A Good Day to Pie

by Carol Culver

  “You look terrific,” I said. If Sam could see her now he’d never believe what he said he believed. I vowed I’d do anything in my power to keep her so happy and carefree and out of jail.

  “None of those old-lady numbers with the skirts for me,” she said, wrinkling her nose as if she might be mistaken for someone her age. “I ordered two new ones from the catalog and they came just in time for class.” She donned a terrycloth cover-up, provided me with one too, and told me to get dressed and join her at the pool. “Hope you brought a bikini at least. I brag about you a lot, you know. How smart you are. What a great baker. But mostly what a catch you are. For some lucky guy. Some of my friends here have eligible grandsons. Don’t let me down,” she said with her hand on the doorknob.

  “Speaking of lucky guys, how’s Bob?” I asked. “Is he out of the hospital?”

  “Yes, but he has to take it easy. Meals in his room. Even his interview with the police chief will be in his room. Everybody else goes to the office.”

  “When’s your next interview?”

  “Oh, I had it this morning.”

  “And you weren’t going to mention it?”

  “Nothing to mention. Just a formality. I’d already told him everything I know with that machine going.”

  “The polygraph?”

  “That’s the one. He had some follow-up questions and I assured him I’d do anything to help solve a mystery.” She picked up a large colorful beach towel and tucked it under her arm. “I’m late for class. Hurry up.”

  I stood between her and the door. I wanted some kind of assurance, some hope to hold on to that she really wasn’t the chief suspect. “So Sam didn’t press you, make any demands, try to trick you into admitting anything you didn’t want to?” I asked. Why was he going easy on her? Now I was getting even more worried. The only thing I could think was that he’d made up his mind. Which meant it was my job to change it.

  “Of course not. I’d never admit to anything I didn’t do, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to. He’s just trying to do his job, Hanna.”

  I couldn’t believe she was being so fair. More than fair, she was acting like Sam was her grandchild instead of me. That’s how it seemed to me. She refused to hear anything bad about him. Was this an act or was she really not that concerned?

  I decided to change the subject for fear of freaking her out. “Do you know anything about the cupcake truck in the parking lot?”

  “Somebody having a birthday party probably. I don’t know. I wasn’t invited.”

  She didn’t seem to realize this cupcake truck was in direct competition with my pie shop. I got the message. She didn’t want to talk about anything, not the investigation or the cupcakes. Was her second interview really just a formality? Didn’t Sam ask her about the pillbox she’d put in the card room?

  From the window I watched Grannie sashay down the path to the pool in her one-piece maillot as if she didn’t have a care in the world. No wonder she expected me to be wearing a sexy bikini and a sign around my neck with my statistics indicating I was available. I wasn’t wearing a sign or a bikini. It was a one-piece tank top suit with a hint of micro ruffles lining the edge. Probably not sexy enough for Grannie’s taste, but it worked for swimming laps at the gym I’d belonged to in the city. I hated to disappoint her, but there was nothing daring about it.

  I’d just wrapped up in the terrycloth robe she loaned me when there was a knock on the door. When Sam saw me standing there, he walked in and closed the door behind him. As if he knew I’d be there. Then he took a moment to look me over from head to toe. I’d like to believe he was blown away by my long, shapely legs and my sexy painted toenails, but maybe he was just taking inventory—robe, swimsuit, long legs, and sexy toes.

  “If you’re looking for Grannie, she’s out at the pool. She hasn’t left town, if that’s what you’re worried about.” My voice was on edge just enough to let him know how I felt about her being treated like a common criminal.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

  “I’m joining the water aerobics class today. Why? Is that a crime? Kate’s watching the store for me. I have something to show you if you have a minute.”

  I went to get my purse with the notes I’d made when I got home last night just in case I too had lapsed into a margarita fog.

