by Rosie Sams
“Let the judging begin!” Mike declared. The crowd laughed.
“What’s this?” Perry asked. “I seem to find myself in front of a pie that needs judging. Whose is this?”
Mike said, “You’re not supposed to find that out until later, Perry. It’s supposed to be blind judging.”
“Blind judging this year?” Perry asked. “Whose idea was that?”
Horace elbowed Perry in the side. “Mine, Perry, we talked about this! How can judging be fair if—
Perry raised a hand. “All right, all right! Can’t a man make a joke? Let’s try some pie!” He lifted the glass cover of the display stand in front of him, then held a hand out for a pie knife. Careful not to shatter the gorgeous maple-leaf crust on the pie in front of him, he lifted himself out a significant slice of pie onto a plate. “How do we do this? All three of us at once?”
Jillian snapped: “Perry, stop making trouble and just do whatever Mike says.”
Perry rolled his eyes and mugged for the crowd, then handed the pie knife to Mike Sampson. Then he grabbed his slice of pie, dug out a forkful, and shoved it into his mouth. He tilted his head to the side, appearing to be lost deep in thought as Mike began to cut off another slice. Perry frowned, then put a hand on Mike’s wrist, as if to tell him to stop and wait for a moment.
“Perry? Did you take too big of a bite?” Horace said.
“Perry, are you all right?” Jillian said.
Perry’s face had gone visibly pale, his eyes were vague and unfocused. Suddenly, his face turned red, and he dropped his fork in order to clutch at his chest. Melody was half-expecting him to straighten up, saying, “Just joking!” But he didn’t. And clearly his red face and whistling breath were no joke.
Horace thumped Perry on the back. “Breathe, Perry, breathe!”
Perry shook his head, stumbling forward almost into the table full of pies, then backward into the back wall of the tent. Horace grabbed one arm, and Doctor Mitchell the other.
“Perry? Can you breathe?” Doctor Mitchell asked.
Perry was still shaking his head. Doctor Mitchell steered Perry toward the back of a folding chair and made him bend sharply over the chair—a form of the Heimlich maneuver. But if there was anything lodged in Perry’s throat, the maneuver didn’t help, and Doctor Mitchell stood him up again to begin performing sharp thrusts to Perry’s abdomen.
Nothing seemed to work. Within moments, Perry’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees collapsed underneath him. Doctor Mitchell pushed Melody out of the way to keep Perry from knocking her down. Perry landed on the grass behind the table and lay limp.
Jillian screamed.
“Clear the tent!” Al roared, his normally-gentle voice making everyone jump. More quietly, he added, “Not you, Quincy.”
The photographer stopped and nodded grimly.
Within seconds, almost everyone else had gone. Al called for an ambulance with his cell phone while Horace and Melody carried the folding tables full of pies out of the way.
Perry wheezed and gargled. Melody glanced at him. The man was both trying to clutch at his throat and to fight off Doctor Mitchell as the doctor tried to sweep Perry’s mouth clear.
Jillian, Perry’s wife, was still inside the tent, both fists clutched in front of her face in horror. Gloria was sobbing. Eleanor had disappeared. As Melody watched, Horace led Jillian out of the tent. In a moment, he returned for Gloria and escorted her away, too.
The rest of Perry’s slice of pie had slid off the table and onto the grass. Smudge was standing near the pie, somewhat forgotten, slowly walking toward the pie and sniffing it.
“No, Smudge,” Melody said. “Leave it!”
But Smudge had already turned her nose up at the pie and had walked over to Melody’s ankle. Melody reached down for Smudge’s leash, then bent to scoop up the plate with the ruined slice of pie.
Smudge growled.
Melody took her hand away, searching for Al. He had taken a position at the front of the tent, to keep anyone from trying to enter. Immediately, he caught her glance and raised an eyebrow.
She pointed at the pie.
