Pies Before Guys Page 5

  “Charlene’s still here?” I tugged on my hairnet’s elastic band. It was Tuesday afternoon, just after the lunch rush. My piecrust specialist was usually out of Pie Town by nine or ten a.m., having finished prepping her quota of piecrusts.

  “She came back.” Petronella whipped around and slid the pie onto a waiting tray, then adjusted her hairnet over her spiky black hair. The net might have ruined her dark, Goth vibe, but she managed to make it look cool.

  “How did she get on the—?” I shook my head. Never mind. “I’ll be right back.”

  Opening the heavy, metal door I stepped into the alley. A stiff wind off the Pacific tossed my hair, and I glanced up. The sky was blue, but the news had said a storm was blowing in. “Charlene?”

  “What?” she asked, appearing at my elbow.

  I jumped a little, stumbling backward. “How—?”

  A dark shape bulleted downward.

  “Look out!” Charlene shouted.

  I leapt sideways and yelped.

  A ten-pound slab of plastic-wrapped chocolate slammed into the pavement, inches from my feet.

  “What the hell!” I glared up at the roof.

  Abril and our new busboy and dishwasher, Hunter, peered down at me.

  “Whoops.” Abril pressed a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What—? Why—? What—?” I sputtered.

  “Did it break?” Hunter asked, his bronzed brow furrowing.

  “You nearly broke me,” I snarled at the teenager. “What are you two doing?”

  “Sorry.” Abril winced. “I was complaining to Hunter about how hard it is to break these big slabs of chocolate to melt. He thought dropping it from the roof might work.”

  Charlene bent to examine the chocolate. “It worked all right. Good idea.”

  “Except for the part about nearly bashing in my cranium.” Death by chocolate might sound fun in principle, but the reality was just irritating. I blew out a shaky breath. “Next time, let me know what you’re up to, and we’ll get a spotter.” And I’d go on the roof myself. I didn’t want my staff risking their necks.

  “Will do, chief,” Hunter said, grinning.

  Shaking my head, I returned inside the kitchen.

  Charlene trailed behind me.

  “I understand Hunter getting on the roof,” I said, “but what was Abril thinking?”

  Charlene nudged my side and leered. “She was probably thinking about getting on the roof with Hunter.”

  “He’s a teenager.” And okay, he was cute in a blond, blue-eyed, boy-next-door sort of way. But . . . a teenager!

  Petronella snorted and rolled a rack of pie-filled trays across the kitchen.

  “Abril’s not that much older than him,” Charlene said. “Not that I approve of those cougars like Marla,” she said darkly. “But Abril’s no Marla.”

  “No, but—” I thought my little brother kind of liked Abril, and I rubbed the back of my neck. I hoped he wasn’t headed for heartbreak.

  Abril hurried inside the kitchen, pulling the alley door shut behind her. “Val, I’m so sorry. We should have looked first. We just didn’t think—”

  “It’s okay. But don’t go on the roof again. If anyone needs to go up there, it’ll be me. How’d you get onto the roof anyway?”

  “There’s a ladder to the roof on the gym next door.”

  Charlene canted her head.

  I groaned. “I hope Heidi didn’t see you.” The gym owner hated being next door to a pie shop. But Pie Town had been here first, so she’d have to deal.

  Hunter ambled inside, cradling the plastic-wrapped chocolate against his broad chest. “It’s busted into at least fifty pieces.” He thunked it onto the work island, and a cloud of flour rose into the air. Hunter coughed, rubbing his hands on his Pie Town apron. “This was tons faster than breaking it by hand.”

  “And more dangerous,” I said. “Stay off the roof from now on.”

  His handsome face fell. “Seriously?”

  “Serious as a heart attack,” I said, and glanced at Charlene. I was still a little annoyed she’d been faking the other night.

  “Can I talk to you and Charlene?” Abril asked. “Privately?”

  “Yes, you can,” Charlene said. “In my office.” She strode to the door of the flour-work room and went inside.

  I shrugged. Abril and I followed her, and I shut the heavy door behind us.

