Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) (16 page)

“Nobody likes to be bad-mouthed,” Sam remarked.

“I understand that, but if it’s not your cheese, you don’t have enough motive to kill the messenger.”

He shrugged. I didn’t know what that meant. That he agreed or disagreed with me. I sensed this conversation could go on forever. Me floating theories, Sam neither agreeing nor disagreeing with me, just letting me blather on. I was just grateful he’d dropped the subject of the rats. But I was flattered he’d remembered what I’d done in high school.

“Can I ask why you’re here?” I said. “Or is that classified and none of my business.”

“I was invited,” he said.

“I know. But you must get invited a lot, and yet you’re often described as a workaholic.”

“Not by you, I hope.”

“I try not to describe you at all to anyone. They can draw their
own conclusions. Although I sent someone to see you this evening.”

“Barton Barr. He came to my office. It was not a productive meeting.”

“Did he accuse you of negligence?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before. He wanted to share his thoughts with me as to who killed his brother.”

I held my breath. “I hope he didn’t say it was me because I think it could very well be him.”

“Why would you think that, since he’s on a crusade to find the murderer with or without my help? If he did it, why didn’t he stay in Los Angeles and out of sight?”

“Because it’s a scam and a cover-up. He doesn’t really want your help. He just wants to annoy you.”

“He did that all right. But why come and knock on my door on a Saturday night?”

“To throw you off. So you’ll think just what you’re thinking. That it couldn’t be him. Did he tell you he’s the last member of his family still alive? Doesn’t that mean he’ll stand to inherit whatever there is now that Heath’s dead?”

“I suppose so, but how do we know that there is anything to inherit?” he asked.

“We can find out. I’ll do some checking if you like,” I said eagerly. I was more than willing to help Sam, and I was eager for this investigation to be over so we could all get back to our normal lives without the shadow of Heath Barr hanging over us.

“I’d prefer you didn’t do any checking or anything to do with Heath Barr without my express permission,” he said.

“But you’re busy. I think you need a deputy. Someone who has a job but could spare some time when you were overwhelmed.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. You know I’m busy because you see me working at all hours across the street, is that it?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said coolly. But of course I had and he knew it. Good thing I wasn’t attached to the lie detector in his office. I could imagine the bells and whistles going off. I was seriously miffed. I’d just shared my best thoughts with Sam and what did I get in return? A cool no, thank you. “I assume you’re here at the party because several if not all your suspects might be here too, am I right? Never mind, don’t answer that. Don’t let me keep you from your investigating. I’m going to look around,” I said. “I can’t believe this place. Did he say there was a gift shop?”

Instead of going off as I suggested, Sam went with me to a small outbuilding painted white with forest green trim which was actually the gift shop. A woman in a giant apron stood behind a counter filled with the famous Honeybrook cheeses. She was offering samples of a robust blue cheese and a seasonal creamy cheese made with rich Jersey cow milk lightly dusted in toasted red pepper flakes.

“Delicious,” I said.

“Glad you like it,” she said.

I especially liked the way she didn’t push me to buy anything. Was that Jacques’ idea or did she come with the farm? “Are you just here for the afternoon?” I asked.

“I work the Food Fair or here on the farm, wherever the family needs me.”

“Looks like a great job,” I said. I glanced down at the glass display case and saw a selection of cheese knives including the same knife we’d all used at the Fair with the serrated edge.

Sam saw it at the same time. “How much is the knife?” he asked,
pulling his wallet from his pocket.

She consulted her price list and told him it was sixty-five dollars.

“How many do you have on hand?” he asked.

“Just this one.”

“I’ll take it,” Sam said.

I frowned. It looked shiny and new. Obviously never used. So why did Sam want it? To prevent anyone else from using it for illegal purposes? Or to run it by the lab for fingerprints? I didn’t ask and he didn’t say. Which was typical of our interaction these days. We walked toward the parking lot where he handed me the knife. “That’s a replacement for the knife I took from you.”

