A Good Day to Pie

by Carol Culver

  “The police were here?” Sam hadn’t mentioned questioning the Brandts, but why would he confide in me?

  “Sam Genovese. You remember Sam from high school. What a shock to see him again.”

  “I know,” I said. “Well, all I wanted to do was to pay my respects. I’m so sorry to hear about her … uh … passing away.”

  His smile faded and he rearranged his movie star good looks to appear appropriately saddened. “Thanks. It’s a shock, even though she was old, you don’t expect it. Now I feel bad I haven’t been to see her in a few years. But I’m in New York, so far away.”

  “You got here fast.” As if you knew she was going to die I thought. As if someone in your family warned you, perhaps even sent you a plane ticket. But that wasn’t fair. All he had to do was get his own plane ticket when he learned his grandmother was dead.

  “I left as soon as I heard. My mom was pretty hysterical on the phone, kept talking about losing her mother so suddenly, no time to even say goodbye. And how they were going to sue the retirement home. My dad’s yelling in the background. I can’t believe they called the police. Police, murder in Crystal Cove?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

  Startled, I asked, “Sue Heavenly Acres?”

  “For you know, negligence. You don’t put your grandmother in a retirement home and expect to find her murdered.”

  I shook my head sympathetically as if I too would sue them if Grannie’d been murdered. After all, they’re supposed to be taking care of our treasured antecedents and not let them be murdered on the premises. That wasn’t too much to ask. Blake definitely said the M word. I looked over my shoulder, wishing I hadn’t come here, wondering how long a condolence visit is supposed to last, and wishing I had a graceful way to ask who they thought had murdered his grandmother.

  “Come on in,” he said. “I heard you were back in town. That you took over the pie shop.”

  “That’s right.” Who did he hear from? Not Sam. But what did Sam hear from Blake, that’s what I wanted to know. “I really can’t stay. I just wanted to say how sorry I am and drop off a pie.” I opened my wicker basket and took out the apple pie. Nothing fancy—just the right touch for an occasion like this, I thought. “And I wonder if you could use some pies for the … after the memorial service?”

  “That would be great. The ceremony is at two on Wednesday at the retirement home with a what do you call it, not a party but a wake afterward. There will be a big crowd. Grandmother had so many friends. Although obviously someone had reason not to like her. The whole Heavenly Acres will be there, of course. I heard my mom say grandmother loved pie—in fact, wasn’t she eating a piece when …” He broke off, his brow furrowed as if trying to remember the details. Or too overcome with emotion to speak.

  I hoped he wouldn’t remember the details of his grandmother’s demise, but I didn’t want to be around if he did since I had such a strong connection with pie and so did my grandmother. I shook his hand and murmured once again something about extending my sympathy to his family.

  “I was just going to have a drink,” he said. “Join me? Come on out on the deck. We have to get caught up.”

  Join me? Caught up? It was not as if we were old friends. Picture the high school popularity guy with the girl nobody knew. He must be desperate for company, rattling around in this big house by himself, if he wanted to have a drink with me and get “caught up.”

  I meant to say thanks but no thanks and explain about how I had a pie shop to maintain, but if Sam thought it was important to contact the Brandts, then I had to too. I set my basket down and found myself following him through the spacious high-ceilinged house toward a large deck with a spectacular view of trees and ocean in the distance. It was a glimpse of the kind of Crystal Cove life on the other side of the mythical tracks I had never experienced, but that he obviously took for granted.

  He stopped at a wet bar, filled two glasses with something icy and sparkling, and we walked outside in the brilliant sunshine. He handed me my drink and we stood at the railing of the deck. I stole a glance in his direction. If you had told me fifteen years ago or even fifteen minutes ago I’d be having a drink with Blake Wilson at his family’s house, I’d have said you were crazy.

  “I always wondered what happened to you,” he said.

  “Me?” I almost dropped my glass.

