Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6)

by Wendy Meadows

  “You suggested Mr. Presley stole the package, didn’t you?” Mary asked.

  Loretta squeezed her hands into two tight fists. “Yes…yes, it was me, okay! That awful man…the way he stared at me in the bank…it was as if he somehow knew what I was doing…thinking. I…Mary, that awful man doesn’t live far from here…he…it had to be…who else could it have been?” Loretta looked at Mary with upset eyes. “I called the bank. Marge told me that Mr. Presley called in sick the day the package went missing.”

  Mary rubbed her chin. Could it be that Brent Presley was some just common person who had accepted an honest job but had somehow learned a dark secret that made him money hungry? Mary wasn’t sure. Her mind was frantically attempting to put a confusing puzzle together. “Okay, Loretta, assuming Brent Presley did take the package…how does this tie in with the pie eating contest?”

  “Oh, you’ll never believe me,” Loretta complained. “I’m not even sure I would believe such a strange story.”

  “Try us,” Betty said, thinking about the spooky mansion in Maine and the scary murder case that trapped them inside of the mansion. She shivered all over. “Mary and I have encountered some very horrifying, strange tales in our time, haven’t we, Mary?”

  “Yes, we have, honey,” Mary agreed. “Loretta, Betty and I have solved some very scary, confusing, dangerous, and at times…sad…murder cases.” Mary thought of Uncle Albert. “Each case had a different face, a different character, and a different attitude…but each case held one common factor that tied them together…murder.”

  Loretta shivered at the word murder. “Okay, Mary, I’ll tell you how Mark became involved in the pie eating contest.” Loretta sat back down in the sitting chair. “Mrs. Johnson came into the bank. As you know, Mrs. Johnson owns over seventy acres of nice farmland in the northeast part of the county.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Mary said.

  Loretta looked down at her shaky hands. “Mrs. Johnson came to the bank…oh, about the same time Mark showed up at my front door. She had a loan payment that was due.”

  “A loan payment?” Betty asked. “At her age? Surely Mr. Johnson had the land he left Mrs. Johnson paid for by now?”

  “Mrs. Johnson made a small loan to buy ten extra acres of land that allowed her to have full control over Pineman’s Stream. Mr. Lynn put the land up for sale after he decided to move to Nebraska and be closer to his daughter. Mrs. Johnson snatched up the land, afraid a strange hand might get it and dam up Pineman’s Stream. Everyone knows Pineman’s Stream gives water to her cows.”

  Mary wasn’t aware that Mrs. Johnson had bought Mr. Lynn’s land. “So Mrs. Johnson arrived at the bank to make a loan payment?” she asked Loretta, getting Loretta back on track.

  “Yes,” Loretta nodded her head. “And somehow, don’t ask me how, she convinced Mr. Presley to sign up for the pie eating contest. Everyone in town knows Mr. Glenn is practically undefeated. Anyone with enough sense knows all they would be doing is wasting a dollar if they signed up for the contest. Mrs. Johnson was trying to get people other than Mr. Glenn and Mr. Chesterfield to eat pies.”

  “How did you find out Mr. Presley had signed up for the pie eating contest, Loretta?” Mary asked.

  “When I took Mark to the bank for the last time I saw a sign-up sheet for the pie eating contest posted on the community bulletin board in the lobby. Mr. Presley’s name was the only name on the sign-up sheet,” Loretta explained.

  “And Mark, assuming Mr. Presley took his package, decided to kill him, right?” Mary asked.

  Loretta nodded her head yes. “With my…help.”

  Mary leaned back on the couch. “Loretta, let’s focus back on the package for a second, okay?” she asked. “If the package is still missing—”

  “I have one week to locate the package or my parents will be…killed,” Loretta told Mary and burst out into tears. “I’ve been holding together like glue…but I can’t stand it any longer…why me!” Loretta yelled.

  Mary stood up, walked over to Loretta, and put her arms around the upset woman. “We’re going to find the missing package and save your parents,” she promised in a soothing voice.

  “How?” Loretta cried. “Mark is dead…that awful Mr. Presley…he outsmarted us…he has the package.” Loretta looked up at Mary with tear-filled eyes. “But the contents in the package he stole are useless without me.”

  “What do you mean, honey?”

