Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6)

  Poisoned Pie

  Pineville Gazette #6

  Wendy Meadows

  © 2020, Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Majestic Owl Publishing LLC

  P.O. Box 997

  Newport, NH 03773

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thanks for Reading

  About Wendy

  Author’s Note

  Hey reader! I’m so glad you decided to grab my book for your reading enjoyment. I do hope you find the characters likable and witty.

  Oh, be sure to join my newsletter to stay up-to-date with new releases. As a subscriber, you’ll get BLACKVINE MANOR, the complete series, for FREE!

  Join Wendy’s newsletter here.

  wendymeadows.com/cozy

  Okay, now that we’ve covered all that, let’s get into this mystery.

  Happy reading,

  Wendy Meadows

  1

  Mary Holland just loved the annual Winter Pie Eating Contest. Oh, how she loved the snow, the ice, and the cold! The smell of the chimney smoke dancing in the white winter air simply delighted her heart.

  “Just think, Betty,” she said, strolling down a snow-covered sidewalk drenched with beautiful songs of winter, “tomorrow is the annual pie eating contest.”

  Betty, feeling half frozen, stopped walking and glanced around at the white mess that surrounded her. It wasn’t that Betty didn’t like winter—winter was okay, in some ways (warm fires, snowmen, hot cocoa)—but, well…winter was cold, frigid, and very dangerous. The snow made the roads simply impossible to drive on. The icy winds were cruel and always messed up her hair. And the kids…goodness, always throwing those dreadful snowballs. But even worse, in Betty’s book, was the melt-off: When the snow melted the mess came. “Do you have all of your pies ready, Mary?” she asked through chattering teeth.

  “You bet.” Mary beamed, soaking in the cold. Although she was wearing a thick white and blue winter coat that made her look breathtakingly beautiful, Mary felt as if she were walking down a warm sidewalk wearing a spring dress. She was in a wonderful mood. Oh, the pie eating contest was partly responsible for her happy mood—but the letter she had received from her husband, John, was responsible for most of it.

  John’s plane had been badly damaged during a combat flight, and John had been forced to turn back and make an emergency landing at his base in England. This news had terrified Mary. Mary had become even more upset when John informed her that he had broken his right rib during the emergency landing. So why was Mary so happy? Well, John was being reassigned back to the states to begin training new pilots—after his rib healed, of course. John was coming home…well, he was being assigned to a base in Texas, but that was good enough for Mary. Her husband was coming home and that’s what mattered the most.

  “Oh, Betty, this is going to be the best pie eating contest ever. I have all of my apple pies ready!”

  Betty clearly understood that Mary was happy because John was being reassigned back to the states. And Betty was very happy for her—thrilled, as a matter of fact. It was simply that, well, it was cold, she was hungry, and it was getting dark.

  “Mary, can we talk more in the diner?” she begged as the cold winds ripped at the brown woolen snow hat covering her head. Poor Betty, unlike Mary, dodged winter style and clung to rational thinking. The heavy brown coat and thick gray wool dress she was wearing testified to that truth. Mary, on the other hand, even though dressed warm, managed to appear as a Snow Queen.

  Mary grabbed Betty’s hat before the wind could take it and giggled. “Sure, honey, we can talk at the diner,” she promised. She took Betty’s hand and walked on down the sidewalk to the local diner, passing snow-covered stores glowing with warm lights along the way. “I guess I am being a bit silly. After all, it’s been two weeks since I received the good news about John.”

  “Oh, you’re not being silly,” Betty told Mary as a gentle snow began to fall. Pineville sure was having a white winter. Goodness. “I’m very happy that John is being sent home, too. My prayers have been answered.”

  Mary hugged Betty’s sweet arm. “My prayers have been answered, too,” she said in a grateful voice as she looked up at the snowy sky. “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. “My husband is coming home.”

  Betty began to speak but stopped when Loretta MacNight stepped out of Old Lady Walton’s bakery carrying a brown box. When Loretta saw Mary and Betty she made a sour face and stuck her nose up into the cold air. “Oh, it’s you two,” she said as if Mary and Betty were the flu.

  Mary was in too good of a mood to let Loretta bother her. “Hello, Loretta. My…don’t you look…nice,” she said, struggling to sound pleasant. The truth was Loretta MacNight was uglier than a skunk’s tail and dressed as if she were trapped in some old western town in the year 1840. The girl was only thirty-four years old but had resigned to the role of an old, snotty woman whom no one liked.

  “Don’t try to act nice with me, Mary Holland,” Loretta snapped. She quickly cradled the brown box she was holding against her heavy gray coat that ran down to her ankles. “We didn’t like each other in school and nothing has changed since then.”

  Betty glanced at the gray bonnet Loretta was wearing. The bonnet was desperately out of style for the year 1944. And speaking of the year 1944, she thought as her teeth began to chatter from the cold, so far the eight days she had spent in the new year had been kinda…well, nice. Why let the likes of Loretta MacNight ruin what was appearing to be the start of a good year? “Well, we better get to the diner, Mary,” she said. She offered a weak smile at Loretta and began to walk away with Mary.

