Never Say Pie Page 11

  “Thanks, Dave. I’d love some ribs to barbecue but I insist on paying you for them.”

  He waved his arm and nodded. “I’m going to check up on Bill. God only knows what’s happened now.”

  He closed the door behind him and I was alone with the meat in the sub-zero room. I buttoned my sweater up to my chin to ward off the chill and made a quick tour of the room. No wonder they were in financial trouble. A freezer like this must cost a bundle. Which was okay if you were selling pork like mad. But maybe they weren’t. Every shelf was packed with pork and all labeled: ribs, ham, bacon, blade shoulder, shoulder butt and trays of different kinds of sausage.

  I was getting cold so I took a five-pound slab of ribs from a shelf and tucked it under my arm. I could just picture myself first marinating the meat in a vinegar, wine and garlic sauce, then barbecuing it out back behind the pie shop for hours on a low heat. My mouth watered. I was halfway lost in a dreamy sequence of myself surrounded by my new Food Fair friends enjoying a juicy barbecue in my patio when I heard a loud thump. I jumped nervously and went to the door. I pushed the door. Nothing happened. I dropped the pork ribs, turned the door lever and shoved the door with my shoulder. It didn’t budge.

  “Help,” I yelled. “Somebody help me. I’m locked in the freezer.” I was shivering. Whether it was because of the sub-zero temperature or my near hysterical fear and claustrophobia, I didn’t know. Maybe it was some of each. I told myself to calm down. Dave would come back. Sam would look for me. I wasn’t alone out here. And yet I was alone, along with about a thousand pounds of frozen meat.

  I looked around. The walls, ceiling and roof were all at least four inches thick. No one would hear me screaming so I might as well save my strength. What did I have to fear? (1) Hypothermia. I was feeling colder by the minute. My teeth were chattering. (2) Suffocation. I tried not to take deep breaths, because I once read you lose heat by breathing. I couldn’t help it. (3) Frostbite. I imagined my toes falling off and then the tips of my fingers. I wondered how I’d ever be able to use a rolling pin again. I’d have to buy ready-made crusts. There would go my reputation.

  I thought I’d read that hypothermia victims got dizzy and confused. Since I wasn’t in that great a shape from my escapade the night before, and then my frantic chase today by a maddened pig, I already felt confused and vulnerable. Questions rattled around in my brain. But no answers. What was the thump I heard? I’d gotten myself out of a dumpster, so why couldn’t I open the door to a freezer? If I had a choice, I’d pick the smelly dumpster, at least there I could breathe. I was in the middle of a working pig farm, so where was everybody?

  I must have been losing my mind because I also asked myself if Dave had locked me in there on purpose and then pushed something against the door which was the thump I heard. Maybe he blamed me for them not getting their loan. Maybe he thought it was my fault they got a bad rap from the food critic. Maybe they invited me out there to kill me. But why? I was just as much a victim of Heath Barr as they were. We were in this together. They were my new friends.

  I was irrational. I was alert enough to know that. I just had to hold on until Sam realized I was missing. He’d ask Dave where I was and they’d be here any minute to let me out. But the minutes dragged by. Had Sam stumbled on an important clue in the Heath Barr murder? Was he arresting Dave and Bill? Maybe they’d killed Heath because he’d not only given them a bad review, now they couldn’t get the loan they needed and they blamed him. I could understand that. It seemed logical, but how would I know without some evidence. I summoned every ounce of strength I had and I pounded on the heavy door. I kicked the door and I screamed. “Get me out of here.” Then I started to cry.

  Seven

  I finally stopped crying. I sat down on a small metal stool and buried my head in my hands. A few minutes later I heard voices. Someone was calling my name.

  “In here. I’m locked in,” I shouted.

  “Oh my God, she’s still in there. We’re coming.”

  “Don’t worry. We just have to move the pallet.”

  It seemed like hours but it was only minutes later Sam and Bill opened the freezer door and I fell out into Sam’s arms. I was shaking violently.

