Pies & Peril

by Janel Gradowski

  "You get what you pay for." Kristi put her hands on her hips. "If you want quality, stop being cheap. Or go to the bakery at Gillman's Grocery. I'm sure they can slap some ugly icing roses on a cake and stay within your budget."

  The poor man backed away from the counter and the verbal assault being launched over it. Maude, one of the women who had worked at Maxson's for as long as Amy could remember, banged through the kitchen's swinging doors. "Kristi! I can help with this gentleman if you want to get back to the cake you've been working on." She flashed a smile at the flustered man while grabbing Kristi by the arm and shoving her through the doorway.

  Huh. It took some guts for Maude to manhandle her boss. How often did things like that happen? She needed to get out of the bakery before Kristi went into self-destruct mode and exploded. Amy waved to catch Maude's attention and pointed at the jar. "Elliot knows about this and said it was okay to leave here."

  The back door of the bakery slammed. Maude glanced behind her, into the kitchen, and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Her car broke down this morning, and she has not been in a good mood today."

  "No need to apologize for another person's bad behavior," the gentleman said as he flipped through the pages of the cake album.

  "Yes, I agree." Amy backed into the door to use her legs to push it open. She waved goodbye. "I hope you have a good afternoon now, Maude."

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was impossible to escape the toxic cloud. Amy shifted to the left, but the overbearing rose scented perfume of Mandy Jo's Auntie Louisa didn't dissipate at all. In fact, the sneeze-producing nasal assault got worse. She had moved into an area where the patchouli cloud from another one of Mandy Jo's family members overlapped the floral zone. Amy lifted her arm and quietly sneezed into the crook of her elbow. She would need to take a Benadryl when she got home from the funeral or end up a runny-nosed mess the rest of the day.

  The funeral home was packed for the last hour of visitation before the service. Amy glanced around and took a tally. Almost all of the perennial competitors from the Summer Festival baking contests were there. Some could be present out of morbid curiosity, but most likely many were there as a sign of respect. Kellerton had a gossip mill that, when cranked up to full speed, could spread a rumor faster than a group of teenage girls with keyboard-equipped cell phones. Still, no matter how reviled Mandy Jo was, no one liked the fact that her life had been snuffed out before she had even reached her third decade of existence.

  Amy hooked her arm through Alex's as they stepped forward in unison. There was a ragged line of people waiting to pay respect to Kevin, Mandy Jo's husband. He stood by the head of the open casket, shaking hands with well wishers. As he spoke with people he would occasionally glance down at his wife and stroke her dark hair that was spread out over the white satin pillow. Amy shivered when he patted his wife's hands, which were crossed over her stomach. It seemed like he was trying to comfort her or perhaps just let her know he was there. The poor man. Widowed before his first wedding anniversary, and he probably wasn't even 35years old.

  Alex glanced over his shoulder at the rows of straight-backed chairs set up for the service. "Looks like we'll have to sit in the back. There are a lot of people here."

  "It's nice to see everybody supporting Kevin." Amy adjusted the pendant on her necklace. The big, round faceted garnet was the only color in her grayscale outfit, consisting of a dark gray pencil skirt with a fitted pewter colored short sleeved, cotton blouse. "He must be devastated, but he looks pretty calm. Honestly, I can't believe how much he's smiling and laughing."

  "He could be in shock and running on autopilot. People grieve differently and not always in expected ways."

  Amy studied the people seated in the front row. Mandy Jo's parents sat stony-faced, staring at the flower arrangements clustered around the casket. Alex was right about different people having different reactions. The sea of people shifted. She and Alex stepped forward. As Alex shook Kevin's hand and said his condolences, Amy tried to discreetly check out Mandy Jo's body. There didn't appear to be any marks on her face or neck, but Carla had said that funeral homes used heavy duty concealing makeup, to cover up things like cuts and bruises.

  "We just don't know what we're going to do without her. She was my favorite cousin."