  When I reached into my capacious leather bag, the pink vibrating dildo called a speeding bullet I’d received as a door prize last night fell out on the floor. Before I could retrieve it, Sam picked it up and handed it to me with a knowing half smile on his face. Was it because he didn’t know if I knew that he knew what it was? Or because he didn’t know I needed one? Maybe he’d never seen one before. Not a hot pink one, anyway.

  I felt my face turn the same color as the sex toy. “That’s not what I meant to show you,” I said. “This is the favor I got last night at the Passion Party. Everyone did. Although many people bought things. Not me though. Actually, it was at Lindsey Smith’s house next door to where …” I couldn’t seem to stop rattling away nervously so it was good that he interrupted.

  “I know where she lives.”

  “But you might not know she throws these parties.”

  “Is this relevant?”

  “It could be. The reason I went …”

  “I don’t have to know that.”

  “I just didn’t want you to think …”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good. I thought you might be interested to know Mary’s granddaughter is expecting to inherit her jewelry.”

  “I don’t think that’s a crime,” he said dryly.

  “But it’s a motive, isn’t it?”

  “I told you to leave the investigating to me and my department.”

  “After what you told me this morning?” I asked. “I can’t do that. I have a duty as a citizen to tell you to pay more attention to Mary’s family and less attention to the residents of Heavenly Acres.”

  “And why is that?” he asked with a slightly amused look.

  “Because I have certain evidence. I know you don’t take me or my observations seriously,” I said. “But I’ll tell you anyway that Mary’s grandson Blake told me his grandmother was paranoid, and she thought someone was trying to kill her. His mother told her she was schizoid and she increased her meds so she wouldn’t be delusional.”

  “Yes, I heard that.”

  “You did?”

  “I spoke to Mrs. Wilson yesterday.”

  Damn, why hadn’t I spoken to her? Because I didn’t have the clout of the law behind me. I didn’t wear a badge, but then neither did he. I should have walked right up to her car when I had a chance.

  “So what did she say?” I asked. “What do you think? Or is that classified information?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  I refused to let him stop our conversation that way. “I know you believe that Mary’s medication killed her,” I said. “I just want to know if you’ve ruled out a connection to the pie she ate and I made. After all, since you haven’t made an arrest, I think I have the right to know if I’m under suspicion too.”

  “Everyone who had access to Mary Brandt, her medicine, or her food is under suspicion.”

  I felt a sliver of relief. At least he said “everyone.” “I assume you include Mrs. Wilson. And by food I assume you mean my pie. The point is everyone at the Bridge table ate pie and only one of them died. The one who was taking an overdose of her medication.”

  “Why would Blake tell you that his mother killed his grandmother? Somehow that surprises me.”

  “He didn’t say that. Give me a little credit. I came to that conclusion on my own. Maybe Blake loved his grandmother and he hates his mother. I don’t know. You’re the detective. All I’m doing is …”

  “I know what you’re doing. And I want you to stop.”

  “Stop helping you find the murderer before he murders again?”

  “Yes. Look, Hanna, you may think y
ou’re helping the police, but you’re getting in our way. I don’t want to accuse you of obstructing justice, but I will if I have to.”

  I frowned at him. “I’m surprised I haven’t been hooked up to a lie detector machine yet myself. Doesn’t seem fair. Then you’d know if I was lying or not.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “The least you can do is tell me if you’ll give me the forty-eight hours I asked for before you … you know what. I’ve done everything I can to help you. You owe me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dryly. But he didn’t say yes or no. He glanced at my chest as if he wanted to know if my heart was beating a little faster than usual under a layer of Lycra and terrycloth. No way he could know that, could he?

  “If you really want to help me, you’ll go back to quietly baking pies,” he said. “You’re not exactly keeping a low profile. Sex parties, interviews, newspaper profiles.”

  “You saw that?”

  “How could I miss it? Citizen of the Week. I didn’t know you worked in the high-tech industry. Or that you formed your own company. Quite a change to baking pies.”

  “Not really. I was the marketing side of the business, my partner did the technical stuff. I’m still in marketing, only it’s pie instead of data-based software.”

