Nuttier Than Pecan Pie Page 9
“It’s simple,” the shadow said. “One of the bakers yesterday was using a recipe stolen from Clara Hart.”
“What makes you say that?” Eve asked, immediately suspicious. She had told only a few people about the stolen recipe, though it was possible Clara herself had let her guard down and mentioned it to someone at the Bake-off. Still, Eve didn’t want to give anything away – at least not yet.
The shadow was silent for a few moments.
“Because I’ve seen the recipe and I know what’s in it. And now Gwen’s dead. That’s an even bigger problem. And I’ve been trying to figure out the connection between the two. I’ve unraveled some of it, but I can’t do it all on my own. You have the answers I need. That’s why I contacted you.”
Eve’s curiosity surged. She inched forward another step as she squinted into the darkness, trying to get a better look at Raisin Questions’s face. She thought she could dimly make out some of the features. “Who are you?” she asked again, this time drawing out the words.
When the figure didn’t answer, Eve decided she’d had enough. In a quick, precise movement, she raised her flashlight, flicked on the switch, and aimed the beam directly in Raisin Questions’s face.
It looked oddly grotesque in the harsh light, all sharp angles and unflattering lines. But there was no mistaking the identity of the person.
“Bianca Hyena.”
SEVENTEEN
H yena made a squeak in the back of her throat. “Oww…get that bloody light out of my eyes!” She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the flashlight’s beam.
Eve did as the woman asked, turning the beam down toward the heavily varnished floor. The grey shadows returned, engulfing them. It was eerily quiet backstage, where the curtains muffled most sounds, and Eve let her voice grow a little louder. “What kind of game are you playing at, woman?”
“Is that what you think? I’m toying with you?” Bianca’s tone became defensive, and her words turned hard‑edged. She leveled a finger at her. “You thought I was the one who stole the recipe. Isn’t that right?”
Eve pursed her lips. “Your bloody right I did. You were and still are the most likely suspect. Clara’s absolutely convinced you stole the doll from her.” She paused, looking hard at the head of the historical society. “So, as long as we’re making confessions... did you?”
Bianca snorted, though it might have been a laugh. It was hard to tell. “Of course not. I offered her money but for whatever reason, the stubborn old coot wouldn’t part with it.”
“Coot! She has feelings, Bianca! That was her best friend’s doll. Not everything is about money,” Eve said, irritation creeping into her tone. “You’d know that if you thought about anyone other than yourself.”
An uncomfortable silence hovered for a few moments between the two of them. Eventually, Bianca broke the silence by letting out a breath of air through her nose. “I suppose I was wrong to push.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Eve confirmed, not backing down an inch. “You know you scared the poor woman half to death.”
Bianca’s body shifted uneasily. “That was never my intention. I had a pushy client. That was the reason I was there.”
“Then why didn’t you buy it?”
“No, not the Koosa. That was just to get me inside the door. My client knew she had the red-haired doll that used to belong to Cocoa Barker.”
“How? What’s so important about it?”
Again, Bianca snorted. “I have no idea. But the client is always right, aren’t they? They offered me a ridiculous amount of money to get it.”
“Did they know the recipe was inside?” Eve asked again, trying to understand.
“Well, if they did, they didn’t tell me,” Bianca snapped, “I stumbled over it when I was inspecting her.”
“And that’s when Clara walked in?” Eve asked, her voice suddenly quiet. “And kicked you out?”
“Yes,” Bianca confirmed, and then she shut her mouth abruptly, as if she fully realized what she’d just said. She also seemed to realize where they were. Her head twisted left, toward the auditorium, as if she could see through the curtains and out toward the balcony. She appeared to be listening for something. After a few moments, she turned back toward Eve. “Did anyone tail you?”
“No. The place is empty.”
“And you came alone, right?”
Eve choked a little on her spit and a moment later hoped Bianca had missed that little giveaway. “I came in alone. Yes,” she said, knowing it wasn’t a complete lie. Afterall she’d left Mabe in her truck.