Al blinked, then patted his pockets for a moment. He pulled out his cell phone, then began taking photos of the tent, of the table, of Perry lying on the ground, still trying to get a breath. Quincy had already taken several dozen snaps. Al took several additional shots of the pie, then grabbed an extra glass dome from an empty dessert stand and dropped it over the ruined slice of pie.
Doctor Mitchell straightened up. “Where’s the ambulance?”
They could all hear sirens approaching.
When Al didn’t answer, Doctor Mitchell looked around. Seeing the glass cover over the leftover slice of pie, Doctor Mitchell’s eyes widened, then turned to fury.
Then Perry started to shudder, claiming Doctor Mitchell’s attention.
“Take Melody out of here, Al,” Doctor Mitchell said loudly. “This is going to get nasty.”
Chapter Four
The harvest festival broke up quickly as the ambulance and other vehicles arrived. Melody went back to the tent, where Kerry and Leslie were packing up the bakery gear and tent. She was shaking. Kerry took one look at her and gave her a firm hug. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said. “It will all turn out okay.”
“What happened?” Leslie asked.
Melody didn’t want to theorize ahead of the facts. “I don’t know. It all happened so quickly. When I left, the ambulance was coming for Perry, though.”
“He choked on something,” Kerry said.
Leslie shook her head. “That wasn’t choking. I could still hear him breathing. I’ve heard someone who was choking on something before, and it’s quiet.”
“Was he allergic to anything?” Melody asked. Both women shrugged. Melody didn’t know either—but she ran through her head some of the things she had seen Perry eating at his restaurant, and ruled out seafood, wheat, dairy, and nuts.
“Maybe, rhubarb? Can you be allergic to rhubarb?” Kerry asked.
Leslie whipped out her phone and looked it up. “Yeah, it’s possible—but they told him it was a strawberry rhubarb pie, right? He was tasting Gloria’s pie. I recognized it from the maple leaf top.”
Melody sighed. “I’m sure he knew what kind of pie it was.”
“It’s lucky that you weren’t the first person to eat,” Leslie said.
“Why?” Melody asked, even though she had been thinking the same thing.
“What if there was something in the pie? Like, I don’t know. Rat poison.”
“Who would poison a pie?” Melody asked. “Not Gloria.”
Kerry took a breath. When Melody looked up, Kerry’s lips were pressed together. “Maybe she wanted more than the first prize,” Kerry said.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know for sure, but it seemed like there was something going on between Perry and Gloria when they were in the bakery together the other day.”
“They weren’t together together, they came at the same time. But…” Melody shook her head. “You’re right. There was a weird vibe going on.”
“I’ve heard rumors that they might be something of an item,” Kerry said.
Leslie whistled. “Poor Jillian.”
“I can believe it of Perry,” Melody said. “He always has to be the most charming man in the room, the center of attention. I mean, think about today. He made sure to be the first in line for pie.” She thought about the subtle way Perry had made sure he was first. First, he had stood next to Mike. Then, as soon as Mike declared the judging open, he was the first person to speak up. Everyone had just assumed that he would be the first to try the pie. The way they had been standing, the order naturally would have been Perry first, Doctor Mitchum second, and Melody last.
Had someone counted on Perry inserting himself at the front of the line?
The festival had quickly drained of spectators. Now, the only people left were the ones breaking down their tents,
or waiting around to clean up the site after everyone left.
And the ambulances and police cars, of course.
A solitary figure walked toward them. It was Al. He stopped to question Leslie and Kerry first, taking them to the side and taping their conversations on his cell phone. Melody tried not to pay attention to what they were saying. Then it was her turn.
But instead of questioning her, Al said, “Melody, I want to borrow you for a bit.”
“Borrow me?”
“I want you to check something.” And he would say no more.
Melody took Smudge’s leash and led her back to the judging tent.
Perry was nowhere to be seen. The tent had been taped off with police tape, and a path had been marked from the tent entrance to the area where Perry had fallen to the ground. The table full of pies had been covered with a light plastic sheet. The area where Perry’s paper plate had been dropped was marked off with yellow tape and small flags stuck into the ground, and the glass cover was still in place.
