Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) (11 page)

I gripped the phone so tightly my hand froze. I don’t know if I heard footsteps or if I imagined it, but I put the couch cushions back and sprinted for the open window, backed out onto the swaying fire escape, and forced my feet to take one rung at a time as I went down to the waiting dumpster. But instead of landing on the lid, I slipped and fell deep into the dumpster itself. I landed with a thud on top of a plastic trash bag. On the way down I scraped my arm, bumped my knee, and hit my forehead on the metal latch.

I sat on the floor of the dumpster for a long moment, many moments while I caught my breath. I listened carefully in case someone was at the window up there calling me, telling me to give up because the police were on their way. Or maybe there was someone quietly hanging out the window looking down, wondering who the prowler was. Waiting for me to stand up and give up. There wasn’t a sound. Hopefully the two late-night workers were busy with whatever it was they were doing, proofreading or making hot love before they went to press.

I sat there rubbing my knee, thinking I was lucky the dumpster wasn’t full of smelly garbage. Instead there were plastic trash bags full of paper. That figured. This was an office, not a produce market.

I leaned back against the metal side of the dumpster. My head hurt, my knee ached and I was exhausted. I had the phone. No one caught me. And now I wanted to go home. I stood on shaky legs so I could climb up and out of there. But even though my hands could reach the top, the walls were so smooth I couldn’t lift myself out. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from calling for help. I pictured a shriveled corpse turning up in this dumpster weeks or even years from now. It was MY corpse, with one hand tightly clenched around some newspaper reporter’s cell phone and no one knew why.

When I finally pulled myself together, mentally at least, I began piling the trash bags in the corner of the dumpster until the mound was high enough for me to climb up and reach the ladder. I swung one leg over the side, then backed down quickly until my feet hit the ground. I didn’t waste a minute before I staggered home through the empty streets. Just before I left I noticed there were no cars in front of the newspaper office. Had the drinkers left? Moved their cars to avoid detection? Or were they never there at all? At this point I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there.

Six

I wanted desperately to
listen to Heath’s cell-phone messages, but neither my brain nor my body were working very well. I tottered upstairs, removed my dark camouflage outfit, and fell into bed.

The next thing I knew the sun was streaming in my bedroom window and I heard voices outside on the sidewalk.

“I can’t believe she’s not here,” Kate said.

“Maybe she’s sleeping in.” That was Sam’s voice.

Sleeping in? I was a baker. I got up at five every day, rain or shine. Not today. My brain felt like it was full of cotton. I reached for Heath’s precious cell phone under my pillow and hid it under my bed. Then I leaped out of bed and stuck my head out the window.

“I’m here. I’ll be right down.” But I couldn’t go down looking like a zombie, not in front of Sam. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and pulled on a pair of white linen shorts and a black tank top. I was horrified to see I had a bruise on my forehead and a gash across my knee. It took a bit of work with my makeup kit to cover the evidence of my late-night escapade.

“Sorry,” I said breathlessly when I opened the door to the pie shop. “I’m running a little late. Are we on, Sam?”

He nodded and gave me a long look from my sandals to the top of head. His gaze lingered on my forehead. I wished it was because he found me so stunning he couldn’t tear his eyes away, but maybe he was thinking, Why did Hanna plaster makeup on her face when she doesn’t need it to look beautiful and furthermore why is she acting so strange today?

I forced a smile. “Don’t look at me that way, Sam. So I overslept. It happens. Thanks for coming, Kate.”

Sam went outside while Kate and I went into the shop and I
showed her the list of orders. I opened the freezer and took out a
half dozen pies. Kate helped me fill the shelves in the shop and we labeled everything. She took notes on a small pad of paper, then she paused and looked closely at my face. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. This was hardly the time to launch into the story of my expedition last night. “I’m fine. Call me if you have any problems.” I grabbed a sweater and my favorite deep-dish apple pie which I thought had a nice balance of tart and sweet thanks to the fresh-squeezed lemon and orange juice mixed with the Granny Smith apples in the filling. I hoped the pie would make up for the fact we hadn’t told Dave and Bill we were coming.

Kate stood in the doorway as I got into Sam’s sporty convertible. She beamed her approval of my not only taking the day off but spending the day with Sam. As we pulled away, I glanced back. Kate had a funny look on her face as if she’d just remembered something important. But she sounded normal. “Have fun you two,” she called.

