A Good Day to Pie

by Carol Culver

  We pulled into the driveway just as the sun was setting and filling the sky with streaks of violet and scarlet. Sam told the hostess we wanted to have drinks on the patio probably because it was deserted and the cool night air off the ocean was refreshing. The waiter brought glasses of Chardonnay and bowls of olives and cashews.

  Instead of interrogating me, Sam asked if I knew the place had been a speakeasy. When I said no, he told me the story.

  “During the twenties, the Canadian rum-runners landed on the beach below with illegal whiskey. Under cover of fog, the locals dragged it up the cliff here, and loaded it into cars for San Francisco.”

  “Is this all on their website?”

  “Probably,” he said. “It makes a good story. But I heard it from my grandfather, who was one of the guys who hauled the booze. Of course, a few bottles always found their way to his basement. Unlike a lot of the other speakeasies along the coast, this place never got busted.”

  I leaned back in the padded chair facing the fading sunset. “How does he feel knowing you’re on the other side of the law now?”

  “He died a few years ago. It was actually his idea,” he said. “He steered me toward law enforcement. He wanted me to have a better life than he did.”

  “Are you? Having a better life, I mean?”

  He picked up his glass and studied it as if it held a clue to his life or the murder of Mary Brandt. I sensed a change in the atmosphere. The wind had shifted. It happens along this coast. Especially when you’re dealing with an old boyfriend who is now a cop. Especially when the appearance of a blue ghost may be imminent. “We’re here to talk about you,” he said. “And what you know.” I wondered if he was sorry he’d spilled his guts the other day about his past. Because he’d sure clammed up now. He looked around. There was no other customer in sight who’d braved the cold night air. Even the waiters had left us alone on the deck.

  “I probably don’t know anything that you don’t know,” I said to start the conversation he was interested in. “But if you’re looking for murder suspects, I have to tell you there’s a woman who works at the retirement home. She supposedly stole a pair of Mary’s earrings, only she claims Mary gave them to her then changed her mind and got the poor woman put on probation. She was not happy, I can tell you.”

  “You say poor woman. But aren’t you suggesting she killed Mary?”

  “I don’t know. You must know that many people thought she deserved to die. I know, you’re not allowed to off someone just because they deserve it, so spare me any lectures. You’re the cop. I’m just a concerned citizen. I’m telling you what I heard. If you don’t like that theory, what about Mary’s family? Anyone with a ton of money, especially if they’re tightfisted, is prime material to be bumped off by a greedy family member who stands to inherit, which is why you dropped in on her grandson Blake, isn’t it? Did you learn anything?”

  He ignored my question. I guess you can do that if you’re a cop. “How do you know Mary had a ton of money and that she was tightfisted?” he asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious, the part about the money, I mean? You saw her house. The one she lived in before she moved to Heavenly Acres, which you know is very expensive.”

  That’s when the hostess came out to tell us our table was ready.

  She showed us to a round table in the middle of the room but Sam asked for a booth in the corner. She smiled, no doubt thinking romantic get-together. Let them think what they wanted. I slid into my seat and was grateful for the candlelight and for the large elaborate menu to hide behind. When I looked up, Sam was staring at me. Waiting for me to incriminate myself or my grandmother? I’d starve to death first.

  I looked around at the glowing fireplace and the old pine wide-planked floors, picturing rowdy customers waiting for the boats loaded with illegal whiskey to pull in so they could haul it up and quench their thirst.

  “I can’t decide if this feels like a twenties-style roadhouse or a French country inn,” I said.

  “Glad you like it,” he said.

  “Do you come here often?”

  “Only when I have a debt to pay.”

  “You owe me?”

  “For the pie.”

  “You paid me.”

  “Then we’re even.”

  The waiter appeared, and since Sam was paying and there were no prices listed next to anything, I ordered the salad with bay shrimp, hearts of palm, and asparagus and a filet of sole Florentine.

  Sam said he’d have the same. The waiter complimented our choice of entrees, then he refilled our wine glasses.

  “I went back to Heavenly Acres this afternoon,” Sam said, looking at me over his wine glass.

  “Did you?” I said, uncomfortable with that probing gaze. “What did you find?” I carefully buttered a slice of warm homemade bread.

  “Things have calmed down. Those people seemed to have resumed their normal lives.”

  “You shouldn’t be surprised. They’re a hardy bunch and they’re not unaccustomed to someone ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ at their age.”

  He smiled briefly at the mention of the Bob Dylan song, then got back to business. “I found this on the bulletin board,” he said. He reached into his pocket for a sheet of paper and held it up. “It’s a schedule for the Bridge tournament.”

  I squinted but I couldn’t make out the names in the candlelight. “Old? New? Including Mary or not?”

  “Someone has crossed Mary off the list,” he said. “There’s a blank space. Any idea who will fill in for her?”

  “As Donna’s partner? Oh, I see. Whoever it is may have bumped off Mary to get her spot. That sounds reasonable.” I’d jump at anything that let Grannie off the hook.

