Killer Chocolate Pie (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  If Bert was correct in her assumptions, this wasn’t surprising.

  “Still, he’s been the owner there for nearly ten years.” Another few mouse clocks echoed over the line. “Ah, yes. Here it is. I’m not sure I’ve met this man except for one time.”

  “And what is his name?” Bert pressed.

  “His name is Daniel Blinkerton.”

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  Rushing to finish up the closing duties—including cleaning everything and packing up any leftover pie to take to her church’s youth group later in the week—Bert threw on her jacket and headed out the door.

  She had intentions of walking down to the police station, which was only a few blocks away in the downtown area, and discussing what she had learned with Detective Mannor. If she was correct in her assumptions, Daniel Blinkerton’s ex-wife in no way benefited financially from his death.

  Wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck, she headed down the nearly deserted street. Only the occasional car puttered by. Most of the shops were closed for the evening, or were in the process of closing, dimming many of their lights or drawing the shades—casting shadows out into the night.

  The old street lamps still sent off a comforting glow as Bert walked along. Additionally, the moon granted some small light to the quiet historic downtown area. Glancing up, Bert could almost feel the holiday season upon them.

  In a matter of weeks, it would be Halloween and she would be serving festive dishes to trick or treaters of all ages. She was looking forward to celebrating all the holidays from her little shop. It was a wonderful time of life that she wouldn’t get back again, like so many other special times before.

  Taking a moment to hop down into the gutter, she kicked at the dry leaves resting there the way she always had when she was young. The crunch was so undeniably satisfying. A small wind blew through the streets, creating a swirling dance of leaves around her feet.

  Despite the warmth of her scarf, she began to wish she’d carried a knit cap with her as well, because her ears were beginning to get chilled.

  The gust came down off the buildings, sweeping the street and carrying the leaves upward toward the darkness of the night sky above her.

  Bert stopped and watched mother nature’s dance, glad to have the moment of quiet in all the chaos of the last few days. She cherished her times alone as much as her time with friends.

  Then, something strange caught her eye.

  A glint of moonlight seemed to be penetrating down upon her, almost as if it were being concentrated into a single beam. Blinking, she held up one hand and saw a small circle of light appear on her palm—almost as if she were holding it.

  Following the path of the beam, she looked up at the wooden sign over the toy store. There appeared to be a rather small hole, a perfect circle, through the O in FunWorld. Bert just happened to be standing in exactly the right position for the moonlight to shine through it on her.

  “How did that happen?” she wondered out loud.

  Walking over so she was just beneath the sign, she looked up at it and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. It was difficult from below on the sidewalk to make out any real details.

  She glanced around for any way to get closer, and noticed the tree nearby. It had a wrought iron fence surrounding the trunk. She figured she could at least step up on that for a closer look, just so long as no one saw her.

  It certainly would be odd to see a sixty-year-old woman climbing a tree late at night in the middle of the Old Market.

  Double checking she was alone, Bert hoisted one foot onto the first rung of the fence, and then the next, balancing herself against the trunk.

  She was only up there a couple of seconds, but it was enough to get a good look at the strange hole.

  Suddenly, she realized what she was looking at.

  It was a clean-cut bullet hole.

  Based on the angle at which the bullet seemed to pass through, it looked like the shot had come from somewhere high up. Bert, climbed down and quickly shuffled over back to the spot where the moon shone through. Looking up, she saw the yellow crescent over a four-story brownstone apartment building.

  Whoever had killed Daniel Blinkerton, had sniped him from the roof.

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  Bert didn’t hesitate for a single second, heading toward the old building. She had to at least stand up there and make sure her assumptions were correct before running off to Detective Mannor with another theory. If she didn’t have at least some sort of evidence, he wouldn’t even give her the time of day.

  Not after the balloon incident.

  Now, however, the idea that the balloon popped because of the bullet seemed like more of a possibility.

  Reaching the building, she saw that the first floor was made up of storefronts, mostly restaurants. The three floors above that were apartments. Walking to the center glass doors, with the stairs leading to floors above, she pulled on the handle and stepped inside.

  Jogging to the foot of the steps, she began climbing up and up toward the top. She tried to be quiet and discreet, so as not spook anyone in the apartments. Many of the units were quiet, but a few had the sound of television echoing from inside.

  Reaching the final landing, Bert noticed two doors. One was marked as a supply closet and the other led out to the roof. Stepping through the metal doorway, she found herself back outside in the chilly autumn air.

  Even more than the streets below, the flat expanse around her was dark. No street lamps or emergency lights illuminated the area. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her mini flashlight she always kept on her keys and turned it on.

  Using the knowledge her late husband had taught her about hunting, and about shooting prey from afar, she tried to put two and two together. The spot where the shot would have likely come from was the far corner, just behind a large electrical generator.

