The Apple Pie Alibi

by Doug Lutz

  And Parker was a keeper?

  If I could get Velma out of this immediate trouble, I would not have much time before I would need to face the next big problem, that being the job fair at the Cat and Fiddle on Thursday. What if the judge decided Velma needed to stay locked up until bail could be posted? I had a few dollars saved up, but not enough to get someone out of a murder charge. And I had turned into a decent server, but I wasn’t certain I could handle a full rush at the café by myself.

  The clock on the wall struck half past seven. It had been about five minutes since Velma went into the restroom and I got worried. Parker wanted to make sure everything was okay, too. He asked me to check on her.

  When I returned, my exuberant happiness told rookie officer Parker Williams a story he did not want to hear. Before he could check the restroom for windows and back doors, his omniscient cell phone buzzed again. He took a deep breath, knowing this would not be pleasant.

  “No, sir. Not yet. No, that’s not it. Um, well, no. It’s just that I think she may have escaped. Um, yes, that’s right. I said escaped.”

  Our victory may have been small, but it was sweet. If there were ever a time to have cupcakes for a late–night snack, this would have been it.

  Poor Parker.

  I giggled. Velma had done it again! Now I needed to figure out where she went.

  7

  Velma’s request to find Doc Jones had me lost and confused. More than normal, some might say. My grandmother, an old woman who loved to go to the big city of Virginia Beach and walk the shopping malls with a cane, had somehow escaped police apprehension by excusing herself to use the ladies’ room.

  Parker did a systematic, by–the–book investigation, looking for avenues of escape from within the restroom. There were no side or back doors, just the front one, and there were no windows, either. It was like the woman had vanished into thin air. What concerned me more, however, was the fact she had gone on the lam instead of letting the evidence, or lack thereof, speak for itself in a court of law. Maybe I was naïve? And how did she do it? Even I could not figure this one out.

  I had it in my mind to ask her, once I found her, if her behavior was a good example for the rest of us. If I had done something similar when I was a kid, I would have been grounded for a year. Then again, Grandma always seemed to have a plan. I hoped it didn’t involve stowing away on a banana freighter heading to Honduras.

  Parker had just received an earful. After his phone call, my knight in khaki cotton armor asked me if the café was hiring. Given the sarcastic and threatening tone of Captain Larson, he must have thought his job was no longer on the line; instead, his employment status was so far past the line, he couldn’t even see the stupid line anymore. With Velma missing and his boss fuming down at the station, my Parker was left with no one else to talk to except yours truly. That’s when I brought up the job fair on Thursday.

  Did I really just think of him as my Parker?

  “First, let me tell you, I don’t know where my grandmother has gone. But, I am sure she has a superb reason for leaving. Remember, she’s well over sixty so when you find her, excessive force will not—I say again, will not—be needed. Do we have an understanding? She’s a kind, sweet granny, so be careful. No rough stuff. Got it?”

  He nodded in agreement before I had finished speaking. I loved his concerned look, but I still put up the tough–girl front.

  Parker felt the heat, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his forehead. “I’ll let the other guys know. I wish she hadn’t run, though. Now she can be charged with evading, too.”

  I told him the evasion charge wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny of a judge. Captain Larson would have to explain how a feeble woman evaded his mighty force using their formidable dragnet.

  Parker missed the point. “It’ll only get worse the longer she stays out. Do you have any idea who she may visit? That cold wind coming off the Chesapeake can seep right into your bones. I’d hate to see your grandmother hiding outside in the elements.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell your fellow officers to turn off the new über–high–def flat–screen television in the Captain’s office and go find her? She drives nothing faster than a golf cart these days. Just how far do you think she could have gone?”

  “Captain Larson has a new flat–screen? HD, too? I didn’t know that. How’d you know that?”

  “I know a lot of things, Parker, from hearing customers at the restaurant. The delivery men who brought the television to the station house came in for a bite to eat the other day. They complained all the way through dessert about remounting it because someone, your Captain Larson, couldn’t decide where to put it. They said something about his badge being stuck up his butt. I could have heard it wrong?”

