Maple Nut Murder Page 7

  Timidly, with her eyes down, she reached into her purse and handed over the plastic bag with the key, black paper, and even the mug in it.

  Then, before Harry could say another word, she turned and rushed out of the restaurant.

  CHAPTER 15

  Bert struggled to see the road as she drove home thanks to the blurred tears in her eyes. Continually questioning herself about why she’d made such a foolish decision, she pulled out another tissue from her purse. It was the last one. She’d used up her entire travel packet of tissues by the time she arrived at her shop and rushed inside to get more.

  Blowing her nose, she felt like she was finally over her minor breakdown. Back when her husband had been alive, he’d always said, “Sometimes we just need to cry, we need to let things go, and our tears are one of the best ways to do that. There is nothing wrong with crying.” Bert had always known it was the truth because he’d been a bit of a crier himself. He never let stereotypes of masculinity, or even the ridicule of others, stop him from expressing his emotions.

  Heck, he even cried at TV shows and movies.

  Thinking of that now was comforting. She missed him.

  Harry was nice, but he was so different—so rough around the edges. Somehow, though, Bert knew there was a soft man buried beneath it all. More importantly, while he had every right to be upset with her, she knew he would forgive her for her mistake.

  Taking a deep breath, she let it out with a whoosh, feeling much of the stress go out with it. “Things are okay,” she told herself. She even reminded herself that Carla was going to be released soon since she hadn’t been charged.

  Still, Bert felt lonely, like she needed someone to talk to. In the past, her husband had provided that. More recently, it had been Carla.

  Who would she call now?

  She thought of the church she and Carla attended together some Sundays, and the congregation that she’d come to love. Perhaps she could talk to Pastor Chimney. After all, in a time of sorrow, who better to turn to than your Pastor? Pastor Chimney hadn’t just studied to become clergy, he’d also been a student of psychology.

  Heading upstairs, Bert set her purse down on the messy table and dug inside for her phone. When she didn’t readily find it, she dug deeper into the large pocket. Where was it?

  She felt the stress begin to come back up into her chest again.

  She tried to hold back her tears as she dug through her purse for the phone, growing more and more sure she’d left it on the restaurant table with Sean. “This is just what I need right now,” she grumbled, pushing down a sob. “Where is it?”

  Feeling like a mad woman, and not bothering to move all of Carla’s items from the table, Bert tipped her own purse over and dumped it out. The contents went spilling everywhere, but no phone was to be seen.

  “Darn it,” she groaned, giving the bag one final shake. As she did a single piece of paper fluttered out of the bottom and fell face up on top of the pile. Bert blinked a few times as she realized what it was.

  The loose flier, a leftover from Christmas in July, sat staring up at her.

  A new wave of upset almost took over as she thought of Carla in jail, but something else entirely stopped Bert in her tracks. The last bit of wording at the bottom of the sheet was throwing her off for some reason.

  See our fine winter greenery and Santa might just give you a gift!

  Something about it just seemed strange. Why was it worded that way? Why was greenery the highlight when everything was on sale too? Bert leaned forward, squinting in the dim light of the hanging overhead lamp. That’s when she noticed something else that was odd. The strands of garland that outlined the words had a bit of an odd pattern.

  Picking up the paper and holding it close to the light, Bert realized what it was—a leaf that looked out of place.

  “Oh, no. Oh my gosh,” she whispered, thinking of Harry’s words of warning at the shop.

  Bert knew who the killer was, but also knew that they were probably in grave danger themselves if her logic of the situation stood up. Instinctively, she went to grab her purse—and evidently her phone, but quickly remembered it wasn’t there.

  She didn’t have a choice. Grabbing her keys and wallet from the pile, she dumped them in her mostly empty purse and rushed out the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  The very first thing Bert did was stop by the restaurant again, praying and hoping that Harry (or at the very least Sean with her phone) would still be there. She was out of luck. According to the hostess, the “policemen” had left about fifteen minutes earlier. Sean had left only five minutes earlier.

  Giving the woman her hurried thanks, Bert rushed back out to her car and climbed in. She was tempted to head right into the fray, to track down the real killer herself, but she was in enough hot water with Harry as it was and headed for the police station instead.

  She knew she was likely wasting valuable time.

  If she had figured out who the killer was, it was likely that the supposedly dangerous men had as well. For all she knew, they’d figured it out the day before and killed him off, leaving his body somewhere in an alley or in the river.

  Parking outside the police station she hurriedly went to pay the parking meter and dropped her loose change out on the ground. Groaning angrily, she picked the coins up and shoved them in the meter without looking at how much time she was buying.