Sam had directions to the pig farm on his GPS which made it seem like this was HIS trip and HIS idea. All the better that I was just along for the ride. If I stumbled on anything out of the ordinary—and how would I know what was ordinary for a pig farm—then I could file it away in my tired brain for later.

We headed inland on a two-lane road. The sun was warm on my shoulders and the breeze ruffled my hair. I snuck a look at Sam, hoping he was having a good time. At least so far.

“It’s a beautiful day,” I said tilting my face toward the sun, “and I appreciate your inviting me along.” Had he really invited me? I was still groggy from last night and not thinking as clearly as I would have liked. “I hope you’re enjoying a day off.” Let him tell me this was not a day off. Not for him. Let him bring up the Heath Barr murder case. I didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. I’d already gotten way too involved. I’d volunteered for way too many ways of helping Sam, being his deputy, serving on his election committee. He didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t want my help, so no more.

I considered turning over the phone I’d found to Sam, but then he’d ask me where and how I’d gotten it and … I felt his gaze on me so I turned and looked out the window.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said blithely for the second time in the last half hour. “What do you mean?”

“You cut your knee. And did something to your forehead.”

“Nothing serious. I just bumped into something in the kitchen yesterday while whipping up a S’Mores Pie. That’s the one with the marshmallow topping.”

“I know what S’Mores are,” Sam said.

“That’s right. We used to make them on the beach.”

Did he remember sitting next to me on a blanket watching the sun set while someone built a bonfire and toasted marshmallows? Did he remember how our lips stuck together in a forbidden kiss? I did. But maybe he’d had many sunset kisses since then and mine had faded away like the setting sun.

“In the kitchen,” I said hastily returning to the subject at hand. “That’s where most accidents happen. Statistically speaking. I’m fine.”

“Put some antiseptic on that cut and cold compresses on your head.”

“I will, thank you. Just as soon as I have a free moment.” I hoped
to convey the impression that I was busy as a bee, making and sell
ing pies, with no time for any medical care or extra-curricular
activities.

There was a long silence while I tried to think of something non-controversial to say. He beat me to it.

“You don’t usually oversleep,” he said.

I frowned. “How do you know?”

He slanted a look in my direction and I turned my head to look out the window. I didn’t want him studying my face or my knee.

“I work across the street. I usually see your light go on at five in the morning. But not today.”

“You’re spying on me,” I said only slightly surprised.

“I’m just keeping my eye on you. And everyone else in town. It’s my job. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Thank you very much. You know I’ve been on my own for twelve years now and pretty good at taking care of myself. Despite a scratch or two. I’m just glad you’re not my boss,” I said. “I may have to withdraw my application to be your deputy what with all my pie orders piling up. Let’s talk about your work for a change and your unusual hours.” I knew he didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help asking, “What were you doing up at five?”

“I have a murder case on my hands. I’m investigating everyone who had contact with Heath Barr.”

“Including the men who make the sausage,” I noted. “Is that why you’re going to see them?”

I should have known. He was taking me with him as a cover for doing his own investigation. I would make it look like an outing in the country instead of an official visit. It had nothing to do with me personally. Only that he was using me to gain entry to Bill and Dave’s farm without arousing their suspicion that he suspected them of murder. Or something.

“Do you really think someone would kill a critic for bad-mouthing their food?” I asked. Which was exactly what I thought.

“Let’s not talk about murder today. This is my day off,” he said.

I looked at his profile. He was clearly lying but what could I say? I played along.

“Sorry,” I said.

“How are things in the pie business?”

“Can’t complain,” I said. “You saw how brisk business was at the fair. I love getting out and away from the shop. The energy there is contagious. I get to meet new people and reconnect with old friends. Hey, I even met our old ‘pal’ Principal Blandings. I don’t suppose you’ve run into him?”

“He came to see me. Wants me to give a talk at the high school.”

“You? What would you talk about? How to get away with murder? I mean …” I wanted to bite my tongue. What possessed me to mention the word murder. Because it was on my mind. Not my fault.

“I know what you mean. I was in plenty of trouble in high school, which is why he wants me to tell the kids how to avoid doing what I did.”

“Will it include how you turned your life around? I’d like to hear that.”

