Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6)

by Wendy Meadows

  “We?” Betty said in an aggrieved voice.

  Mary took her eyes to Betty. The poor woman looked a mess. It was obvious Betty’s mother had not let the poor soul get a moment’s worth of rest. The yellow and green dress Betty was wearing was wrinkled and her hair, which she usually kept very pretty, was messy. “Your mother is being difficult, isn’t she?” Mary asked before answering Betty’s question.

  Betty looked down at the pad of paper she was holding with guilty eyes. “Mother is never pleasant when she is ill,” she confessed to Mary. “At the moment Mother is simply running a slight fever that Doc Downing said would go away in a day or so. Doc Downing told her to remain in bed, eat plenty of hot soup, drink plenty of orange juice, and to rest.”

  “But?” Mary asked.

  Betty sighed. “Mother believes Doc Downing is an…imbecile. She swears that she’s one step away from her grave.” Betty looked up at Mary. “It’s like this every winter.”

  “Yes, I know,” Mary said, feeling sorry for her best friend. “I’m sorry I had to call you away.”

  “I’m not,” Betty said before she could catch her tongue. “Oh, Mary, that sounded horrible, didn’t it? Oh, goodness…please don’t tell Mother I said such an awful thing.”

  Mary smiled. “You’re secret is safe with me,” she promised. “Now, why don’t you go make some coffee and then rest. I need to make a phone call before Sheriff Mables arrives.”

  “You seem very calm about the murder,” Betty told Mary in a relieved voice. “I’m glad you aren’t upset that someone turned one of your pies into a murder weapon.”

  “The pie was only a means to carry out an act,” Mary said in a thoughtful voice. “Whoever the killer is doesn’t have a personal grudge against me. I’m sure of that.”

  Betty watched Mary lean back in the office chair, check her dress over, straighten out her lovely hair, and then look toward the office window. “You look very nice.”

  “Huh?” Mary asked.

  “You always check your dress and hair when you’re expecting someone.”

  “Oh,” Mary said and blushed a little. “Well, I don’t exactly have to look like a beauty queen for Sheriff Mables,” she told Betty. “I guess deep down I’m expecting John to show up…somehow. I know John is trapped in New York, but there’s a part of me that’s hoping he’ll find a way home today and surprise me. If that part of my heart is right…I want to look somewhat presentable for my husband.”

  Betty felt sorry for Mary. She understood the pain, the worry—and the fear—Mary had been suffering from. How many nights had the woman paced around a lonely house wondering if her husband was dead or alive, and if he was alive…would he end up dying in the war? Mary had been fighting her own war, suffering in silence along with millions of other wives, waiting for a miracle or disaster to strike. And now that a miracle had defeated the disaster, Mary was waiting on pins and needles to see her husband. “I’ll go make some coffee and then walk down to the diner and get us a late lunch. I’m a little hungry.”

  “I’m starving,” Mary confessed and gave Betty a grateful eye. “Oh, honey, if you could bring me back a cheeseburger plate that would be wonderful.”

  Betty smiled. “I’m in the mood for a cheeseburger, too,” she said and then let out a little giggle. “Mother will never know that I had cheeseburgers two days in a row.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Mary laughed. Betty smiled and hurried away to make the coffee. She nearly rushed into Sheriff Mables. “Oh, Sheriff, I’m so sorry.”

  Sheriff Mables gently patted Betty’s shoulder. “I’ll have my coffee black.” He smiled. Betty blushed and dashed away to prepare the coffee. “Well,” he told Mary in a voice that didn’t hold good news, “looks like the snow isn’t the only cold in this town.”

  Mary watched Sheriff Mables take off his brown sheriff’s hat, toss it down on the couch, and then stick his gloved hands into a thick brown coat holding a sheriff’s badge. “Loretta MacNight and Brent Presley refused to talk, huh?” she asked.

  “Give the lady a wooden nickel,” Sheriff Mables said. He pulled out a wood pipe from his left coat pocket and lit it with a match. The smell of cherry tobacco smoke began filling the office air. “Brent Presley…never cared for the man. Didn’t like him from day one when he moved into town last year and I still don’t like him. Loretta MacNight is in the same boat. The only difference is I know Loretta MacNight, known her since she was a child. I don’t see the woman being a killer. I can’t say the same for Mr. Presley.”