  “When I was up there, I talked with some of the help in the kitchen. One of the maids brought me a jewelry box she found in your grandmother’s waste basket. She was going to ask Louise about it, but when she knocked on her door a few days ago she overheard your grandmother talking to someone. Something on the order of ‘If you don’t quit cheating, you’re out of the tournament. You’ll never play Bridge here again.’ Know who she was talking to?”

  “I can guess. I’ve heard that Mary cheated at Bridge. I’m sure you’ve heard the same thing in your interviews. Did you ask her while she was under oath?” I was still furious he’d given Grannie a polygraph test and no one else.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?” My face flamed with anger and indignation.

  “I’m not sure they’re that helpful. As you mentioned, they’re not always accurate.”

  “Then why bother? No, don’t tell me. It’s your job.”

  He ignored my sarcastic tone and continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “What we do know from the autopsy report is that Mary died from an overdose of warfarin, which combined with a large dose of cranberries was enough to poison her.”

  “A large dose of cranberries? How many pieces of pie did she eat?” He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe I should be the one doing the asking of this kind of question. “You know, anybody could have changed her anti-clot medicine for something stronger. Her daughter, her son …”

  “If it’s her family members who killed her, then why are they so eager for this investigation?” he asked. “Why not just let her rest in peace and collect their inheritance?”

  “She’s got a big family. If I were investigating this crime …”

  “You’re not,” he said curtly.

  “I know, but if I were, I’d find out who had the most to gain from Mary’s death.”

  “You can’t deny your grandmother had a whole lot to gain by removing her main challenge. Or do you deny Bridge is an important part of her life?” He held up the printout of the playoff schedule. Without Mary and her partner Donna, Grannie and her partner had a clear shot at the title.

  “Of course not.” I realized Grannie had probably told him in all innocence how much Bridge meant to her. How important it was to collect points so
she could move ahead. I sure wished she hadn’t.

  “Who else wanted her out of the way so badly?”

  “Besides the maid and her family?” I asked. “I refuse to discount Mary’s family. If I were her granddaughter and I needed money for something like a new kidney or something and she wouldn’t give it to me, maybe I’d be tempted to kill her myself. And then I’d demand an investigation to send the long arm of the law in the wrong direction. Maybe there is no fortune. Or maybe she left it to someone else. And that person killed her because they couldn’t wait for her to die. Let’s face it, we all know she wasn’t a lovable person.”

  “Is that what Blake told you?”

  “No, he didn’t. He didn’t have to. You interviewed him. And you were at the memorial service. Was anyone crying, her daughter, her grandchildren, anyone except for poor Donna?”

  “Hanna, if we arrested everyone who wasn’t crying at Mary’s service …”

  “I’m just saying …”

  “I know what you’re saying.”

  I took a deep breath. I was getting desperate. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but you ought to check out Bob Barnett.”

  “The guy in the hospital.”

  “Yes, he was terrified of Mary. She had her claws into him.”

  “I checked him out at the hospital,” he said.

  “And …”

  “He’s clean. He couldn’t have done it.”

  I clamped my mouth shut to keep from protesting. If I had to bet, I’d put Bob on the top of my list. What did Sam know that I didn’t?

  Sam shook his head. “You’ll do anything to point the finger somewhere besides at your grandmother, won’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t you if it was your grandmother?”

  He didn’t answer. For all I knew he had no grandmother, just his grandfather. Fortunately the waiter brought our plates to the table and Sam let it drop.

  “This looks amazing,” I said, glad to change the subject. Glad I could appreciate a beautiful plate of sole poached in Chardonnay with shallots, lemon, and butter on a bed of spinach, even though I’d just fingered a poor guy who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was proud of myself for digging in with gusto knowing what I’d just done. In order to save my grandmother, I was willing to point the finger at anyone and everyone else.

  After a few minutes, Sam was back on task. No way was I supposed to think this was a social occasion. He’d made that perfectly clear from the start. That’s what I understood. A business dinner, that’s all. I might as well have a sign hanging around my neck. “Will blab for food.”

  “I understand Mary’s partner Donna is looking for a new partner,” Sam said.

  “Hope she finds someone good enough,” I said. “Those girls are serious players. Donna is just as competitive as any one of them. Grannie always tried to teach me to play, but I’m hopeless. They play to win. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I understand Donna had been grumbling about Mary Brandt, her poor sportsmanship and her foggy memory.”

  “I’m telling you that’s what everyone says. Are you saying she could have poisoned Mary?”

  “Maybe. The place is crawling with suspects.”

  “Maybe I can help you narrow it down.”

  “Go ahead. Although don’t you think you’re a little too close to the situation?”

  “Are you saying I’m biased?” I tried to act affronted, but I’m not sure it came off that way.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “All I can say is if complaining about Mary is a crime, then you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “It’s when complaining leads to murder. And yes, I know how much work I have.”

  “Look, Sam,” I said, resting my elbows on the table after the waiter had cleared the plates. “I understand you need to solve this crime, and I need for you to solve it so I can get back to baking and not sleuthing, so let me help you. As you know, I’d especially like to help you clear my grandmother. I understand I know nothing about crimes or criminals, but I plan to keep my ears open. As a private citizen, of course. I hope you won’t mind.”