  Walking across the roof and slipping into the small space there, she looked over the edge. Sure enough, she could see the exact spot in front of her shop where Daniel had died—and the toy store sign was right in between.

  She needed to tell Detective Mannor about this right away. Suddenly, she felt something hard under her shoe. Lifting her foot, she gasped. Laying on the concrete was the bullet casing of a single shell. Carefully, she picked it up and slipped it into her purse for the detective.

  This was undeniable proof that the killer had shot the gun from up here.

  Spinning around to run back down the fire escape, Bert stopped suddenly in her tracks as the barrel of a gun was pointed in her face.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” the assailant threatened.

  Chapter 16

  * * *

  “Abigail,” Bert exclaimed, putting up her hands to show she didn’t want any trouble.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

  Bert blinked, looking at the gun pointed right at her heart. “No. I had no idea what I might find until I saw the shell just now.” She instantly regretted what she said. She’d basically just admitted she had evidence that the shooting took place from the roof.

  “Don’t lie. You knew you’d find something up here, didn’t you?”

  Bert shook her head again. “I swear, I didn’t. I just was seeing if the shot could really be made from here.”

  Abigail pursed her lips. “Very astute, I suppose. I knew you were going to be trouble when you I caught you spying on me at the coffee shop, today,” Abigail Blinkerton sneered, jabbing the gun at Bert.

  “The coffee shop? You mean at the Koffee Hous?”

  “That’s right,” she snapped, raising her lip on one side and showing her teeth like a snarling dog.

  “I wasn’t following you. I just wanted to pick up a pumpkin spice coffee.”

  She jabbed the gun into Bert’s chest. “A likely story, I’m sure. You were trying to find some evidence that I did in my old dad.”

  Bert shrugged nervously, trying
not to show just how shaken she was by the gun trained on her. “I-I’ll admit. Your attitude with the employees this morning did tip me off. I’d only ever met you the few times, out in front of my shop and at the coffee shop. I thought your behavior in both instances was a little odd. At my shop, you went from sweet to snappy and nasty in a matter of seconds.”

  “Of course, I did. My dad wasn’t giving me what I wanted,” she growled, bearing her teeth.

  “Then you were acting like you owned the place at the coffee shop. I remembered your father arguing about money and investments with your brother. It was a long shot, so I did a little digging. Your father owned one of the local branches of Koffee Hous.”

  Abigail nodded, never taking her eye off the rifle’s sights. “That he did. He thought I was soooo stupid. Poor, dear, little ol’ me could never figure out anything about investments or money,” she said in a mocking voice. “But about a month ago, I found out, and I knew that’s where most of his money was coming from.”

  “That’s when you started visiting that location every day, treating the employees terribly. Is that when you started planning all of this?”

  “Perhaps,” she whispered.

  “Not even Charleston knew exactly what your father had invested.”

  “Because he was a simple-minded idiot who only had dreams of studying music.”

  “But why kill your father? You should have known he was going to leave everything to your brother as the man of the family.”

  Her grip tightened on the stock, her fingers turning red, then white, with the pressure. “That’s why I used my brother’s gun, of course. I thought for sure they could trace the bullet back to him and peg him as the murderer. Once he was locked away, I’d be in control.”

  “But it didn’t work out? I’m guessing you were nearly interrupted while you were up here and had to leave the gun behind on the roof while you made your escape?”

  “Even though I used my brother’s old jacket to muffle the noise, and used the balloon as cover, someone heard the shot. I was forced to drop the gun here, hidden behind the box, and then dash down the stairs and hide in a supply closet until they were gone.”

  “You must be quite the shot.”

  She smirked. “The best in the family, no thanks to my overbearing father. I snuck out all the time to practice shooting on my own. I read books in secret on the subject, got men I met at the firing range to help teach me.”

  Bert nodded. “I thought as much. That book you asked for the other day was a very advanced manual, nothing for beginners.”

  Abigail hesitated, a glint of a tear coming to her eye. “I was giving my ignorant father one more chance to redeem himself. To let go of his outdated ideas and accept me as the daughter I actually was—not some prissy doll he could buy things for. If it had been up to him, neither me or my brother would have ever moved on with our lives. He would have kept us dependent on him. It may have worked on my brother, but I was done. I had to kill him and make sure someone else took the fall.”

  “Is that why you verbally attacked me at the Koffee Hous? Trying a little too desperately to point the finger after your original plan fell through?”

  “I’m not desperate,” she barked, her eyes bulging like a wild animal hunting its prey. “Besides, I knew you were spying on me, following me, trying to turn me in.”

  “What possible reason could I have for spying on you?”

  Abigail smirked. “I saw how buddy, buddy you were with the cop. You’re secretly working for him.”

  “Detective Mannor?”

  “That’s the one, all right.”

  Bert sighed. This girl really was a few screws loose. Bert had thought she was a little ditzy at first, but it seemed that she was an all-out psychopath.

  “I wouldn’t really call the detective and I friends.”

