A Slice of Murder

by Chris Cavender

  Maddy shrugged. “Water under the dam and all that. Come on, live a little. Let me make you something.”

  “Why not. I’ll have a pepperoni sub.” At least she shouldn’t be able to mess that up.

  “Give me something challenging,” she said.

  “If it’s too far beneath your culinary skills, move out of the way and I’ll make it myself.”

  “No, I’ll do it,” she said as she waved her knife in the air.

  “Hang on a second. I don’t want any special little extras, you understand? No fancy hot peppers, no secret sauce, no outlandish toppings. Just our pizza sauce, some pepperoni, and a handful of cheese in a hoagie bun. Agreed?”

  “You’re no fun,” she said.

  “Agreed?” I repeated.

  “Fine, have your boring old sandwich. I’m making something special for me, though, and you can’t have any.”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” I said.

  “You’re just a commoner at heart, aren’t you?” she said, laughing as she put my sandwich together. As Maddy slid it onto a wire grid and put it on the pizza oven’s conveyor, I glanced at her sandwich to see what she was making for herself. I wasn’t sure why anyone would want banana peppers, pickles, anchovies, and onions on a sandwich, but at least I didn’t have to eat it.

  After she slid hers onto the conveyor, Maddy said, “We should look at this as an opportunity. We could always paint the dining area again.”

  “I thought our job was to present a solid front to the world. It took us three months to agree on the last paint color, remember?”

  “That’s because you were just being stubborn.”

  “Maddy, I still think black walls send the wrong message to our customers.”

  “We would have lightened the place up with candles,” she protested.

  “That’s fine, if you like eating in a cave,” I said. “How are those sandwiches coming along?”

  She glanced at the conveyor. “They’ve got a few more minutes, and you know it. You’re just trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

  I grinned at her. “You caught me. How am I doing?”

  “Miserably,” she said.

  A few minutes later, my sandwich was the first one to appear on the other side, the bread neatly toasted and the cheese melted into a golden sheen. As she plated both sandwiches, she asked, “Where should we eat? Here, in back?”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t we take a table by the front window? At least if anyone happens to be passing by, they’ll see us here and know we’re open.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she said. “I’ll grab the sandwiches, and you get the glasses. Do you want chips with yours?”

  “I’d better not. I don’t want soda, either. I’ll have water to drink.”

  “Watching your calories, Eleanor? I don’t know how you do it,” she said as she grabbed two bags of chips.

  “Hey, I just said I didn’t want any chips,” I protested.

  “Who said either one of these was for you?”

  I didn’t have the slightest idea how my sister could eat whatever she wanted with no apparent consequences, whereas if I just walked past a cake I somehow managed to gain three pounds. It just wasn’t fair.

  As we started to eat, I looked out over the plaza, too conscious of the people going out of their way not to pass by the pizzeria. A family with four small children was playing beside the captured German howitzer from World War I that stood on one edge of the square, balanced two hundred yards away by a twenty-five-foot obelisk that honored three doctors who had saved scores of townsfolk during a flu epidemic in the 1800s, and who had died themselves from their efforts to save others.

  There was a wide expanse of brick and stone pavers that made up the walkways in front of the twenty shops that lined the way like soldiers standing arm to arm, with no gaps between nearly all of the buildings. The only available parking was away from the plaza, fifty feet from the nearest storefront. The walkway itself was dotted with shrubbery and tree plantings; benches of wood and wrought iron, and a pair of copper-covered display areas where residents could post news about lost dogs, yoga classes, and garage band concerts. There were quite a few people milling about despite the cold, but none came within a hundred yards of A Slice of Delight.

  Maddy must have caught drift of my thoughts. “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.”

  I stared at most of the uneaten sandwich on my plate. “I don’t see how.” I’d suddenly lost my appetite.

  “You know what? You’re right. It’s not going to get any better all by itself.”

  That caught my attention. “What are you talking about?”

  “If we wait for the police chief to figure out what happened to Richard Olsen, you’re going to lose this business, and we can’t let that happen.”

  “I can’t afford to hire a private detective, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have a clue how to go about finding one.”

  Maddy said, “That’s why we’re going to solve this murder ourselves.”

  I had to look at her to see if she was kidding, but her face was dead serious. “You’ve been eating too many anchovies. They’ve pickled your brain.”

  “Think about it,” Maddy said, gaining steam with her new idea. “Who knows this town better than we do? We’ve got more contacts in Timber Ridge than the police department, and while people won’t be willing to come clean with Kevin, I’m willing to bet they’ll talk to us.”

  “I don’t see why they should answer our questions if they won’t tell the police what they know.”

  Maddy stood. “That’s because we won’t be asking questions, at least not as openly as they’ll be. We can do this. We have to.”

  “Why are you so stoked about this idea?”

  She laughed. “Who else am I going to find who’ll hire me, given my spotty work history? If this business goes under, I’m out of a job, remember?”

