Bleeding Tarts Read online

  Slowly, still getting used to the size of the van, I drove through town and on to Mrs. Banks’s house. She lived in the same neighborhood of rundown Victorians as Charlene. And though it had no view of the ocean, the rolling hills, darkening to cobalt, almost made up for the lack.

  I parked in front of Mrs. Banks’s purple two-story, and hopped from the van.

  Somewhere nearby, something mechanical whirred.

  I carried the groceries past the Cadillac in her driveway, through an overgrown garden, and up the front steps. Balancing the bag on one hip, I rang the doorbell.

  The door opened, a man’s tall figure silhouetted against the screen.

  I took a step back.

  “Val?” Gordon pushed open the screen door. The sleeves of his navy fisherman’s sweater were pushed up to his elbows.

  I snapped my mouth shut.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Banks lost her groceries.” I raised the Pie Town bag in explanation. “What are you doing here?”

  He flushed. “Cooking dinner.” Gordon stepped close, lowering his head. In a low voice, he said, “Last time I was here, she didn’t have any groceries. Come in.”

  Grinning, I followed him inside. I’d caught him cooking dinner for an elderly lady once before. He’d been worried that she hadn’t been eating. Honestly, could he be any more perfect?

  “The last time?” I asked.

  He grimaced. “Grocery thieves.”

  Mrs. Banks hurried into the entryway, cluttered with knickknacks and shoes. She clutched a flowered hat to her chest. “Val! How lovely! I was just telling Officer Carmichael that those fairies are at it again. They took another bag of groceries.”

  “I’ve got them,” I said.

  She stopped short, her loose gray skirt swaying around her knees. “You got the fairies?”

  “No, your groceries.”

  “But how?” she asked.

  “They were on top of your car. You must have forgotten to load them into the backseat. I saw them fly off on Main Street.”

  She froze, pink creeping across her powdered cheeks. “Oh.” She plucked at the hat’s silk flowers. “Oh, dear.” Abruptly, she sat in a cane-backed chair. The hat dropped to the parquet floor. “I forgot all about them.”

  “Is it possible that you forgot about the other missing groceries?” Gordon asked. “Maybe fairies aren’t responsible.”

  “Oh, this is embarrassing.” She pressed her wrinkled hands to her face. “You must think I’m an utter fool.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Of course not. We all forget things from time to time.”

  She lowered her hands to her lap and met my gaze. “But we don’t all blame our forgetfulness on the fairies. The worst of it is, I’ll probably forget we even had this conversation tomorrow!”

  “I don’t think you’re that bad off,” Gordon said. “Come on, Mrs. Banks. Help me set the table. Val, the kitchen’s back there.” He nodded down a hallway. “Why don’t you take in the groceries?”

  “Val, you should stay for dinner,” Mrs. Banks said. “It’s the least I could do after you salvaged my things.”

  I glanced at Gordon, and he nodded.

  “I’d love to,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I found my way to the kitchen, tiled in an unhappy, speckled brown and smelling of lasagna. The oven light was on, foil folded neatly on the counter, and I guessed Gordon had prepared the food in advance. I removed the groceries and found places for them inside the green, nineteen-seventies-era refrigerator.

  The kitchen door opened and Tally Wally sloped inside, an electric weed cutter slung over his shoulder. “I finished with the backyard . . .” He stopped short. “Val? I didn’t expect to see you here.” He leered. “Or are you chasing down that young policeman?”

  Tingling spread from my chest to my face. “I’m returning Mrs. Banks’s groceries.”

  He whistled. “Brought ’em back from fairyland, did you?”

  Gordon walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Wally. Thanks for taking care of those weeds.”

  “No problem. How’s dinner coming?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Gordon said.

  Wally rubbed his broad hands. “Just in time.”

  “I didn’t realize you both knew Mrs. Banks,” I said.

  Gordon leaned one hip against the counter. “She reported some fairy thieves last week. I was nearby, so I took the call.”

