by Agatha Ball
"What?" I said, lowering my knife.
"You think I would kill you??" he asked, incredulously.
"Oh. Um. Well." I waved the knife weakly around the bar. "It's happened before that someone I thought I knew was a killer."
"Well, I don't date murder victims," said Trevor, resolutely.
"And I really try not to date murderers."
"Paige, I NEVER would have done something like that."
The knife was lowered completely and I threw it onto the counter. "Sorry about that."
We stood there in silence.
His face was contorted with hurt. "I know that other people had their suspicions about me, but you Paige? YOU? I feel really betrayed."
Listen, I might have been wrong, but there was a reason I was so jumpy. "You tried to serve me cherry pie when everyone I know was dying because of cherry pie."
"I can show you where I got it if that would help," he said, his anger bubbling up.
"Yes," I said, breathing and trying to get my heart rate down to normal, and also not to die of shame for accusing Trevor of doing something so horrible. "Yes, that would help a lot."
"Well, come on then," he said, walking out of the bar, but with disappointment in his eyes.
We wandered up to the Founders' Festival and he pointed to a food truck which was painted in great big letters which read: Piece of Pie. "There. I got it there. Are you happy now?"
I froze in place. "What is Johnny's dad doing working a food truck?"
"What's the big deal with Doyle working a second job?" asked Trevor. "Lots of people do stuff like that."
"Not people like Doyle," I replied, pushing my way towards the truck. There wasn't anyone buying, though. A guy as rough as Doyle working the counter didn't exactly inspire a sense that cleanliness or customer service was a top priority.
"Hey!" I said, giving Doyle a little wave and trying not to let on anything was out of the ordinary. "Um... could I get a piece of cherry pie?" I asked.
He cut me a slice and threw it onto a paper plate sideways. "Thought you'd be hanging out with Johnny tonight," he said. "That kid of mine didn't even show up to run the dive shop this afternoon."
"Oh!" I replied, pushing a wad of cash across the counter at Johnny's dad. "He was seeing that girl who works in the toll booth. Linda? She somehow got poisoned."
His face became as white as a sheet. "Poisoned?"
"Yeah. No one is quite sure what it was," I replied. "But they found her on the beach this afternoon." I left out the bit that there was a pie in her picnic basket.
Doyle barely registered what I was talking about. He took off his apron and threw it on the counter. "I gotta go."
"Um... sure..." I said, taking the pie. "Could I get my change?"
"It's on the house," he replied, taking off.
I turned around and Tim, the owner of the bait shop was standing beside me. "What is with him?" he asked.
"Something came up at home," I lied.
He shook his head. "Man... was hoping for something sweet." He had a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh. Have you heard if anyone told Georgia's bees she was dead?"
I looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"
"Oh, just figure your Granny's friends hear everything. Wondered if they mentioned Georgia's bees."
"Why would they be talking about Georgia's bees?" I pressed.
Tim seemed to suddenly realize I had no idea what he was talking about. "There's an old tradition when someone dies that you have to tell the hive the owner is dead. If you don't, the hive will move or die. We don't have a lot of pollinators here on the island, and Georgia's bees were pretty much the only reason our gardens grew. Made some really nice honey."
"I... had never heard of that before," I stated.
"Maybe I should see if my wife would be interested in keeping Georgia's bees. Those kids of hers wanted to call an exterminator." Tim shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. I followed where he was looking and saw a crowd of people at a picnic table. They all looked like younger Georgia clones. They were built like bulldogs, dressed in tank tops and cutoffs, and were busy yelling and hitting one another. "They're just waiting for the police to finish their business with Georgia's trailer before they can get in there and fight over who gets what. They don't even care that Georgia really loved those bees," said Tim.
It is funny. Because of Georgia's general awfulness, I had never thought of her as capable of loving something. I mean, let's be honest here, her preferred pets were the kind of animals with a stinger on them, but still, it struck me. "You know, I was over there once and she had a beekeeper's suit. I'll make sure the bees get told."
"Yeah, just go up to the hive and let them know. Who knows about all these traditions, but it seems like a nice way to honor someone. And maybe there's some truth to it. Never hurts to be polite."
