Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6) Page 2

  “It is cozy, isn’t it?” Mary agreed. She walked her lovely eyes around the warm kitchen, examined the pies, the cabinets, the floor, the colors, the kitchen table…everything that brought the kitchen to life she soaked in. “A kitchen is a very special place,” she told Betty. “Some mornings you wobble into a kitchen half asleep, hungry for coffee…or it’s Thanksgiving and the kitchen is full of food, cakes…so many delicious aromas.” Mary locked her eyes on the kitchen table. A warm blue tablecloth with little white snowflakes covered the table. “This old Victorian-style kitchen has become part of me. I can’t tell you how many cups of coffee I’ve had sitting at that table.”

  Betty gently wiped flour out of her hair. “I love your kitchen, Mary,” she told Mary in a sweet voice. “I love my kitchen at home, too. A kitchen, well, it’s my safe place. The smell of a cake baking, coffee brewing…a good book on the kitchen table to read while you’re waiting. To me there’s nothing better.”

  Mary looked at Betty. She saw her best friend growing old in a warm, safe kitchen—alone. The “alone” part was what bothered Mary. “Honey,” she said in a careful voice, “I know we’re talked about this before, but…maybe it’s time you start thinking about…marriage?”

  Betty’s eyes went wide with fright. “Oh my,” she exclaimed and nearly fainted. “Ma…marr…marriage?”

  Mary quickly grabbed a kitchen chair and carried it over to Betty. “Sit down, honey,” she said.

  Betty felt her wobbly legs give way and collapsed down onto the chair. She looked up at Mary with wide eyes. “Mary…I can’t…get married,” she gasped. “Why, I wouldn’t know what to do with a…” Betty looked around the kitchen as if a million people were listening, “a husband,” she whispered. “What if…you know…”

  “What, honey?” Mary asked in a curious voice. She brushed Betty’s soft hair away from her eyes and looked down at her best friend.

  “What if…a husband…wanted to…kiss me?” Betty gulped and then flushed. “Oh my…is it hot in here?”

  Mary sighed. “Oh, honey, husbands like to kiss their wives. A kiss is the most natural thing in the world.” Mary closed her eyes and saw the face of her husband appear. “A kiss can be gentle…romantic…safe…loving….secure…sweet…everlasting…so many wonderful gifts.”

  “But Mary,” Betty mumbled with red cheeks, “I’ve only been kissed one time in my entire life. I wouldn’t even know how to…kiss.” Betty began to fan her face. “Besides, what if…a husband wanted to have a baby? Oh goodness me,” she exclaimed, “can you imagine me being with child? Why, I’d simply melt. No…I better stay a single woman, Mary.”

  “But honey, don’t you ever get lonely?” Mary asked.

  Betty stopped fanning her face, sat silent for a few seconds, and then began wiping flour off her white cheeks. “At times I get very lonely,” she confessed. “At night when Mother is asleep and I’m sitting in the kitchen reading a book while a cake is baking…I get lonely. But then I think to myself about the blessings I have in life, all the blessings our sweet Jesus gives me.” Betty looked up at Mary. “I have Mother….you…the newspaper…our town…the diner…the bookstore. Mary, I have so many blessings that I love, blessings that sustain me.”

  Mary brushed flour out of Betty’s hair. “But don’t you ever want to get married?” she asked in a desperate voice.

  “No,” Betty answered honestly. “Some women are meant to be wives and some women are meant to grow old…alone.” Betty sighed. “I know there are men in this town who would marry me, Mary. No one like John, of course…but decent enough men that would treat me right and—”

  “Like who?” Mary asked, curious.

  Betty blushed. “Well…Nathaniel Pepperlane,” she confessed and then made a silly giggling noise. “Nathaniel Pepperlane is fatter than an elephant but sweater than cake frosting. Every time Nathaniel sees me in town he always takes off his hat and tries to ask me to have dinner with him. He stutters so bad that I finally end up telling him that I have some errand to tend to.”

  “Nathaniel Pepperlane is sweet on you?” Mary asked and then grinned. “He is a large man, but he owns a very impressive farm. You could do worse.”

  “Nathaniel Pepperlane would flatten me like a pancake if he ever tried to kiss me,” Betty giggled. “He’s a sweet man, but I could never marry him.”

