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A Pie in the Hand
Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries
Copyright 2021 by Violet McCloud
ISBN: 978-1-68361-475-3
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing LLC
Table of Contents
Pacific Cliffs is the place to be if you like beaches, breathtaking views, hand pies, the best burritos in town, all served with a side of murder.
Young widow Chloe Cotton moved into town to get away from her past, a past that seemed to haunt her every move. Her husband’s death was a shock and very hard to move on from. Pacific Cliffs holds both the home she inherited from her aunt and, since they never visited together, no memories of Erik. Her high school sweetheart was smart enough to take out a life insurance policy even when she scoffed that they would have many decades together. His foresight has allowed her to set up shop, and by shop, she means a beachside hand cart where she can sell her hand pies in every flavor imaginable. She will never forget him, but Erik would want her to move forward, so she’s trying!
Life is on the upswing…except one thing…
Richard Beckham won’t leave her alone. He nags her day and night to sell the house her aunt left her, but Chloe’s not budging, not for all the chai lattes in the world.
When she goes at the beginning of the tourist season to retrieve her handcart from storage, she stumbles onto something she didn’t bargain for. Richard’s cold, dead body on the floor.
And every finger is pointed at Chloe.
She has to solve the murder and get herself out of trouble all while keeping her tiny business afloat. This is not quite the cliffside getaway she imagined.
Not even close.
If you like clean, cozy mysteries with a quirky but strong sleuth, sweet pets, delicious food and tons of red herrings, the Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries series is for you.
A Pie in the Hand
By
Violet McCloud
Chapter One
“That no good so and so…” I chastised the lanky, pushy man who’d had the nerve to show up at my house before my first cup of coffee and right after I realized the degree of bad hair day I was having. Before I took a comb to it, it looked as though I’d stuck my finger in a light socket while I was asleep.
Now dressed in one of my favorite babydoll dresses and a sleek pair of red sandals, I made my way to face the day. Hey, that rhymed.
I kicked a can on the sidewalk onto the sand before bending down to pick up the sticky piece of metal and chucking into the nearest trash can. None of the other people seemed to notice or care that I was talking to myself. That was the great thing about this diverse culture. You could have any color hair and scream at the top of your lungs that you had an eleventh toe and if someone opened their mouth, it would be to say that you were quirky.
Quirky was the best insult my neighbors could come up with and I was glad for it.
What I was not glad for was that aggravating soul who insisted on visiting at the butt crack of dawn.
Before my first dose of caffeine was not a good time for a conniving man in a suit to show up at my door and ring the bell so many times it began to sound like a warped record. “And on today of all days.”
This after he’d left one of his business cards propped on my doorknob the night before with a scribbled note on the back to call him.
Call me.
I’d call him something all right and that something would not be quirky.
I shared sincere but tight-lipped smiles with the people passing by while the rose-and-tangerine sunset stared at me from its place right above the ocean. Lifeguards could be seen sweeping the whitewashed inclined walkways up to their stations even though they would only get sandy again. I spotted new T-shirts and bags imprinted with Pacific Cliffs and our town logo hanging in the tourist shops, racks of colorful flip-flops next to them, hoping to catch a traveler’s eye.
Tourist season was definitely upon us and giddy didn’t even begin to explain my excitement.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee tickled my nose as I walked and managed to wake me up with the help of the caffeine already in my to-go cup.
My magenta flip-flops slapped out the telltale rhythm of a woman on a mission, and that mission was the beginning of my time to shine.
It was hand pie season, and I had every intention of making this one, my second in business, particularly fabulous.
Tourist season was my jam. Get it…jam? Okay, maybe I did need more coffee.
A man in a suit, swinging his briefcase like he was content as could be passed me, and I groaned out loud. He reminded me of that insolent, persistent pest of a man. I couldn’t get away from the morning or the level of gall from Richard Kennedy Beckham. Yes, he was that kind of realtor or investor, whatever he was. His business card listed all three of his names along with the titles he worked under. In my opinion, he should only have one title: Swindler Supreme.
I hooked a right and made my way into Daisy’s, a little hole-in-the-wall place, only open for breakfast. She made the best breakfast burritos on the whole boardwalk and, in my opinion and that of our local food blogger, Terese, the entire state of California. There was a rumor that one man had sold a kidney on the black market to have enough money for her food.
Truth be told, I thought Daisy started that rumor herself. She was a marketing genius.
“I’d say good morning, but you kind of look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet,” Daisy sassed as I stepped from the concrete sidewalk into her parrot-blue painted floors. Her entire place was decorated in the brightest colors she could find, but she claimed they were the oopsie colors on sale for half price at the local hardware store. Just a budget decision, not a preference.
