Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) (12 page)

He took it out of my hands and bent over the crust to inhale the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. He looked so touched by the gift of a pie, I realized this was my reward for hours in the kitchen. Knowing someone appreciated the work that went into it.

“Thanks,” he said. “This looks wonderful.” He walked over to a small shed and put the pie inside. “It’ll be safe in there,” he said. “Safe from Dave.” He closed the door behind him then he motioned us out to the pasture. He glanced at my sandals with a frown, then he gave me a hand and I climbed over the fence. Sam followed, seemingly as happy as I was to walk through some mud to get the full organic porcine experience.

“They really do look happy,” I said, watching the pigs chase each other around the field.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Bill asked. “They’re free to roam, play, dig in the ground, and roll in the mud.” He took us to the barn where some of his sows had just given birth. He let me hold a squirming, slippery baby pig in my arms.

Sam looked at me with surprise, and maybe even a touch of admiration, as if he didn’t think I had the nerve to hold a baby pig. I had the nerve but not the skill, the pig squirmed out of my grip until I had to let him slide out of my arms to join his siblings in the straw.

A couple of large pigs came running up to us. Bill scratched their heads and they made noises that indicated how much they loved being petted, if you can call it that.

“What kind are those?” I asked, pointing to a group of long-legged, ginger-colored pigs grazing off to one side.

“Tamworths,” Bill said. “I don’t think anyone else around here raises them but us. They make tremendous bacon and wonderful pork. Look at those ears,” he said leaning over the fence.

“They look so alert,” Sam said, “as if they’re listening for something.”

“They cost an arm and a leg, but they’re worth it. We call them the aristocrats and don’t they know it,” Bill said with a grin. “See how they’re looking at us. Dave was against my buying the Reds, but I don’t regret it, even if no one else appreciates them, they’re special. I’ve heard them called gentle giants. You can see why, can’t you?” he asked eagerly.

I nodded. What made him think no one else appreciated the Reds? Those were some special pigs all right. “But Bill, how can you stand to uh … slaughter them?” I gave a little shiver.

“I confess,” he said. “We can’t. We send them off to the organic food processor. But when they come back as roasts, steaks, and hams and of course our sausage, we take over. We have a smoke room and a curing room and a walk-in refrigerator. Come and have a look.”

I turned reluctantly from watching the aristocratic pigs frolic in the pasture and followed Dave to the out-building. I really didn’t want to see what happened to them after being processed. I was in denial about the future of those classy animals and I wanted to stay that way.

Before we got to the building, Bill’s tall lanky brother, Dave, waved to us from across the field. “Bill,” he shouted, “phone.”

Bill frowned. “Guess I’d better take this,” he said. Then he hurried off, leaving us standing there in rich, organic bluegrass.

“I don’t know what to do. Should we go?” I asked Sam after we’d stood there a few minutes.

“Let’s see if he comes back,” he said.

“They did invite me and you too as well as the other vendors to see the place so I don’t feel like we’re intruding. On the other hand—” I turned to see one of the large pigs running on his short legs toward us. No, not toward us, but toward me. Although I thought the pigs were extremely attractive on the whole, I wasn’t so sure about this one. I didn’t like the way he was closing in on me. I don’t know how or why exactly, it was more instinct than anything, but I turned around and started running. I heard Sam yelling at me to stop and come back but I also heard those little pig footsteps behind me, gaining on me and I didn’t stop until I got to the fence. I panted, I gasped, and I climbed over just as the pig reached the narrow wooden slats. I tumbled forward and landed on my butt on the other side of the fence. This on top of my adventure last night. Half dazed, I looked at my feet splattered with mud. I had to admit the pig behind the fence with his snout pressed against the wood no longer seemed as dangerous. Maybe he just liked running. I felt a little foolish and was hoping no one but Sam had seen me.

Instead of Bill finding me or Sam catching up to me, Dave walked over, helped me up and said hello as if it was not a bit surprising to find me running across his field and leaping over the fence while being chased by his prize pig. Maybe he wasn’t aware he had a demon pig on his hands. He was wearing muddy knee-high boots and he seemed out of breath too.

