A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Violet McCloud

  “It’s amazing she doesn’t land on her bustle, isn’t it?”

  I spun to find Detective Aguirre standing beside me. “When did you…oh, never mind. Who was that woman?”

  “She’s an influencer or something. I think that’s what you call her. Anyway, she has a podcast about small town crimes, or so she says, and she wanted to feature our murder.”

  “Really?” I tried to see what car the woman got into but she must have been parked a ways down the street or maybe slipped into one of the stores. “I don’t think a podcaster and an influencer are the same thing, are they?”

  He shrugged. “If we ever got decent Internet at the station, we might be able to do some research. As it is, we’re lucky we have email and a basic search engine. I think a podcast might be beyond our band width.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I think if you can get email, you can handle a podcast. The lowest level Internet is better than that.”

  “You might be surprised. Is that old house you live in able to handle modern things like computers and cable TV?”

  “I don’t have cable. I stream everything.” The one thing I’d done when I moved in was make sure I had the WiFi I needed and wanted. If I was going to be a widow woman with a cat on the hill, I needed some kind of entertainment. “And how do you know where I live?”

  His steely gaze told me more than words could have. But he spoke anyway. “In this town you have to ask? Your pies are famous.”

  I tried not to preen, but didn’t do too well at it. “Well, I try…”

  “Also I took your business license down from the cart you want so badly and looked up the information. Your address is on file.”

  “So you’ve never tried my hand pies?”

  “Not yet.”

  “If I ever get my cart out of storage, and you stop by, I’d be glad to give you a sample.”

  “Is that a bribe?”

  I snorted. “I give samples to everyone, Officer. Even people who are not trying to put me in prison for something I didn’t do. And I think my pies are very good.” Truly I didn’t have a lot of accomplishments in my life. My house was inherited, the bit of money I had put away as well as the funds I used to start my business because of a life insurance policy from Eric.

  I never knew he bought that policy. Oh, of course there was one at the school where he worked, part of his benefits package, and I’d expected only that. It would have buried him. Maybe bought me a cup of coffee afterward. But the one he invested in on the sly that made sure I’d be okay in the unthinkable case I lost him. If he’d mentioned it to me I’d have insisted he not do it, that it would jinx us.

  Had it?

  Of course not. I wouldn’t allow my brain to convince me that something done out of so much love could be anything but good. My late beloved would rest much easier having provided me with some security. And I slept better knowing I used the windfall with as much care as he’d provided it. And that was why I couldn’t afford not to have my cart out on the beach making money.

  “It’s expired, you know.” The detective’s deep voice rolled over me, dragging me from my untimely introspection.

  “What?” I blinked up at him. “Expired…like dead?”

  “No, expired as in you need to renew your business license before you sell any pies. Or hand out samples. You cannot have it on the beach without paying the fee.”

  Now he was really getting my goat. “Officer…”

  “Detective.”

  Grrr. “Detective, then. I am aware of the requirements for doing business in this town and haven’t failed to obey them yet. But if you continue to hold my livelihood hostage, there’s no point in renewing the license. I can hardly sell pies out of my apron pockets.”

  We’d been standing in front of police headquarters for a while now, and since it was part of a complex of all the town buildings, we’d managed to draw a small crowd. I felt my cheeks flame. “Since you will not help me, I guess I’ll be going on my way. I swear I should just solve this crime myself, if I ever want to get started earning my summer’s money. It has to last me all winter, you know.” I started to turn, but a big hand clamped on my shoulder.

  “Go ahead, but don’t even joke about solving crimes. A murder is very serious, and if it is determined that a killer is on the loose, I don’t need to worry about a femme fatale stumbling around and maybe getting herself killed.”

  As I left him on the front steps, I couldn’t help grinning at the idea of me as a femme fatale. I kinda liked it.

  Chapter Six

  As I unlocked the brass deadbolt on my front door, I sighed. Usually by this point, Richard would be behind me, flailing about all the benefits of selling.

  In my mind, there were no benefits of selling, not one.

  And, now, no Richard.

  The floorboard creaked as I walked in and closed the door behind me. As I took off my cardigan and hung it on the antique hooks just behind the door, fur swished along my calf. I nearly scaled the walls as I screamed. Okay, so I was a little jumpy.

  “Tippy, you naughty girl. You scared the pumpkin butter out of me.”

  A loud meow came from my tabby cat, my only housemate since Eric passed. She had loved Eric almost more than me, and that was saying something.

  “What is it? Who hurt you?” The question about hurting didn’t make any sense, but it was something Eric used to say to her, and it made me feel like he was still there, in spirit. Tippy walked over to her cat bowl, halfway between the kitchen and front door, and batted at it with her paw. I’d tried to keep it in the kitchen, but the little press moved it to just that spot over and over.

  “Oh, you’re almost out? We can’t have that, can we?”

  Tippy followed me through the narrow halls of my home to the kitchen, swishing her tail the entire way. Spoiled didn’t even cover how rotten she was.