Bianca gave her a suspicious look but finally shrugged. “We can’t stand out here in the open talking. This way.”
She flicked on her flashlight and, pointing it toward the floor, headed off through an opening in another curtain, then along the building’s rear wall, to a storage room at the very back of the stage area. She walked in, keeping the flashlight pointed low. “We can talk privately in here.” She stopped at the center of the room, turned, and waved to Eve. “Come on in. Shut the door.”
Eve paused just outside the doorway, peering inside. She flicked on her own flashlight and shined it around the room. It was just an old dressing area, perhaps eight by ten feet in size. The place looked dusty, cold, and largely unused. Old posters hung on the bare plastered walls, with peeling paint up along the ceiling and in the corners.
She entered the room cautiously, taking only a few steps inside, and somewhat reluctantly reached around to close the door behind her. She crossed her arms, leaving the flashlight on, so its beam illuminated the shelves on her left and gave them some light. “So, what’s this all about? Why all the secrecy?”
“Because,” Bianca said, “in case you hadn’t noticed, someone’s been killed. That’s pretty serious business. It means there’s a murderer in this town. And I have no intention of getting murdered myself. How about you?”
Eve ignored the question. It was too loaded. “Why would someone want to murder you? I mean besides the fact that you’re a horrible dresser and have a terrible personality?”
Bianca snorted to indicate her indignation. “I told you. Someone wanted what was in that doll. And I know what it was.”
Eve felt a chill. “You think Gwen was murdered for a pecan pie recipe?”
“Well it was either that or it has something to do with this,” Bianca said, handing over a piece of newspaper.
Eve glanced at it and then shook her head thoughtfully. “An obituary?”
“Exactly. Cocoa’s obituary. I found it inside the doll with the recipe.”
“Clara never mentioned it. She must not know about it. You stole it?”
“Yes. Not on purpose. I was holding it and just shoved it in my pocket when Clara walked back in the room. I’d been so busy looking at the recipe first that I didn’t even really know what it was.”
“But this is no secret. Anyone could have accessed this through the newspaper archives?” Eve asked point blank. She was suddenly very curious to hear Bianca’s revelation.
“You have to promise first,” Bianca said quietly, “to keep this to yourself.”
Again, Eve found herself becoming irritated. “There you go again, playing games.”
“And I told you, I’m not playing games.” Bianca’s tone was hard and unyielding. “I think someone murdered Cocoa all those years ago. I have no idea how the doll, obituary or recipe could have given it away but maybe there was something else in there too. Something I missed.”
“So, who hired you? Who was this client?”
“The last thing I want to do is accuse an innocent person. So, you have to agree to keep this between us until we get to the bottom of it.”
Eve considered that. After a moment, she nodded slightly. “Okay, we’ll keep this just between you and me – at least for now. So, who is your suspect?”
“I’ll tell you,” Bianca said slyly, “but before that, I have another question for you: what do you think happened to Gwen?”
Bianca’s face dropped into a frown as she listened. “I thought you’d say something like that. And you know what that means, don’t you?”
“No. What?”
“If you thought I was the one who stole the doll, it means you also thought I killed Gwen, right?” Her gaze locked onto Eve’s, demanding an answer.
Eve was silent for a tense moment as the two women faced each other across the dimly lit room. Finally, Eve nodded. “Something like that, yeah. But it’s like you said. Nothing makes much sense right now, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. But just so you know, I liked Gwen. She and I were friends. I would never have hurt Gwen.”
Eve watched Bianca’s face as she spoke and had to admit she believed the other woman. “Then who did?”
Bianca paused dramatically, then said with a flourish, “It was Sharlene Spittle.”
EIGHTEEN
“S
harlene Spittle?” Eve scoffed at that idea. “The greeter from the historical society? She’s too lazy to get her hands dirty.”