When Sam joined us I introduced them. “Sorry to interrupt your tour,” he said. “But this was an important call. We’re hoping to get a loan from the bank because, well, my brother has some expensive tastes.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

“You mean the Tamworth pigs?” I asked. “They’re something special. Even I could tell. They’re very fast runners.”

“So are you,” Sam said under his breath.

“Not just the pigs,” Dave said. “Wait till you see the smoke room and the curing room. Everything has to be first class. Things were going okay for us, then that damned food critic with his critical review comes alone and bingo, no bank loan.”

“Just because of what he wrote about you?” I asked incredulously.

“That set off a whole chain reaction. We were already in debt to the processor, the distributor, and just about everybody else in and out of town. But George Hamill at the bank was ready to make the loan to keep us afloat until he reads the review, he takes another look at our sales figures, and he turns us down flat. Bill was so mad at that smarmy Heath. If anyone deserved to die it was him. But what could we do? The damage was done. You know Bill, he’s not taking no for an answer. He left a call in for George to ask for a second chance. That’s what this is about I’m sure. What do you think George is going to say?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to hazard a guess.

Dave’s lower lip trembled. I looked away. I was afraid he was going to cry. But he pulled himself together. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Who knows how long Bill will be,” he said.

The smoke house was a nice-looking little wooden structure with a slanted rooftop. Delicious smoky aromas wafted in the air. Dave opened the door so we could catch a look at ten or more chrome-plated shelves full of sausages and brackets for hanging huge hams and shanks of pork.

“I don’t want to keep you any longer,” Dave said, “but we’d like to offer you a loin or some chops from the freezer to take home with you. We’ve got sausage too.” Even though I was in no hurry to go, maybe Sam was. Being his inscrutable self, I had no idea if he was bored or having the time of his life. Why was he here, really? I didn’t believe for a minute he was taking a day off.

“Go ahead,” Sam said to me. I realized he hadn’t said much about my hasty race across the field. Maybe he expected me to do something impulsive and wasn’t surprised. “I’ll be out interacting with the redheads.”

I watched him amble out toward the pasture, where the pigs appeared to ignore him. Then I followed Dave behind the barn where a huge shiny white walk-in freezer made of fiberglass stood. He led the way between large pallets stacked next to the freezer waiting to be loaded, or so he said. I could only hope he had enough orders to fill those pallets. He opened the door and invited me to go in and choose whatever I wanted, the cuts were all clearly marked and ready for market.

“Thanks, Dave. I’d love some ribs to barbecue but I insist on paying you for them.”

He waved his arm and nodded. “I’m going to check up on Bill. God only knows what’s happened now.”

He closed the door behind him and I was alone with the meat in the sub-zero room. I buttoned my sweater up to my chin to ward off the chill and made a quick tour of the room. No wonder they were in financial trouble. A freezer like this must cost a bundle. Which was okay if you were selling pork like mad. But maybe they weren’t. Every shelf was packed with pork and all labeled: ribs, ham, bacon, blade shoulder, shoulder butt and trays of different kinds of sausage.

I was getting cold so I took a five-pound slab of ribs from a shelf and tucked it under my arm. I could just picture myself first marinating the meat in a vinegar, wine and garlic sauce, then barbecuing it out back behind the pie shop for hours on a low heat. My mouth watered. I was halfway lost in a dreamy sequence of myself surrounded by my new Food Fair friends enjoying a juicy barbecue in my patio when I heard a loud thump. I jumped nervously and went to the door. I pushed the door. Nothing happened. I dropped the pork ribs, turned the door lever and shoved the door with my shoulder. It didn’t budge.

“Help,” I yelled. “Somebody help me. I’m locked in the freezer.” I was shivering. Whether it was because of the sub-zero temperature or my near hysterical fear and claustrophobia, I didn’t know. Maybe it was some of each. I told myself to calm down. Dave would come back. Sam would look for me. I wasn’t alone out here. And yet I was alone, along with about a thousand pounds of frozen meat.

I looked around. The walls, ceiling and roof were all at least four
inches thick. No one would hear me screaming so I might as well save my strength. What did I have to fear? (1) Hypothermia. I was feeling colder by the minute. My teeth were chattering. (2) Suffocation. I tried not to take deep breaths, because I once read you lose heat by breathing. I couldn’t help it. (3) Frostbite. I imagined my toes falling off and then the tips of my fingers. I wondered how I’d ever be able to use a rolling pin again. I’d have to buy ready-made crusts. There would go my reputation.

