KILLER CHRISTMAS PIE (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Killer Christmas 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

  Killer

  Christmas

  Pie

  A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery

  Book Five

  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.

  Author’s Note: On the next page, you’ll find out how to access all of my books easily, as well as locate books by best-selling author, Summer Prescott. I’d love to hear your thoughts on my books, the storylines, and anything else that you’d like to comment on – reader feedback is very important to me. Please see the following page for my publisher’s contact information. If you’d like to be on her list of “folks to contact” with updates, release and sales notifications, etc…just shoot her an email and let her know. Thanks for reading!

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  Killer

  Christmas Pie

  A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery

  Book Five

  Prologue

  * * *

  “I can’t believe her,” Korbin spat as he unlocked his rusted nineteen-nineties German car. He was so angry, he was tempted to just toss the pie box in his hands across the pavement of the cul-de-sac. However, the simple fact that he’d paid twenty-five bucks for the thing prevented him from following through with the reckless behavior. Not to mention, it smelled amazing. The aroma of cinnamon, sugar, molasses, and raspberry all mingled up from the steam—filtering out into the chilly December air.

  “Dang it,” he muttered, climbing in and gingerly setting the pie box on the passenger seat next to him. The pie had come from a little shop in Old Market called Pies and Pages. It was a quaint little business that sold both books and delicious pies.

  Korbin had been wandering around the old shopping district in a depressed mood, hunched over and trying to keep the tears that stained his face and reddened his eyes from being seen by strangers.

  It was embarrassing, after all.

  He was a grown man, and real men don’t cry.

  Yet, here he was again, struggling to hold back the hot angry tears from marring his face.

  It was as he was walking along one of the streets that the smell of fresh baked goods called to him, reminding him of the comforts of home—of how his mom had worked so hard to take care of him.

  That’s what he expected out of a girlfriend, too. Someone who would stay at home, cook for him, clean up after him, and simply tend to his needs.

  Was that so much to ask?

  Needless to say, he had followed the scent until he came to face the two storefront windows of the cute little shop. Displays of books set out in fake snow sat in one window, Christmas lights helping to add to the overall cheer. The second window had a glass display case of various pies, all steaming and ready to be eaten by busy Christmas shoppers looking for a quick break.

  One pie, in particular, had caught his attention, partially because of its presentation, but also because of the tasty flavor labeled at the bottom. Raspberry Gingerbread Pie.

  The outer crust was made from the classic gingerbread style cookie. The overlapping layer of crust along the top had tiny little Christmas shapes cut out in it—snowflakes, snowmen, aspen trees—all showing the glistening raspberry filling hidden inside. A dusting of powdered sugar added a snowy frosted appearance.

  He had to have it.

  Walking into the store, he’d greeted the kind older woman who owned the place and asked if he could buy the pie in the window. She’d told him the price, but he’d mostly ignored it. He wanted nothing more than to buy that pie, take it home, and eat it.

  Quickly and efficiently, she retrieved the pie from the glass case—which also acted as a heating unit to keep the desserts warm—and boxed it up. Moments later, he had the pie in hand and found himself wandering the bookshelves just to kill time. It was also a way to forget all about his horrible break-up.

  Walking down the aisles to the back corner, he found himself in the romance section. Images of beautiful women leaning against bare-chested and chiseled men stared back at him, seemingly and unwittingly mocking his current pain.

  Looking down at the warm pie in his hands, he struggled to hold back tears.

  That’s when he had an idea.

  Perhaps this pie was the key to winning her back. He knew how much she loved sweets, perhaps offering her an expensive gourmet dessert would convince her of how much he cared, and how much he wanted her back in his life.

  His hope was short-lived, however, as she had slammed the door in his face when he arrived with his offering.

  Now, sitting in his car and driving away through the open Nebraska farmland, he fumed silently in utter rage. What did he do deserve this? So what if he expected her to do her duty as a woman? What was so hard to understand about that?

  As the land slowly became blanketed in the darkness of another winter’s night, the flash of headlights sprung up in his rear-view mirror. Squinting against the glare, he watched as the light increased in intensity, an indication that the person’s bright lights had been turned on.

  “Hey, come on, what is this?” he grumbled angrily, trying to adjust his mirror to compensate.

  It didn’t help much, however, because the person driving behind him was speeding up. The closer they got, the more glaring their lights became. It filled the entire car like some sort of alien ship from a sci-fi abduction movie.

