Death of a Blueberry Tart

by Lee Hollis

  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Mona,” Sheila said brightly.

  “I wish I could, but I got my rug rats waiting for me at home to scrounge up something for them to eat. They’re like feral animals and can get really dangerous when they’re hungry.”

  Hayley set the grater down and wiped her hands on a towel. “What about Caskie?”

  Mona blinked at Hayley a couple of times as if she had lost her train of thought, but then the train finally got moving again. “Oh, right. You know how Owen Meyers buys lobsters from my shop for his restaurant?”

  “Yes,” Hayley said.

  Owen Meyers owned a place called The Shack, which was fancier than it sounded and was popular with the summer tourists, and featured a few signature dishes including Owen’s lobster rolls, fried clams, and homemade blueberry pies.

  “Well, I stopped by The Shack yesterday to make a delivery, and guess who was there—!”

  “Caskie,” Hayley answered.

  “Yeah, how did you know?” Mona asked, perplexed.

  “Because you just came in here with the news that you know who killed Caskie, so I just assumed . . .”

  “Oh, right. Anyway, you know how she spends all summer picking blueberries and selling them? Well, I guess Owen was a customer because she was there with a big load of them. About two dozen boxes of blueberries wrapped in plastic. Anyway, the restaurant wasn’t open yet so there were no customers, but when I came in the two of them were in the middle of a huge argument!”

  Sheila gasped. “What about?”

  Mona shrugged. “Beats me. They stopped when they saw me. And then they both pretended everything was fine. But I could tell Owen was madder than a man with no legs in a shoe store! His face was beet red and I could see the veins popping out of his neck!”

  “Then what happened?” Hayley asked.

  Mona shrugged again. “Nothing. I dropped off the cooler with the lobsters in it, Owen paid me, and I left.”

  “So how do you know who killed Caskie?” Hayley asked.

  “Owen did it,” Mona said, as if stating the obvious. “Didn’t you hear me? I saw them fighting.”

  “That doesn’t at all mean he killed her!” Hayley argued, throwing her hands up, frustrated.

  “Looked pretty suspicious to me,” Mona spit out defensively.

  “Hayley’s right,” Sheila said, surprising Hayley by coming to her defense. “I had my issues with Caskie, the woman took a restraining order out on me, but I did not kill her even though it could look like I did to some people.”

  Mona nodded. “I know you didn’t kill her because I’ve known you since I was seven years old and came over to play with Hayley after school. But Owen’s only been on the island a few years and he has bad breath and once cut me off in the parking lot of the Shop ’n Save to get the only available parking space, so clearly he has no conscience and could be a malicious killer for all I know!”

  “Thank you, Miss Marple,” Hayley said, sighing.

  “Hayley, watch the chili while I go upstairs to change,” Sheila said, scurrying out of the kitchen.

  Hayley was certain Sheila was lying. She didn’t have to change. She was already in some comfortable clothes for the evening. It’s not like she had to dress up for dinner with her and Bruce. As Mona picked up a wooden spoon off the counter to try the chili, Hayley could hear her mother upstairs in Gemma’s room, talking to someone on the phone.

  Hayley turned to Mona. “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?”

  Mona didn’t have to think about it. “Nothing.”

  “How about you, me, and Liddy have lunch?”

  “Sounds good to me. Where do you want to go?”

  “I have a craving for a piece of homemade blueberry pie at The Shack.”

  Mona raised an eyebrow, knowing she was now officially a part of Hayley’s independent investigation into the murder of Caskie Lemon-Hogg. “See? I knew you’d want me to tell you.”

  “Just don’t mention to my mother what we’re doing tomorrow. She’ll want to come along. She’s going to be a basket case until Caskie’s murder is solved, and I don’t want to be saddled with all that baggage,” Hayley whispered.

  It didn’t take much to convince Liddy to join them the next day at noon. She was already a fan of The Shack, stopping by at least twice a week for one of Owen’s delectable lobster rolls.

