Pie Hard

by Kirsten Weiss

  “But you worked with high-end restaurants,” I said, “didn’t you? I’d think they’d be more used to bringing in consultants.”

  “Not as much as you’d think.” He doodled in the potatoes with his fork. “It was a bit of an adjustment shifting from restaurants to bakeries. I think that’s why I was looking forward to your shop—you’re both restaurant and bakery. Thanks to Regina, things were turning around for me. She even loaned me that money. Then she died.” He stabbed the shepherd’s pie. “I don’t know what comes next.”

  “It’s amazing how close you all became, when the rest of the crew worked together so long. Was it difficult for you and Ilsa to become part of the team?”

  “Regina, Steve and Luther were close, but they never made us feel like outsiders. We all worked closely together, traveled together.”

  I raised a brow. “Traveling first class must have gotten expensive.”

  “We didn’t at first. It’s only been this last year that Regina began upgrading us—out of her own pocket. She said travel was stressful, and the show successful, so we should enjoy the process. I don’t think Steve was happy about it though.” He prodded the pie with his fork.

  “Did the travel upgrades start about nine months ago?” That was around the time she’d been diagnosed with ALS.

  He looked up. “I suppose so, yes.”

  A mug crashed to the floor, and I gave a little jump.

  Petronella hurried from behind the register to clean up the mess.

  “Did you know Regina had been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease?” I asked him.

  He grimaced. “Luther told me last night. I was gutted when I heard. Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked, plaintive.

  “I’d imagine it’s a tough thing to tell people, having to deal with their reactions on top of your own.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How long has Luther had an alcohol problem?”

  “I didn’t notice it until . . .” He frowned.

  “About nine months ago?”

  He nodded. “But it had been going on for years. Ilsa told me he’d been better at hiding it before.”

  So the news of the ALS had sunk Luther in despair, and Regina decided to live like she was dying, which she had been.

  Marla walked in, pausing in the center of the black-and-white floor for effect. She fluffed her platinum-blond hair and strolled to the register.

  “Just a sec,” I said to Nigel and went to take her order.

  “Is Charlene here?” she asked.

  “Sorry, no,” I said, insincere. I didn’t need those two brawling in the dining area. “What can I get for you?”

  She eyed Nigel. “I thought the show was over.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why’s he here?”

  “For the pie?”

  “Hm.” She toyed with the diamond pendant at her neck. “Since you haven’t blown up yet, I’ll have a mini chicken pot pie.”

  “Ha, ha.” I clipped her order to the ticket wheel in the kitchen window and spun it toward Abril.

  Marla sauntered down the counter and sank onto a barstool beside Nigel.

  I returned to him, eating his shepherd’s pie.

  “This is top shelf.” He pointed with his fork at the pie. “I hope we haven’t done more damage to your shop than good.”

  Marla laughed. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing you can do that Charlene can’t make worse.”

  I shot her a repressive look. “Once Regina and Ilsa’s killer is caught, things will return to normal.”

  Marla tossed her head. “You think that will actually happen? Have you any idea how many murders go unsolved?”

  “Nope.” We had to solve this crime. I couldn’t keep wondering if my father might be involved in the murders.

  “Me neither,” Nigel said, “but I can imagine there are buckets.”

  “Order up!” Abril called through the window.

  I turned, grabbed Marla’s pot pie, and set it in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You can go now.”

  Turning my back to Marla, I planted one hip against the counter. “I keep thinking there’s something we’re missing,” I said in a low voice to Nigel, “something that will explain everything.”

  “Such as?” he asked. “Everyone’s a suspect. No one has alibis. That bomb could have been placed on Frank’s car at any time, and it was parked at the hotel, where we all spent the night.”

  Time. It all seemed to come down to time. Regina’s had been running out, but the killer couldn’t wait or didn’t know about her death sentence.

  I eyed Nigel. He didn’t know about Regina’s illness until after her death—or so he claimed. Did that give him a stronger motive?

