Killer Halloween Pie (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  KILLER HALLOWEEN 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

  Killer Halloween Pie

  A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery

  Book Three

  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 HALLOWEEN PIE

  A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery

  Book Three

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  Sub-Sahara African Wilderness – October 13th, 1989

  “What time is it?” Kay Corral asked, shuffling his pack to one side. The muscles in his shoulders and back ached from the strain of hours of hiking, and his neck was stiff with a belated sensation of whiplash. He had taken a pair of pain reliever tablets, but they’d done little to alleviate his discomfort.

  “It is the same time as when you asked the last,” Bokamoso Pillay responded in her usual thick South African accent. She refused to take off her backpack for a third time in less than a half-hour just to check the pocket watch inside the mesh pocket.

  “You’d think they would have sent someone by now,” he muttered, glancing down at his own mangled wristwatch. Its face was shattered and the hands had swung uselessly, just one result of the unfortunate accident from nearly four hours earlier.

  The two herpetologists, specialists in amphibians and reptiles, had driven from the university’s research outpost into the bleak open wildlands of Africa in search of one thing—the dangerous and elusive black mamba snake. They were working on collecting samples of the animal’s unusual venom for testing, a risky job to say the least.

  The ground on which they were driving their four-wheeler had proven unstable. An underground pocket of air had collapsed, burying one of the wheels and jarring its passengers, and contents, all about. They’d climbed out with only minimal scratches and bruising. For the first hour, they’d worked on trying to lift the vehicle from the earth. Unfortunately, like the vice of a clever trap, the rocks and sand seemed to have gripped the wheel in its jaws. Try as they might, lifting the car up and out became an option that simply wasn’t plausible.

  While there had been no serious injuries, the real danger came in the fact that they were alone in the wild. None of the other zoologists or professors at the outpost would realize something was wrong until night fell and they hadn’t returned. It would be significantly harder to track them in the blackness of night, and harder for the young couple to find their way back.

  The sky along the horizon was already glowing with the low orange burn of an African sunset, indicating that darkness was quickly approaching.

  The less light they had, the more perilous this journey would become. If it came down to it, Kay knew they’d have to camp for the night.

  “Why didn’t you keep a better eye out?” he complained to his fellow scientist and fiancé.

  “You could have driven yourself, you know?” she retorted, not wanting to have this conversation again.

  “Maybe we missed something. If only we’d been watching the ground more carefully.”

  “We can’t always plan for everything, Kay,” Bokamoso pointed out. “Just be glad we didn’t fall into a viper’s nest. We would have had a far more difficult time walking away from the accident if there was a family of angry snakes all looking for revenge on whoever had destroyed their home.”

  “I thought we were out here looking for snakes,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  Bokamoso rolled her eyes, not thrilled with his dry sense of humor. “Your joking is terrible.”

  “Sorry,” he laughed quietly, his muscles hurting.

  “Is this what you Americans mean by a dad joke?”

  “No, no. That wasn’t nearly as bad as a dad joke, Boka.” He looked over at her with a smile. Her curiosity about his culture was still somehow endearing and cute, even after being together for three years.

  Her face was serious, and her eyes vibrant as they stared at him. Her short buzz cut looked good. “Then tell me one. Tell me a dad joke.”

  Kay paused, slipping his thumbs under the straps of his pack. “Let me think.”

  “Why are you stopping?” she complained.

  “Here’s one. How do you make a handkerchief dance?”

  Boka only raised a curious eyebrow.

  “You put a little boogie in it.” Smiling widely, he put out both hands as if to say do you get it?

  Based on the look on her face, she either didn’t get it or didn’t think it was funny. “You are strange.”

  “Then why did you agree to marry me?” he asked, continuing his walk, looking up at the sky as the first stars began to appear above them.

  “Because I am a fool, clearly,” she stated in a flat voice. She always had a deadpan sort of humor.

  “Okay, here is another one,” he offered, but before he could begin the joke, he felt his heart and stomach both leap up into his throat. The ground went out from underneath him and he tumbled downward.

  “Kay!” Boka shouted as she watched her soon-to-be-husband disappear. Dashing to the edge of the skinny pit which had gone unseen until it was too late—thanks to the day’s dying light—she peered down.

  She could just make out the shape of Kay lying on his side.