  “The vault combinations are each missing one number apiece—numbers only I know. The people who have taken my parents hostage are being very careful…or so they told me.” Loretta wiped at her tears. “Mark needed me…but oh, Mary, I knew he was going to kill me…and now…Mr. Presley…he’ll be coming for me…but if I run…my parents will die.”

  Mary pulled Loretta into her arms and looked at Betty. Betty sighed. “Looks like we have a case to solve and a friend to save,” she told Mary, walking over to Loretta and wiping her tears away. “We’re here, honey. You’re not alone.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Loretta said and hugged Betty.

  Outside in the snow a very angry Brent Presley drove past Loretta’s house, spotted Mary’s car, growled, and drove away. “This isn’t over,” he promised through gritted teeth. “The game has just begun. I’m not going to walk away until I have what I want.”

  5

  Mary stood up and stretched her back. “Okay, Loretta, how does the poisoned pie fit into this?”

  Loretta locked her eyes on the fireplace. “Mark wanted Mr. Presley dead,” she explained. “After the package he was expecting went missing he told me that a second package would be mailed out, but not until Mr. Presley was dead.”

  Mary studied Loretta’s scared eyes. The woman was hiding something—some hidden item that Mary would carefully investigate at a cautious pace. “Mark Jones decided to feed Mr. Presley a poisoned pie, right?”

  “With my help…yes,” Loretta confessed and then slowly closed her eyes. “Mary, I’m a local. People in Pineville know me…well, hate me, but they still know me. If I had tried to sneak a pie into the contest…oh, everyone in Pineville would have been suspicious. Mark…he decided to be the one to sneak the pie into the contest.”

  “How did he get past Mrs. Johnson and her sons?” Mary asked. Betty eased away from the fireplace, happy that her hands were now warm and toasty, and went to the front living room window, peering out into the snow.

  Loretta drew in a shaky breath. “I waited until Mrs. Johnson went to the parking lot with her sons. I heard her complaining that you were late…only Mr. Chesterfield was left in the contest tent. I wasn’t sure how to get him out, but then…Mr. Chesterfield left the tent. I watched him go into the quilt tent…I assume that’s where Mrs. Chesterfield was at. Mark…he didn’t waste a second. He grabbed my hand and ran into the pie eating tent.”

  Mary rubbed the back of her neck. “Loretta, how did you manage to get the poisoned pie onto the main table? I hadn’t even delivered my own pies.”

  Loretta made a sorrowful sound. “Mary…the pie you gave me…the pie Mark poisoned…I placed a white cloth with a simple blue circle sewed into the middle over the poisoned pie. I…” Loretta opened her eyes and looked at Mary. “I studied the table holding the pies that were already present. I saw how Mrs. Johnson had the pies lined up in rows of ten. Each row had a contestant’s name written on a piece of tape.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Johnson is very methodical.” Mary nodded her head and waited.

  “I ordered Mark to keep watch while I placed the poisoned pie in the row of pies belong to Mr. Presley. But then…oh Mary…I panicked. I knew…Mark, he was going to kill me, Mary…as soon as I gave him the missing numbers to the vault combinations…as soon as he has all of Daddy’s money…” Loretta felt tears begin falling from her eyes. “I’ve been holding it together…I just can’t anymore,” she cried. “Mary…I…switched the names on the tape. I put Mark’s name on row four and Mr. Presley’s name on row ten.”

  “
And then you switched the cloths, right?” Mary asked.

  Loretta nodded her had. “I put the cloth with the blue circle over a healthy pie and covered the poisoned pie with a simple white cloth.”

  “Why did you switch the names written on the tape?” Betty asked in a confused voice. “Honey, why didn’t you simply switch the white cloth with the blue circle with a plain white cloth?”

  “Because,” Loretta answered, “I wanted to send a message to Mr. Presley.” Loretta stood up, walked over to the fireplace, and continued. “Mark didn’t know I switched his seat, not until Mrs. Johnson had all the contestants line up according to their seat numbers. By then it was too late for Mark or Mr. Presley to act. But then Mark saw the white cloth with the blue circle covering Mr. Presley’s pie so he probably figured it didn’t make any difference. I was just grateful Mark ate the poisoned pie first instead of allowing it to be a second or third or fourth or fifth in line. I really dived off the deep end and took a dangerous chance.”