  Wally snorted. “Ever since the dog park, there’s been a fairy epidemic. Did you know that if you compare reports of fairy sightings from hundreds of years ago to UFO sightings today, they’re nearly identical?”

  “Did Charlene tell you that?” I asked.

  “Who else?” Wally leaned closer. “I saw one, you know, when I was in the Air Force. It buzzed our plane and then took off, straight into the atmosphere. No Russian bird could do that.”

  Presuming he meant UFOs rather than fairies, I glanced toward the open kitchen door. “I’m a little worried about Mrs. Banks,” I said quietly.

  “Does she have any relatives?” Gordon asked.

  “Nope,” Wally said. “And I don’t think she’s quite ready to condemn herself to a home.”

  “Is anyone else checking in on her?” I asked.

  “Graham comes by every now and again. He lives just up the street. But I don’t like the situation much either. This afternoon when I stopped by, there was a puddle of water on the kitchen floor.” He pointed to a spot on the stained linoleum. “She could have slipped and cracked her head.”

  “Maybe we should . . .” I trailed off, unsure. “I don’t know . . . set up a check-in schedule? I’m in this neighborhood often enough. It doesn’t make sense for us to all show up at the same time like tonight.”

  “Good idea.” Wally rubbed his drink-roughened nose. “Graham will go along with it. If we all stop by once a week, maybe rope in some of the neighbors, she’ll get daily visitors.”

  I nodded, relieved we had a plan.

  Mrs. Banks tottered into the kitchen. “What can I do next?”

  We joked, fixing dinner, then migrated to the dining room. Gordon sat beside me, his hand occasionally grazing mine as we passed each other food. And even though this hadn’t been the evening I’d planned, I was content.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My fingers flexed, getting used to the feel of the rented van’s wide steering wheel. The van was pink perfection, and it handled like a dream. Sunlight glinted on the windshield, and I flipped down the visor.

  We rolled over a pothole on the dirt road, and the pies stacked in the back barely jiggled.

  Beside me, Charlene harrumphed. “That car salesman is trying to suck you in, trick you into buying.”

  “I thought you said renting the van was a good idea.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t like being manipulated.”

  “I told you, I can’t afford to buy it right now anyway,” I said, and pulled up in front of the Bar X’s closed gates. “Just a minute.”

  I went through the process of opening the gates, driving through, and closing them behind us.

  “The step is too high,” Charlene said. “It’s hard to get in and out of this pink monster.”

  “It’s no higher than your Jeep.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You? Beg?” I grinned. It was another great day of pie sales. Not only was Pie Town hopping, but Ewan had put in a big order for an event later this afternoon. I knew it was wrong to depend on one person’s business. Don’t put your eggs in one basket, etcetera. But if Ewan kept up these orders, and I got a few more wholesale clients, maybe I could afford to buy the van. And I liked that it was a VW. It seemed a fitting successor to the Bug.

  We drove down the ghost town’s Main Street. A tumbleweed rolled across the road, and I slowed near the saloon.

  Craning her neck, Charlene stared out the front window. “What are all those cars doing up at Ewan’s house?”

  I looked u
p the hill. In front of the Victorian, a cluster of vehicles glinted in the sun. “Could those belong to the people here for the event?” I clutched the wheel more tightly.

  “Too early. And we already passed the event parking lot.”

  “They could be the organizers.” But something gleamed blue and red atop one of the sedans. I sucked in my breath. “Those are—”

  “Police cars,” we finished in unison.

  “Keep driving,” Charlene said, her expression grim.

  We wound up the road to the yellow Victorian, and I parked behind a black-and-white.

  Ewan’s front door opened, and a police officer emerged leading Bridget, her hands cuffed behind her. Chief Shaw followed.

  “Oh, no.” My limbs turned leaden. I’d been right. Bridget was the killer.

  Charlene slid from the van and hurried up the rough slope to the front yard.

  Ewan stormed from the house and gesticulated toward Bridget.

  Leaping from the van, I chased after Charlene.

  “Don’t say a word,” Ewan shouted after Bridget. He ran down the porch steps. “The lawyer will meet you at the police station.”

