“It seemed to me that Loretta was telling the truth, Mary. I mean, as far as I could tell she didn’t seem to be lying,” Betty told Mary.
“Yes, it did seem that Loretta was telling the truth,” Mary agreed. “Honey, that could be a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
Mary reached the end of Gingerbread Valley Hill Road, turned on Maple Street, and drove down another road lined with warm single-story homes. “Honey, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t Loretta take drama in school?”
Betty thought for a second. “Why, yes, if my memory serves me correctly, I remember that Loretta acted in all of the school plays…and not just small roles, either. Loretta played Juliet, remember? Even though she isn’t very pretty.”
Mary watched the windshield wipers battle the heavy falling snow as the car tires struggled to stay on the road. “Loretta said that she put the apple pie I gave her down onto the pie eating table, on the row assigned to seat number ten. I guess…well, that’s possible. I did notice that the pie eating table was methodically created. I did count ten rows of pies. Each row held five pies.”
Betty glanced at a blue home that had wonderful chimney smoke rising from its brick chimney. The home belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein. Mr. Goldstein had retired from the railroad and was now spending his time working in his wood shed, making toys for the toy shop he had opened. Betty was very fond of Mr. Goldstein and imagined the old man and his sweet wife sitting inside their warm living room eating soup with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a cold glass of milk—Mr. Goldstein’s favorite treat. “The story Loretta told us seemed to be…tricky,” Betty told Mary.
“Yes, I could tell you had difficulty putting her story into a safe place in your mind.” Mary drove down Maple Street and then cut over to Autumn Lane. Betty’s home was four streets away. It had never occurred to Mary how close Betty lived to Brent Presley. Well, not extremely close, but too close for comfort. “Loretta said she saw Mr. Chesterfield get up and leave the pie eating tent…maybe we should go and confirm her statement?”
Betty winced. Oh, she was so close to home. “Mary…perhaps I should check on Mother first?”
“Oh…of course,” Mary apologized. She carefully drove Betty to White Dove Road and parked in front of a warm creamed-colored two-story home that was sweeter than pumpkin pie. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“You’ll get too cold. Please, come inside,” Betty urged Mary. “I’ll make us some coffee and sandwiches. There’s no sense in working on an empty stomach.”
Mary had to admit that she was hungry. “Well…William is watching Loretta and I doubt that Mr. Chesterfield will be at his store. I’ll probably be able to catch him at his home…” Mary studied Betty’s warm home. “Okay, honey, you’ve won me over,” she smiled.
Betty beamed, climbed out of the car, and hurried up the snow-covered front walk. She looked back at Mary, smiled, climbed up onto a lovely front porch, and then quickly let herself through an antique wooden door. As soon as the door opened a set of bells fell to the floor. “Betty?” a voice called out from upstairs.
“It’s me, Mother,” Betty called back. She picked up the bells, placed them back onto the living room door, let Mary inside, and then hurried to check the fireplace. The fireplace had a strong, healthy fire blazing inside of its heart, proving to Betty that her mother had recently come downstairs.
Mary watched Betty check the fireplace as she removed her coat and hung it on a wooden coat rack. Next she took a deep breath of air that smelled of chimney wood and apple spice. Mary loved Betty’s home. The living room, although completely decorated with floral patterns, including the wallpaper, was lovely and inviting. The green carpet was charming and very welcoming to the eyes. “Would it be okay if I used the phone to call William?”
“Mary Holland? Is that you?” Betty’s mother called out.
“Yes, it’s Mary Holland,” Mary called back and then smiled at Betty. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“I have one foot in my grave,” Betty’s mother moaned. “Does my own daughter care? She spends her time playing in the snow!”
“Oh dear,” Betty moaned. “Mother, now you know that’s not true.” Betty sighed. “I’d better go check on her,” she whispered and then hurried up a carpeted staircase.
Mary fought back a giggle as she walked into the living room. She sat down on a floral-patterned couch and called William. William didn’t answer. “Oh my,” Mary worried and then tried again. To her relief William picked up. “William, where were you?”
“I was in the kitchen,” William answered Mary in an odd voice. Then he sneezed. “You know it takes me a while to walk from one room to the other with my leg, Mary.”
