Maple Nut Murder Read online

  Bert had. Right after she’d purchased the shop and accompanying apartment for Pies and Pages, a body had turned up in the shop’s office. It had been a difficult and harrowing experience, to say the least.

  She knew that was what Carla was experiencing now.

  Bert struggled with something to say but decided talking about the murder at all—even to comfort her friend—wouldn’t prove beneficial. Instead, she tried to distract her friend. “Hey, I have all those pies in the car still. We should get them out and offer them to the police.”

  Carla blinked a few times, as if in a haze and trying to understand her friend, but eventually nodded, putting on a weary smile. “Sounds like a good idea. These men will need something to keep up their strength.”

  “I’ve got a few fold-out tables at my place. Let’s go grab them and we can serve on the sidewalk completely out of the way of their duties.”

  Carla’s smile warmed up as some of the horrors of the morning faded. “Okay,” she agreed.

  Squeezing out of the shop, the two women walked the block to Pies and Pages, greeted Shiv without explaining for the moment (Bert didn’t want to force Carla into talking about the murder) and headed back with the tables in hand. Setting them up on the sidewalk off to the side of the building so they wouldn’t be in the way, they started unloading the pies to display.

  It was a hot but beautifully sunny day, a perfect time to serve pie outside. Bert was glad it wasn’t raining.

  Scribbling a sign on cardstock, Bert set it out on the table, declaring free pie for all police personnel for that day only. Normal people on the street could also buy a slice at a discounted price. She even drew on a little Christmas tree and Santa hat on the sign. Meanwhile, they convinced Panther to stay behind and act jolly on the street.

  They knew he would be hot out there in the sun, but he didn’t seem to mind. Seeing what was happening, Reba who owned the candy and ice cream shop next door also came out and started offering frozen treats to the officers. Bert couldn’t help but wonder if Reba was doing it to be a part of the goings on or to keep them from stealing all her business—something she harped on often.

  “Hello, ladies,” a familiar and gruff voice said to them. Detective Mannor stood beside the table with a grim expression on his face. “I see you’re keeping busy.”

  “I couldn’t let all this pie go to waste, now could I?” Bert noted with a half-smile.

  “It looks like you got your neighbor riled up,” he noted, eyeballing Reba and clearly trying not to chuckle at the woman’s expense.

  “She did give me an earful last week when she found out Bert was going to be selling pies during my event,” Carla said, shaking her head.

  “I guess us selling on the street proper was the last straw,” Bert noted.

  “Looks like you’re giving more away than you’re selling,” Mannor mentioned, looking at a few of the beat officers who were eating slices of pie while keeping watch on the shop’s front door. “In any case, I do appreciate you gals staying out of the way.”

  Bert cringed slightly at this comment, knowing he disliked when they got mixed up in police investigations. Sometimes, she wished he’d be more grateful that they’d helped catch several criminals, but she also completely understood where he was coming from.

  She would hate having someone come into her kitchen and put their hands in her pies while she was working.

  “We try,” she smirked.

  “Anyway, I’ll be needing to talk to both of you a lot more in detail, especially you Carla, once I finish with the crime scene.” He bobbed his head toward the shop and the image of the girl’s legs sticking up came into Bert’s memory. She shivered.

  “We understand,” Bert said.

  “But for now, is there anything either of you can tell me about last night? When was the last time either of you saw the victim?”

  Bert and Carla looked at each other knowingly. Harry rose a suspicious eyebrow, knowing the women were communicating silently. “What?” he insisted.

  “Samara was still here last night when I left,” Bert answered.

  “So, you were the last to see her?” Harry asked, turning his gaze on Carla.

  She shook her head. “No, not at all. I’d gone upstairs to shower and get ready for bed. I thought everyone had left.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell her about it?” Harry pressed his girlfriend.

  Bert defiantly folded her arms and gave him an all too familiar look of don’t cross me. “I did tell her, Harry.”

  “It was my fault. She called, but I didn’t check my phone. It was on silent,” Carla came to Bert’s defense.

  “But I did leave a message,” she said.

  Harry nodded his understanding of the situation. “Okay, so you were the last to see her, Bert?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Harry looked exasperated as he threw up his hands. “Then who did?”

  “Samara’s boyfriend,” Carla informed him.

  Both Harry’s eyebrows shot up inquisitively. “Her boyfriend was here?” This was clearly a big clue. Having been dating the detective for a while now, Bert understood most cases of homicide were committed by a husband, boyfriend, or significant other. It was always one of the first avenues the police looked at.

  “I don’t know his name. I’ve never even seen him,” Carla admitted.

  It was Bert’s turn to cut in. “I’ve seen him twice now. The first time was yesterday morning when I caught them kissing in the stockroom.” She paused, realizing the possibilities. Had the young man planned the murder? Had he scoped out the stockroom that morning in preparation for that night? She shivered at the thought. “Anyway. His name is Shay. I don’t know his last name. In any case, I saw him at the backdoor last night with Samara.”

  Harry let a whistle of air out through his nose as he thought. “Okay, that’s very helpful information.” He walked over to the back of the building in the alleyway. “This door?” he asked, pointing.