I thought I’d read that hypothermia victims got dizzy and confused. Since I wasn’t in that great a shape from my escapade the night before, and then my frantic chase today by a maddened pig, I already felt confused and vulnerable. Questions rattled around in my brain. But no answers. What was the thump I heard? I’d gotten myself out of a dumpster, so why couldn’t I open the door to a freezer? If I had a choice, I’d pick the smelly dumpster, at least there I could breathe. I was in the middle of a working pig farm, so where was everybody?

I must have been losing my mind because I also asked myself if Dave had locked me in there on purpose and then pushed something against the door which was the thump I heard. Maybe he blamed me for them not getting their loan. Maybe he thought it was my fault they got a bad rap from the food critic. Maybe they invited me out there to kill me. But why? I was just as much a victim of Heath Barr as they were. We were in this together. They were my new friends.

I was irrational. I was alert enough to know that. I just had to hold on until Sam realized I was missing. He’d ask Dave where I was and they’d be here any minute to let me out. But the minutes dragged by. Had Sam stumbled on an important clue in the Heath Barr murder? Was he arresting Dave and Bill? Maybe they’d killed Heath because he’d not only given them a bad review, now they couldn’t get the loan they needed and they blamed him. I could understand that. It seemed logical, but how would I know without some evidence. I summoned every ounce of strength I had and I pounded on the heavy door. I kicked the door and I screamed. “Get me out of here.” Then I started to cry.

Seven

I finally stopped crying.
I sat down on a small metal stool and buried my head in my hands. A few minutes later I heard voices. Someone was calling my name.

“In here. I’m locked in,” I shouted.

“Oh my God, she’s still in there. We’re coming.”

“Don’t worry. We just have to move the pallet.”

It seemed like hours but it was only minutes later Sam and Bill opened the freezer door and I fell out into Sam’s arms. I was shaking violently.

“Good God,” Sam said, putting his arms around me. “Are you okay?”

As much as I wanted to reassure him, I needed all the sympathy I could get so I gave in and sobbed quietly for a few minutes. Until I finally took a deep breath and stood back on shaky legs. I took great big gulps of fresh warm air and felt glad to be alive and outside again.

“Sorry about that,” Dave said, a little casually I thought. “Things like this happen at piggeries, unpredictable things.” It was obvious I was just not tough enough for farm life.

“A pallet fell off the stack and landed against the door,” Dave explained. “Which prevented you from opening it. No need to worry. We would have found you sooner or later.”

“Worry? I wasn’t worried, I was hysterical,” I confessed lightly. “I’m just glad it was sooner.” I looked at Sam. “I think we’d better go.”

“Sure you don’t want a cup of coffee or something to warm up?” Bill said as he joined us.

“I’m fine,” I said bravely. At least I hoped I came off as brave and not a shivering, panic-stricken coward.

“Don’t forget your meat,” Dave said holding the door to the freezer open.

I took a deep breath, went back in and grabbed the ribs I’d picked out. I insisted on paying for them, then I thanked both brothers and Sam and I got back into his car.

“Want the top down?” Sam asked as we headed up the driveway. He actually looked concerned about me. I wanted to milk the situation, but I just couldn’t. That’s the problem when you’re just too honest for your own good.

I shook my head. “The fresh air feels good,” I said. And it did.
But when I shivered, he stopped at the end of the driveway, reached behind his seat for a small plaid blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I thought his arm lingered, but that was probably wishful thinking.

Wrapped up tight in his blanket with the sun on my face, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. The few minutes I’d spent screaming and pounding my fist against the freezer door
seemed like a dream or a nightmare. “I guess you’ll think I’m crazy,
but when I was in the freezer I thought maybe Dave had locked me in there.”

“Why would he do that?” Sam asked.

“Because he killed Heath and I’d found out?” I laughed nervously. “That’s ridiculous. I’m kidding. Why would he kill Heath?”

“Because Heath is responsible for their not getting the loan they wanted?” Sam asked.

“Is that really true?” I asked.

“It’s true that they needed a loan and it’s true that they blame Heath.”