  “I do mind. In fact I have to tell you in the strongest terms to keep out of this. I appreciate what you’ve told me tonight. And anytime you have something to say that’s relevant, fine. Give me a call. But that’s it. Everything is under control. We will find the murderer.”

  “By ‘we’ I assume you are not including me.”

  “That’s right.”

  I took a deep breath. “I actually don’t have much time to do any detecting, so don’t worry. I have a business to run. Such as it is.” No sense pretending customers were knocking down the door or standing in line to buy my pies. He knew they weren’t.

  “Good luck with that.”

  I assumed he was sincere, but it was hard to tell by the tone of his voice.

  I thanked him for the dinner and we drove back to Crystal Cove. I wondered if he thought it was worthwhile, spending his money, or was it the city’s money used on me to grill me then convince me to butt out of his investigation? Was there a certain allowance to bribe or pay off citizens for turning in their relatives and friends? If that’s what he was after, this dinner must have been a bust.

  He walked me up to the pie shop and braced one arm against the door, effectively trapping me between him and my shop.

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  “About what? Your methods of investigation? Your return to the city you always wanted to escape from? Your car? Your job? Your past? Your future. Your …”

  He put his hand over my mouth then. God knows what would have happened if he hadn’t. Since my tongue was loosened by two glasses of wine and some rich delicious food, I could have gone on and on. His warm palm against my lips caused me to have a strange reaction. I laughed. Not hah hah, just a little chortle I couldn’t contain or explain.

  He took his hand away. “I meant what do you think about Crystal Cove?” he asked. “Are you glad you came back?”

  “I’m very glad, and I’ll be even gladder when you find out who the murderer is.”

  “You didn’t tell me why you came back,” he said.

  “Neither did you,” I reminded him.

  He waited a long moment, then he said, “Good night, Hanna.” That’s one good thing about Sam—he knows when to quit.

  I stood there shivering in the cool night air and watching him sprint out to his car and swing his long legs into the driver’s seat without opening the door; then the engine roared and he was gone.

  “I called you last night,” Kate said when she stopped in for coffee and a slice of warm pecan pie the next afternoon. Actually she didn’t stop in for something to eat, or so she said. How could she know I was in a lazy Southern mood that called out for peekawn pie? Since she’s my official taster, I persuaded her to try a slice.

  She came by just to say hello, she said as I poured her a cup of coffee. Though she muttered something about watching her calories, I brought out the pie and scooped a dollop of whipped cream on top of a generous wedge. It’s my feeling that the richness of the molasses, brown sugar, and eggs in the pie cries out to be offset with cool cream.

  “I can’t resist, you know I can’t,” she said with a little moan.

  “Don’t even try,” I said and sat down across from her at Grannie’s small wrought-iron table. “What’s up?”

  “I came to dish some dirt about the memorial service,” she said.

  “Lovely ceremony,” I said.

  “Until Bob Barnett passed out.”

  “Gave us all a scare, didn’t it? Especially Grannie. But he’s going to be fine.”

  She set her coffee cup down. “So it’s true? They’re an item?”

  “She likes him. But I hear he plays the field. With the numbers in his favor, I guess he’d be crazy not to.”

  “You mean all those rich, attractive women at Heavenly Acres and so few men. If I were him, I’d definitely go
with your grandmother. She’s new, she’s young at heart, and she’s got a lot of money.”

  “You think he’s after her for her money?” Did I have to worry about my grandmother being a target for money-hungry predators?

  “No, of course not. She’s lovely and she’s a lot of fun.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “So what’s the deal with Bob? Don’t tell me the pie had anything to do with him passing out?”

  “No, thank God. That’s all I need is another suspicious pie incident.” I wondered if I would be in order if I said anything about the real cause of his attack. I supposed it would violate patient/doctor confidentiality, so I didn’t. “I hear he’s recuperating nicely. Should be out of the hospital soon, I imagine.”

  “Is that where you were last night when I called, visiting Bob at the hospital?”

  “No.”

  She waited, fork in the air, for my explanation as to why I didn’t answer the phone when she called.

  “Up at Heavenly Acres with your grandmother?”

  I sighed. What was the point of continuing this guessing game? Why pretend I had something to hide? “I went out to dinner with Sam to the Distillery on the Coast Highway.”

  “I knew it was just a matter of time before you two got back together,” she said with a smug smile.

  “We are not back together. We couldn’t get back together because we never were together in the first place. Not for long.”

  “Okay, okay. Forget I said that. You went on a date with Sam. End of story.”

  “It wasn’t a date,” I said. “It was business. I took the opportunity to tell him I only knew two things about Mary’s murder. It wasn’t me and it wasn’t Grannie.”

  Reassured, she said, “And the rest of the evening you talked about …” She raised her eyebrows and speared a piece of pie.

  “Old times. New times. You know.”

  “How do you feel about Sam now?”

  “He’s changed.”