  I started to think about what my sister was proposing, and I wondered if I had what it took to dig into people’s lives. I wasn’t nosy by nature, and I was more than a little reluctant to start prying where I didn’t belong. Then I looked around the shop and realized that with my pizzeria gone, I would have one less tie with Joe. This had been more his dream than mine, but I’d grown to love the Slice as much as he had. Maddy was right about one thing: if the killer wasn’t unmasked, and fairly soon, I would lose the restaurant, and that was something I just couldn’t take.

  “Okay, I’m in,” I said.

  It was Maddy’s turn to study me. “Are you sure?”

  “No, but do we really have any other choice? Let’s make a game plan and figure out what we’re going to do.”

  It was Maddy’s turn to pull back. “Hang on a second, Sis. I was just talking off the top of my head. I do that; you should know me well enough by now to realize that.”

  “This time I agree with you. You don’t have to help, but I’m going to track down a killer.”

  She looked at me as though we’d never met. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  Chapter 3

  “Let’s make a list,” I said as I grabbed the white board where we usually wrote our daily specials. “We can’t just go off and start investigating the murder without some kind of plan.”

  Maddy nodded. “Okay, I agree with that, but where do we start? How well did you know Richard Olsen?”

  “Not as well as he would have liked,” I said. “It’s going to take a little work to fill in the gaps of who might want him dead, but I know where to start. If we can figure out a motive, it should be a little easier to match it with the murderer.”

  “Fine,” Maddy said as she continued staring at the blank board. “So, why would someone want him dead?”

  “We have to go beyond that, at least for now,” I said. “Why does anyone kill anybody else? That’s the first question we need to ask.”

  “Greed,” Maddy said, and I wro
te that down.

  “Love,” I said, adding it to the list.

  “Lust has to be there, too,” she said.

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Maddy laughed. “Not in my world, and I’m willing to bet not in Richard Olsen’s, either.”

  After I wrote down “lust,” I said, “You could kill to protect someone.”

  “Or something,” Maddy added. “Or you could commit murder to hide something.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that. What else?”

  “Isn’t that enough? I think we’ve covered the basics. Most of the motives for murder are there.”

  I studied the board, then nodded. “Then let’s make them more specific,” I said as I drew a line under our motive list and started adding columns. “Greed comes first. How can we apply that to Richard?”

  “He could have been stealing from someone,” Maddy offered.

  “Or someone could inherit his money when he died,” I added.

  “Do you honestly think Richard Olsen had that much?”

  “Maddy, how much does it take? Even if he didn’t have a lot of assets, he could have had life insurance.”

  “That’s a point. What about lust?”

  “Or love,” I said. “Did Richard have a steady girlfriend, despite his drunken behavior toward me? Was there anyone he broke up with recently?”

  Maddy shrugged. “I’d still rather think about lust. Was he fooling around with someone else’s wife and got caught doing it?”

  I stared hard at my sister. “Do you honestly think anyone in Timber Ridge could have an affair without the entire town knowing about it?”

  “It’s a possibility we have to consider. That’s all I’m saying.” Maddy tapped the board, then said, “Let’s skip down to the next category.”

  “We’ve still got ‘to hide something, or to protect someone,’” I said.

  “I can’t imagine Richard protecting anyone but himself,” Maddy said.

  “But he could have had something to hide,” I said. “Most folks do.”

  “Even you?”

  Maddy was watching me closely, waiting for an answer.

  “Sorry, I hate to disappoint you, but there aren’t any secrets in my life.” I studied the list, then added, “We need to get to know Richard Olsen better.”

  “We can’t exactly ask him out for drinks, Eleanor, unless you’re suggesting we hold a séance, which could be fun, now that I think about it.”

  “There are other options,” I said. “I’m going to talk to—”

  I was interrupted as the front door slammed open so hard it almost shattered the glass.

  A wiry-haired woman with fiery eyes stormed into the pizzeria, stopped in front of me, and screamed, “You killed him!”

  “I did not,” I said, trying to keep my voice at a calm level, though I was screaming right back at her on the inside. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” I added.

  “Trust me, I’ve heard enough to know it’s true.”

  Maddy said calmly, “Sit down. Why don’t I get you something to drink, and we can discuss this calmly.”

  “I don’t want to be calm!” she shouted at us. I could see her chest rising and falling under her sweater as she panted for breath, and it was clear she was on the edge of a breakdown. “Why did you have to kill him?”

  Before I could answer, she collapsed on the floor in front of us.

  I pushed a chair aside and knelt down beside the woman as Maddy said, “It’s not safe being around you, is it?”

  “She’s not dead,” I said as I found a pulse at her neck. “Call nine-one-one.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Maddy said. Before I could stop her, she grabbed my water and poured it on the woman’s head.

  I was about to chew her out when the woman sputtered a few times, then opened her eyes and looked at me blearily. “You didn’t call the paramedics, did you?”

  “No, we haven’t had a chance, but we’ll phone them right now,” I said, trying my best to reassure her.

  “Don’t do that,” she ordered. “I faint sometimes. It’s nothing serious.”

  “It looked serious to me,” I said.