  “Cut it out,” he shouted, laying his hand on the horn, hoping that the sound would ward off the idiot driver’s advances. Still, the person didn’t relent in their pursuit. The car pulled up even farther, their front bumper slightly touching his rear.

  “What the heck?” he squeaked, finally realizing this was likely no simple case of road rage. Whoever it was behind him, for whatever reason, seemed dead set on driving him off the road.

  Pushing on the gas, he slowly eased away from his pursuer. However, almost as if in sync with his motions, the car behind him sped up as well, tapping his bumper again.

  Pressing the gas pedal all the way to
the floor, the engine revved forward, accelerating in speed. His hands began to shake, and his palms sweat. If he went any faster, the car was going to spin off the icy country road.

  “Get off me,” he shouted. He knew the person couldn’t hear him, but it made him feel a little better.

  Pulling on the wheel, he attempted to move into the oncoming lane, which was completely devoid of traffic, and evade the crazed driver.

  Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.

  A squeak of the wheels on ice and a jolt of the car indicated to Korbin that he was losing control. As quick as a flash, he was in a spin, dancing along the road like an empty pop can in the wind until finally, he found of the edge of the pavement. Crashing down the embankment into a deep ditch, the windshield shattered.

  Korbin threw up his hands to shield his head and eyes from the explosion.

  After a few seconds, he blinked and looked up. He’d stopped moving. Glancing down at his body, he was relieved to see he wasn’t hurt except for a few minor bumps and scratches.

  His relief only lasted a second.

  Looking out the now nonexistent windshield, he saw the other car parked across the way. The door opened and a figure in a black outfit and mask stepped out, a butcher’s knife shimmering in the chilled winter moonlight.

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  “And you roll it out like this?” Shiv asked as she stood poised over the rounded, floured ball of gingerbread dough. She held a wooden rolling pin in one hand, at the ready.

  Just outside the large display window, the snow was falling again, adding a gentle and cozy frost to the chill that was already in the air. It had been coming down hard all night long, blanketing everything in a thick layer of white powder.

  “Yep. There’s no real trick to it. You’ll just want it rounded out until it’s about a quarter inch thick,” Bert taught her new employee, giving her a visual example by rolling out her own crust. They were currently working on the specialty pie for the season.

  Pies and Pages was all decked out for the season, with colorful lights strung around the edges of each window and along each countertop. Mini Christmas trees sat on the center of each table in the “dine in and read” area of the shop. Customers were more than welcome to find a new book, grab a slice of pie, and sit at one of the tables or curl up in one of the couches or chairs to drink in the season.

  The bookshop side of the store had the display window all decked out with the scene of a wintery town. Bert had brought her own porcelain light up houses from home to use in the window. Little figurines of people scattered across a piece of glass that looked like frosty ice, shopped at all the stores and even sat on benches reading. A variety of Christmas themed books in the classic, mystery. and romance genres were held up on stands in the fluffy fake snow—which Bert had found at the dollar store.

  A little machine near the top of the window spouted out more fake snow which circulated through a system not unlike a fountain, giving the illusion of falling snow over the tiny village. While she had just thrown the whole thing together with items and decorations she already had in her possession, it had drawn in a lot of business.

  She’d sold more Christmas romances than she knew was possible. It definitely seemed like one of the most popular genres. It was mostly women buying up presents for the girlfriends or reading groups. However, Bert had also been impressed by the number of husbands and boyfriends who’d come in searching for the perfect gift for a significant other.

  Bert’s favorite holiday was quickly on its way—only two weeks yet—and sales at her shop had skyrocketed, and their bestselling item had easily been the Christmas Gingerbread Pie.

  “You make all of the steps seem so easy,” Shiv complimented, sighing at her own work. While she’d been there for two weeks, she had been getting discouraged on and off with the results of the pies she was making. So far, none of her pies had been sold to the public and she mostly helped out by running the cash register and restocking the bookshelves.

  It wasn’t that her pies tasted bad. In fact, they tasted excellent, almost as good as Bert’s. When it came to seasoning, Shiv was a natural. However, the knack for making a pretty and fancy looking pie hadn’t come to her just yet. She wasn’t giving up, though.

  “Well, when you’ve been baking pies for forty years, you tend to get a little good at it,” Bert joked, passing a comforting smile Shiv’s way.

  “I guess so,” Shiv replied with a slight giggle.

