Spies Lies and Chocolate Pies Read online

  He accepted the stun gun. “Thank you,” he said again.

  Yes, the civilities must be observed even when confronted with the dead body of one’s wife.

  Wife?

  No wonder he and Sophie weren’t getting anywhere in their relationship. Did she know about Constance?

  When had Fred married this woman? I had lived next door to him for three years and hadn’t seen any strange women coming or going. Had he slipped away for a drunken weekend in Vegas without my knowing?

  The sidewalk was suddenly cold on my bare feet as I hurried back to my house.

  Henry ran in front, leading the way. In the shock of finding the body—Constance’s body—I had forgotten about my cat. I was glad he had not forgotten me. He had been there, seen the body, heard Fred’s words. He could help me make sense of it.

  I opened the front door and he ran inside, straight to the kitchen, to his empty food bowl.

  “Calling the cops is more important than your stomach,” I protested.

  Because he was looking down at his bowl, I couldn’t see him rolling his big blue eyes, but I knew he was doing it.

  I ran upstairs to retrieve my cell phone, called 911 and gave them the information. Then I called Trent’s mobile to give him the same information. He hates hearing about a dead body second hand.

  His voice was groggy when he answered. Nobody was awake at this hour except Fred and me...and, of course, Constance’s killer. “Good morning,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I am. Thanks for asking. But Fred’s wife is dead and stuck to a tree. I called 911, but I figured you’d want to get involved.”

  “Fred’s wife? A tree? What?”

  “Drink coffee. Come to my house.” I hung up. No point in trying to talk to him when he was in caffeine-deficit mode.

  I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt then slipped my cold feet into a pair of sneakers and went downstairs to feed my cat before he starved.

  By the time I got food in Henry’s bowl, Trent was calling back. I considered not answering, but that would be rude. “Please come over here,” I said. “I don’t have time to give you all the details. I have to get back and help Fred keep Constance from running away.”

  “Who’s Constance?”

  “Fred’s wife. See you in a few minutes. Bye.” One would think, as a cop, he’d understand the urgency of a situation that involved a dead woman.

  I left Henry munching happily, unconcerned about the drama playing out only a few yards away, and returned to Fred and Constance.

  He was using the flashlight on my stun gun to examine the arrow that protruded from Constance’s body. “Is Trent on his way?” he asked.

  “Yes. Fred, when did you marry this woman?”

  “August 14, 1994.”

  Before I met him. That explained why I hadn’t been invited to the wedding.

  “Have you kept her chained up in your basement since then?”

  “No.” He moved the light to the far end of the arrow.

  “You never brought her over to meet me.”

  “True.”

  I grabbed the lapels of his immaculate pajama top and yanked him around to face me. “Stop that! How can you be married to somebody I don’t know about? Where has this woman been the last three years? How could you keep something like this a secret? Does Sophie know about Constance?”

  “I think Trent’s here.”

  A dark sedan pulled over to the curb and parked.

  Bad timing.

  Not that I really thought Fred was going to admit anything to me. But the possibility dropped to less than zero with the cops present.

  Trent climbed out of the car looking half asleep in his faded jeans and rumpled dark blue flannel shirt. He clutched a large purple thermal mug, a gift from me last Christmas. He probably would not have chosen purple, but when he fills it with coffee, he’s too asleep to notice color. It was likely still full judging by the off-kilter way he’d buttoned his shirt.

  “Good morning, Detective Trent.” Fred’s formal greeting sounded creepy in the pre-dawn chill, especially since he delivered it while wearing pajamas and standing beside a dead body.

  “Good morning, Fred,” Trent said. “Lindsay.”

  “Constance.” I indicated the woman stuck to the tree. “Fred’s wife.”

  Trent stopped on the sidewalk, looked at Constance then at Fred and took a long drink from his purple tumbler.

  A siren wailed in the distance.

  Great. The neighbors could wake up and join us.

  I turned to Trent. “Can you call them and tell them to stop making that noise?”

  He shrugged. “They don’t often get the chance to run hot.”

  “Make them stop!” I said through gritted teeth.

  He took out his cell phone, but it was too late.