  “I suppose not.” Mary nodded, relieved that Betty was able to talk about the topic of marriage without fainting. She began to ask Betty what other man in town had his eye on her when a hard hand struck the back door. Mary tensed up. “Who is it?” she called out. No one answered.

  Betty slowly turned in her chair and looked at the closed back door with frightened eyes. The lock on the door was not secure. “Mary—” she began to whisper but stopped when the hard hand struck the back door for a second time.

  Mary quickly ran to the stove and grabbed a frying pan. “Who is it?” she called out again, forcing her voice to sound steady and calm. Again, no one answered Mary.

  Betty struggled to her legs and hurried over to Mary. “Maybe we should call the sheriff?”

  Mary drew in a shaky breath and then shook her head. “I refuse to be scared,” she whispered and cautiously eased over to the back door. As she did the hard hand struck for a third time. Mary jumped back. “Who is it?” she yelled in an angry voice. No one answered. “Oh, that’s it!” Mary ran to the back door and yanked it open. As she did a snowball struck her in the face. “What….” Three mischievous boys laughed, gave each other high fives, and ran off into the dark, snow-covered woods standing behind Mary’s house. The hard hand had turned out to be snowballs striking the back door. “Oh…Lance Wilson…Mitchel Green, and Timmy Murray…your parents are going to hear from me!” Mary yelled. She wiped snow off her face and slammed the back door closed. “Little rodents.”

  Betty let out a sigh of relief. “Kids will be kids,” she told Mary and quickly hurried out of the kitchen before any more unexpected surprises sang an unwelcome announcement. Mary put the frying pan back down onto the stove, wiped more snow off her face, and then poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. As she did the telephone sitting in the living room rang.

  “Oh, now what?” Mary sighed, stood back up, and hurried to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Mary?” a voice nearly yelled in an excited voice. “Mary, it’s John!”

  “John?” Mary cried out. Tears burst from her eyes. “John, oh darling, it’s so good to hear your voice!”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, too, sweetheart,” John yelled into the phone, nearly melting into Mary’s words. “Listen, sweetheart, I can’t talk long. I’m calling from New York.”

  “New York?” Mary asked and then cried out, “Oh John, you’re home! Darling, you’re home!” Mary allowed tears of joy to flood down her beautiful face. “But your broken rib?”

  John glanced down at the cane he was holding. Boy, his rib was sure aching and the cane wasn’t much help, but at least he was home. “Listen, sweetheart, I pulled a few strings and managed to get stateside sooner than expected.”

  “But darling, your rib?”

  “My rib will feel a lot better once I get home,” John said and then laughed with joy. “Mary, honey, I have a two-week furlough.”

  Mary nearly fainted. “You’re…coming home?” she asked, barely able to speak.

  “I’ll be home on tomorrow’s evening train, honey.” John felt tears begin falling from his eyes. “And that’s not the best news.”

  “Oh darling, could there be any more wonderful news?”

  “Yes,” John told Mary. He wiped his tears away and drew in a deep breath. “Mary, I’m not going to Texas as planned.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No,” John explained. “Mary, sweetheart, I have to report to California after my furlough ends. A good friend of mine pulled some strings and managed to toss me into a cozy desk job for the remainder of my time. I’ll be working at an air base outside of Los
Angeles. And the best part is…you’re allowed to live on base with me.”

  “Oh, darling!” Mary cried. “Is this a dream? Oh yes, I must be dreaming.”

  “This isn’t a dream, sweetheart,” John promised. “Mary, honey, I flew my combat missions. I was only three missions away from going home. I did my job, sweetheart. We’ll drive out to California and complete what time I have left together.”

  Mary felt like exploding with joy. “Oh, darling,” she said as tears ran down her face. And then she remembered the pie eating contest. “John, the pie eating contest is tomorrow. You’ll miss it…oh…that’s too bad.” Mary knew how much John enjoyed the annual winter pie eating contest.

  “Mary, as long as I’m holding you in my arms by dinner time tomorrow night I don’t care what I miss.” John glanced at an anxious soldier standing behind him waiting to use the telephone. “Mary, sweetheart, I have to go. Meet me at the station tomorrow evening. I’ll be arriving on the five thirty train.”

