Poisoned Pie (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 6) Read online

  William shook his head no. “I’ll go inside the paper and man the phones,” he insisted. “I’ll drink some coffee and get warmed up, okay, and—” William sneezed before he could finish his sentence. “I’m okay, really,” he said.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” Mary uncertainly.

  “I’m sure,” William said. He saluted her and then spoiled it by sneezing again. He tossed a sick hand into the hair, waved goodbye, and limped off toward the newspaper office on his crippled leg.

  “Poor guy,” Betty sighed as snow landed on her cold face.

  “I’m sure when John gets home he’ll be able to help William,” Mary told Betty in a hopeful voice. “John and William have a close bond.” Mary watched William turn a snowy corner and vanish. “Come on, Betty, we have work to do.”

  Betty wiped snow away from her eyes and looked around the cozy white street. She studied the snow-soaked stores and wished she and Mary were simply walking up to the diner for a late lunch. “Okay, Mary, I’m ready.”

  Mary walked Betty to her car and drove to Loretta MacNight’s fancy home. “Okay,” she said, easing up in front of a white two-story house that had a beautiful wraparound porch attached to it, “you know what to do, right?”

  “Yes.” Betty winced. She let her eyes soak in a snow-covered lawn that was pampered year-round. The lawn complemented the lovely house Loretta lived in. “At least the house isn’t a mansion,” she whispered in a grateful voice.

  “I’m going to circle the block one time and then make my move,” Mary explained to Betty. “That should give you enough time to carry out our plan.” Mary pointed to a brick chimney attached to the side of Loretta’s house. “Look, there’s smoke coming from the chimney and look there…” Mary pointed to a snow-covered car parked in the driveway. “Loretta is home. All you have to do is stick to our plan, okay?”

  “I…yes, the plan.” Betty nodded her head, forced a brave expression to her face, and climbed out of the car. Mary smiled and cautiously drove away as a blast of icy air struck Betty in her face. “Oh dear,” Betty cried out and managed to grab her knitted hat before the wind could seize it. “Oh my…what a day.”

  Betty turned and faced Loretta’s house. Oh, the house was lovely to the eyes; so warm, so eloquent, so tender. Betty imagined herself living in the house, wearing pretty dresses, married to a brilliant man, raising a loving family. She saw herself flowing through each room in the house like a dove dancing on the currents of a warm summer wind, singing and smiling as she dusted this or that. Then reality set back in and Betty realized she was simply a woman who lived with her mother in a normal, average, two-story house that sat on an average street lined with other average houses.

  “Never hurts to dream,” she sighed and then focused on the mission at hand. She drew in a daring breath and got her legs walking up the front walk. “Steady now,” she whispered, walking through ankle-deep snow.

  Mrs. Owlton, a rich, nosy old lady who lived across the street from Loretta, watched Betty walk up the front walk from the parlor of her home. She recognized Betty as the daughter of a woman she had attended school with, in the old days. Mrs. Owlton didn’t care for the woman she had attended school with but found her daughter to be a delightful person—certainly more delightful than Loretta MacNight. Loretta MacNight, Mrs. Owlton thought as she sipped tea from an expensive porcelain tea cup, was a horror to the heart; rude, bitter, and hateful down to the core. Unaware of the murder that had taken place at the fairgrounds, she wondered why a kind soul like Betty—even though Betty was the daughter of a woman she didn’t personally care for—was visiting a sour grape like Loretta MacNight.

  But before her old mind could try to create and answer she saw Betty slip on the front walk, fall down, and begin crying out in pain. “Oh dear,” she gasped but didn’t leave her place beside the window. Instead she continued to sip at her tea as the fireplace in the parlor whispered warm delights to her old body.

  Betty, unaware that Mrs. Owlton was watching her, began to cry out in a fake, painful voice. “My ankle…oh…owww…owwieee…my ankle…” Betty sounded like a broken woodchuck chewing iron. “Oh my ankle…oh dear…owww…oh my…”

  Loretta, who was standing in the front living room near a cozy fireplace, heard Betty cry out. “What on earth?” She spun away from the fireplace and stormed across a polished hardwood floor holding pink and white antique furnishings. She ran to an oval window covered with a thick white drape, yanked it back, and peered out into the snow. And there, sitting on the snow close to the front porch, was Betty, holding her right ankle and crying out in pain.

