Killer Thanksgiving Pie Page 5

  “I’m going to take a quick break,” Bert announced to her fellow workers as she slipped out of her apron. She walked over and picked up the carafe of coffee they had behind the counter. “I’m just going to see if anyone wants some more coffee in their cups.”

  “Good idea,” Andie acknowledged.

  Bert wanted to get out among the people, to see them enjoying their meals close up, and to hear their conversations. Being around people was invigorating, especially on happy occasions like Thanksgiving.

  Passing through the tables, she offered her wares, filling mugs and making light conversation. The room was crowded, much smaller than the soup kitchen, but it seemed to be working well enough for the moment. A few people were sitting on the floor between bookshelves and eating their plates of food.

  It was as she was walking along one of the aisles that a conversation caught her attention. Three people sat directly on the opposite side of the shelf, chatting.

  “Did you guys hear why the soup kitchen was closed tonight? Another one dead, stabbed to death this time,” a gruff sounding man said.

  “I swear. It isn’t safe for us out there on the streets anymore,” a woman complained in return.

  “Who was it this time?” A different man with a higher voice asked.

  “Couldn’t rightly tell ya’. I don’t know the fella’s name.”

  “He was new to the area?” the woman pressed.

  “You could say that. I walked by that crime scene this morning and got a look at his face before they covered him up with a sheet. I’ve seen him a few times.”

  “And you didn’t get his name?”

  “Don’t know. He never gave it, ya’ understand.”

  “Ah, one of those quiet types,” the woman assumed.

  “No, not at all. The few times I met up with him in an alley or such, he wouldn’t shut up. Was always askin’ questions.”

  At this comment, Bert couldn’t help but perk up a little more and listen.

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Oh, you know, about where we got food, water. Places we visited. He was a nosy chap, that’s for sure.”

  “Did he seem off his rocker?” the woman asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

  “Naw, he seemed fine in that respect. More of a pestering kinda fellow than anything else.”

  “Gives me the creeps,” the woman said with a shiver in her voice.

  “Makes you wonder who’s going to die next.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s just enjoy the food,” the woman insisted.

  Bert quickly moved on, thinking about what she had just heard.

  Makes you wonder who’s going next. Those words stuck in her mind.

  Well, if she had anything to say about it, no one else was going to get murdered—and she had a good idea where she could start her own little private investigation.

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  It was as the sun rose the next morning that Bert headed for the phone book. She’d spent the night in the cluttered upstairs apartment above the shop. She hadn’t wanted to trouble any of her friends for a ride back to her cottage house on the other side of town. It was simply easier to stay at the shop.

  She had to admit, despite the clutter and dust, she liked being able to pop up in the morning and just head down the stairs to work. She’d considered putting her house up for rent when she’d first bought the book shop. Now, however, she was certain she was ready for a change. She could downsize to the quaint apartment if it meant a shorter commute and being closer to Carla.

  After showering and changing into some new clothes, ones she had brought to the shop a few weeks back in case of an emergency, she headed down and pulled out the phone book from under the counter. Running her finger down the pages, she found what she was looking for—the phone number for the Culver’s Hood Newspaper.

  Sliding her cell phone out of her pocket, she quickly dialed the number and waited.

  After wading through a few automated menus, she was finally put through to a real person. “The Culver’s Hood Newspaper. This is Tyla. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, my name is Bertha Hannah, the owner of the Pies and Pages book shop.”

  “Oh, yes,” the woman exclaimed excitedly. “We’ve just finished uploading the files.”

  “The . . . files?”

  “Of course. One of our reporters caught wind of the dinner you hosted last night and wrote up a story on it.”

  Bert blinked, surprised by this news. “Oh, I didn’t see any reporters here last night.”

  “Don’t you worry. We like to be as discreet as possible. In many cases, we feel that we can better catch the true essence of a story when no one thinks they’re being watched.”

  How come that didn’t make Bert feel comfortable?

  “However, if you’re wanting to give an interview, I’m sure Tanner would love it.”

  “Tanner?”

  “Yes, he’s the reporter who wrote the story.”

  “Well, that’s very flattering. However, I wasn’t calling about that story.” While having her pie and book shop in the newspaper the following day would be great advertisement and promotion, Bert hadn’t called them up to learn about any story. She was more concerned about murder.

  “Oh? You weren’t aware of the story?”

  “I had no idea about it.”

  “I see. In that case, how can I help you?”

  “This reporter. Tanner. Is he the one who did the write up about the homeless murders?”

  There was a long quiet pause, and Bert wondered if the call had been disconnected.

  “How about I see if he’s here in the office?” she finally suggested. There was a clicking noise followed by some elevator music. Bert tapped her fingers on the counter while she waited.

  Only about a minute later, the line picked up again. “This is Tanner Wakeman. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Tanner. My name is Bert Hannah.”

