by Carol Culver
The only thing I could fault Sam on was doing his job too well. He was working too hard.
“What?” he said giving me a sharp look. I must have been staring at him while I psychologically analyzed him, and the possibilities tumbled through my brain. How could I let him know I was near the breaking point?
“Nothing. You look like you’ve been up all night. You look hungry. Sit down and eat something.”
We sat down at the same time. As if that was the plan all along. Because the table was so small we were only inches apart and our knees kept bumping.
“This is good,” he said when he’d eaten half the spinach pie. “You’re right, I was hungry.”
My mouth full of apple pie, I nodded. When he finished his spinach pie and drained his coffee cup, he said, “Thanks,” and went to the door. I heaved a sigh of relief. I don’t know why. Nothing happened. Nothing was settled. He was still there. But he looked better; and when Sam looked better, I was in danger of losing my head. I had to give myself a stern warning. Never, ever fall for someone you’re working with. It just leads to disaster.
“How many people do you expect?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Just keeping my fingers crossed. Why don’t you drop in?”
“I might do that,” he said. “In case she didn’t mention it, your grandmother has an appointment for a new polygraph this afternoon.”
I sighed. “No, she hasn’t mentioned it. I guess because she’s not surprised. Whenever you need to do something, you call her in. What more can you ask her? What else can she tell you? She’s not worried. You know why? Because she hasn’t done anything wrong. This is her second visit to your station. Go ahead, give her all the tests you want, show her all the videos in your VCR and she’ll still pass with flying colors.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“I refuse to discuss it.”
“That’s up to you.”
After those last terse words, he finally left the shop. To keep from dwelling on the problem of my grandmother being suspected of murder, I looked around at the meager furnishings and called Kate to ask if I could borrow a couple of small tables. This afternoon I would get to the bottom of the Mary Brandt murder and clear my grannie’s name once and for all.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of borrowing tables before,” I told Kate. “I guess I was afraid I’d get overconfident and feel even worse when the place didn’t fill up for the Saturday morning specials.”
“I’ll find something,” she said. “Maybe card tables and chairs. This is exciting. What are you serving?”
“The usual seasonal fruit pies—cherry, berry, and apple. And some savories. I just tested the Spinach Pie with pizza crust on Sam and he seemed to like it.”
“Sam, he came over to test your pie? That’s some kind of professional tester you’ve got.”
“Actually, he came over to accuse me of another murder.”
“And stayed for the pie?” she said. “Only in Crystal Cove.” I could tell she didn’t take it seriously. I wished I didn’t either.
“He didn’t actually say it was murder,” I conceded, “but I know him. I know what he was getting at. He came to ask me some questions. Because one of the Heavenly Acres old-timers, Edward Vaughn, died last night, and it seems I was the last person to see him alive. And because Sam is in the law-and-order business, and I brought the old man a piece of Butter Pecan Apple Crumb Pie, which he presumably ate before he died, I’m high on his suspect list.”
“But why? Why is he so sure it is murder?”
“Because that’s the way his mind works. Maybe it’s a form of job security. The more murder victims, the more important his job is. That’s not all. He’s giving Grannie another lie detector test this afternoon and she didn’t even tell me about it.”
“She doesn’t want you to worry. Anyway, doesn’t it mean he’s trying to clear her name?”
“I wish,” I said. “I’m afraid it’s the opposite. But don’t say anything about it.”
“Of course not. Could be you’re just overreacting. Calm down. I’ll be over soon with some furniture. I hope you’ll have a big crowd.”
“I’d better bake another pie,” I said. My solution to all life’s little problems, like my grandmother on trial for murder or my being under suspicion, was to just take butter, sugar … flour … mix, bake, eat. Unlike life, unlike my previous career, it’s so simple. That’s why I love it.
In a few hours, I had a selection of Three-Berry Deep Dish Pie, the apple slices, the Spinach Pie, the Torta di Riso, a cool Key Lime Pie, and two pots of coffee, freshly brewed. Kate had come by in her husband’s truck with two small tables and eight folding chairs. I covered the tables with Grannie’s old lace tablecloths. Now all I needed was customers.
They came. Lots of them came: Grannie and her friends Helen and Grace along with Donna, her friends Sheryl and Candice, two men, and several other women I didn’t know. They were talking nonstop about a senior citizen pro-am golf tournament to be held at their golf course this summer with some famous elder statesmen of the golf world. It was going to be televised on the Golf Channel and they were all either going to play or at least watch.
“Hanna, tell everyone how to make your wonderful crust,” Grannie said, her eyes sparkling like Fourth of July firecrackers that I was sure Sam would outlaw as too dangerous.
Not only did I tell them, I gave a demonstration in the kitchen. Then I let anyone who wanted to try to roll out the dough. I tell you, the way they were hanging on every word, I felt like Julia Child.
“I was always afraid to make my own crust,” Helen told me as she sprinkled ice water over the flour-butter mixture while I instructed. “Instead, I bought the kind in the refrigerator in the store. If only I’d known.”
“You can see it’s not that hard,” I said, “and it’s so much better.” She was wearing one of my aprons over an Army-green lightweight vest, matching green pants, and top-of-the-line running shoes. These old people had an outfit for every occasion, even a trip to the pie shop.