Nonsense and everyone knew it. Pacific Cliffs’ beachside businesses were painted like the vibrancy of Mexico. My mother would’ve loved the bold golds right next to the rich blues and greens, making each building look alive with color and personality.
We even showed up on Google Earth with our colors and they were ingrained into the town’s logo.
Daisy’s place smelled like every good thing from south of the border. Cilantro, lime, onions, beans, tomatoes, and too many spices to name. It was like being back in my mother’s kitchen when I was a little girl.
I rolled my eyes at my friend. “Thanks a lot, Daisy. I had a morning visitor.”
She stopped wrapping one of the burritos and put her fists on her hips. “That Richard person again? What’s his deal? He must be one of these men who don’t know how to gracefully take no for an answer. You want me to teach him a lesson? You know I will.”
I snorted. Daisy was four foot eight of pure spitfire, and I doubted she would even come up to Richard’s waist. Still, I appreciated her loyalty. “He’d bounce back up like one of those punching
bags. I’m just going to try to ignore him for now.”
“Don’t you buckle. Your aunt wanted you to have that house, and you finally got it just the way you want it. Don’t let him bully you.”
I nodded. There was really no point in talking about it anymore. I needed to move on and focus on my plans for the day of getting my cart and trying out recipes for the tourist season. “What’s the special today? I’ve got a hours and hours of work ahead of me.”
She beamed and reached behind her into one of the plastic tubs of aluminum-foil-wrapped breakfast sensations. “Today is a spicy chorizo with queso fresco, but there’s a surprise inside. You’ll have to guess.”
Daisy always made me guess the ingredients. Then again, I did the same with her as I sometimes used her as a guinea pig on my newest fillings. I unwrapped the foil and parchment from around the perfectly rolled tortilla and groaned at the smell. It was everything breakfast should be and more. After taking a bite, I closed my eyes to focus on the flavors. The spice from the sausage hit the back of my throat first, then the coolness of the cheese followed by something sweet, and fried, right in the middle. I knew that flavor. It was one of my favorites and on more than one occasion I’d wondered if it would taste good in a hand pie.
“Plantains. Goodness, woman, you are a genius. Is there huge slide of fried plantain in the middle?” I inspected the burrito and found that there was a golden fried piece of plantain.
She laughed loudly, making more than one of the customers turn and smile. “You are right, and with your eyes closed. You win. You want one or two?” She held up another burrito, moving it back and forth in the air, taunting me.”
“Two. What do I owe you?” I asked, reaching into my vintage beach bag, one I’d found in my aunt’s attic shortly after moving in.
“You owe me two of whatever your newest pies are. That’s what you owe me. Now move, chica. I’ve got customers behind you.”
One glance over my shoulder, and I hustled on out of there. She always had a line, and even though we were friends, new friends, she had a business to run.
And so did I. As I munched on my almost-free breakfast, walking in the direction of the warehouse, I made a mental inventory of what I would need.
But first I needed my cart out of storage. After crossing the already-busy street, waving to one of the owners of the building, Mr. Slinger, I got out the keys to my unit inside the warehouse before sliding my card into the reader. It reminded me of a hotel room. Bending down, trying not to give the entire street a view of my behind, I tugged the metal door up, and smiled at the sound of it clanging open.
The darkness inside made me hesitate but only for a second. What happened to the always-on lights? A few taps on my phone, and I had a small light, courtesy of my camera flash, and walked forward toward my unit.
I sang to myself. “I’m gonna get my cart out. I’m gonna get my cart out.”
I stumbled over something large on the floor. Waving my arms, I dropped my phone trying not to fall forward. Thanks to the drop-proof case, my cell didn’t break, and the light now shone on what was in front of me.
Tingles crawled along my skin while a shudder tore through me at the sight.
A body. A body in a suit. There were slits in the white button-down shirt he wore underneath, revealing the cause of death. He had been stabbed, not just once but multiple times. Crouching, I shook the person a little after getting over my shock but clearly, whoever it was they were not sleeping. They were way too limp. Squealing, I reached for my phone and pointed the light at the face, wanting a closer look. Most of the beach vendors stored their cards or other equipment in this building. Could this be someone I knew?
As soon as the light hit his face, I landed on my butt and scrambled away, crab-style, until my back hit one of the walls of the warehouse.
“Crap on a cracker. It’s Richard Beckham.”
Chapter Two
I huddled against the wall, in the darkness because for some reason I’d set my flashlight app to go out in thirty seconds and I’d dropped the thing again. I’d been in here hundreds of times dropping off and picking up my cart or dealing with the supplies I also stored there. You’d think I’d be able to find my way in out or around there with my eyes closed, and maybe I could but apparently I couldn’t in the dark. At least not in the dark with the chance of stumbling over a dead body.
At least I’d been fairly certain he was dead. What happened? Heart attack? Aneurism? Bad food poisoning? Nobody died of greed so far as I knew. Maybe he was addicted to something and overdosed?