  He reared back on his barstool. “What? You’re looking at me strangely. What’s wrong? Is there something in my teeth?”

  “You’re fine,” Marla said. “Val’s just a little odd.”

  He grabbed a napkin holder off the table and grinned into the reflection. “Are you certain?”

  “I was thinking about the past,” I said.

  “That some secret lurking deep in her past caused Regina’s death?” He set down the metal dispenser.

  “I’m not—” I straightened, blinking. Was it that simple?

  “And now you look terrified,” he said.

  “What did I tell you?” Marla jabbed her pot pie with the fork. “Odd.”

  “I need to find Luther,” I said.

  Marla snorted. “If he’s not here, please do. Go.”

  “Do you know where he is?” I asked Nigel.

  “The hotel bar would be my guess.”

  “Thanks.” I bustled into the kitchen and untied my apron. “Petronella, could you hold down the fort for a few hours?”

  “Sure,” she said, loading bowls into the industrial dishwasher. “It’s not like we’re busy.”

  “Is something wrong?” Abril asked.

  “No—”

  The alley door banged open and Charlene strode inside, her sky-blue tunic flapping about her thighs. She wore matching leggings.

  “Good, you’re here,” the two of us said simultaneously.

  “Why?” Charlene asked.

  “We need to talk to Luther.”

  “I agree,” she said. “But we’re not going alone. I’m calling for backup.”

  My heart leapt. “Gordon?”

  She made a face. “Are you kidding? He’s on duty. We can’t bring anyone official. I hate to say it, but we need Ray.”

  “Why?” Petronella asked. “Did you learn something about the murder?”

  “Not learn,” I said. “Suspect. And Luther’s at the bottom of it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Jittery, I winced against the glare of sunlight on chrome in the Belinda Hotel parking lot. I had a sick feeling that something was about to happen, that we were too late.

  “Give me a hand, will you?” Charlene leaned from the passenger side of the van.

  Gripping her elbow, I helped Charlene to the pavement. I could feel the bones in her arm, thin and fragile, and a wave of unwanted sadness swamped me. Even with Frank in the picture, she was the closest thing I had to a parent. I shook off my fears of the future. She wouldn’t want me to be morbid, not when we were on the case.

  Her cell phone rang, and she excavated it from the pocket of her sky-blue tunic. She frowned at the number and put the phone to her ear. “Ray?” She cocked her head. “What’s taking you so long?” She sighed. “Fine. Call us when you get here.” She hung up and shook her head. “Car trouble. He’ll be delayed.”

  “If I’d known, we could have picked him up.” I strode toward the chic hotel. Wind whipped strands of hair from my ponytail. Popcorn clouds scudded above the gray-painted, gabled building.

  “He was on the opposite side of town,” she said. “It would have taken too long.”

  “Fine. Let’s just make sure we stay in a public place when we meet Luther.”

  “
The bar’s public, and it serves drinks. Luther’s probably been there all morning.” She made a drinking motion with one hand.

  The lobby’s sliding doors parted, and we hurried through it and to the dark-paneled wine bar. It was empty—no surprise at this time of day. Abandoning it, we checked the other lounge area—a bar with blue and gold carpets over polished hardwood floors. Large, square windows overlooked the ocean. A telescope stood before the central window, beneath the peaked, white-painted roof. Couples sat on blue sofas and leaned toward each other across small, square tables.

  Luther wasn’t among them.

  “Maybe we should call his room?” I suggested, worried. He was probably at a different bar. I had a bad feeling I couldn’t shake.

  “Good idea. You do that.” Charlene wandered to the telescope and squinted into the eyepiece. She fiddled with the focuser, straightened, peered through the scope again. “Or, we could go down to the cliffs. Look.” She pointed through the window. “He’s on the trail.”

  “We said we’d stay public.”

  “You said we would,” she said. “Besides, there are people golfing. The greatest danger we’ll face is getting clocked by a stray ball.” She trotted into the hall.

  “This is a bad idea.” I followed her through the thick-carpeted hallways until we found a door to the rolling lawn.

