A Pie to Die For: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Read online

  Carl just kept wiping the bench top. "I was feeling a little better once the morning rolled 'round."

  "Carl. Be straight with me. You weren't at the street fair, were you?"

  After a bit of hesitation, he shook his head. "No, miss, I wasn't there. I was so ill after eating one of Deena's contraptions that I was knocked out for two days straight. I just started feeling better today."

  I sighed. "So why did you tell me you were at the fair?"

  He shrugged again. "Because, if I wasn't there, how can I know for sure that Colleen didn't eat any of my food?" He shook his head. "But I know, miss, deep down, that it couldn't have been my food! I been here on this street for thirty years, miss. Why, this place is practically a local institution! And not once in thirty years have I ever made a single customer sick. I only have the best standards here. Unless the fish is fresh that day, I won't sell it."

  I had always admired poor old Carl's commitment to freshness and quality. And I'd never heard anything bad about his store before. Any time I'd eaten from there myself, the food had always been piping hot, delicious, and never with an unpleasant super-fishy taste that some deep fried seafood gets. His batter was always golden brown, a result of regular oil changes. No wonder he was getting his back up. His thirty-year reputation was on the line.

  "Carl, I know the possibility might be hard for you to fathom, especially with your high standards, but if you weren't there that day to supervise, anything could have happened."

  "I don't care if I was there or not," he snapped. "I know what happened. It was Deena's food. It had to have been."

  I sighed and tried to remain calm. "Carl, who did you leave in charge of the stall that day?"

  He shook his head. "It was supposed to be the boy I get in to help me out on weekends, Tim, but he had some baseball game or something and couldn't be there for the whole day. He said he left the stall under the care of someone he'd found online. I can't even remember her name, to be honest with you."

  "Her?"

  Carl nodded. "That's about all I know of her. I didn't even see her myself, but Tim said she was a real airhead." Carl stopped and looked up at me. "But that don't mean anything bad happened." Worry flashed in his eyes.

  "It's okay, Carl. Do you remember any other details about her? Do you have a number, or an email address for her?"

  He shook his head. "Tim was the one who posted the ad. Maybe he has more details for you. We just paid her cash on the day. She only worked for that one day, you see. Hey, you won't tell on me, will you, miss?"

  I shook my head. Even though I made sure all my employees were paid by the book and got their regular breaks they were entitled to, Carl's slightly dodgy, under the counter payments were my last concern at that moment.

  "So where is this Tim fella right now?" I dug my phone out of my coat pocket and opened the note app, ready to take down the address.

  "Well, miss, he's actually gone back to college this week."

  Great.

  I sighed. "Do you have a phone number for him?"

  Carl frowned and began to rummage though a stack of notebooks sitting beside the register. "I do somewhere, miss. Just give me a minute to find it."

  "You don't have his number in your own cell phone?" I asked, growing impatient with his fumbling.

  Carl shook his head. "I still use a landline, I'm sorry to say."

  And I was sorry to hear it. "Look, maybe I'll come back later," I said, heading towards the door. "There's other people I need to talk to. If you could find Tim's number by the end of the day, that would be great."

  "Wait, miss."

  I paused, my hand about to push against the door. "What is it?"

  "I do remember one thing Carl said about the girl who helped him that day."

  I took a step back into the shop. "What do you remember about her?"

  "I remember Tim talking about her hair, how it was a real crazy color. Bright red, and curly."

  I swallowed. "Thank you, Carl," I whispered, hurrying to get out of there.

  * * *

  "Pippa?"

  No answer. I stepped in the door and placed the keys back in my coat quietly. "Pippa?" I called out again softly.

  There was an empty space on the sofa where she'd been, the imprint of her body bare, surrounded by empty takeaway containers and discarded drink bottles.

  I sat down on the seat opposite.

  Oh, Pippa.

  I closed my eyes. Come on, Rachael, it's important not to jump to conclusions. Just because the girl working with Tim had wild, red curly hair and was a little air-headed, it doesn't mean it was Pippa.

