She decided to leave the bonnet at home this time, finding it to be too cumbersome and large on her head, and headed out. Driving all the way across town to the fairgrounds, she listened to the smooth jazz radio station. Occasionally, the DJ would pop in to make a comment or two. At one point he mentioned the stolen pocket watch. Bert guessed that the news had finally reached all the media outlets.
Turning onto the old road going toward the fairgrounds, Bert noticed the flashing of lights in the distance. “What’s going on up there?” she wondered out loud. She was guessing that some teenagers had potentially broken in the night before and vandalized things, maybe even stolen some stuff.
However, the closer she got, the more emergency vehicles seemed to be parked along the street beside the fairgrounds. Pulling off and parking, Bert made her way toward the front gate where an armed police officer guarded the entrance. Upon spotting the older woman walking toward him, he held up a hand. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to stop you right there.”
“Why? What’s going on, officer?”
“The fairgrounds are closed for the day, ma’am. I advise you to turn around and return to your home.”
“I drove all the way here from across town and I have pies in my back seat.”
“I realize this is inconvenient. I do apologize for that. However, the grounds are still closed for the day. No one is being allowed in, not even people running booths.”
“Well, can you tell me why?” she pressed, wondering what was a big enough problem to close the grounds all day. Could it be that a gas line broke? Was there a threat of some sort? Or was it something worse? Was someone dead?
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not at liberty to give out that information.”
Bert was about to press him again for some sort of answer when she spotted Harry Mannor, her boyfriend, walking around inside the fairgrounds. “Harry,” she called, waving at him.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked over toward his girlfriend, a frown hiding behind his mustache. Adjusting his overcoat, he walked toward her, signaling to the police guard that he was going to take over for a second. “Bert, what are you doing here?” he demanded to know.
Bert looked down at herself with open hands. “Well, seeing as I would never choose to dress this way on a regular day, what do you think?” she retorted.
A hint of recognition rose up in his eyes. “Oh, right. You’re running a booth this weekend at the historical fair.”
“Yes, sir, and you were going to come out to see me on Sunday.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Yes, you’re right. It looks like plans have changed. The grounds are closed for the day.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Bert let out a long breath through her nose, narrowing her eyes at him. “Really, Harry?”
He put up one hand in defense. “Hey, don’t give me that look. It’s police procedure as you should darn well know by now.”
Bert hummed quietly, knowing he was right. “Okay. I get it.”
Checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him too closely, he leaned in and put a gentle hand on her arm. Bert sort of loved his need to stay rough and gruff in front of his men. “If I get a few minutes tonight, we can grab a quick bite somewhere. Maybe a cup of coffee.”
“Are you sure you can get away? I mean, with the amount of police here, I have to assume someone is dead.”
He shrugged. “I have to eat sometime, don’t I?”
“I suppose so.”
“Okay, great. I’ll give you a call, then. For now, go home and enjoy a day off or something.”
She groaned. “I can’t. I’ve got a bunch of fresh pies that I need to sell.” She checked her watch. “I better get them back to the shop.”
“Sounds good.” He gave her arm a squeeze, not chancing a peck on the lips with so many of his men around. Turning, he headed back into the fairgrounds.
As Bert stood there, she was sure of one thing. If Harry—the lead detective of the homicide department—was as involved in this case as he seemed to be, it had to be a murder.
Chapter Five
As Bert walked away from the wooden archway that marked the entrance to the fairgrounds, she wondered who it was that could be dead. Perhaps more than one person was dead? That might account for the number of officers on the scene.
Her mind immediately thought about yesterday’s events. She thought about the saddle being on display and about Drake, a man who seemed all too interested in adding it to his collection. To add onto that, the very rare and very expensive pocket watch had been stolen earlier that same week.
Bert knew that Nan and Sybil wouldn’t be able to keep this one out of the papers. Not with the amount of commotion going on at the fairgrounds. Not with the whole event being canceled for the day.
However, Bert let her mind wander, bringing these facts together. Could it be that whoever had stolen the watch had come back for the saddle as well? Had one of the fairgrounds night guards, maybe even a police officer, been caught up in the robbery and shot or something?
That could account for the plethora of officers. They might need some of them focusing on the murder while others focused on the robbery.
While she wracked her brain to try and deduce what exactly had happened, she got out her keys and approached her car. As she was about to slide the key into the door and unlock it, she noticed someone sitting in their car across the road.
It was Sybil Statesman.
Bert bit her lower lip, wondering if she should go over. Perhaps she knew what was going on. After all, she was one of the women in charge.
Pocketing her keys, Bert walked across the road and gently knocked on the window. Sybil quickly wiped at her cheeks, an indication she’d been crying and was now trying to hide it. Rolling down the window, she looked up at Bert. “Sorry. The fair is canceled for today.”
“Oh, I know that. I was just coming over to see if you were okay,” she admitted. After all, even if the woman had been a bit pompous the day before, that didn’t stop Bert from being a good Samaritan and reaching out.
