Sam had directions to the pig farm on his GPS which made it seem like this was HIS trip and HIS idea. All the better that I was just along for the ride. If I stumbled on anything out of the ordinary—and how would I know what was ordinary for a pig farm—then I could file it away in my tired brain for later.
We headed inland on a two-lane road. The sun was warm on my shoulders and the breeze ruffled my hair. I snuck a look at Sam, hoping he was having a good time. At least so far.
“It’s a beautiful day,” I said tilting my face toward the sun, “and I appreciate your inviting me along.” Had he really invited me? I was still groggy from last night and not thinking as clearly as I would have liked. “I hope you’re enjoying a day off.” Let him tell me this was not a day off. Not for him. Let him bring up the Heath Barr murder case. I didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. I’d already gotten way too involved. I’d volunteered for way too many ways of helping Sam, being his deputy, serving on his election committee. He didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t want my help, so no more.
I considered turning over the phone I’d found to Sam, but then he’d ask me where and how I’d gotten it and … I felt his gaze on me so I turned and looked out the window.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said blithely for the second time in the last half hour. “What do you mean?”
“You cut your knee. And did something to your forehead.”
“Nothing serious. I just bumped into something in the kitchen yesterday while whipping up a S’Mores Pie. That’s the one with the marshmallow topping.”
“I know what S’Mores are,” Sam said.
“That’s right. We used to make them on the beach.”
Did he remember sitting next to me on a blanket watching the sun set while someone built a bonfire and toasted marshmallows? Did he remember how our lips stuck together in a forbidden kiss? I did. But maybe he’d had many sunset kisses since then and mine had faded away like the setting sun.
“In the kitchen,” I said hastily returning to the subject at hand. “That’s where most accidents happen. Statistically speaking. I’m fine.”
“Put some antiseptic on that cut and cold compresses on your head.”
“I will, thank you. Just as soon as I have a free moment.” I hoped to convey the impression that I was busy as a bee, making and selling pies, with no time for any medical care or extra-curricular activities.
There was a long silence while I tried to think of something non-controversial to say. He beat me to it.
“You don’t usually oversleep,” he said.
I frowned. “How do you know?”
He slanted a look in my direction and I turned my head to look out the window. I didn’t want him studying my face or my knee.
“I work across the street. I usually see your light go on at five in the morning. But not today.”
“You’re spying on me,” I said only slightly surprised.
“I’m just keeping my eye on you. And everyone else in town. It’s my job. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Thank you very much. You know I’ve been on my own for twelve years now and pretty good at taking care of myself. Despite a scratch or two. I’m just glad you’re not my boss,” I said. “I may have to withdraw my application to be your deputy what with all my pie orders piling up. Let’s talk about your work for a change and your unusual hours.” I knew he didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help asking, “What were you doing up at five?”
“I have a murder case on my hands. I’m investigating everyone who had contact with Heath Barr.”
“Including the men who make the sausage,” I noted. “Is that why you’re going to see them?”
I should have known. He was taking me with him as a cover for doing his own investigation. I would make it look like an outing in the country instead of an official visit. It had nothing to do with me personally. Only that he was using me to gain entry to Bill and Dave’s farm without arousing their suspicion that he suspected them of murder. Or something.
“Do you really think someone would kill a critic for bad-mouthing their food?” I asked. Which was exactly what I thought.
“Let’s not talk about murder today. This is my day off,” he said.
I looked at his profile. He was clearly lying but what could I say? I played along.
“Sorry,” I said.
“How are things in the pie business?”
“Can’t complain,” I said. “You saw how brisk business was at the fair. I love getting out and away from the shop. The energy there is contagious. I get to meet new people and reconnect with old friends. Hey, I even met our old ‘pal’ Principal Blandings. I don’t suppose you’ve run into him?”
“He came to see me. Wants me to give a talk at the high school.”
“You? What would you talk about? How to get away with murder? I mean …” I wanted to bite my tongue. What possessed me to mention the word murder. Because it was on my mind. Not my fault.
“I know what you mean. I was in plenty of trouble in high school, which is why he wants me to tell the kids how to avoid doing what I did.”
“Will it include how you turned your life around? I’d like to hear that.”
“Sorry, attendance is restricted to students.”
“How about a preview?”
“Not today.” He meant not today and not ever. He’d never confide in me. I didn’t know why I kept trying to pry information out of him.
What happened in Sam’s past that was so secret? I didn’t believe for a moment he was going to spill his guts to the high school students and not tell me. Never mind. I’d keep trying to catch him at a weak moment. Maybe after a dose of truth serum which I would hide in his coffee.
“I was saying how I’d met some new people and some old friends like Nina Carswell, well she wasn’t exactly a friend, but she’s selling salted caramels at the market,” I said. “Funny, she didn’t look like a traditional candy maker. You know with a white apron, gray hair in a bun and a pair of half glasses.”
“I saw her,” he said. “No apron. No bun.”
“Did you notice she’s absolutely gorgeous?”