  And even if it was Pippa, it doesn't mean that she was the one who killed Colleen.

  But if it was her, why didn't she tell me she was working at the fair that day? She knows how worried I've been! She saw the paint on the bakery window! How could she keep this from me?

  I opened my eyes and looked at the mess Pippa had left on my sofa. Storming to the kitchen, I grabbed a trash bag and began to toss the items into it. I let her sleep here, free of charge, and she can't even be bothered to tidy up after herself.

  One of the empty soda bottles rolled onto the floor and under the seat. I bent down to pick it up.

  My hand felt something soft under there and I pulled it out, wondering what I could have left underneath there.

  It was the visor that Pippa had taken off that night after the street fair, the one she'd thrown onto the ground right before we'd started to watch Criminal Point.

  I turned it over slowly and looked at the writing embroidered on the front of it: "Carl's Fish Shop."

  All the life drained out of me and I slumped down. So, she had been working for Carl's stand that day. I shut my eyes and tried to recall what had happened that night when Pippa had come in through the door.

  I sighed. I told her I didn't want to talk about the day I'd had and then she'd thrown the visor off before I ever saw it. That might explain why she hadn't told me about her day working for Carl's Fish Shop.

  But what about the day after that, and the day after that?

  I'd sent her to spy on Bakermatic.

  When all along, she might have been trying to cover her own tracks.

  Oh, Pippa, what have you done?

  I heard the sound of the front door opening and quickly shoved the visor back under the chair.

  "Hey, Rach! Didn't think you'd be back already? How'd the sleuthing go? Did you find out who did it yet?"

  Maybe.

  I stood up and shook my head, barely able to look Pippa in the eye. "Not yet," I said quickly before hurrying towards the kitchen. Pippa followed me.

  "Sorry about all the mess, Rach. I did intend to clean it up before you got home."

  "It's fine." I shoved the trash bag in the can.

  "Hey, is everything okay?" Pippa sounded worried. "You're not mad at me or anything, are you?"

  I shook my head. I was still looking at the floor. "No. Why would you say that?" I finally dared to look at her. Trying to gauge any flicker of guilt that might cross her face. "Why would I be annoyed at you, Pippa?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. You just seem weird. Oh well, if you say you're fine, I'll take your word for it. I'm gonna go watch some TV."

  "Wait."

  Pippa spun back around, her big blue eyes staring at me. Was there innocence in there? I couldn't bear to think that Pippa could be responsible for a woman's death.

  She's always been irresponsible though. "Air-headed," that was the word Carl used. She easily could have used the wrong fish, not checked the used by dates, or left the fish sitting out in the sun. Anything could have happened with Pippa in charge.

  "What is it, Rach?"

  She batted her eyelids, long black fake lashes that framed the blue pools in between them. Pippa was air-headed, yes, but capable of killing a person? Even accidentally? No, not my best friend. She couldn't have.

  And if she knew I suspected her, that could cause a rift between us that
could never be mended again. Thirteen years of friendship down the drain.

  "Nothing, Pips. Go and watch TV." I gave her a brave smile and she shot me an odd look as she turned around and headed back to the living room.

  I stared down into the trash. I'd thought the only thing at stake was my bakery, and possibly my own reputation. I knew I was innocent. But could I say the same thing about Pippa? Now Pippa's freedom was at stake.

  I didn't know if she was innocent. And if the cops found out that Pippa had been working at the fair that day, off the books, she was going to become a prime suspect. I knew how bad it looked for her. I didn't trust Detective Whitaker to go easy on her, or even to look at all the facts.

  I tied up the bag and gave the can a little kick. Shaking my head, I realized that now, no matter how unglamorous the whole thing got, how unlike being a detective on TV it all was, I couldn't give up now. If Pippa was innocent then I was going to have to be the one to prove it.