  Chief Shaw stopped in front of me, and I braced myself for a lecture.

  “Miss Harris, it looks like we have you to thank for another hot tip,” he said, jovial.

  My stomach tightened. “I . . . What?” I asked, flummoxed.

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “No need to be modest. We always appreciate citizens coming forward.”

  “But, I didn’t.” I turned to Charlene and Ewan. “I had nothing to do with this. What’s going on?” Had I said something to Gordon that had gotten Bridget arrested? I cudgeled my brains. I hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. At least that’s what he’d said. Had he been faking me out?

  Charlene’s skin faded to paper white. Ewan’s face flushed red with anger. And Gordon . . . Where was Gordon?

  “No need to say any more, Miss Harris,” Shaw said. “I’ll see you in Pie Town.” The chief got into his police car, and the cavalcade drove down the hill.

  A muscle pulsed in Charlene’s jaw. “What did he mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I said wildly. “Ewan, I don’t know what Shaw was talking about. I didn’t give him any tips.”

  “What about Carmichael?” Charlene asked.

  “Well, sure, I told Gordon everything I knew,” I said. “I had to. But the lawsuit wasn’t a secret. The court system was probably the first place he checked.”

  “What lawsuit?” Ewan barked out.

  “Oh.” My stomach plummeted. “You didn’t know about Devon’s lawsuit against Bridget?” I asked in a small voice. “But it was all a misunderstanding.”

  “You should go,” Charlene said quietly. “Just go.”

  I stepped back, struck. “Charlene, you can’t think I had anything to do with this. We’re partners.”

  She clasped her hands together. “We’ll talk about this later. Go.”

  Swallowing hard, I trudged to the van and drove off, dazed. It wasn’t until I’d arrived at Pie Town that I realized I still had a van full of pies. A more cutthroat business woman would have called Ewan and asked what to do with them. But I couldn’t bring myself to pick up my cell phone.

  I parked beside our dumpster in the back alley and slunk into the kitchen.

  Abril set a mini potpie on a plate and handed it through the window to Petronella. Our new dishwasher, Fernando, stacked plates in the industrial cleaner.

  “Hi, Val,” Abril said. “How did it go at the Bar X?”

  “It didn’t,” I said, my voice flat. “The police arrested Bridget Frith.”

  “Oh, no,” she breathed. “Tragedy.”

  “The pies are still in the van.” And I should start unloading them.

  “What are we going to do with them all?” she asked.

  The rusted gears in my brain ground into motion. “We’ll freeze them if we don’t hear otherwise from the Bar X. Charlene is there now. I’ll get the pies.”

  “Well, that’s all right then,” Abril said. “Charlene will take care of everything. Are you sure you want to unload the pies?”

  Since I preferred lurking in the alley to faking a smile in the kitchen, I nodded. “Don’t worry about it. I got this.” I trudged to the van and unloaded the pies, carrying them in six at a time and stacking the boxes on an empty cooling rack in the kitchen.

  Charlene couldn’t believe I was responsible. She knew I wouldn’t make a police tip without consulting her, not on one of our cases.

  Once the pie transfer was complete, I went to my office and plucked my favorite apron off the corner of the metal bookshelf. My fingers fumbled as I tied it on, and I fought the urge to hide in my office. But that wouldn’t be fair to Petronella, despite my strong urge to cower.

  I reached for the doorknob, and the door slammed open.

  I yipped and jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding a collision.

  Petronella, dressed in her usual black, colored. “Oops. Sorry.”

  I clutched my heart. “That’s okay. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She closed her eyes. “No, that’s not true. I love Pie Town.”

  “That’s great.” I liked having happy employees, but Petronella looked far from happy.

  “And I really, really love the courses I’ve been taking.”

  “Well, that’s great too.”

  She leaned against my metal desk. “No, it isn’t. How can I leave Pie Town? You just made me assistant manager, and I’m going to have to go.” She raked her hand across her spiky black hair.

