Mary sighed. “My daddy was always in the pie eating contest, Mrs. Johnson. My mother always baked the pies for the contest. I suppose it’s a family tradition. Only…I was expecting to have a grand surprise waiting for me today after the contest ended.” Mary took Mrs. Johnson’s gloved hands. “My husband is in New York. He’s coming home, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Oh, Mary.” Mrs. Johnson gasped in shock and then exploded into happiness. “Oh, John Holland is coming home! Oh, happy days!” Mrs. Holland hugged Mary. “Oh, I know you have weathered some very dark days, child, but now the sun has come out.”
“Well…almost,” Mary said as she hugged Mrs. Johnson back. “John has been snowed in, I’m afraid. He won’t be able to come home until tomorrow. I was expecting him to arrive today on the evening train.”
“Oh my.” Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “Oh, that will not do at all.” Mrs. Johnson walked her eyes around and found her two sons. “Wilbur, Matthew, when you’re through taking the pies to the tent report back to me immediately. I have an urgent chore for you.”
“Oh, no,” Mary begged,” Mrs. Johnson—”
“I will send my two sons to fetch John Holland and bring him home,” Mrs. Johnson informed Mary and then offered a loving smile. “It will be my honor to do so. John is a good man, Mary. He doesn’t need to be away from you any longer than needed. My two sons will gladly help.”
“Mrs. Johnson…thank you,” Mary said, nearly breaking down into tears, “but John is snowed in. Wilbur and Matthew wouldn’t get very far, I’m afraid.”
Mrs. Johnson studied Mary’s words. “I suppose you do make sense, Mary,” she confessed.
Mary hugged Mrs. Johnson. “John will find a way home,” she promised. “Now, what do you say you and I go find ourselves a cup of coffee?”
Mrs. Johnson patted Mary’s hand. “I have coffee waiting in the pie eating tent,” she said, smiling. “Now, I must warn you, Mr. Chesterfield is already present in the tent…and, as usual, he has brought a few practice pies from home.”
Mary felt a reluctant smile touch her lips. “Mr. Chesterfield is never going to beat Mr. Glenn,” she said. “Mr. Glenn has been the undefeated winner for the last seven years.”
“Mr. Chesterfield isn’t going to quit until he regains his title,” Mrs. Johnson informed Mary and walked her toward a yellow and white tent that was large enough to hold more than fifty people.
Mary walked through ankle-deep snow and allowed her eyes to take in all the sights. She spotted Loretta stepping into a red-and-white-striped tent with the tall stranger and vanish. Mary didn’t care. Loretta MacNight was none of her concern. It was silly to have even concerned herself with the woman to begin with. Yet, as Mary followed Mrs. Johnson into a warm tent that smelled of pies and coffee, she couldn’t help to wonder why Loretta had come to her for a pie. “I honestly do not care anymore,” Mary whispered.
Mary followed Mrs. Johnson over to a wooden table where three old women were gathered. The table was full of coffee and donuts. Mary figured she would have a cup of hot coffee, a couple of donuts, and then settle down for the pie eating contest. Yes, that was the ticket. She would occupy her mind until husband arrived home. After all, what else could possibly go wrong? Surely the rest of her day would pass uneventful. At least that what’s Mary assumed until someone ate a poisoned pie…a pie she had baked.
3
Mary watched familiar faces begin pouring into the tent. Men, women, and children, all with red, rosy cheeks and covered with snow, hurried to the green wooden bleachers talking and laughing. A few rowdy boys pulled at the hair of a girl who took off her snow hat. The girl swung around and socked one of the boys in the eye. All the adults in the tent laughed. The wounded boy hurried off to his mother, who quickly scolded him.
Mary laughed. “Andrew will never learn.” She then focused her attention on a long wooden table sitting at the front of the tent. Ten wooden chairs sat behind the table, waiting for ten hungry men to sit down. Ten of Mary’s delicious pies lined the table, covered with white cloths. “Okay, folks, hurry and take your seats,” Mrs. Johnson called out. “The men who are participating in the contest are all waiting outside and they’re mighty cold.”
