Treacherous Tart (4 page)

“And what did you think?” Maggie smiled as she got them each a slice of mince pie from the new front cooler where the daily pies were kept.

“They were excellent,” Ahalya told her. “We enjoyed them very much.”

“Except for the fruitcake,” Raji qualified. “Really, I wasn't fond of that.”

“There are plenty of holiday foods to try.” Maggie put two slices of pumpkin pie on plates. “Are you sure you want to eat all of this now?”

“Oh yes,” Ahalya assured her. “The sooner, the better.”

“It will be a while for the eggnog pie to cool.” Maggie totaled up their purchase. “Mind if I ask why this sudden dive into holiday food?”

“Not at all. A customer came into the Bombay Grill yesterday and complained that we had no holiday food. No one has ever said that to us before. Ahalya was deeply offended. Now we must stuff ourselves with holiday food so we can decide what type we should serve with our meals.”

Maggie had never cared for Indian food—until she started eating at Raji's restaurant. Now she loved it—the exotic spices and aromatic curries were like nothing she'd ever eaten before. She enjoyed the fabulous decor and ambiance there too. She couldn't imagine serving festive American cuisine there.

“Isn't there something Indian you could make that could be a special holiday food without veering too far from your culture's traditional cuisine?” Maggie asked while she waited on the man and woman who'd been in line behind Raji and Ahalya.

“We can't seem to find an equivalent holiday food to the things you eat here at this time of year.”

Maggie didn't know a lot about Indian food except for the dishes she enjoyed. “Your food is so good, it doesn't need an equivalent.”

Raji's dark eyes lit up. “Perhaps we can ask some friends who might have an answer. Would you be willing to try some holiday foods if we find some?”

“Sure. That would be great. I think Aunt Clara and Ryan would like that too.”

“Thank you for your advice, Maggie. I'm going to eat pie now.”

She laughed to herself as she saw her friends dig into their multiple slices of pie. She knew they didn't celebrate Christmas, but it would be interesting to see what they came up with.

“Good morning, Maggie.” Professor Ira Simpson found a chair at one of the small tables. “I'll wait for the rush to be over. I dislike waiting in line.”

Professor Simpson had been teaching at Duke University for as long as anyone could remember. He'd taught Maggie's mother, Delia, Aunt Clara, and Maggie. He was a kindly man, with white wings of hair at his temples and a constant twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes.

He seemed much younger than Maggie knew he was. It was possible that was why it wasn't unusual to see him with a pretty student or young teacher on his arm when he came in.

“I'll be right with you, Professor,” Maggie promised.

“No rush.” He pulled out his copy of the
Durham Weekly
.

Maggie had forgotten that this was Wednesday, the day Ryan's newspaper came out. It was a lot of work for him to do everything involved with it, but the paper didn't make enough money for him to afford hiring someone full-time. Ryan made do with a few part-time people who helped with photography, or the occasional article. He also had a few students who helped deliver the papers.

The newspaper was popular. Maggie hoped it could avoid the financial problems other newspapers seemed to be having.

Five other customers came in looking for pie and coffee. Maggie filled their orders and sent them back out into the cold gray morning. She took Professor Simpson's order and got him set up before she went into the kitchen to see how Aunt Clara was doing.

She didn't see her at first. Her aunt was crouched by the back door, which was swung wide open to the alley outside.

“Are you okay?” Maggie cautiously made her way to the rear of the kitchen. She'd had a few unpleasant experiences in the alley but was hoping to put them behind her.

Aunt Clara looked up with a big smile on her face. “She's starving. You can see her ribs.”

Maggie peered around her aunt. There was a scrawny, ragged-looking cat with one ear almost chewed off. It was eating a slice of Marvelous Mince pie.

“Watch out!” Maggie warned her aunt. “It could have rabies or something. You shouldn't have let it into the kitchen. Now we'll never get rid of it.”

“She won't come any closer. I've been feeding her for the last week.”

“You've been feeding it pie?”

“We had it left over. I thought it was better than nothing. On the other hand, if you feel like I should pick up some cat food—”

“No. If you start feeding it cat food, that will be even worse.”

“Whatever you say.” Aunt Clara shrugged. “I'll keep feeding her pie. She'll probably gain weight faster than if she was eating cat food.”

Maggie could see customers waiting in line at the front of the pie shop. “Let it finish eating and nudge it out the door. Whatever you do, don't try to touch it. They call these feral cats. They don't like humans.”

“She seems friendly enough to me.”

“Please, Aunt Clara, don't touch the cat.”

Maggie left her aunt in the doorway and went back up front. The pie shop was completely full of people—some sitting down waiting for food and some waiting in line for to-go items.

“What can I help you with?” Maggie asked the first customer.

After a few minutes of filling cups and glasses and slicing pie, the line began to go away. Maggie tackled the customers at tables, getting their drink orders first and then coming back with the drinks to take their food orders.

“Pie and a big cup of hot coffee sounded so good this morning.” Real estate agent Angela Hightower was in early. She was usually an afternoon customer who also came in once a week with her book club. “How is Clara?”

“She's well.” Maggie took out her pen and paper. “What kind of pie?”

“I'll have a slice of the eggnog, and give me a whole mince to go, please.” Angela's shoulder-length dark-blond hair was half hidden under a midnight-blue beret that matched her wool dress under her chic raincoat. “I happened to notice that her name came up in the dating service a friend of mine uses. Think it's a typo?”

Maggie felt Angela's sharp eyes watching for any sign that would give her away. She wrote down Angela's order and put her pen back in the pocket of her jeans.