I held out my hand and took it but I was almost too stunned to say thank you. “That means I’m not getting mine back.”

He nodded. “That means the subject is closed.”

He’d bought me off. For the price of a fancy serrated knife he expected me to buzz off.

Ten

“Now what?” I asked
after I put the knife in my car. There were even more people on the terrace now. Dusk was falling, the lights around the pool had been turned on and a chef was cooking something on an outdoor barbecue. What a life. I knew it wasn’t Jacques’ house or his land, but he got to live there, enjoy the benefits with none of the problems of ownership and act like a landowner and gracious host. Besides that, he’d done all us vendors a favor by getting the county off our backs. I wondered if he’d tell everyone or anyone else that we had him to thank for this huge favor.

“Let’s join the others,” Sam said. Sam, turning into a social
being? Was it possible? Maybe he was being sociable to divert my at
tention from his squashing my recent theory so brutally. He was after something or someone. And it wasn’t Barton Barr. It wasn’t Jacques either or he would have acted by now.

On the terrace Sam was greeted warmly by Lurline, who linked her arm in his and ignored me. So who cared? I joined a small crowd that included our host. There were plenty of men at the party who were friendly and seemed impressed when Jacques told them I was the owner of the pie shop in town.

“So you’re the woman who got trashed along with Jacques by the so-called food critic?” Jacques’ friend, Geoffrey, said.

“That’s me,” I said. “Along with some others. I don’t mean to brag about my pies, but I really didn’t deserve to get panned, any more than Jacques or Bill and Dave, the sausage makers, or Martha, the rotisserie woman. But I didn’t kill Heath.”

“I know you didn’t,” Geoffrey said. He said it so emphatically I gave him a second look. If he knew I didn’t do it, then …

“Any idea who did?” I asked casually.

He laughed. “I’m new in town. I don’t know anything about anything except what Jacques tells me. He and I go way back. Why don’t you tell me who you think did it?”

“If I knew I’d tell the police. Actually I did tell the police that I thought it was the victim’s brother. But my theory was not what you’d call welcomed with open arms. Just a wild guess. But it seems I’m way off base. He has one brother, that’s it. And I think this brother’s got a financial motive, which is now he gets to inherit the family money. But no one knows if there was any money. So if it wasn’t him, I give up and I’m keeping my mouth shut from now on. All I can say is that so many people wanted to kill this guy I’d have to stand in line.”

“That guy over there in the civvies, is he the cop?”

“Right. He’s the chief of police so he doesn’t wear a uniform,” I explained.

“So is he on duty tonight?”

It was not an easy question. Sam was talking to Lindsey and Tammy now along with their husbands. Did he suspect them as much or as little as I did of killing Heath, or was he just being friendly? Lurline was still hanging onto his arm. I wanted to think the reason he was looking at her so attentively was because she was also on his list. But maybe not.

“He’s always on duty,” I said at last. But it looked like he was having too good a time. Instead of frowning or glaring, he was smiling affably and talking to the group. He hadn’t talked affably to me. But he hadn’t bought them knives either, that I knew of.

I left Geoffrey and made the rounds of the terrace, talking mostly to town people I knew slightly. We all paused when Jacques announced a square dance in the big barn. Some people groaned, some laughed, and some clapped. Sure enough, when we all obediently filed over there and went in to the huge, high-ceilinged barn I could see there was a huge cleared space on the floor. A guy wearing fancy jeans, a white shirt, and vest, and of course a big cowboy hat, was set up with a console and was already playing music.

Jacques took a small microphone and announced he was pleased
to introduce the caller, Texas Jack. He said he hadn’t known if the guy was available until he showed up. His excitement was contagious. He seemed so delighted I was even more sure he must be foreign and that’s why he was into this authentic American folk activity. I looked around the barn. I thought that women who square-danced usually wore hokey dresses with mountains of petticoats and clunky shoes. And men wore cowboy hats and string ties and cowboy boots. Not tonight. Tonight everyone I saw was wearing California Casual. Oh well. I might have been the only one who not only wasn’t dressed for it, I wasn’t emotionally or physically ready for square dancing, either.