He shot me an amused glance. “I noticed. Quite a change.”
I felt a pang of unreasonable jealousy. I liked to think I’d changed since high school too, and for the better, but he’d never said anything. “Do you remember Marty Holloway?” I asked. “She married him and now he’s a veterinarian.”
“That’s interesting,” he said.
“How do you mean?”
“I might get a dog, that’s all. I’d need a vet.”
“He specializes in large animals,” I said. “So you’ll have to find someone else.”
“Not if I get a large dog.”
“If you want a pet, you might think about a pig. From the picture on Bill and Dave’s brochure, they look cute and I hear they make good pets. If you bought one you’d save it from the ax.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. I was sure he was thinking about something else besides making a pet of a pig. But what was it? Even more mysterious than Heath’s murder was the enigma of Sam. He smiled then, so unexpectedly that I had a dizzy spell and the lush vineyards on the side of the road seemed to be waving their leaves at me. But maybe that was due to my head injury or oversleeping.
“I’m looking forward to seeing the farm,” I said. “You know Dave and Bill invited me too.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”
Aha. So that WAS why I was along, to make it seem like a purely social call, when I was sure it wasn’t. Not likely Sam was taking a day off for fun.
“Do you ever take a day off for fun?” I asked.
“I am. This is it,” he said.
Liar.
He pointed to the sign for Bill and Dave’s Blue Sky Ranch, The Primo Pig Farm—“Pasture Perfect” “Heritage Pork from Pigs Who Live Their Lives Outdoors.” And “The
Proof is in the Pork.”
“Did you say they don’t know we’re coming today?” Sam asked as we approached a long driveway with white picket fencing on both sides of the road.
“I don’t think so unless you told them. I wanted to see them at work so I could get an idea of what they do. I hope they’re not mad we didn’t warn them. Maybe they’re too busy to show us around.”
“How would you feel if they did the same and dropped in on you when you were at work?” he asked.
“I have nothing to hide and I always welcome customers,” I said primly. “Frankly I’d be flattered. My door is always open. But we should buy something. Because I’m afraid they might be hurting for sales. I’ll buy whatever they have on hand.”
We pulled up in front of a white barn with green trim around the windows. The air was fresh and clean. It didn’t smell like a barnyard. The pigs I saw were eating at a trough.
“Hanna,” someone called. “Is that you?”
“Probably didn’t expect me in a classy convertible,” I said to Sam.
I turned and saw Bill, the chubby brother, carrying a bucket and walking toward us.
I reintroduced Bill to Sam and told him I hoped he didn’t mind our dropping in like that.
“Glad to see you,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d bring the chief of police along.”
Sam thanked him for inviting him and assured Bill the visit was strictly social. I must have looked apprehensive, but Bill patted me on the back and said, “Just kidding,” with a smile on his round face. “We have nothing to hide but our secret sausage recipe. Bet you two want to see if our pigs are really as happy as we said they were.”
“We’d love to,” I enthused. “If you’ve got time to show us around. I know how busy you farmers are.”
“Never too busy to show off the place,” he said, leading the way to the pasture. “Don’t know if I told you our animals graze on the wild greens. Which is why the meat tastes so good. We raise all their food right here on the farm. Make sure it’s as organic as the pigs.”
“You can’t do all that yourselves, just you and Dave,” I said.
“We have help. People who believe in organic farming as much as we do.” He stopped at the fence and whistled loudly. Several pigs came loping toward us as if to say, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I brought you a pie,” I said. “I remember you said you liked apple.”
He took it out of my hands and bent over the crust to inhale the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. He looked so touched by the gift of a pie, I realized this was my reward for hours in the kitchen. Knowing someone appreciated the work that went into it.
“Thanks,” he said. “This looks wonderful.” He walked over to a small shed and put the pie inside. “It’ll be safe in there,” he said. “Safe from Dave.” He closed the door behind him then he motioned us out to the pasture. He glanced at my sandals with a frown, then he gave me a hand and I climbed over the fence. Sam followed, seemingly as happy as I was to walk through some mud to get the full organic porcine experience.
“They really do look happy,” I said, watching the pigs chase each other around the field.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Bill asked. “They’re free to roam, play, dig in the ground, and roll in the mud.” He took us to the barn where some of his sows had just given birth. He let me hold a squirming, slippery baby pig in my arms.
Sam looked at me with surprise, and maybe even a touch of admiration, as if he didn’t think I had the nerve to hold a baby pig. I had the nerve but not the skill, the pig squirmed out of my grip until I had to let him slide out of my arms to join his siblings in the straw.
A couple of large pigs came running up to us. Bill scratched their heads and they made noises that indicated how much they loved being petted, if you can call it that.
“What kind are those?” I asked, pointing to a group of long-legged, ginger-colored pigs grazing off to one side.
“Tamworths,” Bill said. “I don’t think anyone else around here raises them but us. They make tremendous bacon and wonderful pork. Look at those ears,” he said leaning over the fence.
“They look so alert,” Sam said, “as if they’re listening for something.”
