Never Say Pie Page 15

  Okay, now I was sure she was wrong. Anyone who said he was in the Witness Protection Program wasn’t. He must have been lying because the whole premise was to protect the witness and as soon as someone found out, they were doomed. Whoever was looking for them would track them down and kill them. Jacques was obviously pulling her leg.

  “But he didn’t tell me who he really is,” she said. “Jacques isn’t his real name.”

  “No kidding,” I said. My one-track mind went back to the mystery du jour, the murder of our food critic. I still couldn’t believe what Lindsey told me about Jacques, but what if she was right? I couldn’t afford to ignore it. “What about Heath? Maybe he was in the same program. Maybe they knew each other in federal prison. Which would explain the fact that they both ended up in Crystal Cove. One was a lousy food critic and the other is an excellent cheese salesman. So now we’re left with a clue as to who murdered Heath. It was the mob.” I felt flushed with my own brilliant conclusion.

  “You could be right, Hanna,” Lindsey said cautiously. That should have been a hint that Lindsey was simply making up this story so I wouldn’t suspect her.

  She stepped closer to me and said in a hushed voice. “Look around. See the guys serving drinks? They’re probably Jacques’ personal guards or something, don’t you think? How could a dairy farmer afford a staff like this?”

  If anyone had told me in high school or even yesterday I’d be trading secrets and theories with Lindsey, I’d have said they were nuts. I was about to move away from the cheese table and away from Lindsey before I lost all sense of reality, when she reached for another glass of wine from a passing waiter who she claimed was really a former mob hit man, looked over my shoulder and waved enthusiastically. “There’s Sam,” she said. “We’ll ask him.”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” I murmured. Wait until Sam heard our theories—he’d run for the hills.

  “I’m not, but he’s a cop.”

  Knowing Sam, I was pretty sure he didn’t come to the party for purely social reasons. So maybe Lindsey was on to something. Forget the witness protection program, it could have been some other kind of cover-up. Some other tie to the murder of Heath. Just when Lindsey was about to ask Sam what he thought, her husband came up and said they were going for a hay ride. I breathed a sigh of relief as they rode off in a large flat-bed truck covered with straw. So much for the sophisticated atmosphere. No way was I getting into a hay wagon in my good dress. I stayed right there at the buffet table, which looked like the cheese counter at Whole Foods.

  “If I’d known you were coming I’d have given you a ride,” I said to Sam.

  “Thanks, but I may have to leave early,” he explained as the wine server returned and Sam snagged a glass of sparkling California white wine. “I’m on call and I didn’t want to cut short your evening.”

  “Very considerate of you. Lots of new crimes to solve, I suppose,” I said brightly. “As if you’d tell me.”

  “I do have something to share with you that may interest you. In fact it’s right up your alley. Heard about it from the San Pedro police before I came here tonight.”

  I tried not to flinch, wince, or exhibit an ounce of more than ordinary interest, but somehow I knew what was coming next. “I suppose they want your help solving some horrendous crime like an unauthorized bonfire on the beach or something.”

  “Not this time. This was a prank. Someone let a bunch of lab rats loose in the supermarket.”

  “No,” I said, with disbelief.

  “Yes,” he said. “What does that remind you of?”

  “Oh, come on Sam, you don’t think I’m still a crazy teenager, do you? I’ve outgrown silly tricks like that. Not that I approve of keeping lab rats in small cages. I still think it’s cruel and inhuman. Just as I did when I was in high school. But I’m too busy …”

  “I don’t think the perpetrator was an animal rights advocate,” he said. “I think it was a ploy to divert the county’s attention away from the rule-breakers at the Food Fair by steering them to a rat-infested grocery store.”

  “Good for him or her whoever thought up the ploy. I mean I’m sorry for the poor store owner, but he’s a big boy and I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?” he asked.

  “I have a question for you. Are cops allowed to drink while on duty?” I glanced at the glass in his hand.

  “I’m not on duty. I’m on call. In addition, I’m undercover.”

  “Speaking of which, Lindsey thinks Jacques is in the Witness Protection Program.”