  “What are you doing here?” Loretta asked in a confused voice. She quickly scanned the snow, saw no other person or car, and decided she had no choice but to go outside and check on Betty.

  Betty heard the front door open and seconds later she saw Loretta slip out onto the front porch wearing her fancy white coat. Loretta looked at her with uncertain eyes and then yelled: “What are you doing here?”

  “My ankle…oh, Loretta, I slipped…my ankle,” Betty cried out in a voice she hoped was convincing.

  “Good grief,” Loretta complained. She looked around, studied the snow, and then cautiously made her way to Betty. After all, Loretta MacNight wasn’t a monster. Sure, she was known for being a cold-hearted snob, but deep down all she wanted was to be accepted and loved. However, rejection created bitterness and bitterness created anger—an anger that forced people into a tight corner.

  “Betty, what are you doing at my house?” she demanded.

  Betty watched Loretta bend down and examine her ankle. She was shocked that Loretta was showing compassion. “I’m looking for Mary, Loretta,” Betty explained. She touched her ankle and then searched for Mary’s car. “I heard about the murder…when I didn’t find Mary at the newspaper I assumed she might be speaking with you.”

  Loretta felt anxiety grab her heart. News of the murder was all over town. “No, Mary isn’t here, Betty. I—” Loretta stopped talking when she saw Mary drive down the street and park in front of her house. “Oh no.”

  Mary spotted Betty sitting in the snow with Loretta bending down beside her. She nodded her head, quickly jumped out of the car, and ran to Betty. “Betty…honey…what happened?” she cried out in a worried voice. “I was told you came here looking for me.”

  Loretta stood up, backed up a few feet, and watched Mary examine Betty’s ankle. “She fell down.”

  “I think I’m okay,” Betty told Mary and made an I hope Loretta is buying this face. “Maybe you can help me stand up?”

  Mary glanced up at Loretta. “Boy, it’s a good thing I caught you, Loretta,” she said in a worried voice. “I just came from speaking with Mr. Presley…boy, do I have news for you.”

  “News?” Loretta asked in a shocked voice. Her face turned pale. “Mary…I…” Loretta felt herself trapped. Her heart was telling her to run back inside and lock the world away but her mind wanted to know what news Mary had.

  Mary slowly helped Betty stand up, wiped snow off her, and looked back at her car. “Loretta, I can’t talk to you. Sheriff Mables informed me that you wanted me to stay away from you. I’ll take Betty and leave…Betty, honey, can you walk?”

  Betty pretended to test her ankle. “My ankle isn’t as bad as I feared…I can walk.”

  Mary nodded her head. “Loretta,” she said in a serious voice, “if I were you I would be worried about Mr. Presley. I wouldn’t go anywhere near that man.” And with those words Mary began to help Betty walked back down the front walk, leaving Loretta in a state of fear.

  “Wait!” Loretta cried out before Mary could reach her car. She dashed through the snow and grabbed Mary’s arm. “Perhaps…Mary, perhaps I was being a little…rash in asking the sheriff to make you stay away from me. I mean…we are friends, after all, right? Old school pals…chums?”

  Mary looked into Loretta’s scared eyes and felt her heart break for the woman. Loretta was authentically scared and that was
no laughing matter. “Loretta,” she asked, “who was the man who ate the poisoned pie? I know his name wasn’t Mark Jones and so does Mr. Presley. Please, let me help you.”

  Before Loretta realized what was happening tears began to fall from her frightened eyes. She reached out, grabbed Mary’s hand, and exclaimed: “I didn’t know his real name, Mary…honest. I…that man was sent to Pineville to…to…”

  “To what?” Mary begged.

  “I can’t say,” Loretta sobbed. Without another word, she turned and ran back to her house.

  “Oh dear,” Betty gasped. “Poor Loretta.”

  Mary watched Loretta run into her house and slam the front door. “Poor Loretta is right,” she said. She drew in a determined breath and looked at Betty. “Friend or no friend, Loretta MacNight is in trouble and we’re going to help her. Come on, Betty, we have work to do.”

  Mary knocked on Loretta’s front door and called out: “Loretta, it’s Mary and Betty. Please, we need to talk.”

