Pies Before Guys

by Kirsten Weiss

  “You can’t bring in an outsider to take Michael’s classes,” she hissed. “It isn’t fair to me or Aidan.”

  “And this isn’t the time,” Rudolph said.

  Dorothy must have lost her alimony when Starke died. That meant Dorothy had a strong motive to keep her ex-husband alive. But if she wanted him alive for the alimony, then that could also explain her unwillingness to marry Aidan. If she remarried, she’d probably lose the alimony, which Brittany had said was “generous.”

  The other two seemed to notice me. One corner of Aidan’s mouth quirked upward, and my face warmed.

  “Best keep an eye on Jezek,” Aidan said as he passed me. “He looks ossified.”

  Dorothy shot me a look sharp enough to cut an overdone steak. The two ambled back to their workstation.

  “How’s the pie coming?” I asked the dean brightly.

  Rudolph sighed. “I suppose you heard all that?”

  “I did,” Charlene said, appearing suddenly at my elbow.

  I started, pressing a hand to my heart. “I guess we kind of did. Sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “You have no idea what it’s like on campus. The smaller the stakes, the bigger the infighting. But in the end, it’s much ado about nothing.”

  “Not nothing if it got someone killed,” Charlene said.

  “Er, yes,” the dean said, “but as Dorothy said, Michael’s death was most likely a mugging.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m sure it was.” Not. “Let me help you with that pastry tube.”

  “What,” he said, “the squeezy thing for making dollops?”

  “Yeah.” Charlene rolled her eyes. “The squeezy thing.”

  The lesson went downhill from there. Jezek and Dorothy argued about whether women were oppressed in the humanities department. Aidan stormed off for a reason I wasn’t able to discern, leaving his apple pie behind.

  Charlene and I shuffled the remaining students out the door with their pink boxes of pies and locked up.

  She rubbed her hands together. “I’d call that a success.”

  “You’re right. Everyone came, no one got killed, and just think of all the petty rivalries that we uncovered for Gordon. We learned a lot tonight.”

  “Damn skippy,” Charlene said, plucking a mallet from its hook on the tile wall. “Even better, we’ve learned Aidan’s a vampire.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “A vampire? Really?” I eyed the mallet swinging in Charlene’s hand. She wasn’t thinking of staking him, was she?

  Just in case, I gently plucked the potential weapon from her grasp and slid it into a drawer. At least Charlene didn’t think Aidan was Bigfoot.

  “Think about it.” She boxed Aidan’s salted-caramel apple pie. “That weirdly smooth, white skin! It’s like a twenty-year-old’s!”

  I leaned against a metal counter and folded my arms over my apron. “So Aidan uses sunscreen.”

  “He’s hypnotized Dorothy with his vampire eyes. Why else would someone like her put up with his jealousy?”

  “Because love is strange?”

  She shrugged into her brown, hip-length knit jacket. “And killing someone with a sword. That’s old-school, vampire-style.”

  “Okay, I admit I wondered if Aidan killed Starke. They were arguing right before Starke died. Aidan was dating Starke’s ex, so there’s probably some jealousy there. And with Starke out of the picture, Dorothy might be more willing to marry Aidan and keep him in the country. But there are so many things we still don’t know. We haven’t verified that she’s getting enough alimony to make staying single worthwhile—”

  “Staying single can be worthwhile for the right person. But I’ll never regret getting married.” She sighed. “Those were happy days.”

  “And we have only Professor Jezek’s word that Aidan was on the verge of getting kicked out of the country—”

  “I knew vampires would come to San Nicholas eventually. It’s the fog. It blocks the sun.”

  Right. Logic. Who cared?

  While she scrawled notes in her casebook, I finished wiping the metal counter and cast my gaze around the kitchen. We’d confined the pie-making class to a small area, and the cleanup went quickly. Even better, you couldn’t smell the new paint. The scent of our students’ freshly baked pies hung heavy in the air, smothering any fumes.

  I jammed my hands on my hips and grinned. Pie Town would be open for business again tomorrow.