  “Why?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Then I assume he is or you would say. You would say ‘no, he’s not in the Witness Protection Program’.”

  He shook his head. “I knew I couldn’t fool you.”

  I swear Sam was hiding a smile behind his champagne glass. He’d do anything to point me in the wrong direction. At least he’d dropped the subject of the rats. I thought I’d dodged that rather well.

  When Jacques came up, he slapped Sam on the back and said he was glad to see him. “Solve any crimes today?” Jacques asked.

  Instead of clamming up the way he would have with me, Sam was totally genial. “Found a lost dog and caught someone trying to steal the ‘curve ahead’ sign from the highway.”

  “Any suspects in the murder case?” Jacques asked.

  “Just the usual,” Sam said briefly. He looked around at the acres of green grass, the picture-book animals contentedly grazing in the field, the sparkling pool and the well-dressed guests standing around sipping wine. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  “It’s not mine,” Jacques said. “Wish it was. You’ve got a great little town here, Chief, with some nice people, especially our Hanna here. Can’t believe she’s still single. She’s not only beautiful but she bakes the world’s best pies. Trust me, I know. I’ve been around the block a few times. Hell, I’ve even been around the world. If I was going to be around here a little longer …” He sighed. “But that’s the nature of my job. Here today, gone tomorrow. Something I have in common with our gnarly food critic. Did you say there was a breakthrough in the case?” he asked, taking his hat off and tossing it onto a wooden bench behind the table.

  Sam shook his head. Then he looked at Jacques as if he was trying to decide, does this phony Frenchman really think Hanna is beautiful? Or is he permanently full of it? Or was he thinking about Heath and wondering if Jacques killed him. That would explain why Jacques had to be “gone tomorrow.” I noticed Sam said not a word to Jacques about the rat infestation at the grocery store. Maybe it was beyond believable that a Frenchman would be capable of obtaining rats and dumping them at a grocery store and then host a big party. Before Jacques ambled off to greet some new arrivals, he said, “Look around. Don’t miss the barn and the gift shop.”

  I nodded, and Sam said he wouldn’t miss it. When Jacques was gone I said, “Well, that lets Jacques off the hook. If this dairy farm isn’t his and he’s just a farm-sitter as he claims, then why would he care enough to murder Heath for bad-mouthing the cheese that isn’t his?”

  “Nobody likes to be bad-mouthed,” Sam remarked.

  “I understand that, but if it’s not your cheese, you don’t have enough motive to kill the messenger.”

  He shrugged. I didn’t know what that meant. That he agreed or disagreed with me. I sensed this conversation could go on forever. Me floating theories, Sam neither agreeing nor disagreeing with me, just letting me blather on. I was just grateful he’d dropped the subject of the rats. But I was flattered he’d remembered what I’d done in high school.

  “Can I ask why you’re here?” I said. “Or is that classified and none of my business.”

  “I was invited,” he said.

  “I know. But you must get invited a lot, and yet you’re often described as a workaholic.”

  “Not by you, I hope.”
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  “I try not to describe you at all to anyone. They can draw their own conclusions. Although I sent someone to see you this evening.”

  “Barton Barr. He came to my office. It was not a productive meeting.”

  “Did he accuse you of negligence?”

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before. He wanted to share his thoughts with me as to who killed his brother.”

  I held my breath. “I hope he didn’t say it was me because I think it could very well be him.”

  “Why would you think that, since he’s on a crusade to find the murderer with or without my help? If he did it, why didn’t he stay in Los Angeles and out of sight?”

  “Because it’s a scam and a cover-up. He doesn’t really want your help. He just wants to annoy you.”

  “He did that all right. But why come and knock on my door on a Saturday night?”

  “To throw you off. So you’ll think just what you’re thinking. That it couldn’t be him. Did he tell you he’s the last member of his family still alive? Doesn’t that mean he’ll stand to inherit whatever there is now that Heath’s dead?”

  “I suppose so, but how do we know that there is anything to inherit?” he asked.

  “We can find out. I’ll do some checking if you like,” I said eagerly. I was more than willing to help Sam, and I was eager for this investigation to be over so we could all get back to our normal lives without the shadow of Heath Barr hanging over us.

