“No wonder Mark dumped you at the altar.”
I grabbed the money, counted it, and stuffed what she owed in the front pocket of my jeans. “To go, then?” Not waiting for an answer, I returned to the kitchen and removed the pie from the cupboard, sniffed it. It smelled and looked okay—probably one of yesterday’s pies, a blackberry. Not something I’d normally sell to a customer, not at full price, at least, but caveat emptor. I’d warned her it wasn’t fresh-baked.
I brought it to the counter, and she watched, fidgeting, while I boxed it.
She snatched the pink box from my hands before I could tape the end shut. Heidi stormed from the restaurant, banging into Charlene, who was on her way inside.
Charlene paused in the open door. Her eyes widened. “Was that Heidi? With a pie?”
“Yep. That was Heidi.” I nodded toward the remnants of the strawberry-rhubarb, still in its tin on the counter. “And that was Heidi’s pie.”
“She ate all that? Great Ganesh, we’ve got to stop her.”
“Stop her from what? Driving while pie-eyed?”
“I’ll bet that’s the most sugar she’s had at one sitting in years,” Charlene said. “She’s not herself.”
A green SUV with HEIDI’S HEALTH plastered on the side blasted past. A screech of brakes. The blare of a horn. The SUV roared down the street.
“Too late,” I said, uneasy. Heidi had reminded me of something or someone, something important. Out of reach, the memory tickled the back of my brain. “Best to let her just work it off. What are you doing here?”
“I always check the lock when I walk by. Someone might have broken in. I didn’t expect it to be Heidi. Why are you here? Monday’s your day off.”
“I stopped in to make . . . uh, to check the mail.” I didn’t want Charlene to think I’d been too unnerved to return to my solitary home on the bluff. “And then I got hungry.”
“I left a blackberry pie in the safe. I’ll go get it.”
“Sorry.” I cringed. “That was the pie Heidi bought.”
She goggled at me. “You sold her my pie?!”
“I didn’t know it was yours.”
“Who else would have left a pie in that safe?”
“I’m sorry.” I flipped my ponytail over one shoulder. “I’ll reheat a frozen pie for you.”
“Damn skippy, you will.”
Shoulders hunched, I trudged into the kitchen.
“Blackberry!” she shouted after me.
Fortunately, Heidi had thrown me off my game so badly I hadn’t turned off the small oven. I slipped a frozen blackberry pie inside and set the timer.
The front bell jingled.
I straightened from the oven. “Charlene?”
No answer.
Chest tight, I hurried into the restaurant.
Marla and Charlene squared off in the center of the checkerboard floor like two gunslingers.
I canted my head. “What’s going on?”
“You saw him,” Marla said, not taking her gaze from my piecrust maker.
“Ewan isn’t your personal property,” Charlene said. “I can see him whenever I want to.”
“And you didn’t tell him.” Marla circled.
“I’m no rat fink.” Charlene lifted her nose. “Unlike some people.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Marla’s voice rose to a wail.
“Was I supposed to?” Charlene planted her hands on her hips.
“Tell him what?” I asked.
“That I was the one who called the police about Bridget,” Marla said. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
“I told you,” Charlene said. “I don’t rat people out, even if they do deserve it.”
Marla sagged, bracing her hand atop a square table.
“What?” Charlene asked, defiant. “Did you want me to tell him?”
“Of course not,” Marla said. “It would have ruined everything.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Charlene snapped.
“I’ve been pacing my balcony, unable to eat, unable to . . . You had the perfect chance to wreck everything. Why didn’t you?”
“Why would I need to?” Charlene asked.
Marla laughed, a choking sound. “No, you don’t need to, do you? You always win. You always get everything exactly the way you want it.”
Charlene’s snowy brows rose. “I always win?”
“You married Ben!”
Charlene took a step backward and touched the base of her throat. “Ben? You were in love with Ben?”
“And he only had eyes for you. Because of you, I married that idiot, Paul.”
