Thin Crust Killers

by Chris Cavender

  The First Time Ever Published by the New York Times Bestselling Author of A Slice of Murder!

  The ‘LOST’ Pizza Mystery, 2B!

  THIN CRUST KILLERS

  By

  Chris Cavender

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other Books by Chris Cavender

  Chris Cavender is the pseudonym for the New York Times Bestselling Author of several different popular cozy mystery series.

  To my loyal readers! | Without you, this would all just be whistling in the dark!

  Thin Crust Killers by Chris Cavender; Copyright © 2014 | All rights reserved. | No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. | Recipes included in this book are to be recreated at the reader’s own risk. The author is not responsible for any damage, medical or otherwise, created as a result of reproducing these recipes. It is the responsibility of the reader to ensure that none of the ingredients are detrimental to their health, and the author will not be held liable in any way for any problems that might arise from following the included recipes.

  Foreword | FAIR WARNING:

  As always, my very best to you all, | The Author

  “Once Lost , Now Found!” | The Author

  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

  Cast Iron Pizza

  Other Books by Chris Cavender

  The Pizza Mysteries

  A Slice of Murder

  Pepperoni Pizza Can Be Murder

  Thin Crust Killers (NEW)

  A Pizza to Die For

  Rest in Pizza

  Killer Crust

  The Missing Dough

  Chris Cavender is the pseudonym for the New York Times Bestselling Author of several different popular cozy mystery series.

  To my loyal readers!

  Without you, this would all just be whistling in the dark!

  Thin Crust Killers by Chris Cavender; Copyright © 2014

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Recipes included in this book are to be recreated at the reader’s own risk. The author is not responsible for any damage, medical or otherwise, created as a result of reproducing these recipes. It is the responsibility of the reader to ensure that none of the ingredients are detrimental to their health, and the author will not be held liable in any way for any problems that might arise from following the included recipes.

  Foreword

  FAIR WARNING:

  This book, though never before published, was written between pizza mysteries #2 & #3, Pepperoni Pizza Can Be Murder and A Pizza To Die For. The editor and I had a disagreement about its general theme, as is sometimes the case, and instead of reworking this book to the publisher’s specifications, I decided to write another book altogether instead. He was perfectly within his rights to make this request, but it left me with an odd feeling of dissatisfaction knowing that this novel would never see the light of day. Given the circumstances though, I moved on and tried my best to forget about this novel until recently. After looking through it with fresh eyes, I realized that I still liked what the novel has to say.

  I had a hard decision to make, though. Should I go through the book and painstakingly update it so that it flows from Pizza Mystery #6, The Missing Dough, or should I present it for what it is, a look back in the series before several major changes in the main characters’ fates take place? To the surprise of no one who knows me, I opted for the latter, and not out of sheer laziness as some will surely suspect, though I have to admit that I wasn’t all that eager to rework the entire thing yet again. No, I decided that it is a novel of its time, meant to fall where I originally wrote it, between Pepperoni Pizza Can Be Murder and A Pizza To Die For. Imagine if you will that this is a novel in the series that you’ve somehow simply missed. It’s a wonderful opportunity to revisit Eleanor and Maddy in a simpler time in their lives, though after reading this novel, I’m sure you’ll agree that the times weren’t that simple after all.

  I’ve been getting lots of letters about the next Pizza Mystery, and while this might not be what you were expecting, it’s fresh fiction to you all, novel in the truest definition of the word.

  I hope you enjoy it, and, crassly put, if enough of you do, there might just be more adventures of the intrepid sisters someday to look forward to.

  I’m putting that squarely on your shoulders.

  As always, my very best to you all,

  The Author

  “Once Lost , Now Found!”

  The Author

  Chapter 1

  “How are you going to explain this?” The chief of police—and my former high school sweetheart—was waving a plastic-bagged menu from my pizza parlor in my face as we stood in the kitchen of A Slice of Delight. Kevin Hurley had kept his boyish good looks for the past twenty years, and it was pretty obvious he was fighting hard to maintain the same slim build he’d always had in school. When he wasn’t yelling at me—which, granted, wasn’t very much of the time these days—he was a handsome man in his khaki uniform, and it was easy to see why I’d fallen for him, even back then.­

  I refused to take the threatening menu personally. I’d been having a good day, and I didn’t want anything to spoil it. Autumn was making its way into our part of the North Carolina mountains, and I had no intention of letting one of his rants spoil my good mood.

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re not here to order a pepperoni pizza for lunch, Kevin?” I asked as I looked at the menu through the plastic evidence bag it was sealed in.

