Cherry Pie or Die

by CeeCee James

  “Don’t go there,” Mr. Peterson said. He stared hard at Mr. St. Claire.

  I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt. I sidled over into one of the empty wing chairs to watch.

  “What’s the matter? You got a problem again? Want to fold?” Mr. St. Claire’s voice held joviality that his eyes belied. They stared like sharp pieces of black flint behind his glasses.

  Around the table, the other guests shifted, nervous to suddenly be caught in the unexpected crossfire of two egos.

  Mr. Peterson held his stare. “You know what I’m talking about. I said don’t go there, or I will.”

  Mr. St. Claire smiled, a smile that sent shivers down my spine. A smile that was threatening, teeth bared, eyes narrowed. “Sounds like something’s bothering you, son. Why don’t you tell us what it is?”

  Mr. Peterson drew back in his chair. His eyes narrowed as if considering if Mr. St. Claire really meant his words. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Was Mr. Peterson about to confront him about the conversation he’d heard outside their window last night? “You’re calling my bluff?”

  Mr. St. Claire’s smile didn’t waver. He calmly flipped over a card. “Oh, look. I’ve got an Ace. Your call.”

  I could have sworn everyone held their breath, waiting for the next move.

  “Well, I’m out,” Sarah said, throwing her cards onto the table.

  “Honey…” Mrs. St. Claire grabbed her husband’s arm. Every so subtly, he shrugged her off.

  Mr. Peterson tapped his card against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “You going to call me or what?” Mr. St. Claire asked.

  Mr. Peterson relaxed and gave his characteristic wink. “Not this time, buddy. I fold.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Mr. St. Claire said. He scooped the pile of dollar bills in the center of the table toward him.

  Mr. Peterson stood and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He calmly lit it.

  “Hey! You can’t smoke in here,” Eliza Sue said.

  He ignored her, his eyes squinting against the smoke as he inhaled. The coal on the end of the cigarette glowed red. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at Mr. St. Claire. “I’m surprised you forgot that we’ve met before.” Smoke streamed from his nostrils.

  Mr. St. Claire froze, his hand still on the pile of money.

  “Don’t you remember? It was at Chuckie’s place. Brooklyn.”

  “Jared?” Mrs. St. Claire looked at her husband with her brow wrinkled. She’d somehow found time to put her makeup on, and her heavily blue-shadowed eyes were wide with worry.

  Mr. St. Claire nudged his glasses and shook his head slightly to silence her. Slowly, he gathered the cards from around the table. I tried not to shiver as I noticed the back of his hand was covered in scrapes.

  “Wasn’t me. Never been to Brooklyn. Sorry, buddy.” His face was expressionless. With a ruffling noise, he began to reshuffle the deck.

  “No?” Mr. Peterson’s eyebrows arched with doubt. “Must be my mistake then.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, which was buzzing mightily. After a glance at it, he stood up. “Well, looky here. I’ve been summoned to the police station. I guess I’ll see the rest of you later.” With a wink at me, he headed out the front door.

  Chapter 10

  “So they’re actually calling us down, I guess,” Eliza Sue said glumly.

  The St. Claires both spoke at the same time, with Mr. St. Claire winning out. “This is ridiculous. I have work on Monday.”

  “You forget. We’d planned to visit my parents,” Mrs. St. Claire reminded him with a look.

  “Mm.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Darn. Looks like we’ll be missing out on that.”

  “They’ve been looking forward to it. Don’t act that way!” she snapped back. Her face flushed, matching her hair, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Hey, can I help it if we’re being detained for questioning?” he answered with a shrug. He blocked her swat.

  “Well I, for one, have plans,” Sarah interrupted.

  The fighting couple stared at each other for a moment longer. Seeing she didn’t have their attention, Sarah continued a little louder. “Yeah, I have to get going myself. I’ve missed my cross-fit training for weeks, and I have a job interview on Monday. Seems really unnecessary.”

  “Not exactly unnecessary,” Eliza Sue said softly. “I mean, Mr. Green is dead. Murdered. And we were all there.”