  When the three of them convened outside the restaurant at the far end of Cottage Street across from the Tailgate Sports & Pizza, Hayley was ravenous. She had skipped breakfast and had only had three cups of coffee all morning. Liddy also was starving, having just come from an open house she had worked all morning. Mona was the only one who wasn’t hungry, because she had just stuffed herself with a cheeseburger and onion rings at the Side Street Cafe an hour earlier because noon was too late to eat lunch, in her opinion. Mona ate breakfast at five, lunch at eleven, and dinner at four thirty. She was usually in bed by seven.

  They entered through the door and a bell rang. The restaurant was surprisingly empty except for a few patrons, and Hayley noticed that Owen, a short, squat man with a big belly and bushy mustache, was waiting tables. What was even more surprising were the three women he was currently waiting on—their mothers, Sheila, Celeste, and Jane, seated at a corner table with menus in front of them.

  “What are they doing here?” Liddy asked.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Hayley said, marching over to their table, followed by Liddy and Mona.

  Owen was clutching a pad of paper and a pencil and appeared tense and aggravated.

  “It’s a simple question,” Celeste cooed. “I don’t understand why you are getting so upset.”

  “I’m not upset! I’m just trying to take your order!” Owen snapped.

  “Mom, what’s going on here?” Hayley asked.

  “We’re just ordering lunch,” Sheila said with a tight smile.

  Jane casually perused the menu. “I just can’t decide what I want . . .”

  Owen, suddenly feeling crowded by Hayley, Liddy, and Mona, practically elbowed his way out, and as he fled to the kitchen, called out, “I’ll come back to take your order in a few minutes!”

  Sheila, Celeste, and Jane then dropped their menus and leaned in to each other. “Did you see that? He’s definitely hiding something.”

  “Mother, I asked you what you were doing today and you said nothing,” Liddy said, glaring at her mother.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had to keep you abreast of my daily schedule. It’s not like you took the time to inform me that you would be coming here for lunch with your friends too,” Celeste said, playfully eyeing Sheila and Jane.

  Mona looked as if she felt like she should say something to her mother too, but wasn’t sure what. “Don’t order the fried clams. My deadbeat husband, Dennis, ate them here once and got sick. We couldn’t prove it was the clams but he said they tasted funny.”

  “Good to know, dear,” Jane said.

  Hayley put her hands down on the table and hovered over Sheila. “What did you mean when you said Owen is hiding something? What did you ask him?”

  “I simply asked what he and Caskie were fighting about on the day of the murder, and suddenly he wasn’t so welcoming and friendly, which I find highly suspicious, don’t you, ladies?”

  “Extremely so,” Celeste added. “Did you see how fast he ran back to the kitchen to get out of answering the question?”

  Jane just nodded as she studied the menu. She seemed to be more interested in what she was going to order for lunch. “Has anyone tried the seafood bisque here?”

  Like mother like daughter.

  “So that’s what’s going on here,” Hayley said.

  “You’re afraid if Rupert Stiles is released, you’ll be arrested, so you three are investigating to find out who killed Caskie. That’s why you ran upstairs last night, not to change, but to call Celeste and Jane to meet you here for lunch today.”

  “Yes,” Sheila admitted. “We’r
e working as a team to clear my good name. To clear all our names. Isn’t that what you three are doing here as well?”

  “We’re just having lunch together!” Liddy insisted.

  “Not me. I already ate. I just want to know why Owen killed Caskie,” Mona said.

  Sheila sat back in her chair and gave Hayley a knowing smile.

  “Mom, this is ludicrous. You have no experience in this kind of thing,” Hayley said with a worried look.

  “You three aren’t exactly trained policewomen like Angie Dickinson,” Celeste cooed.

  “Oh, I loved her in that show,” Sheila said.

  “What show?” Liddy asked.

  “The one where she played the policewoman,” Sheila said. “What was it called, Celeste?”

  “Police Woman.”

  “Right. She was so good in that,” Sheila said, nodding.

  “Mom, focus,” Hayley admonished. “I don’t want you snooping around. If the killer is still out there, you might spook him, or her, and there’s no telling what kind of danger you could be in.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take, Hayley,” Sheila said stubbornly. “I refuse to go to prison for a crime I did not commit!”