  “This isn’t a joke, Eleanor. It’s the only clue we’ve got that could lead us to who killed Hank Webber and robbed the Southland Regional Bank.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Look at my face. Do I look like I’m joking around?”

  “Hank’s dead?” I asked, the feeling suddenly going out of my legs. “What happened to him?”

  “Somebody gave this note to the teller when Hank was on his break. When he came back and saw the robbery happening, he tried to stop it, but the thief shot him first.”

  I looked at the menu closer and saw that someone had written on it in a black Sharpie, “Give me the money or you’ll all die.”

  “Why did they use my menu for their note?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to read this on a blank piece of paper?”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m guessing it was someone who’s eaten here recently. Have you noticed any strangers coming by the Slice in the past few days?”

  “I generally don’t see a lot of customers back here in the kitchen,” I said. “I only worked the front for an hour or so yesterday. We ne
ed to ask Maddy.” My sister had been working at the pizzeria ever since my husband Joe had died. She liked waiting on customers, while I enjoyed staying in back where I could focus on making the food. With the help of a few part-time employees, we managed to make enough to justify staying open, though some months the profits were a feeble excuse indeed.

  “I already asked her when I came in,” Kevin said. He crinkled his nose slightly, just as he had in high school. It was a sure sign that he hadn’t had a very productive time interviewing my sister. “Who else was working last night?”

  “Do you mean besides your son?” Josh, his high schooler, worked for me part-time, despite—or maybe because of—his parents’ disapproval of the idea.

  “I’ll talk to him right after I’m through interviewing you, don’t worry about that. Was Greg Hatcher on the clock, too?”

  “Yes, but he was mostly making our deliveries. You know, now that I think of it, maybe he’s the one you should talk to. He usually has a stack of menus he hands out with the pizzas. We give them out everywhere, so don’t get your hopes up. Most likely it’s just a dead end.”

  “Do you know where I can find Greg?”

  I glanced at the clock. “You can come back in two hours,” I said.

  “What’s his home number?”

  I gave it to him, and a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Hang on a second, Kevin. Let me see that menu again.”

  He held it toward me, and as I reached for it, the police chief pulled it back. “Eleanor, do you really need to touch it?”

  “That depends. Do you really need my help?” I said. “I have to check something. Don’t worry; I’ll give it right back.”

  He reluctantly handed the bagged menu to me. “Don’t take it out of the bag. Just look.”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  I scanned the prices, double-checked the font, and then I handed it back to him. “Maybe I was wrong after all.”

  “You’re not honestly going to deny that it’s one of yours, are you?”

  I pointed to the big slice of pizza that graced the top of the menu, and the words A Slice of Delight blazoned across it. “Of course it’s one of mine. But it’s only been a day since we got these from the printer, so that should limit your search area.”

  Kevin frowned a second, then asked me, “Eleanor, this isn’t the time to get cute. How can you possibly know that?”

  “I had to finally go up on my prices because of the way cheese and flour costs have been spiraling out of control lately. These are the first new prices I’ve had in over a year. We only made up fifty of them until I could see how my customers reacted to the price increases. The only thing worse than selling pizzas and not making much money is not selling any at all.” I walked back to my closet of an office and pulled out a box from under the desk. Inside, there was a handful of fliers.

  After I counted them out on my desktop, I said, “There are thirty-two in here, so only eighteen ever made it out of my office.”

  “Then how do we go about tracking down the errant eighteen?”

  “Let’s see how many are still out front.” I walked out to find Maddy waiting tables. She tried to catch my eye, but I purposely ignored her. At the counter, I pulled five more out of the display we kept by the register. “So that makes thirteen still unaccounted for. I hate that number.”

  “The real question is what happened to the rest of the menus. Think, Eleanor, this is important.”

  “Talk to Greg. Unless someone picked one up at the register, he gave the rest of them away. It’s going to be tough tracking them down.”

  “It’s still a solid lead,” Kevin said.

  “I don’t know how solid it is. You know we don’t have any surveillance cameras in here. I blew my security budget on a new safe. It’s hopeless.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a lead,” he repeated, and I could tell there was a hint of desperation in his voice. Hank had worked for Kevin when he’d first become chief of police. After Hank retired and took his county pension, he’d gone to work for the bank, and in the process, he’d become a steady customer of mine at lunchtime.

  Until today.

  “I liked Hank, too,” I said. “I want to find out who killed him just as much as you do.”

  “I doubt that,” Kevin said as the radio clipped to his belt squawked. After a hushed conversation, he said, “I have to go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Listen, if you or your sister happen to think of anything while I’m gone, I need to know what it is, even if it doesn’t seem like much to either one of you.”