  Parker laughed. “That’s funny. But J.B. is a good boss. I’m not sure why he acted the way he did, though.”

  I couldn’t let him off the hook. Now was the time to set him on his best course of action.

  “Parker, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but find Velma. A vicious, calculating fried chicken killer or not, she’s my grandmother. That should count for something. Now, about that call?”

  “Good idea, Winnie. I’ll ask everyone at the station to look for her. If J.B. asks, I’ll tell him your grandmother is out there somewhere. Not sure where, yet, but at least we know she’s not here. But please, let me know if she comes back. Promise?”

  Parker didn’t wait for an answer, instead turning to leave. He had to come back twice—first to retrieve his hat, second to pick up his keys. I did my best to keep a stern face. He was so cute trying to impress me.

  With Parker away, I grabbed a broom and tapped on the ceiling. It had taken me a while, but I had figured out what Velma had been trying to tell me as she made her getaway.

  “Grandma, it’s safe to come down. He’s gone.”

  A shuffling of footsteps could be heard upstairs. A few seconds later, Velma reemerged from the restroom. “I was hoping you had remembered the escape route.”

  “At first I had forgotten, but when you said picking blackberries, the memories came back. I loved the stories about the café’s secret history during the Prohibition days.”

  “Yes, old Doc Jones, who wasn’t so old back then, would gather us younger kids and take us down to the park to pick berries,” Velma recalled. “He was only a teenager, but he did not want us to see the bathtub gin your great–grandparents had flowing through the joint. By the time we came back, there was not a stitch of evidence the place had ever been a temporary speakeasy. When I was old enough to keep a secret, my mother showed me the bootleggers’ escape hatch in the ladies’ room.”

  My memory of the whole story was missing a few details, and my curiosity was spilling over the brim. “It’s the mirror, yes?”

  Velma just winked at me and walked back into the restroom. I had to follow. This cloak–and–dagger stuff was so much better than the Porter’s Five Forces model of corporate competition. My business marketing advisor was correct when he said college isn’t for everyone.

  Velma lifted the octagonal lid off an old canister of face powder sitting on the vanity. Using her free hand, she traced the ornate frame surrounding the wall mirror, stopping at a section where some of the wood had fallen away with age. The carved top fit the missing intarsia like a key in a lock.

  Giving it a counterclockwise twist, I could hear a set of springs and gears turning within the wall. With a subtle ping, a wall panel next to the mirror slid open, revealing a hidden staircase descending into darkness. I could feel a rush of cool air.

  Looking inside, I noticed there were different shades of dark. “Are there two passageways? How did I not know we had a basement?”

  Pointing downward, she said, “Not a basement, Winnie, but one route leading back upstairs, and another connected to an old labyrinth built when Prohibition started. If the revenuers raided one place, the booze shifted to another establishment. The agents just gave u
p after a while; some of them even joined the clubs. They were human, too, you know.”

  My grandmother had a good point. “I guess not every police officer is a jerk,” I said, making a mental note to apologize to Parker later for ordering him around. Velma and I tiptoed up to our rooms via the way–cool secret passage. I had lived above the café for about a year, but finally felt at home, knowing Velma was safe and in the next room.

  8

  The morning sun poured into the upstairs windows above the Cat and Fiddle, the brightness hitting me in the eyes and forcing me out of bed. There was a lot of work to get done. I walked down the creaky wooden stairs and entered the kitchen, trying to be quiet so as not to wake Velma. But as I passed by her room, I noticed she wasn’t there. I finally found her just inside the hidden passageway, sleeping soundly wrapped inside a warm quilt on a camping cot. Probably a precaution in case J.B. decided to raid the place.

  With some potatoes and onions now frying on the flat–top grill, I checked the prep work for the lunch run. Customers came first, but Velma’s murder charge, however, still worried me. I had to get into each event; there was a murderer in the bunch somewhere. I had to find him. Or her. Or them.