Melody stopped and gave her name to an officer by the front of the tent. The officer handed Melody a hairnet and a pair of blue nitrile gloves to put on. She did.
“Dave, can you hold the lady’s dog leash for a minute?” Al said.
“Sure.”
Melody left Smudge with the officer, then followed Al inside. Her stomach felt like ice.
Al brought her over to the table and pulled back the plastic cover. The pies were still in place.
“I want you to smell these pies,” he said.
Melody squatted down, so her face was just above the table and started sniffing. The pies smelled like pies—she wasn’t sure what Al wanted to know.
Then she stopped, drew herself back, and said to herself, “That’s odd. There aren’t any cherry pies.”
“What was that?” Al asked.
“Something smells odd. Usually, you only get amaretto in a cherry pie. Although, I suppose that it would be good in peach, too.”
“Amaretto? Almond liqueur?”
“Bitter almond liquor,” she corrected him. “It’s a different species or something. It smells…”
Melody stepped back from the table, putting a hand over her mouth. She had suddenly remembered something about bitter almonds: cyanide was supposed to smell like them.
“Which ones smell like bitter almonds?” Al asked patiently.
Melody leaned back in and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to prejudice herself by looking at the pie crusts.
One by one, she sniffed the rows of pies.
“I’m not sure,” she said. Something about the sweetness of the pies was turning her stomach.
“Check under the glass covers,” Al said.
“Would—would you lift them for me?” Melody asked. She was still feeling shaky.
He did, and she smelled her way down the row, eyes still closed.
“This one,” she said. “This one smells like Amaretto.”
She opened her eyes. She was pointing straight at Gloria’s maple-leaf-topped strawberry-rhubarb pie.
Al put the glass lid back in place. Melody straightened up, swallowing back bile. Al pulled the plastic cover back into place and nodded at the detectives over in the corner of the tent.
Chapter Five
When Melody stepped out of the tent, she stepped into an argument. The police had been questioning several of the witnesses and had asked them all to wait around for a little bit longer. Gloria, Jillian, and Eleanor had all been left to wait under an open tent about a hundred feet from the judging tent—a touchy situation, to put it lightly.
As Melody recovered Smudge’s leash from the officer, Al said, “Wait for me with the others, Melody. I have to ask you some questions.”
She nodded. Horace was nowhere to be seen. None of the three women looked happy.
Melody sat down in one of the chairs under the tent beside Gloria.
“What are you here for?” Eleanor asked angrily, leaning around Jillian to glare at Melody.
“To answer questions for the police,” Melody said calmly.
“What questions?”
“I’m sure that they’ll let you know when it’s time,” Melody answered.
“I don’t find out a lot of things,” Eleanor said bitterly. “When were you going to tell everyone that you were coaching Gloria on how to bake pies?”
Considering that the first pie of Gloria’s that Melody had tasted was only a few days ago, Melody didn’t consider what she had done was actually coaching. She bit her tongue, though. Eleanor didn’t want an answer. She was just looking for a fight.
“And that doesn’t even cover what Gloria was doing with another of the judges.” Eleanor raised her eyebrows to add emphasis.
Gloria took a breath, then held it.
“With Perry, you mean. Having an affair with Perry,” Jillian said in a most monotone voice.
Gloria’s lips went pale as she pressed them together.
Jillian straightened up. In a loud voice, she said, “Yes, as I told the police, Gloria Fitzsimmons was having an affair with my husband, who, I think she should know, was never a particularly faithful husband. He would never have divorced me and married her, no matter what he told her. In fact, I think he had already moved on to someone else, although I wasn’t sure who. As I also told the police.”
Gloria let out a long breath, her lips puckered—almost a whispered no.
“No matter what Perry promised or did, he did not deserve to die like this,” Jillian added, still more indignant than sad.
