Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) (15 page)

“Is that where you’re from, Ireland? I thought you were French, Jacques,” I said.

“I’m from nowhere and everywhere,” he said, tilting his cowboy hat back to reveal his tanned features and a shock of streaked, bleached hair across his forehead.

He took my arm and led me up the rise toward the house. “Did you bring your suit?” he asked when a large pool came into view surrounded by women in dresses and men in casual shirts and jeans. It was all so beautiful, so well-cared for, so rich and lush. I hadn’t expected to find this scene way out here.

I shook my head. Who would bring a swimsuit to a dairy farm? “I didn’t know you had a pool. You are living the California dream.”

“That’s the idea,” he said. “Never mind the suit. In a few hours we’ll all be, how do you say … skinny dipping.”

I smiled nervously. I’m no prude, but skinny dipping with a bunch of strangers?

“It’s not like we’re strangers,” Jacques said, as if he’d read my mind. “I mean we’re all in the same boat, don’t you agree?”

“Some might say we’re up the creek with no canoe. It means …” I didn’t get a chance to explain how the saying applied to a situation where a group of former strangers were now bound together as murder suspects. Maybe it was just as well. Jacques was waving to a guy who’d just gotten out of a shiny new black BMW and was walking toward us.

“And who is this lovely creature?” the guy asked Jacques with a nod in my direction. “She’s a cut above your usual breezy.”

I didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. I’d never been referred to as a breezy before. I must have looked puzzled, because Jacques put his arm around my shoulder and explained. “Breezy is a cross between a broad and easy.”

“I’m neither,” I said. Better to set the record straight right now.

“Hanna, meet my mate Geoffrey.”

Again I was confused. Was Geoffrey actually Jacques’ partner? Or was it “mate” as in friend in Australia? This time no one explained.

“Hanna works the farm market with me,” Jacques said. “She sells
pies. Like the one in this box here she brought.”

“You made it yourself?” Jacques’ tall, attractive friend, Geoffrey, asked. In his ripped jeans, famous name T-shirt, and leather sandals, he looked like an interesting guy, around my age, but how did I know for sure? When there’s a murderer on the loose in your town, it’s not a bad idea to suspend judgment, of strangers or even your friends.

I nodded and took the pie box out of Jacques’ hands. I tipped the cover so they could see the brown flaky crust with the red sour cherry juice oozing from it.

“Whoa,” Geoffrey said, his eyes alight. “Why didn’t you tell me you invited a babe who could bake? Is she the one who …”

“No,” Jacques said curtly. “Bring your suit, Geoff?”

“Do I need one?”

Jacques assured him he didn’t and the water was fine.

I listened to the two of them banter for a few minutes as we made our way to the party scene around the pool. Jacques had his arm around my shoulders. I couldn’t help being flattered. Especially when the first person I saw was Lurline. Not surprisingly she was dressed to kill in low-rise skin-tight white jeans. Her midriff was bare and she wore an electric blue stretch tank top and high heels. To top it off I saw a huge tray of little cupcakes on a table on the patio. Who do you think brought those?

Not surprisingly Lurline was surrounded by a group of men. If I hadn’t made my entrance in my best dress with Jacques I would have felt old and dumpy next to her. But he had a way of making me and probably every other woman he knew feel young, sexy, and desirable.

It was best that I ignore Lurline for the moment. Fortunately Jacques introduced me to various people, then when some of the other vendors arrived I seized the chance to talk to Tammy and Lindsey, who’d brought their husbands. They’d also brought a couple of baguettes from their bread booth, which went really well with some of the exotic cheeses on the buffet table by the pool. Which all went extremely well with some wine that a good-looking young guy behind a portable bar was pouring. A couple of inflatable rafts floated in the pool. Some cool jazz music floated out from the house on large speakers. I hadn’t been to a party like this for years, maybe never, that combined a working country farm atmosphere with sophisticated music, food, and drinks. That Jacques really knew how to throw a party.

