A Harvest of Murder (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 14)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Yes, Mrs. Hannah?”

  “What belongs in that case?” she asked, pointing at the empty one. She was sure he had an answer.

  “I still have an item or two being restored that I haven’t added to the collection yet.”

  Carla stepped forward, eyeballing the case with a squinted glare. “That almost looks as if it could hold something as big as a saddle.”

  Drake blinked a few times, caught off guard. “It certainly does, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, what is going to be in there?” Carla insisted, growing impatient for answers. She’d been tapping her foot and wringing her hands during the entire tour.

  “That’s a surprise,” he said, not giving a straight answer.

  “Could it be a saddle? Tate’s saddle?” she shot out.

  Bert bit her lower lip, knowing she should have been better at holding her friend back. Carla always enjoyed a good mystery and was usually cool-headed unless it involved a friend.

  Drake scowled. “Tate’s saddle? I think not.”

  “You’ll have to excuse her. One of her friends was also interested in Tate’s saddle before it went missing.” She gave Carla a hard nudge with her elbow to get her to stay quiet.

  The man grunted somewhat unhappily, folding his arms over his chest. “I hope, ladies, that you aren’t implying that I’ve done something illegal in order to expand my collection.”

  “Not in the least bit.” Bert put up both hands defensively.

  “I may be a shrewd businessman and an even shrewder collector, but I’d never stoop so low as to resort to violence or criminal activity to get what I want. I at least have that much respect for my fellow person.”

  “It just looks like it is sized for a saddle,” Carla noted.

  Drake’s once bright eyes had darkened considerably. “Perhaps it is time you ladies left.”

  “I thought we were going to sit down to lunch,” Bert commented, having looked forward to the idea of a traditional cowboy style meal.

  “I’m afraid plans have changed. I must ask both of you to leave the premises immediately.”

  “All I wanted to know was what you planned on putting in there,” Carla argued, only making the situation worse for herself.

  “I’m going to say goodbye now.” He waggled a finger, and one of his men came walking in.

  “Come now, ladies. The boss has asked you to leave,” the servant noted in a deep guttural tone that made him sound more like a bodyguard than anything else.

  “Let’s go, Carla. Mr. Panderson has been more than generous enough to show us around his collection.”

  “I hope you enjoyed it,” he said with a hint of hidden strain in his voice. He wanted them out of there, and fast.

  The guard motioned, and they followed, leaving the man behind.

  Chapter Nine

  The guard didn’t walk them out and didn’t open the car door for them like he had earlier. He simply slammed the front door at their backs, expecting them to see their way off the estate without any argument or hesitation. Running down the steps through the rain, the two hopped in the car and drove back down the driveway toward the gate.

  “That was awfully suspicious.”

  “You practically accused him of stealing that saddle, and evidently killing Nan in the process. Are you surprised that he kicked us out?” Bert asked. She knew where Carla was coming from, but it didn’t make it a smart move.

  Carla sighed, reaching into her purse and pulling out a piece of chocolate she had hidden there. “Yes, I know. I got over eager and opened my big mouth.”

  “It’s okay. If it were my friend, I might do the same,” Bert said, remembering a time when Carla was a potential suspect in a murder case. She’d been protective then.

  “Want a chocolate?”

  “Please.” Bert held out her hand, accepting the treat and placing it on her tongue. It melted slowly, taking away some of the stress of the day.

  “But you have to admit, that case was suspicious.”

  Reaching the gate, they found it already open and drove on through. “Yes, I agree that it seemed like an odd coincidence.”

  “He also seemed reluctant to share what exactly he was planning on putting in there.”

  “It could be he is having a replica saddle made,” Bert thought out loud.

  “Then why not just tell us that?” her friend shot back.

  “True,” she agreed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in deep thought. “You know, he’s rich enough that maybe he paid someone to steal it.”

  “Do you think it could have been him?” Carla pressed, digging for her friend’s honest opinion. Bert had a good intuition and often could feel a person out just by talking to them for a bit. It had been one of the skills which helped her solve other murder cases like this one.

  “I’m not going to say yes or no. We have to keep our options open.”

  “If you had to make a guess right now, what would you say?” Carla asked.

  Bert hummed thoughtfully. “I’d have to say, I don’t know. Having seen him in his element, in his own home, I’d say he is certainly eccentric enough to pay someone to do it. He may be used to getting what he wants, even if he has to work at it. Perhaps, he got tired of waiting for Nan to come around.”

  “If what Karol says about her is true, I doubt that woman would ever budge.”

  “I completely agree, which is why he may have taken drastic measures.”

  “Speaking of Karol, let’s swing by my shop and see if the police are done with her. I’m positive they won’t find anything to feasibly hold her for.”

  “Has she been staying with you?” Bert asked, navigating her car in the direction of The Old Market.

  “No, not exactly. She hauled her camper here with her and it’s parked in the alleyway behind the shop.”