“But you don’t really think either one killed him,” I said. “I mean they can’t even bear to kill their own pigs.”

“A food critic is not the same as a pet pig,” Sam observed correctly.

I thought about asserting that the pigs were not pets, but instead I asked, “Are you telling me those guys are on your list of suspects?” I sat up straight, the blanket fell from my shoulders and I stared at Sam.

“I’m not telling you anything. You know that, Hanna.”

I did know I was pushing my luck so I didn’t ask if he’d ruled me out as a suspect. I had to assume he had.

“Relax,” he said. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink. You look pale.”

I hated looking pale, but if it could get me even a small amount of sympathy from Sam and a stop at a restaurant, I didn’t care. And I definitely felt tired, cold, and weak.

“What you need is a bowl of hot soup,” he said, “and a cold drink.”

“Sounds good,” I said. I had no idea where he was taking me and
I didn’t care. I just wanted someone else to decide.

We went to a small rustic restaurant called Castelli’s on the main
street of Pescadero, a former Portuguese fishing town, now popular with tourists.

We got a table next to the back window where we could admire the large vegetable garden they used in their famous “home cooking.” Sam ordered dark beer for each of us and two bowls of their delicious creamy artichoke soup. He was right. I needed a quick infusion of the rich dark beer and some hot soup to warm and nourish me.

After just a few bites I was feeling much better. My mind was working and my internal temperature was no longer ricocheting between extreme hot and cold. “I don’t mind being locked in a freezer, if I get something out of it. But I don’t think I did.”

“What do you mean? You got a slab of ribs,” Sam said, slathering sweet butter on a hunk of sourdough bread.

“That’s right,” I agreed. Maybe it was the alcohol that loosened my tongue, or the savory hot soup, because I said, “I’m glad you could take time off today, Sam. Does that mean you’re not terribly busy?”

How could it mean that when he had a murder to solve?

“Actually I wanted to talk to you about a complaint that came to my attention yesterday,” he said after a long drink of draft beer.

“Something besides the murder?” I heaved a sigh of relief. I was thinking pesky raccoons tipping over garbage cans or intoxicated neighbors or maybe a noisy teen party.

“It may be connected. What do you think of this? There was a break-in at the
Gazette
office last night.”

I dropped my spoon and the soup splattered on my sweater. Sam looked at me with a laser-like gaze. He knows, I told myself. He knows it was me. But how could he? Was it the bruise on my forehead or the cut on my knee?

“I assume the body is gone,” I said. “So it had nothing to do with the murder.”

“That’s right. So cross the vampires off the list.”

“Why would someone break in? Why not just knock on the door and walk in?” I asked, dabbing the soup off my chest. “Was anything missing? A first edition? The cash box? The awards off the wall?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I know because I previously stripped the place myself.” He paused and then he said, “But I didn’t find Heath’s cell phone. If he had one.”

“Everyone has a phone,” I said. I tried not to show I was proud I’d succeeded when he’d failed. “And you needed it because it would lead you to his killer.”

“Might help.”

“You know if I’d killed him, I’d take the phone with me,” I said, even though I knew I was skating on thin ice.

“What if the killer couldn’t find it and didn’t have time to look?”

“Maybe it’s still in the office,” I suggested, carefully spooning another mouthful of the savory hot soup into my mouth.

“Maybe it was until last night,” he suggested.

“What would you say if I told you I have the phone?” I said. I figured it was better I handed it over rather than being handed a search warrant or even arrested for tampering with evidence.

“I’d say thank you very much,” he said, “and I’d drop all charges of breaking and entering provided you handed over said phone. I’d tell you to stay out of trouble and stay home at night.”

“I didn’t say I had the phone,” I said. I knew I was beaten, but I hated to be told what to do. “But if I did, I’d like to hear the messages. I think I’d deserve to know who called him and why. I’d like to know who killed him too.”

“I understand,” Sam said. “But the DA won’t. That phone is evidence. I can only hope it’s in a safe place.”

“Under my bed.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Apparently he didn’t think under my bed was a secure hiding place.

“Ready?” he said, laying a wad of bills on the table.