  “Ah, yes. The woman who owns the Pies and Pages shop where the homeless Thanksgiving Dinner was held last night.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I have to say, Mrs. Hannah, I was very impressed with your event.”

  “Well, it wasn’t really my event. The real credit goes toward my friend Andie Right. She’s the director of the soup kitchen here in Culver’s Hood.”

  “Very good, very good.” The sound of a pen scribbling on paper echoed over the line. Clearly, he assumed this was an interview.

  “But, Mr. Tanner, I didn’t call to discuss the dinner.”

  “Yes, our secretary mentioned your interest in another story.”

  “The homeless murders. Are you the man who wrote that story?”

  There was a brief pause. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  Bert hesitated on the next question. “Did you go undercover, I mean dress up as a bum, to look into that story?”

  There was a confused hesitation. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did you do that last night?”

  Another pause. “No, ma’am. None of our reporters were actually at the event. However, we had some photos delivered to us by those who were there.”

  Why did she get the feeling he was lying to her? What was he trying to cover up? Did he simply want to keep his reporting habits a secret?

  Bert decided it wasn’t worth pursuing and instead moved onto the next question. “Have any of your reporters gone missing lately?” she pressed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your reporters? Have any of them gone missing?”

  “No, not that I’m aware of.”

  “Was anyone else working with you on the murder story?”

  “No,” he said flatly again. “Ma’am, do you mind me asking what this is all about?”

  Did she dare share her hunch with a reporter? Deciding it was a bad idea, she skirted the question. “According to the police, no one was supposed to know that these deaths were actually mur
der. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you come to learn about the poisonings?”

  “I won’t lie to you, I’m not supposed to share my sources. Confidentiality and all that.”

  “But, I’m not a reporter or the police. Can’t you tell me?” she asked in a sweet tone.

  He paused again. “Even if I knew, I couldn’t. It was an anonymous tip that led me to that information.”

  “I see.”

  So much for her theory about the stabbing victim being an undercover reporter. With the conversation between the people at the dinner last night—talking about how much the man asked questions—she was sure it had to be an undercover reporter who had bit the dust.

  Maybe Carla had been right in the first place. Maybe it really was the camera shop owner who had committed the stabbing. The rest of the deaths could be completely unrelated.

  “Mrs. Hannah, do you know something about all of this?” Tanner cut into the silence.

  “No. Not at all. I had a hunch, and it turns out I was wrong.”

  “You’re not friends with the mayor, are you?”

  Bert paused, raising one eyebrow. “No, why?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  However, by this comment alone, Bert knew exactly what he was getting at. It was apparent that he believed the mayor was somehow connected with these murders. It explained why he was being so secretive and hush-hush about the whole thing.

  As unlikely as that possibility seemed, Bert wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Well, thank you for your help, anyway,” she said, wanting to end the conversation.

  “Mrs. Hannah,” Tanner replied, stopping her before she could hang up.

  “Yes?”

  “What is your investment in this case?”

  “A purely personal one. One of my oldest and dearest friends manages the soup kitchen.”

  “Andie Right?”

  “Correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Mrs. Hannah.”

  Repressing a groan, she rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “I’m just going to warn you. Be careful. You don’t know what kind of people you may be dealing with.”

  Bert opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but the line went completely silent.

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  It was around eleven as Bert walked along the cold, windy streets of downtown Culver’s Hood. The snow had begun to stick to the ground sometime during the morning, and a thin, almost superficial layer coated most of everything in patches of white.

  Her mind was spinning around inside her head as she made her way toward her destination.

  What had that reporter meant when he said to be careful? Who were these people she was supposedly dealing with? What did he know that he wasn’t telling her?

  The larger part of Bert’s feelings told her that, logically, everything he’d said was hearsay. Did he really believe there was a conspiracy involving the mayor to get rid of the homeless? What for? Just to scare them off the streets of the city?

  It seemed just a tad too much like a thriller novel for Bert to believe any of it.

  No, she was still set on the fact that this was a singular person who had some sort of grudge—nothing else.

  Which was what had convinced her to walk the seven blocks from Old Market to downtown in the snow. Pulling her scarf tight around her neck and adjusting her knit cap upon her head, she stopped at the corner of Eighth and Harmon. Glancing up, she read the swinging metal sign above the shop. The Corner Camera Store.

  Entering the building, she let out a sigh of relief upon the instant greeting of the warmth. She was somewhat surprised to see so many customers milling about, but then remembered it was Black Friday. People were already starting their Christmas shopping.

  An upbeat and poppy version of Jingle Bells, which Bert didn’t care for, was echoing over the speakers.

  “Welcome to The Corner Camera Store. How may I help you today?” came the exuberant greeting from the balding man behind the counter.

  “Hi,” Bert replied, putting on the best smile possible. Walking up to the counter, she placed her gloved hands on the glass case a looked in at the merchandise. “Are you the owner?”