Mary glanced around again, and to her shock, she saw Loretta enter the tent, look around, and quickly sit down on the bottom row of the bleacher Mary was sitting on. Mary was sitting on the top row, which allowed comfortable viewing of the contest. She was sure Loretta had spotted her, but if she had, the woman didn’t acknowledge the fact. Mary wanted to allow her mind to begin wondering around Loretta’s actions all over again, but decided not to. Sure, it was strange that Loretta was attending the pie eating contest; after all, the woman had never attended the contest before. But so what? Maybe the stranger Loretta was keeping a secret wanted to see the contest—except she didn’t see the man sitting with Loretta.
“Okay, hurry up and get comfortable,” Mrs. Johnson called out again. “Wilbur, Matthew, let the men in, please, before they freeze into an iceberg.”
Wilbur and Matthew walked to the back flap of the tent, pulled it open, and nodded. Seconds later ten frozen men hurried inside the tent, made their way to the wooden table, and began sitting down. Mary recognized the men—all the usual faces—but was shocked to see the tall stranger Loretta had been seen with take a seat at the table. The man, wearing a black winter coat and gray fedora, glanced at Loretta and then slowly tied a red and white food bib around his neck.
“Remove your hats, please,” Mrs. Johnson ordered the men. Mary watched the tall stranger remove his hat and place it onto his lap. She then checked a set of thick, black hair that complemented a stone-hard, handsome face that belonged in the movies. Loretta nervously watched the man glance around and then focus on the pie sitting before him.
“Who is your friend, Loretta?” Mary whispered, unable to fight back her curiosity. She looked down at Loretta, saw the woman nervously place her gloved hands together, and then walked her eyes back to the strange man. Something about the man didn’t seem right. The man’s face was hard and…cold; yes, cold. Sure, he had the appearance of a leading man, but his handsome face was…poison; deadly poison.
“Okay, contestants, remove the cloth covering your first pie,” Mrs. Johnson ordered in an excited voice. “Wilbur, Matthew, take your places.”
Wilbur and Matthew hurried over to a second table that was holding all the pies Mary had baked. Other pies baked by different women sat on the table, but Mary’s apple pies were the overpowering force.
“Okay, contestants, hands behind your back.”
The crowd in the tent grew silent as excited faces watched the contestants prepare to go to war. Mary quickly glanced at Loretta again, saw the woman focused on the strange man with fierce eyes full of worry and concern, and then let her eyes prepare to watch the contest. Mrs. Johnson carefully walked in front of the pie eating table, examined each pie, made sure each man’s bib was tied on properly, and then walked back to the table holding all the delicious pies.
“Okay, here are the rules,” she explained. “The first man to eat five pies is the winner. We have a total of fifty-two pies baked…we just made it.” The crowd laughed. “Most of the pies are apple pies, but we do have blueberry and strawberry pies. Each man has a row of assigned pies he will eat from. My sons will place a pie in front of each contestant from their assigned rows once that contestant finishes eating his pie.”
Mrs. Johnson smiled. “The winner will get a free year’s worth of cake from Mrs. Walton’s bakery…one cake per week.” Mrs. Johnson waved at a sweet old woman sitting close to Mary. “Can we all give Mrs. Walton a very special thank-you.” The people inside the tent clapped and cheered. Mrs. Walton blushed, thanked everyone, and gave the floor back to Mrs. Johnson. “Okay…it looks like we’re all set,” Mrs. Johnson announced in an excited voice. “Men, are you ready?” All the men nodded their heads. “Okay…then…on your mark…get set…GO!”
Mary watched as the ten men sit
ting at the pie eating table plunged their faces down into delicious apple pies and began gobbling them down. The people inside the tent began yelling and cheering, clapping their hands and laughing. Jacob Glenn yelled: “Apple pie!” Wilbur grabbed an apple pie, ran it to the table, tossed it down, and carried off an empty pie tray. Gary Chesterfield, who was nearly finished with his first pie, shot a sour eye at Mr. Glenn. Mr. Glenn grinned and then dug into his second pie. Mary smiled. Mr. Glenn was sure to win the pie eating contest again.
With the pie eating contest running with full steam, Mary tossed a curious eye at the strange man. The man was eating his pie, but not at a frantic pace. Mary noticed that the stranger would take a few bites, raised his head, glance to his left, and look at who? Who was the man the stranger kept looking at? Mr. Connor? No. Mr. Charring? No. There was only one man left and that was Mr. Brent Presley. Brent Presley was sitting at the end of the table digging away at his second pie.
