Killer Chocolate Pie (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 2)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Killer Chocolate Pie
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Killer Chocolate Pie
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Two
BY
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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KILLER CHOCOLATE PIE
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery Book Two
Prologue
* * *
“Are you serious, Dad?” Charleston Blinkerton’s face took on a crimson shade of red while sweat collected along his dark hairline and his breathing quickened.
Standing in the cramped living room between his father’s patchy leather recliner and the flat screen TV on the wall behind him, he fumed with silent anger. A Korean action movie played on the screen, something Daniel Blinkerton had stumbled upon while channel surfing.
“Son, do you mind moving out of the way?”
Charleston glanced back at the screen, his red expression wrinkling. “It’s in Korean, Dad. You can’t even understand it.”
Leaning to one side, Daniel looked around his son to view the screen. An undercover cop was in the middle of a gun fight, shooting down anyone who got in his way. “It’s an action movie, Charlie. What is there to understand?”
Refusing to be ignored, Charleston shuffled aside, blocking his father’s view of the screen again.
“For heaven sake, boy. Move out of the way, will ya?”
“Don’t call me that,” he barked
“What?” Daniel asked, acting oblivious to his son’s discomfort.
“Don’t call me boy. I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one. You’re twenty-four years old, for crying out loud,” he snapped, leaning over to the other side of his chair and picking up his lite beer from the side table.
Baring his teeth like an angry dog, Charleston turned to the TV and punched the power button. In a blink of light, the movie disappeared into blackness.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing?” the furious father exclaimed, standing up to turn the TV back on.
Charleston blocked his way, holding up a handful of shredded paper he’d found in the trash. “Look at this.”
“Son, what is your problem?”
“This, dad. Did you do this?”
Daniel harrumphed, his lips squishing together like a fish. “It looks like a bunch of paper to me.”
“It was my loan application, for college. Did you seriously shred it before I could submit it?”
The father glared at his son, finally willing to play along. “Of course, I did.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Charlie, remind me again what it was you were planning on studying at this college?”
“Jazz music,” he screamed, the veins in his neck thrumming with each pulse.
“Jazz music,” he sneered.
“Yes, you knew that. You knew that it’s always been my dream to study music.”
Stretching his arms out, he gripped his son’s shoulders. “Charlie, we’ve discussed this. You don’t have a talented bone in your body. You can’t keep rhythm, you have no sense of time, and you always sing off-key. I refuse to help pay for a wasted education.”
“It isn’t a waste. Besides, you won’t have to pay for it. That is the whole reason I was applying for student loans.”
Daniel’s mouth remained in a soured frown, like he’d just eaten a bad grape. He shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I already know I’d end up paying for it in the end. You’ve never been able to hold down a job for more than a few months. You’d end up broke and unable to pay off that debt. And who would have to come in to save you?”
“That won’t happen, Dad. Not this time.”
“I’m sorry. No. I can’t risk it, and I don’t have the money to help.”
Charleston’s mouth twisted down into a frown. “You don’t have the money? What about all those investments you’ve made throughout the years?”
“Most didn’t pan out. You know that.”
“But you’re always giving Abigail tons of money to buy clothes and stuff. Maybe if you just stopped wasting money on her, you’d have a little to help me.”
“Abigail is a girl, and girls need more attention.”
“She’s twenty-five and isn’t a little girl. She doesn’t need pampering,” his voice cracked.
“Even if I had the extra money, I wouldn’t help pay for your college. I refuse to let you throw money and years away getting a music degree you aren’t even capable of using.”
Shrugging off his father, he took a step back. “You’re serious?”
“I’m dead serious, son. There is absolutely no way I’m allowing it.”
“Mom would have supported me.”
“Your mother isn’t here anymore, remember? She left two years ago with no intentions of seeing us again. How is that for support?”
The tiniest tremble in the son’s lip indicated a mixture of anger and sorrow. “You never believed in me. Ever!”
“I’m just being realistic,” he said flatly.
His frown deepening, Charleston stomped off toward the front door, grabbing the black leather gun holster from the table.
“Where are you going, son?”
“The shooting range,” he grunted, toting the rifle in the air before stepping out into the darkness of the late autumn eve.