  “Kay? Are you alright?” she urged, seeking an answer.

  Moving over onto his back and taking in a deep breath to consume the pain and shock of the impact, he glanced up at her. “I’m
okay, I think.” Sitting up, he took mental note of his body. He realized his arm was bleeding and his knee throbbed with pain.

  “Can you climb?”

  “Just give me a second.” He slipped his arms out of his bag and set it beside himself. The hole appeared as if someone had tried to dig a well at some point, but had given up on it. A bush near the top had obscured the opening from his view.

  “Let me get the rope and pull you out.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, moving his knee just to make sure it wasn’t busted. While it ached like a madman, it appeared to be completely functional. Placing his hand on his bag, he prepared to push himself to his feet, when a strange—and yet all too familiar—noise caught his ears.

  Something hissed.

  “Boka?” he called to her, only as loud as he dared.

  A slithering shadow moved about in the corner, lifting its head up to examine the strange thing that had invaded its home.

  “Boka,” he snapped quietly, trying to get her attention.

  “What is it?” she asked, peeking over the hole again. That next instant, she heard the sound as well.

  A black mamba, the very snake they had been out there looking for, emerged from the shadows.

  Staying just a still as he could possibly muster, he looked up at his fiancée. “My wrangler, now,” he whispered, referring to the long pole used to handle snakes safely.

  She gave a firm nod and shuffled off toward her pack, grabbing the long metal pole out. Lowering it down with a gentle and steady hand, she lay on her belly to get it close to him.

  He slowly moved his hand up toward it, but not slow enough. The movement startled the snake.

  As quick as lightning, the black mamba darted out and struck him in his upper leg.

  Letting out a cry of surprise as the fangs pumped venom into his body, Kay managed to grab the snake by the head, controlling its movements and pulling its mouth away to keep it from striking multiple times.

  It was too late, however. A torrent of blood oozed out of the fresh wound.

  “Get help,” he managed to croak. “For heaven’s sake, Bokamoso, get help.”

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  Culver’s Hood, Nebraska, October 27th, 2017

  Every book aisle, reading nook, and corner of Pies and Pages—the combination pie shop and book store—smelled of fresh pumpkin and cinnamon. Bertha Hannah inhaled deeply as she waited behind the pie counter for the oven timer to ring, telling her that her latest delicious creation was complete.

  The messy metal counters showed the clues of an afternoon’s hard work. Bert had been preparing for that evening’s festivities. Scattered flour, bits of pie crust, hollowed out pumpkin rinds, and splatters of fresh puree were all the signs of something great in the works.

  As the bell on the front door rang, Bert turned to face her visitor.

  “Oh, my goodness. It smells heavenly in here,” Carla Young said, stepping over the threshold, purse on one shoulder and large orange bowl in her arm (which was nearly overflowing with various chocolate candies wrapped in colorful foil pumpkins, witches, haunted houses, and more). She wore a long blue sequined dress, cat-eye glasses, and a blue feather headband. She turned her nose up into the air and breathed in the scent.

  “Whoa. What are you supposed to be?” Bert asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

  “I’m Mrs. Bluebird, of course. From that board game, Murder Manor?”

  “Oh, I see it now.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t get it right away. How many times have we played that game together?”

  “Sorry.”

  Carla was Bert’s best friend. She owned her own shop in the historic Old Market district of town, an all year-round holiday store called Christmas in July. Tonight, however, they were both closing their shops early to attend an early Halloween party at the church they attended.

  “Where is your costume?” Carla asked.

  “I’ll put it on when we get to the church. I thought it would save me a little time.”

  “Are you ready to go, then?”

  “Almost. The pies are close to done and I have to clean up,” she responded, grabbing a rag and starting to wipe up the scraps. She knew she should have been doing this earlier, but had gotten distracted reading the collection of stories by Edgar Allan Poe—perfect material for the season.

  As always, The Fall of the House of Usher sent shivers up and down her spine.

  Carla lifted her watch and looked at it. “We really should be leaving in the next five minutes, Bert. We want to be there to set up before all the kids arrive, you know?”

  “I know, I know,” she insisted, putting up both hands. Lifting the pumpkin rinds, she deposited them in her compost bucket under the counter. “Just give me two minutes.”