  “Isn’t that against the law?” Bert wondered, knowing that when her own car was parked too far out in her own alleyway that she’d been given a warning.

  “Well, she said she’d move it if someone asked.”

  The drive back took about fifteen minutes in the downpour. Bert was beginning to wonder if it would ever let up. Parking on the street, she saw a medium sized white camper with a door on the back end sitting behind Christmas in July, Carla’s year-round holiday shop.

  “Does she travel a whole lot?”

  “She likes to take road trips, yeah.”

  Getting the umbrella again, Bert popped it open and sheltered herself and Carla as they got out of the car and walked to the camper door. They knocked. “I sure hope she’s here. I hate to think of her still being stuck at the police station.”

  “Let’s just hope they didn’t decide to hold her for some reason.”

  When no one answered, they knocked again.

  Bert couldn’t help but notice that the camper looked a bit beat up. There were scratches on the door and dents along the metal siding.

  The sound of a car pulling up drew their attention away from the camper. Turning around, they spotted Harry Mannor climbing out of a cop car. He opened the back door and Karol got out.

  “Karol,” Carla cried, running out from under the umbrella and giving her friend a hug. Another car pulled up and two cops got out.

  “Hey, what’s with the escort service?” Bert asked, walking over to her boyfriend.

  “They’re going to check inside my camper,” Karol admitted with a timid shrug.

  “You’re just letting them invade your privacy?” Carla gasped.

  Bert shuffled over so the two women were under the umbrella.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got nothing to hide, and I know I’m innocent.” She held out her keys.

  “Let’s hope so,” Mannor grunted, his hair and mustache getting flat from all the rain. He bobbed his head toward the men who took the keys, walked to the camper, and let themselves in.

  Karol gave a brave smile to her friend. “If that helps clear things up for the cops, I’m happy to oblige. Thankfully, I’ve re
alized that catching the person who killed that poor woman is more important than any family heirlooms.”

  Bert smirked at the comment, glad to see that Karol was acting more level headed after spending the morning with the cops rather than more upset.

  “Detective, we’ve found something,” came a shout from the camper.

  Bert’s heart sank like a rock in open water. What could it be that they’d found?

  As Harry marched through the rain to the door, one of the officers held up something large and tan.

  It was Tate Riderman’s saddle.

  Karol’s jaw dropped wide open, and she turned as white as a ghost. “I-I have no idea how that got in there. I didn’t put it there.”

  Harry shook his head as he removed the handcuffs from his belt loop. “Karol Riderman, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Nan Greatwater.”

  “But, this is a mistake. I didn’t put that in there,” Karol argued.

  “It couldn’t have been her,” Carla insisted.

  “I’m sorry, ladies,” Harry said, cuffing the suspect and moving her back toward the police car and depositing her inside.

  “We’re going to get you out. Don’t you worry,” Carla called after her friend.

  Chapter Ten

  “Harry, do you honestly think that Karol is behind all of this?” Bert followed her boyfriend into the police station. The two cops who’d been with him were taking the suspect around to have her processed and admitted through the back entrance where all arrestees were brought in.

  “Bert, I have a lot of work to do. I don’t have time to talk about this right now.”

  “That saddle was planted in there. Karol would never hurt a fly,” Carla insisted, stomping into the lobby with them.

  The receptionist for the station looked up at the commotion. “Do you need me to have someone escort these ladies out, sir?” she asked.

  Harry glanced over his shoulder. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle this.”

  “I know Karol. She might be passionate, but she isn’t a killer,” Carla said.

  The detective put up both hands for the women to quiet down. “I’m not discussing this case with you two. I need you both to leave.”

  “She may be right, Harry,” Bert continued without missing a beat. “When we went to knock on the door of that camper, I noticed that the door was all scratched up. At first, I thought it was just normal wear and tear, but what if it is from someone breaking in to plant that saddle?”

  Harry folded his arms in a power stance. “Why would someone go to the trouble of stealing that saddle only to plant it somewhere else?” he asked, hoping that would put enough doubt in their minds to end the conversation.

  His question didn’t stop Carla. “Maybe the real killer was afraid Bert and I were getting too close and put the saddle in there to throw us off their trail.”

  As the words left her friend’s mouth, Bert almost groaned with frustration. Carla had just basically admitted to the police that they had done some investigating of their own. She braced herself for the backlash from this behavior.

  Expectedly, Harry’s features scrunched up to the point that he looked like a bulldog from all the wrinkles. The familiar flare of anger illuminated his cheeks with a beet red hue. His gaze turned on Bert. “You’ve been investigating this case?”

  In her experience with Harry, starting with the time he investigated a murder that took place in Bert’s own shop, she’d learned to stand her ground in these types of situations. If she buckled now and apologized, she would only find herself in more trouble. “Harry, we’ve not done anything illegal. We haven’t tampered with evidence, we haven’t gone into any sealed crime scenes, and we haven’t obstructed a police investigation.”