  Mary felt as if she were floating on clouds. “Oh, darling, I’ll be there. I love you so much.”

  “Not as much as I love you,” John promised and reluctantly ended the call.

  Mary set down the phone, wiped at her tears, and then burst upstairs to tell Betty the great news. While she and Betty were hugging each other with joy, someone knocked on the front door.

  “Oh, now what?” Mary complained. She hurried back downstairs and looked at the front door. “Who is it?” she called out.

  “It’s Loretta.”

  Mary wasn’t sure if she had heard right. She frowned, eased over to the heavy wooden front door, and asked: “Loretta MacNight?”

  “Yes, Mary Holland, it’s Loretta MacNight,” Loretta complained as icy winds grabbed at her back. “Are you going to be a gracious host and allow me into your home or make me stand on this horrible porch and freeze?”

  Mary felt confusion grab at her mind. She slowly cracked the front door and peered out into the night. Loretta stepped into her view. “Oh…Loretta…hello,” Mary said. “Uh…come inside.”

  Loretta waited until Mary opened the front door and then stormed into a small but warm foyer that, to her disappointment, was gracefully decorated. The style of the foyer determined that Mary had…pleasant taste…instead of a miserable sense of design. “I will not occupy your time for too long,” she said in a cold voice.

  Mary closed the front door. “Uh…may I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asked, determined to be nice. If Loretta MacNight was standing in her foyer that was big news and Mary knew the best way to catch a fly was with honey.

  “No,” Loretta snapped. “However, you can do me a favor.”

  “Oh?” Mary asked and waited while Loretta to slapped snow off her fancy coat.

  “Yes,” Loretta told Mary in a determined voice. She took a deep breath and then said, “The bakery is closed.”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, by now Mrs. Walton would have closed her bakery. Why?”

  “The apple pie I purchased from the bakery earlier has met with…misfortune. I’m afraid I’m in need of a new pie,” Loretta explained. “Everyone in town knows you have a plethora of apple pies in your kitchen. I was hoping you would be ladylike and consider selling me one of your pies?”

  “At this hour?” Mary asked in a confused voice, deliberately forcing Loretta into a corner. “I wasn’t aware that you were that fond of apple pie.”

  “I’m not,” Loretta snapped. “And I wouldn’t get caught taking a nibble from any pie you bake, Mary Holland. However, I’m in a very desperate situation and I need a pie.”

  “Why not wait for Mrs. Walton to open the bakery tomorrow?” Mary asked, reading Loretta’s angry eyes. Mary smelled a story.

  “Because…” Loretta said in a sour voice and then decided to play nice. She needed a pie and biting the hand that was holding the pie wasn’t smart. “Mary, I need a pie…please.”

  Mary opened the front door and peered outside before answering Loretta. She spotted Loretta’s fancy car sitting in her driveway. The green truck was nowhere in sight. “Curious,” she whispered. She closed the front door and locked eyes with Loretta. Snowy nights always brought out very interesting stories…stories filled with murder.

  2

  Mary handed Loretta an apple pie. The pie was covered with a white cloth that Mary had embroidered herself. Loretta accepted the pie with reluctant hands. She despised Mary. Why? Because Mary was beautiful and she wasn’t. All the boys in school had always fawned over Mary instead of her. All the girls had always flocked around Mary instead of her. Mary had always been—and still was—popular and beautiful. Mary married John Holland, the most handsome man in town; a man Loretta had always hoped to marry. Instead of marrying a handsome man Loretta had been reduced to a life that was supported by her parents’ fortune—a life of loneliness and bitterness. And now, of all things, she was trapped in a desperate mess. “How much do I pay for this pie?” she asked.

  Betty rolled her eyes. She sure didn’t like Loretta and wasn’t happy at all to see her in Mary’s kitchen when she came downstairs. Loretta was a spoiled snob who needed to go on down the road. “Mary’s pies are priceless,” she told Loretta in a brave voice as she wiped at her damp hair with a warm green towel.

  Loretta shot her eyes at Betty. Betty’s dress was still white from flour. “Oh, go play in the snow.”

  Mary sighed. “The pie is on the house, Loretta,” she said and then, cocking her eyebrow, she added: “Tell your new boyfriend not to eat the pie all at once.”