“What a life Jacques has,” Lindsey said to me as Tammy went off with her husband to see the milking machines. I watched her go, remembering she was still on my long list of suspects. Maybe I’d talk to her later, though what would I say? I knew perfectly well how she felt about Heath’s demise.

I admired Lindsey’s Palazzo pants and a gauzy see-through shirt. Holding a glass of local dark red Pinot Noir, she looked like an ad for California wine in a slick magazine.

“Makes you want to be a farm-sitter too, doesn’t it?” I asked.

“You didn’t fall for that line, did you?” Lindsey said. “He’s more than that, Hanna.”

“Yes, he’s a great salesman and a cook as well.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She lowered her voice. “Haven’t you heard? He’s in the Witness Protection Program of course.”

I’ve never thought Lindsey was the brightest crayon in the box, but being raised by Grannie to be polite, I didn’t gasp and tell her she was obviously crazy. I just nodded as if I agreed. On the other hand, was Lindsey capable of making up a story like that? Of course it was possible the story was true, which would explain Jacques’ peripatetic lifestyle, hopping from farm to farm. But instead of working for the farm-sitting placement agency, he was placed by the FBI. Just in case it was true I decided to follow through and see if she could back up her story.

“So what’s his background? How did he get to be in the program? He must have done something. Was he in a gang or did he work for the mob? Does he know something that puts him in danger?” I asked.

Lindsey’s mouth was full of a wedge of the prize-winning triple cream cheese I’d seen on the buffet table so she couldn’t answer right away.

What I really wanted to know was how she knew this. If she was out blabbing to me about his identity, didn’t that mean his cover was blown and he’d have to move on?

Just as I’d considered the possibility, Lindsey put her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone I told you,” she said.

“I won’t,” I promised. “But how did you find out?”

“He told me,” she said.

Okay, now I was sure she was wrong. Anyone who said he was in the Witness Protection Program wasn’t. He must have been lying because the whole premise was to protect the witness and as soon as someone found out, they were doomed. Whoever was looking for them would track them down and kill them. Jacques was obviously pulling her leg.

“But he didn’t tell me who he really is,” she said. “Jacques isn’t his real name.”

“No kidding,” I said. My one-track mind went back to the mystery du jour, the murder of our food critic. I still couldn’t believe what Lindsey told me about Jacques, but what if she was right? I couldn’t afford to ignore it. “What about Heath? Maybe he was in the same program. Maybe they knew each other in federal prison. Which would explain the fact that they both ended up in Crystal Cove. One was a lousy food critic and the other is an excellent cheese salesman. So now we’re left with a clue as to who murdered Heath. It was the mob.” I felt flushed with my own brilliant conclusion.

“You could be right, Hanna,” Lindsey said cautiously. That should have been a hint that Lindsey was simply making up this story so I wouldn’t suspect her.

She stepped closer to me and said in a hushed voice. “Look around. See the guys serving drinks? They’re probably Jacques’ personal guards or something, don’t you think? How could a dairy farmer afford a staff like this?”

If anyone had told me in high school or even yesterday I’d be trading secrets and theories with Lindsey, I’d have said they were nuts. I was about to move away from the cheese table and away from Lindsey before I lost all sense of reality, when she reached for another glass of wine from a passing waiter who she claimed was really a former mob hit man, looked over my shoulder and waved enthusiastically. “There’s Sam,” she said. “We’ll ask him.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” I murmured. Wait until Sam heard our theories—he’d run for the hills.

“I’m not, but he’s a cop.”

Knowing Sam, I was pretty sure he didn’t come to the party for purely social reasons. So maybe Lindsey was on to something. Forget the witness protection program, it could have been some other kind of cover-up. Some other tie to the murder of Heath. Just when Lindsey was about to ask Sam what he thought, her husband came up and said they were going for a hay ride. I breathed a sigh of relief as they rode off in a large flat-bed truck covered with straw. So much for the sophisticated atmosphere. No way was I getting into a hay wagon in my good dress. I stayed right there at the buffet table, which looked like the cheese counter at Whole Foods.