  The woman ignored my comment and started to pull herself upright, but she slumped back down to the floor before she made it.

  “Should you be getting up?” I asked.

  “I’m fine, I tell you. This just tends to happen when I get overly excited.”

  “Then maybe you should calm down,” Maddy said. “Unless you like being helpless on the floor like that.”

  That got the woman’s attention. “I won’t scream again,” she said, lowering her voice. I tried to help her up, but she refused my aid and finally managed to stand as she held on to the back of a chair.

  In a calmer voice than she’d used since she’d arrived, the woman repeated her question. “Why did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t,” I replied, for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d come in.

  Maddy looked at her, then said, “You know, you look familiar, but I can’t place you. I’m Eleanor’s sister. Have we met?”

  “No, but it’s pretty clear you knew my brother. I’m Sheila Olsen.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said automatically. Then I added, “But I didn’t cause it. I found your brother on the floor like that. I didn’t kill him.”

  “Everybody I’ve talked to thinks otherwise.”

  Maddy butted in again. “Who exactly have you been talking to?”

  “Since I got in from Charlotte, I haven’t been able to shut people up.”

  “Can you be more specific than that?” I asked.

  Sheila said, “You want a list? Okay, here goes. The man at the newspaper, one of your shop’s neighbors, just about anyone you’d care to ask.”

  “Was the man at the newspaper in his forties, a little portly, and almost completely bald?” I asked.

  “Yes, that was him,” she admitted. Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know that? Have you been following me?”

  “Lady, you’re the one who just burst in on us, remember?” Maddy snapped.

  “I mean before I got here,” she explained.

  “No, but I’m not surprised by anything he might have told you about me. He’d rather print a lie than the truth if it gave him a chance to smear me,” I said.

  “Why would he do that?” Sheila asked.

  “There’s been bad blood between his family and ours for generations,” I said. “His grandfather started that newspaper so he could attack our family in print, though he’s never come out and said anything we could sue over, though just barely.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said as her gaze took in the board Maddy and I had been writing on. “What’s that?”

  My sister tried to hide what we’d written, but I said, “Let her see it. She has a right to know.”

  “She does not,” Maddy insisted.

  “Know what?” Sheila asked.

  “We were sitting here when you stormed in trying to figure out who really killed your brother.”

  She looked at me as though she knew I was lying, but as she studied the board, her face began to soften. “It’s true, isn’t it? You didn’t just do this to ease my suspicion, did you?”

  “How could we have done that?” Maddy asked. “We didn’t even know you existed until you stormed in here a few minutes ago. If we had, I’m sure you would have made it onto the board, too.”

  I was about to scold my sister when Sheila nodded her agreement. “Okay, I’m convinced. But I’ve got one question: if you didn’t kill him, who did?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Maddy said, her patience with this woman obviously worn thin.

  “Then I might just help,” Sheila said as she took off her jacket and threw it onto a chair at our table. When she spotted my barely touched sandwich, she asked, “Is anyone going to eat that?”

  “No, help yourself,” I said before Maddy could stop me. “Would y
ou like something to drink?”

  “A Coke would be great,” she said.

  “I’ll get it for you,” I replied.

  “I’ll help you,” Maddy added.

  I was about to tell Maddy that I didn’t need any assistance when she motioned me to the back of the dining room with her glance.

  “We’ll be right back,” I said, though I doubted Sheila heard me. She was too busy devouring my sandwich to even notice we were leaving.

  “What are you doing?” Maddy hissed at me at the drink fountain.

  “I’m getting her a Coke, unless you want to do it yourself,” I said.

  “I’m talking about inviting her to join us on our hunt.”

  “I didn’t ask; she volunteered,” I said.

  “Eleanor, do we really want a narcoleptic hothead helping us?”

  I let the foam settle, then added more Coke to the glass. “Are you kidding me? She’s perfect. We didn’t have an excuse to start digging into Richard Olsen’s life before, and when one comes stumbling in through our door, you want to throw her out. She’s our ticket to finding out what really happened, Maddy.”

  My sister paused to think about it, then nodded slowly. “You know what? I’m beginning to think you’re smarter than you look.”

  “I’m sure there’s a compliment buried in that somewhere.”

  “Quit fishing. It’s the best you’re going to get from me, and you know it.” My sister looked back at Sheila, who’d finished half the sandwich and had started working on the other half. “How do we go about using her?”

  “With her blessing, of course,” I said as I picked up the Coke and started back to the table. “We’re going to ask her.”

  Maddy grabbed my arm. “Hang on a second,” she whispered. “We can’t be so blatant about it. This calls for some stealth and subterfuge.”

  I peeled her hand off me. “I love you dearly, but sometimes I think you’ve read too many mysteries.”

  “How can anyone possibly read too many books?” she asked.

  “When you start acting like Inspector Clouseau,” I answered, “maybe it’s time to take a break.”

  “Get your references right, Eleanor. He was in the movies. For novels, I’d like to think I’m more like Kinsey Millhone,” she said.