TABLE OF CONTENTS
MAPLE NUT MURDER
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
Maple
Nut
Murder
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Twelve
BY
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books
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Maple Nut
MURDER
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Twelve
PROLOGUE
“What is that terrible music?” Lieutenant Grayson complained, popping his head into the cramped windowless office. The distinct noise of tinkling bells and harmonious carols echoed from the laptop computer sitting atop the pockmarked metal desk.
Glancing up from his pile of paperwork, a tedious task that had been put off for too long, Detective Mannor sneered playfully. “Terrible music?” he scoffed, eyeballing the much younger and dark-haired narcotics officer.
“Yeah, why the heck are you listening to it? It’s not December,” he pointed out, stepping in the door and taking a seat in the rolling office chair without being asked or invited. Folding his arms, he propped his feet up on the desk.
The much older, and gray-haired, Mannor eyeballed the bottoms of the shoes now facing him but said nothing. It was all part of the game the two officers played with one another daily—not unlike how adult siblings might make jabs and jokes at the other’s expense. “If you must know, my girlfriend is participating in a Christmas in July event this week.”
“Girlfriend,” the lieutenant exclaimed incredulously. “You’re too dang old to have a girlfriend.”
“And you’re too young to be a lieutenant, but you don’t see me complaining.” Mannor responded in kind.
At this, Grayson let his false barrier down and chuckled, shaking his head and smiling. “How is the old girl, by the way?”
“Just fine, as far as I can tell,” Mannor noted, taking a sip from his coffee mug. The sludge inside was dark as it could be and bitter too. He winced at the taste but refused to get up to grab cream or sugar from the refreshment table in the next room. He was, however, sort of craving a donut. There was always a supply out there. Day old pastries donated from one bakery or another.
“As far as you can tell? Doesn’t she just tell you?”
“She hasn’t totally warmed up to the idea of sharing her deepest feelings and secrets yet.” He shrugged and pushed his lips out.
“I see. Well, it’s been a while since you dated, so maybe get on that.”
“What can I do?”
“Make her feel comfortable. Let her know you’re trustworthy.”
“But I am,” he insisted. He was a proud man and could get defensive at times, but he couldn’t help but feel his face warm up a bit at his colleague’s comment. Was he blushing enough for his fellow officer to see his irritation and embarrassment at his lack of experience in dating recently?
He hoped not.
“Sure, sure, you are. I guess, at the very least, you know what she’s up to in her life.” He jabbed a thumb at the computer which was currently playing a smooth jazz rendition of Silver Bells. “Christmas in July, you said?”
Taking another sip from the coffee, the detective decided it needed creamer. “Yep. Her friend Carla owns a Christmas shop in the Old Market. Bert is baking and serving pies all week at the store to entice customers to come in.”
“Ah, I see. And when will we be getting to taste one of those pies? Hmm?”
“When you make your way down to her shop, that’s when,” the detective retorted.
“Come on, surely we can get one of those tasty pies here at the station.”
Mannor grunted, not particularly caring for the idea of asking Bert to make pies for the police force. It felt like an imposition. Folding his hands-on top of his paperwork, he leaned forward. “Okay, Grayson, what is it you actually wanted to talk about? I know it wasn’t my girlfriend or her pies.”
Sliding his feet off the desk and taking on a much more professional tone, Grayson sat up in the chair. Like any good officer, he knew when it was time to have a little fun and when it was time to get down to work. “My men in narcotics have reason to believe that there is a new player here in Culver’s Hood.”
“A seller you mean?”
He gave a firm nod. “That’s right.”
“I’m homicide. What do you need me for?”
“We have reason to believe the suspect is selling out of the Old Market.”
This caught Mannor’s attention and he rose one curious eyebrow. “The Old Market? That seems like an unlikely spot.” Culver’s Hood was well known for its historic part of town. It was filled with tourists, shoppers, and diners. It was a rather well maintained and classy area. Most sellers wouldn’t dare try and sell any kind of illegal product in that small district—it posed too much of a danger to the overall operation.
The Old Market was often very busy with many witnesses about. Not to mention, in addition to the regular beat cops who patrolled the area, the market had its own staff of security who were constantly on duty.
The chances of getting caught doing an illegal business transaction increased greatly.
It wasn’t that it couldn’t happen. Crime popped up everywhere. It was often just a safer bet for sellers to try to do their deals in other quieter and less assuming parts of the city.
