Treacherous Tart (14 page)

“I guess that's about it.” Frank took out his card and gave it to her. “Call this number next time you see her. This is an active homicide investigation. The police need to be kept informed.”

Maggie suggested they stay to eat. Frank agreed. She had to talk Ryan into it. Finally, they all ordered their sandwiches and sat down at a table.

The conversation revolved around Frank believing that Ryan had information about Donald's dead wives that he wasn't sharing. Ryan assured him that he didn't have anything that wasn't available on the Internet.

“Maybe you could still pass some of it my way and save me some time,” Frank gruffly requested.

“You'll share it with every other media source. I'm not doing their work for them.”

“Maybe Frank would agree to look at what you have but not share it.” Maggie tried to mend the
fences between them. “If you find something helpful, Frank, you could give Ryan a little advance notice for the paper.”

“I suppose.” Ryan's head was stiff on his shoulders. “Yeah. We could work something out,” Frank agreed.

“Good. Since the
Weekly
's office is right next door, you guys could go over there and share information. Does that work?”

Both men halfheartedly agreed that Maggie's idea could work. They finished eating and walked next door.

The building that housed the
Durham Weekly
was older but well kept. Ryan's father and mother had started the paper together forty years before, at about the same time Aunt Clara and Uncle Fred had opened the pie shop.

Ryan had taken over the paper from his father, who'd had a heart attack after his wife's passing and could no longer run the business.

The inside of the offices looked sparse and unused—not surprising since Ryan was the only employee of the paper. There were several desks with old typewriters on them. The phones were older too, some still with rotary dials. A fine layer of dust covered everything.

What surprised Maggie the most was the strong smell of printer's ink, even though the paper was printed in Raleigh. Ryan had explained by holding a
fresh paper up to her nose. The strong odor had made her jerk her head back. She'd also seen his hands, black with ink stains, after handling the newspapers.

Even through the layer of dust and a few cobwebs, it was easy to see that this had once been a thriving newspaper. Now Ryan eked out a living with it by working as reporter, editor, salesman, carrier, and janitor.

Maggie sometimes wondered how long it would last for him. She supposed she could wonder that about Pie in the Sky too. At least for now, though, both businesses were still up and running.

Ryan was showing Frank all the information he'd collected on Donald's checkered past when Ryan's father, Garrett, stopped in.

He smiled when he saw Maggie. “It's good to see you again. How is Clara doing?”

Garrett was a lot like Donald in many ways. Both men were tall, broad-shouldered—handsome in the way older men can be. Garrett didn't have the tan or the polished finish that Donald had. He had worked all of his life and was proud of it. He could be a little stiff and standoffish.

Garrett had spent some quality time with Aunt Clara a few months ago, but their budding romance was short-lived. Maggie could tell Garrett still liked her aunt. Aunt Clara liked him too, but not in a romantic way.

“She's great. The pie shop is busy, and we're both excited about our first Christmas together in years.”

“Good. I wish the two of you would have dinner with me and Ryan one evening to celebrate the holiday. Should I send her an invitation?”

“No. That's okay. I'll ask her. I'm sure she'd love to come. Did you have a date in mind?”

Garrett pointed at his son. “Ryan will come up with a day and time. I try not to get in the way of his work. He has a busy schedule, you know.”

“Are you promising my life away, Dad?” Ryan asked him.

Frank, who'd known Garrett for years, came over to shake his hand. “Good to see you. I'm getting some information from your son about the man who was killed near the pie shop.”

“I'm sure he has plenty to say on the subject.” It was easy to see Garrett's pride in his son when he spoke.

“It helps that he's been taking the subject of Wickerson murdering his past wives more seriously than the police.” Frank grinned at his old friend. “How's the golf course treating you? It must be nice to be a man of leisure.”

“You know me—I'd rather be working,” Garrett quipped. “Ryan constantly threatens to throw me out when I come for a visit.”

“You can stop by the police department
whenever you like,” Frank said. “I'm always looking for someone to buy me lunch.”

“Will do.” Garrett shook his hand again. “Son, I need to have a word in private with you. Excuse us, Maggie.”

As the father and son disappeared into the office Ryan used—the only spot without dust and cobwebs—Maggie and Frank sat down in the old waiting area at the front of the building.

Pinned to the walls were yellowing newspaper articles that told forty years of Durham's history. Trophies and plaques, dating back to before Maggie was born, congratulated the newspaper on its work.

“These pieces are how I remember the
Weekly
.” Frank pointed to the newsprint. “Garrett was everywhere. I remember coming here on a class field trip when I was a kid. There were at least fifty people working at those desks. I don't know what happened.”

Maggie shrugged. “Internet news, blogging, and social media. Things change.”

Frank nodded and sat forward in his chair, putting his hands together before him. “I'm afraid Ryan is trying to compensate for that loss. He's going to work himself into an early grave.”

“Wasn't Garrett the same way?”

“I suppose he was. I'd just made detective when Garrett retired. Maybe as a uniform cop, I never noticed as much.”

“It can't be easy competing with all of that other media, and having to hold on to information for a week before it's published,” Maggie said.

“I know you're right.”

“Did he have the information you were looking for?”

“He did. And he emailed it to me while we were sitting there. Ryan's as good as his dad ever was. He's a risk taker, though. He could've wiped himself out with that story about Wickerson. Keep an eye on him, Maggie.”

The two of them stood up as Ryan and Garrett approached them.

