Apple Pies and Alibis

by Christy Murphy

  “Maybe we should come back tomorrow in the morning. It’s the dead of night.”

  Mom laughed. “The dead of night! It’s 9:30. There are still people working in the building.” Mom motioned to the lights on in a few of the office windows. “Now show me where you were when you heard that thing fall before Rick.”

  I retraced my steps and approximated the best I could in the dark where I was standing before. We needed to get out of here before someone spotted us. That would be so embarrassing!.

  “So you heard a noise, right?” Mom said. “Close your eyes and do the weird memory thing.”

  My brain had a knack for creating incredibly detailed memories around traumatic instances, like the time I slipped going down the stairs of the capitol building on a field trip and nearly fell. My skirt flipped over my head and everything. Seeing Rick Heller’s dead body definitely fell into the traumatic category.

  I closed my eyes and thought back to the sound. Something had hit the ground and skipped a few times.

  “What did it sound like?” Mom asked.

  I strained to remember the sound. “Plastic. A hard plastic. It skipped three times and then skidded, or more like rolled.”

  “Anything else? Did it sound like it was made with anything else?”

  I replayed the memory in my mind. The first time the object hit the ground was the loudest. It had that distinctive click that made me think it was plastic. But there was another sound with it. A crisp “tink.” Was it glass? Wood? Metal!

  “Maybe metal?” I said.

  “Like a screwdriver?” Mom asked.

  My brain inserted a screwdriver into my memory. The plastic head and metal hitting the ground, bouncing end over and end a few times and then rolling.

  “It could have been!” I said becoming excited at the idea.

  “Where did the sound come from?” Mom asked.

  “I think it was over there,” I said pointing to a spot to our left and closer to the building. I sensed where Mom was going with this. “He loosened the window like you did, didn’t he?”

  “I think so,” Mom said, scanning the ground. “The screw you have to untighten is at a weird angle. Remember how I almost dropped Henry’s screwdriver?”

  “Yes!”

  “And Henry wanted me to make sure I gave it right back, because he said he ‘didn’t have a spare anymore.’ Remember?”

  “Because Rick borrowed it and dropped it out the window.”

  “Aye!” Mom said. “Look!”

  I hurried over to Mom’s side, and there it was.

  “Don’t touch it. It’s evidence. Take a picture.”

  I pulled out my phone and took a picture. “So he jumped out the window because he was depressed over his breakup with Madison,” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” Mom said, walking around the screwdriver and heading toward the building. “I think he was ashamed of something else.”

  I shook my head and went over to see what Mom was talking about, but a bright light shined in my eyes.

  “Stop right there,” a deep male voice said. “This is private property.”

  7

  Police and Pies

  Mom and I sat in two hard plastic chairs in the Pasadena Police Station waiting for DC Cooper to arrive. I’d figured hanging out in a dark parking lot wouldn’t require doing my hair or putting on makeup, but this was like the millionth time I’d seen DC looking like a wreck.

  “The security guard was nice,” Mom said. “He’d applied to join the police force, but they never called him.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” I said, remembering Barney Fife and his blinding flashlight.

  Mom ignored my sarcasm and continued. “At least he was eager to help us.”

  “We didn’t need any help. And what kind of helping is jabbering our ear off about how he knew that it had to be an accident and he’d already figured out what you had about Rick Heller. He only said that after you explained it to him.”

  “Oh that. He just wanted to sound important. He helped us find the cigarette butts, didn’t he?”

  “We would have found them anyway.”

  “Well at least he’s standing guard at the crime scene to make sure it’s undisturbed until the detectives can gather the evidence.”

  “Mom, they think we’re crazy,” I said. “We should just go home. It’s already after ten.”

  “That’s a good idea,” DC Cooper said.

  I let out a startled yelp. I hadn’t heard him approaching us. Was he wearing stealth ninja shoes or something? He laughed and so did Mom.

  “Startled?” he asked.

  I glared.