“We’re working on finding our suspect at this very moment. However, we believe that this may be a rogue seller. Someone who has no connection with any of the organized groups who may already be selling.”
Mannor shook his mustache back and forth as he considered this, finally coming to an understanding about why he was being consulted. “You’re thinking that the big wigs are also looking for this seller?”
“That’s exactly right.”
The detective leaned back in his chair, causing the hinges to squeak. “They’re probably not too happy that someone else is selling.”
“Also, I think they’re going to be very unhappy that this suspect is selling in the Old Market. If he gets caught, they risk a crackdown on their own business.”
“They’re going to want to silence him.”
The lieutenant’s expression was grim. “I suspect that our seller is young and foolish. We need to track him down before someone else does.”
Mannor made a tower with his index fingers, pressing them against his lips. “That’s why you need me.”
Grayson nodded. “If there’s a homicide in the next few days, I want you to be on the lookout. It could be the person we’re looking for.”
“But you want to get to them first.”
“Not only to prevent a murder from happening but perhaps to get an edge on the other players.” He talked about it like it was a game—and in some strange way, it was.
The detective stood up and put his hands on the desk. “Let’s just not let a murder happen.”
“We’re working on it. Just keep me informed and I’ll do the same for you.”
“Righto.” Mannor picked up his mug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some sugar to cover up this sludge.”
CHAPTER 1
It had taken a bit of digging, but Bertha Hannah was finally able to find her Classical Christmas by the Fire CD from the dusty case hidden away under the driver’s seat. With a beaming smile on her face, she happily popped the disc into the car’s player. Within seconds, she was greeted with the warming carols of the winter season. The velvety voice of one of Bert’s favorite old-time singers swooned her with the words of White Christmas.
Closing her car door, she rolled down the windows and headed out onto the cobblestoned streets of the Old Market. The hot summer air brushed her face as she maneuvered the vehicle. Early morning shopkeepers getting ready to open their businesses looked toward the car with a confused eye, seeing as unseasonal Christmas songs were blaring from the open windows.
However, their looks of irritation mostly melted as the scent of freshly baked pies escaped the car and invaded the streets with its enticing aroma. Frowns turned to smiles as only Bert knew the power of dessert could do.
She was sure that the pies she’d baked, all the traditional dishes for the holiday season, brought back many happy memories for the folks. She herself had a hard time not just pulling over to the side of the road for a slice of one.
“Yummy,” she found herself saying out loud as she pulled up in front of her best friend’s shop, Christmas in July.
While the drive had only consisted of a single city block, she knew she couldn’t very well carry every single one of the pies she’d made for the occasion from Pies and Pages, her combination bookstore and pie shop, to Carla’s place.
She supposed she could have asked for her employee’s help, but Shiv needed to stay behind and man the store for today while Bert sold slices of pie in honor of Carla’s shop’s annual summertime sale.
Everything in the store was marked to twenty-five percent off. Additionally, Carla had said she was going to hire people to play Santa and his elves this year. It would entice children to come in and therefore bring the parents in as well to do some offseason shopping.
Carla knew her market well and had her demographic pegged. Many of the female shoppers, especially the older ones, couldn’t pass up the chance to indulge in a little Christmas cheer in the middle of summer. Not to mention, getting decorations and presents at a discounted price.
Bert had come to the sale herself for the past few years before she’d opened her own store. This time, she was able to participate and sell her pies. Bert had even gone to the effort to decorate Pies and Pages as advertisement for the sale. Her employee, Shiv, would be selling Christmas themed pies there as well throughout the week.
To say Bert was excited was a big understatement. Christmas was her all-time favorite holiday and she couldn’t wait to drink in a little of that holiday cheer she so craved during the off months.
Climbing out of her car, she locked it and headed inside. She’d need Carla’s help bringing the pies in and setting up. Maybe some of Santa’s helpers would be there too and could help.
Walking up to the front door, Bert pushed on the handle and realized it was still locked. It made sense, considering the shop didn’t open for another half-hour. Instead, she rose her fist to knock on the glass. However, the sound of Carla’s raised voice stopped her.
“Are you listening to me?” she demanded, her tone strained and uneven.
Bert’s brow furrowed with concern. Carla was as passive a person as she ever knew. It wasn’t like her to get openly angry, let alone raise her voice. What was happening in there?
“Yeah, whatever,” another voice muttered, nonchalant and uninterested.
