Pistols & Pies (Sweet Bites Book 2) (Sweet Bites Mysteries)

by Heather Justesen

  The phone rang and Lenny picked it up and started talking. I assumed it was Detective Tingey. When he said to come right over, he must have gotten an affirmative response because he hung up.

  “Okay, he’s coming.” Lenny finally sat across from me, covering my hand with his own on the table. “Settle down and take a few more deep breaths. Tell me about the online ordering system Honey set up. Maybe I can figure out where the email came from.”

  I explained the nature of the website and about the form. He returned to the computer and started playing with it, pulling up information about the email and tracking it back to a certain IP address, verbalizing each step along the way. Oh yeah, he was a handy guy to have around—have I mentioned that before?

  “Well, I found the IP address, which wasn’t easy since the info comes off one of your forms instead of from a normal email.” He clicked a few more buttons, looking smug. “And it’s coming from town. If they contact the internet provider, they can prove if it came from Eric’s house.”

  Detective Tingey walked in and the bell chime made me jump; it seemed loud as a church bell. “What are you doing?”

  “He tracked the IP address for an email we got,” I said.

  Tingey came around and stood over Lenny’s shoulder. I filled the detective in on what we’d been doing since the email came through. Tingey looked irritated that Lenny had been playing in the computer.

  Tingey turned to me, glaring. “I told you to stay out of this.”

  “I haven’t done anything overt,” I argued. “Okay, so I went to the building site for the new school and talked with one of the guys there, but I kept my questions pretty generic, mostly about the building and a little about Marty Grizzle. It turns out that he may not have a legitimate alibi after all.” I felt a zing of triumph at having news to share.

  “When did you learn this?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

  I felt self-conscious. Things had been really crazy. “Well, I was going to call you soon. I went yesterday afternoon, but I’ve been busy getting things ready for a cake I have to deliver today.”

  His lips pressed together in an angry line and his brow furrowed. “Yeah, yeah, save it for later. So tell me about this alibi.”

  I told him what Marty had said about going to the building site, and he agreed he’d heard the same thing. I mentioned talking with Jared and how he said Marty had left early, probably after only half an hour or so, maybe even twenty minutes. “So the question is did he go to the fitness center, or somewhere else,” I said. “Because if he went back to the center, he might have had time to kill Eric. It’s a stretch, but not impossible.”

  Tingey’s glare still hadn’t eased. “Okay, well, that’s interesting. I’ll check into it. See where he went next.” He turned to go, but stopped before he reached the door. “By the way, we got ballistics back on that gun. It was the murder weapon. Unfortunately there were no prints on it, so we have no idea who used it.”

  I frowned, suddenly very nervous. “You don’t think I planted it there?”

  “No, but even with the information you sent me, I still can’t prove that you’re innocent. I also have no evidence one way or the other about Gary’s involvement, so don’t tick him off.”

  “Thanks, Detective Tingey. I really appreciate you coming in to check on this,” Lenny said.

  “No problem.” He turned to Lenny. “Did you forward that to me?”

  “Done. And we’ll keep an eye out for any other ones that look bad. I don’t want anything to happen to her.” He shot me a glance like he thought I might object to staying safe.

  “That makes two of us,” Tingey said.

  Though I doubted that Tingey was nearly as attached to me as Lenny was, I was still glad that he was taking this seriously. I wasn’t really interested in getting hurt or killed.

  Marge’s shop was much smaller than mine, but it always had a sweet scent of vanilla from an air freshener, and a bright collection of cards and gifts near the entrance. Marge sat behind the cash register, ringing up purchases for a woman I’d met once or twice. “Nice to see you, Tess,” Marge greeted me. “Hold on, will you?”

  “Sure. I’ll just look around.” Sometimes I got so wrapped up in my own work that I never made it to anyone else’s store, so it had been a few weeks since I’d crossed the street to her place. She made it to mine for a snack several times each week, and that made me feel guilty for being such a bad neighbor and friend.

  Ever since my return to Silver Springs, she had stepped into my grandmother’s shoes as mentor. It had been a long time since my parents had died—twelve years last month—and I’d relied on Grandma to be my guide and sounding board when I needed a motherly figure—even if I had already been an adult at the time. Marge wasn’t nearly the same, but she always listened and gave me advice that Grandma would have likely approved of.

  She waved the other customer from the store after they paid and came over, giving my arm a quick squeeze. “How are things going for you today?” she asked.

  “Could be worse.” I followed her back to the folding chairs she kept near the register. “Business is steady. If thing keep growing, I’ll need Lenny full time before much longer.”

  “I know how much you like having him there. It’s hard to deal with employees who don’t have a clue what they’re doing or who get lazy on you.”

  “It is, but Lenny’s more like a little brother—although, that brings its own problems to the table.” I grinned at her and accepted the peppermint Lifesaver she offered to me. “But my biggest worry is that I’m afraid he’ll get bored working for me since we don’t do as many fun projects here as we did in Chicago. I really want this to be a good situation for him.” Especially considering he’d given up Kat to come here. I pursed my lips when I thought of how unhappy it had made him.

  “He and that girl not made up yet?”