  “Tell the man at the front desk to call the detective working the case,” Mom said. “He doesn’t believe we solved it.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you solved it,” DC said.

  “It was an accident,” Mom said.

  DC smiled and nodded. “And what makes you say that?”

  “Rick Heller loosened the window himself so he could smoke after his stressful fight with Barbara. He’d had two apple margaritas, so he fumbled with the screwdriver and dropped it. And then when he leaned out the window extra far to try and avoid setting off the fire alarm, he fell out himself.”

  DC’s facial expression looked surprised. “But his coworkers say Rick Heller doesn’t smoke.”

  “He hides it with air freshener, breath mints, and wearing disposable raincoats to keep the smell off his clothes,” Mom said. “I think he stashed his cigarettes in that potted plant by his window. We saw him crouching near it earlier that day when we walked into his office unannounced.”

  “And your evidence that he loosened the window?” DC asked.

  “We found the screwdriver on the ground not far from where he fell, and cigarette butts, too. I’m sure his fingerprints are all over the window, that screwdriver, and maybe even his saliva on the cigarette butts. So will you call the detective and tell him we solved the case, and Barbara’s innocent?”

  “He already thinks it’s an accident. We’re just waiting on the tox screen to make sure he was drunk,” DC said.

  “Oh,” Mom answered, sounding a little disappointed.

  “How did they rule it an accident without the cigarette butts or the screwdriver?” I asked.

  DC exhaled. “His fingerprints on the window, and an employee confirmed that Barbara had been out of his office just as the fire alarm went off.”

  Barbara must not have known that one employee had seen her leave before the alarm. I was glad that the cops believed my recollection about the timing of the fall.

  “So you believed me about when he fell,” I said.

  “An employee at another company two floors down confirmed it,” DC answered.

  “So why haven’t you dropped the charges against Barbara?” Mom said.

  “Only one eyewitness can recall that she was out of the office before the alarm. Witnesses are often mistaken, and Barbara had a strong motive to want Rick Heller dead. The tox screen will add validity to the idea it was an accident.”

  “Motive?” I asked.

  “I was sitting right next to you two eating mango cake when she tried to hire you as private detectives, remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” I heard myself say, feeling majorly stupid. How could I have forgotten that? We were all celebrating Celia being cleared of Harold Sanders’s murder when Barbara approached us.

  “But how did you know she suspected Rick was the mole?” Mom asked.

  “A Turing Tech employee indicated that Rick Heller was selling secrets.”

  “Who?” Mom asked.

  “Listen, I’ve told you too much already,” DC said.

  “Your case for an accident is based on what?” Mom asked.

  DC looked at the ground. He was hiding something.

  “You didn’t test the windows at all!” Mom said. “Your detective didn’t even know that it’s impossible to push someone or to fall out one of those windows with the safety on!”


  “He assumed it was old and faulty. Like you tested it in a lab or something,” he said.

  “Our backyard,” Mom said, arms folded. “Wenling recorded it on her phone. We had the exact same window with the safety on it, and tried to push Christy through it and everything.”

  DC laughed. “I’ll need a copy of that footage.” I sensed DC didn’t need the footage as evidence as much as he wanted to see it for his own amusement.

  “Then tell me who knew about Rick being the mole,” Mom said.

  “Jo, I don’t remember the name offhand. It’s not my case.”

  “I think I know anyway,” Mom said. I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing.

  “I’m sure you do, Jo.”

  “Did you do an autopsy on Rick? He only had two margaritas. I’m not sure a big man like that would be drunk after just two margaritas,” Mom said.

  “He’d only had a sandwich in his stomach. Near-empty stomach. Low tolerance,” DC said.

  “I knew he was Tina’s sandwich thief,” Mom said with a smile. At least she’d solved one mystery.

  “Now, will you two leave the station? As you can see, the police solved the case just fine on our own.”

  “Not just fine,” Mom said. “You don’t have all the evidence.”