  “I’d prefer you didn’t do any checking or anything to do with Heath Barr without my express permission,” he said.

  “But you’re busy. I think you need a deputy. Someone who has a job but could spare some time when you were overwhelmed.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement. You know I’m busy because you see me working at all hours across the street, is that it?”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I said coolly. But of course I had and he knew it. Good thing I wasn’t attached to the lie detector in his office. I could imagine the bells and whistles going off. I was seriously miffed. I’d just shared my best thoughts with Sam and what did I get in return? A cool no, thank you. “I assume you’re here at the party because several if not all your suspects might be here too, am I right? Never mind, don’t answer that. Don’t let me keep you from your investigating. I’m going to look around,” I said. “I can’t believe this place. Did he say there was a gift shop?”

  Instead of going off as I suggested, Sam went with me to a small outbuilding painted white with forest green trim which was actually the gift shop. A woman in a giant apron stood behind a counter filled with the famous Honeybrook cheeses. She was offering samples of a robust blue cheese and a seasonal creamy cheese made with rich Jersey cow milk lightly dusted in toasted red pepper flakes.

  “Delicious,” I said.

  “Glad you like it,” she said.

  I especially liked the way she didn’t push me to buy anything. Was that Jacques’ idea or did she come with the farm? “Are you just here for the afternoon?” I asked.

  “I work the Food Fair or here on the farm, wherever the family needs me.”

  “Looks like a great job,” I said. I glanced down at the glass display case and saw a selection of cheese knives including the same knife we’d all used at the Fair with the serrated edge.

  Sam saw it at the same time. “How much is the knife?” he asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

  She consulted her price list and told him it was sixty-five dollars.

  “How many do you have on hand?” he asked.

  “Just this one.”

  “I’ll take it,” Sam said.

  I frowned. It looked shiny and new. Obviously never used. So why did Sam want it? To prevent anyone else from using it for illegal purposes? Or to run it by the lab for fingerprints? I didn’t ask and he didn’t say. Which was typical of our interaction these days. We walked toward the parking lot where he handed me the knife. “That’s a replacement for the knife I took from you.”

  I held out my hand and took it but I was almost too stunned to say thank you. “That means I’m not getting mine back.”

  He nodded. “That means the subject is closed.”

  He’d bought me off. For the price of a fancy serrated knife he expected me to buzz off.

  Ten

  “Now what?” I asked after I put the knife in my car. There were even more people on the terrace now. Dusk was falling, the lights around the pool had been turned on and a chef was cooking something on an outdoor barbecue. What a life. I knew it wasn’t Jacques’ house or his land, but he got to live there, enjoy the benefits with none of the problems of ownership and act like a landowner and gracious host. Besides that, he’d done all us vendors a favor by getting the county off our backs. I wondered if he’d tell everyone or anyone else that we had him to thank for this huge favor.

  “Let’s join the others,” Sam said. Sam, turning into a social being? Was it possible? Maybe he was being sociable to divert my attention from his squashing my recent theory so brutally. He was after something or someone. And it wasn’t Barton Barr. It wasn’t Jacques either or he would have acted by now.

  On the terrace Sam was greeted warmly by Lurline, who linked her arm in his and ignored me. So who cared? I joined a small crowd that included our host. There were plenty of men at the party who were friendly and seemed impressed when Jacques told them I was the owner of the pie shop in town.

  “So you’re the woman who got trashed along with Jacques by the so-called food critic?” Jacques’ friend, Geoffrey, said.

  “That’s me,” I said. “Along with some others. I don’t mean to brag about my pies, but I really didn’t deserve to get panned, any more than Jacques or Bill and Dave, the sausage makers, or Martha, the rotisserie woman. But I didn’t kill Heath.”

  “I know you didn’t,” Geoffrey said. He said it so emphatically I gave him a second look. If he knew I didn’t do it, then …

  “Any idea who did?” I asked casually.

  He laughed. “I’m new in town. I don’t know anything about anything except what Jacques tells me. He and I go way back. Why don’t you tell me who you think did it?”