When I finished my demonstration, they trooped out to the shop and helped themselves to coffee and the pie of their choice. With the shop full of happy eaters, I had a glimpse of what life could be like if every day was like this.
I noticed Donna standing at the window, staring at the police station across the street.
“Does it make you nervous knowing they’re over there watching you?” she asked me when I handed her a cup of coffee from a tray.
“I like to think they’re watching over me,” I said.
“Oh, of course they are,” she said quickly.
“But I wish they were better customers. Our new police chief has put his staff on a diet. That doesn’t help my business.”
“Their loss,” she said and took a bite of the Apple Pie Bar. “I just wonder what they do over there.” She nodded at the station.
I didn’t want to bring up the M word and neither did she.
“Oh, just the usual, I suppose. Traffic violations, lost dogs, cats up a tree. And I suppose they have to keep up their skills with target practice.”
She nodded.
“Did you have your interview with the chief ?”
“Yes, I hope I answered all the questions correctly.”
“I don’t think there’re right or wrong answers,” I said. “All you have to do is tell the truth.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Have you been interviewed too?”
“Oh, definitely. More than once. I’ll be glad when this investigation is over. Any luck finding a new Bridge partner to take Mary’s place?”
“No one can take her place. We were partners since the day she came to Heavenly.” Her lower lip quivered. “There will never be anyone like Mary.”
I had to agree. Most people around there would say that wasn’t a bad thing altogether.
I left her standing, gazing out the window, and I made the rounds refilling coffee and offering small pieces of pie. I w
anted to give them all a big communal hug for coming in and eating and spending money. Most of them didn’t even use their discount coupons Grannie had handed out.
They were having such a good time, I wished Sam could see them. Did he realize what a hit my pies were? If he saw them so relaxed and happy, he’d never suspect any one of them, especially my grandmother, of any kind of crime.
Strangely enough, the subject turned to our police chief. Most of them had had their interviews and they wanted to compare notes.
It seemed that after quizzing them on the Mary Brandt murder, Sam had asked all of them what the police department could do for them to make them feel safe or to enrich their lives.
“We told the chief we like to be active,” Grace told me. “We want to learn martial arts to protect ourselves so we won’t have to depend on the police.”
“Chief Genovese is going to do a class in karate. Did you know he has a black belt?” Grannie asked.
I shook my head. I shouldn’t be surprised. Next they were going to tell me how he was Officer of the Year, how he’d won the Medal of Valor, Paramedic Achievement, and the Medal of Honor. I wouldn’t be surprised. That said a lot for his interview techniques where the older folks were concerned. Even Grannie didn’t seem that upset about her lie detector tests. Was I the only one who was offended by Sam’s methods?
Maybe I was too sensitive. Because he knew me, he thought he could let down his hair and say whatever was on his mind. The result was that I had to find Mary Brandt’s murderer before he arrested my grandmother. It occurred to me maybe that was his plan. He’d insist I stay out of his way, but deep down he really wanted my help after all and couldn’t admit it. He knew the way to get it. Which was to forbid me from helping him. Because I’m stubborn. I admit it. There’s nothing like somebody telling me not to do something to motivate me.
“What about you, Hanna?” Grannie said as the oldsters finished their coffee, said nice things about the pie, and filled my vintage cash register with cash. “Don’t you want to learn self-defense? It’s very important for women, you know. Especially if you’re not carrying heat.”
“I’m not,” I assured her. “And yes I do want to learn. I’ll sign up just as soon as Sam starts a class.”
Finally the group was outside waiting for the van to pick them up. Only Grannie was left in the shop.
“You don’t need to wait for a class to get together with Sam,” she said. “Why don’t you invite him to dinner some night?”
I gave her a sharp look. What was she after? It was no secret she worried about me being single at my advanced age. Or did she just want me to influence Sam to turn his attention toward a different suspect, anyone who wasn’t her?
“I’ve already fed him samples of my pie,” I said.
“That’s not dinner,” she said. “Single men never eat properly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I didn’t tell her he’d told me it was my turn next. I didn’t want her to get her hopes up about Sam and me. She’d only be disappointed. She’d often said she wanted to live long enough to have great-grandchildren and since I was her only grandchild, I sometimes felt the pressure.
“Where did you get the berries for the pie?” she asked.
“The Hollisters brought them by. Said you’d always ordered a flat every week during the season.”
“They seemed a little tart. You could add a little more sugar,” she said.
“I didn’t want anyone to go into a diabetic shock from too much sugar, so I cut back. I don’t think anyone else noticed. Nobody said anything,” I said.
“They wouldn’t. They’re too polite. They know you’re my granddaughter.”
“I hear old Mr. Vaughn died last night,” I remarked. “Nobody mentioned it.”
“Really? How do you know that?” She didn’t seem surprised or sad about it.
“Sam told me. He didn’t say it was a secret.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “You know I never approved of Sam when he was a teenager.”
“You weren’t the only one. He was kicked out of school.”
“But now he’s a fine upstanding citizen and the Chief of Police.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And so good looking. You could do a lot worse.”