  “That’s right.”

  Heading into the alley, Harry slipped a latex glove onto one hand and tried the doorknob.

  “It automatically locks from the inside. You need a key to get in from out here,” Carla informed him.

  Harry knocked on the door next. “This is Detective Mannor. Can someone please open the door?” he shouted through. A second later, the doorknob jiggled a little, but the door didn’t open.

  “It’s locked, sir,” a male officer called from inside.

  Carla’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It shouldn’t be.”

  Bending down, Harry examined the knob and then the lock. “Here’s our problem,” he noted, pointing at the lock. “Someone’s broken off a key and jammed it.”

  “What?” Carla exclaimed.

  Harry stood up from his kneeling position and came back to the women. “Who all has a key to this door?”

  Carla’s face grew pale and sickly looking. “No one. At least, no one but me, that is.”

  “Do you have your key on you?” he asked.

  Carla grabbed up her purse and began digging through its contents, eventually producing a keyring. She examined it for a second, her eyes widening so far that Bert could see the veins.

  “Well?” Harry asked.

  Carla frantically went through the keys one at a time, but still came up with the same answer. “M-My key. It’s missing.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Before anyone knew what was happening, the alleyway had been cordoned off as a part of the crime scene and Carla and Bert were forced to close their tables down. Since there was no more sidewalk space around the store available, there was nowhere else for them to set up. Their only option was to head back to Bert’s shop.

  “Well, this turned into an even bigger mess, didn’t it?” Panther noted, walking over to the women.

  Bert still wasn’t sure exactly why there were so many officers. Sure, a homicide was a big deal, but Bert had been present at other crime scenes. This one
just seemed overstuffed with people all milling about.

  Harry stood near the alley, making sure his team was doing everything that was necessary to check the alleyway and dust for fingerprints. He said something to an officer and then headed over to Bert’s car where they’d just finished loading up the pies and fold up tables. Thankfully, despite being a small vehicle, the hatchback style allowed for some more space to store things.

  “I apologize for pushing you gals off the sidewalk, but considering the evidence we’ve gathered so far, we just have to take every precaution possible,” he said with his hands on his hips.

  “We understand,” Bert said.

  His eyes moved over to the Panther. “I assume you’re here working for Carla?” he asked.

  “That’s right, Detective, and with the murder victim yesterday.”

  “Then, I’ll need to interview you as well.”

  “Do you have time now? I’m starting to get hot in this suit and would like to go home and take it off—I mean, if you don’t mind Carla,” he requested, turning to the shop owner with a smile.

  “It’s fine with me. We won’t be doing anything else today, it seems,” she sighed, looking past everyone to her shop that had been commandeered by the cops.

  “Detective?” he asked.

  Mannor glanced back to the alleyway and then looked at the bearded man. “Okay. I think that can be arranged. Follow me,” he directed, turning to lead the way. Just as he did, however, a crime scene technician came trotting over. “Detective, you need to see this,” he insisted, holding up an evidence baggie. Inside was another smaller baggie with something green in it.

  Mannor’s face crumpled in frustration first and then realization second. “Call Lieutenant Grayson and have him meet me down here at once.”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer said, rushing off.

  “Uh, Detective?” Panther asked.

  “I’m sorry, Santa, but we’ll have to talk later. Give your contact information to one of the officers and I’ll call you later today,” he instructed before running back to the building.

  Panther stood there looking dumbfounded. “Well, what am I supposed to do now?”

  “Just go on and head home, I’d say,” Carla told him.

  “You’re sure you’re okay here?”

  “Bert’s with me,” she said, bobbing her head toward her best friend. “Besides, like I said, we won’t be doing any more business today.”

  “I could come over to the pie shop and help sell pies,” he said, presenting his winning smile and looking at Bert.

  “That’s okay. I think we all need a break,” Bert said.

  “Couldn’t agree more with that. Well, I better give them my info and get on my way. I’m afraid I might get heat stroke in this thing,” he said, adjusting his large belly as if it weighed a ton.

  With one more little wave, he headed off to find a cop.

  Carla let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping down. “I can’t believe all of this is happening.”

  “I know how you feel,” Bert comforted her. “At least we found Samara before someone else did.” She thought of the bright eyed and sweet-natured young woman who played Carla’s second elf. “Like Heebee.”

  Carla looked up, blinking a few times in thought. “Heebee. Sheesh, with everything that’s happened today, I’ve completely forgotten about her. Have you seen her this morning?”

  Bert paused, pushing her lips together with concern. “No, I assumed you called her and told her not to come in today.”

  Carla shook her head. “No.”

  “You mean she just hasn’t shown up?”

  Carla paled greatly, looking as if she might just faint on the spot. She swallowed hard before saying her next thought. “You don’t think she . . .” her voice trailed off, but Bert didn’t need the end of the sentence to know what her friend was thinking.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Bert said.

  “But she would have called if she was going to be this late. That’s the kind of girl she is,” Carla exclaimed. Her hand dug into her purse and brought out her phone. “I need to call her right now.”