But speaking of lessons in politeness, a voice came careening across the picnic area, the voice of a woman I had absolutely no interest in talking to.
"Oooooh nooooo! Are they cloooosed?"
Madison was tipping her way across the grassy field in her stilettos and short, pencil skirt. Her red purse swung from her elbow.
I sighed. "Yeah, an emergency came up," I replied.
Madison looked over at Trevor and pouted. "I soooo wanted a piece of pie." She saw the piece in my hands and before I even realized what she was doing, she grabbed a fork and had speared a bite.
"No, wait!" I started to say.
She looked at me like I was so rude. "I just took a bite," she remarked. "I haven't eaten all day."
Trevor and I watched in horror waiting to see if there were any signs of wooziness.
"What?" she asked, looking up at me with her mouth full.
"Nothing," I replied as Trevor and I exchanged glances. "Just glad you're enjoying it."
Trevor took Madison by the elbow. "Hey! What do you say you let me buy you a real dinner? A person can get so light headed if they haven't eaten and I'd hate for that to happen to you without someone looking out for you." He gave me a look and I got the gist of his subtext. Basically, he was going to take the bullet on this and hang out with her to make sure she didn't fall over dead while I ran the pie to the clinic to have them test it.
As I watched them walk away, Tim leaned over. "Could I have a bite?"
"NO!" I said, covering the pie up with my hands. "Tim, you don't want this pie."
"I don't?"
"Think Sweeney Todd level of pie you don't want," I replied. I saw his face get very confused. "Just, trust me," I added. "I'm so sorry," I told him. "I have to go."
"Sure," said Tim. I'll catch you later, Paige!"
I grabbed a napkin and covered the plate. As I was walking, Nate was coming in.
"Hey, Paige!" he said. His face lit up with happiness and relief to see me. "Can I buy you a drink? I could really use one myself."
I stopped him right there. "Nate," I said. "I need you to drive me to the clinic. Right now."
He looked at me with concern. "Are you okay?"
I motioned to the plate in my hand. "I need to get this pie tested."
Nate paled. "Where did you get the pie?"
"From Doyle, who has gotten a job moonlighting in one of the food trucks."
The silence hung between us.
"That seems very out of character for him," Nate remarked carefully.
"You can say that again," I replied.
Nate was a flurry of motion. "Right this way," he said. "My truck is parked right around the corner." His keys were already in his hand.
We raced towards it and Nate opened up the door so I could climb in. He ran around to the driver's side and hopped behind the steering wheel, instantly revving the engine and pulling out.
As the truck jostled down the road, I asked, "What was going on so bad with you?"
"Nothing," he tried to say, brushing away my concerns. Then he amended his answer. "Madison." He shook his head. "It seems like she is always one step ahead o
f me. There isn't even time to gather the town together for this council meeting. She's got everything in place to start moving forward in, like, a week. I've got one last idea. I'm going to have to be gone all day tomorrow, though," he warned me. He cussed under his breath. "Would it be terrible for me to say that if there is a murderer on the loose, we might not be too upset if he went after Madison?"
"Don't ever say that outside the confines of this truck again," I said.
"I'm sorry. I know," he apologized. "It's not very nice—"
I cut him off to explain there was a whole other level of this conversation he was not aware. "No! It's not that. It's that she ate a piece of this pie and if it's poisoned, we don't want to give Stan or Fred the idea that you wanted it to happen."
"Oh.... that'd be just great," said Nate, groaning. "Because there's nothing I enjoy half as much as getting falsely accused of murder by that pair."
"If I didn't know better, I would think Madison actually wanted to get poisoned, the way she gulped down my pie."
"She ate your pie?" Nate repeated back to me incredulously. "Wait, she came over with a fork and ate a piece of your pie?"
"She didn't even ask."
"She deserves what she gets," said Nate. "I hope that particular pie is laced with cyanide."
We pulled up to the clinic and I ran in before Nate even turned off the car. I raced inside to the nurse on staff.
"I need you to test this pie," I said. "I think it might be poisoned."
The nurse leaped to her feet. "The same tranquilizers that someone tried to poison your grandmother with?"