“Grannie, you seem to have forgotten he suspects either one or both of us of murder. The reason I know about old Mr. Vaughn dying is because Sam was here this morning quizzing me about him.”
“Maybe he just wanted to see you. He needed an excuse. You’re a very attractive girl. All of my friends say so. Or maybe he was hungry. Why do you jump to conclusions about Sam’s motives?” she asked me. This from the woman who was in line for a second polygraph test and who’d been videoed with pills in her hand at the Bridge table. I wished I had her attitude.
“Sam is not hiding behind any ulterior motives,” I said. “He comes right out with his questions. In case you haven’t noticed. No doubt about what he means. Or who he suspects of criminal activity. While he was here, I had to urge him to eat some of my Spinach Pie. I told him I went to see old Mr. Vaughn last night to take him a piece of pie, and it seems I was the last person to see him alive. And guess what? Now Sam is thinking pie equals murder.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she said flatly. “Not necessarily.”
I knew what she was thinking. There goes Hanna with her theories again. She spoke with so much conviction, I knew I would never convince her and I should never have mentioned it. One, she didn’t believe me because she was very stubborn. A trait I had inherited. And two, I had no business dragging Grannie into yet another murder by pie scenario. It was not only ridiculous, it was heartless of me to even mention it. Grannie was in deep doo doo with Sam, whether she realized it or not, and didn’t need to worry about me too. She should be enjoying the fruits of old age while I was still in the trenches, working hard to make a living while fighting off a hopeless attraction to a man who thought she and I were both murderers. I forced a smile.
“That was fun serving all that pie,” I said brightly.
“It’s just the beginning. Everyone who was here today will tell someone else about your pie. And they’ll be back. We have vans that go downtown and everywhere.” She looked out the door as a bright blue minivan pulled up in front of the shop. “There’s ours now. See you tonight.”
I gave her a blank look.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to learn to play Bridge? I’m offering Bridge lessons after dinner tonight. Now that old Vaughny is gone, I’m not afraid of him coming around and telling me what to do.”
“He did that?”
“He was obnoxious. And very good at Bridge. He went to the state championship one year.”
“So you’re not sorry he’s dead.”
“Should I be?”
“No, I don’t care. Just don’t tell Sam.” It was a good idea for me to play Bridge with the residents so I could maybe find out what was really going on there. Specifically, who killed Mary. It was past time that I did it. It would be worth feeling stupid for a few evenings to listen and learn. Not that I’d learn how to play Bridge, that was not my goal. Nobody my age played Bridge. It was an older generation’s game. It was Grannie’s game.
If I didn’t need to be there I’d ask myself, wasn’t I already spending way too much time in the company of the older folks? If I wasn’t hanging out with them, I was hanging out with Sam, which was stimulating, maddening, and infuriating at the same time and also led me nowhere. Worse than nowhere, it led me to a state of denial. All I did was think of ways not to answer his questions and accusations. Most of all, he made me become my grandmother’s principal defendant.
“So you’ll come? I told all my friends you’d come and bring a pie.”
“After what’s been happening, do you think that’s wise?”
“Of course. We can’t get freaked out by every little thing that happens. And don’t stint on the sugar,” she warned.
I was determined to cut bac
k on sugar no matter what she said. Diabetes was rampant among old people. Besides, the fruit was so sweet and ripe this time of year, I wanted the flavors to jump out without being overly sweet. By “every little thing” she meant every little murder or accidental death or homicide. What could I say? She wanted me there as her wonderful granddaughter, and I needed to be on site with my ears open. Sam didn’t have to know why, when, or where I was sleuthing on my own.
I told myself not to worry about seeming stupid. It was trivial compared to what Grannie was going through. No one expected me to catch on anytime soon to a difficult game like Bridge, so I wouldn’t disappoint anyone. That was a good thing. I had a strong desire to please and impress people. Which is why I made pies. As Kate said, “Nobody doesn’t like pie.”
Maybe they don’t, but why did they keep eating it and die soon after? It was enough to make a person hungry for a piece of you-know-what.
“You’re going to play Bridge tonight at Heavenly Acres?” Kate asked, not even trying to hide her surprise and her pity when she stopped by to see how the coffee klatch went over.
“I’m going to pretend to learn to play Bridge,” I said. “Not because I want to. Or because I think I can. Or that I think it will be a barrel of laughs. But in the interest of finding out who killed Mary Brandt. As long as Sam thinks Grannie did it, I have my work cut out for me finding the real killer, who may or may not be a resident of Heavenly Acres. Playing cards gives me a good excuse to hang out and listen for clues. Mary Brandt played Bridge. She collapsed at the Bridge table. It seems likely she died as a result of playing Bridge. Ergo, the clue to her death can’t be far from the Bridge table. Which is where I’ll be tonight.” I paused. “Unless the murderer is a family member. I guess I don’t want it to be because how am I going to hang out with the Brandt/Wilson family when they don’t like me?”
“Blake likes you.”
“He seems to,” I admitted. “And I have to admit I’m flattered by his attention. But he doesn’t know me, not really. As for his family, I already know they wanted her dead, but who did it? I have no way of finding out.”