“I’m okay. Thanks. Just trying to figure out what to do next.”
“Can I help at all?”
The woman looked up with glistening eyes, grateful for the benefit of someone who cared. “No. I don’t think so. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens with the cops.”
Bert glanced back toward the fairgrounds, and at all the cops and detectives mulling about. Were they searching the whole place for clues? She supposed it made sense, especially if something was stolen. She looked back to Sybil who appeared she was on the verge of another outburst of tears. “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked innocently, hoping Sybil knew.
The woman licked her cracked and dry lips. She blinked twice to cut back the tears from her eyes. “Well, you see, I arrived early this morning to start setting up. We have all the museum items in a storage pod behind the main tent. We locked them all in there so that they’d be safe.”
“That makes sense,” Bert acknowledged. Sometimes, just verifying that you were listening was a great comfort to someone in pain. She waited eagerly to find out where this story was going.
“When I got to the pod, I noticed it was already sitting wide open. At first, I thought someone had broken in. Then I saw the U lock was unlatched. No tampering or breaking.” Her voice wandered off. “Just like with the watch.”
“So, had Nan arrived before you and opened it?”
Sybil swallowed hard. “Yes. That’s exactly what happened. Unfortunately, when she opened it, someone else was there too.”
Bert felt her heart sink.
The poor woman’s lower lip trembled as she got to the next part. “Someone hit her over the head and killed her. I found her inside the storage pod.”
“Oh, my heavens, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” Bert put a hand through the window and squeezed the woman�
��s shoulder.
“Worse than that, the saddle was gone.” Sybil balled her hand into a fist and punched the steering wheel. A light honk came out of the car. “I told Nan. I told her again and again not to bring that saddle to the fair.” She looked down at her lap, both hands gripping the steering wheel with an iron grip. Tears fell freely from her closed eyes. “I told her not to do it, and now she’s dead. All because someone wanted that saddle for themselves.”
“Who could possibly have done such a thing?”
Sybil’s jaw stiffened, and her skin tightened over her face. “I can think of a few people.”
“Who?” Bert insisted, already having a good idea of the suspect list in her own head.
Blinking a few times, the distraught woman shook her head. “I have to go. I have lots of paperwork to get done and things to do.” She turned the ignition key, and the car roared to life.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Bert asked, taking a step back from the car.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
In the next instant, she was speeding off down the road and disappearing into the city. Bert hoped she wasn’t going off to do anything rash.
Chapter Six
A chill had fallen over the city as Bert headed back toward the shop and the darkening sky indicated that it was going to rain. She was glad for it since it had been a little too hot and muggy the day before, especially in the dress she was wearing.
The temperatures had been steadily dropping ever since the first of September. Often, she’d found herself pulling on a jacket or hoodie to ward off the cool fronts moving in—a clearly apparent indication that summer was on its last leg.
Soon, the trees would be turning from green to vibrant reds, oranges, and browns. Despite the murder that day, Bert couldn’t help but feel a cozy warmth as she thought about the approaching days of Autumn. Life had a bitter-sweet taste in that way.
She’d never much cared for hot temperatures and warm days. While she enjoyed picnics and hiking and other outdoor activities, she always craved the cooler days over the hot ones. The summer heat had a habit of wreaking havoc on her senses and energy levels, especially combined with seasonal allergies.
As the first drops of rain hit her windshield, she parked in the alleyway behind the shop. She would need to hurry to get the pies and books inside before the downpour started.
Grabbing the first couple of pies, she unlocked the back door into the stock room and headed into the front where she placed the pies in the glass display case under the warmers.
“Bert? Is that you?” Shiv’s head poked out from behind one of the bookshelves, looking in on the dining and service area.
“Yeah, it’s me, Shiv.”
“Am I running late? I was just about to head out to the fairgrounds after picking out a new book to read,” she said. Shiv, in addition to being an excellent baker, had turned out to be an avid reader. She often used a portion of her paychecks to buy books from the same shop where she worked. Getting an employee discount also made it more tempting.
She always just added the money to the register when she picked up a book.
“No, you’re fine. I do need your help, though.”
“Sure thing. What with?” she asked, stepping down from the stool she’d been standing on to peek at the top shelf of the biography section.
“I’m bringing all these books and pies back inside.”
Shiv followed Bert into the stock room with a furrowed look of confusion. “What? Why?”
“The Western Historical Fair has been canceled, at least for today.”
“You’re kidding me,” she gasped, stepping outside and opening the back door of the small car and grabbing one of the full boxes of romance novels featuring cowboys on the covers.
Bert leaned down into the trunk and grabbed a few more pies. “I wish I was. Nan Greatwater, the director of the Tate Riderman Historical Society, was murdered.”
Shiv’s jaw fell open as the two women headed back inside. “Murdered?”
“Yep. Whacked on the head. That expensive antique saddle disappeared, too. Seems that was what the killer was after.”
“That’s crazy,” Shiv said, setting the box down on one of the wrought iron tables.
