“Okay, but this whole thing is making me anxious. Let’s hurry it up.” Popping open her own door, Carla climbed out, followed by Bert.
The shop owner just hoped that her employee wasn’t too swamped with pie orders and customers. She knew that Saint Patrick’s Day wasn’t nearly as big a deal as Thanksgiving, Christmas, or even Valentine’s Day, but she’d been consistently surprised by the number of people who came out on odd occasions for a slice.
Stepping through the front door, the bell rang and announced their entrance.
The sound caused one patron at a far table near the counter to look up.
Both women stopped dead in place upon seeing him. “Sean? What are you doing here?” Carla snapped as she recognized her brother.
“Having a slice of pie,” he admitted, holding up a plate of the day’s signature pie, topped with a chocolate cutout of a four-leaf clover.
“No, dang you, where did you disappear to?” Rushing over, she planted both hands on the table. “I’ve been worried sick about you, and you’re sitting here shoving pie in your face.”
“Hey, hey. I’m an adult, Sis. I’ve not needed your approval for my choices for a long time.”
“Sean, I hate to say this, but I agree with your sister,” Bert jumped in, feeling a little more than irritated with his nonchalant attitude toward his actions. “Taking off without letting anyone know where you were going, especially Carla, was pretty rude.”
“Hey, no offense, Bert, but I only met you this morning.”
Bert’s jaw dropped wide open at the offensive comment. She wasn’t sure why he’d been so attractive to her earlier. “In response, no offense, but you are sort of acting like a giant child,” she spat back before she could stop herself. It was an immature and unwarranted attack, but with a murder on the line, she’d lost patience for pompous men for the day. Between Harry, Travis, and Sean, she’d had it.
“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” he shrugged.
“It’s a bigger deal than you know,” Carla barked.
People in the store were staring, including Shiv. The young dark-haired woman was standing wide-eyed and surprised behind the counter. This was the last thing she’d expected on her shift that day.
Sighing, Sean set his pie down and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t stand being at that luncheon knowing that Travis Shatner had basically blindsided the entire chiropractic community here in Nebraska.”
“He’s dead,” Bert cut in, wanting him to know just how serious the situation was.
Blinking a few times in confusion, he tilted his head as if he hadn’t heard her right. “Excuse me?”
“Sean, Travis Shatner was murdered at the luncheon. His body was strung up on display over the stage with needles sticking out of him,” Carla informed him.
At this news, Sean stood straight up from his chair, mimicking his sister’s stance by placing his hands on the table. “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish we were,” Bert said.
His eyes darted off to one side as he thought. “Well, maybe that means his motion to remove acupuncture won’t be recognized since he can’t announce the enforcement of it.”
“Are you serious right now? A man is dead and all you care about is acupuncture?” Carla snapped. “You were seen threatening him before the luncheon today. Do you know how bad this looks?”
Slumping back down into his chair, he clasped his hands in a nervous grip. “But I wasn’t anywhere near the building.”
“It doesn’t matter. Unless you have someone who can vouch for where you’ve been the last couple hours, you’re Harry’s number one suspect,” Bert informed him.
“How long have you been here at the pie shop?” His sister jumped in.
“He’s only been here the last ten minutes,” Shiv jumped in, letting her boss know the truth.
“A lot of good that does,” Carla groaned.
“Maybe you better share the details of what happened with me,” Sean suggested.
Bert took a seat at the table. “From what I gathered, Travis went backstage after the appetizers to get ready for his big speech about the changes.”
“That’s when someone got him,” Carla added.
“It wasn’t me,” Sean reiterated, “Travis had countless enemies, a lot of people who might want him dead.”
“Think hard. Is there anyone specific who comes to mind?”
“There are tons of names. His wife, for one. That lady protestor outside the Green Room. Tera?”
“Anyone who might have been blackmailing him?” Carla asked, narrowing the subject.
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Blackmail? What made you jump to that conclusion?”
“We don’t have any sure-fire evidence of that yet,” Bert corrected, trying to keep the conversation more generalized. Focusing on the possibility of blackmail could lead them down the wrong path.
“Bert found a piece of a ripped-up check made out to someone named Handy,” Carla told her brother.
“Handy? Did you say Handy?” he insisted, leaning in like it was the most important thing in the world.
Bert scrunched her forehead, realizing that maybe her friend was right to bring up the check. “That’s right. Why? Do you know someone with that name?”
“Not personally, no. However, Dale Handy was the name of a man who Travis ran out of the business back in the nineties.”
Carla and Bert looked at each other with open mouths.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
“Dale Handy was one of the most well respected and reliable chiropractors in the state back in the nineties,” Sean said, pushing his slice of pie away from him, indicating he was finished.
A murder and corruption in the community couldn’t stop Carla’s appetite. While she listened to her brother’s story, she pulled the pie close and dug a fork into it.