  “How did it work out?” he asked.

  “What does this have to do with your current homicide investigation?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to know. Since we’re getting caught up.”

  “Are we?” I asked edgily as I swiveled around in the chair he’d offered me. I shouldn’t be so defensive. After all, in our previous conversation in which we got “caught up” I asked the questions and he answered them. Maybe it was my turn. As long as we didn’t get too personal.

  “Software,” he said, “that’s the cutting edge. And yet you came back to bake pies.”

  I sighed. “I think I told you, Grannie wanted to retire. I wanted a different life. I’ve got it.”

  “You must miss the high stakes in the computer business.”

  “Not any more than you miss the mean streets.”

  “What happened to your partner?”

  “He left and …” I took a deep breath. There was no reason at all I had to tell Sam the sad story of my life and yet … and yet …

  “He left and cleaned out our account. I don’t know where Thad went. Or where our money went.” At least I didn’t have to tell Sam about my doomed personal relationship with Thad. The business part was bad enough.

  “Did you try to find him?” he asked, his forehead creased in a frown.

  “Of course. But there was nothing. He disappeared.” I paused and tightened the sash on my terry robe. “I lost a lot of money, but I learned some valuable lessons, like ‘Learn the rules and then play better.’ I don’t know if I’m playing any better, but I did learn the rules. It cost me plenty, but I can’t complain. No, that’s not true. I can complain, but I’m trying not to.”

  I walked toward the patio door. Sam was looking at me as if he’d never seen me before. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. But he’s the one who was asking the questions. So I answered him. “Well, I’m going to water aerobics now. Strictly exercise. Nothing to do with anything else,” I assured him.

  Then, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to, I just couldn’t resist asking, “How are the interviews going? I assume since you’ve made up your mind who’s guilty and who’s not, that they’re just a formality.”

  “They’re going fine,” he said, his gaze steady. “I’ve actually learned quite a lot. The residents have been mostly forthcoming.”

  “Then you know by now that my grandmother couldn’t have murdered Mary Brandt.”

  “I wish I could tell you more, but …”

  “You can. I can keep a secret. Really.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

  “Okay, I’m off to the pool,” I said. I slipped into my rubber flip-flops and Sam held the door open for me. I felt his eyes on me as I walked out the door into the afternoon sunshine, grateful my grandmother was still free to participate in water exercise.

  As I made my way to the pool, I heard the loud beat of the music just when I was thinking water aerobics for senior citizens equals wimp city. When I got to the pool, the teacher or coach or whatever you call her was poised at the water’s edge in a black Speedo, black tights, a pink headband around her forehead, and a whistle in her mouth. In the water at shoulder level, at least a dozen women faced her, waving their arms in time to the music.

  Their leader shouted “Frog jump!” and they began jumping like frogs. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Grannie saw me and beckoned to me to join them. I wiped the smile off my face. Piece of cake, I thought. I can kick like a frog.

  The woman in the black tights turned her head and frowned at me. “You’re late,” she said.

  “Sorry.” I tossed my robe onto a chaise lounge, pulled my hair back in a rubber band, and jumped in the water. I joined the ladies in the back row, all in white rubber swim caps and goggles, one or two with floatation belts, and I tried to blend in with the crowd. I didn’t want to show up anyone who was twice my age, like Grannie’s friends Grace and Helen who waved to me.

  I didn’t need to worry about showing anyone up. I was panting after just a few minutes of frog kicking, followed by flutter kicking and finally egg-beater kicking. Worst of all, I wasn’t able to keep up with the other women. Of course, it wasn’t their first aerobics class. They’d been doing this for weeks.

  Wait a minute. Contrary to what I’d just told Sam, I was there to spy, not kick. Of course, I needed the exercise too. After spending my days measuring flour, beating eggs, and rolling pie crust in the bakery, my thighs were crying out to be firmed up. Or crying out for some other reason. I told myself not to expect every activity I participated in to yield results on the muscle or murder front. I was not a detective. Besides, the class wasn’t over. Surely there’d be time for talking with the gang during the cool-off period.