“Sorry, attendance is restricted to students.”

“How about a preview?”

“Not today.” He meant not today and not ever. He’d never confide in me. I didn’t know why I kept trying to pry information out of him.

What happened in Sam’s past that was so secret? I didn’t believe for a moment he was going to spill his guts to the high school students and not tell me. Never mind. I’d keep trying to catch him at a weak moment. Maybe after a dose of truth serum which I would hide in his coffee.

“I was saying how I’d met some new people and some old friends like Nina Carswell, well she wasn’t exactly a friend, but she’s selling salted caramels at the market,” I said. “Funny, she didn’t look like a traditional candy maker. You know with a white apron, gray hair in a bun and a pair of half glasses.”

“I saw her,” he said. “No apron. No bun.”

“Did you notice she’s absolutely gorgeous?”

He shot me an amused glance. “I noticed. Quite a change.”

I felt a pang of unreasonable jealousy. I liked to think I’d changed since high school too, and for the better, but he’d never said anything. “Do you remember Marty Holloway?” I asked. “She married him and now he’s a veterinarian.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

“How do you mean?”

“I might get a dog, that’s all. I’d need a vet.”

“He specializes in large animals,” I said. “So you’ll have to find someone else.”

“Not if I get a large dog.”

“If you want a pet, you might think about a pig. From the picture on Bill and Dave’s brochure, they look cute and I hear they make good pets. If you bought one you’d save it from the ax.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said. I was sure he was thinking about something else besides making a pet of a pig. But what was it? Even more mysterious than Heath’s murder was the enigma of Sam. He smiled then, so unexpectedly that I had a dizzy spell and the lush vineyards on the side of the road seemed to be waving their leaves at me. But maybe that was due to my head injury or oversleeping.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the farm,” I said. “You know Dave and Bill invited me too.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”

Aha. So that WAS why I was along, to make it seem like a purely social call, when I was sure it wasn’t. Not likely Sam was taking a day off for fun.

“Do you ever take a day off for fun?” I asked.

“I am. This is it,” he said.

Liar
.

He pointed to the sign for Bill and Dave’s Blue Sky Ranch, The Primo Pig Farm—“Pasture Perfect” “Heritage Pork from Pigs Who Live Their Lives Outdoors.” And “The Proof is in the Pork.”

“Did you say they don’t know we’re coming today?” Sam asked as we approached a long driveway with white picket fencing on both sides of the road.

“I don’t think so unless you told them. I wanted to see them at work so I could get an idea of what they do. I hope they’re not mad we didn’t warn them. Maybe they’re too busy to show us around.”

“How would you feel if they did the same and dropped in on you when you were at work?” he asked.

“I have nothing to hide and I always welcome customers,” I said primly. “Frankly I’d be flattered. My door is always open. But we should buy something. Because I’m afraid they might be hurting for sales. I’ll buy whatever they have on hand.”

We pulled up in front of a white barn with green trim around the windows. The air was fresh and clean. It didn’t smell like a barnyard. The pigs I saw were eating at a trough.

“Hanna,” someone called. “Is that you?”

“Probably didn’t expect me in a classy convertible,” I said to Sam.

I turned and saw Bill, the chubby brother, carrying a bucket and walking toward us.

I reintroduced Bill to Sam and told him I hoped he didn’t mind our dropping in like that.

“Glad to see
you
,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d bring the chief of police along.”

Sam thanked him for inviting him and assured Bill the visit was strictly social. I must have looked apprehensive, but Bill patted me on the back and said, “Just kidding,” with a smile on his round face. “We have nothing to hide but our secret sausage recipe. Bet you two want to see if our pigs are really as happy as we said they were.”

“We’d love to,” I enthused. “If you’ve got time to show us around. I know how busy you farmers are.”

“Never too busy to show off the place,” he said, leading the way to the pasture. “Don’t know if I told you our animals graze on the wild greens. Which is why the meat tastes so good. We raise all their food right here on the farm. Make sure it’s as organic as the pigs.”

“You can’t do all that yourselves, just you and Dave,” I said.

“We have help. People who believe in organic farming as much as we do.” He stopped at the fence and whistled loudly. Several pigs came loping toward us as if to say, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I brought you a pie,” I said. “I remember you said you liked apple.”