  Luther’s bulky form disappeared behind a swell of grass.

  “Over there,” I said, jogging toward the cliff at a pace I hoped Charlene could match.

  Dodging a golf cart, I cut across the lawn to the other side of the looping path. It wound around a low, grassy knoll and down to the beach. Below, Luther plodded across a thin stretch of sand and toward the glossy black tide pools. “Luther!” I shouted. The wind whipped my words into the frothing Pacific.

  He didn’t turn, his shoulders hunched, his brown windbreaker flapping.

  Charlene huffed to a halt beside me. “Blast the man. If I walk down that hill, I’m going to have to walk up it again.” She bent, rubbing her knees. “My aching joints.”

  Her phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. “That’s Ray. He must be here.”

  “If not,” I said, relieved. “I’m sure he’ll get here soon.” My scare-anoia was probably groundless, but it felt better having him for backup. “I’ll be right back.” I jogged down the narrow, dirt trail and called Luther’s name.

  “You said public,” Charlene shouted after me.

  Ignoring her, I continued down the steeply sloping trail. “Luther!”

  He didn’t turn, though it was little surprise he couldn’t hear me over the roar of wind and waves. However, I was startled when he walked into the slick tide pools. Luther didn’t strike me as the starfish-hunting type, and the tide was coming in, dark waves flowing steadily closer.

  I reached the beach and jogged to the first cluster of low, slick rocks. Small, gray-green anemones lined the crevices. I slowed to avoid squishing the tiny animals. Or plants. Or whatever they were.

  One foot skidded beneath me. I steadied myself and blew out a shaky breath. Or, I could stay right here on the sand. Luther had only one way to go, and that was to return toward me. I didn’t need to risk my neck.

  He walked further into the tide pools. A wave sloshed over his shoes.

  What was that idiot up to?

  He plodded onward, shoulders slumped.

  My blood turned to ice. “Oh, damn.” He wasn’t returning to shore. Ever. “Luther!” I screamed.

  Careful of the spongy, green anemones dotting the rocks, I picked my way forward. “Luther! Don’t!”

  There was a faint cry behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Charlene hopped up and down at the top of the cliff, waving her arms.

  Confused, I turned toward Luther.

  He’d stopped, reaching the end of the tide pools.

  I stood thirty feet from him on a peninsula of treacherous rock. Three feet away, on the other side of a pool where a small octopus swam, was what looked like a dry patch of pitted stone.

  Taking a breath, I hopped to the stone. I landed and wobbled on my toes, gasping and staring into a jagged pool of crystalline water. A narrow, olive-colored fish darted beneath me.

  Regaining my balance, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted Luther’s name.

  He stood as if frozen.

  Aside from Steve, Luther seemed closer to Regina than anyone. They shared a battle, though against different diseases. Was that battle about to destroy Luther as well?

  A wave splashed nearby, the spray chilling my cheek.

  Terrified, I forged onward, creeping across the sharp, slippery rocks. “Luther, come back!”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I killed her! It’s my fault! Let me go!” His words were slow, slurred.

  I stilled. Had I been wrong?

  Jaw tight, I edged forward, feeling my way along the rocks. “This isn’t the way, Luther. Regina was a fighter. She would have wanted you to fight too.”

  “You don’t understand.” He moaned, or it could have been the wind. “Too much has happened.”

  “Then help me understand.” I slipped on a piece of seaweed and smashed my knee into a rock. Smothering a yelp of pain, I stood, grimacing. “Regina wanted you to live.” She’d wanted everyone to live to the fullest. She was generous—the luxury hotels, helping Nigel with his gambling, cutting Luther slack with his drinking. “She wanted Ilsa to live too. I know you weren’t responsible for her death. Ilsa cared about you. She protected you.”

  “It was my fault,” he shouted. “Everything was my fault.”

  Icy water surged over the rock, wetting my tennis shoes. Turn around, turn around. “I don’t think you could have protected Ilsa.” My voice trembled. “She took a risk, and she died—”

  Luther’s feet flew from beneath him. His arms flailed, and then he went down. Landing on his back, he lay still.