While the other guests good-naturedly lined up and dosey-doed their partners I quietly headed for the door. It was warm in the barn and promised to get even warmer with all those people dancing up a storm.

I didn’t see Sam inside the barn. It would have been quite a sight to see him skipping up and down the floor and bowing to his partner, but I felt claustrophobic even in that lofty barn so I
stepped outside, hoping no one like Jacques would see me and
insist I stay for the fun. Instead I headed back to the terrace next to the pool. I’d had enough and was ready to go home.

Before I left I stopped for a look at the pool house. Like the rest of the farm, it was first class. Could the Dolans make enough cheese to support this lifestyle? Could anyone? Maybe they were gentlemen dairy farmers. However they did it, I had to admire their taste. The pool house was long and sleek and seemed built to hover over the water. I peeked in, seeing one end was a spa and a Jacuzzi, and in the other end were changing rooms, a sauna, and bathrooms. Under the overhanging roof were spotlights focused on the water.

The evening air was refreshingly cool. Not cool enough for a sauna, but I wanted to see it anyway. I took off my shoes and stepped inside. The small room smelled of cedar. There were fluffy terry-cloth robes hanging on hooks. The heat hadn’t been turned on so I sat down on a bench and enjoyed a moment of solitude before I went home. Maybe I was more like Jacques than I’d thought. Maybe I too could fit easily into this lifestyle. Maybe his life was the perfect one. It was more than one life, he lived many lives as he farm-sat. Even if his experience in Ireland had been less than ideal, it was different. I knew how fortunate I was to live the life of a pie baker. I had my own home and shop, but no boss. Unlike most working people I controlled my own destiny. I decided what kind of pies to make. I decided when to open and close my shop. I decided whether to hold a pie contest or have a booth at the Fair. But I didn’t have a pool or a sauna.

Then I heard voices. Someone else was in the pool house. I reached for the door of the sauna, but then sat back and eavesdropped shamelessly. How else does a person find out anything anyway? I heard Jacques’ name mentioned and I leaned forward. It was dark. I couldn’t see anything or anybody.

“I don’t know why he invited me.”

“He cares about you.”

“I don’t want to be cared about. I want more than that. Did you see him when that woman arrived? Went running off to meet her right in the middle …” Her voice faded away.

Who were they talking about? Me? Was she jealous of my relationship with Jacques, which was pretty sad since we didn’t even have a relationship.

“I told Jacques this is his last chance. I’m not following him any more.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” the other woman said.

“Like tell someone who he is? Don’t worry, I can control myself. It’s Jacques who can’t.”

The woman laughed. “You got that right. How many times has he done this?”

“Ask him,” her friend said.

“I can’t. You know how he is,” said the woman.

“Gotta love him. He invites the cop to the party. That takes nerve.”

“Which one is the cop?” the woman asked.

“The good-looking dude with the cupcake,” she said. “I’d like to kill her.”

“You can’t kill everyone he flirts with. Like the pie woman. Have a talk with her,” the woman said. “Get it over with. Do it tonight.”

Have a talk with me? What about? Go ahead. I would be all ears. But they’d better do it soon because I was outta there in a few minutes. But was “have a talk” code for “get rid of”? That wouldn’t be easy. I was here to stay. And why bother? I didn’t know anything about anything. Instead of being scared, I was mad.

“What’s her deal?” the woman asked.

My
deal? My deal was to mind my own business, which was making pies. Only stuff happened. Stuff that required me to step in and do something, like locate the missing cell phone or steer Heath’s brother to the police.

On a related matter, why did everyone think Sam was with Lurline? Because she was hanging on his arm, looking up into his face with unconcealed admiration. She was probably dancing with him right now. I felt like bursting out of the sauna and asking those two what in God’s name they were talking about. They’d be so stunned seeing me pop up they’d tell me everything. Who murdered Heath. What Jacques was really doing here. Who ratted on the food vendors. Then I’d go get Sam and tell him. He’d be so grateful he’d appoint me his deputy. Finally vindicated for interfering in police business, I’d get into my car and race home as fast as I could. And tomorrow I’d run a successful pie bake-off using my new knife to cut slices for everyone.

