by CeeCee James
“When did you find out what it was?” I asked.
“When I caught him holding it in his hand. During his bathroom trip.”
“The same time you left for the bathroom, too.”
“Yes,” she chuckled. “Then.”
“It was the candelabra,” I suggested, hoping I was right.
“It was. When he saw the candelabra, he knew that was where it was. Because he had the same one at home. During the siege of Three Maidens’, Elizabeth Hartwell unscrewed the base of the brass candlestick and placed her family’s jewels inside.”
“So why not steal it from him later? Why sabotage the lamp at all?”
“You know why.” Her voice held humor in it. Sick humor.
“Leslie whispered it. To get revenge.”
She laughed. “How did you find out?”
“I started seeing you had your finger in a lot of pies, as Cecelia would say. It was you who planted the idea that Mr. Peterson had lost a button. You must have noticed you were missing one. Very subtle. Good job.”
She didn’t answer, so I continued. “But the problem with saying that you fixed his shirt was that it didn’t make sense why you would help him, not after your accusations of him cheating with Rachel. You’d been so disgusted. I knew that integrity was important to you by the way you talked about teachers. The longer I thought about it, the more I wondered if you were really helping him.”
“Used car salesman sleaze,” she growled. “Scum of the earth.”
She still had the gun. I wasn’t about to argue. During this entire time, my mind had been spinning nearly out of control trying to figure out how to both appease her and escape. I slowly felt for my pepper spray. Where was it?
“Please continue. The story is just getting interesting,” she said. Moonlight from the window glinted off the barrel of the gun.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I got to thinking, the only one who said they’d seen Mr. Peterson and Mrs. Green cheating was you. The other supposed witness, Mr. Green, obviously couldn’t contest the story. Everyone knew Mr. Peterson was a flirt and a player, so it was believable. You popped out the screen in the upstairs empty bedroom to support your story. And then there was the anonymous tip the police received about Mr. Peterson meeting with Mrs. Green back in Baltimore. You gave them that. You set up Mr. Peterson to take the fall for the murder by providing the motive of love.”
“You’re starting to bore me,” she said with a fake yawn.
Panic zipped through me. What was I going to do when my story ran out? I swallowed hard and tried to control my breathing. “You were the one that floated around the gossip that Mrs. Green is pregnant.”
“She probably is. I did actually see her with that sleaze-ball Peterson.”
“Was it her, or Sarah?”
“One or the other. Both are tramps. Does it really make a difference?”
Again, I wasn’t going to argue.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“The paper bag with the metal water bottle in it. The water bottle was huge, and you insisted on bringing it. That’s how you got the dagger into the house. You volunteer at the library and said that you love to study history and non-fiction. You learned where the best place was to stab someone.”
“Took some practice stabbing roasts at home to get the angle and the strength right, but I think I did a good job.”
“I get why you used the dagger, but why the wheat penny?”
She smiled. “That was something subtle, something just for me. The wheat penny was the first coin to have a human likeness on it, Abraham Lincoln. It was minted one hundred years after Abraham’s birth, in 1809. A very important year to me.”
“1809?” I eased my pepper spray out from under the pillow, praying she was distracted by her own cleverness.
“Have I stumped you, Miss Know-it-all? Can’t you answer the million-dollar question? Do you know why that year matters? Why I did all of this?”
“You are a descendent of Captain Heyward.”
“Yes, I am. Very clever girl. Very clever. In 1809, Captain Heyward’s uncle, Thomas Heyward Jr., signer of the United States Declaration of Independence that heralded the American Revolution, died. I thought using the wheat penny was quite fitting.”
“For revenge for a two-hundred-year-old murder?”
“The Greens and their ancestors were murderers and thieves. Even the jewels had been stolen from somebody or other. They’d always been criminals and, as the stolen retiree fund proved, they still were. It was time to right some wrongs. I was able to take out an old family enemy and all around bad guy, and steal their treasure while I was at it. And I succeeded.”
“You did.” I agreed. “So why did you go back to the Three Maidens’?” I eased off the safety mechanism of the spray.
“I’d been waiting for the perfect time to get the candelabra. Obviously, I couldn’t trot out with it that night. I overheard you on the phone with that curator lady, and thought you both were meeting somewhere for lunch. It was too bad for her that wasn’t the case.”
My heart thumped in my throat. I was at the end of the story. I’d run out of time. It was now or never. I eyed the gun, still pointed at me.
Would this thing spray if I didn’t shake it? I had no choice. I was about to find out.
I thought of Derek. If I lived or died, one way or another, I was going to face what happened that night.
One. Two. Three.
I dove to my side while bringing my arm out from under the covers. I depressed the trigger and a cloud of chemicals came out.
The gun went off. Everything went red.
I screamed.
Derek.
Chapter 27
The red haze grew and my eyes burned. I couldn’t see anymore, but just kept depressing the trigger of the pepper spray. By the sound, I could tell it was empty. I threw it at her and rolled off the side of the bed.