“Why do you keep looking at Brent Presley?” Mary whispered. That’s when she noticed that Loretta was also focused on Brent Presley. What is going on? Mary asked herself.
But before she could think another thought the strange man stopped eating. He yanked his head up and with, wide, terrified eyes he looked at Loretta. “You…you…” he began to speak but stopped.
Mary watched the man grab his throat, jump to his feet, stumble backward, and fall down. Mr. Chesterfield, the town’s pharmacist, stopped eating and ran to the strange man. Mr. Glenn joined him.
“He’s not getting air…his face is blue…” Mr. Chesterfield yelled.
Mrs. Johnson, who assumed that the strange man had choked on a piece of pie, ordered everyone in the tent to remain calm. Loretta quickly stood up on scared legs and hurried out of the tent. Mary spotted Loretta making her escape but decided to remain inside the tent and see what conclusion would be blanketed over the strange man. She made her way down to the ground and worked through the crowd until she reached Mr. Chesterfield and Mr. Glenn—but it was too late. Mr. Chesterfield stood up and shook his head at the crowd. “He’s…dead,” he said and then ran a hand through his thin gray hair. “Somebody better go get the sheriff.”
“Dead?” Mrs. Johnson gasped.
Mr. Chesterfield walked over to the apple pie the strange man had been eating—a pie baked by Mary—picked it up, and smelled the contents. “Why…this pie…has been poisoned.” A loud gasp fluctuated through the tent. Scared parents grabbed their children and ran them outside.
“Poisoned?” Mrs. Johnson asked in a confused voice. She snatched the pie away from Mr. Chesterfield, smelled the contents, and then pulled the pie away from her nose with a disgusted face. “Oh my…”
Mr. Chesterfield took the apple pie back and smelled the contents again. “Yep, what I smell is poison,” he confirmed.
Mary felt her heart begin to race. “Mr. Chesterfield, that’s one of the pies I baked,” she confessed.
Mr. Chesterfield nodded his head. “I recognize the pie, Mary.”
Mary glanced over her shoulder and saw Brent Presley easing out of the tent. “Mr. Presley!” she called out. Brent, pretending as if he hadn’t heard Mary, stepped out into the soft snow and vanished. “Oh dear,” Mary whispered.
Mrs. Johnson took Mary’s hand. “Now, Mary, don’t you go believing for one second that anyone will believe you killed that poor man,” she said.
“Of course not,” Mr. Chesterfield added. He walked back to the pie eating table, grabbed his fedora, slapped it on, and then looked at Wilbur and Matthew. “You two better put a sheet over that man.” Wilbur and Matthew nodded and went to work. “Jacob, you better go try and find the sheriff.”
“Sure thing,” Mr. Glenn said and left the tent.
Mary watched as Wilbur and Matthew found a red and white checkered tablecloth. The two men carefully covered the strange man’s body with the tablecloth and then walked outside into the snow, leaving Mary alone with Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Chesterfield.
“I have to get to the bottom of this,” Mary said in a determined voice. Her thoughts went back to Loretta MacNight. Loretta had paid Mary a visit the night before and had asked to buy an apple pie. What had Loretta stated about the pie she had purchased at Mrs. Walton’s bakery? The pie had an unfortunate accident? Something like that. Mary’s mind began to take pieces of Loretta she had dismissed as amusing and placed them under a serious bright light for clear investigation. Why had Loretta asked Mary for a pie, considering how much she disliked Mary? Other women in town were baking pies for the contest; maybe not as many pies as Mary, but surely not a small handful, either. What had happened to the pie Loretta had bought? Why did Loretta want a pie to begin with? Who was the strange man?
“Loretta…did you murder that man?” Mary whispered, staring at the red and white checkered tablecloth.
“What, dear?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
“Huh…oh…nothing,” Mary replied. The last thing in the world she wanted or needed was to upset Mrs. Johnson more than the woman already was. “Mr. Chesterfield?” she said.
Mr. Chesterfield turned and looked at Mary. “Now, Mary, if you’re wanting a story—”
“I want to know what kind of poison killed that man,” Mary stated in a stern voice.
“Doc Downing will be the one to tell you that, Mary. You know that. I’m a pharmacist, not—”
“You know more than Doc Downing, Mr. Chesterfield. I mean no disrespect, but Doc Downing was never the sharpest tool in the shed.” Mary looked over at Mrs. Johnson with sorrowful eyes. “I honestly mean no disrespect toward Doc Downing, please believe me.”