  Mary glanced at Loretta as she walked by her and then focused on what her meal might be at the diner. After all, she was hungry and a hot meal sounded wonderful. But as Mary walked away something deep inside of her heart made her turn around and look at Loretta. She saw the woman walk across the snowy street and, to her shock, get into a green 1938 Chevy pickup truck that looked run down. Mary knew Loretta drove a 1942 Lincoln Continental Convertible that her parents had bought her; Loretta’s parents were very wealthy and spoiled their daughter. She lived on Green Hill Lane, one of the richest streets in Pineville, in a house that was fit for a queen. Even though her wardrobe was of a western-style tone, the clothes were specially made in Europe and shipped to the states; very costly. Loretta only associated with people who could match her lifestyle. Why in the world was she getting into a rundown truck? And who was driving the truck?

  “Betty, look at that,” Mary whispered.

  Betty turned her head just in time to see Loretta get into the truck. The driver quickly brought the truck to life, clicked on the headlights, and pulled out onto the street, and drove away. “Golly,” she whispered. “Did I just see Loretta get into that truck?”

  Mary nodded her head in shock. “Wonder who was driving,” she said. “I wasn’t able to get a good look. The light is fading too quickly.”

&nbs
p; “Me neither,” Betty confessed. She looked at Mary with shocked eyes. “Golly, do you suppose Loretta is being courted?”

  “By a man driving that kind of truck?” Mary looked at Betty as if her best friend had gone insane. “Come on, let’s get to the diner.”

  Betty agreed and carefully followed Mary down the snow-soaked sidewalk. A few minutes later Mary opened the glass door and stepped into a warm diner that smelled of coffee, cheeseburgers, and fries. “A Man and His Dream” by Bing Crosby was playing on a glowing 1940 Wurlitzer 700 jukebox. The song melted into the cold night and soft falling snow like a…dream.

  “Oh, I love that song,” Mary sighed. “John and I danced to that song once.”

  Betty smiled as the warmth of the diner ran to her cheeks and began saying hello. She drew in a deep breath of coffee and cheeseburgers and then glanced around. The diner was mostly empty. Old Man O’Malley was sitting at his usual booth drinking coffee and reading the paper. A couple of kids were parked at the front counter talking about cars. All in all the diner was slow, which was just fine with Betty. She didn’t much like eating at the diner when the breakfast, lunch, or dinner crowd was around. “Let’s sit down,” she told Mary in a happy voice, completely forgetting about Loretta.

  “Okay, honey.” Mary said, smiling. She removed her coat, hung it on a wooden coat rack, and walked to a back booth and planted herself down. The window next to the booth offered a view of the snow-covered front street. “Oh, how lovely,” she whispered.

  Betty watched Mary sit down at the booth, put her purse down, and look out the window. “I’m so happy for you. I’m so happy John is coming home,” she whispered. She quickly hung up her coat and joined Mary. “I think I’m going to order a meatloaf dinner.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” a gruff voice said. Betty raised her head and saw Wilma Naples walking up carrying two brown coffee mugs full of piping hot coffee. Wilma set the two coffee mugs down and tossed a thumb toward the kitchen. “Dinner crowd was heavy tonight. Ate me out of house and home. I’m only cooking cheeseburgers and fries for the rest of the night.”

  Betty frowned. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  Mary giggled and looked up at Wilma. Wilma was a tough woman who barked at everyone. She was sixty-one and had been around long enough to understand the ropes. Her dark gray hair and homely face, combined with the brown and white dress she was wearing, made her the perfect “mother” type that Pineville loved. “Two cheeseburger plates it’ll be,” she told Wilma.

  Wilma folded her arms and locked her eyes on the window, deliberately ignoring Betty’s boring dress. “We’re going to have a hard winter this year, girls,” she said in a thoughtful voice. “The snow will stay light for…oh…two more weeks. It’s going to get a whole lot colder, too. Come mid-February…well, if people thought the blizzard of 1914 was bad…”

  “Golly…really?” Betty gasped.

  Wilma nodded. “My folks understood the weather,” she explained. “They knew a storm was coming in 1914 and everyone around these parts listened to them. Lives were saved. Folks today, they don’t listen to nothing except their stomachs and wallets.”

  Mary felt her own stomach tighten. She loved winter and was very fond of snow, but she also understood the dangers. The blizzard of 1914 had taken the lives of more than twenty people; more people would have died but managed to huddle together and wait out the storm. Pineville wasn’t equipped to weather a deadly blizzard. As much as Mary hated to admit it, folks in Pineville had become spoiled to getting their milk delivered and being able to go to the meat market. “Wilma, you’ve never been wrong before.”

  “Never intend to be wrong,” Wilma told Mary. “Come February…say about the first week…I’ll be shutting down the diner and driving down to Florida to visit my son and his wife. I suggest you two think about making a trip to sunny Florida, too.”

  Mary and Betty locked eyes. “John won’t be coming back to the states until spring,” Mary said in a troubled voice. “I suppose we could…take a trip?”

  “Mother would have to come,” Betty insisted. “Mother never questions Wilma’s weather reports.”

  Wilma. “That’s because your momma is a smart woman,” she said. “I’ll go get your dinner plates ready.”

