Bleeding Tarts

by Kirsten Weiss

  “No!” I jerked away and tumbled off the table.

  He sprang from the table and helped me up.

  “Sorry.” Heart thundering, I brushed the loose dirt from my jeans. “It’s just . . . I don’t do aliens.”

  “They’re not really aliens.”

  “I know, but they kind of freak me out.”

  “The not-aliens?”

  “Because a small part of me believes that whatever’s there might actually be from outer space.”

  “Val, for aliens to have visited Earth, they’d have to have mastered faster-than-light travel. That’s impossible.”

  Annoyed by his cool reasoning, I raised my chin. “Just because we haven’t figured out how to do it, doesn’t mean some aliens who are smarter than us can’t. From a scientific history perspective, people have thought all sorts of things couldn’t be done.”

  He grimaced. “Is this really about aliens, Val?”

  “It really is. I’ve had this stupid fear of being taken by aliens since I was a kid. I know it’s irrational, but knowing that doesn’t help. Charlene tricked me into an alien hunt once, and it did not go well.”

  “You weren’t probed, were you?”

  “That is so unfunny.” I worked to calm my breathing. “I’d love to go on a ride along with you. Or even an actual date. But if aliens are involved, neither of us will have any fun.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll go to the dog park by myself, catch whoever’s doing whatever the hell they’re doing, and prove to you San Nicholas is UFO-free. If I return with any strange implants, I’ll let you know.”

  “You’re as hilarious as a root canal.”

  “See ya, Val.” He got into his car and drove off.

  I watched the taillights of his sedan vanish between the eucalyptus trees.

  I buried my head in my hands. He’d finally asked me out on a date, and not only had I declined, but I’d gone funky monkey and ranted about UFOs. No wonder I’d once gotten engaged to a man who thought a deaf, narcoleptic housecat was his animal totem.

  My eyes burned. Frederick and Charlene. She was my best friend, and she thought I’d betrayed her and Ewan. We were a team, both in and out of Pie Town. Would she ever speak to me again?

  I’d hit bottom. On the bright side, things could only get better.

  Right?

  Right?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A week had passed with Charlene barely speaking to me. I stumbled through another Sunday lunch. Sunburnt diners packed the booths. Their chatter ricocheted off the linoleum floor, Formica tables, and shiny windows. Pie Town was full, but I felt hollowed out. Sunday was Charlene’s day off, so she had no reason to be here. But I’d hoped she’d stop by, let me know everything had been cleared up, all was forgiven.

  She didn’t.

  And Heidi had put an even bigger SUGAR KILLS sign in her window, with one fateful addition: SUGAR KILLS . . . YOUR BEACH BODY.

  I’d almost stormed next door to have it out with the gym owner, but I never got the better of our encounters. And at least the sign didn’t seem to affect business.

  The afternoon wore on, and the tide of Sunday beachgoers ebbed from the restaurant. My movements became less frantic. I began to breathe normally again.

  Marla waltzed inside, brushing past an exiting family of five. Beaming, she ordered a mini curried chicken potpie at the register, took a plastic number card, and claimed a table.

  I brought her the pie, garnished with salad, raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the side. “Here you go, Marla. You’re looking well.”

  She stretched, her diamonds flashing. “I feel well.” She wore a knit, blue-and-white striped top and white denims. Très nautical.

  “That’s good.” Puzzled, I returned to my station behind the register. What did Marla have to look so pleased about? She hadn’t beaten Charlene and solved the crime. And if she was interested in Ewan, he’d taken a bad blow. Word on the street was that Bridget was stuck in jail at least until the courts opened on Monday—assuming Ewan could make her bail. If his money really was all tied up in the Bar X, that might not happen right away.

  I frowned. Were the murders a way to force Ewan to sell? I couldn’t imagine anyone would want the land that badly unless there was an oil well or a diamond mine beneath. Neither were likely in coastal California. And even if they were, any drilling or mining would be tied up in decades of environmental reviews.

