron burner and she’ll be good as new,” he said.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” I said, “because I hate to replace this old friend.”

  “She’s good for another fifty years at least,” he promised with a wink.

  I wished I could say the same for myself.

  I know envy is one of the seven deadly sins, but when I saw Lindsey’s house I had to stifle the most horrendous case of jealousy I’d had since I coveted a pair of silver stilettos I saw in the window of a boutique in San Francisco. Not that I had anywhere to wear the shoes. Maybe that made the envy even worse. It was pointless. Better for me to envy and save up for a new stove and oven. No matter what Ike said about good as new, I’d probably need one sooner rather than later. Or if I had extra money, I could spring for a PR blitz with a pie-eating contest or a trip to Paris t
o study at the Cordon Bleu, where I would major in tarts.

  Back to Lindsey’s house. I so wanted her to live in a charmless cookie-cutter new house in one of the developments on the outskirts of town that I could tell myself was just as lacking in good taste as Lindsey was. But no such luck. It was an English Tudor–style house tucked away on a private lot a few minutes from downtown. Hedges along the driveway concealed the house from the street. I parked in the driveway and carried my pies stacked in an extra-large wicker basket up the winding path to a brick front porch. Peeking in the large paned window, I caught a glimpse of shining maple floors, high-coved ceilings, and a huge fireplace. Before I’d even entered, I could tell it oozed charm. What had Lindsey ever done to deserve to live here? Hang around and marry the man of her dreams, that’s all.

  I arrived early. If I hadn’t been out to catch a murderer, I would have deposited the pies and left before the guests arrived and got into discussing the benefits of sexy beginner harness kits for couples. But not today. I realized this could be a golden opportunity to look and listen and nudge a few loose-mouthed women into dropping a hint or two in my direction. I planned to stick around long enough to see what I could find out as well as gracefully accept compliments and take orders for future pies. I decided not to dress like a baker tonight.

  I was glad I’d made the effort to look halfway decent, because Lindsey herself was going for the gold with a pair of caramel-colored wide-legged silk pants, ankle-tie stilettos by Tory Burch, if I wasn’t mistaken, and ropes of brushed gold metal necklaces over a stretchy knit sleeveless top.

  She met me at the door and air-kissed me as if we were old friends, which we were, sort of. Then she stood back and gave me the once-over. I hoped I didn’t look out of place, and I hoped she didn’t think I was trying to out-do her, which I couldn’t. She finally took my basket and invited me in.

  “So glad you could come. Lots of old friends you haven’t seen. Ever been to one of these things before?”

  I shook my head. “I really can’t stay long,” I murmured.

  “It should be a hoot. Wait till you see the merchandise and the party favors. You don’t have to buy anything, although I get ten percent of the Passion Party sales plus a hostess gift. You could do it too, host a party in your shop. It’s easy. They tell you how. First you serve drinks to calm any nervous guests, then show off the products. I’m telling you, they sell themselves.”

  What? A sex toy party in my pie shop? I shuddered to think what Grannie would say. Although after what Kate had hinted about Grannie’s sex life, maybe she’d be the first to sign up.

  “You have to stay,” she said. “Some of the girls didn’t even know you were back in town. This will be a chance for you to network.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I said. She was right, after finding out who killed Mary Brandt, I could and I should network. Spread the word about pies in case they didn’t know. Unless all attention was on the merchandise here and pies were too boring, even my “I’m too sexy for my crust” Italian Bittersweet Chocolate Silk Pie.

  “I love your house,” I said as I followed her to the kitchen. The Wolf range and the old Mexican tiles on the floor made me love it even more. A range like that wouldn’t explode on me.

  “It’s old,” Lindsey said, “but it’s comfortable. And the neighborhood just got a big boost. Guess who’s moving in next door?”

  I didn’t have to guess. She told me.

  “Sam. Our Chief of Police.” She nodded when she saw the look of surprise on my face. “I’ll feel so much safer with him around.”

  “He bought the house next door?” I asked incredulously. Why hadn’t he told me? Ever since he filled me in on his life story chapter two, he’d totally kept everything to himself as if he was sorry he’d let go that day and had promised himself never to do it again. Was it my fault? Had I turned him off by acting too cool or too interested? Or by keeping my own life story to myself ? But buying a house? It sure sounded like he was planning to stick around for a while.

  “Yes. Paid top dollar. Didn’t even bargain. I can tell you the Sandlers were overjoyed. They got transferred to Houston and now they can buy a mansion there for what they got. It’s a big house for one person, but maybe he’s planning on getting married. Can’t believe no one’s caught someone like him by now, can you?”

  Someone like him. She wouldn’t have said that fifteen years ago when he was on probation.

  “So he hasn’t moved in yet?” I said.

  “Not yet.” She rubbed her hands together and smiled at me. “Even if there’s no crime in Crystal Cove, it will be good to have the police chief next door.”