  The declaration was uttered by a woman who looked like a bleach blonde version of Mandy Jo as she launched herself into Alex's arms. Kevin ignored the assault and greeted the next couple behind them. Amy recoiled as the distraught relative's hand slid over her husband's ass. Every woman in the family seemed to be brash and on the prowl for any man that had the misfortune of wandering into their cross-hairs. The drama queen routine needed to be snuffed out with a metaphorical wet blanket.

  Amy patted the woman on the shoulder, "I'm so sorry for your family's loss. It's almost time for the service to start. Please excuse us. My husband and I need to find a seat."

  The desperate blonde released Alex from the professional wrestler-style hold. Her bottom lip stuck out in a childish pout as Amy grabbed Alex's hand and tugged him away from the overzealous mourning display. They turned and made their way to the back of the room. Two seats were open next to Bea and Thomas Perkins, the proprietors of The Breakfast Spot diner. As Amy settled into her chair Bea leaned sideways and whispered, "It's nice to see everybody putting aside their quibbles, and showing respect. Nobody deserves to be killed, especially at such a young age."

  Amy nodded in agreement. It was especially nice for Bea and Thomas to show up after the trouble Mandy Jo caused in their marriage. The minister stepped up to the podium that had been moved into place in front of the casket while she and Alex were searching for seats. She scanned the sea of heads in front of her for Carla's distinctive, semi-messy short hair. She and Detective Shepler definitely weren't sitting behind them. They were only one row from the back, and she had surveyed the people sitting behind them while she shimmied past half a dozen pairs of knees to get to her seat. The minister asked that people bow their heads to pray. The closed door leading to the hallway cracked open. Carla and the hunky detective slipped through the opening and sprinted to the couch shoved against the wall at the very back of the room.

  Carla caught Amy's eye as she hurried past and winked. The couple looked like they were having difficulties keeping somber, serious expressions on their faces. Detective Shepler had said he wanted to come to the funeral as Carla's escort so he could discreetly check out the funeral attendees. Or at least he had agreed when Amy suggested it. Now the only thing he could observe was the back of a lot of heads. So much for the plan. Maybe the bourbon banana bread had some kind of aphrodisiac qualities because it had been a long time since she had seen a twinkle like that in her best friend's eyes. The thought of the two of them sitting next to each other on the couch…well, they were adults who should know how to act appropriately at a funeral.

  A thunderous, bass-heavy hymn vibrated the seat of the wooden chair. Amy's eardrums spasmed in protest. The funeral directors were probably used to catering the music volumes to suit the more typical gatherings of senior citizens who already had well-established hearing damage. Since she couldn't count on Shepler focusing on his law enforcement duties, she tried to channel Sherlock Holmes and study the up-dos and bald spots of the crowd, looking for suspicious body language or guilty looking sideways glances. A few people wiggled or tried to discretely stretch to offset the discomfort from the straight-backed chairs, but nobody had a flashing sign over their head proclaiming they were the murderer.

  * * *

  "The ladies of the St. Peter's funeral auxiliary would like to invite you all to attend a pie luncheon to honor Mrs. Pierce at one o' clock at the Fellowship Hall."

  Carla and Bruce stood, along with everybody else in the funeral home. A warm patch lingered on her knee, a ghost of Bruce's hand which had stayed in that spot through the entire ceremony. Judging by the look on Amy's face, she wasn't thrilled that they had shown up at the last possible
moment instead of mingling with the somberly dressed crowd and looking for people with nervous twitches that could peg them as a murderer. So part of her friend's plan hadn't worked as expected, but that was only because the other half did.

  The banana bread had been moist and dense as she sliced it that morning, laying the pieces on the toaster oven rack to warm. Heat brought out the bourbon aroma, and soon her kitchen was filled with the same scent as Amy's the day before. Bruce had arrived a few minutes earlier, dressed in a suit that was obviously custom tailored to fit over his broad shoulders. The gray fabric contrasted nicely with his dark tan and buzz cut light brown hair. They ate a few slices of toast, drank some coffee, nibbled on more banana bread, and then magically ended up naked. And late for the funeral

  Scoring the couch at the funeral home was an unexpected boon. The piece of furniture had obviously been occupied by many weary mourners over its years of service. The cushions were flat and lumpy, so Carla leaned to the left while Bruce canted to the right. She couldn't remember a single word that was said during the service. The electric friction between them still surged through their clothing, and even a somber funeral home couldn't extinguish the heat. The experience was deliciously naughty.