  “Brent Presley works at the bank. That could have something to do with the murder,” Mary pointed out.

  Sheriff Mables plopped down on the couch and let his gray hair have a rest. “I thought about that,” he said and nodded his head. “Yep,” he continued, rubbing his gray beard and looking around the office. “I sure thought of that.”

  “Any idea who the dead man is?” Mary asked in a hopeful voice.

  Sheriff Mables puffed on his pipe. “Loretta MacNight gave me a name,” he told Mary in a thoughtful voice. “I sure don’t believe she gave his real name, though.”

  Mary leaned forward and began tapping the typewriter with a pencil again. “The dead man didn’t have any identification?”

  “I was unable to locate a wallet,” Sheriff Mables confirmed. “I grilled Loretta awful hard but she held her ground, Mary. All I got out of the girl was a name that’s most likely fake.” Sheriff Mables puffed on his pipe some more. “I tried to call Loretta’s folks but I was told they’re in Brazil right now on some fancy vacation.”

  Mary stopped tapping the typewriter. “Sheriff, during the pie eating contest I watched the dead man keep looking at Brent Presley. I saw Loretta looking at Brent Presley.”

  “Yes, you told me that.”

  “I’m sure Brent Presley was the intended victim,” Mary dared to proclaim. She folded her arms and studied Sheriff Mables’s reaction. Sheriff Mables appeared to agree with Mary. “Since we seem to be on the same page,” Mary said, “maybe you can tell me the name Loretta gave you. I can do some digging on my end and—”

  “Mark Jones,” Sheriff Mables told Mary. “Do what you can with that name.”

  Mary winced. “Mark Jones? Loretta could have created a more imaginative name,” she said in a miserable voice. She plopped back in her chair and shook her head. “Loretta is the key to this case, Sheriff.”

  “Yep,” Sheriff Mables agreed, “but I can’t force the girl to talk. Sure, folks, including yourself, saw Loretta with the dead man, but so what? The guy kicked over eating a poisoned pie, a pie that Mrs. Johnson claimed she examined herself.”

  “Mrs. Johnson examines every pie.” Mary nodded.

  Sheriff Mables took one last puff on his pipe. “Anyone could have poisoned that pie, Mary, including you.” Sheriff Mables stood up, walked over to the desk, tapped his pipe against a wooden ashtray, and then put it away. “Mrs. Johnson had testified that she didn’t see Loretta MacNight anywhere near the pie eating tent until the event started. Wilbur and Matthew backed up their mother’s story. I also have Mr. Chesterfield, who arrived early to get some practice in, claiming the same tale. Loretta MacNight may be the key we need to unlock this mess, but if I tried to arrest her I would lose my badge.”

  “Loretta did come to my home last night and asked for a pie,” Mary pointed out. “She also bought a pie from Mrs. Walton yesterday.”

  Sheriff Mables shrugged his shoulder. “So what?” he asked Mary. “There isn’t a law that says a woman can’t buy a pie. Besides, it’s like I just said, Mrs. Johnson examined every pie delivered to the fairgrounds this morning. Loretta MacNight wasn’t on the delivery list.” Sheriff Mables walked over to the office window. “Mary, I know that girl is involved and I agree with you that Mr. Presley could also be involved. But right now I’m up a river without a paddle.”

  Mary understood Sheriff Mables’s situation. He had no evidence to arrest anyone. A strange man had died in a tent full of shock
ed people. Panic had erupted and people had begun rushing from the tent. As far as Mary knew, the killer—assuming the killer wasn’t Loretta MacNight or Brent Presley—could have easily fled out into the snow and vanished.

  “Well,” she said in a voice that told she wasn’t prepared to give up the fight, “someone poisoned my pie and someone sneaked the poisoned pie onto the pie eating table. Someone knew exactly where the dead stranger was going to be sitting, too…” Mary rubbed her chin. “Someone knew exactly where the dead stranger would be sitting…” she whispered. “Mrs. Johnson created the seating order…”

  Sheriff Mables turned away from the office window. “Mary, listen to me,” he said in a careful voice. “It’s cold, the roads are treacherous, and I’m hungry. Now, I know you’re not going to let this matter rest, and I can appreciate that, but all I ask is that you don’t upset the entire town. Folks are upset enough. I want you to walk on silent legs, is that clear?”