  “Good God,” Sam said, putting his arms around me. “Are you okay?”

  As much as I wanted to reassure him, I needed all the sympathy I could get so I gave in and sobbed quietly for a few minutes. Until I finally took a deep breath and stood back on shaky legs. I took great big gulps of fresh warm air and felt glad to be alive and outside again.

  “Sorry about that,” Dave said, a little casually I thought. “Things like this happen at piggeries, unpredictable things.” It was obvious I was just not tough enough for farm life.

  “A pallet fell off the stack and landed against the door,” Dave explained. “Which prevented you from opening it. No need to worry. We would have found you sooner or later.”

  “Worry? I wasn’t worried, I was hysterical,” I confessed lightly. “I’m just glad it was sooner.” I looked at Sam. “I think we’d better go.”

  “Sure you don’t want a cup of coffee or something to warm up?” Bill said as he joined us.

  “I’m fine,” I said bravely. At least I hoped I came off as brave and not a shivering, panic-stricken coward.

  “Don’t forget your meat,” Dave said holding the door to the freezer open.

  I took a deep breath, went back in and grabbed the ribs I’d picked out. I insisted on paying for them, then I thanked both brothers and Sam and I got back into his car.

  “Want the top down?” Sam asked as we headed up the driveway. He actually looked concerned about me. I wanted to milk the situation, but I just couldn’t. That’s the problem when you’re just too honest for your own good.

  I shook my head. “The fresh air feels good,” I said. And it did. But when I shivered, he stopped at the end of the driveway, reached behind his seat for a small plaid blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I thought his arm lingered, but that was probably wishful thinking.

  Wrapped up tight in his blanket with the sun on my face, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. The few minutes I’d spent screaming and pounding my fist against the freezer door seemed like a dream or a nightmare. “I guess you’ll think I’m crazy, but when I was in the freezer I thought maybe Dave had locked me in there.”

  “Why would he do that?” Sam asked.

  “Because he killed Heath and I’d found out?” I laughed nervously. “That’s ridiculous. I’m kidding. Why would he kill Heath?”

  “Because Heath is responsible for their not getting the loan they wanted?” Sam asked.

  “Is that really true?” I asked.

  “It’s true that they needed a loan and it’s true that they blame Heath.”

  “But you don’t really think either one killed him,” I said. “I mean they can’t even bear to kill their own pigs.”

  “A food critic is not the same as a pet pig,” Sam observed correctly.

  I thought about asserting that the pigs were not pets, but instead I asked, “Are you telling me those guys are on your list of suspects?” I sat up straight, the blanket fell from my shoulders and I stared at Sam.

  “I’m not telling you anything. You know that, Hanna.”

  I did know I was pushing my luck so I didn’t ask if he’d ruled me out as a suspect. I had to assume he had.

  “Relax,” he said. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink. You look pale.”

  I hated looking pale, but if it could get me even a small amount of sympathy from Sam and a stop at a restaurant, I didn’t care. And I definitely felt tired, cold, and weak.

  “What you need is a bowl of hot soup,” he said, “and a cold drink.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. I had no idea where he was taking me and I didn’t care. I just wanted someone else to decide.

  We went to a small rustic restaurant called Castelli’s on the main street of Pescadero, a former Portuguese fishing town, now po
pular with tourists.

  We got a table next to the back window where we could admire the large vegetable garden they used in their famous “home cooking.” Sam ordered dark beer for each of us and two bowls of their delicious creamy artichoke soup. He was right. I needed a quick infusion of the rich dark beer and some hot soup to warm and nourish me.

  After just a few bites I was feeling much better. My mind was working and my internal temperature was no longer ricocheting between extreme hot and cold. “I don’t mind being locked in a freezer, if I get something out of it. But I don’t think I did.”

  “What do you mean? You got a slab of ribs,” Sam said, slathering sweet butter on a hunk of sourdough bread.