Chapter
1
* * *
Bertha Hannah arrived at Pies and Pages, her combination pie shop and book store, around five in the morning. It was a chilly Saturday in early October. In a matter of weeks, the temperatures in Culver’s Hood, Nebraska had dropped from warm, to cool, to cold. While it hadn’t reached the frigid levels that winter would bring, Bert was still glad to get inside the warmth of her shop.
Her tan leather jacket acted as a great wind breaker, but didn’t work quite so well against the chill in the early morning air. Closing the door behind herself, she walked behind the book counter and turned on the shop’s lights.
An instant warmth filled the room as the hanging light fixtures—mimicking Victorian decorating styles—cast their soft yellow glow in between the wooden shelves and tables.
The rustle of dry leaves blowing around outside in the cold morning breeze were an added measure of comfort. Bert was a fan of all the seasons, but autumn and winter topped the charts for her. She loved being bundled up in front of the fire with a good book, or heating the house with the oven while baking one of her famous pies.
She could almost sense the holidays coming, which brought some extra cheer to the shorter days.
Removing her scarf, hand knitted from a soft burgundy wool, she walked under the brick archway into the pie shop and reading nook. Comfortable couches and chairs were accompanied by tables, an inviting setting where patrons could sit with a good book and enjoy a piece of scrumptious pie.
Speaking of pie, Bert thought as she looked about her cozy little shop, there was a ton of work to be done before she opened for the day. It had been nearly a week since the shop’s grand opening, but the influx of customers had been steadily increasing. In fact, she’d even gained a few daily regulars already.
Today, however, she knew to expect a larger wave of people coming to her shop, asking for a slice of warm pie to ward off the cold, or seeking the latest mystery novel. It was the annual Autumn Walk, and all sorts of people would be in the downtown Old Market to view the changing leaves.
The pie shop was modeled after Victorian and Edwardian shops of a similar nature. A large glass display case with a solid oak base was available to display all the pies she would make for the day. Behind the case was a large wooden counter where she did most of the baking, right where the patrons could see her.
There was even a false metal door installed on the wall to give the illusion of a brick oven.
Moving behind the case, Bert hung her purse, jacket, and scarf on the antique coat rack and slipped on her red and black checkered apron. Stepping over to the fridge and freezer, built straight into the dark wood cabinetry, she retrieved the puff pastry dough from inside that she’d prepared the night before.
The rest of the morning was a blur of baking, the thought of the official Autumn Walk event beginning at ten o’clock looming on the horizon. The trees were all at their peak of reds and golds, giving the whole district a classic fall feeling. Farmers and vendors would be setting up booths all along the cobblestone streets, and shop owners would be doing sidewalk sales.
Bert was planning on putting out bins of used books and selling them for about a dollar a piece. She had so much back stock in old romance, mystery, and sci-fi softcovers that she felt she might just drown if she didn’t clear out some of it soon. There were even boxes of old car, gun, and farming machinery manuals in the upstairs apartment which she had yet to decide what to do with.
She had her sights set on renovating and moving into the apartment, thus cutting down her twenty-minute commute to less than a few seconds. She even planned to put her cottage in uptown available for rent to make a little extra money. However, she needed to clear out the apartment first.
All of this would be easier if she’d just taken the time to hire one or two employees, but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Therefore, she was on her own for the time being.
Most important of all, she needed to get a good selection of pies finished and inside the display case before opening hours. People would be hungry for a sweet brunch when ten o’clock rolled around.
Unfolding the puff pastry dough and laying it flat in a shallow pie dish, she trimmed the edges and slid it into the oven as it was still warming. It was going to be her specialty dish of the day, and she hoped it would bring in many customers from the Autumn Walk.
Her mouth was already watering.
Chapter 2
* * *
When opening time rolled around, the streets were filled with patrons milling about, all seeking to enjoy the colors of autumn, as well as the best deals on sale items. Bert had managed to roll out four metal bins full of used paperbacks in front of the shop’s windows and already had interested customers looking over what she had in stock.
Having picked out a few interesting titles, she put up a single display shelf for the featured items. A few books by Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Agatha Christie, and Jane Austen graced the shelf—all authors that Bert favored.