  Betty, feeling like a frozen Popsicle, hugged her arms together. “I’m freezing, Mary,” she said through chattering teeth.

  Mary tucked her head down against a strong blast of icy wind. The day was growing darker and the snow, to her dismay, was beginning to fall heavier by the second. “Loretta, please, we need to talk. I know you’re scared. Please, let us help you.”

  Loretta heard Mary calling out but stood silently by the fireplace instead of answering the door. Could she really trust Mary…could she trust anyone? “Go away!” she finally yelled as the logs burning in the fire popped and crackled. “Leave me alone, Mary!”

  Mary wasn’t ready to retreat. She raised her right hand and knocked on the door again. “Loretta, you’re going to have to call Sheriff Mables to drive out here and arrest me because I’m not going to leave!”

  “Uh…yeah,” Betty called out, feeling silly.

  Loretta let out a long, worried breath. “They’re not going away,” she whispered, throwing her eyes toward the front door, and then she bit down on her lip. “I need to trust someone…he’s dead…I could be next.” With those words spoken into the air of a lonely living room, Loretta decided to speak to Mary. Mary, it seemed, had information on Brent Presley. Maybe…maybe Loretta could get Mary to confess what Brent had told her and then send her packing. Or maybe…maybe…Loretta could actually take a rare chance and trust someone who could turn out to be a real friend. She walked to the front door, disengaged the lock, and slowly opened it. “Come in,” she told Mary and Betty.

  Mary and Betty quickly stepped into a warm foyer on grateful legs. Loretta closed and locked the front door behind them. “Thank you, Loretta,” Mary said in a friendly voice. “I know you’re scared, but I promise, all we want to do is help you. We’ve known each other since we were little girls and there’s no reason for us to allow distrust to come between us at a time like this. Okay?”

  “Please,” Betty begged Loretta, allowing the warm, rose-scented air to bring her cheeks back to life, “all we want to do is help.”

  Loretta read Mary’s and Betty’s eyes and, to her relief, saw sincerity glowing like a flame. “I didn’t kill that awful man,” she said. “I thought about it, oh you better believe I did, but in the end…I just didn’t have the courage.”

  “Who was the man who ate the poisoned pie, Loretta?” Mary asked.

  Loretta glanced over her shoulder. “Let’s talk by the fireplace,” she said and walked Mary and Betty into the living room. Betty quickly zoomed over to the fireplace and began warming her hands. Mary sat down on a white and pink rose designed couch, looked around the lovely white living room, and waited for Loretta to continue speaking. Loretta went to the living room window, peeked outside, and then focused on Mary. “Mary…two weeks ago I received a letter,” she began.

  “A letter?” Mary asked.

  Loretta nodded. “From Brazil.” Loretta lowered her voice, fearful that her enemies might hear her. “Mary…my parents have been taken hostage.”

  “Hostage? Oh my!” Betty gasped.

  Mary narrowed her eyes and put on her thinking cap. “Do you know by who, Loretta?”

  Loretta shook her head no…and then, to Mary’s relief, changed her mind and reluctantly nodded her head yes. “Mr. Presley…at least that’s who I think is standing behind the curtains.”

  Mary slowly folded her arms and took a minute to think. She needed to ask the right questions while Loretta was willing to talk. “Loretta, your daddy is president of…let’s see…” Mary closed her eyes and began walking through all the towns in Tennessee. “Your daddy is president of over five MacNight Banks. There’s a bank right here in Pineville, one over in Maryville…one in Anderson…Cappes and…if I’m not mistaken…there’s a MacNight bank in Rubyville.”

  “Should I be impressed or worried you know that?” Loretta asked Mary.

  “Well, I bank at the Pineville Bank and Trust, but last year I did a story on some of the wealthiest men in the state of Tennessee and your daddy ranked number three,” Mary explained. “I had to do a little homework on Mr. MacNight.”

  “Then you must know my daddy is worth millions.”

  “Oh, sure I do.” Mary nodded. “Mr. MacNight not only owns multiple banks, he owns a shipping business in Boston and a mining business in Nevada.”

  Loretta didn’t know whether to be happy or upset that Mary knew so much about her father. She decided to remain neutral. “Mr. Presley came to work for my daddy here in Pineville last autumn.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of when Mr. Presley arrived to town. Most people are,” Mary assured Loretta in a way that allowed the woman breathing room.