  I blinked, surprised to hear Eliza Sue address the situation so bluntly. From the coughs and shifting around the table, I think we all were.

  “What?” she asked, looking around at us. “It’s true.”

  “Just because we were all there doesn’t mean one of us is the murderer,” Mr. St. Claire said. He nudged his glasses up his nose.

  “Oh, really?” Eliza Sue said. “I’d love to hear this.”

  “I mean….” He glanced around at us as if for help. “It could have been anybody.”

  “Anybody with a knife? It wasn’t anybody. It was one of us.” She sharply stabbed her index finger at each one of us.

  Mrs. St. Claire flinched as though really stabbed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Explain to me what happened then?” Eliza Sue asked.

  “Someone could have snuck in.” Mrs. St. Claire’s tongue dabbed at what appeared to be a very dry lip.

  “Snuck. In.” Eliza Sue’s face was deadpan.

  “Yes. Snuck in. And disappeared in the commotion. It was dark down there,” Mrs. St. Claire said defensively.

  “And the flash did blind us,” Mr. St. Claire added. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  “And he could have disappeared while we were all focused on poor Mr. Green,” Sarah interjected, cracking her knuckles.

  Just then, the front door opened. Mrs. Green walked by the dining room entrance, with her dad’s arm protectively around her. Normally, the blonde woman walked with a wealthy confidence, her head high, but now she walked as though deflated with grief. Behind them trailed her mother, who paused outside the living room doorway.

  “We’re just going to get her packed up and get ready to leave,” Mrs. Green’s mother explained.

  “Do you need any help?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and then quickly followed after her family. Their footsteps were muffled on the hall rug. Seconds later, a door opened, and then shut with a click.

  “Why does she get to leave, anyway?” Mr. St. Claire said defensively.

  “Shh,” Mrs. St. Claire said, leaning forward. As she did, a red wave of hair slipped out of her clip and fell across her cheek. “She’s the grieving widow. She has to get back to wherever they’ve sent her husband. She has arrangements to make.”

  “Since when does being the wife let you off from being a suspect?” Mr. St. Claire said bitterly.

  “Jared! How could you?” his wife exclaimed.

  Eliza Sue tipped her head and opened her hands. “That is true.”

  I sighed and rubbed my temple. There wasn’t going to be enough coffee to get me through this morning.

  “What about that lady? The one who ran around talking about ghosts?” Sarah asked.

  “Why on earth would the curator want to kill Mr. Green?” Mrs. St. Claire asked, her eyebrows raised incredulously.

  Mr. St. Claire scratched at his stubbly chin. “Why would any of us?”

  The house phone rang, making us all jump. I think it’d been a while since any of us heard anything but a cell phone sound off in a while. I heard Cecelia answer it in the kitchen. Her voice was low as she said, “Okay, I’ll let them know,” and hung up.

  Seconds later, she appeared in the dining room. “That was Sheriff Parker. He’d like the rest of you to go ahead and go down to the precinct now. There are officers there ready to take your official statements.”

  Chapter 11

  “I can drive you guys down,” I said and stood up.

  Mr. St. Claire looked at his wife. His nostrils flared. “I’m
waiting to hear back from our lawyer.”

  Lawyer? I thought about that for a second, considering whether I should call one myself. It did make sense. But who would I call?

  “Don’t freak out. It’s just a statement,” Eliza Sue said. “If things get squirrely, then you can bring your lawyer into it.”

  “Just a statement, huh?” Sarah rolled her eyes.

  “Seriously. You guys worrying about it is making me worried about you,” Eliza Sue snapped back.

  I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention. “Anyone want a ride? I’m heading down there right now.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Eliza Sue said. “Just let me grab a few things.” She quickly left the room.

  “Me, too,” Sarah said. She gulped the last few sips of her coffee and then stood up.