“Specifically, Handy sort of ran a mobile chiropractic office, traveling to the smaller towns and communities throughout the open plains area of the state. He was concerned about helping the people who needed it the most, factory workers, truckers, and other blue-collar types. He offered charity work and low pay service to people who wouldn’t usually be able to afford it.”
“He sounds like a great guy,” Bert admitted, wondering just how such a man could be pushed out of the community.
“He was. A few people still talk about the work he did, but no one has taken up what he’d done—and for good reason.”
“And Travis Shatner found some dirt on him?”
“Not exactly. You see, this kind of charitable activity gave someone like Travis, who was all about scamming his patients for as long as possible, a bad name.”
Bert chewed on her lower lip. “Was he really scamming people? Why wouldn’t he be kicked out of the community?”
“Technically, he wasn’t doing anything against code. In his practice, he focused on keeping the patient coming back, again and again, every month—every week—for more treatments, even after the patient was well.
“Wow,” Carla gasped through a bite of pie.
“Yeah. Not to mention, he was on the board even back then. He knows how to sweet talk people, get them to see things his way.”
Bert looked up and realized Shiv was eavesdropping in on the conversation, bent way over the counter to hear. Bert waved her over to the table.
“Anyway, at one point someone brought up a professional misconduct charge against him.”
Bert, Carla, and Shiv were taken aback. “Who did?” Carla pressed.
Sean leaned in and lowered his voice to just below a whisper. “It was filed anonymously to the chiropractic board.”
“You can’t be serious,” Bert said. “They took an anonymous tip like that and ran with it?”
“Unfortunately, yes, but some people believe Travis talked Sharon into filing the complaint. However, there isn’t any evidence to prove that. Travis was on the board at the time, and he persuaded the other members t
hat immediate action needed to be taken. He wanted to make an example of Handy, show the rest of the community that any kind of inappropriate behavior with a patient wouldn’t be tolerated.”
“Well, I agree with that,” Shiv noted, “But to carry it out without any solid evidence?”
Sean shrugged. “I wasn’t there, so I can’t say. Whatever Travis had was evidence enough for him to persuade the board to his side.”
Bert wondered what kind of evidence he had and what he said to convince everyone.
“They revoked Handy’s license and blacklisted him from practicing anywhere in the state again. They also made sure to keep him from working in other states as well. He even had a wife who left him and took their nine-year-old daughter with her.”
“That is horrible.”
“That’s the kind of man Travis was. You simply didn’t want to cross him.”
“How do you know all this?” Bert asked, wondering why Handy hadn’t been reinstated if people knew it was all a sham set up by Shatner.
“I’m friends with one of the retired board members. When I brought up my concerns about Travis’ motion to get rid of acupuncture, he told me about Handy.”
“Did he do anything to stop this from happening?” Shiv asked.
He clasped his hands on the table. “He regrets falling into Shatner’s trap. He fell in line with the rest of the men when they all voted to have his license revoked.” He shrugged. “We all have our own demons to deal with. He has to deal with that one.”
The ringing of the door opening drew the table’s attention to the front of the store where Detective Mannor and two other officers were walking in. In his hands, the detective carried a plastic wrapped briefcase.
“Hey,” Sean declared standing up, but before he could say anything else, Bert gripped his hand for him to be quiet.
She, too, recognized the briefcase. It was the same one Sean had carried into the Green Room’s kitchen earlier that morning. It even had his initials, S.Y., emblazoned in gold on the clasp. He was about to announce to the whole room that it was his, but she had stopped him with a squeeze of the hand.
Mannor shot daggers from his eyes at the tall man. “Sean Young?”
“Yeah, you know who I am,” he shot back defiantly, not the best behavior to have toward a cop who was probably about to arrest you.
“Can you verify that this is your briefcase?”
Sean hesitated, swallowing hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Yes, officer, it is.”
“Sean Young, I’m placing you under arrest on the suspicion of the murder of Travis Shatner.”
CHAPTER 10
* * *
“Harry, you can’t do this. You can’t arrest him,” Carla exclaimed loudly, standing up from her seat at the table.
“I’m sorry, Carla, but I can arrest him,” he said, pulling back his trench coat to reveal a pair of gleaming handcuffs.
“He’s my brother for crying out loud.” Her voice cracked, a redness welling up in her eyes.
Tilting his head, the detective sighed. “I’m sorry.” Motioning toward Sean, he unclipped the handcuffs from his belt.
Sean, not wanting any more trouble than he was already in, obediently walked over with his arms outstretched.
“No. You’re not doing this,” Carla roared, running forward and grabbing onto her brother’s arm.
“Carla, let me go,” Sean pleaded.
She wouldn’t comply. “He didn’t kill anyone, Harry. You know he didn’t.”
“I know no such thing,” he said, snapping the cuffs onto the suspect’s wrists.
“No. Don’t do this.” Her voice was filled with a sob and Bert knew she needed to step in.