Tears streamed down my face. I wiped my eyes with the edge of the sheet. I could hear her flailing about and coughing. She was screaming. Cursing. The gun went off again, and I heard the bullet hit the mattress where I’d just been. My ears ringing, I struck out for my phone on the nightstand. I grabbed it, nearly sobbing with relief. I couldn’t see to dial and hit the last number called, praying someone would answer.
“Hello?” Frank’s voice came through the receiver. I threw the phone on the bed, too scared to answer to give her a reason to pinpoint where I was.
She was still coughing violently. I chanced a peek and saw her doubled over.
“Georgie?” Frank yelled from the bed.
Eliza Sue choked as she tried to respond in a string of angry words. I nearly jumped up to try and knock her down. But then she turned the gun toward the phone and fired.
The sound was deafening.
“Where are you?” she screamed.
I squatted beside the bed, ready to spring. I had to get her and get the gun before she recovered. I thought of Derek again and jumped forward.
She was heavier than me. But she didn’t see me coming. I concentrated all my weight on the arm that held the gun. I landed a blow on her forearm’s soft muscle, causing the pistol to fly away. It landed close to us. I couldn’t let her get it again.
Her fingers came like claws for my face. I shoved them away, but not before her nails caught my cheek. She tried to force her eyes open, but the chemicals were too strong.
Now that I was next to her, it was affecting me more too. I started coughing harder, my eyes tearing up even more. My nose was running. The skin where she clawed me burned like fire.
We wrestled on the floor. My only goal was to keep her away from the gun. I had to reach it first.
She was strong, stronger than I realized. Slowly, she maneuvered me to my back, trying to reach for my throat. I reached for the pistol with my foot, but only pushed it farther away.
I could do this. I knew I could. I wasn’t going to let her win. My muscles flamed with fatigue.
Bu
t she was getting tired, too. I could feel it in her movements, clumsier, less deliberate. I just had to wait her out.
She shrieked in frustration and I knew my moment was here. Lifting my arm up, I did a quick hip roll that knocked her off. I lunged for the gun.
“Stop!” I shouted, my hands on the weapon. “Don’t move.”
She sat back, panting, wheezing, still coughing. Her eyes struggled to focus on me and saw the pistol. With a groan, she fell back against the floor.
I wiped at my face and looked for the phone to call the police.
A bullet hole had shattered the front screen. I wasn’t calling anyone.
As best as I could, I kept my watering eyes on her and backed up toward the door. If nothing else, I’d scream for help in the hallway. The neighbors had to have heard this.
I’d just made it into the kitchen when my front door crashed open. Frank was there, gun out. His eyes were wild and crazy when he saw me.
“Georgie!” He started toward me.
“No! Don’t!” I coughed some more and then pointed into the living room. His gaze caught sight of my pistol. With his hand, he waved to direct me to put the gun down. Then he maneuvered around the corner, making a quick head check to make sure it was clear.
“Police!” he yelled. I heard a tackling sound and winced. Wearily, I peered around the corner. He was on top of her, handcuffing her hands behind her back. He was already sniffling.
After a minute, he returned to the kitchen. Now his coughing started in earnest. “Pepper spray, Georgie?” he asked between coughs.
“Now you know I was prepared. And how on earth did you have your handcuffs on you at this time of night? What were you using them for, hmm?” I asked, trying to interject some humor.
“They’re a part of my belt. I grabbed it when I heard the gunshot over the phone. The rest of the cavalry should be here any minute.” He stared at me with one eye squeezed closed.
We walked out into the hallway for fresh air. Mrs. Costello’s door opened.
“Everything’s okay, but stay in your apartment,” Frank said, his voice deepening to his “official police business” tone.
Mrs. Costello didn’t seem to believe him.
“It’s okay,” I said. “The police are on their way.”
She gave him a distrustful frown before shutting her door.
“You okay, Georgie?” he asked. His finger reached toward my cheek. He froze millimeters from touching me. His eyes caught mine, and I saw real fear there.
I couldn’t answer. My eyes welled up a bit, not because of any irritant, but because I was touched by his caring. I nodded and tried to smile.
The front door crashed open downstairs. His gaze swept in that direction. “And the cavalry is here.”
They came thundering up the stairs. It was a chaotic few minutes as they tried to figure out who we were and what was going on. But soon, they had Eliza Sue in custody.
It was a long night of giving statements—more statements! I was getting to be a pro—propped up by a few cups of coffee. Frank was a trooper; I never thought I’d say that. He stuck around the entire time.
Finally, hours of shivering in the hallway later, they allowed me back into my house. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, filling my home with soft gray light. I rubbed my arms. It was cold as heck in here. Someone had set fans in the open windows to circulate fresh air.
I wandered into the bedroom, and ruefully grinned at the bullet holes the police had circled with paint. One bullet had smashed into the phone, which they collected for evidence. The other had been dug out of the four-by-four that made up the headboard of my bed.
The final one was somewhere in the mattress, presumable lost forever. It was this bullet hole that I was studying now. Nothing remarkable, just a small hole burned into the top of the mattress covering. But one that could have killed me since it was right where I’d been laying.