  A funeral director opened a side door in the room that led directly to the parking lot. People filed outside, row by row. Many looked around as they waited to be released. Carla glanced up into Bruce's emerald green eyes when he squeezed her hand. His expression was unreadable as he leaned toward her and whispered, "Amy doesn't look happy."

  "She was hoping you could use your superior detective skills to figure out who the killer is by eavesdropping and studying body language." She sighed. "I'm sure she tried to do that herself. Besides, she can't be too angry. She's the one that gave me the banana bread to share with you."

  He chuckled as he placed his hand on the small of her back, The funeral director gestured that they should make their way to the exit. "Please get the recipe from her."

  Carla used her hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunshine as they stepped through the doorway. Groups of people were clustered in the aisles of the parking lot. A line of vehicles sporting small orange flags on their roofs stretched around the outside edge of the lot. She spotted Amy and Alex talking with the owners of The Breakfast Spot and waved.

  "Well, hello. I was worried you guys wouldn't make it," Amy said as she and Bruce joined the small group.

  "Um, we had something come up, so we were delayed a bit."

  Bruce took a step forward and flashed a dazzling smile. "But…we made it before the service began. Amy, your banana bread was so delicious we didn't want to leave it behind. Carla said you were entering it in a contest. I'm positive it will win."

  Amy beamed. Bruce's years of experience as a police officer were paying off. Diffusing tense situations was second nature to him, and he was obviously very skilled at it. Bea and Thomas excused themselves, saying they needed to get back to their restaurant.

  "I thought you were going to look for potential suspects today." Amy's mood had taken a sharp hairpin turn away from the giddiness over the banana bread compliment. Knowing her overactive imagination, she probably had been worried the murderer would come after her at the funeral and toss her into the coffin with Mandy Jo. "There was an hour of visitation before the service."

  Bruce leaned his head down toward Amy and quietly said, "There is a time and place to be a detective. Generally, at the victim's funeral is not one of them. I'm a stranger to most of these people, so I couldn't mingle inconspicuously. We can talk later about anything you may have noticed, okay?"

  Amy exhaled loudly. Her bangs fluttered from the breathy updraft. "I'm sorry to be so irritable. I have been feeling pretty stressed since finding the note. Since you didn't make it to the visitation, will you be going to the pie luncheon?"

  Nailed. Amy may have apologized, but she wasn't going to let them easily slip out of the obligation Bruce must have promised on the phone the day before. Her intent was clear: You said you were going to search for clues. Now sleuth, damn it.

  Bruce squeezed her hand. A plea for help or at least some assistance in navigating around Amy's passive aggressive land mines. Carla said, "We have other things to do, but I'm sure we can stop back and have at least one slice of pie."

  It would have been a great time to do a conspiratorial eyebrow raise at her friend, but that wasn't possible thanks to the damn Botox treatments. Looking like a porcelain doll had its advantages, especially when it was crucial that she appeared calm in the emergency room, but sometimes the face-of-stone effect wasn't what she wanted. Too bad she had freaked out about a few, tiny laugh lines. The paralysis was supposed to be wearing off soon. The freaky, overwhelming fear of wrinkles and looking old was ridiculous, and she knew it.

  A quiet grunt from Bruce let her know she hadn't responded like he had expected. Oh, well. No matter how smoking hot their freshly rekindled relationship was, she was still obligated to help her best friend. He may not think the luncheon was the correct place to go into detective mode, but Amy did. The least they could do was take a few minutes to appease her before spending the rest of the afternoon holed up in bed. Hopefully it would be a quiet night in the ER, because she wasn't planning on getting any sleep before heading in to work the night shift.