“If I’d known you were coming I’d have given you a ride,” I said to Sam.

“Thanks, but I may have to leave early,” he explained as the wine server returned and Sam snagged a glass of sparkling California white wine. “I’m on call and I didn’t want to cut short your evening.”

“Very considerate of you. Lots of new crimes to solve, I suppose,” I said brightly. “As if you’d tell me.”

“I do have something to share with you that may interest you. In fact it’s right up your alley. Heard about it from the San Pedro police before I came here tonight.”

I tried not to flinch, wince, or exhibit an ounce of more than ordinary interest, but somehow I knew what was coming next. “I suppose they want your help solving some horrendous crime like an unauthorized bonfire on the beach or something.”

“Not this time. This was a prank. Someone let a bunch of lab rats loose in the supermarket.”

“No,” I said, with disbelief.

“Yes,” he said. “What does that remind you of?”

“Oh, come on Sam, you don’t think I’m still a crazy teenager, do you? I’ve outgrown silly tricks like that. Not that I approve of keeping lab rats in small cages. I still think it’s cruel and inhuman. Just as I did when I was in high school. But I’m too busy …”

“I don’t think the perpetrator was an animal rights advocate,” he said. “I think it was a ploy to divert the county’s attention away from the rule-breakers at the Food Fair by steering them to a rat-infested grocery store.”

“Good for him or her whoever thought up the ploy. I mean I’m sorry for the poor store owner, but he’s a big boy and I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” he asked.

“I have a question for you. Are cops allowed to drink while on duty?” I glanced at the glass in his hand.

“I’m not on duty. I’m on call. In addition, I’m undercover.”

“Speaking of which, Lindsey thinks Jacques is in the Witness Protection Program.”

“Why?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I can’t say.”

“Then I assume he is or you would say. You would say ‘no, he’s not in the Witness Protection Program’.”

He shook his head. “I knew I couldn’t fool you.”

I swear Sam was hiding a smile behind his champagne glass. He’d do anything to point me in the wrong direction. At least he’d dropped the subject of the rats. I thought I’d dodged that rather well.

When Jacques came up, he slapped Sam on the back and said he was glad to see him. “Solve any crimes today?” Jacques asked.

Instead of clamming up the way he would have with me, Sam was totally genial. “Found a lost dog and caught someone trying to steal the ‘curve ahead’ sign from the highway.”

“Any suspects in the murder case?” Jacques asked.

“Just the usual,” Sam said briefly. He looked around at the acres of green grass, the picture-book animals contentedly grazing in the field, the sparkling pool and the well-dressed guests standing around sipping wine. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“It’s not mine,” Jacques said. “Wish it was. You’ve got a great little town here, Chief, with some nice people, especially our Hanna here. Can’t believe she’s still single. She’s not only beautiful but she bakes the world’s best pies. Trust me, I know. I’ve been around the block a few times. Hell, I’ve even been around the world. If I was going to be around here a little longer …” He sighed. “But that’s the nature of my job. Here today, gone tomorrow. Something I have in common with our gnarly food critic. Did you say there was a breakthrough in the case?” he asked, taking his hat off and tossing it onto a wooden bench behind the table.

Sam shook his head. Then he looked at Jacques as if he was trying to decide, does this phony Frenchman really think Hanna is beautiful? Or is he permanently full of it? Or was he thinking about Heath and wondering if Jacques killed him. That would explain why Jacques had to be “gone tomorrow.” I noticed Sam said not a word to Jacques about the rat infestation at the grocery store. Maybe it was beyond believable that a Frenchman would be capable of obtaining rats and dumping them at a grocery store and then host a big party. Before Jacques ambled off to greet some new arrivals, he said, “Look around. Don’t miss the barn and the gift shop.”

I nodded, and Sam said he wouldn’t miss it. When Jacques was gone I said, “Well, that lets Jacques off the hook. If this dairy farm isn’t his and he’s just a farm-sitter as he claims, then why would he care enough to murder Heath for bad-mouthing the cheese that isn’t his?”