I sat on the bed and sighed. I couldn’t help myself, and put my pinky in the bullet hole.
“They can’t get it out,” Frank said from where he was leaning against the doorjamb.
I lifted my head, surprised he’d followed me in, and then nodded.
“Kind of like me.” He tapped his chest. “I’ve got some shrapnel in here that still causes me trouble. Doctors can’t get it though.”
“I’m sorry, Frank.” I meant it. He was only thirty-two. We’d grown up together, two bratty kids throwing snowballs at each other and trying to get the other in trouble. As much as he always drove me crazy, it hurt my heart to see him hobbled by pain.
“I’m a tough old bird. You know that.” His face broke into a grin. “And you are too, Georgie. You are, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know if I’m more insulted that you called me old, or a bird.”
He laughed then, and I did, too. Then, I started the conversation again, a little more serious. “Is the shrapnel why you’ve been a little off lately? The coughing and stuff?”
He rubbed his chest. “Yeah. It gets me in the winter. Doctors say the scar tissue will protect me soon enough, but it’s been two years. Still waiting, I guess. It makes it hard to sleep at night.”
I glanced down. “I have a hard time sleeping, too.”
He didn’t respond to that, and I didn’t say anything more, either. The seconds of silence between us grew.
But this time, I was okay. I was okay with letting my guard down, and leaving that tiny window to my vulnerability open. I was ready to face things. Maybe not all at once, but I wasn’t going to hide from what happened on that night any longer. I might have to go to a counselor to get things sorted out, but it was time for me to do that.
Frank cleared his throat and took a step toward me. Something was in his hand. He lifted it up. “Here. I guess I owed ya.”
It was a soda.
I smiled as I took it. He smiled too, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Glad you’re back, kid.”
I popped the tab and gave him a cheers in return, then took a long drink, snorting slightly at the sharp taste of bubbles so early in the morning. I was back, with a new chance at life.
No more car rides to hide from the memories.
I owed Derek that.
And I owed myself that freedom, too.
The End
Thank you for reading Cherry Pie or Die. Hope you enjoyed Georgie’s journey as she tries to get back on her feet. Here is the link to book two, Cookies and Scream.
Here are her first two recipes.
Georgie’s rainyday-I’m-just-going-to-try-this-baking-gig-Cherry Crisp
1 can (21 ounce) cherry pie filling
3/4 cup flour
3/4 cup rolled oats
2/3 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 tsp cinnamon
1 1/2 sticks softened butter
Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C.) Lightly grease a 2 quart baking dish. Open pie filling and spread it evenly in the dish.
In a separate bowl, mix together flour, oats, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Cut in the soft butter with a fork and knife. You can also use your fingers. Don’t over mix- you want it to stay in large crumbles.
Sprinkle on top of the cherry filling.
Bake in the preheated oven for 30 minutes, or until topping is golden brown.
Aunt Cecelia’s Cherry Pie-so-good-it’ll-make-you-cry
First make pastry for crust and refrigerate for at least thirty minutes.
Preheat oven to 400degrees F (220 C).
Filling-
1 1/2 tablespoons softened butter, to dot
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons separated sugar to use at end.
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1⁄4 teaspoon salt
2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans pitted tart cherries, drained, reserving 1/2 cup of the juice
1⁄4 teaspoon almond extract
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 pastry for a do
uble-crust 9-inch pie
1 egg (yolk separated and saved for egg wash)
Drain cherries, reserving 1/2 cup liquid. In a small bowl, combine sugar, cornstarch and salt. In a separate medium-sized bowl, combine cherry juice, almond extract, vanilla and lemon juice. Add the dry ingredients and mix well.
Add cherries and mix well again. Let it sit for fifteen minutes.
On lightly covered surface, roll out half of the pastry into an 11 inch circle. Place into 9 inch pie dish. Trim overhanging edges.
Roll other half of pastry into another 11 inch circle. With a knife or pastry wheel, cut ten 3/4-inch-wide strips.
Wider strips are easier to weave together.
Pour cherry mixture into pie crust. Dot with butter. Finish top with weaving lattice with pie crust. Lightly brush lattice with egg yolk and sprinkle with remaining two tablespoons of sugar.
Bake for 50 minutes.
Pastry recipe
1 1/2 sticks very cold unsalted butter
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 cup ice water
Combine flour, salt, and sugar. Pour into a mixer or food processor. Cut butter and add, mixing until mixture resembles coarse meal. Sprinkle with 1/4 cup ice water. Mix until dough is mixed to pea-sized crumbles but holds together when squeezed. If needed, add more water one tablespoon at a time, until the dough reaches that consistency. Don’t over mix.
Divide into two balls and then flatten into disks and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes.
Enjoy! Here are the others in the Baker Street Cozy Mystery series!
Cookies and Scream
Crème Brûlée or Slay
Drizzle of Death
Need some more? Check out the Angel Lake Mysteries!
Really love cozy mysteries? Here’s the Oceanside Hotel mystery series.