“Is everything all right?” Maggie asked when she saw Ryan's pale face.

“We've had some bad news,” he explained.

“Ryan, you don't have to share the information with the rest of Durham,” his father cautioned.

“I might as well. Everyone will know soon enough.” Ryan turned to Maggie. “We're going to have to sell this building. I don't know where the
Weekly
will go from here.”

“How did that happen?” Deep frown lines formed between Frank's eyebrows.

“Taxes,” Garrett sighed. “It's either the building or the house. This place is too big anyway. Ryan is going to have to downsize like everyone else. He really only needs one room anyway.”

“I'm sorry, Ryan,” Frank said. “If I can do anything to help, let me know.”

Ryan shook his hand. “Thanks. I hope that information works out. I'd like to know if Donald was guilty of killing those other women.”

“I have to go.” Garrett glanced at his watch. “I'm sorry for the bad news, son. We'll work it out. The paper will survive!”

Frank went outside with Garrett. Maggie watched Ryan lock the door to the building after Garrett was gone. She knew he was upset about losing the building. Conversation was nonexistent on the way back from the newspaper office. Frank parked his car at the salon and then went inside to interview Debbie.

“I'm so sorry about the building, Ryan.” Maggie got into his Honda. “I'm sure you can find someplace else to set up. I'll be glad to help you look for a spot.”

Ryan's hands rested on the steering wheel. He stared out the windshield but didn't start the car.

“I don't know how I can afford to pay rent,” he said bluntly. “With these printing changes and the price of everything else skyrocketing, I wasn't sure I could make it in the old building.”

“You should have some money from the sale of the building, right?”

“I suppose so. I don't know what that will go for, especially in this economy. Let's face it, the
Weekly
office isn't exactly prime real estate.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “But you're right. I'll
figure something out. I might have to move the office to a table in the pie shop. All it really takes is me, a camera, and a laptop. I could eat pie and put the paper together at the same time.”

Maggie hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“I guess we should go.”

“Who's next on the list of suspects?”

“Sylvia Edwards.” He started the car. “There's a connection here somewhere. We just have to find it.”

S
ylvia Edwards was
out of town and had been, according to her maid, since before Donald had died. She was definitely off the suspect list.

“I think we should stick with what we know we have,” Maggie suggested. “Lenora is well off, her husband is dead, and she owns a successful business.”

“But she's your aunt's friend.”

“They're very competitive. She might've started seeing Donald just to spite Aunt Clara. Then when she realized what Donald really had in mind, she killed him.”

“That's weak,” Ryan said. “I like Debbie Black-welder better. She's younger, but otherwise she fits Donald's profile.”

“I don't know.”

“Let's go pick up Aunt Clara and go home. I need another cup of coffee, and we need to check on Fanny and the kittens.”

Aunt Clara had been waiting outside the library when they pulled up. She marched out to the car and got inside before Ryan could get out and offer to assist her.

“That Lenora!” Aunt Clara fumed. “She had enough nerve to offer to make pies for the library fund-raiser. That's the biggest event of the year for the library. I always make pies for it. She
knows
that.”

Maggie glanced significantly at Ryan. “You can still make pies. You know they'll be better than hers.”

“Too many pies,” Aunt Clara complained. “I'm out of the running this year.”

“What about something different?” Maggie suggested as Ryan pulled out of the parking lot. “I'm sure Lenora was offering sweet pies, dessert pies. What about savory pies? I was looking at some recipes for those the other day. I thought they might be something new to bring people in at lunch.”

Pie in the Sky was always busy until lunchtime. Not many people wanted to eat pumpkin or apple pie for a meal. Their customers wandered off to other restaurants to eat lunch. Some came back later in
the afternoon. Those midday hours were still costly for electricity, and other operating costs. Maggie had been researching some ways to fill that downtime.

“Okay.” Aunt Clara grinned maliciously. “You had me at getting even with Lenora for stealing my thunder with the library fund-raiser. What did you have in mind?”

Maggie and her aunt talked about pies on the way home. Both women agreed that starting small, maybe a chicken potpie, could work.

“No point in confusing everyone,” Aunt Clara said. “We can offer our regular pie menu and add one kind of savory pie to see how it goes—after the fund-raiser, of course. I don't want to give Lenora any hint of what we're planning.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ryan said. “I'm hungry already again. Hot potpie would really hit the spot.”

“I probably have all the ingredients we'll need for a chicken potpie.” Aunt Clara smiled as she thought. “Now we have a test subject. Let's go home and try it out.”

But when they reached the house, there was a noticeable problem—no heat.

“That darn old furnace.” Maggie grabbed a flashlight and went down into the basement. Ryan followed her.

“You said it was having trouble,” he reminded her. “It's going to be hard to get someone to come out on a Saturday.”

“I already had someone look at it. He said there wasn't much he could do. Aunt Clara doesn't remember when it was put in. Mr. Hernandez says it looks like it was built during the Civil War.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

“Maybe we can at least get it up and running until Monday.” Maggie picked up a large pipe wrench that she remembered Uncle Fred using on the plumbing when she was a kid. She gave the big, dark furnace a few whacks with it and stood back.

“Is that your plan?” Ryan asked with a laugh. “I don't think it's working.”

“You're right.” Maggie gazed forlornly at the furnace. “I should've gone ahead and had it replaced. It's so expensive. I put all that money into the pie shop. I hated to spend the money from our savings.”