  I tugged my apron over my head and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “But if Aidan is the killer, does that mean that business with the downed wire in his yard was just an accident?”

  “I’ve seen this before.”

  “You’ve seen downed power lines before?”

  “Vampires!”

  “Hm.” I shrugged into my Pie Town hoodie. I loved Charlene, and I could take her supernatural sensibilities in stride. They made life more interesting for us both. But I didn’t like where this was headed. “And when Aidan’s not biting people on the neck, what? He’s teaching classes at the local college?”

  “Vampires use regular human jobs as cover.” She taped the edges of the pink box. “That’s why he left his pie behind.”

  “Because he has to work as a college professor?”

  “Because he can’t eat normal human food. Only blood. Have you ever seen him in the sunlight?”

  “No, but—”

  “Little wonder someone tried to electrocute him. Not that electrocution would have done any good. Everybody knows only sunlight, fire, beheading, or a stake through the heart can kill a vampire.” Charlene tugged down her knit jacket. “The jury’s out on silver.”

  She grabbed the pink box off the counter and walked to the alleyway door. “Well?” she asked over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “You want to take Aidan his pie,” I said, realization kicking in along with a side helping of dread.

  “He paid for this pie, and your classes are expensive. The vampire’s earned this pie.”

  “We gave them the class for free.” I crossed my arms. “And my class prices are in line with courses at comparable restaurants.”

  “We failed at delivering a pie to Aidan last time. So try, try again, I say. It still makes a good excuse to detect.” She sailed out the alley door.

  I hurried after her and locked the heavy door behind me. The alley smelled vaguely of dumpster, and the light above the door flickered and buzzed.

  I was curious about Aidan too—not because of Charlene’s vampire theory. That was nuts. But he’d been tense and angry. And that made for a bad combination when Charlene was on a mission. She was so going to get herself into trouble.

  She started her yellow Jeep, her headlights flooding the alley with a sulfuric glow.

  There was no way I was going to stop Charlene when she was hell-bent on doing something. The best I could hope for was containment. I trotted to her Jeep and swung into the passenger side.

  Charlene pointed at the passenger seat. “Watch out for the pie!”

  I froze, my butt suspended over the pink box. Leaning awkwardly against the back of the seat, I slid the pie from beneath me and set it on my lap.

  The Jeep lurched forward. I made a frantic grab for the seatbelt.

  We barreled down the alley and went onto two wheels making the turn.

  “This is a twenty-five zone,” I creaked out.

  “Eh. No one’s out at this hour. And we’ve got to get to Aidan’s before it becomes too late for pie deliveries.”

  We bounced across Highway One and into a residential area. Charlene slowed a block from Aidan’s house and turned off her lights, gliding to a halt across the street. Lights shone from the two brown Victorians opposite. Both Aidan and Graham were in their matchy-matchy homes tonight.

  “If he’s a vampire,” I said, “it won’t matter if your lights are off. Don’t they have super hearing?”

  She patted my knee. “I’m glad to see you can finally admit the po
ssibility of a supernatural element to this case. There are flashlights in the glove compartment. If worst comes to worst, we can blind him with their combined beams.”

  I opened the door, climbed out, and grabbed the pie and flashlight. “I’ll be right back.” I jogged across the street to Aidan’s. Grabbing and going was a little mean of me, because I could move faster than Charlene, but who knew what she’d do?

  “Good idea!” she called after me.

  That should have made me suspicious, but I ignored the twitch between my shoulder blades and trotted onward.

  The pond that had covered Aidan’s front yard had vanished, leaving a soggy lawn in its place.

  Diverting from the Victorian’s concrete path, I sloshed across the spongelike ground to the plum tree. I shined my light at the broken branch. A thin sliver of wood, raw on top but with bark on the bottom, stuck from the tree. The break looked like it was vertical. As if someone had yanked downward to snap the branch?

  I looked closer. The inside of the branch was green. Would a live, thinnish branch like that have snapped downward in the wind?

  I returned to the path, scraping the bottoms of my muddy shoes on a rock before climbing Aidan’s porch steps. A bicycle leaned against the front window beside a wilting Boston fern.