  Charlene leaned against the long, butcher-block table in the center of the room. Light glittered off the metal counter on the opposite wall lined with mixing equipment. The flour-work room was climate controlled, and I shivered in the cool air.

  Abril hugged herself, goosebumps cropping up on her bare arms. We all wore Pie Town t-shirts except Charlene, who had an exemption.

  “It’s about Professor Starke,” Abril said. “Doran and I talked to a TA who worked for him.”

  “What?” White curls quivering, Charlene straightened off the counter. She buttoned her hip-length, orange knit jacket to her chin. “This is the problem with bringing in amateurs. You don’t interview suspects! Not without us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Abril said. “But we were on campus, and she was there, and . . . we talked to her.”

  “Who was she, and what did she say?” I asked.

  “Her name is Genny Glasspool. She said . . . she and Professor Starke dated, and she was really angry.”

  “Because he broke it off with her?” I asked.

  “Because he gave her a lame recommendation for her application to transfer to a university. She wasn’t supposed to see it, but her adviser, who did see it, recommended against using it because it was only one sentence. She was furious. Everything he’d told her about being a great student and great TA were lies.” Her face fell.

  “So this young woman had motive,” Charlene said.

  “I don’t think she could have killed him,” Abril said. “Genny was in Pismo Beach on Sunday and didn’t get back until Monday afternoon. I checked her social media accounts, and it all corroborates.”

  “And we’re back to square one.” Charlene made a face.

  “Not completely,” I said. “Now we know the rumors about the professor were true.”

  The counter bell rang.

  “I’ve got it.” I said, pushing through the swinging kitchen door and into the dining area.

  Joy, who owned the comic shop next to Pie Town, stood expressionless on the opposite side of the register. Her long, pale coat hung on her like a depressed spirit. “Hi, Val,” she said in a low monotone.

  Since this was normal for Joy, I smiled. “Joy! How’s it going?”

  She shrugged. “The usual,” she said in her flat voice, and glanced at the gamers who’d taken over my corner booth. “Superheroes are still selling.”

  At the counter, Tally Wally snorted into his coffee mug.

  His best friend, Graham, choked back a laugh, his broad stomach jiggling.

  I sold Joy a chicken curry pot pie to go and ambled down the counter to my regulars.

  “Hey, guys. What’s going on?” I asked, watching them carefully for tells. The two senior citizens were here every morning for the serve-yourself coffee and day-old hand pies. But it was nearly three in the afternoon. They were up to something.

  Graham shifted his checked cabbie’s hat on the counter. “Word is, you and Charlene are chasing another killer.”

  “Word?” I shot a look at Tally Wally. “You mean Wally?”

  “He can’t help it if a man was skewered outside his house.” Graham shook his balding head. “Neighborhood’s going to pot.”

  Charlene joined me behind the counter. “What do you two know about all this?”

  “Professors at the college aren’t our crowd,” Tally Wally said. “Don’t suppose aliens did it, eh, Charlene?”

  “With a sword?” she asked, peeling off her soft jacket to reveal the brown knit tunic and matching leggings beneath. “Not likely. A vampire might though,” she mused.

  “Wh
o kills someone with a sword?” Graham said.

  “Errol Flynn,” Wally said.

  “Errol Flynn never actually killed anyone with a sword,” Graham said. “He was an actor.”

  Tally Wally brandished his mug. “Actors can kill people.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to get back to the kitchen.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Graham said, laughing. “I have a clue.” He reached into the pocket of his stained jacket and pulled out a familiar piece of goldenrod paper. Unfolding it on the counter, he stabbed one of the grainy photos with his broad finger. “I know this guy.”

  I turned the flyer toward me. “Aidan McClary?” I asked, interested. The sexy Irishman who’d been arguing with Professor Starke and dating his ex-wife was my prime suspect. “How do you know him?”

  “He’s my neighbor. He’s always having his hoity-toity faculty friends over for drinks at all hours. Won’t cut back his damn ivy, even though the rats love it. He says it looks nice.”

  “What can you tell us about him?” I asked.

  “I just told you. He won’t cut his damn ivy.”