  “We have all we need,” DC said. “So will you go home now and stop with the Nancy Drew double act?”

  “Okay,” Mom said.

  Detective Cooper might have thought that Mom had agreed to quit the amateur sleuth thing, but I knew Mom only agreed to leave the police station. Mom hugged DC goodbye. I just stood there.

  As we left, a deflated feeling descended on me. All of our detective work was for naught. Mom was surprisingly upbeat.

  “Excuse me,” Mom asked a passing police officer. “Where’s the restroom?”

  We followed the pointed hand and used the facilities. I got the vibe Mom was stalling. When we exited the bathroom, Mom pointed to a small group of officers being led by DC Cooper.

  She rushed up behind them. “Headed to the Turing Tech parking lot?” she asked.

  DC turned around and rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t Nancy Drew have to be home by midnight?”

  “That’s Cinderella,” I said. and we exited the station and headed our separate ways. They were definitely headed for the Turing Tech parking lot. At least we helped them get more evidence.

  Mom and I climbed into the van. I clicked my seatbelt and exhaled. “Case closed, I guess,” I said to Mom.

  Mom was silent. I was too tired to argue, but I knew what her silence meant. The game was still afoot, and all I could do as Mom’s Watson was drive the van and wait.

  Life in Fletcher Canyon with Mom took on a rhythm over the next month. I enjoyed small-town life. We’d go to the Lucky Dragon most days that Mom didn’t have an audition. On Saturday nights, Mom and I would get ice cream and walk Main Street to talk to our neighbors. We’d turned into mini-celebrities in our town. People loved to hear Mom talk about our two cases.

  On this particular night, I enjoyed a quiet evening home alone. Mom had booked that gig she’d auditioned for the week of the office party, and it was a two-day shoot.

  Tomorrow we were catering our first gig back at Turning Tech. We’d gotten the monthly gig even though charges hadn’t been officially dropped. Everyone was sure they would be once the tox screen came back from the lab. Mom had opted to make pot roast with mashed potatoes for the lunch, and the personal apple pies for dessert.

  I’d spent the afternoon preparing the mashed potatoes all on my own. Mom had given me a tutorial, and I impressed myself. Mom had made the pie filling and crusts the day before her shoot, so we’d just assemble them in the morning and head out to the gig.

  It was after eight and Mom was shooting late. She played the part of an “active senior” enjoying the Spring Senior Spectacular at a Southern California casino. Mom’s epic sad face was employed to show her all alone in a drab room with nothing to do until she discovers the joys of gambling at the glamorous casino with a buffet.

  Mom would be calling me to pick her up when the shoot was over. The casino was an hour away, but before she left this morning she said, I “could take my time, because the casino was open twenty-four hours.” Mom had never been so happy on a commercial before, and I worried Mom’s love of puzzles might take a hard left toward the poker table. I waited for her call fully dressed, with my keys in my pocket, as I watched television.

  I watched a marathon of home makeover shows, where sometimes the houses look amazing and other times they ruin the house with some odd craft project that destroyed its resale value. The suspense of it engrossed me.

  The sound of a car engine took my attention from the decoupaging wall project. We lived at the end of the cul-de-sac, and our neighbors were senior citizens who didn’t get visitors this late.

  I stood up and peeked out the window. A BMW had pulled into our driveway. At first I thought someone was lost, until a familiar-looking older man jumped out of the driver’s seat and rushed around the front of the car to open the passenger door. It surprised me to see the man help Mom out of the car.

  I closed the curtain and peeked through the crack. Yes, I was spying. I’d met all of Mom’s friends in town. Mr. BMW wasn’t one of them.

  I spied as the man stood a little too close as he talked to Mom in the driveway. Mom had no idea how many men found her attractive. She’d married Dad young.

  Mom and Mr. Flirty headed up the walk toward the house. I dashed back to the couch and pretended to watch television. I listened to the sounds of conversation, peppered with Mom’s high-pitched laughter combined with the man’s low chuckle. This guy probably thought Mom liked him. Poor guy. He had no idea that Mom made easy conversation with everyone.