“Nan’s advisor, Sybil, found the body.”
“The woman who was at our booth yesterday?”
“That’s the one,” Bert said, sliding the pies under the heat lamps.
A knock came on the glass front door of the shop. Bert glanced up to see Carla and Karol standing outside. The rain had started to come down and Bert’s best friend had a newspaper over her head.
“I’ll get it,” Shiv said, running over and unlatching the lock. “Come in out of that rain.”
“Thanks,” Carla said, pushing in.
“It just started coming down like crazy,” Karol added, looking out as the torrents flooded in, wetting the streets.
“We better at least get the rest of those pies in and under the lamps. The books will have to wait. We can’t risk those getting wet,” Bert told Shiv.
“We can help,” Carla offered, following them.
Within a few minutes, all the pies were waffle nestled under the heat lamps where they could stay warm and delicious for any customers who happened to stop by. However, just looking outside at the insane amount of rainfall, Bert knew it would be a slow day if it kept up.
“What are you two doing here so early?” Bert asked. She had a fairly good idea what the answer would be.
“Did you hear what happened over at the fairgrounds?” Carla asked.
“Would I be here unloading my car back into my shop if I hadn’t?” she replied, looking down at the damp dress she was wearing. She’d need to change soon and make sure to air out the costume before she returned it to the rental shop.
“Nan Greatwater, the director of the Historical Society, was murdered,” she said anyway as if telling the news for the first time.
“And the saddle was stolen,” Bert added, pointing at her friend.
“And the pocket watch,” Karol chimed in. “See what happens? They’ve now lost two of my family’s most priceless heirlooms.”
Bert swallowed back her next comment before she said something she regretted. Obviously, the items weren’t priceless, otherwise, they wouldn’t have been stolen. Whoever took them either wanted them as trophies—like a certain collector of historical items—or to sell them for the money.
Bert’s next thought, however, she couldn’t rightly keep to herself. “It’s true, that those items are now gone, but I don’t think that either Nan or Sybil are directly responsible for the criminal actions of another person.”
Carla’s eyes widened, and a white nervousness came to her cheeks as she looked to see how her friend would react.
As expected, Karol narrowed her eyes. “Of course, it’s their fault! If they’d had better security, no one would have been able to steal them. If the saddle and watch had been in my possession, they wouldn’t have stood a chance of being taken.”
Bert pursed her lips. While she understood where Karol was coming from, she couldn’t agree. What bothered her the most was the woman’s flippant attitude toward the situation, concentrating more on her own seeming loss of family heirlooms than over Nan’s murder. “A woman was killed,” she reminded Karol, making a point to give her look of scolding.
There was a reason Bert was considered a mother-figure at her church’s congregation. She baked tasty treats, volunteered her time to help others, but also was willing to give some sound—if somewhat painful—advice when necessary.
Karol blinked a few times, sitting down at the table with a sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Folding her hands in front of her, she sighed. “I’ve been so caught up in this drama for years now that sometimes I get lost in myself.”
Carla sat down next to her friend and clasped her hand. “It’s okay, Karol. Nan’s death wasn’t your fault. Besides, you were just trying to get your family’s
legacy returned to its rightful owners. Nothing wrong with that.”
Bert smirked. “She’s right. It’s a complicated situation. Nan was worried about keeping her museum going, something she’d dedicated her life to. You were worried about preserving your family’s rights and honor. It’s an equally commendable goal.” Reaching into the glass display case, she brought out an apple pie. “How about a slice of pie and cup of coffee for everyone? I think we all need it after this morning.”
“Sounds good to me,” Carla exclaimed.
“I’ll never turn down coffee,” Shiv said, sitting at the table with the ladies.
Just as Bert started to cut into the pie, another knock came at the glass door. The four women all looked up to see Detective Mannor with two uniformed police officers behind them. The shop owner instantly felt her heart sink at the sight.
She already had an idea where this might be going, and it made her sick to her stomach.
Shiv stood up and answered it. “Hello?”
“Hi, ladies,” Harry said nodding to each of them respectively. “Sorry to bother you guys, but we’re looking for a Karol Riderman?”
Karol immediately stood up. “That’s me. What is this about?”
“Mrs. Riderman, if you wouldn’t mind coming down to the station with us, we have a few questions we need to ask you.”
“What is this about?” Carla demanded to know, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential. Please, ma’am?” he asked, waving to Karol.
Reluctantly, she went with them.
Chapter Seven
“They think she killed Nan Greatwater,” Carla blurted in an exasperated voice, throwing up her hands, just as Harry and the cops left the building.
“We don’t know that,” Bert said to comfort her friend. “They might just be asking her what she knew about Nan, seeing as the two had a history.”
Carla balled one hand into a fist, planting it firmly into her palm. “That’s just it. They have an unhappy history. Arguments over the ownership of the museum pieces. Now those pieces have been stolen, and I bet you can guess who they’re pointing their finger at.”
A Harvest Of Murder: A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery Book 14 Page 3
