Treacherous Tart (11 page)

“I found the gun,” he confirmed. “It wasn't too hard. The killer had wedged it behind one of your trashcans in back. It's plastic. I've seen a few of these before, but it's unusual.”

“That's good news, right?”

“It all depends on what you call ‘good.' ”

“Okay.” Maggie glanced around the empty pie shop. “What's bad about it? You can use it to trace the killer, yes?”

“Probably not. No fingerprints.”

“Oh.”

“Normally, we'd question your aunt about this since she and Mr. Wickerson were having a relationship.” Frank slurped some coffee. “I know your aunt. I don't think she'd hurt a fly.”

“Not to mention that she was here working the whole time.”

“See, that's the hard part about this. Your aunt was here, but Mrs. Hightower told us that Clara
wasn't
in the kitchen when Donald came in. Odd, huh? Where was she?”

“She's been feeding a stray cat we're adopting.”
He can't possibly be serious about Aunt Clara killing Donald!

“From my boss's point of view, she could've slipped out the back door and killed her boyfriend, hidden the gun, and then slipped back in like nothing happened. How long was it between times that you saw her?”

Maggie's eyes widened. “You're joking, right? I don't know how long it was. I wasn't keeping track. You know she'd never do such a thing.”

He shrugged. “I know that. My boss doesn't know her as well as I do. He has this crazy theory that your aunt read Ryan's story in the paper that morning and wanted revenge on Donald. And since no one is stepping up to take responsibility . . .”

“That's the craziest thing I've ever heard.” Maggie leaned closer to him. “You
know
that didn't happen. Can't you convince Captain Mitchell?”

“Not until we've checked out everything. Did you know she put up a dating profile for herself on some website? That looks bad too, Maggie. Like she was already planning for the future without him.”

Dating profile? Oh no!
“I put her up on that dating site. She wouldn't know how to do that.”

He shrugged. “I don't like it either, Maggie, but the captain is right. Clara looks guilty for killing her boyfriend. If it was anyone else, I'd be going after her like this pie!”

“So what can I do?” She felt sick at the idea that anyone would think Aunt Clara had killed Donald. It was insane.

“The captain thinks Clara had motive and opportunity. She's on that singles' place with those other women your boyfriend thinks could be suspects. Telling the captain that someone else knew
exactly
when to kill Donald—the moment when your
aunt was missing from the kitchen—sounds like I'm reaching.”

“I don't know what else to say. What can we do to protect her?”

“One thing happened in your favor. A rookie officer at the scene checked everyone's hands for gunshot residue. Clara's hands were clean.”

Maggie remembered the officer putting the sticky substance on their hands and keeping the results. “But Captain Mitchell still thinks she could be guilty?”

Frank shrugged. “She could've washed her hands or been wearing gloves. We need another suspect.”

Maggie didn't like where this was going. “Please don't talk to Aunt Clara. She's still in shock over what happened. This could push her over the edge.” Maggie knew an accusation like this could ruin the rest of her aunt's life.

“I just want some answers. Ryan is playing hard to get right now. I know I chewed him out, and I'd do it again in a similar circumstance. He's lucky I don't arrest him. I know newspapers have the right to print what they want, but he was trying to circumvent an ongoing police investigation with that piece.”

Maggie's heart was beating wildly. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears that she quickly wiped away. She couldn't show Frank how upset and scared this little conversation had made her.

“All right. You want me to ask Ryan about his information.” She gleaned what she could understand from his words.

“Now you're talking. I know our boy has been investigating Mr. Wickerson for a while. I spoke with people from the families of his late wives. Unless one of them hired a hit man, they didn't do it. None of them were near Durham at the time of the shooting.”

“There are so many of them,” Maggie retorted. “Maybe they got together and hired a hit man.”

Frank ate his last forkful of pie. “You know, I'd like to believe that. These people have suffered trying to find justice for their loved ones. But I can't buy that theory—unless they hired some third cousin who has a nine millimeter he was dying to try out. The hit was amateurish. No pro kills like this.”

Maggie had no answer for that. While Ryan was feuding with Frank, she'd have to act as the go-between and encourage Frank to look in another direction.

“What do you want to know from Ryan?”

“I want to know the names he's gathered during his investigation. I want his facts and figures. Does anyone here in Durham have ties to Mr. Wickerson? He can save me some time.”

“I'll talk to him.” Maggie frowned. “You know how juvenile this is, right? You and Ryan should sit down and resolve your differences.”

“I'd be willing to do that if your boyfriend was willing. I didn't shoot him for messing up everything with his stupid story. I thought that was pretty generous. What is it about these media people anyway?”

“I don't know. You aren't serious about Aunt Clara, right? That was just a cruel way to get my attention, wasn't it?”

Frank slid his chair back and got to his feet. “I wish I wasn't serious. You're a smart girl, Maggie. Pump Ryan for that information and then dump him. You could do better. Maybe
you
should try that singles' site. My sister found her new boyfriend online.”

“You've got to be kidding me!”

“Oh! Frank!” Aunt Clara noticed him in the dining room and waved through the opening between the two rooms. “Nice to see you.”

E
ven though Maggie
thought Frank was mostly pushing her buttons with his talk about her aunt being a suspect in Donald's death, she still worried about it the rest of the day.

They closed up Pie in the Sky early as the winter weather was getting worse. There was little point in being open when everyone was at home, waiting for the cold rain to go away.