“Why didn’t Loretta answer my call?” Mary asked.
“Loretta was in the kitchen with me.”
Mary knew something was wrong. William had been an employee at the paper and a close friend to the family for many years. Mary knew the man as if he were her own brother. Ill or not, William was not acting himself. “I was calling to let you know that Betty and I will not be returning until late. We weren’t able to contact Brent Presley so we decided to check on Betty’s mother and have a bite to eat.”
“Take your time,” William told Mary and looked to his left. Brent Presley was aiming a gun at him, only William didn’t know it was Brent Presley because Brent was wearing a gray ski mask over his face. “Everything is silent here, Mary. Loretta and I…we’ll play some checkers and wait for you, okay?”
William hated checkers. “Okay, William. I’ll be in touch.”
William hung up the phone and looked at Brent. “Satisfied?” he asked.
“I will be,” Brent hissed. He raised his gun and smacked William in the head. William crashed down to the floor and ran off into dreamland. Brent walked to a hallway closet, opened it, and looked inside at a terrified Loretta MacNight. “Out,” he ordered and yanked Loretta into the hallway.
“Please don’t kill me,” Loretta begged.
“Give me the missing combination numbers or you will die,” Brent promised Loretta. He removed the ski mask covering his face and locked eyes with Loretta. “Do as I say and stop running your lip to people and you will live.”
“I didn’t tell Mary the complete truth.” Loretta began to cry. “Mr. Presley, I promise…I only—”
“You’ve talked enough,” Brent told Loretta in a poisonous tone. “No more games, Miss MacNight. Now give me the missing combination numbers or die.”
Loretta didn’t know what to do. “I can’t. Something terrible will happen if I do.”
Brent didn’t care one way or the other. All he wanted was the money in all the banks. “I’ve spent my entire life working under the thumb of greedy men, Miss MacNight. The time for my reward has arrived and nothing is going to stand in my way. Is that clear?”
“But…you live in a nice home…you drive a nice car…wear nice suits…how has life been cruel to you?” Loretta asked.
Brent narrowed his deadly eyes. “Pride, Miss MacNight…my pride has suffered,” he explained in a voice that sent chills down Loretta’s spine. “Your little scheme to kill me didn’t work, did it? I’m still alive and I’m going to get my money. Is that clear?”
“I saved your life,” Loretta told Brent in a desperate voice. “I changed the pies…the seating arrangements. Mrs. Johnson’s son…Wilbur…he has always been soft on me…he helped me when Mrs. Johnson wasn’t around.”
“Did you tell that nosy woman this?” Brent asked in a dangerous tone. He quickly grabbed his fedora off the hat stand, tucked it onto his head, and focused back on Loretta. “Did you?” he snapped.
Loretta winced. “No…of course not,” she lied.
“Sure you didn’t,” Brent said, tossing Loretta’s lie into the trash. “Listen to me very carefully, Miss MacNight, I want my money. Now, you have exactly until midnight tonight to decide if you want to live or die.”
“What are you going to do?” Lo
retta begged.
“You’ll see,” Brent promised. He reached out, grabbed Loretta’s arm, and pulled her all the way up to the attic floor. “Sit down,” he barked and pointed his gun at an old green couch. Loretta, trembling all over, sat down. Brent nodded and quickly went to work. He tied Loretta’s hands and ankles together and then taped her mouth shut. “I’ll be back at midnight,” he warned. He shoved Loretta into an antique wardrobe closet that was missing a leg, and locked it. “I’ll be back at midnight, Miss MacNight,” he said again and then walked back downstairs, checked on William, and then slipped out of the back door, unseen and unheard.
Mary, unaware that Brent had managed to break into Loretta’s house, began pacing around Betty’s living room. “If I call Sheriff Mables…no, he’s already going to be upset with me that I haven’t informed him about Loretta MacNight…” She bit down on her lower lip. “Oh, John…I wish you were home…” Mary whispered.