“They cost an arm and a leg, but they’re worth it. We call them the aristocrats and don’t they know it,” Bill said with a grin. “See how they’re looking at us. Dave was against my buying the Reds, but I don’t regret it, even if no one else appreciates them, they’re special. I’ve heard them called gentle giants. You can see why, can’t you?” he asked eagerly.
I nodded. What made him think no one else appreciated the Reds? Those were some special pigs all right. “But Bill, how can you stand to uh … slaughter them?” I gave a little shiver.
“I confess,” he said. “We can’t. We send them off to the organic food processor. But when they come back as roasts, steaks, and hams and of course our sausage, we take over. We have a smoke room and a curing room and a walk-in refrigerator. Come and have a look.”
I turned reluctantly from watching the aristocratic pigs frolic in the pasture and followed Dave to the out-building. I really didn’t want to see what happened to them after being processed. I was in denial about the future of those classy animals and I wanted to stay that way.
Before we got to the building, Bill’s tall lanky brother, Dave, waved to us from across the field. “Bill,” he shouted, “phone.”
Bill frowned. “Guess I’d better take this,” he said. Then he hurried off, leaving us standing there in rich, organic bluegrass.
“I don’t know what to do. Should we go?” I asked Sam after we’d stood there a few minutes.
“Let’s see if he comes back,” he said.
“They did invite me and you too as well as the other vendors to see the place so I don’t feel like we’re intruding. On the other hand—” I turned to see one of the large pigs running on his short legs toward us. No, not toward us, but toward me. Although I thought the pigs were extremely attractive on the whole, I wasn’t so sure about this one. I didn’t like the way he was closing in on me. I don’t know how or why exactly, it was more instinct than anything, but I turned around and started running. I heard Sam yelling at me to stop and come back but I also heard those little pig footsteps behind me, gaining on me and I didn’t stop until I got to the fence. I panted, I gasped, and I climbed over just as the pig reached the narrow wooden slats. I tumbled forward and landed on my butt on the other side of the fence. This on top of my adventure last night. Half dazed, I looked at my feet splattered with mud. I had to admit the pig behind the fence with his snout pressed against the wood no longer seemed as dangerous. Maybe he just liked running. I felt a little foolish and was hoping no one but Sam had seen me.
Instead of Bill finding me or Sam catching up to me, Dave walked over, helped me up and said hello as if it was not a bit surprising to find me running across his field and leaping over the fence while being chased by his prize pig. Maybe he wasn’t aware he had a demon pig on his hands. He was wearing muddy knee-high boots and he seemed out of breath too.
When Sam joined us I introduced them. “Sorry to interrupt your tour,” he said. “But this was an important call. We’re hoping to get a loan from the bank because, well, my brother has some expensive tastes.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“You mean the Tamworth pigs?” I asked. “They’re something special. Even I could tell. They’re very fast runners.”
“So are you,” Sam said under his breath.
“Not just the pigs,” Dave said. “Wait till you see the smoke room and the curing room. Everything has to be first class. Things were going okay for us, then that damned food critic with his critical review comes alone and bingo, no bank loan.”
“Just because of what he wrote about you?” I asked incredulously.
“That set off a whole chain reaction. We were already in debt to the processor, the distributor, and just about everybody else in and out of town. But
George Hamill at the bank was ready to make the loan to keep us afloat until he reads the review, he takes another look at our sales figures, and he turns us down flat. Bill was so mad at that smarmy Heath. If anyone deserved to die it was him. But what could we do? The damage was done. You know Bill, he’s not taking no for an answer. He left a call in for George to ask for a second chance. That’s what this is about I’m sure. What do you think George is going to say?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to hazard a guess.
Dave’s lower lip trembled. I looked away. I was afraid he was going to cry. But he pulled himself together. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Who knows how long Bill will be,” he said.
The smoke house was a nice-looking little wooden structure with a slanted rooftop. Delicious smoky aromas wafted in the air. Dave opened the door so we could catch a look at ten or more chrome-plated shelves full of sausages and brackets for hanging huge hams and shanks of pork.
“I don’t want to keep you any longer,” Dave said, “but we’d like to offer you a loin or some chops from the freezer to take home with you. We’ve got sausage too.” Even though I was in no hurry to go, maybe Sam was. Being his inscrutable self, I had no idea if he was bored or having the time of his life. Why was he here, really? I didn’t believe for a minute he was taking a day off.
“Go ahead,” Sam said to me. I realized he hadn’t said much about my hasty race across the field. Maybe he expected me to do something impulsive and wasn’t surprised. “I’ll be out interacting with the redheads.”
I watched him amble out toward the pasture, where the pigs appeared to ignore him. Then I followed Dave behind the barn where a huge shiny white walk-in freezer made of fiberglass stood. He led the way between large pallets stacked next to the freezer waiting to be loaded, or so he said. I could only hope he had enough orders to fill those pallets. He opened the door and invited me to go in and choose whatever I wanted, the cuts were all clearly marked and ready for market.
Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) Page 10