  “Yes, I am. Looking for anything in particular?”

  “Yes, actually. I saw this tiny little camera on someone the other day, a young man. It was a square about the size of a brownie.”

  The man held up a finger. “Ah, you must mean the GoAdventure. It’s a durable little thing, very small, and easy to wear. It can take discreet shots while doing any activity.”

  “I think that’s the one,” she said, continuing the conversation.

  “I’m a little low on stock at the moment, but I could order you one for next week.”

  “You’re low on stock?” she asked, feigning surprise. Then she made a face of recognition, purposefully widening her eyes. “Oh, are you the shop that was robbed? The one I read about in the paper.”

  At this comment, his face twanged with a hint of anger. “Why, yes. It is unfortunate, but they stole a few of our GoAdventures. We only ended up having one left.”

  “Oh, so you still have one in stock?”

  He shook his head. “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that I had any left. You see, one of my regulars from the local college bought the last one a few days ago.”

  “A student?”

  “We do get a lot of students here from the communications and art departments, but this was one of the department heads. He told me he’s working on a project of his own.”

  She nodded. “Ah, I see.”

  “However, like I said, I can put one on order for you, Mrs.?”

  “Hannah.”

  “Would you like me to order one, Mrs. Hannah? I could have it in as soon as next week.”

  Bert glanced back over her shoulder as the bell over the door dinged. A young blonde-haired man smiled and waved at the cashier.

  “Is that him, the guy who bought the GoAdventure?” Bert pressed.

  “Oh, no. He’s a student from the college. He always buys his film from me.”

  The man came over and stood at the counter. His scruffy, unshaven beard couldn’t hide his baby face. “Hi, Rich.”

  “Looking for some more film, Skylar?”

  “You know it.”

  “I think I’ll just browse a bit, thank you,” Bert chimed in, letting them get to their business. Heading down one of the aisles, she kept her eyes on the men as they talked. Just as she had assumed, the shop keeper hardly seemed like the kind of man who could kill someone.

  It didn’t mean it wasn’t possible, it just seemed more and more unlikely.

  “So, any more merchandise go missing?” the young man named Skylar asked while the shop keepers grabbed a few boxes of film.

  Bert was surprised that people were still using actual film, but assumed that it was for a specific project. Maybe he was trying to capture images in a certain style that only film could provide. She didn’t know much on the topic but knew how creative some of the local college students could be.

  “No, thankfully.”

  “And the cops never caught the guy?” he asked digging into his pocket for his wallet.

  “No, not yet. Whoever, it is did it right under my nose, while I was in the shop, and I never even noticed.” He set the items on the counter.

  Handing the money over, exact change in ones and quarters by the looks of it, he paid for the film. “I’m telling you, man. You need to get a better security system. Surveillance cameras, alarm tags on the high price items.”

  The shop keeper put up both hands. “I know, I know. You’re right Skylar. You’ll be happy to hear that I have contacted a company and they’re sending someone at the end of the day today to give me an estimate.”

  Skylar smirked wryly. “I’m glad to hear it. Well, thanks for the film.”

  “Yeah. Maybe next time you come in, I’ll be all decked out.”

  “I’m looking forward to
it. See ya, man,” he waved.

  “Bye,” he nodded, moving his concentration to the next customer in line who had her arms full of a whole array of items.

  Bert kept her eyes on the young college student, not quite sure why his attitude had been so off-putting. Was it simply his attitude or something more?

  He squeezed in between shoppers, moving for the exit.

  That was when she saw it.

  Skylar’s hand passed over a nearby stand of HDMI cables and headphones. In one swoop, he had one of each in his hands and had slipped them into his large wool jacket.

  Bert’s jaw dropped wide open as he nonchalantly walked out of the shop. She’d just seen him shoplift. Did that mean he was the same person who had hit the shop before, stealing the GoAdventures?

  Bert didn’t wait around. She pushed past all the eager Christmas shoppers and out into the freezing cold day.

  Looking both up and down the street, she realized the young man had disappeared.

  She’d lost him.

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  Bert hadn’t expected to find herself sitting in the passenger seat of Detective Mannor’s black, undercover, cop car that day, yet here she was right next to him as they made their way toward the college campus.

  After she’d lost track of Skylar, she knew she couldn’t just wait around. She’d seen a crime and needed to report it.

  Much to her surprise, Detective Mannor was the one to show up on the scene—further confirming her assumptions that there was at least some sort of small connection between the camera shop, the thefts, and the stabbing.

  What those connections were, she was at a loss. If anything, all of these clues made the investigation more confusing.

  “I hope you know you’re only here because I need you to identify the thief,” he pointed out. “You’re my only witness to this crime.”

  Bert folded her arms and leaned back in the chair, glad he hadn’t decided to have her ride in the back behind the cage just out of spite. “I’m aware, detective, but why exactly did they send the homicide division to look into this?”