Treacherous Tart (5 page)

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” the lead paramedic said to
Aunt Clara, who still held Donald's hand in hers. “I know this is hard for you, but this man is dead. You'll have to move aside so the medical examiner can get in and examine the body.”

“The
body
?” Aunt Clara's green eyes were angry and filled with tears. Her voice trembled. “Where is your respect, young man?”

The lead paramedic hung his head. “You're right. I apologize, ma'am. Could I help you to a chair before the medical examiner gets here to examine your friend?”

Aunt Clara nodded and sniffled. She laid Donald's hand on his chest, and the young man helped her to her feet. “I can't believe he's dead.” She rested her hand on his arm as she walked to the nearest chair and sat down.

Maggie joined her there after she thanked the paramedic for his help. “Oh, Aunt Clara . . . I'm so sorry . . . Are you okay? Can I get you something?”

“I'm as good as I can be with my boyfriend lying dead on the floor in front of me.” Her aunt dabbed at her eyes with one of her old handkerchiefs. She never brought any of her good hankies to the shop. “How is this possible? What happened? Why is there blood on him, Maggie?”

“I'm not sure. Someone will tell us when they know what happened to him.”

Aunt Clara inclined her head closer to her niece's. “He came here looking for me. I failed him.
He was so good to me. I couldn't help him.” Maggie saw Ryan standing outside the pie shop, camera in hand. He must have heard about what had happened. Apparently the police weren't letting him in until the ME arrived and did his job.

“I don't know. I–I think he wanted to be with you. Maybe he knew he was dying. We'll know when the police clear this up.”

Aunt Clara couldn't get over seeing Donald that way. She used her hankie to cover her eyes. “It's like some terrible nightmare.”

Ryan waved to Maggie and held up his cell phone. Her phone started ringing.

“I guess we'll find out if Ryan knows anything.”

“What's going on in there, Maggie?” Ryan asked when she answered.

So much for Ryan knowing anything about it.
“Donald Wickerson is dead.”

“That's crazy! What happened?
When
did it happen?”

“I don't think he had a chance to read your article about him, if that's what you're worried about.” Maggie filled him in on the details and watched through the window as his eyes widened with surprise as the information sank in.

“It was probably someone from his past. Probably a relative of one of the women he killed.”

“Maybe.” Maggie looked up to see Frank Waters enter the pie shop. “I have to go. Talk to you later.”

Frank Waters was a tall, thin man—a little hard-faced but a good cop.

At least Maggie thought so. She saw his gaze drift around the pie shop until it found hers. He beckoned to her and walked into the kitchen.

“Frank wants to talk to us.” Maggie took her aunt's hand. “Are you up for it? If not, I'll tell him he has to talk to you later.”

Aunt Clara squared her slender shoulders and pushed herself to the fullest height of her slight stature. “I'm as ready as I can be. Poor Donald. We have to help Frank find his killer. That's all we can do for him now.”

The police officers let them join Frank in the kitchen, where he was perched on the stool Ryan often occupied.

“You two know it's Christmastime, right? I haven't done a lick of shopping for my wife or my kids. I should be out doing that right now. It's my day off.”

“Of course we know it's Christmas,” Maggie said. “It's not like we
want
you to be here investigating this, whatever it is. Donald came in here, covered in blood, and fell over. It had nothing to do with us.”

“It most certainly
is
our fault, Maggie. Donald came here looking for help. We let him down. Well,
I
let him down. I should have been here, not outside. I just wanted to help that poor cat.”

Maggie sighed heavily. Frank looked at them both like they were crazy.

“So you weren't here when Mr. Wickerson came in?” Frank asked Clara.

“No.” Clara's gaze lingered in the distance. “I was trying to find where that darn cat hides. I think she may not be alone.”

“I know Mr. Wickerson was dating you, Clara—courtesy of Maggie's boyfriend.” Frank's voice was kind but inquisitive. “How long has that relationship been going on?”

Aunt Clara tapped her chin with a flour-covered finger. “Let me see. It was earlier in the fall, after Maggie met Ryan and I went out with Ryan's father. Garrett was too vocal for me. I can only take politics in small doses.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “You know I can only afford one new car on my salary. My wife drives it. I have a Toyota that had seen better days a hundred thousand miles ago. I would
really
like to make captain. If I can figure out what happened to Mr. Wickerson, that would be good. Sometime in the next six months or so would be even better.”

“Aunt Clara has only been dating Donald a couple of months,” Maggie clarified. “They met at the library. Donald said he loved mince pie. They spent some time together. That's all we know.”

Frank rocked a little back and forth on the stool. His brown hair needed a cut, and his usual cheap suit had something that looked like ketchup on one lapel.

“In other words, neither of you knows anything about why or how Mr. Wickerson ended up dead.”

“Yes. That's right.” Aunt Clara held her head up as she started crying again. “He was a very nice man. I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt him. I never believed those stories about him.”

“But you know about the six wives?”

“Yes,” Clara admitted. “Maggie told me about them just last night because Ryan was concerned.”

“Why was he concerned?” Frank seemed determined to drag it all out into the open.

“They were afraid Donald might try to kill me.” Clara started crying again. “It would be ironic if it wasn't so sad.”

“Well, we don't know anything for sure yet.” Frank shrugged as he got up from the stool. “Time will tell. Thanks for telling me what you know. I'll give you a call if we need anything else from you. Does either of you know if Mr. Wickerson had any family?”

“You should probably ask Ryan,” Maggie suggested. “He knows all about him.”

Aunt Clara impulsively hugged him. “Thank you so much, Detective Waters. You've been a good friend to us. Would you like some pumpkin pie? I have one that's cool.”