  “Yeah, you. The girl who worked in the pie shop after school. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I don’t remember …”

  “You don’t remember me, but I used to walk by and see you in there, waiting on people.” He grinned at me as if we shared a secret of some kind. “You wore an apron over your short shorts and you even looked hot in it.”

  I felt a hot flush creep up my face. Talk about hot. Blake Wilson had noticed me? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Blame it on the sun or the gin, but I giggled in spite of myself.

  “So did you like it?” he asked.

  “Working there? It was okay. It was just something I had to do. But now it’s different. It’s my shop. I’m in charge. No boss. I like that.”

  “Sounds good to me. I wish I didn’t have a boss. Or sales quotas. Or a huge rent. I envy your life.”

  “Really?” What a difference it made to talk to someone who didn’t suspect you or your grandmother of malfeasance, who though from a privileged background, still envied me my simple life and who thought I had looked hot as an apron-wearing insecure teenager. If only I’d known.

  “Do you ever get to New York?” he asked. “I mean for research or to buy supplies or just for fun?”

  “Not usually,” I said. Make that never.

  “I could show you the town,” he said. “If you do.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. Me and Blake Wilson doing the town in New York? How improbable was that? I was feeling dizzy. Maybe it was the frosty drink that may or may not have been laced with gin or maybe it was the unexpected compliments.

  “Do you still play football?” I said. “I remember your touchdown against Santa Nella your senior year.” Victorious, he was carried off the field by his teammates at the end of the game.

  “You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “That was a long time ago. No more football for me after I broke a toe kicking a field goal in college. But I’m in a soccer league on Long Island. Come out for a weekend and you can cheer me on, win one for our team.”

  I nodded, but the image of me standing on a soccer field in Long Island cheering for our high school hero was like a scene from a movie I was watching from the back row. I set my glass down and said I had to get back to work. Back to reality was more like it.

  At the door he gave me my pie basket and took my hand. He held it for a long moment before he laced his fingers with mine and said, “Let’s get together again before I leave.”

  I said okay, but I really didn’t think it was going to happen.

  “I’ll tell my mom you came by,” he added. I really wished he wouldn’t. “Just send her the bill for the pies. I’m sure she’ll be cool with it.”

  As it turned out, he didn’t need to tell her, because I recognized his mother, Linda Wilson, a young-looking blond woman, who pulled up in a sporty Porsche convertible with his father just as I was leaving. She leaned forward and glared at me as if she knew exactly who I was and didn’t appreciate my coming to her house, no matter the reason. I waved and sped out of there thinking she hates me. But why? Because she thinks either I or my grandmother killed her mother? Or because she’s afraid I’ll find out she killed her mother for the inheritance?

  How? A large overdose of warfarin or her heart drugs or whatever? For her money, of course. Just as I suspected. I knew nothing about drugs or overdoses, and for all I knew Blake’s mother already had more money than anyone in the family—she was driving an expensive car, after all. Maybe his grandmother had nothing and was being supported by her children who preferred she spend her golden years at Heavenly Acres instead of in their guest room.
In which case I had nothing to go on. All my theories were out the window. Blake’s parents had always hosted the yearly benefit to raise money for the hospital, the school, and the restoration of the old City Hall. If you wanted to raise money for a good cause in this town, you asked the Wilsons for help.

  At least I’d come away with an order for the memorial service pies. Even though I hadn’t learned much. Had Sam learned any more than I had? I did find out that Blake actually remembered me from the old days. I was too old to get carried away by this jolt of flattery, but I guess I was not as mature as I’d hoped because I was feeling a definite glow all the way home. Chalk it up to a shot of gin and tonic on a sunny deck with a blond quintessential California guy, that’s really all it was.

  I did find out his family was suing the retirement home and that they were sure Mary had been murdered. I also learned Blake was even better looking than he used to be, he wasn’t married if the lack of a ring was any indication, and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I’d never really known him in high school and he hadn’t known me. But he had noticed me, the lowly freshman who spent Saturdays with her grandmother in the pie shop while other kids hung out at the beach. The town was divided then by the rich kids who lived up in the hills and the rest of us who lived near town on the flats. It probably still was. The haves and the have-nots and never the twain should meet.

