A Slice of Murder (3 page)

Bob dropped me off at my house, pleading an impending court date that he hadn’t been able to postpone. I went inside, changed from the dress I was wearing back into my more familiar blue jeans and T-shirt, and tried to decide what to do. As I walked around downstairs, I marveled again at how much the house had changed since Joe and I had first bought it as newlyweds. Over the years before we found it, most of the Arts and Crafts style in the bungalow had been buried under layers of paint and outdated carpets until it was nearly unrecognizable. I thought my new husband had lost his mind when he insisted that there was beauty under all that mess, but I was young, in love, and willing to walk through fire for him, so I gladly signed the mortgage papers right alongside him. It had taken us seven years of hard work and a great deal of imagination, but the results were indeed spectacular. Lustrous quarter-sawn oak was everywhere, ecstatic to be freed from its painted bonds. Rich, mellow wood with fine, black-lined grain filled the place, from the built-in bookcases to the floors to the ceiling beams. It was cozy, a home worth coming back to every day, but it lacked one thing that I sorely needed: my husband.

I picked up a framed picture of the two of us standing in front of a fireplace. We were smiling and laughing in the foreground, with the cabin interior of the place we loved to rent at Hungry Mother State Park in the background. It was autumn, and the leaves had just begun to burst into dazzling arrays of red and gold. I could feel my gut wrench as I remembered that day, and how happy we’d been, not knowing that we had less than two weeks left to be together. I’d forgotten all about the photograph, but Maddy had found it in my camera months later, and had used a picture frame Joe had made out of some oak that had been in too bad shape to use for anything else.

My cell phone rang, dragging me back to the present, and my new set of troubles.

“You were supposed to call me, Sis.”

“I’m sorry; I guess I just lost track of time.”

Maddy asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing much,” I said. “Bob took over, and there wasn’t anything left for me to do. I probably didn’t answer half the questions Kevin asked me, and before I knew what was going on, we were leaving.”

She couldn’t keep the crowing out of her voice. “Bob is good. I knew he’d be able to get you off.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “I’m nowhere near in the clear. It feels like Kevin’s determined to pin this on me, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop him. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s got a point. There’s an awful lot of evidence that leads right to me.”

“But we know something he doesn’t, don’t we?”

“What’s that?”

She paused, then said, “We both know you didn’t do it.”

“There’s that,” I said.

Maddy took a deep breath, then asked softly, “You’re not going to just give up, are you?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed today. Why don’t we close the pizzeria today? I’m not really in the mood to face anybody.”

Maddy paused, then said, “That’s exactly the wrong thing to do. We need to be open for business today with smiles plastered on our faces.”

“I don’t think I could smile if I had a gun pointed to my head.”

She laughed, and I felt a little of my energy coming back. As much grief as Maddy gave me at times, she could pick me up when no one else on earth could. “I could arrange that, but I didn’t say the smile had to be sincere. Be like Andy: fake it till you make it.”

I laughed despite the dire shape I was in. We’d gone to school with a boy named Andy Grant, who’d been mediocre at just about everything but kissing up to the teachers. The funny thing was, though, he believed he could bluster his way through any situation, which led to some comical results. The time he’d borrowed Kyle Monroe’s stick-shift Mustang without a clue how to drive it was a legend around Timber Ridge. Andy had worked most of one summer to earn enough money to replace the wrecked clutch.

“Got it,” I said. “Do you want to pick me up, or meet me over there?”

“What are you talking about? I got to the pizzeria about the time you were visiting the police chief. I’ve done all the prep work, even the dough.” She paused, then added, “If you get your tail down here, you can be the one to unlock the door for our first customer of the day.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. “And, Maddy? Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s what I do,” she said.

I felt better as I drove to A Slice of Delight. Working there had gotten me through some tough times in the past. Maybe it would help again. But could I face the folks who lived in Timber Ridge? Would they support me, or accuse me of killing Richard Olsen? What would I say to them? If Bob had his way, I’d meet the questions with silence, but even he realized I couldn’t do that. Still, I had to do the best I could not to say anything that could be misinterpreted.