  “That’s helpful,” I lied.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Val. How would you like rats tramping through your yard?” he asked.

  I didn’t even want to think about the wildlife in the overgrown tangle behind my tiny home. “I wouldn’t. Thanks for letting me know.” But I kept my hand on the flyer. There was a tiny symbol in the lower-right corner I hadn’t noticed before, and I squinted at it. A snake coiled around one spoke on a crude, five-spoked wheel.

  The bell over the front door jingled. Gordon walked in, and my heart jumped with nervicitement. I hoped the detective wasn’t still annoyed with me.

  The wind caught the glass door, and Gordon turned to pull it shut, his charcoal suit jacket flapping in the breeze.

  I bustled around the counter. “Hi!”

  He kissed me lightly on the mouth, garnering whistles from the peanut gallery.

  I smothered a delighted sigh and inhaled his woodsy cologne.

  “Hi back.” He took in the gamers in their corner booth, Tally Wally and Graham at the counter, Charlene. “I see the gang’s all here. Got anything interesting for me?”

  “Aidan McClary won’t cut his damn ivy,” Graham shouted, swiveling on his pink barstool.

  “Not much I can do about that.” Gordon ambled to the high counter and braced his elbow on it.

  “It attracts rats,” Graham said.

  “In other words,” I said, “we’ve got nothing. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Hey, I’m actually here on a call. Your neighbor phoned in a complaint about people on the roof of her gym. Your roofs connect. Did you notice any strangers up there?”

  Hunter! “Strangers on my roof? Nope. No strangers.” No, siree. I knew Hunter and Abril.

  His jade eyes narrowed. “You know, going up on her roof would be trespassing.”

  Only if we’re caught. “That is good to know,” I said. “Was that all?”

  “No,” he said. “Are you free Thursday night?”

  Charlene rubbed her chin. “I suppose I could power-wash my windows on Friday instead.”

  “I meant Val,” he said.

  “I don’t have any pie-making classes this Thursday,” I said. “I’m free.”

  He broke into a smile. “Then may I take you to the White Lady?”

  “It’s my favorite spot.” And I loved that he knew the difference between may and can. Common usage had blurred those meanings, and I could be free with them myself. But I liked that he knew.

  “It’s my favorite too,” Charlene said meaningfully, and I glared at her. She was so not going to horn in on my date.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” Gordon kissed me again and walked out of the restaurant. We watched his tall form stride down the sidewalk, past baskets of impatiens swaying from the lamp posts.

  “So your young man hasn’t found the killer yet,” Graham said.

  I sucked in my cheeks. “It hasn’t even been two days. Give him a chance.” Sheesh. Talk about unrealistic expectations.

  “Well,” Graham said, “if someone wanted to meet that Aidan McClary character, and someone brought a free pie by my house tonight—as a gift, for example—and accidentally went to the brown house next to mine instead, they might meet him.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Charlene said. “Except it’s supposed to rain tonight. I’m not catching pneumonia because you’re too cheap to buy an entire pie.”

  “Neither rain nor gloom nor any of that other stuff shall keep pie deliveries from their appointed rounds,” Wally boomed. “And I want half of that pie.”

  I left them to argue about what kind of pie they wanted and returned to the kitchen. Of course we were going to Graham’s with pie.

  Petronella abandoned us to go to her funeral services classes—yes, there’s a degree for that. Abril took over kitchen duties—she was more comfortable out of the limelight—and I worked the dining area.

  About an hour later, I was wiping down a booth Charlene had claimed when my brother walked into Pie Town.

  I grinned like an idiot. Three visits in three days? This had to be a record. “Hi, Doran.”

  Charlene looked up from the table and sipped coffee. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  He looked around. “Hey. Is Abril here?”

  My heart plummeted. “Yeah, she’s in the kitchen.” Okay, I understood that a sister wasn’t going to be as exciting as a potential romance. I needed to get over it. Or be more exciting.

  “Do you mind?” He angled his head toward the swinging kitchen door.

  “No,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  He moved to pass me.