“We don’t have time for this,” Harry grunted, shooting a look at the shop owner.
Walking over, Bert gave her friend’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. That was all it took for the distraught sister to let go. Turning, Carla held onto her best friend, burying her face in her shoulder.
* * *
Carla was in no state to be going out, despite her insistence that she was going to do some investigating on her own. Taking her to the upstairs apartment above Pies and Pages, Bert gave her friend a glass of red wine and laid her down on the bed. After asking Shiv if she could keep an eye on Carla and make sure she didn’t go sneaking out or do anything rash, Bert headed out to the street and got in her car.
She’d seen people in a similar state of shock before, and it simply took some time before they came back to their senses. Bert figured it would only be a few hours before Carla was back to her calm, composed, and logical self.
Heading out of the Old Market district, Bert quickly found herself in downtown proper. Pulling up outside the police station, which was on the same street as the library and the morgue, Bert got out and headed up the concrete steps.
She had the sudden realization that she’d never been inside the station before and had never seen where Harry worked. It would be interesting to see things in action and maybe put a new perspective on police work for her.
Once inside the lobby, Bert had to pause to admire the workmanship around her. A long wooden desk with multiple officers stationed at it separated the civilian area from the work area. Beyond that, and visible through a glass wall, was a bustle of cops, detectives, and other public service employees rushing back and forth among the rows of desks.
With a homicide going on, she was sure that they were all very busy.
“Yes, ma’am, can I help you?” the young blonde-haired woman at the desk asked.
Clasping her purse in her hand, Bert approached the counter area. “Yes. My name is Bertha Hannah and I’d like to speak with Detective Mannor.”
“Unfortunately, the detective is currently in the process of booking a suspect.”
“That’s quite all right. I can wait,” she said with a smile, walking over and sitting in one of the hard-plastic chairs near a fake indoor tree with dust on its leaves.
The officer got on the phone and sent a message to the back telling them that a woman was waiting to speak with Detective Mannor.
It was a good half hour of waiting, and Bert scolded herself for not remembering to grab a book. For a woman who owned a bookstore, she realized she should always carry an “emergency” book in her purse at all times.
“Bert, what in the devil are you doing here?” Harry exclaimed, stepping out of the glass doorway from the backroom.
“I need to talk to you,” she insisted, standing up.
Placing his hands on his hips, he raised an eyebrow. “Does this have to do with the Shatner case?”
“It does.”
“Do you have any actual new information or evidence to present?” he shot back, aware of her nosy ways. She was the kind of woman to push in based on a gut feeling alone.
“I do,” she declared.
“Fine, fine. Come on back,” he invited her, motioning around the desk.
Moments later, he had her in one of the small interrogation rooms. It was a strange experience to be crammed into the small space with Harry, her sitting at the table, him standing with one hand on his hip. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel that different from being crammed into a restaurant booth with the detective.
“We couldn’t have talked at your desk?” she asked, motioning to the rows of metal top desks out in the main room.
“It’s regular procedure to take witnesses into a private setting, especially when you’re presenting new evidence.” He pulled out the chair across from her at the table and sat down. “Now, what is it you’ve discovered?”
Digging into her purse, Bert produced the small shred of paper that had once been a check. She’d placed it into a plastic lunch baggie, thinking it perhaps added a little more authenticity to it actually being a piece of evidence.
Even then, however, she couldn’t help but think that her theory about the connection of the check to the murder could come across as a little thin.
“What is i
t?” he asked, examining the plastic baggie.
“It is a piece of a torn up check I found in the parking lot. It’s made out to somebody with the last name of Handy and appears to be for the amount of ten thousand dollars.
Bringing it close to his face, the detective nodded. “It does appear so.”
“My thought is, who would tear up a check for ten thousand dollars?”
“Who indeed?” Harry said, continuing to humor her.
“We think it was written out to a man named Dale Handy. He was driven out of the chiropractic business back in the nineties by Travis. It basically ruined his life.”
“And you believe he’s come back for revenge?” he said completing her thought for her. “You think that Travis—or someone—tried to pay him off, to make him go away. This Handy fellow wasn’t having it and killed Travis instead.”
“Exactly,” Bert proclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands.
It only took her another second to see that the detective wasn’t buying the theory.
Sighing, he set the bag down and clasped his hands on the metal tabletop. “Look, Bert. I know you mean well. I know you’re trying to help out a friend.”
“And trying to prove a man’s innocence,” she added.
“Of course. However, you must understand, the evidence against Sean Young is significant. He was seen threatening the victim, which gives him a motive. He doesn’t have a solid alibi for the time of the murder, which gives him a means. To cap it all off, his briefcase was found backstage.”
“Yes, yes. I remember he left it on the stage when he stormed off earlier. Someone must have moved it backstage to clear it out of the way—or maybe to frame him.”
“I think Sean moved it himself.”
Shamrock Pie Murder Page 5
