Sweet as Pie Crimes

by Anisa Claire West

  “Hi, are you Benson?” I cooed.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said ironically as I flinched in surprise.

  “Oh, well,” I muttered, “I just wanted to meet the owner and congratulate him on a job well done. This is a great place.”

  “Thank you,” he received proudly. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before. What’s your name?”

  “Leilani.” The tropical name rolled off my tongue as he arched an interested eyebrow.

  “Nice name,” he said with glimmering eyes.

  “Why don’t you join me?” I asked, ignoring the gleam in his green-gray eyes.

  “I’d love to, Leilani, but I’ve got customers to tend to.”

  “Yes, and you’re talking to one right now. Just have one drink with me. I’m new to the area and I’ve been so lonely lately…” My self-loathing grew with every fib I told. At the same time, the lying became easier and, with each sip of my spritzer, I could feel myself relaxing.

  “Well, I suppose I could join you for a drink or two. Welcome to San Francisco,” he bellowed, grabbing a frosty bottle of Corona and holding it up in an impromptu toast.

  “Thank you,” I said, raising my glass and then draining it.

  “Let me get you another one of those. On the house,” Benson said heartily as he refilled my glass. I glanced at his freckled hands, noticing that he didn’t wear a wedding band. Either he had gotten divorced and Marcus wasn’t aware of it…or he kept the wedding band at home so he could chat up pretty strangers like “Leilani.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.” I immediately brought the glass to my lips and took a deep swallow, as though the liquid could offer me much needed strength. “So are you married?” I ventured as Benson looked surprised.

  “Well you just cut right to the chase, don’t you, young lady?” He chuckled lasciviously, and I thought how the only redeeming thing about him was that he had referred to me as ‘young lady’ rather than ‘ma’am.’

  “It’s just a question,” I said dismissively.

  “And the answer is no. I’m divorced.” Something in his tone alerted me that he was digging some deep dish lies of his own, but I didn’t say anything. As he leered at me, I wondered how much more of this ridiculous banter I could tolerate. Flirting with even a handsome stranger in a bar was completely out of character for me, let alone engaging in small talk with a possible murderer.

  Cold liquid and ice on my wrist startled me as I turned to my left while an older gentleman immediately apologized. “So sorry. I’m so clumsy. Let me clean that up for you.”

  As the gentleman wiped down the bar with a napkin, Benson peered at him through narrowed eyes. “Not very nice to spill a drink on a lady,” he barked.

  “It was an accident,” the meek older man explained.

  “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Benson said accusingly as the man stared down at the bar as he continued to swish around the napkin.

  “I think I’m fine now, thank you,” I said gently as the man curiously kept sponging up the liquid.

  “I know I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Benson reprised, all notions of flirting apparently erased. “On TV? No. Where have I seen you?” Benson scratched his plush beard with consternation before bursting out, “You’re that doctor from the newspaper blog! The one who was defending that lowlife murderer who killed his wife!”

  My eyes bulged out as I put two and two together, instantly recognizing the benevolent face of Dr. Bill Townsend, whom the blog had featured as a staunch supporter of Marcus. I had already suspected that Dr. Townsend helped Marcus escape San Quentin, but apparently he was also a part of the plan to frame Benson Helling. As I opened my mouth to speak to the doctor, he bolted from his bar stool, knocking another drink over as he raced to flee the restaurant.

  “What the hell is going on here? I’m calling the police!” Benson shouted as I hightailed it out of the bar, feeling his unsettling eyes boring into me as I ran.

  I looked around the parking lot wildly, gasping for air as a blue Corvette sped off in a choking billow of exhaust fumes. Marcus was in the driver seat of my sedan with the engine already fired up. I raced to the passenger side, fumbling with the door momentarily before hurling myself into the car.

  “Benson’s calling the police,” I said urgently as Marcus accelerated to a speed I hadn’t known my boring old car was capable of handling.