“That's okay, Clara.” He smiled and changed his mind. “Maybe I could take it to go?”

Maggie found a box and gave him the whole pie.
It couldn't hurt. Aunt Clara had a theory that pie made everything better. Maybe she was right.

A police officer came to the kitchen door. “Detective Waters? The assistant medical examiner wants to talk to you.”

“Excuse me, ladies. Thanks for the pie.”

Maggie and Aunt Clara followed him. All the customers were gone, but the police and EMS people still filled the shop. There was a young man sitting on the floor beside Donald's body, which was now covered by a green sheet.

“What's the news?” Frank asked him.

“It looks like a nine millimeter, close up. I found powder burns on his coat. Whoever shot him was looking right in his face as he did it. This wasn't an accident. I'm afraid this is murder.”

F
rank told Maggie
and Aunt Clara that the crime scene team would have to make a thorough sweep of the pie shop. “Nothing extensive. We know he wasn't killed here. You should be able to reopen tomorrow.”

Aunt Clara stamped her foot. “Outrageous. Why aren't you out on the street looking for whoever killed Donald?”

“We're doing what needs to be done,” Frank explained. “There could be some trace evidence from his clothes or shoes. There could be something he
dropped when he fell. The medical examiner will go over everything carefully. That's how we solve crimes. I'm sorry for your loss, Clara, and your inconvenience.”

Ryan came in as the medical examiner's team was leaving. He was in such a hurry to get to Maggie that he didn't notice Frank until the detective grabbed him by his dark wool jacket.

“Didn't I have a conversation with you about Donald Wickerson?” Frank was in Ryan's surprised face. “Didn't I tell you to let the system work? But you couldn't let your theories go.”

Ryan was defensive. “I told the story the way I thought it should be told. You can't tell me what to print. This couldn't go on. I was protecting Clara, and everyone else, by alerting the public—something
you
weren't willing to do.”

“I know you didn't pull the trigger,” Frank argued, “but your story could've been the catalyst for Wickerson's murder. Did you think of that? What time did the paper begin spreading the word this morning? If someone from his past knew he was here in Durham, it might've been enough to set them off.”

Ryan didn't look remorseful. “The first papers are on the street at four a.m. I did what I thought was best. I realize a man is dead, but he was a killer himself. Sometimes those things end badly.”

Frank let go of his jacket. “I can't do anything to you, but stay out of my way on this.”

“Sure.” Ryan watched him leave, his bright blue eyes wary. He turned to Maggie as soon as they were alone and hugged her. “Are you two okay? I'm so sorry, Aunt Clara. I really only did this to protect you. Maggie didn't have the heart to tell you the truth about Donald. I knew I had to do something.”

“I know you meant well,” Aunt Clara said. “I think you and Maggie were way off track about him.”

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you all to leave,” one of the crime scene techs said. “We'll give you a call when you can come back.”

Ryan glanced at his watch. “Let's go down to the sub shop by the office. They're having two-for-one today. We can talk there.”

Ryan drove them to Betty's Subs in his late-model Honda. Maggie had been thinking about buying a car with her severance, but she couldn't convince Aunt Clara to stop walking to the pie shop. It seemed pointless to have a car and not use it. They were still in negotiations.

Betty English called out a cheery hello as they entered her sandwich shop. It was cleverly decorated to look like the inside of a submarine to go with the name of her place, Betty's Subs. She'd had students draw and paint pictures of cartoon character Betty Boop all over the walls. It was a very popular place for Duke students and teachers.

Maggie and Aunt Clara had never eaten there
before they'd met Ryan. He ate there all the time—it was cheap and close to the newspaper office.

Now they were regulars. Betty gave them a special deal when they came. Aunt Clara reciprocated by giving Betty specials on pies when she visited them.

“Hey!” Betty, a large, energetic woman with curly dark hair, called them over. “I heard what happened at Pie in the Sky. That had to be scary. Was he trying to rob you? Did you shoot him, or was it a customer that shot him?”

Maggie clarified, reminded of the old axiom about how rumors get started. “No one in the pie shop shot him. It happened somewhere else. He wasn't there to rob us. He was Aunt Clara's boyfriend. We're not sure why he came there.”

Betty hugged Aunt Clara in her strong arms. “Gee, I'm so sorry. Was that the big Marlboro-looking man who came in here with you? He was chunky hot for an old dude.”

“Thank you.” Aunt Clara got through the bear hug. “It was terrible.”

“Sandwiches for all three of you, on the house,” Betty declared. “What can I get for you?”

Maggie didn't want to take advantage of Betty's generosity, but her aunt said it would be rude not to accept her offer. Each of them ordered the cheapest sandwich on the menu, with a drink.

Aunt Clara sat down at one of the small tables to wait while Betty's son, Bobby, made the sandwiches.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that.” Ryan rubbed Maggie's shoulder and then put his arm around her. “And I feel terrible for Aunt Clara too.”

“Thanks. It was really horrible. I hate to say it that way.” Maggie glanced at her aunt. “I really think he thought we could help him. Maybe if he'd stumbled in a few minutes sooner. I don't know.”

“Since he was shot at such close range, he probably didn't have much of a chance.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

“You were standing outside the shop the whole time. What sources?”

Ryan filled his glass with sweet tea and plenty of ice. “I gave one of the ME techs ten bucks and promised not to use his name.”

She laughed and filled her glass, and Aunt Clara's too. “I get it. I'm thinking of sources like people in trench coats meeting in alleys. Your sources are everywhere, even in broad daylight.”