  Loretta’s mouth dropped open with shock. “Boyfriend?” she gasped. “Mary Holland, I—”

  “I saw you get into a green truck,” Mary told Loretta and then calmly poured herself a cup of coffee. “Whoever was driving that green truck must be very special, Loretta. You’re a picky woman.”

  Loretta didn’t know what to say. She dropped her eyes, examined the apple pie in her hands, and then slowly looked up at Mary. “The man driving the green truck is not my boyfriend, Mary,” she said, forcing her voice to sound offended. “The man driving the green truck just so happens to be my…”

  “Who?” Mary asked.

  Betty draped her towel over the back of a kitchen chair and waited for Loretta to answer. Loretta was looking mighty sheepish. Betty loved it. “Well?” Betty asked.

  Loretta cleared her throat. “The man driving the green truck…oh, he’s none of your business, that’s what!” Loretta snapped and then stormed out of the kitchen.

  Mary rolled her eyes, put down her coffee, and chased after Loretta. “We didn’t mean to upset you, Loretta. You know how girls are…curious minds that never go to sleep.”

  Loretta paused in the foyer. “Mary Holland, my business is none of your concern, do you hear me?” she snapped again. “The man driving the green truck is…a friend, okay…only a friend.”

  Mary slowly folded her arms together. “Oh?” She grinned.

  Loretta stared at Mary with furious eyes. “Oh, you’re impossible!” she exclaimed. She yanked open the front door and charged out into the dark, snowy night.

  Mary watched Loretta struggle down the front porch steps, slip and nearly fall, catch her balance, and then carefully ease back to her car like a badger hungering for its home. “Enjoy the pie,” she whispered and closed the front door.

  “I would have slugged her a good one!” Betty told Mary as she closed the front door. She swung her fist into the air and nearly walloped herself in the eye.

  Mary giggled. She was in too good of a mood to be disappointed that Loretta had not opened up about her mystery friend. So what if she had lost an apple pie in the process? A pie was a pie and sometimes a good reporter lost a dollar paying for a silent mouth. “Well, whatever is going on with Loretta, I’m sure it’ll come out into the open soon enough. Pineville is a small town and there are countless eyes about. Now, let’s go back to the kitchen and have some coffee and pie.”

  Betty’s eyes beamed with happiness. “Oh,
yes, indeed,” she said. She quickly turned and began to hurry back to the kitchen, but her legs became tangled in the process. “Oh…my!” Betty cried out. She toppled forward with her arms waving wildly. She struck a lovely pink and white lamp sitting on an antique lamp table and then crashed down onto the floor. The lamp joined her. All Mary could do was cover her eyes and wait until the storm passed.

  “Oh…the lamp,” Betty cried.

  Mary uncovered her eyes, spotted the broken lamp, and giggled. “Oh honey,” she said, running to Betty and checking her friend. “Are you okay?”

  “The lamp…I’m so sorry,” Betty cried as tears began falling from her eyes.

  “That lamp was a gift from an old friend of John’s,” Mary explained in a soothing voice. She wiped at Betty’s tears. “I never liked it. Pink may be a pretty color but the pink on that lamp was viciously ugly. You did me a great favor by breaking it, honey.”

  Betty looked up at Mary with confused eyes. “You never told me that.”

  “And risk making John give me one of his famous lectures?” Mary asked in a pretend shocked voice. “Betty, my dear, there are certain things a woman has to keep to herself.”

  “I…suppose,” Betty replied in a grateful voice. “You…really hated the lamp?”

  Mary glanced around the lovely living room holding furnishings that made the room feel like a home instead of a museum. Sure, the living room appeared as if it stuck in 1933, but so what? The new designs that were being rolled out didn’t appeal to her sense of taste. Mary enjoyed the feel of the old days. Far too many people, she noticed, were too busy becoming captive by the idea of “change” instead of remaining conservative to the old way of doing things. But that was life. Pineville wasn’t a cowboy town and Mary knew she surely couldn’t live in some dirty old cowboy town. Pineville was a modern town compared to a town being formed in 1850. Although she considered herself a conservative thinker, folks back in the cowboys days might call her way of think far too radical for them. Mary drove a car, they rode horses. Mary talked on a telephone. They sent telegrams. Mary listened to a radio. They sat around fireplaces telling stories.