“I don't know. I don't use dating services. Are you looking for someone?”

Angela blushed. Everyone knew she was on her fourth marriage to a man half her age. “Like I said, a
friend
of mine uses the service.”

Maggie shrugged, wondering how bad an idea it had been to register her aunt with Durham Singles. She turned to go and get Angela's pie when the front door swung open and Donald Wickerson stumbled into the pie shop.

He held out a bloody hand to Maggie, as if reaching for support to steady himself. There was blood on his brown leather coat too. “Clara! Clara!” he gasped.

Maggie had barely started shouting for help when he collapsed on the dark-blue tile.

M
aggie dropped to
her knees beside Donald, panic setting in. His eyes were closed and his breathing was labored. His face was very white.

Maggie urgently scanned the group of inquisitive faces around her, each wanting to know what was going on. “Someone call 911! I don't know what's wrong with him, but he needs help!”

Professor Simpson called for help on his cell. Then he continued to eat pie and sip his coffee without the slightest sign of awareness that anything unusual had happened.

Someone wadded up a sweater and pushed it under Donald's head.

“I think he's been shot.” A young college student gave his assessment. “I had a year of premed before I switched to business management. You want me to take a look at him?”

“No.” Maggie could already hear sirens coming their way. “Help is on the way. They'll know what to do.” She went to look for her aunt. The kitchen was empty, and the back door was open. “Aunt Clara?” She could see her aunt's tiny footprints in the snow, but there was still no sign of her. Maggie thought she was probably outside in the alley with the cat.

“Maggie?” Angela came to the back door. “There's a man dying in here. What on earth are you doing?”

“Looking for Aunt Clara. She's been out here feeding some stray cat.”

She went back inside with Angela. She was right, Maggie decided. One of the shop owners should be there when the police came.

She wished Aunt Clara would come back. This might be the only time she'd have to say good-bye to Donald.

“Isn't that
Clara's
boyfriend?” Angela murmured as they were walking through the door from the kitchen to the dining area.

Maggie didn't answer. Angela was a gossip. She didn't want to start any rumors. If Donald had been shot, it would be hard enough on Aunt Clara.

She took a deep breath, knelt on the floor, and looked at Donald again. If it was possible, he was even paler than before. She couldn't tell if he was still breathing. When would help get there?

Aunt Clara finally came out of the kitchen to see what was going on. She pushed through the crowd surrounding Donald and gasped. “Maggie, what happened?”

Maggie got to her feet and put her arm around her aunt. “I don't know yet. He came in asking for you and collapsed. I think he was injured somehow.”

“Maybe not
asking
for her exactly,” Professor Simpson observed. “It was more like gasping her name—perhaps in surprise and bewilderment. There were some strong emotions in him.”

“Is that blood on his coat?” Aunt Clara's face blanched.

“I think so.” Maggie lowered her voice. “This is what I was trying to warn you about. The man is, or
was
, mixed up in some very bad things. Where were you a few minutes ago?”

“I was just outside in the alley, looking for the cat,” Aunt Clara sputtered as she carefully knelt down on the floor beside Donald and held his hand. “You told me that he killed older women for their money.” She shot a sharp look at Maggie. “It looks to me as though someone might have tried to kill
him
.” Tears began to well in her eyes. “I'd say you and Ryan were off the mark.”

Before Maggie could respond, paramedics pushed through the front door, followed by a police officer.

“Where's the victim?” the lead paramedic asked.

“Move aside please.” The officer made room for the medical personnel. “Where's the owner? Did anyone see what happened?”

“I'm Maggie Grady, one of the owners. I saw Mr. Wickerson come in.” She described, in detail, what had happened as the lead paramedic examined Donald.

“We'll probably need you to write that down, ma'am.” The officer was polite but distant. “Was he a friend of yours?”

Maggie wished the officer would evict all of their customers from the pie shop, even if that meant losing some business. She didn't want to discuss her aunt's boyfriend in front of everyone they knew.

“He and I have been dating for a few weeks.” Aunt Clara wasn't shy at all about it. Large tears rolled down her cheeks, and her lips quivered. “He's such a wonderful man. I can't imagine who would want to hurt him.”

“Unless it was someone who knew one of those six women
he
allegedly killed.” Professor Simpson's loud lecture voice overpowered the rest of the sound in the pie shop.

The police officer craned his neck, trying to see who'd spoken. “All right. Everyone, I need names, phone numbers you can be reached at, and
addresses. Give your statement to my partner here, and then exit the shop.”

“That's just what it says right here in the
Weekly
.” Professor Simpson held up his copy of the newspaper. Donald's face was on the front page.

Ryan had done exactly what Detective Frank Waters had told him not to. He'd used Donald's real name and a picture of him with a story about the suspicious deaths of his six wives.

“Okay.” The officer took off his hat and ran his hand through his thinning brown hair. “I'm calling for a homicide detective, and the ME should be on his way. Everyone take a seat, and we'll talk to you one at a time.”

“I didn't see anything,” one of the pie shop's regular customers complained as he nervously eyed Donald lying on the floor. “I can't see any reason for me to be late for work because this man died.”

“He's not dead,” Angela declared. “They're still working on him, for goodness' sake.”

“Once I get your name, address, and phone number, sir, you can go.” The officer sounded irritable. “I'll need to do a short test for GSR too.”

Professor Simpson stayed. So did Angela. The student who'd once been premed stayed too, along with a jogger who came in every morning. They all claimed to have seen Donald stumble into the shop.