  I smiled at myself entering my happy place. My kitchen had formerly belonged to my aunt, but it was my dream kitchen. Certainly bigger than the one I’d had when Eric was alive. The dark oak cabinets made the white crown molding pop against the sunset-orange walls. Granite countertops and white subway backsplash tiles made the entire thing come together.

  Not to mention, I could put every dish and pot and pan I owned into the deep sink and still have room to spare. And because my aunt had been planning to make the house a B&B, the kitchen had been upgraded to commercial standards. I’d never have been able to afford to start my business if she hadn’t,

  “Here we go. No need to go on and on.” As I’d gotten closer to the pantry, Tippy’s meow’s went into overdrive. She knew where we kept her bag of food. No, me. Just me. She knew where I kept the food. I sighed and filled up her bowl. I might never get used to the I instead of we.

  Putting Tippy’s cat food back, I glanced out of the narrow windows with half radius tops that faced the small side yard of my home. A small reddish hue caught my attention, and I nearly hurt myself getting to the window to have a closer look. I was that excited.

  I officially had a raspberry. It was only one from what I could tell, but it was hope. There was nothing I loved more than to put fresh berries into my pies but to have them here, right outside my home for the taking and baking, well, I couldn’t think of anything more divine.

  The only noise in the house was the ticking of the clock above the back door, and it seemed to get me back to the present. The licensing office would close in an hour and even if I got there in time, I would have to go back the next day to receive a copy. The woman in that office was snappy and stern. If you arrived too late, she would claim her printing was already completed for the day.

  Because printers at her office apparently stop working at three even if she worked until four.

  After giving the lone raspberry one last glance, I slid open the drawer right next to the refrigerator with the intent of getting some of this information out of my head and onto paper. I pulled out my favorite narrow notebook. The cover read Things To Get Done.


  With pink ink, I scribbled out the list.

  Get my cart back

  Renew my license

  Bake, bake, bake until I collapse

  Solve Richard’s murder

  Prove myself innocent (see number 4)

  Tapping the pen on the paper, I decided there was nothing I could do about the first two and, with the murder scene being watched, really nothing I could do about four or five either. My oven seemed to be calling me, but today was a fryer kind of day.

  I was convinced that a deep-fried pie could cure just about any ailment.

  “What should we make today?” I scoured the fridge and the freezer and came up with a combination I was sure would make anyone smile. Well, anyone but that sourpuss detective. But even he might crack a smile at the taste of luscious, velvety chocolate on his tongue.

  Maybe.

  Flour, butter, sugar, and baking powder were soon mixed together to form the crispy yet flaky dough as I looked out my windows to the cliff. My secret to an extra flaky dough was to use a half water, half vodka mixture to make the dough wet. But don’t tell anyone.

  I could see the ocean from this vantage point and sighed in gratitude. It was the view along with the magnificent way my aunt took care of this Victorian marvel of a house that had Richard drooling over it. I understood. I had to pinch myself every morning that I was able to wake up in such a beautiful place.

  “Dough is done. Now to make the chocolate filling and try not to eat it all before I can get it into some pies.”

  Tippy waltzed her thick thighs into the kitchen and took her place on her pink bed with silver hearts all over it. Eric had picked it out for her and though it was worn and tattered, I hadn’t mustered the heart to let it go. Besides, Tippy loved it. She stretched out, basking in the sunlight that came through the windows, and soon fell fast asleep.

  “You are the laziest cat I’ve ever seen. Good thing I love your face.” Tippy opened one eye but didn’t bother to react or even open the other eye.

  I took out a chocolate bar from the pantry along with some heavy cream and butter from the fridge. I would add a pinch of instant espresso for the kick, plus the bitterness of the coffee made the chocolate’s flavor even better. Over a double-boiler, I melted it all together until I had a silky, shiny, smooth consistency. After it was cooled, I mixed it with some cream cheese to give it more body.

  When I tasted it, I moaned out loud and then giggled at myself. This stuff could be spread on anything and the dish would instantly become ten times better. And I meant anything.

  “Oh, boy. Yeah, this is what I needed.” I had taken a second sample of the chocolate filling. Because one was never enough. This would have to be a regular on the menu. I could already tell.

  I placed the filling in the fridge right next to the chilling dough and sighed. “If only life could be as simple as a recipe. Follow the directions, measure the ingredients, and everything turns out perfectly.”

  I talked to myself a lot. I supposed that was what widows did.

  Closing the fridge, I sighed and decided to make myself something real to eat while I waited. A sandwich would do the trick, and I quickly whipped up a turkey and swiss on wheat. While I ate, I couldn’t help but relive the morning over and over. I couldn’t believe Richard was dead. I would never get the image of his body and those dead eyes out of my head.

  Maybe a sandwich wasn’t the best idea after all.

  Chapter Seven

  I woke up the next morning full of energy and good intentions. I wanted to bake the chocolate pies, but that would have to wait until I took care of the first two items on my list. Or at least the second item. I would certainty make an attempt to retrieve my cart, but I had no guarantee how long that might take, and my license would have to take precedence.

  Rather…coffee would take precedence. Since I’d moved into this house, I’d started a percolator brewing each morning before my shower. Today was no different than any other. I liked having some routine to count on. Eric and I had shared coffee every morning before he left for school, in our little home without a view.