  The stench of burning rubber permeated the northern California air as Marcus whirled out of the parking lot in the opposite direction of the Corvette. More questions buzzed in my brain as I prayed the police wouldn’t catch us now. Tack on a speeding ticket to the offenses we had already committed and Marcus wouldn’t be the only one headed to the slammer.

  “Why would Benson call the police if he has something to hide? Wouldn’t he be afraid of the police?” I wondered aloud as Marcus careened sideways to avoid a pothole.

  “He’s cocky, that’s why. He’s gotten away with this murder all these years and thinks he’ll never get caught.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, nodding my head and trying to stay serene in the wake of the ongoing mania. “So Dr. Townsend was your accomplice?”

  “Damn it, Becca! Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer!”

  “But I saw him in there…and that was him driving away in the Corvette, right?” I persisted as Marcus clamped his lips shut angrily. “Why is he putting his life and freedom on the line for you? Is he your long lost uncle or something?” Again, the inappropriate humor, I know. I should start biting my nails instead of putting my foot in my mouth all the time.

  Instead of mocking me, Marcus answered levelly, “He’s putting his life on the line for me because I’ve done the same thing for him. In a sense.” He took a long pause before resuming in a grave voice. “His oldest granddaughter has a rare genetic disorder that causes her vision to gradually deteriorate until she’s completely blind. I was doing research on her condition. I was this close,” he made a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger, “this close to finding a cure when I was arrested.”

  “Wow,” I breathed, humbled by his explanation and hating myself even more for my ill-timed one liner.

  “She’s 10 years old now. Her name is Victoria, and to my knowledge, no one’s been researching her disorder because it’s so rare. So there’s no real money or glory in finding a cure. But if I could just get back to work, I wouldn’t quit until I finally found a cure and made sure she would never lose her eyesight.” Marcus spoke passionately and with more sincerity in those few breaths than I had heard in all three years of my marriage combined.

  “What do we do next? How can we get you back to work when we can’t even get your name cleared?” My voice rose in frustration as I felt more invested than ever in making sure Marcus never went back to prison. They’d have to take me in kicking, biting, and screaming before I would reveal any of the secrets he had confided in me.

  “Duck down!” Marcus yelled abruptly.

  Without needing to look, I heard the blaring sirens behind us, as a police car closed in on our vehicle.

  Chapter 10

  Tension was thicker than a firelog as the cop car rode our bumper. We both knew we were trapped and had to pull over. His face crumbling in defeat, Marcus veered my car over to the side of the road as a whimper of fear escaped my throat. Coughing to cover up my moment of weakness, I looked stoically in front of me, prepared to meet whatever fate awaited me in jail and beyond.

  “Huh? Wait a second!” Marcus yelled in amazement. “They’re not pulling us over! They just wanted to get around us!”

  “Please tell me you’re not kidding,” I squeaked, afraid to look up and see if he was right or just hallucinating.

  “I’m definitely not kidding,” Marcus proclaimed, tilting my face toward the driver side window so I could see the police car speeding away.

  “Oh what a close call,” I exhaled in overwhelming relief.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m getting paran
oid from being on the run for so long. Every time I even see a mall security guard, I get worried that my time is up. But this isn’t Buttercup Valley. Cops have lots of people to chase here in California,” Marcus said with a knowing chuckle.

  My face still vibrated from the light touch of his hand and all I could do was nod. The more time I spent with this man, and the more near-death experiences we shared, the more explosive our chemistry became. Did he feel it too? Or was it just me? Remembering how awful I looked with the heavy bags under my eyes and wan coloring from dehydration, I wasn’t so sure. But his touch had felt so soft, so solicitous…

  “What the hell?” Marcus muttered as the sound of a phone ringing invaded my private musings.

  “You have a cell phone?” I asked incredulously.

  “A disposable one. A friend provided it for me.”

  I smiled gently, impressed how he still tried to protect Dr. Bill Townsend, even though we both knew the older physician was the only one likely to have provided the phone. Marcus pressed a button and spoke into the narrow receiver.