  Exciting, exciting . . . What was exciting? “Wait,” I said.

  He turned.

  “I can see you’re worried about Abril,” I said in a low voice.

  “Of course I’m worried.” His blue eyes, so surprising in his Eurasian face, flashed. “Her professor was murdered. She’s upset and needs help.”

  Charlene arched a brow.

  “I’m going to try to meet one of the suspects tonight,” I said, “a professor who was at the poetry reading. Do you want to come?” My little brother might not be interested by the pie life, but he’d definitely gotten intrigued by the murder.

  Charlene stiffened.

  “Me and Abril?” he asked.

  In the corner booth, the gamers’ dice rattled.

  “It might be safer if Abril has some distance from the investigation,” I hedged.

  The corners of his mouth pulled downward. “You may be right. What time?”

  “Meet me here at seven?”

  “I’m in.” He strode into the kitchen.

  “You’re taking Doran to Aidan’s?” Charlene whispered angrily. “What did we just say about amateurs?”

  “You said you didn’t want to go out in the rain.”

  “I said Graham could buy his own pie.”

  “I don’t think that’s what you said.”

  “Fine.” Her smile looked forced. “Your brother can come with us.”

  “Well, actually . . . ” I winced. “I thought just me and Doran could go.”

  “What?”

  “Just this once,” I said quickly. “He’s leaving soon, and I’d like some brother-sister bonding time. Please?”

  She leaned back in the booth and folded her arms. “This stinks.”

  “He’s the only family I’ve got.” Because my wayward father didn’t count.

  She grimaced and looked out the window. “Okay. But just this once.”

  My muscles unknotted. “Just this once. Thanks, Charlene.”

  The front bell jangled, and Marla Van Helsing strolled into Pie Town. Drops of rain darkened the shoulders of her elegant trench coat. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Charlene leaned her head against the rear of the booth. “Can this day get any worse?”

&
nbsp; Since I’d skunked Charlene out of playing detective tonight, the least I could do was face her archnemesis. “Hello, Marla. What can we get you?”

  “Coffee. Black.”

  “The coffee’s self-serve—”

  Marla sat across from Charlene and placed a hand atop hers, angling her diamonds for the sparkliest effect. “Dear Charlene. I’ve come to help you in your hour of need.”

  Charlene jerked her hand free. “What hour of need?”

  “Another Pie Town murder. How utterly dreadful.” She looked around the shop, empty except for the gamers and our regulars at the counter. “I can see it’s already affected business.”

  “Business is always slow at this time of day,” Charlene said. “The lunch rush is over.”

  “That’s right.” She patted Charlene’s hand. “Be brave.”

  “And it’s not a Pie Town murder,” I said. “It didn’t happen in Pie Town.”

  Marla fluffed her platinum-blond hair (heavy on the platinum). “But it happened after an event here, while poor Professor Starke was leaving Pie Town. And that’s what I’m calling it on my channel.”

  “Your video channel is all about self-help and decorating,” Charlene snarled. “There’s no reason for you to be talking about that murder.”

  “I can’t ignore human interest,” Marla said sweetly. “Especially when Chief Shaw himself admitted the Pie Town connection. And where is that coffee?”

  “In the urn on the counter,” I said. “You know we’re self-serve. We’ve always been self-serve.”

  “It’s true,” Graham said. “They have.”

  “What did Chief Shaw say?” I asked.

  “I can see you’re distraught.” She rose. “Remember, anything I can do.” She glided from the restaurant.

  “She probably didn’t really speak to Shaw,” I said uncertainly. “I mean, why would he let her interview him?”

  Charlene growled, her hands fisting.

  “It doesn’t matter what she says,” I said. “Hardly anyone watches Marla’s online videos.”

  Lightning cracked, and the skies broke open.

  CHAPTER 6

  Because for some reason my brother objected to riding in my roomy pink pie van, I sat squished in his teensy car, pie sampler on my knees.

  I stared unenthusiastically out the window. Curtains of rain flowed down the windows and flooded the yards of two near-identical Victorians. A wide strip of waterlogged ivy lay between both the yards.