  “Good idea,” Bert said, hoping this would put her friend’s mind at ease. However, even she wasn’t feeling one hundred percent confident that the girl was okay. While there was no reason to suspect she was hurt or in danger, she was an elf just like Samara. Was there a connection?

  “It’s ringing,” Carla said with some trepidation. A second later, someone answer. “Heebee? Is that you? Are you okay?”

  A muffled noise came through. Carla brought the phone down from her ear and put it on speaker, so Bert could hear as well.

  “I’m so, so sorry that I’m late, Mrs. Carla. My alarm clock didn’t go off this morning and I had to catch a later bus. I’m getting off right now at the corner. Should be there in a minute.”

  Carla smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s totally fine. There’s been an accident here at the shop and we won’t be opening today anyway.”

  “An accident? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay,” she said.

  “I’m coming around the corner now,” she said.

  Carla and Bert looked up and saw the girl appear with her phone to her ear. They both smiled and waved, but Bert froze solid when they saw someone else come around behind her. It was Shay, Samara’s boyfriend.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding. Look at all the police,” Heebee said into the phone as she walked toward them.

  Bert tapped Carla and whispered in her ear, “That’s Shay. The boyfriend.”

  Carla’s nervous expression came back.

  As she got close to them, Heebee hung up her phone. “Sheesh. What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Yeah. This is a madhouse,” Shay added nonchalantly.

  “Uhm, I’m sorry. Do I know you?” Carla asked, squinting at the young man.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Heebee laughed. “How rude of me. This is Shay, my boyfriend.”

  “Your boyfriend,” both women gasped.

  Shay’s eyes glanced over to Bert again and a hint of recognition washed over him. For a second, he looked sick, but he quickly recovered. “Come on, babe. Let’s get going,” he urged her, pushing her away from the two gawking women.

  “O-Okay,” she stuttered, confused by his sudden need to rush. “Bye, Mrs. Carla.”

  Bert and Carla simply watched in shock as the couple disappeared down the road.

  CHAPTER 9

  Both dumbfounded, the women headed over to Pies and Pages in silence.

  It too was decked out for the “holiday” season. Multicolored lights outlined the front windows and a display of fake snow and winter themed books looked out into the street. Some were holiday classics like A Christmas Carol, some were Christmas themed Cozy Mysteries, and there even a few snowy Fantasy novels. The sign read, Cool off with a good book.

  Still, the lights and display couldn’t raise their spirits or take their minds off the case.

  They’d carted all the leftover pies into the shop to sell for a discounted price. Shiv, however, upon hearing all the news of what had happened that morning insisted that the two women go upstairs and rest for a bit. At first, Bert had protested but eventually realized her best friend probably needed her.

  Thanking the stars for the blessing of such a wonderful employee, the two women retreated up the wooden staircase behind the counter.

  “I have no idea what to think, now,” Carla groaned, throwing up her hands as they entered Bert’s apartment.

  Carla plopped her purse down on the round dining table on the opposite side of the kitchen’s island counter. “First, Samara is with her boyfriend in the back room. Then, Samara winds up dead. To top it all off, Heebee, my sweet employee, is supposedly dating Samara’s boyfriend,” her voice rose to a higher pitch with each passing word until it became strained.

  Bert hung her purse on the shoe rest and coat rack combo next to the door. “Well, Samara did say he was
n’t her boyfriend,” she said, remembering the young woman’s protest at the assumption.

  “That’s not much better. It just means Heebee’s boyfriend is a cheater and a jerk.” Carla slumped down into one of the chairs, looking exhausted.

  Bert headed around the kitchen island. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked, hoping to calm the situation a little. She agreed. There were more questions mounting up than answers, but that didn’t mean they had to lose their heads.

  If anything, the calmer they remained, the more likely they were to find a few clues to help solve the growing mystery at hand. Most important of all was to make sure that Christmas in July reopened for the rest of the week-long event without taking a hit thanks to the murder.

  “Do you have wine?” Carla asked, perking up a little and watching as her friend climbed a step stool.

  Bert produced the bottle of organic chardonnay that was already in her hand when her friend asked. “Mulled wine, in fact. I always keep a bottle above the fridge,” she replied with a wink.

  “Oh, thank goodness for that. I need something to calm my nerves.” She lifted her hand, demonstrating the fact that her fingers were trembling. “I mean, look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf.”

  Bert opened the cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses. They were clear plastic, but it created less chance of shattered glass if they broke. Setting them on the table near Carla’s purse, she held up one finger. “Ah, I need a corkscrew,” she said, heading back into the kitchen.

  “So, what was that green stuff the cop showed to Harry?”

  Bert returned with the corkscrew in hand, drilling it into the top of the wine bottle. “I’m not sure,” she lied. She had a decent idea what it could be. Did it really belong to Samara? She was a pain in the butt, for sure, but illegal activity, too?

  Carla leaned forward, scrunching her shoulders up against her neck. “I hope it’s not what I think it is,” she muttered, almost as if she were afraid to pronounce it out loud.