  “That’s right,” I agreed. Maybe it was the alcohol that loosened my tongue, or the savory hot soup, because I said, “I’m glad you could take time off today, Sam. Does that mean you’re not terribly busy?”

  How could it mean that when he had a murder to solve?

  “Actually I wanted to talk to you about a complaint that came to my attention yesterday,” he said after a long drink of draft beer.

  “Something besides the murder?” I heaved a sigh of relief. I was thinking pesky raccoons tipping over garbage cans or intoxicated neighbors or maybe a noisy teen party.

  “It may be connected. What do you think of this? There was a break-in at the Gazette office last night.”

  I dropped my spoon and the soup splattered on my sweater. Sam looked at me with a laser-like gaze. He knows, I told myself. He knows it was me. But how could he? Was it the bruise on my forehead or the cut on my knee?

  “I assume the body is gone,” I said. “So it had nothing to do with the murder.”

  “That’s right. So cross the vampires off the list.”

  “Why would someone break in? Why not just knock on the door and walk in?” I asked, dabbing the soup off my chest. “Was anything missing? A first edition? The cash box? The awards off the wall?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I know because I previously stripped the place myself.” He paused and then he said, “But I didn’t find Heath’s cell phone. If he had one.”

  “Everyone has a phone,” I said. I tried not to show I was proud I’d succeeded when he’d failed. “And you needed it because it would lead you to his killer.”

  “Might help.”

  “You know if I’d killed him, I’d take the phone with me,” I said, even though I knew I was skating on thin ice.

  “What if the killer couldn’t find it and didn’t have time to look?”

  “Maybe it’s still in the office,” I suggested, carefully spooning another mouthful of the savory hot soup into my mouth.

  “Maybe it was until last night,” he suggested.

  “What would you say if I told you I have the phone?” I said. I figured it was better I handed it over rather than being handed a search warrant or even arrested for tampering with evidence.

  “I’d say thank you very much,” he said, “and I’d drop all charges of breaking and entering provided you handed over said phone. I’d tell you to stay out of trouble and stay home at night.”

  “I didn’t say I had the phone,” I said. I knew I was beaten, but I hated to be told what to do. “But if I did, I’d like to hear the messages. I think I’d deserve to know who called him and why. I’d like to know who killed him too.”

  “I understand,” Sam said. “But the DA won’t. That phone is evidence. I can only hope it’s in a safe place.”

  “Under my bed.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. Apparently he didn’t think under my bed was a secure hiding place.

  “Ready?” he said, laying a wad of bills on the table.

  I stood. He put his arm around my waist. I wanted to think it was an affectionate gesture, but I realized it was a discrete way of hustling me out of the restaurant and into his car. Sam always drives fast, which makes me wonder how he can arrest speeders, but I guessed he and his fellow city cops had a reciprocal arrangement with the California Highway Patrol. Today he drove really fast down the PCH, passing on the straight-aways and hugging the curves in his small Miata.

  He didn’t say much on the way home.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “Dumb broad hides prime evidence under her bed. What was she thinking? Why didn’t I have this conversation with her sooner?”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded. “My fault,” he said. “I should have known.”

  “Known what? That I was the one who broke in?”

  “Just a lucky guess,” he admitted. “Where was the fucking phone anyway?”

  “In the lining of the couch.”

  “If I had a hat, I’d take it off to you. How’d you find it?”

  I felt a sudden warm infusion of heat all over. I might have been mistaken, but I thought I heard grudging admiration underlying his words. Whatever kind of admiration it might be, I’d take it. Sure it was partly the soup and the alcohol that caused the feelings of warm fuzziness, but it was also Sam. If I wasn’t mistaken, he actually appreciated my efforts. I was so touched I almost didn’t realize he was using me and manipulating me so he could claim the phone I found. Okay, so it was evidence in a murder investigation, but I’d found it. It was mine.

  “Grit and determination,” I said. “Those are the only tools I have. And as long as I can listen to the phone messages I’ll hand it over to you.”