  The sirens screamed louder as blue and red lights flashed down the street. A squad car slid over to the curb and two uniformed officers climbed out.

  “Hey, Trent,” one of the men said. “Didn’t know you were on duty.”

  “I’m always on duty. Officer Blake, Officer Melton, this is Lindsay Powell, the lady who called 911.” He gestured toward Fred. “This is Fred Sommers who discovered the body, and the lady on the tree is the deceased. We need to get forensics out here.”

  The two officers studied Constance for a moment. The taller man gulped. “I’ll call it in.” He went back to the squad car.

  Lights had come on in neighboring houses including Sophie’s and Grace’s. That’s when I noticed Rick’s silver Mercedes sedan parked in front of Grace’s house. He’d spent the night.

  I’d worry about that later.

  I turned to Fred. “I want to see how you’re going to explain this woman to Sophie.”

  Fred looked uncomfortable. That rarely happens.

  “Blake,” Trent said, “why don’t you take Miss Powell’s statement in the squad car where it’s warmer, and I’ll get Mr. Sommers in my car.”

  “What?” I protested. “No, you need to take both our statements at the same time. I want to hear what Fred has to say!”

  “Go with the officer,” Fred advised. “I’ll give you the details later.”

  “If you don’t, you’ll never see another chocolate chip cookie from me.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Officer Melton exited the squad car, and Officer Blake and I got in. I told him everything I knew about The Incident, which wasn’t much.

  More cars arrived with more cops. They put up yellow tape around the scene.

  A fire department truck arrived. They set up generators and huge lights.

  Lights came on in Paula’s house. Little things like sirens and flashing lights would not disturb her. She only got up because her alarm clock went off. That meant mine had also gone off in my empty bedroom.

  “Okay, you’ve asked me the same questions three times now,” I said to Officer Blake. “I have to go to work.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s four a.m.”

  “And I need to have chocolate chip cookies baked by four thirty.” Not exactly true, but it should give him a general idea of my need to leave.

  Fred’s wife’s body was impaled with an arrow and hung on a tree a few feet from my house. Much as I wanted to know what was going on, I had a duty to the residents of Pleasant Grove. I had to make chocolate desserts, and Paula had to make coffee to get them through Monday.

  ***

  Paula was up to her elbows in flour and yeast dough when I entered our kitchen at Death by Chocolate. “Do I want to know why the police were on our street this morning?” she asked.

  “No, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Fred’s wife was murdered.”

  It’s hard to rattle Paula, but she paused with her rolling pin halfway across a strip of dough. “Fred’s wife?”

  I nodded as I casually tied on one of our industrial, chocolate-proof aprons. “Fred’s wife.”
br />   “He’s married?”

  “Not anymore.” I repeated Fred’s response.

  Paula resumed rolling her dough as if she hadn’t just heard a shocking announcement. “How did she die?”

  I took out a large mixing bowl. “Arrow through her chest. Stuck to that big oak tree between our houses.” I told Paula everything I knew, drawing it out and trying to sound as if I knew more than I did.

  She sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on the dough. “He’s been married to her since 1994? Where has she been all these years?”

  I sighed and began measuring chocolate chips. “Fred has secrets. Where has she been? Why didn’t he tell us about her? Why was he meeting her for lunch today? Why did somebody kill her and pin her body to that tree?”

  “Everyone has secrets. Sometimes it’s best if those secrets remain unknown.”

  “Not always. Aren’t you glad the truth came to light and you learned you didn’t really kill your husband?”

  “Would you get a fresh bottle of vanilla from the storage room?” she asked, ignoring my question.

  Our conversation about Fred’s secrets was over. Paula likes to stay out of other people’s business. I don’t.

  But for the moment I focused on baking.

  ***

  The breakfast crowd was almost gone. Homer, an elderly gentleman who had recently begun coming in every day to eat biscuits and gravy, drink a gallon of black coffee and read a newspaper, sat at a table in the far corner of the room, sipping his fourth cup. He tipped generously and never caused any problems. We let him linger while we worked in the kitchen. We’d know when he left by the sound of the bell over the door.

  Paula rinsed dishes, and I put them in the dishwasher.