"And the girl you brought in this afternoon."
"Oh, Linda?" said the nurse quizzically. "We sent her home. She was fine."
I rocked back on my heels. "Wait, what?"
The nurse nodded. "Well, she said she suffers from low blood pressure and just passed out." But the nurse gave me a look which said she didn't buy it for a minute. "We gave her some fluids and some oxygen and released her."
"Wait," I replied, "I was there. She was actually passed out."
The nurse leaned forward. "Sometimes these lonely types... well... they need someone to tell them they are important and they are cared for and they'll... well, sometimes they are not as sick as they pretend to be. They'll come in here and try to get prescriptions from doctors who aren't paying attention."
"That can't be right," I said, thinking of her limp body on the beach, of the cherry pie with a slice out of it. "Where is she now?"
"Johnny said he'd take her home."
I turned to walk out the door, just in time to almost run smack dab into Officer Stan.
"Paige Comber," he growled. "Just the woman I was looking for."
"I really need to go, Stan..." I started to say.
"Where was your grandmother between the hours of 8:00 and 10:00 AM the day Georgia was murdered?"
"She was in the shop, working the counter with me," I replied.
"Can anyone corroborate her whereabouts?"
"Sure. We had a ton of regulars that day. Tim was there and... well, everyone who comes in at that time."
"Oh," said Officer Stan, his face falling.
"Why?"
"Those were the times the coroner told me Georgia died between." He heaved a disappointed sigh. "I guess your granny is cleared."
I rushed towards the door. "That's great!" I said. "I'll let Granny know." I stopped, though, as a thought went off. "Wait, between 8:00-10:00 AM?"
He then cheered. "At least we know that it was someone who was here on the island, because the ferry doesn't even come in until 10:00 AM. Tells you how much work Georgia actually does. No one even noticed she was gone!"
"Thanks," I said. The gears in my brain were churning, almost as fast as my legs began running towards the car.
Nate turned on the engine as I came dashing out the door and leaped into his car. "Everything okay?"
"No," I said. "I need you to head over to the Grand Hotel."
"Why there?"
"It's where Linda was staying until they could get Georgia's place cleared out."
"What's up with Linda?"
"Seems she faked her poisoning," I replied, glancing over at Nate.
"That's not good," he replied.
"And Johnny took her home."
"That is definitely not good."
"And there's something else," I replied.
"What?"
We pulled up in front of the hotel. "Let me just check one thing," I replied.
Nate parked the car and we dashed inside to the front desk. The hotel was popular with honeymooners and wedding parties. It wasn't grand, but as grand as things get on Seaside. It had been built around the turn of the century for visiting muckety-mucks touring the cannery. A smart-looking clerk stood behind the counter, dressed in a navy blue suit. She tucked her curly, brown hair behind her ear and smiled at us as we came in. Bitter Beans sometimes catered for the hotel and they knew Granny well.
"Hello, Paige!" she said and then flashed an extra warm smile at Nate. "And hello, Mr. Edward. Quite an honor having a Founder in our lobby! Did you know that your great-great-grandfather built the Grand Hotel?" she asked, motioning to the pressed tin ceiling and oil landscapes.
"I did not!" said Nate, trying to pretend like he was really interested. "You know, we're in a bit of a hurry tonight, but could I come back and find out more?"
"Absolutely!' she said with a cheery smile. She looked down at her computer. "So, a room for two—"
I stopped her. "No! That's not it. We're looking for a friend of mine."
"Oh," she said, blinking. "Right. Of course. And who is this 'friend'?"
"Did Johnny and a girl named Linda come in? She wasn't feeling well," Nate explained.
"Oh! Johnny! Yes, he and one of our guests came in for a second, but then left. I assume he was taking her swimming. She had her suit and they said something about the dive shop," replied the clerk.
Nate was halfway to the door, but I had one more question. "And one more thing. Nate was talking about covering the cost of the room for her. You know, as a thank you for coming in to help us out in the midst of this tragedy." I could almost feel Nate's eyes bore into the back of my skull as he wondered what exactly I was volunteering him for. "How many days has she been staying?"