A love triangle? That’s what had started the feud? And now Heidi and I and Mark . . . No. No way. We were not the same.
Charlene shook her head. “Marla—”
“And everything that happened afterward was your fault,” Marla said. “You had a child! A daughter!”
“Marla—”
Marla raised her hand. “Do you know what I would have given for a daughter?”
“A daughter I haven’t seen in five years,” Charlene said bleakly and looked away.
My heart twisted.
“Marla,” she said, “no life is perf—”
“Oh, stop it. Just stop it!” Marla stormed out the door.
Gordon leapt aside. “Whoa.” Staring over his shoulder at the closing door, he walked into the restaurant. It must have been his day off, too, because he wore jeans and a worn, blue T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and chest. Gordon worked out. A lot. “Everything okay in here?”
Charlene looked like she was chewing on something. “Pie Town’s a revolving door today,” she said, gruff.
I drew him away from Charlene. “Gordon. I’m glad you stopped by.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why? Did something happen?”
“No. I mean, yes. How did it go at the dog park?”
He lifted his T-shirt, exposing washboard abs. “No implants, scarring, or lost time.”
Now he was just showing off. “I guess I deserved that.”
“I’m going to check on that pie,” Charlene said loudly and vanished into the kitchen.
“I take it you didn’t catch whoever’s haunting the dog park,” I said.
“No. And I’m sorry I made fun of your UFO issues.”
“Why?” I asked, bitter. I hated my lame phobia. “Who wouldn’t make fun of them? They’re ridiculous.”
He rested his broad hands on my shoulders. “There’s nothing funny about a phobia. Besides, you’re brave about so many other things—stupidly brave, if you ask me. I’ll give you UFOs.”
“Stupidly brave?” Hope, dread, and confusion heated my chest.
“The way you charged in to help Charlene. I wish you hadn’t, but I’m glad you’re the kind of person who would.”
“I’ll go to the dog park with you,” I said quickly.
“You will?”
“I mean, not tonight. I promised Charlene I’d watch Stargate with her. We’re on season five. But, it’s time I got over my fear of little gray men.”
“Is that the only reason?” His voice lowered, and he stepped closer, forcing me to look up.
My heartbeat accelerated. “And, I guess you have a lot of qualities I like too.” He was tough and honorable, and kind and patient. And he looked really good in that T-shirt.
His arms went around me, his broad hands locking against my spine. He pulled me closer.
My knees trembled. Oh, God, he was going to kiss me. And his hard muscles—
“Don’t mind me.” Charlene leaned through the kitchen window and propped her head on her hands.
Releasing me, he stepped away. “So.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Friday night. I’ll pick you up at your place? Seven o’clock?”
I nodded, breathless, no longer caring if I was kidnapped by aliens. A night with Gordon might be worth an abduction.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tires crunched over loose earth. Headlights swept my front ya
rd, illuminating the wooden picnic table.
Wary, I stepped out of my house and shielded my eyes. I was supposed to go to Charlene’s and wasn’t expecting anyone tonight. And I didn’t exactly live in a location you just happened to drive past. Whoever was here, was here for a reason.
Charlene’s Jeep glided to a halt. She hopped from the car and adjusted Frederick over her left shoulder. My friend raised a shopping bag. “I thought we’d mix things up, watch Stargate here tonight. I’ve got root beer.”
I released a huge breath. “I’ve got Kahlua,” I said, more pleased than I wanted to admit. I loved my tiny home, but the seclusion was starting to get to me. Last night, I’d barely slept, twitching whenever a tree limb brushed against the metal sides of the shipping container, or a squirrel scampered across the roof. “Come on in.”
She climbed the two steps and came inside, closing the door behind her. Charlene glanced at the tiny kitchen, the fold-up desk, and the wooden bookshelf that blocked off the sleeping area. “It seems smaller.”