  After way too long, Mom opened the door giggling. “Thanks for the ride home, Martin!”

  “My pleasure, Jo,” he called back. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  Mom giggled some more and closed the door.

  “Hi kid!” Mom said, all smiles. “I got a ride.”

  “I see that,” I said, wondering if she was going to say more. I heard his car pull out of the driveway. Just the sound of his car made me sure the man drove way too fast. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to take a ride home from a stranger?”

  Mom laughed. “He’s not a stranger. We met him the day of my audition. It turns out he was the client for the commercial.”

  “You mean the jerk who blocked us in?” I asked.

  “It turned out Martin was lost looking for the casting office,” Mom said.

  I wanted to ask Mom more questions about this Martin character, but I heard a car pull back into our driveway.

  Mom peeked out the window. I jumped off the couch so I could meet him. “Did he forget something?” I asked.

  “It’s not his car, “ Mom said as I opened the door. That’s when I saw my ex step out of his car.

  “I thought I might find you here,” he said.

  I’d forgotten all about him. Mom and I had been so busy.

  “Do you want me the tell him to go away, kid?” Mom asked.

  He came up the walk. My brain froze as a million feelings flooded through me. Anger. Longing. Confusion. We had so much history together. But then again, he’d thrown that all away. I thought I’d think of something to say by the time he reached the front door, but nothing came to mind.

  “Hello, Jo!” he said to Mom.

  Mom looked down her nose at him.

  “Do you mind if I talk to your daughter for a while?” he asked.

  “That depends on if she wants to talk to you,” Mom said. They both turned to me. I nodded yes, because I didn’t know what else to do.

  Mom left and went to her room. I found myself inviting my ex inside. We sat down in the living room. His lack of awkwardness enraged me. The anger brought me to my senses.

  “What do you want?” I asked, stunned at my own directness and the hard edge in my voice. When it came to Ro
bert, I’d always been a cream puff.

  “You didn’t return my texts,” he said.

  I glared at him. How dare he! He’d moved out in the middle of the night and left me with a note and the rent due. Mom’s home phone rang. I heard Mom pick it up in her bedroom. I wondered if it was Martin.

  “I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk to me, but Christy, it just wasn’t working anymore. You just—”

  “Managed all of the boring details of your career and then you split the second it looked like you might be a success,” I spat out.

  “Listen, my talent was bound to win out. But I don’t deny that handling all that little stuff helped. Besides, I’d hardly call myself successful,” he said.

  “The deal didn’t go through?”

  “Just a lot of talk,” he said, sounding surprisingly positive about it. “It was a confidence booster though. It made me happy, and that’s when I realized I hadn’t been happy for so long. Listen, I’m sorry I just left like I did. I should have talked about how I was feeling. But we were fighting so much.”

  “You never take responsibility for anything, do you?”

  “You always say that, and you’re right. So this time I did,” he said, pulling out a thick envelope from his back pocket and handing it to me.

  I opened it and skimmed the documents inside. “Divorce papers.”

  “You always handled all the boring paperwork and details. I thought for once I’d do the right thing and be a grownup.”

  “You paid to have these drawn up?” I asked, impressed. This was so unlike him. I’d been dreading having to take care of this. We didn’t have any assets at all so the cost of drawing up the papers was the only thing we’d have to worry about.

  “All you have to do is sign, and everything’s taken care of. And I even had the lawyer put in that I’d pay you back the two months’ rent I owe you.”

  “She’ll have her lawyer look over it and get back to you,” Mom said, her voice icy.

  “Jo, I had a pro take care of this, and Christy doesn’t have the money for a lawyer,” Robert said.

  “Neither do you,” Mom said, “unless something’s changed.”

  His face flushed with guilt. I knew that look. He’d had that same expression after that incident with a groupie last year.