  I knocked on the front door. Waited.

  Knocked again.

  Waited again.

  I knocked harder.

  Was our pie delivery scheme going to be thwarted? Twice? I didn’t want to leave the pie on the porch. Raccoons would probably get it and leave a ginormous mess.

  “You keep him busy,” Charlene called from somewhere in the darkness. “I’ll go around back.”

  “What?” I spun.

  The light from her flashlight bobbed low and to the right of the porch.

  “Charlene,” I whispered. “Wait!”

  I hesitated, turning to the door and back to the steps, torn between waiting for Aidan and stopping Charlene.

  Setting the pie on a carved and paint-flaking banister, I trotted down the stairs and around the corner. There was no high fence to hide us from view, just the strip of ivy that Graham had claimed was rat-infested.

  Rats. I shivered.

  Charlene’s flashlight bobbed ahead of me.

  “Charlene!” I whisper-shouted. “We can’t be here. It’s trespassing!”

  She rounded the corner.

  “Come back! Charlene! Urgh.” I hurried down the concrete path.

  Charlene yelped.

  Something metallic clanked.

  Her flashlight rolled around the corner of the house and rattled to a stop at my feet.

  My heart stopped. “Charlene?” I croaked, frozen in place. Oh, God. What had happened?

  My heart made up for its earlier lapse and banged erratically against my ribs. I scooped up her flashlight, my palms sweaty on the cool metal, and crept forward. “Charlene?” I called, hoarse.

  I rounded the corner.

  Charlene stood with her hands on her hips. “Take a look at this.”

  My shoulders slumped, and I breathed normally again. “Charlene! We can’t—” The beam of my flashlights illuminated a sparkle of glass on pavement. I followed the trail of broken glass to a shattered glass door with a picnic bench halfway through.

  “Vampires,” Charlene said. “It’s their work all right. They’ve got super strength.”

  “I could have thrown—” I shook my head. Was I really going to argue about vampires? I crunched through the glass. “Hello . . . ? Aidan . . . ? Is anyone in there?”

  “We’ve got pie,” Charlene bellowed.

  A window scraped up in the house next door. “Did someone say pie?” Graham’s voice floated through the darkness. His bulky silhouette leaned from an upstairs window.

  “Yes! Hi, Graham,” I said, thinking fast. “We brought you a pie. But there seems to have been a break-in at your neighbor’s.”

  “Damn kids! I’ll call the cops.”

  “Thanks, we’ll—” I looked around.

  Charlene had vanished from the yard.

  I closed my eyes. No, no, no. Not at a crime scene! I turned and shined my flashlight into what appeared to be Aidan’s living room.

  My elderly piecrust maker stood beside a couch and stared down at the carpet.

  “Charlene! Get out of there before you—we get arrested.”

  “I was wrong,” she said in a small voice.

  “It’s okay,” I hissed, motioning frantically. “Just get out of there before the cops arrive.”

  “Aidan wasn’t a vampire.”

  “He wasn’t . . .” Lead weighted my stomach. I moved forward, unthinking. Unthinking, I walked up the concrete step. Unthinking, I stepped over the fallen bench. Unthinking, I joined Charlene by the corpse of Professor Aidan McClary.

  CHAPTER 17

  I spent the next morning trying not to think about Aidan, dead. So of course, that was all I could think about. Not even serving pie helped. The sight of Doran through the order window, walking into the restaurant, didn’t even lift my spirits.

  My brother passed the rapidly filling tables and pushed through the Dutch door. I extracted my head from the order window and turned toward the kitchen door.

  “I’ve got someone.” A black-clad Doran strode past Charlene, sitting on a barstool that braced open the door.

  Trailing behind him was a young African American woman with cheekbones to die for and an impressive Afro.

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, wait!”

  The young woman froze, her eyes widening. What looked like a vintage sixties scarf was knotted around her neck, and she wore an army-green safari jacket.

  “Sorry,” I said, pointing to my own hairnet. “It’s just, the both of you, we’re a commercial kitchen.”