  Mary rubbed her chin. “So Mark Jones ate the poisoned pie…Mr. Presley is alive…and your parents are still being held captive. Where does that leave us?” she asked.

  Betty spotted Brent Presley’s car slowly ease past Loretta’s house. She immediately recognized the car and called out, “Mary, get over to the window! Hurry!”

  Mary dashed over to the window and spotted Brent’s fancy car as he reached the end of Loretta’s house. “Looks like we’re being watched,” she told Betty.

  Loretta remained at the fireplace. “I’ve seen Mr. Presley drive past my home several times today. Each time I wait for him to…stop and kill me. But if I run…if I’m not here to answer the phone when it rings, my parents will…die.”

  Mary watched Brent’s car vanish into the snow. “What to do?” she asked herself. She turned away from the cold window and studied Loretta. “Keep talking, Loretta.”

  “What else is there to say?” Loretta asked. “I called the person who is holding my parents captive and told him that Mark had died. I explained how I thought it was Mr. Presley that killed Mark—”

  “Hoping whoever the person is holding your parents captive will send someone to kill Brent Presley, right?” Mary asked.

  Loretta lowered her head in shame. “Two birds with one stone…yes. And if…the person who is holding my parents hostage refused to kill Mr. Presley, then I could tell him…assure him…it was me that saved his life by switching the pies.”

  “Playing both ends of the playground…smart, Loretta,” Mary said, impressed.

  “I’m not a stupid woman,” Loretta replied. “I may not be as beautiful as you and you may have made better grades in school, but that doesn’t mean that I’m stupid, Mary Holland.”

  “Loretta, I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh, I know what you meant,” Loretta snapped and then caught her angry tongue. “I know you didn’t mean any harm, Mary…I’m sorry.”

  “No harm taken,” Mary assured Loretta. The woman was under a great deal of stress and a great deal of patience was needed to manage her temper.

  Betty turned away from the window. “What do we do now, Mary?” she asked in an uneasy voice. “That creepy Mr. Presley sure is acting like a hungry vulture. He has to be up to no good.”

  “I agree,” Mary said. She drew in a deep breath. “Betty, I think it’s time you and I speak with Mr. Presley. But first,” Mary looked at Loretta, “I can’t leave you alone. With your permission I know of someone…a good man…who will come and sit with you.”

  “Who?” Loretta asked.

  “William, the man who works at the paper.”

  “The cripple?” Loretta gasped.

  “William is not a cripple,” Betty snapped. “William was hurt in an automobile accident. His leg was…changed, that’s all.”

  “William walks with a bad limp, Loretta, but he is far from being a cripple,” Mary said. “William is fully capable of using a gun to protect you.”

  “I’m not—”

  “It’s either William or I call the sheriff,” Mary told Loretta in a stern voice. “I’m not leaving you alone to die, is that clear?”

  Loretta read compassion and concern in Mary’s fierce eyes. “Sheriff Mables will only make matters worse,” she sighed. “I will settle for William.”

  “Good,” Mary said in a relieved voice. “I’ll call him now.”

  Loretta watched Mary hurry to call the paper. She sat down in her chair and waited. Betty returned to the living room window. “You hate me, don’t you, Betty? You believe I’m a monster, don’t you?”

  Betty allowed her eyes to watch the snow outside fall. The snow was falling much harder and the winds were surely growing angry. “Loretta,” she said, struggling to sound honest but also kind, “you’ve always acted as if you…hated everyone. Mary and I always tried to be nice to you in school but you treated us as if we were…lower than skunks.” Betty paused, listening to the wind begin howling sorrowful tunes, and shivered. “Mary and I don’t hate you. If we did do you honestly believe we would be risking our lives to help you?”

  “Deep down you must believe that I’m a monster.”

  The image of a creepy and dangerous mansion located in the dark shadows of Maine entered Betty’s mind. She was lost inside the mansion, running from one hidden hallway to another…running from screeching shadows lingering behind a vicious old man intent on killing her. “No, Loretta, you’re not a monster. I’ve met…real-life monsters.”