I drove the Subaru behind the pizzeria and pulled into my spot, beside Maddy’s car. We took deliveries in the back, and it was usually how we came and went, choosing a much shabbier facade than our fancy front entrance. I tried my key in the lock to the back door, but the huge, red metal door wouldn’t budge. What was going on? I pounded on the door, but Maddy didn’t respond. Now I was getting worried. Had something happened to my sister since I’d spoken to her? I could have gotten back into the car and driven around the abutted cluster of buildings, and it’s what I should have done if I’d been thinking straight. Instead, I hit the remote lock on my car and ran toward the walkway that separated the long line of facades, a set of spaces twelve feet wide that ran the entire ninety feet of the buildings’ depths. The town had really done a wonderful job decorating the square in an attempt to bring folks back to our downtown area for shopping. A huge mural in the walkway, filled with scenes of Timber Ridge a hundred years ago, nearly covered one wall, and the shortcut featured a brick, two-tiered footpath with benches, quaint electric lights, and individual plantings interspersed along the way.

I barely noticed it this time through, though. As I came out onto the plaza, I rushed past the dress shop; the pharmacy; the candle shop; and the Shady Lady, a store that somehow managed to stay afloat selling only lamps, shades, and accessories. There was an empty space beside mine, one that had last featured a yarn shop that had barely lasted three months. Finally, I was at my door.

I started going through my keys as I reached A Slice of Delight—searching for the right ones—as I peered inside. There was a light on in back, but I couldn’t see Maddy. If anything had happened to her, I’d never be able to forgive myself. What was that noise coming from inside? It sounded like someone was pounding in an odd, rhythmic order.

I finally managed to get the door open and was hit by a wave of music that nearly deafened me. I rushed through the front dining area, where we had several booths and tables for our customers, then went past the front register, through the kitchen, and into the back prep area. Maddy looked up from her chopping station, waving a knife in the air and singing to the odorous tune slamming out.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said as I lunged for the radio and killed the music.

I looked at her with disbelief. “Really? It’s not like I haven’t been pounding on the back door or anything.”

She winked at me. “That’s a good thing. I put the old barricade up, so you wouldn’t have been able to get in even if you’d tried.”

The fire marshal had questioned the wisdom of an old-fashioned timber dropped between two metal brackets across the back door when he’d first inspected the place, but Joe had assured him that it would be taken down whenever anyone was in the store, and the fire marshal had let it pass. I wasn’t positive money had changed hands, but I wouldn’t have put it past my husband. He and I had different ideas about security. I didn’t think there was that much worth stealing in the shop, but he acted as though we were guarding Fort Knox and all its gold. Maddy and I had gotten out of the habit of blockading the door, but it appeared that she was beginning to reacquire it.

“Since when did you start blocking the back door?” I asked as I removed the timber. It was cumbersome and heavy, one of the reasons I’d stopped moving it back and forth.

“I feel better having it there when I’m here alone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you here alone much?”

“Not these days, but there was a time….”

I knew what she was talking about. After Joe’s accident, I’d been absent quite a bit, and honestly, if my sister hadn’t stepped in, I probably would have lost my restaurant along with my husband, a double blow that I doubt I would have ever recovered from.

“I understand,” I said as I surveyed her work, trying to change a subject neither one of us wanted to discuss. “Everything looks good,” I added.

She pointed a knife at the mushrooms. “I have a few more to cut. Then we should be ready for business.”

We normally opened at noon, but the call-in orders usually started around eleven. At least on normal days.

“No orders yet?”

She shrugged. “It’s still early.”

“It’s not that early.” I picked up the telephone, found a dial tone, then put it back into its cradle. “I was afraid of this.”

“Of what?” she asked.

“Timber Ridge is a small town. It doesn’t take much to kill a business here; the hint of scandal and murder is probably enough to do it.”

Maddy frowned. “Don’t be such a drama queen. You don’t know that’s what’s happening.”