  “No. And he won’t talk about it. He just said she wanted to get married and wouldn’t come without a ring. Apparently he’s scared spitless, but he won’t discuss it. I talked to her on the phone the other day and she’s so upset, wondering why she’s not good enough for him to marry. They’re both so wrapped up in their own pain, it’s like they can’t see what they’re doing to each other. I just don’t get it.”

  “You understand where she’s coming from, though, don’t you?” Her look was the knowing one that really irritated me sometimes, especially when I was feeling just a little sensitive about how things were going. And why I couldn’t keep a man interested.

  “I understand, and she’s right, but I still hate seeing them hurting. Oh, hey.” I needed to change the subject before this got any more personal. “I wondered what you could tell me about Anise … you know, the lady who’s the CEO at Nova Cosmetics? I can’t pronounce her last name. I think it starts with an X.”

  Marge laughed. “I don’t know anyone who can pronounce it when they first look at it. It’s Xochictl. Comes from some native Mexican tribe. It’s pronounced so-she.”

  “Really?” I wondered how that word could ever sound like Soshe. Crazy. “Well, I need a chance to talk to her, to try to feel her out about the situation with the audit, but I’m not sure how to approach her. Any suggestions?”

  Marge thought about it for a moment, then started to smile. “Yeah. I think I do.”

  I loaded the cake into my car and headed out to the new reception center on the edge of town. The day had already been long and emotional, but the cake was beautiful and I couldn’t wait to get it set up and have the bride ooh and ahh over it.

  The drive out to the center was long, with a winding road among the hills. I used the time to think about what I still had to do that day and what was on the docket for the next week. I also thought about Lenny and Kat. I wanted to fix it somehow, but I had no clue how to make things work out for them. Lenny was in pain, and when I’d mentioned Kat to him that morning, he winced.

  I guided the car around a bend, whistling a pop tune from my teen years, occasion
ally filling in the lyrics I remembered, when I caught a glimmer out of the corner of my eye; sunlight flashing off something to the left. As I started to turn my head toward it, there was a loud pop! and the crash of glass. I yanked the wheel as the car veered off the dirt road. Heart pounding, I managed to get back on the road without overcorrecting, dirt flying into the air, thrown by my tires. My hands grew clammy on the wheel. What had happened? I heard another popping noise and realized it was a gun. Someone had shot at me. I dared a look behind and saw that the breaking glass I’d heard had been my backseat window.

  No way could this be happening.

  I sped to the reception center, not wanting to pull over and put myself at risk. I wondered if I would be safe there and fumbled for my phone to call Tingey.

  When he answered on the other end, my hands started to shake and I wondered if my voice sounded as wimpy to him as it did to me. “Someone shot at me,” I told him as I pulled into the parking lot. I got out of my car and ran inside, not bothering to check on the cake. I glanced over my shoulder, but couldn’t see anyone following me. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel better.

  “You did? Where? What happened? Do I need to send an ambulance?”

  “No, I’m fine. I just….” I felt my breath hitch and I struggled for air, but the door of the center opened when I leaned against it and I got inside where I felt at least marginally safer. I explained what had happened and he promised to send backup and be there shortly. Finally, I went into the ladies room and stood at the sink, looking at myself in the mirror and sucking in air as fast as I could, trying to calm down. I dabbed at a few spots on my face where I was bleeding. I hadn’t even felt the pain from the shattered glass.

  About ten minutes later—though it felt like much longer—the wail of sirens approached the reception center. I went to the door, staying out of sight until the cops parked in the lot beside my SUV. Feeling safe now, I stepped outside. There was a murmur from the guests in the next room where the ceremony would take place in half an hour. Relieved to be alive and among others, I started to feel the adrenalin dissipate as I approached Officer Mitchell.

  I wrapped my arms around my waist, shivering slightly even though it was hot outside. “Hi, so you got the lucky break to check on me. Again.”

  “We really have to stop meeting this way,” he said. He’d responded the previous spring when I’d been injured, and I’d only seen him a few times around town since.

  “Tell me about it.” I decided to lighten the mood. “Maybe if you came into my shop once in a while, we could end this round of bad luck.”

  “You can’t goad me into trying your desserts,” he said with a returning smile. “I know what happens to those people who do. I’ve heard they become addicted.”

  “Too true.” I was going to make a joke about how he should test my food for illegal substances to see if that’s why people couldn’t help themselves, but decided that was taking the joke too far. I might have been lightheaded still from being shot at.

  “So.” He studied my SUV. “It looks like you had some trouble here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He guided me back inside. “Actually, how about if you tell me about it instead? But first, you have some cuts on your face. You’re bleeding,” he said.

  I touched my cheek and it left a smear of blood on my hands. “I thought I got that.”

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said, pulling out his radio.

  “No, I’m fine. Really. No need for an ambulance. Give me a second?” I gestured to the bathroom so I could look at myself in the mirror.

  He nodded and I went in to look at myself in the mirror. I cleaned up again and came back out to finish my interview.