  Rushing in, she went up to the front desk. “I need to see Detective Mannor.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but he isn’t in right now,” the woman informed her in a rather nasally voice.

  “I need to talk to him,” Bert emphasized.

  “I told you, he’s not in right now. He’s likely out on a case,” she said.

  Very few of the people at the station knew Bert was dating the detective, and she wasn’t so sure she would have been able to use it as leverage with this secretary anyway. “Can you tell me where he is? It’s very important.”

  “Ma’am, if you need to file a police report, please do so online.” She slid a paper toward her from a stack beside her. “Or you can do one by hand.”

  “I don’t need to fill out a report. I need to see the detective,” she insisted.

  “Ma’am, our detectives are all very busy now working on cases. Please call or come back again later.”

  Clenching down hard on her jaw, Bert balled her hands into fists and marched back outside. If she couldn’t see Harry and couldn’t call him (darn this new age of cell phones that didn’t require anyone to memorize numbers) she would have to go find the culprit herself.

  * * *

  Heading back to the apartment, Bert hoped she’d find what she was looking for in the contents of Carla’s purse. Sure enough, one of the items her best friend carried at all times was a little black contact book. She was smart to keep a hard copy in addition to her phone entries. Bert made a mental note to do the same.

  She’d grown too reliant on her smartphone for all her organizational needs. When she’d first gotten it, she’d been hesitant to jump in, but once she saw how easy it was to organize her calendar, set reminders for birthdays, and save everyone’s phone and address in one place without having to carry around anything extra, she’d fallen in love.

  Almost as much as she’d fallen in love with the fancy new video gaming system Harry had bought her last Christmas.

  Now she was seeing how unreliable technology could be.

  Flipping through the book, she found the address she was seeking in one of the most recent entries. Placing it in her purse, she ran out the door again and got in the car. The drive only took about ten minutes and she found herself parked in an alleyway between two tall brick buildings in a more run-down part of town.

  Now, the only remaining question was what to do next. Did she dare go upstairs in the apartment building and confront the killer? Or should she just wait for something to happen? But what?

  She ended up not having to decide right away as something strange happene
d. Out of one of the topmost apartment windows, a familiar looking duffle bag fell into the alley.

  “What the heck?” she whispered, leaning forward to look up.

  She waited for a second to see if anything else happened, but something in her car began to buzz. Bert waited for a second, trying to figure out what it was. “My phone,” she exclaimed, realizing what she was hearing. She dug around a minute before she found it inside of her purse . . . in the smaller front pocket. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she groaned, hitting the green answer button. “Hello?”

  “Bert? Detective Mannor.”

  He was still mad, she could tell.

  “The receptionist here at the station claims a woman came in here looking for me? I thought it might have been you.”

  “Yes, I wanted to say that I think I know who the killer and drug dealer is.”

  “How do you know about there being a drug dealer?” he paused. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

  “Harry, it’s just a matter of putting two and two together,” she told him, opening her car door and getting out. She wanted to see why he’d thrown the duffle bag out the window. It lay in a pile of the trash nearby.

  “What did I tell you about not getting involved?” he demanded.

  “Hey, I lost my phone for a bit, then I ran to the restaurant and even to the station looking for you, didn’t I?” she informed him. She came to stand over the frumpy looking bag. Glancing up, she tried to see if anyone was still at the window, but it appeared they weren’t. “I worked really hard to go through the right channels.”

  Harry’s breathing calmed a little. “I see that. Now, what information do you have for us?”

  Squatting down, Bert picked up the bag and realized there was a small separation in the seam work holding the top flap closed. As she moved it, the hole became bigger, revealing the hefty contents.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she gasped. “I was right. It is Panther.”

  “Santa?” Harry asked.

  “That’s right. I’m outside of his apartment.”

  “Outside his apartment?!” Mannor yelled, his anger returning.

  “He just threw his duffle bag out into the alleyway. The bag is full of his . . . product.”

  Harry asked something else, but Bert didn’t hear it as a door along the back stairs opened and closed. Panther was coming down. She ran as quickly and discreetly as she could and got back into her car, hunching down as not to be seen. “He’s here. He just came out of the building.”

  She heard Mannor asking an officer in the background if they had Panther’s address. “Sit tight. We’re on our way.”

  “Wait, something else is happening,” she whispered as a black car with blacked out windows pulled up into the alley from the opposite direction. Upon seeing the car, Panther started to run. However, in a swift and organized manner, men in suits got out and dragged him into the car. “Oh, my goodness. Some people just threw him into a car and are taking him away,” she squeaked.