  “If I knew I’d tell the police. Actually I did tell the police that I thought it was the victim’s brother. But my theory was not what you’d call welcomed with open arms. Just a wild guess. But it seems I’m way off base. He has one brother, that’s it. And I think this brother’s got a financial motive, which is now he gets to inherit the family money. But no one knows if there was any money. So if it wasn’t him, I give up and I’m keeping my mouth shut from now on. All I can say is that so many people wanted to kill this guy I’d have to stand in line.”

  “That guy over there in the civvies, is he the cop?”

  “Right. He’s the chief of police so he doesn’t wear a uniform,” I explained.

  “So is he on duty tonight?”

  It was not an easy question. Sam was talking to Lindsey and Tammy now along with their husbands. Did he suspect them as much or as little as I did of killing Heath, or was he just being friendly? Lurline was still hanging onto his arm. I wanted to think the reason he was looking at her so attentively was because she was also on his list. But maybe not.

  “He’s always on duty,” I said at last. But it looked like he was having too good a time. Instead of frowning or glaring, he was smiling affably and talking to the group. He hadn’t talked affably to me. But he hadn’t bought them knives either, that I knew of.

  I left Geoffrey and made the rounds of the terrace, talking mostly to town people I knew slightly. We all paused when Jacques announced a square dance in the big barn. Some people groaned, some laughed, and some clapped. Sure enough, when we all obediently filed over there and went in to the huge, high-ceilinged barn I could see there was a huge cleared space on the floor. A guy wearing fancy jeans, a white shirt, and vest, and of course a big cowboy hat, was set up with a console and was already playing music.

  Jacques took a small microphone a
nd announced he was pleased to introduce the caller, Texas Jack. He said he hadn’t known if the guy was available until he showed up. His excitement was contagious. He seemed so delighted I was even more sure he must be foreign and that’s why he was into this authentic American folk activity. I looked around the barn. I thought that women who square-danced usually wore hokey dresses with mountains of petticoats and clunky shoes. And men wore cowboy hats and string ties and cowboy boots. Not tonight. Tonight everyone I saw was wearing California Casual. Oh well. I might have been the only one who not only wasn’t dressed for it, I wasn’t emotionally or physically ready for square dancing, either.

  While the other guests good-naturedly lined up and dosey-doed their partners I quietly headed for the door. It was warm in the barn and promised to get even warmer with all those people dancing up a storm.

  I didn’t see Sam inside the barn. It would have been quite a sight to see him skipping up and down the floor and bowing to his partner, but I felt claustrophobic even in that lofty barn so I stepped outside, hoping no one like Jacques would see me and insist I stay for the fun. Instead I headed back to the terrace next to the pool. I’d had enough and was ready to go home.

  Before I left I stopped for a look at the pool house. Like the rest of the farm, it was first class. Could the Dolans make enough cheese to support this lifestyle? Could anyone? Maybe they were gentlemen dairy farmers. However they did it, I had to admire their taste. The pool house was long and sleek and seemed built to hover over the water. I peeked in, seeing one end was a spa and a Jacuzzi, and in the other end were changing rooms, a sauna, and bathrooms. Under the overhanging roof were spotlights focused on the water.

  The evening air was refreshingly cool. Not cool enough for a sauna, but I wanted to see it anyway. I took off my shoes and stepped inside. The small room smelled of cedar. There were fluffy terry-cloth robes hanging on hooks. The heat hadn’t been turned on so I sat down on a bench and enjoyed a moment of solitude before I went home. Maybe I was more like Jacques than I’d thought. Maybe I too could fit easily into this lifestyle. Maybe his life was the perfect one. It was more than one life, he lived many lives as he farm-sat. Even if his experience in Ireland had been less than ideal, it was different. I knew how fortunate I was to live the life of a pie baker. I had my own home and shop, but no boss. Unlike most working people I controlled my own destiny. I decided what kind of pies to make. I decided when to open and close my shop. I decided whether to hold a pie contest or have a booth at the Fair. But I didn’t have a pool or a sauna.