  “Mr. Presley isn’t married.”

  “Yes, I know,” Mary replied.

  Loretta clasped her hands together. “Mary, you’re a reporter…do the homework,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me speak what you already know.”

  “I believe Mr. Presley is involved in this murder,” Mary told Loretta. “At least, that’s the area I’m swinging my bat in.” Mary looked at Betty. Betty nodded and continued to warm her cold hands. “Loretta, did Mr. Presley have any dealings with the dead man?”

  “Of course not,” Loretta snapped and then caught her tone. “Oh…I’m sorry, Mary….my nerves are a wreck.” Loretta walked over to a pink and white chair and sat down. “Mr. Presley and Mark Jones…if they knew each other, well, they never let on.”

  Mary nodded her head. “Before we go any further, let’s return back to your parents if that’s okay.”

  “You want to know why my parents were taken hostage and by who, right?” Loretta asked. Mary nodded. “I don’t know, Mary. I received a letter, as I explained, and later on I received a phone call.”

  “Loretta, what did the letter you received say?” Mary asked, remaining supportive, calm, and caring.

  “My parents were taken from a private home outside of Rio de Janeiro,” Loretta explained. “My parents’ signatures at the bottom of the letter to ensure I had no doubts.” Loretta drew in a shaky breath. “I was ordered to remain in Pineville until I received a package. The package would contain all the vault combinations to every bank Daddy owns, along with keys to the banks…I was warned not to go to the police.”

  Mary studied Loretta’s face. From what she could surmise, Loretta was speaking the truth. “Go on, Loretta.”

  “The following day I received a call from a very mean-sounding woman. The woman told me that a man was being sent to watch me.’

  “Mark Jones?” Mary asked.

  “Yes. Mark Jones showed up the very next day driving that ugly green pickup truck.” Loretta tossed her eyes at the fireplace. “I was to tell people he was my cousin who was visiting from Kansas,” she finished in a sour voice.

  “Loretta, I didn’t see Mark Jones until yesterday,” Mary said. “From the time line I’m forming in my mind…he was in town close to two weeks.”

  “Mark insisted we remain in the house,” Loretta explained. “We went out once f
or groceries and once to the bank.”

  “Why the bank?” Betty asked.

  “Mark received a call and was told the package I was waiting for would be arriving the following day. He demanded I take him to the bank. He wanted to study the interior layout of the bank…at least that’s what he told me. But…”

  “But what?” Mary asked Loretta.

  “The package never showed up,” Loretta exclaimed in a frustrated voice. “Mary, the package was being delivered, by hand, by someone Mark Jones knew…someone connected to my parents…but the package never showed up.” Loretta stood up and began pacing. “Mark received a call the next day. He was told the package had been left on my front porch…but there was no package, Mary.”

  Mary touched her chin. “No package,” she whispered. “Loretta…how many times did you take Mark Jones to the bank?”

  “Just once, as I said,” Loretta insisted and then, to Mary’s relief, she bowed her head and sighed. “Okay…okay…I also took Mark to the bank when he first arrived.”

  “Did Mr. Presley see Mark?” Mary asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Loretta confessed. “Mr. Presley is in charge of loans, or something like that. All I did was make a simple cash withdrawal. Marge Baker tended to me. Mark…all he did was stand next to me and look around while I made the withdrawal. I…guess Mr. Presley could have seen Mark.”

  “Did he see Mark the second time you took him to the bank?” Mary asked.

  Loretta hesitantly nodded her head yes. “Mr. Presley was tending to another customer. I waited in Marge’s line. I made a simple cash withdrawal and left. He…kept staring at me with these really creepy eyes…and he stared at Mark the same way.”

  “Was Mark aware that Mr. Presley was staring?” Mary asked, patiently allowing Loretta to move forward at her own pace. “What I mean to ask is…did it seem that Mr. Presley somehow recognized Mark?”

  “I’m not sure…I’m just not sure, all right!” Loretta yelled. She threw her hands up into the air and looked as if she were going to pull her hair out. “When the package went missing Mark panicked. I…I opened my big mouth and suggested that someone stole it…I…”