I motioned toward the tall windows, black against the night. “Being able to see the ocean opens up the space. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
She pulled out one of the chairs in the dining nook and sat. “Bridget’s out of jail.” Charlene shrugged out of her green knit jacket and dumped it over the back of the chair.
“That’s great news.” I set two glasses and a bottle of Kahlua on the small table between us.
“She says she’s innocent.” Charlene lowered her chin. “And I want to believe her.”
“Want to?” I unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured, then added the root beer. “I thought you were sure she was innocent.”
“That’s the problem. I can’t believe either of them had anything to do with Devon and Larry’s deaths, because I care about both Ewan and Bridget. I’ve been letting my prejudices blind me, just like they did with Marla.”
I sat beside her. “Have you spoken with Bridget?”
“No,” Charlene said. “I haven’t had a chance, and she and her father have things to discuss.”
A branch cracked outside, and there was a soft, shuffling sound, like the rustling of leaves. Hair lifted on the back of my neck. I shook myself. I couldn’t freak out every time a raccoon sniffed my garbage bins.
“All right.” I crossed my legs. “Here’s what we’ve got. You, Marla, and Ewan were together at the time of the two gunshots, just before I found Devon. Let’s assume the gunshots were a diversion to make us misjudge the time of death, because that might explain why I got shot at. A coroner would have been able to figure out time of death within an hour or so, but a few minutes could make a difference to an alibi. Moe and Curly told me they didn’t see how someone could have rigged a gun to go off twice. So, that means if Marla or Ewan were involved in said diversion, they had an accomplice.”
“Not Bridget.”
I took a sip. Maybe the alcohol would stimulate my creative brain. At least, it might calm my jitters. “No, not Bridget. She was right on the scene, inside the saloon, and could have fired those shots and taken out my pie. The gunshots implicated her, so there’s not much point to her being the accomplice to make us think the time of death was wrong.”
Charlene ruffled Frederick’s fur. “This is getting confusing.”
“I think we’re getting too Agatha Christie about the gunshots. It’s more likely one of those two shots killed Devon.”
Tiny feet scampered and scratched across my roof. Involuntarily, I glanced at the ceiling.
But the local wildlife held no interest for Frederick. He didn’t budge from his limp position across Charlene’s shoulder.
“Why shoot at you?” she asked.
“Maybe there was a struggle between Devon and the killer,” I said, “and the gun went off. Or maybe the killer did see me, and sent a warning shot my way to give him or herself time to escape.”
“If one of those two shots killed Devon, that leaves us with three real suspects: Bridget, Curly, and Moe.” She took a slug of her drink. “Curly had supposedly returned to the carriage house, but he could have faked the thrown shoe, tied up his horse, and shot Devon. Or Moe could have taken the opportunity to kill the bartender while Curly was away. If Larry was Marla’s accomplice, maybe she killed him to keep him silent.”
“Do you still want the murderer to be Marla?”
She blew out her breath. “Not as much as I used to.”
Something niggled at me. Something to do with Heidi. Was the gym owner my own, personal Marla? At any rate, Heidi definitely was not involved in the murders. There was no way she could have gotten to the Bar X to shoot Devon and take a shot at me without being noticed. Besides, she might have wanted to kill me, but I couldn’t see her murdering an innocent bartender just to muddy the waters.
The refrigerator hummed. I glanced at the kitchen island, as if I’d find the answers there.
“Okay,” I said. “Motive. Bridget might not have liked the idea of having to share her inheritance with a new half brother.”
“Or she might have been a stalker, and she went too far,” Charlene said, her expression doleful.
“Someone who knew about the possible relationship between Ewan and Devon sent Devon that news clipping.”
Frederick purred and burrowed his head in Charlene’s fluffy white hair.
“I don’t see who could have known aside from Ewan or Bridget,” she said. “Unless it was Marla.”
“She did need money. Forcing Ewan to sell the ranch while sending his lone heir to jail puts her several steps closer.”