  Chapter 6

  "Detective Whitaker, what are you doing here?"

  "Can I come in?"

  I took a step back into my house. It was difficult to make out the expression on Jackson's face in the dark of night, which, that evening, was not even lucky enough to be graced by the moon.

  "What is this about?" I asked, pulling my sweater tighter around me. "Are you arresting me again?"

  "I've never arrested you before," Jackson pointed out. "Simply questioned you."

  "Yeah, well, it didn't feel that different from being arrested." I rubbed my arms against the autumn chill. "So you still haven't answered my question. Are you arresting me? Or just here for more questioning?"

  Jackson clenched his jaw for a moment and for a second looked as though he was going to turn and leave. "I just wanted to check in on you. See if you were all right."

  "All right?" I was stunned that he would just turn up like this, to check on my wellbeing. There had to be some sort of a catch. "Are you on duty?"

  He held his hands up. "This is all off the books."

  "Hmm," I mused, looking him up and down. He was still in his expensive looking navy suit. "How can I be sure?"

  He grinned at me. "You'll have to take my word for it." His smile faded once he saw that I wasn't returning it.

  "Do you really think I'm all right?" I asked him. "After everything that's happened." No thanks to you, I wanted to add.

  "Look, Rachael, I'm not here in a professional capacity. In fact, I really shouldn't be here at all." He glanced around furtively as though someone might be following him. "It's a clear conflict of interest. I just wanted to drop by and make sure you are okay." He took a step back. "I'm sorry. I should go. Forget I was even here."

  "Wait," I said. "Do you want to come in for coffee or something?"

  He hesitated, but I could tell from the way his eyes lit up that he did want to say yes. It was just going to take a little persuading on my part. Usually I could tempt people, men especially, inside with the promise of one of my cakes. I always had a spare batch lying around the house. But under the circumstances that was probably not the best tactic—especially if Jackson still thought I did it.

  I narrowed my eyes. Perhaps this was the best way to figure out whether he still thought I was guilty, whether I was still a live suspect. "I've got a fresh batch of fudge brownies in the fridge," I said, checking carefully for his reaction.

  No clear indication that he thinks he is going to die from taking a bite.

  Jackson let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Are you trying to poison me?"

  I just stared at him. "That isn't funny. Never mind." I tried to push the door shut, but he put his foot in the way.

  "Sorry, I just meant that because I'm a cop, and...never mind. It was a bad joke. I don't think there's anything wrong with your cooking."

  "Yeah?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Come in and prove it then."

  He glanced around covertly. Luckily for him, it was pure blackness out there and no one was going to see him sneaking into a potential murderer’s apartment even if he had been followed. "I really shouldn't."

  "Come on," I said, stepping back. "I'll heat them up for you. I promise you, these are the best brownies you will ever taste in your life."

  "Well. Now that I do have to investigate."

  Jackson followed me in and sat at the table while I warmed up a brownie for him. He sniffed the brownie and after I assured him there was no rat poison in the mixture, he finally took a bite.

  "Mmm," he said, nodding. "Rachael, this is amazing. Just as good as the cake I sampled from your stand on the day of the fair."

  I sat my coffee mug down with a bang.

  "Sorry," Jackson said quickly, wiping the crumbs away from his mouth. "That was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?"

  "No. I mean, it wasn't exactly the best thing to say if you're trying to get back on my good side."

  "I was in your good side at one stage?" he asked me with a mischievous grin. "Good to know."

  "You know, you did eat one of my products that day," I pointed out. "And you didn't get sick, or die. I remember worrying at one stage that you might."

  "You were worried."

  I let out a large, over exaggerated sigh. "Can we just stick to the subject again, without any flirting going on?"

  "I didn't know we were flirting. Are we flirting?"

  "You're doing it again."

  "Sorry."

  I brushed my skirt down, playing with the hem for a moment. "I only meant to say, surely that must count in my favor as far as the investigation goes? Give me some brownie points, so to speak."