  I wished I could stay out of the Mary Brandt mess and go back to worrying about which pie to make next. But I had to keep at it. I had to find out who murdered Mary. I couldn’t trust Sam to do it. Despite his visit to the Brandt house, he thought he already knew who did it. He’d only invited one person that I knew of to take a polygraph test. Or were there others? I had to find out.

  At the shop the day before the memorial service, Kate and I were busy making pies for the occasion. Kate had left the kids with her mother-in-law so she could help me make a dozen pies, and we’d been at it since dawn. I had no explicit orders as to how many and what kind, so we were winging it with two Deep-dish Caramel Apple Pies with glazed crust, a Bourbon Pecan Pie that smelled sinfully delicious, and we still had another pie in the oven.

  “I’m looking up Funeral Pie,” Kate said as she leafed through my grandmother’s cookbook. “Here it is. Raisins. Vinegar. ‘Quick and easy. Made with no seasonal ingredients. Served at Amish funerals.’ Ugh. I’m glad we’re not Amish.”

  “If we were, we’d be wearing long hair and long skirts.”

  “The better to cover our sturdy unshaved Amish legs,” she said.

  Just as I measured the dry coconut for a creamy coconut custard pie, I remembered Grannie always grated fresh coconut. I hoped no one would notice the difference because I wasn’t going to the store at this time, and what were the chances our little grocery would have fresh coconuts on hand? Kate closed the cookbook and asked, “What does Blake look like?”

  “He looks like he never left town. He’s still tan. His hair is sun-bleached. He wears shorts. But he lives in New York. Maybe he spends his weekends on the beach in the Hamptons with the rich and high and mighty. Oh, wait, he plays soccer on Long Island too. The best part is, he doesn’t blame me or Grannie for his grandmother’s death. Or if he does, he was too polite to say so. Unlike some other people do,” I muttered. “What a difference in people from our small-town high school,” I said. As if she didn’t know. As if I’d just realized what everyone else already knew and I was acting like I’d stumbled on a great secret.

  “I had the biggest crush on Blake a million years ago during football season,” Kate confessed. “Didn’t you?”

  “Not really,” I said. It was true. He was so out of my league I didn’t bother thinking about him. Until now.

  “Did he ask about me by any chance?” Kate asked.

  “No, but he’s in mourning,” I said. “I’m sure he wanted to but probably heard you were married, so …”

  “Dang,” she said. “I missed my chance. And now he’ll be rich and good looking.”

  I had to agree with the good-looking part. I purposely did not tell her we’d shared a drink and some memories on his deck the other day. It meant nothing, and knowing Kate she’d get all excited and have me married to him before he left town. That’s how eager she was to find Mr. Right for me. Besides, I felt guilty about spending all that time with him and not asking more questions about his grandmother. I didn’t tell her Sam had been there before me either.

  “How do you mean rich and good looking?” I asked Kate.

  “I heard today Mary left millions.”

  “To her grandson?”

  “To her family, to the town, to some of her pet charities, and to some other people,” she explained.

  “Not to my grandmother, I can tell you. No love lost there.”

  “Are you sure? Wasn’t it just because they were playing against each other? I bet they made up after the games. You know how competitive they all are. But it’s just a game, after all,” Kate said.

  “Tell that to the police. Sam made no secret of his suspecting Grannie or me of murder by cranberry pie.”

  “You’re too sensitive, Hanna. You must have misunderstood. Sam’s just trying to do his job. Give the guy a chance. We’re lucky to have him in town. You know just the other day you complained about the lack of eligible men in town—now there are two, your old pal the new chief and Blake.”

  “I wasn’t complaining, I was just stating a fact. I have no time for men. Besides, Blake will be off as soon as the funeral and memorial service are over and he’s collected his millions in inheritance, and I’m guessing the new chief is only here until the department has been shaped up. Physically, I mean. And Sam thinks I’m holding out on him. He wants me to confess that I killed Mary or I know who did.”