  “Don’t lie to me. When you showed him that balloon, he took it into evidence. I knew you were onto me.”

  Bert’s jaw dropped. “If you saw me pick up the balloon, that means you’ve been spying on me, not the other way around.” Bert began to piece things together. “And you spied on your brother and your mom too, turned them into the police.”

  She shrugged. “Why not? If I can cause a little confusion, it’s all the better for me.” She giggled wickedly.

  “You were trying to point the finger at someone to take the fall for the murder.”

  Narrowing her aim on Bert’s chest, she smiled. “I guess it’ll just have to be two murders, both with my brother’s rifle.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Say goodnight,” she giggled.

  Bert squeezed her eyes shut, knowing there was no way out this time, and waited for the pain to hit her.

  “Don’t even think about it,” a man’s voice demanded.

  Opening her eyes again, Bert let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Detective Mannor stepping through the doorway.

  “T-This isn’t what it looks like,” Abigail sputtered, putting up her hands. “I caught her trying to hide the evidence and took it away from her. See?” She held up the gun.

  “Nice try. I’m sure once we test fingerprints on that weapon, we won’t find a single one from Mrs. Hannah here, but I’m guessing there will be a few of yours.” He motioned with his gun for her to drop her weapon. “Slowly set it down.”

  There was a tense moment of hesitation, and then Abigail began to weep as she set the rifle on the ground.

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  “How did you know where to find me?” Bert asked Detective Mannor the next morning. The previous night had been a blur of events, all ending with the detective arresting Abigail Blinkerton for the murder of her father Daniel Blinkerton.

  He’d told Bert to head home and get some rest after what she’d been through. He even asked if she needed the paramedics.

  Bert had, of course, declined this kind offer.

  “Honestly, I didn’t know you’d be up there. It was only after I got the autopsy report, which helped to determine which angle the bullet entered the body, that I got to even thinking about the possibility of it being a sniper.” He waited a moment, trying to decide if he should admit the next sentence. “Of course, that balloon of yours helped a little, too.”

  “It did?” she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her lips.

  The grimace on his face was an indication that he instantly regretted saying anything. Sighing, he gave in. “Yes. The rubber was burnt along the edges, indicating a bullet could have passed through.”

  “Wow. So, I was on the right track from the beginning.”

  “There were other things that seemed a little off, as well, that led me to guess it was Abigail. Soria Blinkerton shared the bit of information about her daughter. She’d realized her daughter was sneaking out to go shooting in the middle of the night a few years back and found boxes and boxes of books on guns hidden away in her bedroom. She started to get scared of the girl’s behavior.”

  “She was acting strange, even back then?”

  “According to her mother, she was mentally unstable and volatile.”

  Bert’s jaw dropped. “So, that’s probably the real reason Soria left. She was scared.”

  “The point is, we have Abigail in custody now and she won’t be hurting anyone anymore. She’ll probably plead insanity and be sent off to an institution. You won’t have to worry about her coming after you.” He puffed out his chest at this final comment like a male peacock strutting his stuff.

  Bert let out another sigh of relief just thinking about the night before. “Well, thank heaven you figured it out when you did. Otherwise I’d be in the morgue, too.”

  “Well, that didn’t happen. Let’s keep it that way.” He gave a firm nod. He stood up from the table. “I just stopped by to let you know. You won’t have to be afraid of her coming after you again.”

  “I think I at least owe you a pie,” she announced, moving back behind the display case. “More like a hundre
d pies, really,” she laughed.

  “That’s quite all right.”

  “After all, you saved my life,” Bert said.

  “Mrs. Hannah, that isn’t necessary.” He put up both hands indicating he didn’t need any handouts or favors.

  “I insist, seriously.” She opened the case and picked up a plate with a fresh slice of the popular chocolate-almond tart.

  Mannor licked his lips, trying to decide if it was worth it to fight her on this.

  “Come on. Sit down back down.” She set the plate on a nearby table and pulled out a chair.

  He grumbled wearily. “Oh, don’t go begging. I’ll eat it,” he gave in, trying to hide his eagerness.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee with it? I don’t have pumpkin spice, but I think you’ll still like it.”

  Pursing his lips, he agreed. “Sure. That might be nice.”

  Finally, his rugged exterior was beginning to melt. Bert rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a cup and set it in front of him. He’d begun to eat the pie, and she could see he was smiling. “You like it?”

  “Mrs. Hannah, I hate to admit it, but this just might be the tastiest thing I ever had.”

  “I thought so,” she smirked proudly. “Seriously, any time you’re craving a pie, I’ll give you a slice on the house. It’s the least I can do.”

  Detective Mannor tried desperately to hide his glee at this offer, but Bert saw right through him. When it came to dessert, she could always read people.

  “I think I could get used to that,” he replied, raising his fork and taking another bite.

  Bert hoped this was beginning of a friendship.