  I added a touch of diced garlic, and rough–chopped red and green bell peppers. It smelled superb in the Cat and Fiddle. A reheated pan of yesterday’s dinner special, a black bean, jalapeno, and olive tapenade, completed the meal. My breakfast bowl special was a favorite among truckers, fishermen, and unsuspecting tourists.

  While I waited for the spattering oil to subside, I considered the other suspects. Even if George Harrison Windsor and Cosmo Finnegan had stabbed Pierre St. Pierre in the back, it was wrong. It didn’t matter that everyone else seemed happy the arrogant chef was dead; a side dish of murder was still a crime.

  I ladled a heap of taters and tapenade into a bowl. A soft pit–pat of slippers caressed the wooden floor behind me. It was Velma, dressed for the day except for her bunny slippers. I wasn’t sure, but the informal footwear may have violated the state health code. But I would have felt ridiculous reporting it.

  Excuse me, I would like to report unauthorized cute, fuzzy bunny slippers. No, they don’t come with carrots!

  Nope. That would not happen. Ever.

  “Would you like a breakfast feast, Grandma? Gets the ol’ blood pumping in the morning. Better than coffee, I’d say.”

  “That sounds delightful, dear, but you will have to deliver. I can’t step out much further without coming into view. The police think I escaped, but if I know J.B., he’ll have an officer in an unmarked car watching the house to see if I doubled back.”

  I walked over to the deep sink and washed a juice glass. Through the window, I could see an off–white sedan, exhaust drifting up from the tail pipe.

  “It looks like you have an admirer, Grandma. Should we send him some breakfast? I bet he’s cold. Where’s that hot sauce?” I relished blowing the undercover cop’s stakeout. It would serve him right. I reached for an extra spoonful of chili powder for good measure.

  Velma sat at the foot of the stairs. “You feed the poor man and distract him for a few minutes. I’ll head over to the pantry and finish the prep work so you can have more time to investigate. Once the coast is clear, let me know and I’ll retreat upstairs. Later on I’ll call my friend Mr. Larson and say I’m lost in Maryland. That’ll keep him busy for the rest of the day. We should be back in business together by dinner.”

  Awkward?

  Yes.

  “Job offer to Miss Kepler postponed until her appeal.”

  Oh, yeah. That’ll make a great first entry in my employment file.

  Right.

  Not.

  Velma gave me a half–hug and two air kisses, one on each cheek. “Listen, this will all work out. There’s nothing to worry about.” She turned away from me, hoping I would not see her scribble down instructions for watering the plants.

  I snatched up the paper. “Nothing to worry about? Then why do I need to spritz the orchids at sunrise and prune the roses if they get too bushy? Is that even a word? Bushy? Methinks you are more concerned than you let on, Grandma. What gives?”

  Velma put down the pen. Hands on her hips, she let it all out.

  “I am sorry you have gotten mixed up in all of this mess. All I wanted to do was cook my fried chicken on a stick and bake my apple pie. And, I didn’t even need all those silly apples that Pierre took. He was just being an idiot. But still, even being an idiot was nothing to get upset over; no reason to kill him.”

  We hugged again, this time a full–on embrace. I had a definite tear in one eye, mist in the other.

  “Grandma, you know I’ve never thought you killed the guy. But let me ask you, who among the other chefs would have a reason to kill Pierre?” Someone killed that poor guy. The only way to prove my grandmother innocent was to prove someone else guilty.

  Grandma raised her hand like the kid in the front row of class, the one who always knew the answer. “I’ve got it! You are visiting the Seagull’s Nest today, right? Two of my fellow competitors work there and both have their reasons to want to see Pierre St. Pierre dead.” Velma paused, and then whispered, “They have very, very good reasons.”

  I knew that George Harrison Windsor and Pierre had gone to the same local culinary school, and how Pierre finished at the top of the class. As I searched the shelf for the cayenne pepper bottle, I asked, “Do you suppose George is still harboring a grudge because he finished second in culinary school to Pierre?”

  “Oh, there’s a lot more to that story, Winnie. And yes, the grudge is still there. In fact, it has grown over the past several years. They wouldn’t even walk on the same side of the street if they saw each other. Comical, in a sad sort of way.”