  “That seems unreasonable,” she said mildly. Knowing how she hated to criticize Sam, it was quite an admission on her part. “You said he actually ate your pie. Did he look like he liked it?”

  “I guess so. Hard to tell. He doesn’t show much emotion. He’s a different person from the off-the-wall guy we went to high school with. I guess he’s been through some stuff while he worked the beat in the city.”

  “What kind of stuff ?” she asked.

  I wished I hadn’t said that. I was sure Sam wouldn’t want his past bandied about. He probably was wishing he hadn’t told me either. “Oh you know what police go through. Anyway now he’s all law and order.”

  “What do you expect? He’s the Chief of Police, for heaven’s sake. Cut him some slack,” she said, leafing through the three-by-five recipes in Grannie’s tin box. “Oh, here’s one for a sugar-free cherry pie. Some of those oldsters at the memorial service may be diabetic. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good. If you watch the store I’ll head out to the farm stand for some cherries.”

  “I’ll go,” she said. “What I was trying to tell you, Hanna, is that if you were interested in either guy, which you’re obviously not or you’d get the flour out of your hair and wear a frilly little French apron over a short skirt and high heels when you’re on duty instead of clogs and that heavy-duty cotton number, you’d have absolutely no competition.”

  “You mean since every other girl in our age bracket either left town or got married?”

  “You came back. You’ve seen the world but you know the value of small-town life. You’re a treasure. You’re a link to the past, carrying on the pie tradition. You cook, you bake, you’re old fashioned, but you’re thoroughly up to date, you’re cute, and you’re unattached.”

  “And likely to remain unattached. If only the two men up for consideration one, didn’t suspect me of having a hand in murder or, two, live three thousand miles away, I might do something with my hair and consider getting one of those sexy little aprons, but under the circumstances …” I might have told her that Blake invited me to watch him play soccer and do the town in New York, but she would have gone giddy and bought me a plane ticket on the spot.

  “You’re being ridicul
ous. No one has accused you of anything except trying to revive the fine art of pie baking. Think about it. An old woman dies during a Bridge game. If this wasn’t Crystal Cove, if we didn’t have a new chief, if, if, if … This whole thing will blow over in a week, you’ll see. Sam will arrest the night watchman or a vagrant passing through town and you’ll be off the hook. Everyone will breathe a sigh of relief. Then we’ll go back to being the same old quiet, boring town we always were.”

  “I wish,” I said. I could have told her how small the odds were that a stranger had poisoned Mary, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell her about Grannie being singled out for a polygraph test and told she couldn’t leave town either. It was all too awful. When I’d cracked this case, we’d all have a good laugh about it. But not yet.

  I opened the oven door to check on my buttermilk custard pie that smelled of just a hint of nutmeg and grated lemon, and a blast of hot air hit me in the face. After I inserted a knife in the pie and decided it needed a few more minutes for the custard to firm up, I closed the door and faced my friend in the very kitchen where Grannie started her business thirty years ago.

  “Boring?” I asked when her words sunk in. “Wait a minute. After touting the sunsets, the quiet streets, and the old friends. After I give up my exciting city life to move here, I finally get the truth. It’s boring! Which is why everyone’s so excited about the murder of a prominent citizen and Bridge player. I bet if I confessed right now, I’d get the key to the city and a story in the local gazette for rescuing everyone from tedium as they hauled me away. If you’re bored here, what does that mean for my future?”

  She didn’t answer. There was no answer. My future was up to me. My future started with Mary Brandt’s memorial service.

  _____

  The sun had broken through the morning overcast and was shining brilliantly on the crowd that was so big they held the memorial service outside in the Heavenly Acres rose garden, fortunately in full bloom. Sam was in plain clothes, of course. Did he even have a uniform and if so, on what occasions did he wear it? Today he was wearing dark denim designer jeans, a black blazer, shirt and tie. Oh, and sunglasses too.