  “Nobody’s arresting you!” Hayley wailed.

  “Yet,” Celeste quickly added.

  There was an uncomfortable silence, which Mona finally broke. “Mom, what are you doing here? You hate watching detective shows because of the violence. Why are you involved in this too?”

  “Because Celeste offered to pay for lunch,” Jane mumbled.

  Celeste stared at Hayley, Liddy, and Mona and pointed a fork in their direction. “You three are obviously here for the same reason we are. Why should we stop investigating if you three don’t?”

  “Because you’re too old for this,” Liddy said.

  More uncomfortable silence.

  Even more uncomfortable than the last time.

  And for good reason.

  The three mothers were terribly insulted.

  Hayley knew there was no coming back from that one.

  Even Liddy, who rarely regretted anything she said, knew she had gone too far. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

  Celeste bristled. “You didn’t imply anything. You were quite plain about it.”

  “You enjoy your lunch. We’re going to go sit down at a table over there,” Hayley said quietly.

  “That one’s free,” Sheila said, gesturing toward the table farthest away from them.

  Hayley, Liddy, and Mona took the hint and retreated, sitting down at a table on the far side of the restaurant. They quietly picked up their menus to peruse the lunch selections. Owen had yet to emerge from the kitchen, and Hayley wondered if he ever would, given how flustered he had become when asked about his argument with Caskie Lemon-Hogg. But he did. For a short time, just to take their orders and deliver their food and to clear their plates when they were finished. He never spoke or answered any questions, especially about the murder victim, which only fueled Hayley’s suspicions about him. Their mothers finally gave up and paid their bill and left the restaurant, not bothering to stop and say goodbye to their daughters on their way out.

  It looked as if some kind of competition between mothers and daughters was brewing. Who would solve the murder first? Hayley found the whole idea of a race to be childish and utterly ridiculous. And yet, deep down, Hayley knew she couldn’t let her mother show her up. She had to solve this crime first.

  Chapter 18

  The turnout for Caskie Lemon-Hogg’s funeral service at the Congregational church was much larger than Hayley had expected. Hayley’s party alone was made up of seven people including herself, Bruce, Liddy, Mona, and their three mothers. There had been a long, drawn out discussion on whether or not it was appropriate for Sheila, Celeste, and Jane to attend given the ugly scene that had transpired between them and Caskie at the high school reunion party at Drinks Like a Fish, but in the end, it was decided that they should at least have the opportunity to pay their respects despite the bad blood.

  Although her mother would never admit it, Hayley also suspected that Sheila was worried about optics. She clearly did not want to be perceived as a heartless enemy of the deceased, thereby fueling speculation that she had been the one who strangled poor Caskie, and so Hayley could tell her mother was working hard as they entered the church to give the impression that she was genuinely grieving over the loss of a dear classmate by mustering up some tears and needing the support of her daughter as she made her way down the aisle to a pew in the middle, not too close to the front. Celeste and Jane, who feared guilt by association, also put on a good show, holding on to each other and bowing their heads solemnly.

  Bruce turned to Hayley and whispered in her ear, “You didn’t tell me it was an open casket funeral.”

  “I didn’t know,” Hayley whispered back.

  “Seeing a dead body freaks me out,” Bruce said, averting his eyes from Caskie’s corpse, which was laid out down in the front of the church.

  “How can that be? You’re a crime reporter! You must have seen dozens of them in your long career,” Hayley said, incredulous.

  Bruce shook his head. “I’ve always managed to steer clear unless they were already covered up by a sheet. I had this dream as a kid that my grandfather kept looking at me while lying in his casket at his own funeral, and I woke up in a cold sweat. It stuck with me and I haven’t felt comfortable around dead bodies ever since.”

  They took their seats in the middle of a pew just past Liddy and Mona while Sheila, Celeste, and Jane sat down at the end of the pew across the aisle from them. Hayley was now between Bruce and Edie Staples, wife of Reverend Staples, the man who would be delivering the sermon.