“All three of the gunslingers were in love with Marla, bizarre as that may be.” She folded her arms over her nubby green tunic.
“Right. One of them could have killed Devon out of jealousy.” None of them struck me as hotheads though, and I rubbed my palms on my jeans. I didn’t like this explanation. “Larry must have seen or known something, and that’s why he was killed.”
“Maybe that’s why the killer’s been so intent on squashing you flat. You were close to the scene of the crime—close enough to get shot at. Maybe he believes you saw something that would implicate him? Or her.”
I stretched out my legs. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Though if I had seen anything, I’d have told the cops by now.”
“The killer might not know that.” She shifted on her chair.
“Whoever killed Devon and Larry has been changing up their methods,” I said. “First a gunshot, then a blow to the head, and then lots of attempts to run me down. Don’t killers usually stick to the same tactic?”
“Maybe the gun was used on Devon to implicate the gunslingers. Or maybe the killer figured no one would notice the shot because of all the racket from the corral.”
“Or one of the trick shooters killed Devon.”
Something rustled behind the house.
We jumped in our chairs.
Frederick’s ears twitched.
“What was that?” Charlene asked.
I swallowed, my heart rabbiting. “Only an animal.” The hills were raccoon and coyote central, but I glanced toward the window anyway. I couldn’t see anything except for my tiny house/trailer reflected back at me, but my hand crept toward my cell phone on the table.
Charlene rubbed her ear. “What if Larry was clubbed to make it look like an accident with his horse?” she asked.
“But his horse wasn’t in the stall.” I strained my ears, but the outside was quiet.
“Maybe the killer went to get the horse after killing Larry, but Moe discovered Larry’s body before he could return the horse to the stall.”
“It makes sense,” I said.
“The killer could have been any of them. Whoever killed Larry took his key and used it to steal the cars from the dealership, then followed you and tried to run you off the road. And speaking of bad drivers, have you heard from Heidi?”
“She despises me. We’re not exactly checking in on each other.” But I felt a t
wang of guilt. I hoped Heidi hadn’t eaten the entire blackberry pie in one sitting.
“You shouldn’t have let her drive off in that condition.”
“I’m sure nothing worse happened to her other than indigestion or the sugar shakes after too much pie.” Something teased my mind, out of reach, and I frowned.
“Feeling guilty?”
“No. She was a customer. I served her. As long as she doesn’t get food poisoning, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
“Maybe Heidi went crazy and bludgeoned him. She’s got the upper body strength.”
“Bludgeoned whom?”
“Your ex, Mark Jeffreys.”
“More likely she . . .” My breath caught. Oh, no. She wouldn’t. Because there was another American tradition of good, messy fun with pies, and—
Something cracked outside the trailer, and I stiffened.
Frederick raised his head, ears swiveling. I was more certain than ever that he wasn’t really deaf. But my heart was banging so hard, it seemed a moot point.
“Did you hear that?” Charlene rose. “Someone’s out there.”
Footsteps crunched behind the trailer, and I stopped breathing.
“Where’s your shotgun?” Charlene whispered.
“I don’t have a shotgun.”
“What?”
“No shotgun!”
“Taser?” She laid her palm on the table. “Mace? Tire iron?”
“I had a tire iron in my car, which is now sitting at the garage, waiting to be scrapped. If the van has a tire iron, it’s parked outside.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she hissed. “Whatever happened to the modern woman? I thought you were all about empowerment and self-defense.”
“I’m calling Gordon.” I grabbed for my cell phone on the small table and knocked my empty glass off the edge. It fell to the laminate floor, shattered.
“Brilliant,” she said. “When seconds count, the police are only minutes away. Lights off.”
I reached behind me and flipped off the lights, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.
The sound of the footsteps slowed.
I stared out the window, my eyes straining. The picnic table and Charlene’s Jeep were dim shapes. I dialed. “If someone walks around front, the automatic lights will come on. So, no one’s—”
Bleeding Tarts Page 28