  “I understand.”

  Sheriff Mables nodded. “Good, because the last thing I need is more headaches,” he said and then added in a regretful voice: “Please don’t go near Loretta MacNight or Brent Presley, Mary. Those two have threatened to bring in their lawyers and cause all kinds of trouble. Now, I know you’re one of the best detective minds in the state, but I don’t need their attorneys on my back, okay?”

  Mary wasn’t upset. She had assumed Loretta and Brent would bark at Sheriff Mables and order him to keep her at a distance. “Sheriff, I have a lot of respect for you. I won’t cause you trouble.”

  “You’re a good kid, Mary,” Sheriff Mables said in a relieved voice. He sat back down on the couch and folded his arms. “You’re a good kid and that’s why I’m going to allow you to help me on this case. I don’t like people dying in our town. The only problem is I don’t have a leg to stand on. I need to find me a crutch.”

  “Well, trying to track down a Mark Jones isn’t going to help us,” Mary pointed out. “There must be dozens of Mark Joneses in this state alone, and anyway, like you said, he probably isn’t really named Mark Jones.” She rubbed her eyes with thoughtful fingers. “I have to find out who the dead stranger is. Loretta isn’t going to tell me the truth and I doubt Brent Presley would let his mouth run around the block.”

  Sheriff Mables watched Mary think. “We have no evidence that connects Loretta MacNight or Brent Presley to the murder. Now, I can press Loretta about the pie she bought from you, but then I would have to prove she poisoned the pie and somehow slipped it past Mrs. Johnson’s watchful eye.” Sheriff Mables shook his head. “Folks are looking real heavy at Loretta right now,” he continued. “It wouldn’t make sense that the girl would allow herself to be seen with a man she intended to kill. And to be honest, Mary, I don’t think the girl has enough smarts to pull off a murder.”

  “Which leaves us with Mr. Presley,” Mary pointed out. “Maybe, Sheriff, Loretta hired a killer to make sure Mr. Presley didn’t leave the pie eating contest alive?” Mary stood up and stretched her back. “Ten people signed up for the pie eating contest,” she continued. “Last year twelve people signed up and the year before only seven people signed up. In order to be allowed to participate in the contest you have to sign up one day prior to the event and pay a dollar.” Mary looked at Sheriff Mables. “Maybe we should talk to Mrs. Johnson and see when the dead stranger showed up to sign up for the contest? Mrs. Johnson does keep a record of all entries if I’m not mistaken.”

  Sheriff Mables reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Already did that,” he said. He held out the piece of paper for Mary. “Mark Jones signed up for the pie eating contest just in the nick of time, just barely making the sign-up.”

  Mary took the piece of paper from Sheriff Mables and examined the names Mrs. Johnson had written down. Besides the names was a date and a dollar sign with a check mark. “Mr. Glenn…Mr. Chesterfield…” she said, reading off the names, and then she lowered the piece of paper. “Brent Presley was sixth on the list…Mark Jones was tenth. Mark Jones should have been sitting in Brent Presley’s seat?”

  “You’re right.” Sheriff Mables nodded. He stood up and looked toward the office door. “Mary, when the pie eating contest began Mrs. Johnson said she did notice that Mark Jones and Brent Presley were in the wrong seat, but decided not to make a fuss over it. The only question is—”

  “Why did they change seats?” Mary pondered. She looked at Sheriff Mables just as Betty entered the office carrying two brown mugs full of coffee. Mary sure needed the coffee because the mystery murder she was now wrapped up in was colder than the North Pole in the middle of winter. “Just in time,” she told Betty in a grateful voice. “I have a feeling we’re going to need a lot more coffee than this today.”

  Across town Loretta MacNight called Brent Presley. Brent Presley didn’t answer the call. “You have to die…you all have to die,” she said in a scared voice. “It’s the only way…I’ve dug myself into a deep hole and the only way out is to…keep killing…I’ll do as I’m told…”

  4

  Sheriff Mables left the newspaper feeling okay with Mary assisting him on the murder case. Mary was a smart girl who had common sense as well as a daring heart. If anyone could think outside the box—while breaking a few rules he wasn’t allowed to break—it would be Mary. “Let’s see what you can dig up for me,” he said, walking out into a gentle falling snow. He climbed into his black and white car and carefully drove away, leaving Mary on her own.