  “You know we’ll help you however we can,” I said.

  He wasn’t gone twenty seconds before Maddy came over. My sister—tall, thin, and unnaturally blonde—looked nothing like me; I was true brunette, with more curves than a mountain road and more weight than I should be carrying around. But we had each other’s back, all the time, every time.

  “Did he grill you, too?” she said. “He waved that menu in front of my face like it was some kind of message from beyond the grave. I told him how many menus we’ve handed out in the past year, but he didn’t believe me. Sorry, I tried to warn you that he was coming, but he was too fast for me.”

  “Did you look closely at the menu in his hand?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Why?”

  “It had the new prices on it,” I said softly.

  Maddy knew what that meant immediately. She whistled softly under her breath. “So it just happened. That gives me the chills.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Think about it. I waited on a murderer yesterday.” She looked clearly shook up by the notion.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Josh could have served him,” I said, trying to soothe my sister’s fears. “Or maybe I did. I worked an hour up front, remember?”

  “But it’s not likely, is it?”

  “No, I guess not,” I said. There was no use trying to sugarcoat anything with Maddy. “But think about it, Sis. It’s actually a good thing. One of us most likely saw him yesterday. Who came into the Slice yesterday?”

  “We should make a list,” Maddy said.

  I pointed to the two tables with customers. “It would probably be a good idea to wait on them first.”

  “I’ve got their orders right here,” she said.

  I plucked them out of her hand, and then I headed for the kitchen. “As soon as I take care of this, we can start our list.”

  Just then, the front door opened and a party of ten people came in, laughing and joking about something. It was hard to believe that anyone could be that happy, knowing what had happened to Hank less than an hour ago. Timber Ridge, North Carolina, was a small town, and just about everyone there knew everyone else. Chances were that somebody in that party had to have known Hank, or his daughter, or his grandkids, or someone who would be devastated by the news of his murder. But I wasn’t going to be the one to tell them what had happened if they hadn’t already heard. They were coming to me for good food and a nice atmosphere, and that was what I was going to give them. The joy would be gone soon enough, and the stark reality of a death in town would find its way into A Slice of Delight.

  Maddy stuck her head in through the kitchen door an hour later. We’d been so busy waiting on customers and making their food that we hadn’t even had a chance to compare notes yet on who had visited the pizzeria the day before.

  “Are you finally finished out there?” I asked her.

  “I wish. Just as things start to slow down, somebody else comes in. Business hasn’t been this good for a long time.”

  “That’s a problem I’m willing to have all day long,” I said. “Is everyone talking about what happened at the bank?”

  “Of course they are. There are a thousand different theories being batted around, but so far, I haven’t heard a single one that makes any sense.”

  I noticed that her hands were empty. “Do you have another order for me?”

  “No, but I’ve got a customer request.” S
he rolled her eyes as she announced, “Betsy Killibrew wants to see you.”

  “What on earth for? Was there something wrong with her food?” I asked as I wiped my hands off on my apron. We got complaints sometimes at the Slice, though rarely. It was hard to foul up the kinds of things we offered on our menu, and I prided myself on being able to make each item perfectly. When Maddy worked in the kitchen, the results weren’t always the same, but they were almost always undeniably good.

  “She hasn’t ordered anything yet, so it would be tough for even Betsy to complain,” Maddy said.

  Just as she finished her sentence, the kitchen door flew open and Betsy herself barged in.

  It would hardly be fair to expect my sister to stop her. Betsy was not a handsome woman, but what she lacked in beauty, she made up for in sheer size. No matter how big she got, though, Betsy was under the mistaken impression that delicate pastels would somehow hide her ample girth. She had a tongue like a razor blade, but only behind the backs of the people she was shredding at the time. Maddy did one of the smartest things she could have done and headed back out front, abandoning me to my fate. If the roles had been reversed, I would have done the exact same thing to her.

  I thought about scolding Betsy for being in my kitchen uninvited, but all that would get me would be a round of fresh slander at her hands, patently untrue, and behind my back.

  As sweetly as I could manage it, I asked, “What can I do for you, Betsy?”

  She smiled at me as though she’d just eaten a pound of chocolate—which, knowing Betsy, was a distinct possibility. “I just wanted to tell you personally that no one I know thinks you had anything to do with Hank’s murder.”

  “Why on earth would anyone think that?” I asked, truly shocked by the implication of her statement.

  Betsy tried to look demure as she replied, “Please, it’s all over town. You should realize that without me having to tell you. Let’s not forget, the hold-up note was written on one of your menus, Eleanor.”