  “Yes? Yes. What’s going on?” A breathless silence followed Marcus’s question. “Are you sure?” He finally spoke in a hushed tone. “Really? I mean, is this even possible? This is unbelievable. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down right now. You’re absolutely sure?? Oh man. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  As Marcus slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket, I looked at him expectantly. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” My temper flared when he made no response. “Look, I’ve gone above and beyond what most people would do for you, Marcus, and you can’t keep me in the dark. I have a right to know what’s going on!”

  “You’re right, Becca,” he agreed solemnly. “You’ve been there for me in ways that even my own family hasn’t. You’re a pearl of a woman.”

  “Spare me the compliments. Just tell me what’s going on!”

  He grinned in that deliciously arrogant fashion that had attracted me to him in the first place, albeit against my will and better judgment. My shoulders relaxed down my back and my heart rate slowed, as I sensed that whatever he had to say was actually good news.

  “Do me a favor. Turn on that thing.” He gestured to my iPad in its smooth case.

  Obliging him, I switched it on and logged onto the internet. “Something you want me to search for?”

  “Yes. Search for my name,” he prompted me, now grinning from ear to ear.

  “I already did that yesterday or the day before or whenever! I’m so exhausted, I’m losing track of time,” I complained despairingly, wondering what kind of game he was playing with me.

  “Search again. There should be some new information,” he said confidently, although his voice trembled just slightly with nervousness.

  I typed his name into the search engine, astonished by how many articles had been published in the past 24 hours. The first headline I saw announced:

  Landscaper Finds Murder Weapon While Planting Rose Garden

  I clicked on the article as Marcus leaned over my shoulder, making an exultant noise as I read the article out loud.

  “Marcus Briton may soon be a vindicated man rather than one of America’s Most Wanted after a landscaper in northern California makes shocking discovery. Three weeks ago, the landscaper, who wishes to remain anonymous, was tending the rose garden of one of his long time clients. During the process of digging, the landscaper unearthed a plastic bag containing a butcher knife with dried blood. Due to the ongoing investigation, authorities are refraining from identifying the owner and address of the property where the knife was found. The landscaper immediately brought his finding to police, who sent it to crime labs for DNA testing. The results, which came in earlier today, show the presence of two distinct DNA profiles. One of them belongs to murder victim Caitlyn Briton, and the other belongs to an unidentified male. Police have now reopened the case and are turning to the public for any possible information leading to the identification and arrest of the murderer.”

  “Marcus, this is amazing! Your DNA wasn’t even on the knife!” I burst out, shocked at my own words. Maybe I hadn’t completely trusted his innocence, just as I never totally trusted any man.

  “Of course my DNA isn’t on the knife!” Marcus said jubilantly, too excited about the discovery to take offense at my doubting comment. “It was Benson Helling’s DNA, and my friend is going to help me prove it.”

  “You mean Dr. Townsend?” I clarified, tired of dancing around the truth.

  “Yes. Now I can tell you for certain. That saint of a man was the person who just called me. At the bar just now, he snatched the glass that Helling was drinking from and drove it down to the police station. All they have to do is test the glass and see if the DNA profile matches the one on the knife. And I’m damn sure it will!”

  “Oh wow, I didn’t even see him grab a glass before he left!” I thought back to the blur of time from the moment Helling recognized Dr. Townsend to the flash when the physician fled the bar and grille. In my own panic and haste to get back to Marcus, I must not have noticed Dr. Townsend grabbing the all-important item.

  Marcus gazed at me through those mesmerizing crystal blue eyes as he slowed the car to a stop. “I can’t wait another moment to do this. If you’ll let me…”

  “Kiss me!” I enthused, blushing at my own reaction but deep down not caring what a blatant invitation I had issued.

  “Don’t tell me twice,” he muttered, swooping in and bringing my face towards his as we joined our lips together in a kiss so magical it made me forget about unsolved crimes and unbaked pies and unfaithful ex-husbands. All we had was the softness of each other’s lips and the scent of one another’s skin as we both dove ardently into the kiss and unlocked secret passions with each breath.