  Jackson sat his brownie plate down, his face now dark and serious. "Rachael, you know I can't talk to you about any of this."

  I swallowed. "Jackson, do you know what's happened to me since you brought me in for questioning?"

  He looked down at the carpet. "Yes, I saw the paint on your shop window. That's partly why I dropped by here, even though I know I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, I've already said too much."

  He stood to leave and I wanted to drag him back down onto the sofa. "Wait, Jackson. You don't have to go just yet, do you?"

  "If I don't want to damage this case any more than I already have. Sorry, Rach. I just wanted to make sure you were still in one piece."

  "Still in one piece?" I jumped up after him as he started heading out of the room. I grabbed him arm. "Jackson, what does that mean?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing," he murmured. "Just meant, I wanted to make sure you weren't falling apart."

  I raised an eyebrow and stuck my hand on my lip. "I don't fall apart quite that easily. It takes more than a little red paint."

  "I really ought to go."

  Jackson stopped talking as his eyes seemed to be transfixed by something behind me.

  "What is it? What are you staring at?" I turned around and saw it. The red visor sticking out from underneath my designer chair.

  Quickly, I stepped back and kicked the visor back under the chair. "You were just heading out?" I said to Jackson with the most casual tone I could muster, pushing him towards the front door. "Let me see you out. You better be careful out there tonight, it's pitch black and...and you're on a sugar high." I was rambling.

  "What was that?" He stopped and I realized that my strength against his was nothing. I couldn't budge him.

  "What was what?" Still as casual as can be.

  "That object you just kicked under the chair." He placed a hand on my shoulder and gently but forcefully moved me out of the way.

  "It's my private property, is what it is!"

  But Jackson was already kneeling on the floor, inspecting the visor. "Just what I thought it was, the logo from Carl's Fish Shop."

  Jackson turned to look at me with heavy eyelids. "Did you know this was here? Why do you have a visor from Carl's Fish Shop in your house?"

  "I don't. I don't know how that got there."

  Jackson stood up, the visor hanging from his hands, as though it was important evide
nce that he had to be careful not to dirty with his own fingerprints.

  "Is this yours?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then why is it in your house?"

  I put both hands on my hips. "What, I'm not allowed to have a visor from Carl's Fish Shop in my house? Why does it matter how it got there?" I took a step towards Jackson. "Unless, of course, Carl is a suspect in the Colleen Batters case."

  Jackson's face clenched. "I told you not to do any more digging around. You need to be careful, or else..."

  "Or else what?"

  "You just need to be careful, Rachael!"

  Jackson took a step back and rubbed his temples. "You need to tell me what this visor is doing in your home."

  "I think you ought to leave. And you can drop that visor as well," I said, stomping towards the door.

  "I can't just leave it, Rachael This is official police evidence now."

  "I knew it!" I shouted, spinning around. "I knew you didn't just drop by for a casual chat, checking to see if I was okay."

  Jackson looked hurt. "Rachael, I did, you have to believe that. It's just that I could hardly stop my mind from working on the case, could I? Especially when you are hiding evidence in your apartment."

  I scoffed in offense. "I was hardly hiding evidence. I didn't even know that hat was there."

  "Really?" Jackson asked. "Come on, Rach, do you really take me for a fool?"

  "It was hidden under my chair," I said indignantly. "I never saw it till you pulled it out."

  "Then I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station with me again."

  * * *

  The night was so black I couldn't even see out the front of the car window until Jackson snapped the lights on, blinding me.

  I sat back against the car seat and pressed my eyes shut. I didn't think I could stomach another trip to the police station.

  "Last chance." Jackson turned the key in the ignition. "It can all end here, Rachael. Just tell me, why were you hiding that visor? Were you working with Carl that day?"

  My eyes flew open. "No! You know I was too busy running my own stall!"

  "You might have taken a break, helped him out for a while. You weren't exactly overwhelmed with customers that day."