  Edie clutched a Bible and leaned in to Hayley. “Your mother looks wonderful. She hasn’t aged a bit. What’s her secret?”

  “I wish I knew. I’d bottle it,” Hayley joked.

  “She must be so relieved that the police have arrested Caskie’s killer,” Edie said. “Before they caught Rupert and got him to confess, there was a rumor going around that Sheila might have been the one who—”

  Hayley interrupted her. “Rupert didn’t confess.”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say, dear?”

  “Rupert says he didn’t do it.”

  “Oh, well, of course he would say that. Murderers always claim to be innocent . . .” Edie said, shaking her head. “Until the evidence inevitably proves they’re lying . . .”

  “What evidence?” Hayley asked.

  “I’m sure the police would not have arrested a suspect unless they had enough evidence to make a case in court . . .”

  “I haven’t seen any evidence that would convince me beyond a reasonable doubt that Rupert hurt anyone . . .”

  Edie was not about to back down from her position. “I heard they have an eyewitness . . .”

  “Yes, but witnesses can sometimes be mistaken, and from what I know, there is no physical evidence tying Rupert to the murder . . .”

  “Ruth Farrell at the Ladies Auxiliary told me Rupert can’t remember where he was or what he was doing on the night Caskie was strangled!”

  “Yes, Rupert tends to drink too much and that makes his memory fuzzy, but that’s not exactly concrete proof that he’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  Edie was getting a little miffed that Hayley was so argumentative, especially on this somber occasion. “Well, if you are so certain Rupert has been falsely accused, then who do you think did it? Your mother?”

  “I didn’t say that . . .” Hayley sputtered.

  Edie gave her a look that said, You might as well have.

  Bruce clutched Hayley’s arm and hissed in Hayley’s ear. “She won’t stop staring at me.”

  “Who?”

  “Caskie!” Bruce said, panicking.

  Hayley looked up front at the casket. She had a clear view of Caskie faceup, lying in repose. She turned back to her husband. “Her eyes are closed, B
ruce . . .”

  “They weren’t a minute ago! Her head was turned this way and she was looking straight at me!”

  “You really do have a problem being in the same room as a dead body, don’t you?”

  “I told you, it’s like a horror movie, you know, Night of the Living Dead . . . and they keep staring at me like they’re going to jump out of the coffin and come after me . . .”

  Edie, who had been eavesdropping, reached over and patted Bruce’s hand. “I hear that new psychiatrist in town, Dr. Hishmeh, is quite good. I certainly have no reason to see him, but you might want to consider it.”

  Bruce scowled at her. “Thank you, Edie . . .”

  “By the way, I hope you stay for the reception after the service. I made blueberry tarts using Caskie’s recipe as sort of a tribute to her . . .”

  “How nice,” Hayley said, having no intention of trying one since Edie Staples was a terrible baker and had proven it time and time again at every one of her husband’s church service receptions.

  Bruce gripped Hayley’s hand again, so hard Hayley winced in pain. He looked down at his shoes and said in a hushed tone, “Look, look, look, she’s doing it again!”

  Hayley glanced up front to see Caskie in the same position as she was before, as still as a, well, corpse. Hayley leaned over and whispered in Bruce’s ear, “Maybe you should talk to someone about this.”

  Owen Meyers, the owner of The Shack, arrived with his wife, Peggy, and marched down the aisle on the far right of the church, turning into the pew where Hayley was seated and plopping down next to Edie Staples. Edie made small talk with Peggy as Owen nervously looked around at the crowd of mourners that filled the room. He hadn’t noticed Hayley yet, but when she leaned forward and offered him a welcoming smile, he reacted with a start.

  “Hello, Owen, it’s nice to see you . . .”

  Owen, suddenly flustered, tugged on his wife’s sleeve. “I want to go sit further down front.”

  Peggy gave him a confused look. “Why? I’m fine right here.”

  “Why do you have to constantly argue with me? Can’t you just do what I want this one time?”

  Edie reared back, her eyebrows raised, thrilled to be smack in the middle of a couple’s abrupt spat.