  I scowled at the hairnet-free Charlene, Frederick draped over one shoulder. The white cat was banned from the kitchen, but Charlene’s toes were just outside the door.

  “But Angie used to work for Starke,” Doran said.

  I frowned harder. If anything, Aidan’s murder last night had made me both more determined to investigate and to keep my little brother out of it.

  Gordon hadn’t been thrilled to find us at another crime scene last night. Fortunately, Graham had heard the crash of the glass door breaking. He’d confirmed that Charlene and I had arrived well after that. Not that Gordon would consider us suspects, but he had to report to Chief Shaw.

  Charlene angled her head toward the hallway. “Let’s go into my office.”

  My office, but I didn’t argue, shepherding Doran and the newcomer toward my inner sanctum. I paused in the short hall to peek into the dining area. It was a sunny Friday afternoon, and the restaurant was getting crowded. I followed them into my office.

  Angie’s gaze traversed the office. Metal shelves. Uninspired linoleum. A slightly tilting chair in front of the battered metal desk. Charlene and Frederick. The corners of Angie’s mouth turned down. “Should a cat be in a commercial kitchen?”

  “He wasn’t in it,” Charlene said loftily. “He was outside it.”

  I peeled off my disposable gloves and stuck out my hand. “Frederick’s got narcolepsy and needs special care. I’m Val.”

  Warily, she shook it, her grip firm. “Angie.”

  “She was Professor Starke’s first teaching assistant.” Doran sat against the desk. “Four years ago.”

  “We’re investigating his death,” Charlene said.

  “No,” I said quickly. “Not investigating. That would be illegal without a private investigator’s license.”

  “Then what?” Angie asked.

  Doran snorted. “They’re just nosy.”

  “You weren’t so fussy earlier, kid.” Charlene slammed the door behind her, and the veterans calendar fluttered to the floor.

  Frederick looked up, his white ears flicking, then settled his head back on her shoulder.

  My piecrust specialist’s nostrils flared. “We’ve solved multiple homicides.”<
br />
  “Multiple?” Angie asked skeptically. “How many is multiple?”

  Charlene touched her gnarled fingers together, her lips moving silently. “Does it count if it’s the same killer?”

  “Yes,” Angie said.

  “Let’s stay on Starke,” I said. “You say you worked for him four years ago?”

  Angie nodded, her hoop earrings swinging. “He’d come from a college on the East Coast.”

  “Do you know why?” I asked.

  She lifted one shoulder. “He said he wanted a change. I think he was following Dorothy.”

  “His ex-wife?” I motioned to the chair, and she shook her head. It did tend to rock a bit, because one leg was shorter than the others, but it only looked dangerous. “I heard they were on good terms after their divorce,” I said.

  “Too good,” she said, “if you ask me.”

  Charlene balanced on the tips of her high-tops. “What do you mean?”

  Angie’s expression turned wry. “Michael was a hopeless romantic, by which I mean he hopelessly romanticized the women in his life. Every woman was a mysterious goddess.” She cocked her head, her gaze losing focus. “It was incredibly empowering.” She straightened, her lips flattening. “Until it was over.”

  I stuck my hands in my apron pockets and frowned. Gordon and I were in that honeymoon phase of our relationship. Everything he did was adorable—even the things that would normally irritate me. I hoped we weren’t headed for a hard fall. But we were adults, and not delusional fantasists.

  “In other words,” Charlene said, “you fell off the pedestal.”

  Frederick’s whiskers twitched.

  Angie nodded. “Guilty. No woman could live up to Michael’s fantasy. I mean, at first, I felt like I was the woman he envisioned. But then it got frustrating living up to his standards. And then he realized I wasn’t who he’d thought, and bye-bye.”

  “And you were his teaching assistant?” I asked.

  She nodded. “It was a new program for the college, sort of a training for teaching assistants. The assumption was we’d go on to universities and grad schools and could become teaching assistants there.”

  “And the administration didn’t mind Starke poaching students for his personal life?” Charlene asked.