  “If you say so,” Carla responded, taking a seat at one of the tables and setting the large bowl down as if to say she knew it would be longer than two minutes.

  “Are those the bulk bin chocolates from the discount grocery store?” Bert, asked, wrinkling up her nose as she wiped the debris off the counter and into the trash. It wasn’t perfect, but she could do a better job tomorrow.

  “Yep. The kids love them.”

  “I never understood that. They aren’t even real chocolate. It’s like wax and sugar.” The timer went off, beeping to warn Bert that her pies were done.

  “I’m not sure they like the taste as much as the cute foil wrappers,” Carla said.

  Slipping on her oven mitts, the baker opened the oven and pulled out two large trays filled to the brim with miniature pies. As she set them down on the counter, a second timer went off, just as she’d planned it.

  “Oooh, are those tiny pumpkin pies?”

  “Actually, they are jack-o’-lantern pies,” she corrected her friend.

  “Oh? What’s the difference?”

  “First of all, I smoked the pumpkins before turning them into puree. That adds a flavor reminiscent of the smell of a burning candle.” Bert opened the second oven and pulled out another tray, tilting it slightly for her friend to see the contents. “And then, there are these.”

  Carla stood up, trying to get a better look. At first, it just seemed like scraps of old dough that Bert had baked in the oven. “What are they?”

  “These are the cutouts I’m going to use to make the pumpkin faces.” She set the tray down and carefully picked up a few of the pieces and laid them over the top of a miniature pie. Together, the three triangles and the crescent came together to create a face.

  “It’s so cute. The kids are going to love it.” Carla exclaimed, clasping her hands as she admired her friend’s creativity.

  “Speaking of which, help me put the rest of these on all the pies.”

  “You got it,” she agreed, heading behind the counter, picking up two triangle bits of crust, and laying them on the closest pie.

  Bert noticed her friend wasn’t putting them on straight, but decided she didn’t have time to correct her or complain.

  “What do you think Peter will do this year?” Carla asked as they worked.

  “Another graveyard scene?” Bert offered.

  “Or maybe a zombie apocalypse theme,” Carla added.

  Peter Doorwall was one of the most prominent and charitable men in the church’s congregation. He was always bending over backwards to help any of the elderly, widows, or single women with minor problems around the house or in the yard. He was also found at the church itself, helping with events or doing volunteer cleaning. His wife, Heidi Doorwall, was always making food for families in need.

  Peter was known for always doing some sort of elaborate decorations on the back of his car during the church’s yearly trunk-or-treat. It had sort of become a game to guess what he might do next.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

  As soon as Bert and Carla had finished the pies, they were loaded onto a decorative black and orange serving tray and wrapped with cellophane plastic.<
br />
  “Now, let’s hurry up get over to the church before the trunk-or-treat starts. I wouldn’t want any of the kids missing out on these.”

  CHAPTER 2

  * * *

  Upon arriving at the church, the parking lot was already filled to the brim with cars. Many of the adults were busy opening their trunks or back hatches and getting ready for the kids. Luckily, for Carla and Bert, the official events hadn’t begun.

  The trunk-or-treat was a yearly tradition where all the members of the congregation got together to give the kids a fun, and safe, place to celebrate Halloween. Everyone parked their cars and then handed out candy from the “trunks” instead of from the front door of their house. The kids could go in a circle around the parking lot and get a whole ton of candy.

  Carla and Bert had combined their efforts and were planning on passing out pie and candy from the same car. Driving past the other vehicles, Bert was impressed by the sheer amount of decorations. One car had multiple electric candelabras covered in a sheet of cobwebs over a red velvet cloth. Cups and bottles were filled with red liquid to represent blood, and the host of the car was dressed like a vampire. Another car had a hanging, flickering fluorescent light on the back, illuminating an array of plastic body parts. The host of this car was dressed like a mad doctor.

  “It looks like everyone is trying to one-up Peter this year,” Carla noted.

  “The kids are going to love it.”

  “Either that, or they’re going to get scared out of their minds and have nightmares for weeks.”

  “I think they’re more resilient than you give them credit for,” Bert admitted.

  After finding a parking spot, Carla parked the car and both women climbed out. “Now I’m wondering if we should have done more to decorate your car.”

  “Nonsense. We’ve got your pies to back us up. Besides,” Carla smirked, opening the truck, “I came prepared.”