  Here, I sat outdoors on warm, sunny mornings or in the breakfast room on the far more frequent foggy or misty days. Even when it was so foggy I couldn’t see the ocean, the white bank offered its own magic It seemed to enfold my cliffside aerie in a magical, comforting blanket that would not let anything bad get near my kitty and I. When I was a little girl, I’d spent time here with my auntie who always made me feel safe and happy, so I attributed my current feeling to the home she’d created here.

  I rarely ate breakfast during the tourist season because by the time I tasted everything I was baking I’d eaten enough to fill me up. And since a lot of my pies were fruit, I thought that wasn’t too bad. Today, I made two slices of wheat toast and scrambled an egg in a pat of butter. If I had the opportunity to get my cart, I might be tied up until after lunchtime, so fueling up seemed like a good plan. Tippy finished her breakfast about the same time I did and gave me the evil look that indicated if I left without refilling her bowl, it might take me a while to find out in what shoe she deposited her displeasure.

  “You’re going to be big as a lion if you keep this up, Tippy,” I warned, filling her dish to the only acceptable level—over the top.

  She didn’t seem to care, just turned her back on me and strutted off. Sometimes I thought I should have a dog. At least it would greet me with joy instead of demands. The corners of my lips twitched. But then, who would make sure I stayed in line?

  The fog wasn’t bad this morning, visibility passable as I drove down the winding road to town. By noon the sun would be beaming down on the beach, and the tourists would be patronizing those businesses whose food carts were not being held hostage.

  I slammed the door and stomped into the city complex, my great mood of earlier a little less so. I hated having to deal with licenses and things like that, preferring to spend my professional hours baking, frying, and selling hand pies. But I firmly believed that one’s attitude affected those around us so I fixed a friendly smile on my lips and headed into the licensing office.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” called the clerk, Ellen. “Just hold your horses.”

  Hey! I hadn’t done anything to merit that. I gritted my teeth and replied in the sweetest tone I could manage. “No hurry here. Take your time.”

  Only one other person seemed to be in the office, a woman bent over a clipboard, writing something. The rule was, if you had to fill out the applications, you stepped aside and let the others in line—in this case me—approach the clerk. I had filled out and printed my forms just to avoid having to stand around scribbling down information.

  Of course I shouldn’t expect any better from the particular person involved. Victoria would never step aside for anyone. I’d known her for years, and in fac she’d followed me back to town after her divorce. She also bought a Victorian not far from mine with part of her settlement and invested in extremely expensive and stunning landscaping.

  Note to self: prune the weeds.

  I started my business, my one-woman food cart selling both savory and sweet hand pies.

  Victoria bought a food truck. It was a stunning silver and bronze vehicle, brand new and with signage that made me even more envious. Why did she do that? Why did she do anything? She’d even made a move on Eric when we were engaged, although that got her nowhere. She rushed her wedding to the guy she did manage to capture, her ceremony taking place a week before mine, and of course it was a huge event.

  We had an intimate gathering for close family and friends at my aunt’s home…now mine. Maybe that was one more reason I felt so safe there. Mostly I hadn’t cared about Victoria’s competitiveness. If she wanted to copy everything I did, let her. It was the most sincere form of flattery, after all.

  But she’d never before threatened my livelihood. Her menu was a bit broader than mine but she had lots of pies of all kinds. The video display signs that wrapped her truck alon
e were a crowd pleaser. And held pictures of mostly pies. Baked by her assistant. If rumor had it right, her assistant did almost all the cooking and other work.

  I swore if she went to hand pies, I’d set the truck on fire. Not really, but it would be hard to resist the temptation. Usually I tried to avoid her and not let her behavior eat me alive. But I needed that license, so I took a seat in one of the chairs lining the wall opposite the desk and settled in to wait.

  Maybe my nemesis would just do her business and leave without even talking to me. But, to my dismay, after paying her license fee, Victoria turned and zeroed in on me. “Chloe, I didn’t see you come in. How are you?”

  She was gorgeous. Long blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and a friendly manner that had everyone except me fooled. Today she wore a sun dress just the color of her eyes and high-heeled sandals. Her silky hair was pulled up in a ponytail that fell down her back and swished when she walked.

  “Good, Victoria. Just here for my license.”

  “I heard what happened.” Before I could stand, she dropped into the chair next to mine. “Is it true you’re a suspect?”

  If she followed true to type, she’d kill someone like the mayor just to be a more spectacular suspect than me.

  “Oh no, not at all.” I hoped it was true. “I just found the body. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it. It was terribly sad.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” She laid a hand on my arm and I fought not to shove it off. To Ellen, she probably looked like the kindest friend, and if I reacted as I wanted to, I’d just look rude.

  I patted her hand and stood. “Thanks. Well, I need to pay my fee now. You have a nice day.”

  I could feel her eyes burning into my back as I headed for the counter, and I probably had come off bad, but maybe Ellen didn’t care. As a local business owner, I just wanted a professional demeanor with the city. Bad enough I was if not a suspect certainly a person of interest.