  “You know what always helps me to concentrate on baking?” Bert asked, walking across the open kitchen to the counter.

  “What?”

  “The radio.” With a twist of her wrist, she turned the dial on the old cathedral style radio to the one position. Instantly, cheerful Christmas classics started to echo from within the speakers. “Especially, during this time of year. The radio is essential,” she instructed with a pointed finger, returning to rolling out the gingerbread crust.

  Once it was completely flattened, she laid it out in a pie tin and trimmed the crusts. The scent of cinnamon, ginger, and molasses was something that brought the reality of the season together in one great whole.

  “I guess it is pretty calming,” Shiv agreed, reaching up and making sure her pitch-black hair was tied neatly in the hair net still. It often had a habit of coming lose by the pure fact that it was so long.

  It was beautiful, but sometimes a hard task to manage.

  Bert, too, had long hair—even after having let it turn gray—but it didn’t hold a candle to Shiv’s luscious locks.

  The carol on the radio ended and the announcer, some woman with a booming voice, came on. “Thanks again for listening to our Christmas marathon this month. Now, it’s time for the news.”

  Bert rolled her eyes. “Of course, you’ll have to learn to shut it off between songs. Somehow, the news has a habit of ruining my good mood . . . and my appetite,” she admitted, setting the freshly balled dough (made from the scraps from the first piece of crust) on the counter and heading over.

  “The Holiday Hacker has struck again, taking out another man between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.”

  “Hold on,” Shiv requested.

  “You want to hear this?” Bert asked, a little surprised. For the last few weeks, since the beginning of December, there had been all these news reports that the journalists were calling the Holiday Hacker—because all the victims were stabbed to death with, what the police assumed was, a meat cleaver.

  “Yeah. One of the victims is my best friend’s ex.”

  Bert’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. That’s horrible. Why didn’t you say anything?” If she had known, she would have let Shiv take more time off.

  Shiv shrugged. “Yeah, it was pretty shocking, but neither I or my friend were very sorry about it.”

  Bert let her mouth go flat and her brow furrow downward. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “He wasn’t a good guy. He was scary, in fact. He was always stalking my friend, claiming that she was his and no one else could have her. She’d filed for a restraining order, but it hardly stopped him. It wasn’t until that Holiday Hacker person got him that she finally felt a little peace.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s horrible. No one should have to die that way, but now she can breathe a sigh of relief. No more looking over her shoulder, wondering if he was going to be there next.”

  “I’d guess so,” Bert sighed, shocked by this strange twist of events.

  The radio announcer went on. “This is the third victim so far. The first was found in the town of Great Way about an hour’s drive from here. It was in an empty grocery store parking lot. The second was found in the town of Riker in a similar state, this time laid out in an alley.”

  “That one was my friend’s ex,” Shiv pointed out.

  “Riker is nearly forty-five minutes from here.”

  “Yep. Guess whoever this killer is likes to hop around.”

  “The newest body was
found in a dumpster near the downtown library right here in Culver’s Hood.”

  Bert felt a shiver dash through her whole body, making her shake. This murderer was targeting young men, and the last body was found only a few minutes drive from the shop. Sometimes it was hard to believe that such things happened in the world.

  “You can turn it off, now,” Shiv said, seeing that Bert was growing uncomfortable.

  Without a single hesitation, she did just that. “If this killer likes hopping around like you said, I sure hope they’ll hop right out of town.”

  Shiv gave an agreeable shrug. “My guess is he will, based on everything else that’s happened so far. He probably doesn’t want to get caught, so he keeps moving.”

  Bert nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  Bert was working on cutting little shapes out of the top crust when a tapping came on the front door. Glancing up, she saw her best friend, Carla standing outside in the morning snow. She was all bundled up in a long furry coat and had a funny hat with ear flaps on it. She owned the Christmas shop just around the corner and could often be found knocking on Bert’s door before official business hours.

  “It’s Carla. Better let her in,” Bert informed her employee.

  Shiv patted her dusty hands off on the apron and ran over to unlatch the door. “Morning, Carla.”

  “Hi, Shiv. It’s cold out there,” she replied, stepping inside and stomping off her boots.

  “Come on in, Carla. I’ve got a fresh pot on the stove.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Carla headed across the room and took a seat at a nearby table.

  “Shiv, do you mind going in the back and checking out the inventory of molasses again? I don’t want to run out before Christmas.”

  “Didn’t you just check it this morning?” Shiv asked.