  Harry brought up one finger and pointed in her face. “Then what do you call what you’re doing right now?” he demanded to know.

  Bert folded her arms and stood up straight. “We’re offering new information to the police—such as the scrape marks we found on the camper before you arrived.”

  “Why? Why do you always do this? You didn’t even know the victim. You didn’t find the body. Why do you constantly insist on being underfoot when there is a homicide investigation going on?”

  Carla had taken a step back from the couple, a sheepish look on her face as she realized she was responsible for causing this tiff between them.

  “I don’t. But if I stumble on some information that I think might help you, I feel compelled—as a good citizen—to let you know.”

  “I don’t need your help. I’ve been doing this most of my life. I know what to do. I know how to handle criminals. You don’t.”

  “Yes, and you’ve saved me on more than one occasion,” she agreed, thinking back to a few times where a killer seemed determined to silence her when she was asking questions. “I appreciate you stepping in but realize that many times it isn’t my fault they’ve chosen to come after me.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. it isn’t,” she snapped. In her viewpoint, that was true. Sometimes, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Still, if I have new information, I’m going to tell you.”

  “Well, thank you,” he said sarcastically. “I really appreciate the tip.”

  The two stared at one another in silence for a moment. That’s when they realized that the receptionist and a few other cops in the room were staring.

  Bert could feel her cheeks heat up and she bowed her head to hide that fact.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Harry, I have a great sense of justice. I care about people. I care about helping and protecting those in need. If you asked anyone in my congregation, you’d know that.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping she’d not made too much of a fool of herself. More than that, she hoped Harry would forgive her outburst. She was a proud woman who expected to be treated with respect—especially by him. “I don’t make it my goal to frustrate you or get in the way. I simply care.”

  Harry brushed his wet mustache back and forth. “You should go. We can discuss this later.”

  “But, Harry.”

  “And I don’t want to hear one more word about this case unless it's coming from me. I won’t discuss police work with you. Period, end of story. Got it?” he waved his finger at her again, but his tone was much less intense than before.

  Bert could tell how much he cared about her, but also how much he wanted to keep up his gruff exterior—especially around his fellow officers. As one of the top detectives with the department, he had to set an example of an iron fist and exact obedience to the rules and regulations.

  Bert completely understood, and she honestly admired him even more for it.

  With one final glance of seriousness, he turned to head to the back.

  “Are we still on for dinner?” she asked, stopping him.

  Turning only his head back, he gave a quick nod before walking off.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m sorry, Bert. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” Carla offered her apologies once they’d returned to Pies and Pages. They’d driven through the rain in silence, mostly because Carla felt responsible for the unnecessary confrontation.

  Bert was honestly not thinking too much on it. She and Harry had had similar arguments before and they were always like water under the bridge within a few days, if not a few hours. When it came down to it, Harry was simply protective.

  He was used to dealing with murderers and other criminals. It was part of his job, a job which had consumed much of his life. Only after meeting Bert did he stop keeping such long hours in favor of spending time with her.

  At the same time, she didn’t feel like she needed constant protecting. After all, she’d always been rather independent and strong-headed, even when she was married. It was one of the main reasons she never turned away from helping a friend . . . or solving a mystery.

  Even before meeting Harry, she was always the person to get to the bottom of things. In her cong
regation, she’d uncovered several misunderstandings and mix-ups that could have ended friendships or even marriages.

  What could she say? She loved a good puzzle and loved learning about human behavior even more. She believed people were inherently good inside.

  While Bert tried to never break a trust, and definitely not break any laws, she had never turned away from a challenge—especially when it involved helping someone prove their innocence. After all, there was no crime in asking questions or doing a little research.

  Harry just worried that Bert might get hurt one of these days, and he’d managed to be there at just the right moment a few times when she’d found herself in a tight spot.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bert finally told her friend while she dropped her purse on the floor near a table and moved behind the counter. It was nearly two in the afternoon and Bert’s stomach was rumbling loud enough to challenge the tigers at the local zoo. She needed food in her belly. “How have sales been?” she asked Shiv.

  “Pretty slow. I think I’ve only had five or six customers all day.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Bert noted, looking at the plethora of pies that were going uneaten. The pounding of the rain against the front windows of the shop was a reminder of why no one was outside.

  Reaching in, she grabbed a Cowboy Pie out. “Want a slice, Carla?”

  “Do you have to ask?” she took a seat at her usual table near the counter. “And again, I am sorry about Harry. I didn’t want to cause an argument.”

  “What is this I hear about an argument?” Shiv asked.

  Bert smirked at her friend and shook her head. “Oh, Harry was a little frustrated that Carla and I have been driving around town asking questions about this latest murder.”

  “They have the wrong person behind bars. Someone planted that saddle in her camper,” Carla didn’t hesitate to interject.

  Shiv put up her hands for the two older ladies to slow down. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. What’s happened now? I need updates.”