  “I’m waiting for my lawyer to call back,” Mr. St. Claire said stubbornly. “You guys should, too.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I answered, but in reality I knew I couldn’t afford a lawyer. It’d be a court-appointed attorney for me. I bit back a groan and opened my purse for my keys. I shook it a bit. There they were at the bottom, giving a reassuring jingle.

  Cecelia nudged my arm. “Do you suppose they want Mrs. Green, too?” she whispered.

  I winced but nodded.

  “Of course they do,” she answered herself. She reached back to untie her apron. “I’ll go let her know.”

  As I turned to leave the living room, I caught a glimpse of my face in the curio cabinet mirror. The wet brush didn’t do the trick this morning. My hair was a mess. I tried to smooth it back, and ignore the dark circles under my green eyes. It was obvious that I didn’t do well with little sleep. Walking toward the door, I pinched my cheeks to add a little color, and headed outside.

  The temperature was falling, and I could see my breath in the air. I wondered if we wouldn’t be getting snow by the nightfall.

  I trotted down the porch steps, noticing more cigarette butts littering the ground. This place is going to need a thorough going-over from the gardens on up. Shaking my head, I started toward the van when I noticed a yellow piece of paper caught in one of the rose bushes.

  Garbage everywhere. I walked over, the driveway gravel crunching under my feet. Carefully, I untangled the paper from the thorns. I was about to crumple it up, but curiosity made me check it first.

  The paper was so worn it was soft. I gently smoothed it out. It read:

  The butcher, the baker,

  The candlestick maker.

  Turn them out, knaves all three.

  Hm. Just some children’s poem. I folded it up and stuck it into my pocket. Now where are those ladies? I climbed up into Old Bella and immediately spritzed the air freshener, slightly disappointed that the cold air hadn’t squashed the barbecue scent today.

  I started the van to let it warm up. It chugged and rumbled as it tried to find its idle. Mr. Peterson’s earlier words were on my mind, along with how adamant Mr. St. Claire had been about getting a lawyer. Did Mr. Peterson know him? Was it possible the reason Mr. St. Claire was so adamant about a lawyer was for more than just common sense?

  I stared out toward the main road. Cecelia really had an amazing piece of property. Huge stately maple trees darkened the edge of the driveway. They were so old, they’d probably seen horse-drawn carriages come down this way. The few leaves left on the maples shivered in the breeze.

  Sarah opened the sliding door. “You ready?”

  I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Should be interesting.”

  “Do you think Rachel will join us?”

  I shook my head. “Her parents can drive her.”

  The front door slammed and Eliza Sue came down the steps. She had on capris and a thick jacket. On her feet, she wore what my aunt would call sensible shoes—white sneakers with a little blue tag on the back. Her socks were pulled high up thick, shiny calves.

  “Sorry to keep you guys waiting. I needed to change,” she said as she climbed in. She sat next to Sarah with a thump and slid the door closed.

  “All right, folks. Here we go,” I said. We buckled up and I drove out into the road.

  “What sorts of questions do you think they’ll ask?” Sarah’s voice came from the back. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught sight of her anxious face, her forehead lined with wrinkles like notebook paper.

  “Probably similar to the ones Sheriff Parker asked last night.” Eliza Sue coughed. “Oh. That’s right. You went to bed and didn’t see him.”

  “He was here last night?” Sarah sounded surprised.

  “Yeah. Just asking one more time where everyone was in the hallway. I said you were next to me.” Eliza Sue tacked the last thought on.

  I wondered about that for a moment, realizing I had no idea where Sarah had actually been that night.

  The silence stretched out. Then Sarah broke it by saying, “I wasn’t though. I was standing by Mr. St. Claire when someone pushed me.”

  I tried to remember exactly where I’d been in the line-up. We’d gone down the stairs, Mrs. Stilton leading the way. It was nearly pitch black. I thought the Greens had been behind her, and then everyone else. And then there had been me, like the caboose behind them all.

  But when we got to the hallway and there was still no light, we kind of all crowded together. It was a jumble, for sure. I remembered Mrs. Stilton shouting for us to wait just a minute so she could turn on the light.