She sat in a red lawn chair next to a small round table which contained free samples of her specialty pie of the day.
“Oh, Bert. This looks wonderful,” Carla Young exclaimed as she approached the shop. Carla owned the Christmas in July shop that was situated just down the block and around the corner. It was a year-round Christmas store that sold ornaments, miniature houses, trinkets, trees, and more.
“Morning, Carla,” Bert greeted her best friend. “What are you doing over here? I thought you’d be looking over your own shop.”
“I left Jamie in charge for a minute while I came over to sneak a peek at what delightful things you had set up for the Autumn Walk.”
Jamie was a local college student who worked for Carla during the evenings and weekends to make some extra cash.
“So, what’s up for sample today?” Carla asked, clasping her hands eagerly and eyeing the treats on the silver platter with sparkling eyes.
“Here, try this one. It’s my new favorite, I think.” Bert lifted one of the paper serving cups with a small piece of pie in it. The fluffy crust was a pilot for what appeared to be chocolate and some kind of nut.
Carla took it without hesitation and tossed it in her mouth, munching away on the little piece of heaven. “Mmm. Oh my, Bert. What is this? It is unbelievable.”
“I thought you might say that,” she laughed, grabbing one of the samples herself and popping it into her mouth. She knew she should save them for customers, but couldn’t help herself. After all, eating one wasn’t going to make that much of a difference. “It’s a tart, actually.”
“Wow, sounds fancy.”
“Not really. Just another word for pie. I baked it in a shallow pie tin.”
“What’s in it, besides chocolate?”
“Well, the crust is made of puff pastry.”
“How do you make that?”
“I fold the flour dough around a block of butter and roll it out. I fold it again, and again, rolling it out every time. In the end, it creates tiny layers of butter throughout the whole crust. When it bakes, it puffs up with little pockets of air between the layers.”
“Wow. That sounds like a lot of work,” Carla admitted, reaching out and taking another sample. Bert allowed it that one time. After all, she’d eaten a sample herself.
“Anyway, the filling is made of a thin layer of melted semi-sweet chocolate, drizzled with honey and salt. The final touch is slivered almonds along the top.”
“Well, it’s amazing,” she admitted, reaching out for another sample.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Bert playfully scolded.
“Sorry,” Carla laughed. “I suppose I better just order a slice.”
“Coming right up.”
As Bert ran inside to grab a slice of the pie from the display case, a few other customers walked up and began to peruse the selection of books. One was an older gentleman with a beer branded ball cap on his head and large aviator sunglasses over his face. With him were two younger people, both appearing to be in their
twenties. One was a man with messy dark hair, a slightly pointed nose, and glasses. The second was an attractive woman with brown hair that hung straight over her shoulders.
Stepping back outside and handing the slice of pie to Carla, Bert couldn’t help but notice just how short the girl’s little black skirt was, in spite of the chilly October air. A thin white long-sleeved shirt that left her shoulders completely uncovered also didn’t seem to be very logical, and goosebumps were cropping up all along her skin.
“Would you folks like to try a sample of my chocolate-almond pie?” she offered, smiling as widely as possible.
“Sure, I’d love to,” the girl exclaimed, reaching out and taking one.
The younger man simply stood in the background, glancing over the books with a furrowed brow. He appeared to be slightly agitated.
“Oh, Dad, this is so delicious,” the girl exclaimed before she was even done chewing the bite.
“You like it, huh?” the man in the ball cap laughed.
The young man rolled his eyes.
“You have to try one,” she squeaked, sounding like a pre-teen girl.
Bert found the young woman’s behavior a little strange, but assumed there were many girls who acted like that nowadays.
“Don’t mind if I do,” the older gentleman responded, also taking one of the samples and popping it into his mouth.
“Good, huh?” the girl said.
“It is pretty tasty,” he admitted. “Hey, son, come and give this stuff a try. Even you might like it.”
Bert couldn’t help but noticed a slight hint of condescension in the father’s voice.
“No, thanks,” the young man sneered.
The dad harrumphed quietly and turned back to face his daughter. “Do you want one, honey?”
The girl’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas as she leaned on her father affectionately. “You mean it?”