“I’m not mistaken. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“You saw her kill Gwen?”
“No, I saw her with the pecan pie. The one that used peanut butter, bacon and maple syrup,” Bianca said a little haughtily. “Like I said, I saw the recipe when I looked inside the cabbage patch doll at Clara’s. I memorized the ingredients and I decided to enter that pie. But after the doll was stolen, I knew that would only make me look guilty, so I entered the pecan raisin instead. However, when I looked over at the booth next to me, what do you think I saw?”
“Ahh.” Eve finally realized what she was hinting at. “You saw Sharlene entering a pecan pie too.”
Bianca pointed at her with a finger. “You got it, Sherlock. I knew right away it was no coincidence. There’d been rumors going around town that the doll had been stolen and we both know what was inside that doll. What I don’t understand is why she’d take the risk. I mean, didn’t she realize that Clara would recognize the pie? If she’d won, she would have been outed as the doll thief and Gwen’s murderer. Then again, Sharlene’s not that bright.”
“Ohh.” Eve smiled. “Quite the contrary. I think she is bright. The clever fox. She had a plan for that too. Hence why Clara wasn’t a judge. Rebel had a feeling something was up and had a blood test done. I bet someone laced Clara’s pie with a benzo.”
“Like a sleeping pill? Do those take immediate effect?”
“No, but she’s in her seventies and certain types like Clonazepam are known for making people dizzy. She certainly slept once Rebel got her home.”
“So, someone wanted her feeling sick enough to quit the contest.” Bianca frowned.
“Yep, and it worked like a charm. She just never counted on me or you recognizing the pie,” Eve said thoughtfully, “And she never counted on that new judge, Wallace, disliking it.”
“I know. I think that surprised the heck out of both of us,” Bianca agreed.
“Yeah,” Eve said. “He made the final decision. I thought her pie was the best, but he claimed it wasn’t sweet enough.”
Bianca rubbed her chin with her fingers and looked over at Eve. “So, what do we do now? Do we go to the police?”
Eve thought for a long time, her mind working furiously. But there was only one good option she could see. She sighed. “I think I have to talk to Sharlene.”
NINETEEN
A s Eve climbed into the passenger seat, Mabe gave a snort and woke with a sputtering jolt. Her head jerked up, and she twisted it back and forth like she was getting comfortable again. Then she saw Eve.
“Did you have a good nappie wappie?”
Mabe’s face immediately turned red as she got out of the back seat and climbed back into the front. “I was just resting my eyes. I could still hear you through the ear piece.”
“Oh yeah?”
She rubbed her eyes and reached for the ignition. “Buckle up. Lena’s due back at the house any minute. We’re headed out to dinner at the Legion. It’s spaghetti night. You wanna come?”
“Mmm,” Eve said as she looked out the passenger side window. “I think I’ll pass. I’m feeling kind of tired. Not all of us can sleep on the job.”
Mabe looked over sheepishly as she pushed the gear into drive. “How’d the meeting go with Raisin Questions? Any problems?”
Eve looked over at Mabe. “I thought you could hear me.”
“Yeah, well, your droning put me to sleep. If you’d have yelled, I would have been up and at it.” Mabe shifted in her seat. “So, who was she anyway? This mysterious Raisin Questions. You never did say her name.”
By the time Mabe dropped Eve off at her own truck, she’d told her a little bit of the story, but not all of it. Mabe wasn’t exactly known for her secret-keeping skills.
She was still mentally sorting through all the pieces as she pulled into the public parking area at the Historical Museum.
She flipped open the phone and shot a text message off to Sharlene, thinking being direct would be the best approach. Hopefully, it would throw her off balance. Heard you had the recipe. Is it true? Can we talk?
TWENTY
C lara was in better spirits the following morning when Eve and Juniper stopped by Rebel’s house around ten o’clock. Rebel had to work so they had agreed to go together to the Bohemian Lake Sugar & Ice Festival’s Lumberjack competition, which started at one. There would be axe throwing, log sawing and log throwing events.