Unable to form a plan, Mary left the living room and walked into a warm kitchen with soft green and cream colors whispering around the walls. “Think,” she pleaded. She poured herself a cup of coffee and then plopped down at the cream-colored kitchen table that Betty sat at almost every night reading a book while baking cakes or cookies. “What to do? Has Loretta somehow managed to trick William…is Brent Presley responsible… Are Loretta and Brent Presley somehow working together? And where are Mr. and Mrs. MacNight? It’s obvious, from what Mrs. Owlton said, that they aren’t being held hostage.” Mary took a sip of hot coffee. “What in the world is going on in Pineville?”
Betty found Mary sitting in the kitchen nervously drinking a cup of coffee. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Mary put down her coffee and tossed a concerned eye at Betty. “Betty, I called William…something is wrong.”
“Wrong?” Betty gulped.
“William hates checkers,” Mary informed Betty. “He sounded funny on the phone. And he told me that he and Loretta would play checkers until we arrived.”
Betty threw her hands up over her mouth. “Oh my…this is serious,” she gasped. “William would rather have someone pluck out his nose hairs with rusty tweezers than play checkers.”
“I know.” Mary stood up. “I’m not sure if Loretta is responsible…but I think…William mentioned Loretta so maybe he was attempting to tell me that someone else was in the house?” Mary hated uncertainties in a story but was fully aware that it was those uncertainties that kept a reporter on his or her toes. “I suppose we have no other choice but to drive back to Loretta’s house. My only worry is that whoever has taken William captive will be waiting for us.”
“Perhaps we need to call Sheriff Mables, Mary?” Betty asked in a shaky voice and then quickly tossed her eyes back toward the living room. “Mary,” shew whispered, “Mother is very upset that I spent the day away from her. She has asked that I remain at home. I…agreed.”
Mary sighed. “Okay, honey, I understand,” she said and then added: “Perhaps it would be wiser if I went back to Loretta’s house alone?”
“Are you crazy?” Betty whispered. “Mary, you’re my best friend in the whole world. If there’s one thing I learned through all the murder cases you and I have worked on…been trapped in to be more precise…is that friends remain together.” Betty glanced over her shoulder again. “I’ll sneak into the living room and get our coats. We’ll leave through the back door.”
Mary felt a tear nearly fall from her eye. How had her skittish little buddy become so brave? “Okay, honey,” she whispered back and prepared for a very long night. Betty did the same as she tiptoed out of the kitchen, hoping her sick mother wouldn’t hear.
“William!” Mary ran to William like a frantic mother racing toward her wounded child.
“I’m…okay….” William mumbled. He pushed his body against the hallway wall and began rubbing his neck. “Some guy decked me with a gun…”
Betty closed the front door with shaky hands and hurried over to William. Boy, what a night it was going to be. “William…oh, you poor dear.”
Mary bent down and examined the back of William’s head. An ugly bump had formed. “You need to see Doc Downing.”
“No,” William objected in a strained voice. “I need to find…Loretta.” He sneezed, and Mary remembered he was also battling a bad cold.
“Betty,” Mary ordered, “take William, put him in my car, and drive over to Doc Downing’s house.”
“Mary, the snow…we barely made it back here. I’m not sure if your car will be able to…oh, what a mess.” Betty bent down, took William’s hand, and looked into his fuzzy eyes. It was clear that William was hurt. “What choice do we have…come on, William.”
“No…I…” William struggled to object but stopped. His head felt as if it were splitting in two and his vision was blurry. “Maybe…I need…okay…” He sneezed again held his head, moaning.
Mary grabbed William’s other hand and, with much effort, helped him stand up. William wobbled a little to one side of the hallway and then to the other. “Be careful…Betty, get his coat.” Betty ran to a wooden coat rack and grabbed a brown coat. She returned to Mary and with careful attention they managed to help William get his coat on. “Okay, let’s get William to my car.”
“What are you going to do?” Betty asked in a worried voice.
“Go talk to Mrs. Owlton. Maybe she saw something,” Mary explained as she opened the front door. She helped Betty walk William out into a heavy falling snow that had mixed in with the darkness of night. Mary tucked her head down against the cold winds and with the brutal strength only a terrified woman can have, she pushed forward through the snow, one painfully slow step at a time, helping a wounded man along the way. It felt like ages had passed by the time she reached the car. “Hurry,” she told Betty, “open the passenger’s side door.”