  “I need a full Swat team with me now,” Harry shouted. “I’ll be right there. Don’t let them see you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “So, are you sure you’re not still mad at me?” Bert asked as she placed a slice of Maple Nut pie and cup of coffee in front of Harry on the counter of Christmas in July. She made sure to punctuate her question with a flutter of her eyelashes at him.

  It was a little hard to be alluring or even ask forgiveness in the crazily busy store. It seemed that the murder hadn’t hindered people’s shopping appetites for Christmas items in the summer season. If anything, it increased it.

  Jolly songs blared over the sound system and smiling faces shopped for their holiday fix.

  Harry scrunched up his nose, realizing the free slice of pie was a peace offering—or at least a bribe. Sighing, he shook his head and picked up the fork. “What you did was wrong and could have wound up with you in jail,” he told her.

  Bert pouted a bit, playfully, not liking that answer.

  “But, thanks to your call, we were able to not only catch Panther but also we tracked down a much bigger group of organized dealers and arrested them all.”

  “You did?” Bert gasped, not knowing that part.

  He swallowed his bite and pie and smiled happily. “Yes, ma’am. It’s a huge dent in illegal activities. I think we’ve scared off a lot of others for now, as well.”

  “Wow,” Bert mouthed, happy to hear that she—in some very small way—had been able to make Culver’s Hood safer and more comfortable place to live.

  “I hear you’re a hero,” Carla butted in, squeezing in behind the counter with a few ornaments in her hands that she was intending to wrap up for a customer.

  “How can you eavesdrop with this many customers in the shop?” Harry groaned, looking around at all the chatting people who were examining nativities, ornaments, garlands, and much more.

  Carla wiggled her eyebrows. “I have my ways.”

  “I guess I owe you an apology,” Harry admitted to Carla as she proceeded to use tissue paper to wrap the fragile items.

  “Oh, poo,” she said, waving a hand at him. “You were just doing your job.”

  “It did help bring the real killer out in the open. Put him at ease,” he said.

  Carla walked over and put her arm around Bert. “Just like my best friend, I’m glad to do my part.”

  “Speaking of bringing the killer out in the open, why did he kill her? Was she buying from him?”

  Harry shook his head. “Nope. He wasn’t even selling his product anywhere near this shop. He was doing it from the rec center. He claims he was just trying to make enough money to pay the bills, what with it being the off season for his usual job. On the other hand, it turns out it was Shay who was using. Panther said that he was one of his customers.”

  “Wow. Shay?” Bert hated to admit it, but she was glad to hear that. While it might be hard for Heebee to find out at first, it was better for the sweet girl in the first place.

  “Yes, and he snuck the baggie we found on her into her pocket that night. He was heading to his parent's house and didn’t want to accidentally get caught with it.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry,” Carla noted.

  “But why kill Samara?” Bert pressed.

  “She accidentally caught a picture of Panther’s duffle bag, with that tear in the side revealing the contents, in one of her selfies. He wasn’t sure at first but came back that night to try and confirm it. He got angry when she refused to let him see her phone, he tried to wrestle from her and she hit her head on the metal shelving. Killed her instantly.” He shrugged. “Then, when he was running to get out, one of the bags he was selling slipped out of the rip—where we found it behind a storage box.”

  “Well, I’m glad things are back to normal,” Carla said, heading back out to give the wrapped items to the customer.

  “Hopefully, better than normal,” Harry said, smiling at Bert.

  “Uh oh, you two,” Carla singsonged, pointing up.

  They both turned their heads upward and noticed the mistletoe just above the counter. “You hung that there on purpose,” Bert complained.

  Carla chuckled disappearing into her customers.

  The damage had been done. Harry had an eager twinkle in his eye.

  Bert had to admit to the warmth swelling in her own chest as well. There was no getting out of it. Leaning forward so she grew closer to his face, she puckered her lips in anticipation.

  “When do I get coffee and pie?” a burly Santa character asked, leaning on the counter and interrupting their moment. “I seriously need a break from all these kiddos. They’re running me ragged.”

  “Sean,” Carla shouted in frustration from where she’d been watching.

  The moment had passed, which was okay with Bert for now. She pushed down the hint of disappointment and squeezed Harry’s hand.

  “How can you say that, Sean? Heebee looks as fine as ever,” Carla scolded him, motioning to the smiling
blonde girl who was eagerly talking to the children.

  Bert looked at Harry and laughed.