“Do you honestly think the entire town got tired of our pizza all at once? There’s got to be a reason, and I know what it is.”

“Then we’ll just give them a few days to forget what happened,” Maddy said. “In the meantime, we’ll be here if anyone comes to their senses.”

“They’d better not take too long,” I said. I had enough in savings to cover six weeks of expenses before I had to shut the place down. Joe and I had planned to use the surplus on a honeymoon we’d never taken, but with A Slice of Delight requiring so much of our time and attention, we’d never gotten around to it.

“You worry too much. Can I make you something to eat? You can have any pizza or sandwich on the menu, and you don’t have to lift a finger.”

“Thanks, but I can make my own lunch,” I said.

“You still don’t trust me? I told you, that wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to know that those canned tomatoes had gone bad? Besides, you act like it killed you or something. You bounced right back.”

“I was seventeen, I missed my prom, and I was sick in bed for the first three weeks of summer vacation. I hardly call that bouncing back.”

Maddy shrugged. “Water under the dam and all that. Come on, live a little. Let me make you something.”

“Why not. I’ll have a pepperoni sub.” At least she shouldn’t be able to mess that up.

“Give me something challenging,” she said.

“If it’s too far beneath your culinary skills, move out of the way and I’ll make it myself.”

“No, I’ll do it,” she said as she waved her knife in the air.

“Hang on a second. I don’t want any special little extras, you understand? No fancy hot peppers, no secret sauce, no outlandish toppings. Just our pizza sauce, some pepperoni, and a handful of cheese in a hoagie bun. Agreed?”

“You’re no fun,” she said.

“Agreed?” I repeated.

“Fine, have your boring old sandwich. I’m making something special for me, though, and you can’t have any.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” I said.

“You’re just a commoner at heart, aren’t you?” she said, laughing as she put my sandwich together. As Maddy slid it onto a wire grid and put it on the pizza oven’s conveyor, I glanced at her sandwich to see what she was making for herself. I wasn’t sure why anyone would want banana peppers, pickles, anchovies, and onions on a sandwich, but at least I didn’t have to eat it.

After she slid hers onto the conveyor, Maddy said, “We should look at this as an opportunity. We could always paint the dining area again.”

“I thought our job was to present a solid front to the world. It took us three months to agree on the last paint color, remember?”

“That’s because you were just being stubborn.”

“Maddy, I still think black walls send the wrong message to our customers.”

“We would have lightened the place up with candles,” she protested.

“That’s fine, if you like eating in a cave,” I said. “How are those sandwiches coming along?”

She glanced at the conveyor. “They’ve got a few more minutes, and you know it. You’re just trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

I grinned at her. “You caught me. How am I doing?”

“Miserably,” she said.

A few minutes later, my sandwich was the first one to appear on the other side, the bread neatly toasted and the cheese melted into a golden sheen. As she plated both sandwiches, she asked, “Where should we eat? Here, in back?”

“Tell you what. Why don’t we take a table by the front window? At least if anyone happens to be passing by, they’ll see us here and know we’re open.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “I’ll grab the sandwiches, and you get the glasses. Do you want chips with yours?”

“I’d better not. I don’t want soda, either. I’ll have water to drink.”

“Watching your calories, Eleanor? I don’t know how you do it,” she said as she grabbed two bags of chips.

“Hey, I just said I didn’t want any chips,” I protested.

“Who said either one of these was for you?”

I didn’t have the slightest idea how my sister could eat whatever she wanted with no apparent consequences, whereas if I just walked past a cake I somehow managed to gain three pounds. It just wasn’t fair.

As we started to eat, I looked out over the plaza, too conscious of the people going out of their way not to pass by the pizzeria. A family with four small children was playing beside the captured German howitzer from World War I that stood on one edge of the square, balanced two hundred yards away by a twenty-five-foot obelisk that honored three doctors who had saved scores of townsfolk during a flu epidemic in the 1800s, and who had died themselves from their efforts to save others.