  “There he goes,” Mary told Betty, standing in front of the office window. She took a sip of hot coffee and watched the car Sheriff Mables was driving leave two white trails on the snowy front street. A few people were out in the snow, walking here and there, dipping into one store or another, enjoying the day. Every once in a while a truck or car would crawl past the newspaper with the intent of visiting town or going home. All in all, except for the murder, the day was very cozy and extremely beautiful. Unfortunately, murder had a way of tossing dirt into the snow.

  “Betty, I have to talk to Loretta MacNight.”

  “But the sheriff said to stay away from Loretta,” Betty worried. She set her coffee mug down onto a side table and looked at Mary. “Mary, please, don’t go see her,” she begged. “If Loretta sees you she’ll call the sheriff, and then the sheriff will be mad at you.”

  Mary took another sip of coffee and began to think. “Sheriff Mables did ask me to stay away from Loretta…but he didn’t say anything about you,” she told Betty.

  The color in Betty’s face drained out onto the floor. “Mary—”

  Mary turned from the office window with a clever grin stuck to her beautiful face. “Honey, we have to make Loretta talk to us,” she explained. She quickly put the coffee she was holding down onto the work desk and focused on Betty. “I think I know of a way to make Loretta talk, but I’m going to need your help.”

  “Oh no,” Betty groaned. “Mary, Mother is sick and I have to be home by supper time. I—”

  “Betty, a man is dead,” Mary pointed out. “It’s our duty to search out the truth and report it to the people.” Mary began pacing back and forth. “If we let this murder get swept under the rug…why, we’ll be letting a deadly killer laugh in the face of justice. I can’t allow that.”

  Betty knew Mary was speaking the truth, but…well, her mother was not well and…taking care of a sick woman was more important than seeking justice…right? Betty’s conscience gave her an I don’t think so look. “Oh Mary,” Betty groaned again, “can’t I sit this inning out?”

  Mary took Betty’s hand. “Honey, I can’t force you to help me,” she said and gave Betty a sad face. “I guess…I can’t work this case…all by my lonesome self…I mean, I suppose I can try and catch a killer all on my own…”

  Betty stared into Mary’s sad, pitiful face and felt her heart break. “You know I can’t leave you alone for a second, honey. I suppose…Mother will live if I’m not home right at supper time.”

 
“Great!” Mary beamed. “Here’s the plan.” Mary grabbed her coffee and began to explain her plan. Betty listened. The more she listened the more her heart sank. “Got it?” Mary asked.

  Betty reluctantly nodded her head. “I guess…I better grab my coat.”

  “You bet.” Mary quickly drained her coffee, retrieved her own coat, and dashed out into the snow with Betty. She bumped into a cold and grumpy William a few steps down the sidewalk. “William…nice of you to see daylight,” she said in a displeased voice.

  William glanced up at the falling snow and then slapped at the brown hat he was wearing. “I’m a little under the weather,” he said in a stuffy voice. “I was going to call you but then I heard about the murder.”

  Mary watched William take out a handkerchief, sneeze into it, and then make a miserable face. “My, you are under the weather. I’m sorry I fussed at you.”

  “No, you’re right,” William told Mary, shoving the handkerchief away and then brushing at a brown coat and a pair of gray slacks he had managed to iron. His head ached, his nose was stuffy, and his whole body felt miserable. But a murder had taken place out at the fairgrounds and the call to duty was far more important than staying in a warm bed. “I should have been out at the fairgrounds this morning, Mary. I’m sorry.”

  Betty reached out and felt William’s forehead. “My goodness, you’re burning up.”

  Mary felt William’s forehead too. “William, you need to go straight home and rest,” she ordered.

  “Someone needs to be at the office,” William objected. “I know during the winter the paper slows down, but—”

  “But nothing,” Mary told William in a stern motherly voice. “You’re liable to catch your death. Now…home.” Mary pointed down the street. “Now!”

  “Please,” Betty begged. Betty loved William like a brother and didn’t want to see the man catch his death.