I stood. He put his arm around my waist. I wanted to think it was an affectionate gesture, but I realized it was a discrete way of hustling me out of the restaurant and into his car. Sam always drives fast, which makes me wonder how he can arrest speeders, but I guessed he and his fellow city cops had a reciprocal arrangement with the California Highway Patrol. Today he drove really fast down the PCH, passing on the straight-aways and hugging the curves in his small Miata.

He didn’t say much on the way home.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “Dumb broad hides prime evidence under her bed. What was she thinking? Why didn’t I have this conversation with her sooner?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. “My fault,” he said. “I should have known.”

“Known what? That I was the one who broke in?”

“Just a lucky guess,” he admitted. “Where was the fucking phone
anyway?”

“In the lining of the couch.”

“If I had a hat, I’d take it off to you. How’d you find it?”

I felt a sudden warm infusion of heat all over. I might have been mistaken, but I thought I heard grudging admiration underlying his words. Whatever kind of admiration it might be, I’d take it. Sure it was partly the soup and the alcohol that caused the feelings of warm fuzziness, but it was also Sam. If I wasn’t mistaken, he actually appreciated my efforts. I was so touched I almost didn’t realize he was using me and manipulating me so he could claim the phone I found. Okay, so it was evidence in a murder investigation, but I’d found it. It was mine.

“Grit and determination,” I said. “Those are the only tools I have. And as long as I can listen to the phone messages I’ll hand it over to you.”

“Hah,” he said. “You’re dreaming. I don’t make deals. You know you’re lucky I don’t arrest you for tampering with evidence.”

My lower lip quivered. He wouldn’t arrest me I was sure, but I didn’t like the way he dismissed me. Even more maddening was knowing I’d given away my bargaining chip. He knew I had the phone. He knew where it was and he was going to take it away from me.

“Isn’t it interesting,” I said, “there were never any crimes to speak of until you came to Crystal Cove.”

“Let’s hope no one else comes to that conclusion,” he said. “Or I’ll be out of a job sooner than I want to be.”

Back at the pie shop, I greeted Kate and, followed on my heels by Sam, raced up the back stairs to my small apartment above the shop.

I reached under the bed and found the phone. I would never admit it, but I had been worried. I’d been careless with an important piece of evidence. I held it up and Sam took it out of my hand.

“You give me the phone, I don’t charge you, remember?”

I thought about pleading loss of memory because of my recent head injury, but then we’d be back on the subject of how I’d gotten said head injury so I sighed and said, “All right. I just hope you realize that I went to considerable trouble to get that phone for you.”

“For me or for you?” he asked.

Just then Kate shouted up the stairs that she needed my help in the shop, so I was spared having to come up with an answer. Not that I was against fibbing to Sam, as long as I wasn’t connected to a lie detector in his office. He put the phone in his pocket and there was nothing I could do about it.

I stood there watching Sam cross the street with the phone while
Kate gave me a rundown of everything that had happened during the day. I finally turned my head and told myself to pay attention. After all, I had to make some preparations for the bake-off contest. Since this was the first annual event and I wasn’t sure how it would work, I had to think fast. Which was difficult since my brain had been half frozen only a few hours ago and my head still throbbed from the accident in the dumpster last night and I desperately needed a long hot bath, or at least a foot massage. Preferably both.

“Are you sure you’re up for this contest?” Kate asked.

“Of course. Actually I have no choice. At least it will give me some publicity and it might be fun too. Why wouldn’t I be up for it?”

She peered into my face. “I don’t know. It almost seemed like you were making up the rules for the contest as you went along.”

“So? It’s my contest.”

“And then you overslept. Not like you. Frankly you looked a little ragged this morning. And now you seem rattled. What happened at the pig ranch?”

“Oh nothing much. Except I was chased across a field by a huge wild boar and locked in a freezer with about a thousand pounds of pork, and well, I’ve had a big day.” I knew the pig wasn’t a boar, but it made a better story so I stuck it in.

She looked me over, her gaze lingering on my feet. Then she told me to take a shower while she was on hand to hold down the fort. When I came back down in clean clothes and clean feet she told me I looked better. The truth was I could hardly have looked worse.

Bless her heart, she did not ask for details on my story about
the pig and the freezer. She didn’t ask if I’d gotten stuck in a dump-
ster last night either. Instead she asked another all-important question. “You and Sam getting along okay?”