Betty hurried and opened the door. “Okay…careful now…slow…” she begged William. William moaned something and then, to Mary’s horror, he gave a mighty sneeze and collapsed.
“Oh my!” Betty yelled.
Mary felt William’s weight crush into her body. She lost her balance and tumbled down onto the street. “Betty…help me!” Betty felt her head become woozy and nearly passed out. “Oh no…don’t pass out…please!” Mary cried as Betty began to sway from side to side.
Betty grabbed her head and closed her eyes. She drew in a few deep breaths of icy air and managed to regain her composure. “I’m…okay, Mary,” she stuttered and somehow drew up enough strength to help Mary get William safely tucked into the passenger seat.
“Okay honey,” Mary said, breathing hard, “drive slow and safe…no stops…” Mary wiped snow away from her eyes and looked toward Mrs. Owlton’s home. She saw the woman standing in her parlor staring out into the snow. Surely Mrs. Owlton, Mary thought, was watching the entire show. “When you drop William off at Doc Downing’s come back and get me.”
“What if the snow becomes too much for me?” Betty worried, feeling the snow and cold winds tormenting her frozen face. And to make matters worse, night had fallen over Pineville. Night always had a horrible talent of turning a murder mystery into a….creepy mystery; at least in Betty’s mind. Betty saw scary snowmen beginning rising up from the snow with red, glowing, growling eyes. She saw the hands of each snowman form into icicle claws. She saw the snowmen open their mouths and begin hissing at her. “Oh, stop it,” Betty begged her imagination. “Too many books and coffee before bedtime.”
Mary walked Betty to the driver’s door and opened it. “If the snow becomes too much call me. I’ll either be at Mrs. Owlton’s or back over at Loretta’s.”
Betty looked into Mary’s shivering, scared face and nearly began to cry. “Oh, this night is so awful.”
Mary hugged Betty, helped her climb into the driver’s seat, and forced a brave smile to her face. “We haven’t been beaten yet, honey. Now…go.” Betty gave Mary a sad face and reluctantly drove away, leaving two white trails in the snow. Mary sighed and then h
urried across the street.
Mrs. Owlton opened her front door open before Mary even reached it. “Inside, child, before you catch your death,” she demanded in a worried voice.
“Thank you.” Mary ran through the front door and made a straight line toward a large stone fireplace holding a healthy fire.
Mrs. Owlton closed and locked the front door and regained her place back at the parlor window. “An old woman sees a lot standing at this window,” she informed Mary.
Mary warmed her gloved hands and then turned to face Mrs. Owlton. “Did you see—”
“I saw a man climb up the tree sitting in Loretta MacNight’s side yard, get onto the roof, and then climb through the attic window,” Mrs. Owlton told Mary in a sharp voice. “My eyes are still strong, Mary Holland.”
Mary waited a few seconds before she spoke. The air in the parlor smelled of peppermint and fireplace wood, creating a cozy atmosphere that was wrapped around lovely dark red and green furnishings that complemented a delightful burgundy wall. “Any idea who the man was?” she finally asked.
“I couldn’t honestly say who the man was,” Mrs. Owlton answered. “But,” she added, “it doesn’t take a genius to toss a wise guess into the cooking pan.”
“Brent Presley.”
Mrs. Owlton stood silent for a moment, staring out into the heavy falling snow. “The stranger Loretta was entertaining is dead. At least that’s what you told me, Mary.” Mrs. Owlton kept her back to Mary. “I made few phone calls. What you told me is true. That made my mind begin to worry about Brent Presley. That man always made my insides feel wrong. When you’re my age you depend on your insides to tell you what your old mind can’t.”
Mary walked over to the parlor window, studied the snow, and then looked at Mrs. Owlton. “Did you see the man who broke through the attic window leave?”
“I sure didn’t,” Mrs. Owlton responded in a disappointed voice. “Until you arrived with Betty I was standing here thinking the attic rat was still in the house. But then I saw you and Betty walking poor William out into the snow…poor dear appeared awful in my eyes. Is he okay?”
Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6) Page 9