Gloria turned her head away from Jillian, so she didn’t have to make eye contact, and so Jillian couldn’t actually see the tears that had started running down her face.
“Gloria doesn’t have a murderous bone in her body,” Melody said.
Jillian sniffed. “People can deceive you.”
“That’s true.” Eleanor nodded her agreement.
Jillian took a sharp breath to respond. Apparently, there was more dirt to be slung, this time toward Eleanor—but she was interrupted by Smudge. The little bulldog took a flying leap at a large tote bag at Eleanor’s side.
“Smudge!” Melody exclaimed, jumping up from her chair to grab Smudge’s leash and collar, and take her away from the bag.
Jillian, who was sitting on Eleanor’s right side—with Gloria on Eleanor’s left—made a face. “What is that smell?”
Smudge had pulled the tote bag open and had dragged a plastic dessert cover out of it. The Frenchie growled at the cover, snapping at it as Melody pulled her away.
“That smells like garbage. What were you trying to pull now, Eleanor?” Jillian grabbed the dessert carrier off the ground and unlatched it. When she opened the lid, an awful reek spilled out.
Underneath the cover was a pretty-looking pie…with maple leaves cut out of the crust.
“That’s none of your business!” Eleanor snapped.
Gloria finally opened her mouth. “That looks exactly like my pie. You were trying to sabotage the contest.”
“I was trying to do no such thing,” Eleanor said. “This was just a pie that didn’t turn out too well. And even if that had been my plan, at least it would have stopped a decent man from getting poisoned.”
“I didn’t say he was a decent man,” Jillian said, now looking defeated.
Eleanor continued, interrupting her: “You cooked your own goose, Gloria. Poisoning a man because you discovered that he wasn’t that interested in you? This is all your fault.”
Melody was getting angry. “If this had nothing to do with Gloria’s pie, Eleanor, why did you make the exact same pie that Gloria did? How did you even find out what kind of pie she was making, let alone what pattern she was using for the pie crust?”
“My pies have nothing to do with Gloria’s pies,” Eleanor said. “The truth is, Melody, that you can’t stand the idea of my pies being as good as yours. You only agreed to judge the contest so that you could sabotage people who deserved to win.”
; Melody was taken aback. “You won last year, Eleanor.”
“Which you resented!” Eleanor exclaimed, shaking her finger in Melody’s direction. “You decided that you couldn’t allow that to happen again. That’s why you bribed Gloria into entering the contest. She never would have entered if you hadn’t pushed her. Those weren’t even her pies! Gloria never had a reputation for baking, that is, she didn’t until you suddenly took her ‘under your wing.’ But we all know that Gloria never baked a pie in her life! Those pies were yours!”
Eleanor had jumped to her feet and was yelling down into Melody’s face. It was intimidating…and slightly crazed.
Al suddenly appeared at the edge of the tent: “Ladies…ladies. I know that today’s events have been very upsetting, but I’d like to have you keep your voices down a little.”
Jillian was on her feet now. “Where is Perry? Is he at the hospital? I want to go to him. Why won’t anyone tell me how he is?”
Al sighed, his broad shoulders slumping. “Ladies, why don’t you leave for now? Please don’t leave town until I contact you again, though. We’ve all had a tough day today.”
Melody’s throat tightened as she saw Al put a hand lightly on Jillian’s arm, asking her to stay back for a moment.
Melody took Gloria’s arm and Smudge’s leash and walked with them toward the bakery van. Eleanor left in the opposite direction, muttering under her breath. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?” she asked Gloria.
“What do you mean? Why would I want to stay with you?” the librarian asked, sounding panicked.
“In case you don’t want to be alone,” Melody said.
Behind them, they heard Jillian scream—a sound of outrage, shock, and denial. The hair rose on Melody’s arms. Gloria gasped, then turned as if she were about to run back in the direction she’d come. Melody caught her, then turned her back toward the bakery van.