He was the first corpse I’d ever stumbled over. And that corpse lay somewhere between me and the exit. I tucked my knees into my torso and wrapped my arms around them. Maybe someone would be along soon. Maybe the lights would come back on. Or maybe I’d sit here until Richard went into rigor mortis or something even worse. On all those crime shows on TV it seemed to happen pretty fast, but my spinning brain couldn’t think how long. One hour? Five? No way could I stay here in the dark for five hours without becoming a gibbering lost soul.
People would visit me in the asylum and say, “That’s her, the girl who found the dead guy. She was in there with him for two days. Such a shame—she used to be a great hand pie maker.”
Oh hell, drama queen much? People came in and out of here all the time, but waiting for one seemed like a bad idea. Especially when I realized a chilling fact. Perhaps Richard had not died of natural or pharmaceutical causes. He wasn’t so old… And despite my dislike of him as a creep who was trying to buy up properties like mine from families that had owned them for decades or longer, he was known to be a pretty fit guy, never ate junk food, didn’t smoke or anything.
I waited for a while, probably just a few minutes but it felt so much longer before I recognized something that any fool would have instantly. If I could find my phone… Knowing I would very likely be bumping into a corpse, I steeled my nerves. Truly I wasn’t going to lose my mind. I never had in the past. Not even when my husband died, and that was enough to send a stronger person than me over the edge. We’d been high school sweethearts, never even dated anyone else…and had just decided to try for a baby.
“Eric, I need you,” I muttered, positioning myself on hands and knees. “You were always the brave one of us, and I will try to make you proud.” Yes, I talked to him. Even though he’d been gone two years it didn’t seem real.
One day he was fine…the next poof. Widow woman on my own. Inhaling a deep breath I held it and let it out slowly. Don’t worry or think too many steps ahead and I’d be fine. First, find phone. Since I’d lost my sense of direction—why wasn’t there a line of light under the door or something—was this room airtight?—I decided to move in straight lines. If I could. At least I would crawl until I got to another wall, trying my best to make a grid until I found the device.
Again…an eternity passed while I crawled along the edge of the room, at least knowing the the wall to my left was within reach and keeping me going straightish. I patted the floor with each forward movement, praying I’d touch my phone before I touched a dead body. Praying I’d never touch a dead body at all.
I was on my third crossing when my knee hit what my palms had missed. The phone! I didn’t remember how much charge I had on it, so I didn’t use the flashlight, just brought up the phone app and hit 911.
“Emergency Dispatch. What is your emergency?”
I wanted to cry at the sound of another living person. “I’m at the Beachside warehouse. My name is Chloe Cotton.” My voice shook so hard, I hoped she could even understand me.
“Yes, ma’am. And the nature of your call? I need to know where to transfer you. Police? Ambulance? Fire Department?”
Which one? “Who do you send for a dead body?”
There was a very long pause before she said, “Everyone.”
The sirens pierced the concrete block walls, letting me know every emergency vehicle in our little town was on the way moments before the outer door o
pened to allow sunshine to pierce the darkness, stopping just short of where I crouched, a beam landing right on the crumpled body of Richard Beckham not six inches from my right hand.
I stifled a shriek and scooted back against the nearest wall again. The asylum was starting to sound more likely if I didn’t pull it together and stand up. You can do it, Chloe. It wasn’t really Eric’s voice, but he’d said that to me so often over the years, I had no problem hearing it. Or taking comfort from it.
Then the overhead lights came on and I was blinded for a moment. By the time my vision cleared, it was to see polished boots, pressed khaki slacks, and a hand reaching for me. “Let me help you up, ma’am. I’m Officer Roger Aguirre, and I’d like to take you outside.”
I accepted his grip and assistance, and as I rose to my full height, which ended right at his shoulder, I took in the rest of the view of uniformed, toned man. His hair was coal black and combed off his forehead, his skin golden tanned, and his eyes the same blue as the ocean on a perfect spring day. If I had been the kind of girl who likes uniforms, I’d have drooled. Okay…even in my shaky state I almost did. It was probably just hero-syndrome or something. After all, Officer Aguirre led me out of the evil place where I’d been trapped with a corpse to the bright sunlight of our beautiful beach community.
He sat me on the nearest bench, relieved me of the key to my unit, and asked me to stay put for a few minutes. “Just so I can get some more information.”
I was too shaky to go anywhere soon, anyway, so I settled on my seat and watched the emergency people come and go from the warehouse. The county coroner’s van, identified only by a city seal and Coroner on the door, pulled up after a while, along with a police photographer and of course news vehicles. We’re a small town, but not too far away from bigger ones, and this was, to my knowledge, the first murder here in a few years. If it was a murder…I still didn’t know for sure. Yet.
A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 1
