Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) by Carol Culver Read Free Book Online Page A

shop baking where I am every afternoon. I have the pies to prove it, some may be still warm from the oven—Dutch Apple, Lattice-topped Strawberry-Rhubarb, Open-face Apricot …”
    “Okay, okay I got the picture,” he said holding his hand out to stop me.
    “But I didn’t have any customers after two women came in and bought a quiche for lunch.”
    “That’s too bad,” he said.
    “Too bad that I don’t have more customers, or too bad because now I’m a suspect?”
    “Both,” he said.
    “Oh, come on, Sam. You know I’m not a murderer.”
    “Personal feelings have nothing to do with my job.”
    “I didn’t know you had any.”
    “That’s the way I want it. I deal in facts, not feelings. And if I had any …”
    “You’d keep them to yourself, I’m sure,” I said. Why did I even try to crack this man’s façade? It was hopeless. Even when there was no murder in Crystal Cove, he was still all business. He still found material for his “Crime Beat” column in the Gazette . But with a real crime on his hands, he was impossible.
    I sighed. “What do you want to know?”
    “I’d like to see your saw blade.”
    I reached into a canvas bag I’d slung over my shoulder. I hoped to see some flicker of surprise or admiration for my toting the supposed murder weapon without being asked in advance, but all I saw was a brief raised eyebrow as he donned a glove and reached for the handle of the tool.
    “I guess you’re surprised,” I said. “You thought I’d refuse to surrender my knife or I’d have to dash across the street and retrieve it before I cleaned off all the blood.”
    “Nothing you do surprises me anymore,” he said, exhaling loudly. Then he sniffed the red stain on the sawtooth blade and said, “Obviously you’ve contaminated your knife.”
    “If you mean I used it, yes. That’s not blood by the way, it’s raspberry from the tart I cut up for you. I know you don’t eat dessert, but I continue to hope I can change your mind.” I reached into my bag again and handed him a generous slice of a ruby-red fresh raspberry tart. “I thought you’d be glad I hadn’t cleaned the knife. I guess I was wrong.”
    He stared at the piece of pie for a long moment. Was he trying to decide whether to use it as evidence of God-knows-what or whether he should eat it?
    “The crust is puff pastry,” I said, “then a layer of raspberry jam with fresh raspberries and a glaze on top. It should be served with ice cream or crème fraiche , but …”
    “Thank you,” he said brusquely, setting the pie on his desk. “I appreciate the thought and the tart and the tool, but let’s get back to your whereabouts this afternoon.”
    “I didn’t have any whereabouts. As I told you I was in my shop. If you’d looked in from the street you would have seen me in the kitchen. What about the others, did they have alibis?”
    “I can’t answer that,” he said with a frown. “That’s confidential information.”
    I leaned forward in my chair. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I had a weapon and I had a beef with the victim so that puts me under suspicion. If there’s anything I can do to clear my name, I’d be glad to do whatever … or …”
    He shook his head. “Thanks but no thanks, Hanna. All I want you to do is answer my questions. I understand where you’re coming from. I know you have a lot of energy and drive. I understand why you’re motivated to get to the bottom of this crime. But you have enough on your plate without worrying about my investigation. Your job is to channel your talents into your pie baking and my job is to solve crimes. Just relax, stand back, and let me do what they pay me to do.”
    I hated hearing that condescending tone he used. If I didn’t know him, I’d even call it a holier-than-thou tone. But he really wasn’t holier than anyone. Actually he sometimes almost looked a little sheepish when pulling rank. If you’d asked me if Sam resembled an animal,