  Mary watched Wilma walk away. “Goodness,” she said, feeling the happiness in her heart slowly begin to drain, “a storm.” Mary picked up a mug of coffee and took a careful sip. “Wilma has never been wrong. People…well, the old-timers…still come to her for farming advice.”

  Betty reached out with a shaky hand, picked up the second mug of coffee, and took a sip of coffee. “Where could we go, Mary?” she asked in a worried voice. “Mother is very particular. She won’t go just any old place.”

  “I suppose we could drive down to Florida,” Mary suggested, soaking in the taste of coffee with grateful love. “But then, I do have the paper to consider. And…” Mary began to think. “John wouldn’t want me to desert the paper.”

  “That’s true,” Betty admitted.

  Mary took another sip of coffee. “I could write up a forecast…warn people…and then weather the storm,” she told Betty in a thoughtful voice. “After the storm passes there will be stories that will need to be written.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s…true, too,” Betty said and then gulped. She looked deep into Mary’s eyes. “We’re not leaving, are we?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” Mary confessed. “Honey, I have a duty to this town. John always taught me that duty comes first.”

  Betty felt Mary’s words turn into a hammer and crack her fragile mind. “Yes…duty is important.” She slowly nodded her head. “Mother and I…will…have to weather out the storm as well.”

  Mary began to object but stopped when, to her shock, Loretta entered the diner, walked up to the front counter, and waited for Wilma to appear. A few minutes later Wilma appeared carrying two dinner plates to go. Loretta paid for the food, tossed a sour eye at Mary, and stormed back outside into the soft falling snow.

  Mary quickly jumped to her feet, ran to the front door, and spotted Loretta getting into the green truck again. “I still can’t see…the driver,” she murmured, squinting to see the truck that was parked across the street. The truck clicked on its headlights and pulled away. Mary didn’t waste a second. The newspaper woman in her was fully awake. She spun away from the front door and ran up to the front counter. “Wilma!” she called out.

  Wilma left the kitchen area and returned back to the front counter. “What is it, Mary?”

  “What was Loretta MacNight doing in your diner?”

  “Picking up two cheeseburger plates,” Wilma said in a what else voice. “Loretta has been coming into the diner every night for the past two weeks. Every night she pays for two dinner plates and leaves. Can’t say I like the woman but a customer is a customer and a dollar is a dollar.”

  Mary looked over her shoulder toward Betty. Betty shrugged her shoulders. “Does Loretta ever bring anyone into the diner with her?” Mary asked Wilma.

  Wilma gave Mary an oh, here we go face, leaned her arms down onto the counter, and prepared to be asked a million questions. “Okay, Mary Holland, because you’re a respected citizen of our community and a decent gal, I’ll play along. Go ahead and ask me all the questions you want.”

  Mary smiled. “Thanks, Wilma, you’re the best,” she said and quickly grabbed a stool. “Now, does Loretta ever bring anyone into the diner with her?” Wilma shook her head no. “Oh…well, do you know who is driving the green truck she left in?” Wilma shook her head no again. Mary stopped smiling. “Do you know anything that might be of interest?” Wilma shook her head no for a third time.

  Mary sighed. That was the way of the newspaper business. Sometimes you got a story and sometimes you didn’t. At least Wilma had given Mary news about the approaching storm—but what Mary didn’t know was that another storm was approaching even faster.

  Flour went flying into the air. Betty shrieked.
Mary laughed. “Oh, honey,” Mary said as clouds of white flour dropped down onto Betty’s head.

  Betty began slapping at the flour with desperate hands. “Oh…my,” she coughed. “Mary…I’m so sorry.”

  Mary laughed again and then looked down at the bag of flour that had fallen out of the kitchen cabinet Betty had opened. “Oh, honey, it’s not your fault. I guess I didn’t secure the bag properly when I put it up.”

  Betty, now looking like a snowman…uh, snowwoman, stopped slapping at the flour and simply made a why do you put up with me face at Mary. “I’m so clumsy.”

  “You’re very sweet.” Mary smiled and then began cleaning up the mess. “Honey, why don’t you go upstairs to the bathroom and get cleaned up.”

  “I guess I better,” Betty agreed and then made a frantic face. “Oh, Mary, the flour. That was your last bag. You wanted to bake one last apple pie for the contest.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about the pie,” Mary assured Betty. “The truth was I was thinking about just making a pie for you and me instead. I have plenty of pies baked for the contest.” Mary motioned around her warm kitchen. Apple pies were sitting everywhere, wrapped up in pretty white cloths.

  Betty studied the pies with hungry eyes. Oh, how she loved Mary’s apple pies. “I guess…we can’t have our apple pie then,” she said in a sad voice.

  Mary grinned. “Maybe we can steal one of the pies that I already baked,” she told Betty. She tossed a wink into the air and smiled. “Go get cleaned up, honey. I’ll clean up the flour, cut us a piece of pie, and pour us a glass of milk.”

  A smile touched Betty’s lips. “This is really a nice night, Mary,” she said. “I’m glad you asked me to spend the night. It’s very cozy standing here in your kitchen smelling cinnamon, coffee, and flour.”