  “No crime? What about Mary Brandt’s murder?” I asked. “Didn’t you hear?”

  “Oh, Melissa’s grandmother up at Heavenly Acres? I did hear something about it. No wonder we never see Sam. He’s got a murder to solve. Any idea who did it?”

  Why did everyone keep asking me about Mary Brandt’s murder? As if I was part of the police department. How ironic when I’d been told in no uncertain terms my help was not welcome. And now I was being dragged down to the station tomorrow morning for God only knew what. The thought made me livid. Not that that kept me from trying to solve the mystery. Just the opposite. I refused to let Sam stop me from saving my grandmother from being harassed. Or scare me into thinking someone was out to get me by sabotaging my oven. Or hooking me up to his electronic toy. No way was I sitting around too scared to move while waiting for him to solve this murder.

  “It’s always the next of kin,” Lindsey said. “What about her husband?”

  I shook my head. “Didn’t have one.”

  “It couldn’t be Melissa, I’ve known her forever.”

  I didn’t want to say knowing someone forever doesn’t necessarily mean they couldn’t commit a crime. I wanted to tell her you had to drop all emotional attachments when you were looking for a criminal. Except of course when your attachment was to your beloved grandmother who wouldn’t hurt a fly. I was tempted to tell Lindsey about Bob, Mary’s erstwhile boyfriend who wanted to get rid of her, but I correctly held my tongue for once.

  Lindsey’s doorbell rang just then, and she left to answer it. I thought of how much I’d like to escape the sex toy scene, but I needed to stay. Already I’d made a tiny inroad into my quest for answers. Leaving now would be rude and it would look cowardly. Along with picking up clues, I still needed to network.

  But I did sneak a look at the house next door, a stone Craftsman-style bungalow with an avocado grove behind it; it just cried out Single Professional Guy’s house. What a change from the trailer park he grew up in. Whatever his shaky upbringing, he had landed on his feet. I guess you could say the same for me, although being brought up by my grandmother was far from shaky. It was comfortable, warm, safe, and secure. I owed her big-time for that. It wasn’t her fault I went a little crazy in between times. She had nothing to do with my lack of judgment.

  I owed her a safe, secure retirement where she didn’t have to worry about the police knocking on her door and hauling her off for more questioning or a murder trial. The sooner I helped catch Mary’s real murderer, the sooner we could all go back to our normal lives. Normal boring lives, some might say. Not me. I wouldn’t mind a little boredom, especially if it came accompanied by an uptick in pie sales.

  It wasn’t long before the living room was filled with women and loud music. Music and booze in the form of little frothy fruit drinks that went down so easily, that was the formula. Then bring out food and the paraphernalia. Some of the women I knew from high school, like Tammy, others were new to town. When Kate came in she grinned and gave me a thumbs up. She took a frosted glass from a tray Lindsey was carrying and crossed the room to say hello.

  “Be careful,” I said. “The drinks are supposed to loosen you up so you’ll buy more sex toys.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, squinting and edging her face within inches of mine. “What happened to your eyelashes?”


  “A run-in with an out-of-control gas flame in the old stove,” I said. “Just one of the professional risks we bakers take. Nothing serious.”

  “Glad to hear it. Even more glad you decided to stick around.”

  “Why not? I’m here in my dual role as amateur sleuth and pie salesperson.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The suspects or the pies?

  “Both.”

  “Some in the kitchen, the others in the living room. Maybe Lindsey is saving the pies to serve when they bring out the arousal creams and performance enhancers.”

  Then I did a double take as a woman in a fuchsia-colored short dress walked through the room with a tray of cupcakes.

  I gasped. “Did you see that?”

  “Mmmmm,” Kate said.

  “Who’s making cupcakes in this town?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t need any competition.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Sure, cupcakes are the latest thing, but pies are historic. Pies are forever. Did you see the article I wrote?”

  “No, but I heard about it.”

  “I have a copy in the car for you. You’ll see, your sales will soar.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Let’s go sit down, Lindsey is bringing out the toys.”

  “Oh no, what are we going to do?”

  “Relax and have a cupcake.” I did have a cupcake. Just for research purposes. It was made with Meyer lemons and had a luscious fresh lemon filling. I had to admit it was pretty darn good. I just hoped no one else was thinking, “Cupcakes, I must order some for my next party.” What if it occurred to them to conclude … So much easier to eat than pie. I set my drink down on an end table, vowing to stay alert for clues to Mary’s murder. After all, besides selling pies, that’s why I was there.

  Despite my concentration on the murder, the rest of the evening was a blur. There were games. There were prizes. There were toys like bath balls; pleasure pearls; and rockets, rings, and ticklers. There were books like Great Sex (Secrets and Techniques to Keep Your Relationship Red-Hot); there was laughter, lots of laughter. Several times I got up to leave, but I couldn’t do it. Not until I’d grilled at least one person and picked up a clue or two from a loose-mouthed addled guest.