  I fried up another skillet of potatoes, this time sprinkling a heavy dose of cayenne on top and adding a few pieces of crispy bacon. No officer in his right mind would turn down bacon. After tossing on a handful of shredded cheddar cheese and spooning a few glops of salsa on the side, I deemed the dish tasty and fit for the unwelcome observer.

  “This ought to warm up the squad car, in more ways than one,” I said.

  Food in hand, I approached the car. Though the windows were fogged with condensation, I saw the driver scrunch down in the front seat.

  I tapped on the driver’s–side window glass. “Excuse me, you looked cold out here so I brought you something warm for breakfast.”

  No response. The driver slumped over to feign sleeping.

  “Hey! Guy! I have food for you. Just take it. I won’t tell your captain.”

  The man raised his head, yawned, and then lifted himself back into a full upright position. The window, still opaque with moisture, rolled downward. My jaw almost hit the ground.

  “Parker! What are you doing here? Were you stalking me?”

  “Winnie, it’s not what you think. Well, it sort of is, but not the stalking part. The Captain thought your grandmother may have come back during the night and he wanted an officer here to arrest her on the spot. So I volunteered.”

  I thought about dropping the food in his lap. “I don’t know why the Captain is so stinking hard–headed and set to put my grandmother behind bars, but he is wrong. Just plain wrong. And what’s more, I think you know it. Look, I know we really just met, but I’d appreciate a little help before our first date.”

  Speechless, Parker looked at his radio, then back at me. The smell of the food finally grabbed his attention.

  “Here,” I said. “I brought you some hot breakfast. I’ll get you some water in a few minutes, if you like. You’ll need it.” I took a few deep breaths to regain a sense of calm.

  Parker looked up at me, and with a deep voice resonating with clarity, he stated, “I chose a side, Winnie. Last night. That’s why I am here, instead of one of the other guys. They’re all good officers, but the last thing I wanted was—well, here I am.”

  “So you never intended on arresting my grandmother this morning?” />
  “I didn’t even bring the paperwork.”

  “But what about Captain Larson? Won’t he get suspicious if he finds the arrest warrant back at the station?”

  “He won’t find it. Winnie, there is something I need to tell you about Captain Larson. I found out why he has been so intent on putting your grandmother in jail.”

  “Don’t tell me he had an affair with Velma at one point. I don’t think I could handle news like that this early in the morning.”

  “No, but this issue goes all the way back to when they were in high school.”

  “Parker, they were in high school a lifetime ago. Who keeps a chip on their shoulder for almost half a century?”

  “You’d be surprised. It gets worse. The problem began during their senior year in high school. There was a small confrontation between the Captain and your grandmother during the senior prom. Since then, while the two have lived in the same town, they have been very far apart from each other.”

  “Are you sure about all of this? I mean, the Captain stops by the Cat and Fiddle for a meal almost every evening. That doesn’t sound like the act of a man with a skeleton in his closet. And my grandfather proposed to Velma during that dance. I’ve heard the story a million times. Funny, no one mentioned anything about a fight, though.”

  “I think he stops by just to let her know that he remembers and is still keeping tabs on her, waiting for her to slip up. The Captain is obsessed with keeping the secret.”

  Parker shoved in spoonful after spoonful of the tasty breakfast between quips about the history between his boss and my grandmother. “I’ve said too much already. Your grandmother can tell you the rest of the story. It’s really her place to explain, not mine.”

  “Why are you telling me this now, Parker? What changed?”

  “Last night, at the station, Captain Larson argued with his current girlfriend over the phone. He’s not one to embrace technology, and he accidentally left the phone on speaker. Everyone in the station heard more than we should have. She accused him of holding a torch for Velma. That’s when he came clean about how he felt about your grandmother. It wasn’t a pretty picture after that. I’m confident his girlfriend is history now, but the important thing was this: once I heard the facts, I knew Captain Larson had pencil–whipped the arrest warrant.”