  The front door bammed open, rattling the windows. Charlene strode to Marla’s central table and pointed a quivering finger. “YOU!”

  “Moi?” Marla blinked lazily.

  Frederick raised his head from Charlene’s shoulder and hissed.

  Charlene’s white curls trembled, her face pink with emotion. “You low-downed, yellow-bellied, snake in the grass!”

  Diners swiveled in their seats to watch. Rattling dice silenced at the gamers’ table.

  I hurried from behind the counter. “Um, Charlene—”

  “It’s been Marla all along,” she said. “She’s the one who called Shaw. She talked him into keeping her role in the matter quiet. Three guesses why!”

  I couldn’t imagine, but Charlene was working up to a full-fledged scene with a capital S. Now, there’s a lot I can tolerate. Being called fat. Charlene “accidentally” nailing me with her garden hose. Being dragged into Bigfoot hunts. But Pie Town was my line in the sand. These two lunatics were not going to disrupt my fledgling business. “Let’s talk about it in my office.”

  “So she could comfort Ewan and slither into his good graces,” Charlene snarled. “She’s even offered to help with the bail money! Of course, Ewan turned her down.”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up! “Office,” I hissed.

  Marla set down her fork and swallowed. “Prove it.”

  “I already have. Unlike you, Miss Jilly-Come-Lately, I have a contact in the SNPD who overheard your phone call with Shaw.”

  “But . . .” My mouth flopped open and stayed that way. “Why would the chief go along with telling everyone I narced on Bridget?”

  Charlene canted her head, making a face. “He thinks he’s doing you a favor, boosting your reputation as a crime buster.”

  Marla draped an arm over the back of her chair. “And this contact of yours . . . I suppose she’ll come forward?”

  “My contact, whose gender shall remain unknown, doesn’t need to say another word. I know the truth.”

  “And I suppose you’ve already run to Ewan,” Marla said.

  Charlene blinked. “Snitches get stitches. I’m taking this to you.”

  And to Pie Town’s customers. The news would be everywhere in a San Nicholas minute. My jaw tensed. “You two, we need to talk about the case. In private.” I turned on my heel and strode to my office, hoping they’d follow.

  To my amazement, they did.

  Charlene slammed my office door behind her and opened her mouth.

  “No,” I said. “Button it. You two are old enough to be grandparents, and you’re both acting like children.”

  “I’m forty-two,” Charlene said.

  “Forty-two hundred,” Marla said, propping one elbow on the rickety bookshelf.

  “Enough!” I banged my fist on the battered metal desk, and they jumped. “There will be no fighting or discussing active murder cases in Pie Town. Agreed?”

  Meekly, they nodded.

  “I’m sorry you got burned by Marla,” Charlene said. “I should have known having her around would spill over onto you.”

  Marla’s nostrils flared. “Thanks a—”

  I shot her a look, and she subsided.

  “I can’t believe you ever thought I would run to Shaw without talking to you first,” I said to Charlene. “I’m really hurt.”

  Charlene winced. “I know. I realized the truth after you left the Bar X, and have spent every minute since, working to prove your innocence.”

  I sat against my battered metal desk. “Thanks, but we’ve got bigger problems. I’m not su
re Bridget is guilty.” She had means, motive, and opportunity, but so did a lot of other people. Something didn’t feel right about her arrest. There was something I’d overlooked, or seen and forgotten.

  Marla snorted.

  “Oh, now you’re not sure,” Charlene said.

  “You are not in a position to criticize,” I said. “Look, we had to consider everyone a suspect, and both Bridget and Ewan were on the scene when both murders occurred.” And who else could have known about Devon’s possible parentage and sent the newspaper clipping that had lured the bartender to the Bar X?

  Marla covered a yawn. “Ewan was with Charlene and I when Devon was killed. Bridget has no alibi, and Devon was blackmailing her. She agreed to pay up, and he dropped the lawsuit.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Curly overheard them, and Bridget was perfectly positioned to kill Devon.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it,” Charlene said. “You couldn’t think of anyone better to pin it on. And then, like a weasel, you blamed your mistake on Val.”