  My breath stopped. I stood rooted to the spot. “Luther!”

  Then I was moving again, sidling across the rocks.

  A wave swept over Luther’s face. He didn’t move, didn’t sputter.

  Two seals bobbed in the waves to the west, their sleek bodies slipping through the ocean.

  I gritted my teeth and edged forward. Seals looked cute from a distance, but they could be mean when they felt their territory threatened. “Pay no attention to me, large, sharp-toothed animals,” I muttered. “I’m just passing through.”

  The water rose to my ankles. If I didn’t reach him soon, we’d both be pulled out to sea.

  I steeled myself. Just go. Go!

  I darted forward, scrambling and sliding, falling to my hands in places, until I half-fell beside his burly form.

  His face was gray, his eyes closed. Luther’s orangey hair shifted in the water like seaweed.

  I grasped his windbreaker and shook him. “Luther, you have to wake up.”

  A ribbon of red coiled in the water near his ears. Soon the tide would cover him completely.

  Cautiously, I lifted his head and felt beneath it. My numbing fingers detected a lump.

  “Wake up!” He was too heavy to drag to safety, but I couldn’t leave him. Charlene knew where I was and Ray was on his way. They’d send help. If I could keep his head out of the water, someone would get to us in time. “We’ll be okay.” I prayed we’d be okay.

  Grunting, I levered his body to a seated position. His head flopped forward, and I winced. I’d forgotten my first aid lessons about head injuries, but I’d a pretty good idea I shouldn’t be rattling his brain against his skull.

  The waves flowed past the top of his hips.

  Red streamers of blood drifted across the water, and I tried not to think about the great whites that lurked off the coast. My fingers dug into his sopping windbreaker. “Luther, open your damn eyes.”

  The seals bobbed closer, interested.

  Experimentally, I gripped him beneath his armpits and tugged. He didn’t budge. “Help!” I shr
ieked, my eyes warming with tears of fear and fury. “Help!”

  A wave rippled across the rocks, sweeping past my knees. I staggered and clung to Luther for balance.

  The seals darted in opposite directions, as if startled.

  A dark shaped moved through the water, and I closed my eyes. “Not a shark, not a shark.” It was a trick of the light, a swell of seaweed. Nothing to worry about. I opened my eyes, and the dark shape had vanished.

  “Sharks are not waiting around for me to stick my toe in the water,” I muttered.

  “I could have told you that,” Frank said behind me.

  I yipped and one foot slid sideways. My knee slammed into Luther’s back. I straightened, cursing. “What are you—?”

  Expression grim, he rolled up the sleeves of his tweed jacket. “Charlene told me what was happening. An ambulance is on its way, but I don’t think we’ve got time to wait, do you? Move aside.”

  He took my place behind Luther and dragged him toward shore.

  “Look out,” I said, too late, as Frank stepped into a deeper pool and sank to his hips.

  Luther’s head slipped beneath the waves.

  CHAPTER 30

  I jumped, waist deep, into the tidal pool. Heedless of the tiny sea creatures we’d startled, I grabbed for Luther.

  But Frank clambered out as quickly as he’d gone in. He had Luther’s head and shoulders out of the water before I could help.

  “Walk behind me,” he said. “You can guide us to shore.”

  I scrambled from the water and did as he asked. Frank was risking his life for me. I couldn’t think about that now. There were too many other things to worry about, like where to step next.

  He dragged Luther backward, inch by painful inch.

  I directed him around deep pools and slippery patches of thick sea plants. The water slowly receded to our shins.

  “Something bothering you?” he huffed.

  Seagulls shrieked and wheeled overhead.

  “Let’s just get Luther to shore. Move a bit to the right.”

  “Don’t tell me you can’t talk and walk at the same time?”

  “Your other right,” I ground out, “and it’s not important.”

  “I thought you meant your right,” Frank said. “Not my right.”