Leaning to one side and raising her hand to keep the morning glare off the glass, Bert spotted her best friend standing by the checkout counter. Carla looked winded like she’d just finished a long run. “I’m telling you now, cell phones won’t be allowed when we are open and the children are here,” she scolded a young woman who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. Taking a deep breath, she let her voice calm down a bit, clearly trying to appeal to the young woman’s inner child. “It would break the magic of Santa’s workshop for some of the kids, you know? Don’t you remember sitting on his lap and asking for presents?”
The girl didn’t respond right away, her eyes still on the phone screen. The green tunic and matching pointed hat with a bell on the end told Bert that the woman was one of the hired actresses to play elves at the shop throughout the week.
“Yeah,” the girl muttered, her eyes only shot up for a second before going back down and looking at her phone. The pale glow of the screen along with her glazed stare made her look like a zombie.
Carla’s lips tightened when she realized the girl didn’t care. “No phones means no selfies, no texting, no doing the social media.”
The girl chuckled.
“What is so funny?”
“The social media? Really?”
Carla’s face flushed red and her hands clenched at her sides. “Are you even listening to me, young lady?”
“Sheesh, you sound just like my dad,” the young woman complained, holding the phone high up in the air and snapping a picture of herself in the outfit.
Carla looked flustered, like she had no idea what to do with the girl. Carla had reared three boys with her late husband, but never a girl. Not to mention, cell phones hadn’t been a big thing yet when her boys were in their teens and twenties. It seemed as if Carla had no idea what to do with the young woman. “Will I need to take that away during business hours?” she threatened, a waver in her voice. She had never been comfortable with discipline.
“What is this? High school again?” the girl scoffed. Holding the phone out, she snapped another picture. Satisfied that she’d gotten the image she wanted, she finally lowered her phone. “Look, you can chill, lady.”
Lady? Bert was impressed that Carla was keeping as calm as she was considering the situation.
“I’ll make sure the phone is nowhere in sight when the little kiddos get here.” With that, the woman waltzed off to part of the store Bert couldn’t see through the door.
Finally, Bert knocked on the glass.
Carla blinked a few times, as if in a daze, before rushing over to unlock it. “Good morning, Bert,” she welcomed her friend, putting on a big smile to hide her flushed face. Clearly, she hoped that Bert hadn’t seen anything.
“Having trouble?” Bert asked, stepping inside and letting the door close.
Carla let out a long
and weary sigh. “You heard that?”
“Some of it, yeah.”
“What a mess,” Carla grumbled, absentmindedly adjusting the white and silver ornaments on an evergreen tree displayed near the front window.
“If she’s really so much trouble, why not fire her and get a different elf?” Bert asked in a low tone, so no one would overhear. Bert herself had never fired anyone and would hate to have to, but from the brief interaction she’d witnessed, she wondered if it was worth it.
Carla’s shoulder’s slumped. “I can’t. Her parents are old friends, and I promised them I’d give her a job.”
“Why did you agree to that?” Bert asked, somewhat joking and jabbing her friend with a soft elbow. She knew Carla, much like herself, was never one to turn down helping others in one way or another. They were always the first two to jump at a chance to volunteer during church functions. It was also why the two sixty-something ladies often found themselves in the middle of murder investigations, trying to track down a killer and save someone innocent from going to jail or worse.
It didn’t help that Bert’s new boyfriend (which sounded weird at their age, she thought) was the lead detective in the CH Police’s homicide division.
“I wish I’d said no, but you know me,” she gave a sheepish shrug and turned to straighten some decorative stockings hanging along the brick wall behind the counter. Images of smiling snowmen and jolly Santa’s looked back from the hand embroidered merchandise. “The Weavings are a fairly well-to-do family, you know?” Carla pointed out.
“I didn’t,” Bert admitted, having no idea who the family was. Culver’s Hood was a small city, but a city nonetheless.
“Anyway, they are. He’s in the computer business and makes good money, not that I’d know word one about any of that.” She waved a hand, indicating she’d gone off topic. “The point is, they’re concerned that their daughter, Samara, is getting more entitled and spoiled the older she gets.”
“How old is this girl?” Bert asked, pegging her to be around eighteen or nineteen and just out of high school. It might explain why she had no concept of others or the world around her. Moving out on your own for the first time, even if it was just into a college dorm, had a way of making you grow up.
Maple Nut Murder Page 1