  “It’s not a mistake.” Marla straightened, her eyes flashing. “I had to tell Shaw.”

  “Why have him tell everyone Val was the tipster?”

  “Because . . .” She blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want to take the credit.”

  “Take the credit?” Charlene said. “You’re all about the limelight. You constantly try to one-up me. I can’t Tweet a thing without you trying to outdo me with an Internet video. Have you got a full-time videographer on the payroll?”

  “If you want to go big,” Marla said, “you need to play big.”

  I shifted against the desk. “Is it true you were dating all three of the Blue Steel gunslingers?”

  “Well, not at the same time!”

  “Is there any man in this town you haven’t dated?” Arms folded, Charlene stood in front of my office door and barred the way.

  Marla’s eyes narrowed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” Charlene said, “you could have sweet-talked one of them into being your accessory to murder.”

  “I had no reason to kill Devon.” Marla deflated. “He was a sweet, charming man. Even if he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, he was fun.”

  Charlene strolled behind the desk. She leaned forward, pressing her fingers to the metal and narrowing her eyes. “And how will Ewan feel when he learns—”

  “Ewan is business,” Marla said quickly. “Don’t you dare say a word to him about my relationship with Devon.”

  “Business?” I asked.

  She adjusted a navy purse over her shoulder. “Ewan assists with my charity works. He’s a good man. I am sorry his daughter turned out to be a killer, but—”

  “But you need his money,” Charlene said. “That’s why you gave Val the credit for the tip. If Ewan knew you’d ratted out his daughter, he’d never be with you. Dating bartenders and gunslingers is all well and good, but you only married down once, and that was the first time.”

  The muscles jumped beneath Marla’s skin. “That is low, even for you, Charlene.”

  “The truth hurts,” Charlene said. “You’re greedy, and Ewan’s easy on the eyes.”

  I studied Charlene’s arch nemesis. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes glistened. Her diamonds trembled. “Marla, do you need money?” I asked.

  She tugged her fingers through her silvery hair. “Everything’s so expensive! The property taxes. The videographer. The yacht—do you have any idea what it all costs to maintain?” She shook her purse at me. “This cost eight hundred dollars! On sale.” Her voice hitched. “Everything was fine until April.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. April. The cruelest month. “Not—”

  “Tax day,” Marla said. “I had my regular meeting with my accountant, and . . .” She paled.

  Charlene gaped. “You’re broke? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Marla raised her chin. “It’s not as if I’m poor. I’m not poor. Everything’s fine. I’m as successful as I ever was. More successful than you.”

  “Everyone goes through ups and downs,” Charlene said. “Why, when my husband and I were first married—”

  “I am not poor!” Marla slammed out of the room. My American Legion wall calendar slipped off its nail and fluttered to the floor.

  On Charlene’s shoulder, Frederick arched his back, claws digging through her knit tunic. She winced.

  “This is bad.” Charlene sank into my executive chair and set Frederick on the desk. He wandered to the computer, coiled on top of the keyboard, and fell asleep.

  “She seemed pretty upset,” I said.

  “That’s an understatement. For her to let that slip to me, her finances must be in the crapper.”

  I leaned my hip against the metal desk. “It can’t be that bad. She’s got that amazing beach estate.”

  “Probably mortgaged to the hilt.”

  “And all that jewelry.”

  “Don’t you know that diamond rings depreciate faster than cars? There’s no resale market for used diamond jewelry. Contrary to the song, they are not a girl’s best friend, even if they are sparkly.”

  I hoped my ex was able to get a refund on my engagement ring. In fairness to Mark, he hadn’t stinted on the carats.

  “What about her Internet empire?” I asked. “Isn’t she a big deal with her videos?”

  “She mustn’t make any money off of them.”