  Bruce glanced at his watch. "Is there only going to be pie at this lunch thing?"

  Amy nodded. "I think so. Some of the ladies who organized it told me it was their way of honoring Mandy Jo since she was the reigning Summer Festival Pie Queen."

  He glanced at Carla. "We have an hour before that starts. Why don't we head to a restaurant for lunch and stop by the hall for dessert?"

  "Sounds like a fantastic idea. Considering we ate the entire loaf of banana bread I think we may end up in a sugar coma if we don't eat something that isn't sweet soon."

  Carla nudged Bruce with her shoulder to get him moving toward his pickup. She knew Amy well enough to figure out she wasn't happy with that idea either. Most likely she was hoping they would attend the burial at the cemetery and then spend hours at the pie luncheon chatting up the old women who manned the town's gossip hotline, looking for hidden clues to the killer's identity. Bruce was a confident, competent police officer. He would catch the killer before Amy was harmed. He absolutely would, but not within the next two hours. Amy had asked her to use her feminine wiles to get closer to Bruce, and that was exactly what she was doing. Unfortunately how she was going about that wasn't fitting into her friend's grand scheme.

  Fifteen minutes later Carla and Bruce settled across from each other at a small, two-person table. Riverbend Coffee was bustling with business people on lunch breaks and groups of women chatting while bouncing small children on their knees. A waitress delivered their order. A mug of black, house blend coffee with a roast beef panini for Bruce. A double shot, salted caramel latte with a tomato, mozzarella and basil grilled cheese sandwich for Carla.

  They both tore into the sandwiches like they were starving. Considering the amount of calories they burned before the funeral…it was a good idea that they were heading back to the funeral crowd for pie. They were going to need to fuel up for the afternoon. Budget cuts at the police department meant that Bruce had to take the day off. No overtime was allowed, even during a homicide investigation. Carla took a sip of coffee and decided she would get another latte to-go when they were finished with the meal. Building up her caffeine reserves would be the only way she would make it through the night at the hospital.

  Carla stacked potato chips up on the edge of her plate, making a precarious tower. Amy wanted her and Bruce to get together so she could find out more about what was going on with the investigation. What if trying to weasel information out of him, so quickly after rekindling their smoldering relationship with a tooth-rattling explosion hours earlier, ruined everything? Damn. Four hours into a romance and she was already worrying about breaking up. Since they didn't make it to the visitation period at the funeral
home, she could at least attempt an information fly-by. If he was resistant, then she could try again some other time.

  "You know, when I checked for a pulse on Mandy Jo at the town hall I thought I could see marks on her neck. It was hard to tell, though, with the raspberry filling smeared everywhere. Since the funeral just happened I assume the coroner figured out a cause of death."

  He put down his sandwich and leaned back in the chair. The wooden back creaked a bit. "Very observant, but I wouldn't expect anything else from you. That's what makes you a good trauma nurse." He took a sip of coffee and drummed his fingers on the side of the mug. "You're right. She was strangled."

  "I didn't see bruises, like finger marks. Looked more like long abrasions from something being wrapped around her neck."

  He smirked. "I'm not supposed to talk about the case. I shouldn't have told you what I did. I'll just say you're very observant."

  Carla glanced around the room. Nobody was paying any attention to them. She reached under the table and placed her hand on his knee. "Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment," she said as she slid her hand up his thigh.

  * * *

  Alex pulled open the door of the Fellowship Hall of St. Peter's Church and gestured for Amy to enter. "Ladies first."

  "You're such a gentleman."

  "Keep telling yourself that. I just want to watch your cute, little ass for a bit."

  She slapped his arm as she passed by. Typical behavior from her charming husband. One off-color comment was all it took to break the layer of tension that had been building since she woke up that morning. She sashayed into the coat room, adding a bit of extra wiggle to her stride. The scent of sweet fruit and buttery pie crust slammed into her. She gasped as memories of finding Mandy Jo's body under the table full of pies rushed into her mind. Alex slipped his arm around her waist and asked, "Are you okay?"