The clerk looked down at her computer. "Ah, it looks like she's been here for a week and a half."
"A week and a half," I repeated.
"Yes!" she replied. "How would you like to pay for that, Nate?"
I pretended to pat at my purse and then gave a pointed look at Nate. "Can you believe it? I left your wallet at the pie stand." I turned back to the clerk. "We'll be right back."
"Okay!" she called out after us as we dashed towards the door. "I'll be here!"
Nate opened up the door for me. "What was that about?" he asked.
I buckled myself. "Linda said she got here the morning Georgia died. She said she got on the morning ferry and Georgia was alive and spoke with her. She said Georgia told her to come check into the hotel. But Linda has been here for a week and a half. And Stan just told me that Georgia was dead when the ferry arrived."
Nate closed the door and ran around the front of the car. I leaned across and opened the door for him. He jumped inside, jammed the key in the ignition, and pressed his foot hard on the accelerator. "Do you want to call the station so I can keep my focus on the road?"
I pulled out my phone. "I'm already on it."
We pulled up in front of the dive shop. The side door was ajar and lights were on inside.
"Johnny! JOHNNY!" I screamed out as we leaped out of the car.
Suddenly, from down on the beach, I heard Johnny cry, "OW! What'd you do that for?"
We raced over the bluff and there was Johnny standing in his wetsuit on the beach. Linda turned to look at us and in that moment of distraction, Johnny was able to yank a half-filled syringe out of his bicep.
He shook the hypodermic at her.
"That BURNED," he said to her. "I just say NO to things like that! What did you do?" Johnny stumbled. "We are so broken up now, Linda. Like, for serious... you're the shark..."
I ran for Johnny to catch him before he went face first into the sand, but Nate took off after Linda. She was little, but she was quick. I haven't seen anyone move that fast since my last track and field meet. She was already doubling Nate's speed. All I could think was maybe she couldn't keep up that sort of sprint and he could catch her when she ran out of steam.
It didn't go that long, though, because out of the shadows of the dunes came Doyle and he was armed with an oar. She was looking over her shoulder at Nate and didn't see it coming. In one movement, he cracked it across Linda's thighs, and she fell to the ground, grabbing her legs in pain. He stood over her with the oar and bellowed, "We had an agreement! NOT my son! Georgia, yes, but NOT my son!"
Nate slowed to a stop, bending over to catch his breath, but looked back at me like, "What do we do now?"
Doyle seemed to have the answer. He shouted to me. "Are Stan or Fred on their way?"
"Yeah!" I shouted back.
"I'll watch her!" he replied. "Get my son to the clinic!"
I looked at Doyle. It's the first time I ever knew him to actually stick up for his son. I had no idea what that whole Georgia mention was about, but I gave him a nod.
Nate came over. Nate very carefully picked up the syringe in case it would help the hospital figure out what was wrong with Johnny. We linked arms under Johnny's arms and carried him back to the car. We were leaving just in time to see the light of Stan's car flashing.
I rolled down the window. "We have to take Johnny to the clinic! He's been hurt! His dad has Linda and will explain everything. She did this!"
Stan looked stunned but gathered himself together as he rang Fred for backup and stumbled onto the sand.
Chapter Eighteen
The clinic took good care of Johnny. He was in for the night and they wouldn't let me stay. The nurse just said it was best to let the doctors do their work. Nate had to leave on the morning ferry, and I had the morning rush at Bitter Beans to manage. My mind was reeling the entire time, though. Through the gossip mill, I heard that both Doyle and Linda had been taken into custody, but I didn't know much else and didn't have any time to find out more. As soon as the worst of the crowds were over, I closed up shop, grabbed my bike, and raced to the clinic. The nurses said that Stan and Fred wanted Johnny to drop by the police station as soon as he was able to make a statement. Linda had dosed Johnny with what would have been a lethal dose of horse tranquilizers if we hadn't gotten there at the moment we did. They made some noise about Nate and I being heroes or some nonsense. All I cared about was seeing Johnny. They set me up in a visitor's chair and gave me full control of the TV remote. They joked I was becoming such a regular, I should head up an official candy striper program. I'm not sure how much of that was actually a joke.