  “Really?” Nudging Frederick aside, I woke up my laptop and surfed to her website. Lots of videos, lots of comments from adoring admirers, but Charlene was right. Nothing seemed to be for sale. It was a vanity site. Was it possible that Marla’s battle of one-upmanship had bankrupted her?

  “She’s a life coach without a life,” Charlene said. “If her fans find out she’s broke, she’s done for.” Her brow furrowed. “Why does that bother me?”

  “What started your feud?” I asked, thinking of Heidi. Surely, we weren’t doomed to follow in Charlene and Marla’s footsteps?

  “I can’t remember. We were best friends as girls. And then we discovered boys and drifted apart. At some point, things got nasty.”

  I stooped to retrieve the fallen calendar and rehung it on the white wall. Even though I’d only recently met Heidi, there was something about our squabbles that felt like the conflict between Marla and Charlene.

  “If Marla was desperate to keep her affair with Devon secret from Ewan,” I said, “she has motive. And with all the time she’s spent at the Bar X, she’s been ideally placed to gather evidence against other suspects and throw them Shaw’s way.”

  Charlene pursed her mouth. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “I will not let my feelings for Marla get in the way of this investigation anymore.”

  “She might actually be guilty. The only way she’d get her hands on Ewan’s money is if he sells that ranch.” Could this entire business have been a sick plot to force the sale?

  “No. We need to find the real killer. No more fooling around. No more distractions. You talk to Gordon and find out what he knows.”

  “I can’t. He’s off the case.”

  She stared. “What?”

  “That’s why he wasn’t at Bridget’s arrest. Shaw pulled him from the case.”

  “That idiot!”

  “Gordon was cool about it, but I think he was disappointed.”

  She brightened. “At least you two can finally have your first date.”

  I gnawed my bottom lip.

  “What?”

  “He kind of asked me out.”

  “And?”

  “And I said no.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “He wanted me to go to the dog park and help look for aliens.” I adjusted a book on salesmanship on the metal bookcase. The shelf needed dusting. “Not real aliens, he knows they’re not aliens. It’s only kids messing around. Still . . . aliens,” I finishe
d weakly.

  “You need to get over your UFO phobia.”

  “It’s not a phobia.”

  “You mean it’s not the phobia.”

  It’d been a few years since I graduated with an English major, but I was pretty certain I’d said what I meant.

  “Your phobia isn’t the problem,” she said, “it’s the excuse. You and Carmichael have been doing this dance for months. And what do you do when he finally asks you out? You say no. There’s a word for people like you—”

  “Commitment-phobes?”

  “Ass hats.” She braced her elbows on my desk. “Look, Val, I get it. You were dumped at the altar—”

  “I wasn’t at the altar.”

  “And your ex was probably cheating on you the whole time with the yoga instructor next door. But how could you compete with her? Imagine how flexible Heidi must be.”

  I stiffened. “I’d rather not.”

  “It’s enough to shake any woman’s confidence. It would have to make a woman wonder, what have I done? Is there something wrong with me? Am I doomed to pick cheating losers?”

  “In fairness, I’m not sure he was cheating on me. He and Heidi said they started dating after we ended our engagement.” But I had wondered. What frightened me was the thought my judgment had been so poor. I’d made so many excuses for that jerk.

  “Val, love is risk, and not every risk you take turns out to be a winning lottery ticket. But if you stop taking those risks, what’s the point?”

  “Look, everything you say may be true—”

  “It’s exactly true.”

  “But UFOs—”

  “No buts! Carmichael’s a good man. And if you don’t get your butt back on that horse and start riding, then you’re not the woman I think you are. Besides, there aren’t any UFOs in the dog park. I’ve changed my mind. That park’s got a fairy problem.”

  Was Charlene right? Was the real problem that I was gun-shy?

  She rubbed her chin. “That said, fairies are known to kidnap people. In fact, that whole probing business started centuries ago with the fairies. Of course, the victims didn’t call it probing . . .”

  “Charlene?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not helping.” And I still wasn’t hunting UFOs.