I’d finally have the answers to these questions too. Who’s the best amateur pie baker in town? (Which did not include yours truly of course.) What was Jacques getting away with? Was it murder? Or just on the run from the law for some white collar crime like computer hacking into someone’s bank account? Was he really farm-sitting at all? Maybe he’d done away with the Dolans and was robbing them blind, while enjoying the life of an artisan cheese baron. Maybe he thought he deserved it after that disaster in Ireland. Or none of the above. Jacques was simply a colorful and entertaining host who took advantage of his job as farm-sitter.

But if there was foul play, I’d uncover it. Then I’d impress Sam with my fearless determination and unsung detective work. While he was dancing the night away I would be putting the pieces of the puzzles together. All of them.

Of course I didn’t burst out of the sauna. Coward that I was, I stayed in there until I was sure the women had left, then I tiptoed out of the pool house looking right and left. Nobody. There was music in the distance. The square dancing continued and I’d escaped.

I stood by the edge of the pool and dipped one toe into the water. It felt refreshingly cool. If I’d brought my suit …

The next thing I knew, someone pushed me from behind. I stumbled, and tumbled head-first into the water. I was so shocked I inhaled a bucket of water. The water rushed into my ears, my nose, and my mouth. Coughing and choking and gagging I felt the chlorine burn the inside of my nose. I tried to swim to the surface but I couldn’t figure out which way was up and I panicked. I kicked, I flailed my arms around, but I was still underwater. What a stupid way to die, I thought. I thought I heard someone calling me. Was it Saint Peter or my long-ago deceased Uncle George? Finally I broke the surface. I gasped and blinked at the male form standing at the edge of the pool. It was Sam.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” I sputtered angrily.

“I was just coming in to save you but you’re a better swimmer than I am. Weren’t you on the swim team in high school?” He knelt on the tiles at the edge of the pool and held his arm out. I grabbed his hand.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I could have a relapse any minute.”

Sam then took both my hands and pulled me effortlessly out of the water. I crashed into him and he put his arms around me, which was comforting seeing as whoever pushed me in could still be nearby.

“I’m afraid I’m getting your clothes wet,” I mumbled, my mouth
pressed against his shirt.

“Should have thought of that before you jumped in,” he said.

“I did not jump in, I was pushed.”

Sam looked around. There was no one.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked incredulously, stepping back to glare at him.

“You’ve been drinking,” he said. “I saw you with a glass in your hand. It was empty. You fell, that’s all. It’s nothing to be ashamed of as long as you survived.”

“I had one drink. I was not drunk. And I didn’t fall. I was—”

“Pushed, I know,” he said. But he didn’t believe me or maybe he didn’t want me to believe I’d been a victim of foul play. He had enough on his plate without worrying about a prankster hanging around the pool who was probably just another guest who’d imbibed too much. Or was it? I gave a nervous shiver.

“Go take your wet clothes off,” he instructed, pointing to the changing rooms. Obviously he was tired of this conversation and wanted to get back to the party.

I went inside, took off my designer dress and underwear and wrapped myself in the luxurious robe from the sauna. I wrung my dress out and went back outside. Sam was standing at the edge of the pool staring into the depths as if there might be a man-eating shark waiting at the bottom.

“There were two other women here,” I said. “I wasn’t alone. I’m not saying they pushed me in, but I overheard an interesting conversation.”

“Which you would like to share with me,” he said. He sounded resigned to hearing me out.

I felt so warm and safe, thanks to the robe and the presence of the chief of police that I sat in one of the deck chairs and stretched my legs out. Sam pulled over a chair and sat next to me. He turned to face me. He was waiting as patiently as he could for me to unload what I wanted to tell him.