  “Not right away. I’m assuming you don’t earn mortician credentials overnight.”

  “No, it’s a two-year degree and then an apprenticeship, but I’m still leaving. I feel terrible.”

  I reached for her hand, then thought better of it. “Petronella, Pie Town was my dream. You need to follow yours. Of course, we’ll miss you when you leave, but everyone understands you need to do what’s best for you.”

  She blew out her breath. “You think?”

  “I know.”

  Knowing it was hard for Petronella to leave made me feel better. I got back to work in the pie shop, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my blowup with Charlene. I’d suspected Bridget might be guilty. Now, her arrest would destroy Ewan. Selfishly, all I could think about was Charlene’s reaction. I kept glancing at the door, expecting her to storm inside.

  She didn’t.

  * * *

  The day sputtered to an end, and I drove home. The pink van that had once seduced me now seemed an ugly reminder of all my half-baked ideas.

  I poured myself a Kahlua and root beer and sat on the picnic table, staring out at the ocean. The sky turned a deepening shade of blue in that not-quite-sunset hour, and a warm breeze caressed my cheeks. I tried to focus on those things, but all I could think about was my friendship with Charlene, and about Bridget and Ewan.

  And why the bleeping blue blazes had Shaw gone on about me being the tipster?

  A dark sedan crunched up the road and parked beside my converted shipping container.

  Gordon stepped out, the cuffs of his white sport shirt rolled up, his dark hair sleek. “I heard,” he said.

  “What happened? Why weren’t you there?”

  “Shaw wanted to make the arrest himself. I didn’t know about it until they brought Bridget into the station.”

  “But you’re—”

  “Off the case. It’s Shaw’s now.”

  I handed him my Kahlua and root beer. “Your need is greater.”

  His forehead rumpled. “Root beer?”

  “And Kahlua. Unless you’re on duty?”

  “No.” He gulped it down, made a face, and handed me the empty glass. “And if you tell anyone I drank that stuff, I’ll deny it.”

  “No one would believe me anyway. Why did Shaw say I tipped him off? I didn’t. Everything I heard, I told you, and you said you already knew about it. You did
, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t lie to you, Val.”

  “I didn’t think you lied, but what was Shaw talking about?”

  “All I know is he got a tip—a call directly to his desk. Word is, it came from you.”

  Horrified, I turned to him. “Gordon, there’s no way I would call Shaw. You were the investigating officer. We have a relationship.” My cheeks warmed as I realized how that sounded. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  He grasped my hand and released it like it burned. “I know.”

  My shoulders slumped. I zipped my Pie Town hoodie higher. “So, you didn’t come here to tell me off?”

  “You being the tipster didn’t track. How’s Charlene taking this?”

  “I don’t think she’s speaking to me.” Unseeing, I stared at the horizon of deep and deeper blues. “She and Ewan basically threw me off the Bar X, and I haven’t heard from her since.” I gestured at the dark ocean. “I just don’t understand what happened. Did someone call and pretend to be me? Did Shaw make the whole thing up?”

  Gordon shook his head. “And give you credit for no reason? I don’t think so. What you need to ask yourself is, who benefits?”

  “A lot of people knew Charlene and I were close to the Bar X. Maybe someone thought the so-called tip would be more believable coming from me.”

  “Maybe.” Doubt threaded his rumbly voice.

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Getting the case snatched out from under you must have been a kick in the teeth. And it was your first murder case as a detective in San Nicholas. Want another root beer?”

  “Can’t. Shaw’s put me on dog park detail later tonight.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “He didn’t demote you?! Hold on . . . Isn’t the dog park closed after six o’clock? What’s going on?”

  “More reports of aliens—the extraterrestrial kind—at the dog park.”

  My blood chilled. It’s not that I’ve got full-fledged alienophobia. Aliens probably don’t exist, but why take chances? “I thought it was fairies?”

  “It’s kids,” he said. “But you and Charlene are the paranormal specialists.”

  “Charlene is.”

  “And now that the case at the Bar X is over, I thought you might want to join me in a ride along?”