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

I would have said wolf, but not now.
    He’d obviously forgotten that I’d been helpful in solving a murder at Grannie’s retirement home only months ago. The only murder anyone could remember in the history of the town. Until now. He could act like I was a simple pie baker with homicidal tendencies, but I don’t think he believed it.
    “Just for the record,” I said, “I wouldn’t kill anyone no matter how much they trashed my pies. In fact I’ve never seen this Barr guy. I don’t know what he looks like. I don’t suppose you have a photo?”
    “You don’t need to see what he looks like. I have your statement. I have your cutting tool. Let me know if you come up with an alibi for your afternoon. A customer who came in or a friend who called you. Anyone who can verify your story.”
    My story? It sounded like he thought I made it all up. I clamped my mouth shut to keep from saying something I’d regret.
    “Until then I know where to find you if I need more information. You’re free to go.”
    “Thank you,” I said, choking back a retort. I wasn’t ready to go. I refused to be dismissed like a school girl. I had questions for Sam.
    “If you won’t tell me what the others told you I’ll have to ask them myself.”
    “That’s up to you. I can only advise you to keep out of this. My advice to you is …”
    “I know, stick to baking,” I said. If only. “How can you even ask me to do that when you suspect me of murder? Or don’t you? And if you don’t, I want to know who you do suspect, but I guess you’re not going to tell me anything, am I right?”
    “Yes,” he said loudly as he pounded his fist on his desk. “You are right. I am not going to confide in you in regard to this murder. It’s my job, not yours. If I need your help I’ll ask you.”
    In my dreams. He was never going to ask me for help. At least I had the satisfaction of snapping his cool, calm, and collected demeanor. But did that help me accomplish anything I wanted? He still probably suspected me and I had no clue what the others had told him.
    So I stood with all the dignity I could muster after being shouted at by the chief of police and told in no uncertain terms not to meddle. I’ve been through worse than that. I was fired from my job in the city under a cloud of suspicion when I didn’t deserve it. I’d fallen hard for someone who didn’t deserve me. I came back here when I vowed I never would. When I left at age eighteen, I thought I was too good for this town. Twelve years later when Grannie offered me her pie shop I grabbed onto it like a life saver, which it had been. Maybe Sam was right. I needed to devote myself to my new career and forget about the nasty food critic. And now because Heath was no longer on the scene, I wouldn’t have to hold my pie contest. Good thing Sam didn’t know anything about that problem or he’d figure I had enough motive to kill the critic.
    I walked slowly to the door, chin in the air as if I had a stack of books on my head and was practicing to be a runway model. I turned before I left and looked Sam in the eye. I spoke calmly. For me that is. “Mr. Barr is dead. I’m not guilty and I’m not sorry. You can put that in your police log or in your column.”
    I didn’t slam the door behind me. I closed it firmly before Sam had a chance to respond. Then I stomped back to my shop without a backward glance. Instead of flaking out and turning in early, my adrenaline was pumping and I was much too charged up to do anything but work. As I sometimes did, I used baking as a therapy tool and went out of my way to think up some savory new items for the fair the next day so I wouldn’t dwell on the investigation revolving around me.
    First I made individual Argentine empanadas with ground beef, chopped hard-boiled eggs, onions, green olives and spices, all encased in a flaky puff pastry crust. Next I put together a batch of cheese bourekas , those Middle-Eastern cheese-filled pastry pockets.