  Only then did I remembered the cake and I hurried to the back of my Outlander, opening pastry boxes to make sure it was still intact. I sighed in relief when I realized I could fix the minor damage incurred by my wild veering around the road. I was glad the heat hadn’t had time to melt the fondant, though it was definitely getting soft.

  “Can you help me bring the cake in before it turns to mush?” I asked Officer Mitchell. “I’ll fill you in while we move it inside.” For a moment I was afraid he wouldn’t let me, citing the fact that my vehicle was now a crime scene, but being the nice guy he is, he agreed.

  I carried the cake inside while the other officers documented the damage to the vehicle. Officer Mitchell went through everything we brought inside, checking it for evidence before letting me open the boxes. When I was sure my masterpiece was safe, I returned for my tools and the extra flowers.

  By the time I finished fixing the cake, Detective Tingey was at the reception center and I had to repeat my story again. The major benefit of this, though, was that repeating what happened helped me calm down and think more clearly.

  Twenty minutes later, I was taking a final look at the cake to make sure it was perfect when Detective Tingey walked into the room. “Looks like you’re ready to go. Hey, that looks really nice.” He studied the cake for a moment. “Bet it set them back a pretty penny.”

  “You would be right.” I grabbed my camera and stepped away to take a photo for my website. “But it looks great, doesn’t it? Even after the accident? And it’ll taste even better.” I snapped a couple of pictures, before collecting my things and heading for the door.

  When I reached him, I asked, “Do you have any idea who wants me dead?”

  “If I did, do you think I’d be here chatting with you, or out trying to catch them?”

  “I’d like to think that you’d be on the chase.” I thought about my vehicle and how much abuse it had taken in my search for killers. “My insurance company is not going to be happy about this, you know.”

  “I’m sure they won’t.” We stopped at my door. “I’d like you to show us where the shooting occurred and where you think the shooter was standing at the time, if possible. I’d like to see if we can get any evidence from where he stood.”

  “Okay.” I led the way, watching all around me, every inch of the way, nervous about the possibility of another attack, though anyone would have to be stupid to try again when I was under police escort. When we reached the place where I was pretty sure I’d been at the time of the shooting, I pulled over and looked around, finding the tracks where I had left the road for a moment. There were shards of glass on the ground. I tried to picture it in my mind and looked up at the hill where I’d seen the glint of light.

  Tingey came over to my door. “This it?”

  “I’m pretty sure, yeah. I was driving along when I saw light reflecting off something over there.” I pointed toward the trees I’d seen. “I remember that tall pine because it was so out of place. The glint came from the left and maybe not so high up.”

  He nodded and made a note in his book. “Can you follow me back to the station for an official report? We’ll do a quick interview so you can go back to your shop.”

  “Thanks.” My phone started to ring as he walked back, and I pulled it out. “Hello, Lenny. What’s up?”

  “You’ve been gone longer than I expected. I wondered if you were having a problem. I have a customer in here who wants to order peach-raspberry cobbler for next Tuesday. She said you often make it special for her, but it isn’t on the menu, so I’m not sure what to do.”

  I smiled. The peach-raspberry cobbler was almost the only thing I sent out the door uncooked. She liked to bake it herself to impress her family. I handled that issue, giving him a suitably vague response as to what was keeping me so long and hung up just before we pulled into the parking lot at the police station.

  1-32 oz can of peaches—sliced, not halved—with 3/4 cups of the syrup

  4 cups fresh or frozen raspberries (about 12-14 oz)

  1/2 cup sugar

  1 tsp cinnamon

  1 box white or yellow cake mix

  1/2 cup of butter, but you may need a tad more

  Preheat oven to 350 degree. Pour the peaches with the syrup into a 9x13 pan. S
prinkle on the raspberries, the sugar and cinnamon. Sprinkle on the cake mix (I like to use my scratch cake recipe, but boxed mix works fine). Slice the butter into pats and cover the cake mix with it.

  Bake for 45 minutes, checking after 30 minutes to see if there are any dry spots. If so, add a little more butter to them. Serve while still warm with whipped topping or ice cream.

  I walked into the shop through the kitchen door and Lenny came straight back to talk to me, his jaw dropping in surprise when he saw me. “You said something came up, but you didn’t say you were hurt. What happened? You have cuts all over.”

  I blinked in surprise. I’d totally forgotten about that. Tingey had tried to get me to see a doctor too, but the last thing I wanted right now was to go to a hospital when I wasn’t dying. “I’m fine. It’s nothing—just a few scratches.” He did have a point, though. I probably ought to clean up before working with customers.

  Lenny said several colorful words that had me looking into the front of the store and wincing when a little girl piped up, “Daddy, did you hear those naughty words?”

  I elbowed Lenny. “Watch your language around customers.” I knew that little girl’s voice—it was Sadie, which meant Jack or his mother was here. If Lenny freaked when he saw me, I was afraid I’d scare Sadie.

  “Sorry,” but Lenny looked irritated, not sorry. “I just can’t believe you think this is fine. What happened to you?”

  I rolled my eyes at how loud he was being. I should have gone upstairs and washed off the blood before checking in with him. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see Jack standing in the window between the customer area and kitchen. “Hey there,” I greeted, wishing I could disappear. Why did he always see me at my worst?