Aunt Clara encouraged the tortoiseshell cat to follow them home. The cat was still too skittish to allow them to pick her up. Instead, they used some
leftovers to keep the animal moving along the icy sidewalk.

“Maybe we should call her Crusty,” Maggie suggested as the cat followed them into the house with no problem. “You know, like piecrust.”

“That's even worse than Miss Kitty. We have to keep thinking. What about Esmeralda? I had a cousin with that name when I was growing up.”

Maggie shook her head. “Too long. What happened to her?”

Aunt Clara closed and locked the back door after they were inside. “The cat? She's right here.”

“I'm talking about Cousin Esmeralda. I don't remember ever meeting anyone with that name in the family.”

“Oh no.” Aunt Clara hung her jacket on a rack by the door. “She died, tragically, before you were born.”

Maggie's coat joined hers on the wall. The cat circled their feet, purring and rubbing against them. “How did she die?”

“She entered a hot-dog-eating contest and choked to death. It was such a pity. She was so young. Well on her way to being a champion eater too.”

Maggie hid her smile. She suspected that few of her aunt's stories were actually true, but she enjoyed them. “What about calling the cat Fantine? The young woman in
Les Misérables
?”

Aunt Clara thought about it. They'd gone through
a box of tissues while watching the movie a month before.

“I suppose it would suit her, wouldn't it? We could call her Fanny for short. That way maybe she won't meet that poor woman's fate.”

“It seems to me that she's already met that fate, and now we're saving her.” Maggie hugged her aunt. “We're cat rescuers.”

Aunt Clara fed Fanny while Maggie rummaged in the refrigerator for dinner. She found and removed the pie-making implements she'd left in the freezer the previous night, before she'd started chasing the cat.

Even though Maggie had learned to make pies since she'd come home, she still wasn't much of a cook. She was better with microwave and frozen dinners than anything else. It had occurred to her that she could probably learn to make food from scratch, if she wanted to. If she could make piecrust, she could do anything.

Her phone rang. It was Ryan offering to bring dinner if he could eat with them. That made Maggie's quest for food easier. Aunt Clara was thrilled that he was bringing fried rice from her favorite Chinese restaurant.

While they waited for him, Clara watched Maggie make piecrust. “I think you're putting a little too much
oomph
into it, dear. It doesn't take hands of steel. You need a light touch so the crust doesn't get
tough. Also, I think you're adding a little too much flour for the rolling process. It can be tough if it's too dry.”

Aunt Clara demonstrated, her supple hands gently rolling the dough into the right size.

Maggie tried another piecrust, using her aunt's motions. “You're right. I'm definitely using too much
oomph
.”

Aunt Clara laughed. “Don't think of it as crust. Think of it as silk. Push it around and it will flow.”

Maggie completed a piecrust with a little less
oomph
and put it into a pan. “I hope we have something to go in it. I'd hate to have to throw the crust away.”

Aunt Clara grinned. “Not a problem. There's always something we can use for filling.”

Maggie's aunt wouldn't freeze piecrust to use at the shop, but she would freeze fruit and other fillings. She pulled out some leftover peach filling. “This should do it.”

Of course, that meant a lattice for the top. Maggie had hoped for crumb topping. They were out of brown sugar.

“Remember, gentle hands.” Aunt Clara let Fanny outside again. “It's so cold out there, I can't think why she'd want to go out at all.”

“We don't have a litter box,” Maggie reminded her. “Maybe she's just being considerate. I'm sure she'll be fine.”

The pie was baking in the oven when Ryan arrived. The aroma of the peaches, sugar, and crust filled the house.

“What a mess out there tonight. It makes me glad that I don't own a daily newspaper. This way, all I have to do is mention the rotten weather in the next paper. Otherwise, I'd have to cover every accident and stranded driver on the interstate.”

He left his shoes and jacket in the front hall and followed Maggie back to the kitchen, after a quick cuddle in the hall.

“What smells so good?” He sniffed, his arms around her. “I suppose it must be pie.”

“How did you ever guess?”

He sniffed her and kissed her neck. “I don't know. It could be you!”

“I'm glad you're here safely, Ryan.” Aunt Clara came downstairs and joined them. “It can be treacherous out there once the sun goes down and everything freezes. Maggie said you have fried rice for dinner.”

Ryan produced two large containers of fried rice. “They were closing down when I was there, so they gave me extra rice and a bag of fortune cookies. We might not want to eat them if there's pie—but we could have some fun reading the fortunes.”

They divided some of the rice out on plates and put the rest into the refrigerator. Maggie took the
peach pie out to cool. Aunt Clara went to answer the scratching sounds at the back door.

“Oh my stars!” She took a step back.

“What's wrong?” Maggie went over to see what was happening.

“Looks like you rescued a cat
and
some kittens.” Ryan smiled as he opened a fortune cookie. “This fortune fits the situation: ‘There is always more than you expect.' ”

“Fantine has six babies.” Maggie stepped aside for the small furry family to enter the house.

“We're grandparents now.” Aunt Clara laughed, and clapped her hands. “It happened so quickly too.”

“Actually, I think it happened about six weeks ago,” Ryan quipped. “They're walking around with their eyes open. They have teeth too.”

“I don't know how we'll come up with names for all of them.” Aunt Clara studied them. There were three tortoiseshell cats, like Fanny, and three black-and-white kittens. “I can't tell if they're male or female.”

“We can worry about that later, I guess. The rice is getting cold.” Maggie took a pitcher of sweet tea out of the refrigerator and put it on the table. “Let's eat.”