  Something in Betty’s voice made Loretta turn in her chair and look at the woman. Betty, who had always seemed like a skinny, ugly runt in her eyes, now appeared…changed. The woman who was known to be a scaredy-cat now held the aroma of a strange courage that Loretta couldn’t understand. What Loretta did understand was that Betty’s eyes were stained with parts of life that lived outside of Pineville—the hideous parts people hid under the covers from.

  “I killed a man,” Loretta said.

  Betty sighed. “Yes, you did.”

  “That makes me a monster.”

  “No, honey…you’re not a monster,” Betty insisted, feeling confused. Surely, she thought, Loretta would have to face the law for her crime. But was Loretta really guilty of murder? Sure, she had a killed a man—but she had killed a man that she feared; a man who was most likely going to kill her. She had killed a man who was holding her hostage, too. Would Sheriff Mables actually draw up a murder charge against her? Betty didn’t know. What her mind was fully confident of was that Mary wasn’t going to let any harm come to Loretta. “Loretta, we need to solve this case and then we’ll try to understand what to do next, okay?”

  “You mean we would need to decide if Sheriff Mables needs to know that I killed Mark Jones, right?” Loretta asked in a worried voice.

  “Yes,” Betty honestly answered. “I’m afraid that Sheriff Mables will need to be told the truth at some point.”

  “I agree,” Mary said, walking back into the living room. “Loretta, Sheriff Mables is a good man and he’ll understand what’s going on. But for now we’re going to stay invisible until I figure out what to do. And I’m not going to figure out what to do until I talk to Mr. Presley.” Mary looked at Betty. “Okay, honey, William is on his way. As soon as he arrives we’re going to drive to Mr. Presley’s home and use the same routine we pulled on Loretta.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Betty moaned. Her mind went back to Los Angeles. She saw herself being held captive by a powerful man who owned a movie studio. “Maybe Mr. Presley won’t be as bad?” she whispered.

  “As bad as what, honey?” Mary asked, feeling anxious to leave Loretta’s fancy home and venture out into the snow. Loretta was still hiding something and Mary was hoping Mr. Presley, whom she hoped to chase into a corner, would reveal the golden secret. Mary knew she had earned part of Loretta’s trust—which was fine and dandy—but also knew Loretta hadn’t placed all of her cards on the table, either. She had to play it smart. “Loretta, may Betty and I have a cup of coffee be
fore we leave?”

  “I have coffee made in the kitchen.” Loretta stood up, brushed at her dress, and pointed toward the living room door. “This way.”

  Mary cocked an eyebrow and gave Betty a there’s more going here than we know look and then followed after Loretta. Loretta lead Mary and Betty into a spacious, gorgeous kitchen that was simply wonderful to the eyes. The kitchen, much like the living room, was white and pink with floral designs, but…oh, there was so much more. Mary sighed. The woodwork of the cabinets…the antique hardwood floor…the bay window resting behind an oval-shaped kitchen table…the kitchen sang of times gone by that touched the heart in a deep, personal voice. “Your kitchen is lovely.”

  “This house was built in 1912,” Loretta explained, walking over to a 1936 Norge gas stove with a lovely pinkish white marble top. She picked up a silver coffee peculator and looked at Mary. “Get down two coffee cups from that cabinet, please.”

  Mary spotted the cabinet Loretta had pointed her eyes at. She went to the cabinet, opened it, and spotted a line of fancy pink and white porcelain coffee cups. She took down two and walked over to Loretta. Loretta filled the cups and then placed the coffee peculator back down onto the stove. Mary carefully handed Betty a cup of coffee. Betty smiled, took a sip of the hot coffee, and then frowned. “Ugh…tastes like dirt. Oh…sorry.”

  Mary took a daring sip and made a sour face. “Loretta, this isn’t coffee…what is this?”

  “I’ll have you know that coffee you’re drinking is the finest coffee in the world,” Loretta snapped in an insulted voice. “The coffee you’re drinking is imported all the way from a remote country in South America.”

  Mary set down the coffee cup she was holding. “I’m sorry, I only drink good old-fashioned American coffee.”

  “I don’t have American coffee, Mary Holland.”

  “How about an American donut?” Betty winced, poured her coffee down a sink that looked as if it should be bronzed instead of used, and carefully set down her coffee cup.