  Cooling off meant swimming laps freestyle, which inhibited talking. Especially with the coach shouting instructions like “Rotate your hips.” “Inhale, exhale.” “Turn your head.” “Breathe.”

  The woman was a tyrant, but the ladies seemed to love it. They thought they needed to be pushed and goaded into action. But I was a guest … she couldn’t possibly have thought I was old enough to live there, could she? Since I was a guest, I didn’t think I needed to be humiliated for my poor performance. I didn’t even have to follow her instructions, but she obviously thought so. She kept blowing her whistle at me and shouting orders. I mostly ignored her and did my own freestyle stroke. If I tuned her out, it felt good to swim laps through the cool water in the afternoon sunshine and let my mind wander. This retirement business sure had its advantages.

  “This is the life,” I said to Grannie and her friends as we dried off around the pool. When Donna, Mary’s Bridge partner, joined us, they greeted each other politely but it seemed to me there was a slight chill in the atmosphere. Did they believe Donna was just as big a cheater as Mary or at least an enabler? Or was that my imagination? The atmosphere thawed when Donna offered drinks from the thermos in her beach bag. “Happy Hour at the pool. My favorite time of day,” she said.

  “Delicious,” Grace said, sipping from the paper cup Donna gave her. “What is it?”

  “Cosmopolitans,” Donna said. “Vodka and cranberry juice. I mixed them up earlier. Exercising always makes me thirsty.”

  I agreed that the exercise had definitely made me thirsty, but I couldn’t help making the cranberry connection. Did anyone else? It was cranberries that killed Mary. Or rather the combination of cranberries with an overdose of her drugs. I looked around the circle of women wrapped in colorful beach towels or robes, but I saw nothing but polite smiles and heard nothing but gratitude for Donna’s providing us with cocktails. I just hoped no one was taking an overdose of anything that w
ould interact with cranberry juice.

  Surely a mixed drink with just a shot of cranberry juice didn’t threaten anyone, no matter what kind of meds they were on. It was when I saw Donna’s hand tremble just slightly as she poured the drinks that I began to wonder. What did she have to be nervous about? Maybe worried the gang lumped her in the same category as her cheating partner. They probably did. How can one partner cheat and the other not be complicit?

  But maybe I didn’t understand her relationship with Mary. Maybe she wasn’t a willing partner in the cheating scheme. Knowing what a dominant personality Mary had, that was a possibility.

  Donna looked to be in good shape in her flirty ruffled see-through cover-up over her one-piece tummy-control bright red swimsuit. I wondered if she’d found a new partner. I wondered if she’d been dating Bob too. I also wondered if she’d been interviewed too. No hope of learning anything like that from Sam.

  “So, how are the interviews going with the Chief of Police?” I asked, looking around the group with a casual air.

  “He’s so cute. Don’t you just want to lock him up and keep him here with us?” Grace said.

  “I feel so much safer with him around. Why can’t he have a permanent office here?” Helen said.

  “I know we’re safer with him around, but he scared me,” Donna said. Was that why her hands were shaking? “He asked me if I felt threatened. I said no, why should I? And he said if he didn’t catch Mary’s killer soon, he’d have to impose a curfew and have guards outside the main entrance. I think he suspects it’s a serial killer.” She pulled the sash of her beach cover-up tight around her waist and shivered. No wonder she was nervous if a serial killer was loose.

  “A serial killer?” the ladies chorused. “At Heavenly Acres?”

  “It’s ridiculous,” Grannie said.

  “That’s what I told him,” Donna said.

  “Me too,” Helen said, and the others all nodded.

  “He ought to concentrate on Mary’s family instead of her friends here at Heavenly,” Donna said. “They were her worst enemies. You should have heard what she told me.”