  And then the explosion.

  “Did Sheriff Parker ever say what caused the breaker to do that?” I asked as I turned down another street. It might’ve been a while since I last lived here, but I knew exactly where the police department was. As did almost every high school senior, who at one point or another was caught doing something they shouldn’t be and brought there to wait for their parents. Grandma had not been too happy when she’d picked me up. Or so she led me to believe. After she’d banished me to my room for what she thought was a suitable amount of time, she confessed with a chuckle that she’d had to pick my mom up from there too.

  Kind of made me proud I’d followed in my mom’s footsteps.

  “The cause of the explosion? Yeah, he did explain it,” Eliza Sue answered. “He said the overhead light bulb had been unscrewed just enough to lose its connection. And that someone had tampered with the hall lamp.”

  “I’ll say they tampered with it,” I mumbled, remembering the blast. But her words sent ice through my veins. This proved it was premeditated murder.

  Chapter 12

  We arrived at the precinct, just a small building with a big name in our little town. After exchanging phone numbers in case one of us should be done first, we headed inside. The officer at the front desk had the three of us sit on a wooden bench outside one of the offices.

  “Sheriff Parker knows you’re here. He’ll have someone come get you shortly,” the officer said.

  I looked around. It was no different from when I’d last been here at seventeen. The bench was uncomfortable, and the air stifling. Dirty smudges stood out on the bare walls from the bright overhead fluorescent lighting. The linoleum floor was worn to a gray streak down the middle from years of foot traffic. I glanced at Sarah and Eliza Sue. The two women appeared just as bored as I felt. With a deep breath, I pulled out my phone to do some web surfing.

  There was something I was kind of curious about. Watching Cecelia make that pie kind of piqued my interest. Were all pies that hard to make? Was this something someone like me—a complete novice—could ever do? The search page opened up to a variety of fruit pies. I clicked the recipe for cherry pie. As I read it, my stomach growled.

  “You ready, young lady?” A voice broke my concentration. Sheriff Parker had come out of his office and now stared down at me. Gruff, and in his late fifties, his paunch hung over his belt.

  I nodded and rose to follow him, tucking my phone into my purse.

  His office was cold and his desk messy. I took a chair across from him and waited.

&
nbsp; “So.” He pushed over a piece of paper and a pencil. “Using initials, can you make circles and mark where everyone was when the lamp exploded?”

  I took the paper and did my best. It was hard to remember. By the time I was done, Mr. Green was in the center of our group. Any one of us could have stabbed him.

  He raised an eyebrow as he examined it. “Helpful,” he said dryly.

  “I’m sorry,” I answered, biting my lip. “It’s the best I can remember.”

  He sighed, his large nostrils flaring. “Do you have any idea what caused the explosion?”

  I shook my head.

  “It was a penny. Officer Wagner uncovered it.”

  Frank had? “A… penny?”

  “Specifically, a wheat penny. It was blown nearly in half, but enough of it remained to identify it. Do you know what that is?”

  I nodded, familiar with that design. It was something I’d loved to collect as a kid, along with a stamp collection. But I hadn’t seen one in a long while.

  “Pretty rare. Not too many in circulation anymore.” He grabbed the pencil and tapped it against the desk. The interview finished with him asking me if I’d seen anything I thought was unusual, to which I answered no.

  “Just like I’m telling everyone, stay in town the next few days. We might need to ask you a few more questions.”

  I nodded, and after promising I’d come to him if I thought of anything else, I left his office.

  Mrs. Stilton was sitting on the bench when I was released from the interview. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  I was slightly caught off guard, seeing her in her street clothes.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stilton. Wow, you look different without the hat.”

  She felt her hair—now unpinned and hanging below her shoulders—and laughed. “Please, call me Leslie. I kind of miss my hat. Makes it easy to get ready in the morning.”

  As I nodded, she patted a bag next to her. I immediately recognized it. Eliza Sue’s paper bag, complete with the large water bottle sticking out from the top.