Mrs. Johnson waved a hand in the cold air. “Mary, we all know Doc Downing couldn’t diagnose a sprained ankle from a sore throat.”
Mr. Chesterfield glanced down at the tablecloth. “I admit that old Henry is past his time, but he’s the only town doctor we have and, while he may be losing his ability to be a doctor, he’s all Pineville has. And let me remind you ladies,” Mr. Chesterfield pointed out, “old Henry may be not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s been dedicated to the health and well-being of our community for over forty years. And while he may be getting slower in his years, he’s still our doctor.”
Mary respected Mr. Chesterfield for defending Doc Downing. Yet, she needed answers and feared that Doc Downing would fail her. “Mr. Chesterfield, this man was poisoned—”
“Doc Downing will confirm that, Mary,” Mr. Chesterfield told Mary in a stern tone. “It’s best if we leave the rest up to Sheriff Mables.”
Mrs. Johnson walked Mary to the door of the tent. “Mary, why don’t you go outside and get some fresh air until Sheriff Mables arrives. Mr. Chesterfield and I will watch the…body.”
Mary thought of Loretta MacNight and Brent Presley. “Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said. Mr. Chesterfield, as kind and sweet-hearted as he was, wasn’t going to assist Mary. There was no sense in remaining inside the tent. Perhaps, if Mary hurried, she might be able to catch Loretta or Brent. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she promised Mrs. Johnson. She hurried out into the snow, looked around, and decided to make trails for the parking lot. “Please be there,” Mary whispered as she worked her way through thick crowds of confused, scared people. By now everyone at the fairgrounds had heard what happened. When she reached the snow-covered parking lot she saw Loretta easing down the front lane in her car, heading toward the main road. “Loretta!” Mary yelled. “Loretta, wait!”
Loretta spotted Mary running through a rows of cars, waving her hands. She quickly stepped on the gas, nearly sped into a parked truck before regaining control of her car, and dashed out onto the main road before Mary could catch her. Mary stopped running, watching Loretta speed away. She let out a heavy breath that turned into a white cloud of frost.
“Loretta MacNight,” Mary whispered in a worried voice and then quickly raced back to the parking lot and began searching for Brent Presley’s sedan. Brent Presley, who had moved to Pineville the previous autumn, was the only m
an in town who drove a 1942 Packard Clipper Club Sedan. Except for the MacNights, no one in Pineville drove such a fancy vehicle. To Mary’s delight she spotted the car resting in between two pickup trucks.
“I’ll just wait right here for Mr. Presley,” Mary whispered in a patient voice. She leaned against Brent’s car and glanced up at the snowy sky and began to think. “The strange man kept looking at Brent Presley…why?” she asked. “Was it because he was expecting something to happen to Mr. Presley?” Mary kept her eyes on the snowy sky as her mind went to work. “Perhaps…the poisoned pie was meant for Mr. Presley?” But before her mind could examine the question any further a man in his late fifties approached the 1942 Packard Clipper Club Sedan wearing a thick gray coat and a dark gray fedora hat. “Mr. Presley—”
“I wish to be left alone,” Brent snapped at Mary in a hard voice. He moved past Mary, yanked open the driver’s side door, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Mrs. Holland, if you wish to harass me I will have the sheriff speak with you. Do I make myself clear?” He slammed the driver’s side door shut and drove away, leaving Mary more curious than ever.
Betty watched Mary sit down behind the desk in John’s office. She nervously clutched a writing pad against her chest and waited for Mary to speak. Instead of speaking, Mary turned on the Model 40-140T Philco Radio sitting on the desk. “Moon Love” by Glenn Miller began roaming out of the radio and dancing into the air.
“Sheriff Mables will be by in a bit to talk to me,” Mary finally spoke. She picked up a pencil and tapped a Model 03 Hektowriter typewriter.
“Should I make coffee?” Betty asked in a worried voice.
“Coffee would be nice,” Mary admitted. She turned her head and studied the office window. A soft snow was falling outside of the window. “Betty, I can’t be certain, but it does seem—at least in my mind—that Brent Presley was the intended target. Somehow the stranger Loretta was roaming around with ended up dead.” Mary continued to tap the typewriter. “There are many questions we will need to find answers to. The first order of business, though, is finding out who the dead man is.”
Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6) Page 4