  “Hah,” he said. “You’re dreaming. I don’t make deals. You know you’re lucky I don’t arrest you for tampering with evidence.”

  My lower lip quivered. He wouldn’t arrest me I was sure, but I didn’t like the way he dismissed me. Even more maddening was knowing I’d given away my bargaining chip. He knew I had the phone. He knew where it was and he was going to take it away from me.

  “Isn’t it interesting,” I said, “there were never any crimes to speak of until you came to Crystal Cove.”

  “Let’s hope no one else comes to that conclusion,” he said. “Or I’ll be out of a job sooner than I want to be.”

  Back at the pie shop, I greeted Kate and, followed on my heels by Sam, raced up the back stairs to my small apartment above the shop.

  I reached under the bed and found the phone. I would never admit it, but I had been worried. I’d been careless with an important piece of evidence. I held it up and Sam took it out of my hand.

  “You give me the phone, I don’t charge you, remember?”

  I thought about pleading loss of memory because of my recent head injury, but then we’d be back on the subject of how I’d gotten said head injury so I sighed and said, “All right. I just hope you realize that I went to considerable trouble to get that phone for you.”

  “For me or for you?” he asked.

  Just then Kate shouted up the stairs that she needed my help in the shop, so I was spared having to come up with an answer. Not that I was against fibbing to Sam, as long as I wasn’t connected to a lie detector in his office. He put the phone in his pocket and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I stood there watching Sam cross the street with the phone while Kate gave me a rundown of everything that had happened during the day. I finally turned my head and told myself to pay attention. After all, I had to make some preparations for the bake-off contest. Since this was the first annual event and I wasn’t sure how it would work, I had to think fast. Which was difficult since my brain had been half frozen only a few hours ago and my head still throbbed from the accident in the dumpster last night and I desperately needed a long hot bath, or at least a foot massage. Preferably both.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this contest?” Kate asked.

  “Of course. Actually I have no choice. At least it will give me some publicity and it might be fun too. Why wouldn’t I be up for it?”

  She peered into my face. “I don’t know. It almost seemed like you were making up the rules for the contest as you went along.”

  “So? It’s my contest.”

&
nbsp; “And then you overslept. Not like you. Frankly you looked a little ragged this morning. And now you seem rattled. What happened at the pig ranch?”

  “Oh nothing much. Except I was chased across a field by a huge wild boar and locked in a freezer with about a thousand pounds of pork, and well, I’ve had a big day.” I knew the pig wasn’t a boar, but it made a better story so I stuck it in.

  She looked me over, her gaze lingering on my feet. Then she told me to take a shower while she was on hand to hold down the fort. When I came back down in clean clothes and clean feet she told me I looked better. The truth was I could hardly have looked worse.

  Bless her heart, she did not ask for details on my story about the pig and the freezer. She didn’t ask if I’d gotten stuck in a dump-ster last night either. Instead she asked another all-important question. “You and Sam getting along okay?”

  “It’s touch and go,” I said.

  “I hope there’s more touch than go,” she said with a little smile. “On another matter, any luck finding the food critic’s murderer?”

  “I don’t know. Sam won’t tell me anything except to butt out. I suppose he’d love to pin it on one of my vendor friends since they all hated Heath.”

  “Hey, put me on that list. I hated him too. He didn’t know what he was talking about,” Kate said untying her apron as she got ready to leave. “I don’t understand how he got to be a food critic.”

  “As I understand from the Gazette editor, Heath volunteered to write a column, so how could they turn him down? Like every other newspaper, they’ve got money problems. So it’s a matter of you get what you pay for. They paid nothing, they got nothing. Or worse than nothing, they got flawed reporting. They got food reviews that were slanted and I haven’t figured out why. What did he have to gain by trashing some and white-washing others for no good reason? If I knew that I might know what or who killed him.”

  “Does Sam agree with you?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Sam plays his cards close to the vest. Although I don’t think he plays cards or wears a vest, but you get the picture. All he’ll say is that he hasn’t ruled out anyone and that includes me.”