Clara had dressed warm and elegant for the occasion. She wore a navy-blue wool coat and had on a matching white hat, scarf and mitt set to keep warm. Not too different from Juniper, who wore black. Eve, on the other hand, had opted to go with a lumberjack theme—a shaggy, buffalo plaid fur coat. Not to be outdone by her earmuffs and plaid pants.
Clara had the audacity to ask Juniper if Eve was colorblind. That woman could make a hornet look cuddly. Of course, the real insult came when sweet little Juniper nodded. Eve would get her back later. She was up next on the prank blog. Eve smirked to herself at the thought. She’d learn a dead snake could still bite, alright.
As they approached the center of town, a policeman directed their vehicle toward a parking area. They snatched one of the last spots, grabbed their purses, locked up the truck, and headed toward Main Street. That truck would be stuck there for at least a few hours as they closed the main streets down for the competition, but that was just fine with Eve. Stuck in town with a bunch of brawny lumberjacks was a good thing indeed.
They made a quick tour of the booths and grabbed some maple taffy bars at a cart set up just outside the town’s park. As they settled onto a park bench to eat, Eve watched Clara and noticed a definite improvement in her demeanor. She was almost chipper today, quipping away with Juniper about knickknacks they’d seen at the market and a handmade scarf she’d bought at one of the tables. The elderly woman even smiled once or twice. She’d have to ask her later if she could borrow some of her happy pills.
Abruptly, Clara turned. “Oh look, here comes my gorgeous niece,” she said, straightening her back and folding her hands neatly in her lap as Pike approached with her new babe strapped to her chest.
“Auntie Clara!” She said giving her aunt a hug, careful not to squish the baby in the carrier. “I see you’re in good company.”
They spent the next ten minutes chatting and listening to Pike regale them with stories of her latest creations, including a giggle, a disastrous diaper incident and a couple of chafed nipples. After Pike walked on, Clara leaned in close to Eve. “She looks tired, doesn’t she?”
“Who, Pike? Well, yes, she is. She’s been running herself ragged.”
“Maybe I should talk to her about getting a nannie,” Clara said. “Or m
aybe I should help her out?”
“Really?” Eve was surprised by Clara’s comment. “You think you got the energy for that. I’m tired just listening to her talk about her chafed nipples.”
Clara clucked her tongue. “Nothing keeps you young like little ones.”
“I don’t know about that.” Eve was just disagreeing when her cell phone rang. “My little hellions aged me significantly.” She pulled the phone out of her purse and checked the readout, then flipped the phone open and held it up to her ear. “Hey, Mabe. What’s shaking?”
“Eve,” she said, an urgency in her voice. “Where are you?”
She told her.
“I’m over at the café with the network,” she said. “You’d better get up here right away. Something big is happening. You need to hear this.”
Suddenly she felt very worried. “What is it?”
“I don’t know if I should say anything over the phone.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Put your tinfoil hat on. No one’s listening to two old ladies. They’re afraid of what we’re gonna say. Just throw in the word, period occasionally, then add a menopause, and finally chuck in the word adult diaper for good measure. We’ll have all the privacy you need.”
“Well...” She seemed to think it over, then said secretively, “I just got word. There’s been a huge discovery, and the police are trying to keep it hush for the moment, but it’s about to break all over town.”
“Mabe.” Eve had stopped on the sidewalk, and Juniper and Clara were staring at her with questioning looks on their face. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s code blue for Bianca Hyena,” Mabe said finally.
“She’s dead…?” Eve gasped.
“…As a doornail.” Mabe responded.
TWENTY-ONE
L ulu McCloskey set a steaming cup of hot coffee and a thick slice of fresh‑baked salted caramel apple pie down in front of Eve. “This one’s on the house,” she said quietly, leaning in toward her. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”