  Epilogue

  3 Weeks Later

  Buttercup Valley, Washington

  Deep Dish Delights Pie Shoppe

  Spraying the whipped cream onto my newest Sensual Strawberry Rhubarb pie, I looked proudly at my decadent creation, hoping that it would be another runaway success. But it wasn’t the county fair judges who I cared about impressing this time. There was only one person whose seal of approval I sought with this deep dish pie. Carrying the glass serving platter in my hands, I strolled to the front of the shoppe where Marcus was waiting patiently, sipping a mocha latte.

  “That looks incredible,” he said, smacking his lips as I smiled in satisfaction.

  “Let’s hope it tastes even more incredible. You’re the first one to try it,” I revealed, setting the dish in front of him as he eagerly dug in with a fork.

  “Oh. Oh! This is too good to be true.” He licked the fork and gazed at me with pleasure. “And I’m not talking about the pie. You’re too good to be true, Becca.”

  Since my divorce, I had struggled too long with the jaded myth of “too good to be true.” Why couldn’t a person be both good and true? Through leaps and bounds of faith, I had found Marcus to possess the seemingly incompatible qualities of goodness and truth. Once the forensic tests came back from the crime lab, Benson Helling’s DNA on the knife had been positively identified with a staggering .001 percent margin of error. Following this revelation, he had been arrested at his bar and grille as Marcus’s name was finally cleared. On that day, I had learned that my faith in Marcus had not been misplaced. He truly deserved my trust despite our rocky beginning, what with the car accident and kidnapping! I shook my head in silent laughter, remembering the moment I had finally told Marcus that I was divorced. Initially, he had been annoyed that I had withheld this information, but he couldn’t argue when I pointed out that if I could forgive him for kidnapping me, then he could certainly let it slide that I hadn’t told him about my divorce!

  Now as we sat together, sharing a slice of impossibly sweet strawberry pie, I wondered how I was going to break it to Lori that we were a couple. I hoped she would understand but knew that the idea of dating my captor might earn at least a frown of disapproval fr
om her, if not a preachy lecture. Maybe if she knew that he’s a pediatrician and still devotedly pushing towards a cure for little Victoria’s eye condition Lori would understand my love for him. But as my eyes merged with Marcus’s, and I swept a pie crumb off his stubbly face, I didn’t care what anyone thought anymore. I didn’t know what the future held for the two of us, but I knew he was here with me now. And he made me very, very happy. Almost as happy as a second slice of this gooey, luscious pie would make me.

  ***

  *BONUS SECTION*

  10 MOUTH WATERING PIE RECIPES

  TURN THE PAGE TO START BAKING LIKE BECCA!!

  Recipe #1

  Sensual Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

  2 unbaked pie shells

  3/4 cups of sugar

  1/3 cups of flour

  1/4 teaspoon of salt

  2 1/2 cups of fresh strawberries, cut in half

  2 1/2 cups of rhubarb pieces

  Combine sugar, flour, salt, strawberries, and rhubarb. Mix well. Place filling in an unbaked pie shell, Cover with top shell. Crimp edges. Cut a few slits in top crust. Bake at 375 for 25 minutes with foil wrapped around edge of pie. Remove the foil and bake until golden brown for 25 minutes. For an extra injection of fruit flavor, serve with strawberry ice cream (Häagen Dazs is the recommended brand for its creaminess!)

  Recipe #2

  Cling Peaches Pie

  1/2 cup of sugar

  2 eggs (organic, cage-free)

  Pinch of salt

  1 unbaked pie shell

  6 sliced fresh peaches

  Fill pie shell with sliced, fresh peaches. Mix sugar, eggs, and salt together. Pour egg mixture over peaches. Bake at 350 degrees until peaches are cooked and custard is set in center, about 45 minutes. Serve with peach syrup, whipped cream, and a sprig of mint for garnish.