  “I don’t think he still loves her,” I said.

  Paula handed me a plate. “What? Who? Homer?”

  “Fred, of course. He didn’t seem devastated at finding her body. Maybe he thought they were divorced, but there was some red tape and that’s why she was meeting him for lunch.”

  “Have you been thinking about that all morning?”

  The bell over the front door tinkled.

  “Homer’s gone,” I said. “I’ll go lock up.”

  And thus I adroitly avoided Paula’s rude question. Of course I’d been thinking about it all morning!

  Homer still sat in his corner.

  The bell had not announced his departure.

  It had announced Rick’s arrival.

  Chapter Three

  “We’re closed,” I said to Rick.

  “I know.” He didn’t argue but he didn’t leave. He took a seat at the counter and smiled. Rattlesnakes rattled to warn of attack. Wolves growled. Lions roared. Rick smiled. “I need to talk to you for one minute.”

  “If you want my blessing to date Grace, you don’t have it. End of discussion. Leave.”

  Homer rose from his table.

  “Not you,” I said. “You’re fine.”

  Homer laid a five dollar bill beside his empty mug and folded his newspaper. “Unless you need my help getting rid of this person, I need to go. I have an appointment.”

  “Thank you for offering. I can deal with this person. Have a good day.”

  Homer left.

  I clenched my fists. “See what you did? Homer doesn’t have an appointment. He left because you’re making a scene.”

  Rick looked innocent—a sure sign of guilt. “I’m not making a scene. I just want to talk with you. I’m meeting a business associate any minute now so I won’t take much of your time.”

  I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Okay, you have one minute. Talk fast. Paula needs my help in the kitchen.”

  “Are you going to offer me a cup of coffee?”

  “No.”

  “Lindsay, can’t we be friends? We were married once.” He smiled again. “Remember when—”

  “No. I don’t want to remember when.” Merely thinking about it made my blood boil. “You have thirty seconds of your minute left.”

  His expression drooped into sadness. Every bit as phony. “I understand that I messed up our marriage. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret what I did. I’d give anything if I could go back in time and do it right.” Deep sigh to go with the morose expression. “I know I can’t do that. It’s too late.” His sad smile tilted slightly upward, hopeful. “I’d like for us to keep some small part of all the wonderful dreams we had and the things that will never be. I’d very much appreciate it if you could find it in your heart to be friends.” He extended a hand toward me.

  I considered vomiting on that hand, but I’d have to clean up the mess.

  If I gave him an outright refusal, he’d argue. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.” I moved toward the door.

  He remained in place. “I guess I kind of do need your approval about my relationship with Grace.” He segued smoothly to his vulnerable little boy expression.

  I clasped my hands together to keep one or both of them from smacking him. “Grace has been through a lot. She doesn’t need another con artist in her life.”

  “When Grace and I were together before, we were kids. So young.” He shook his head. “So many mistakes. Now we’ve both become adults. I hope we can put things back together. If nothing else, we can be good parents to Rickie. I want to take him fishing and teach him how to throw a baseball.”

  When he played the caring-dad card, he was in major deception mode.

  “Grace has raised your son alone all these years. If you care anything about her or your son, you’ll send her a nice fat check every month and stay out of their lives.”

  Rick looked down, sighed, then lifted his gaze. “They need me, and I need them.”

  “You need Grace and Rickie? What about Robin? Are you putting together a harem? Last I heard, you were in love with Robin.”

  Rick flinched. It was a small twitch, something most people would not have noticed. I noticed. “We’re not together anymore,” he said.

  “She dumped you, didn’t she?”

  “We parted by mutual agreement.”

  “You mean you both agreed you’re an ass? She was beautiful, intelligent, charming. She was too good for you. She dumped you, so now you’re running to Grace because you can’t be alone. Is that what’s going on here?”

  “You’ve met my mother.”

  “And you’ve met mine. So?”

  “Come on, Lindsay. Your mother’s a queen compared to mine. You had a normal childhood. I have issues of abandonment.”

  My eyes rolled of their own accord. “Issues of abandonment? Have you been reading one of those self-help books?”

  The bell over the door jingled again.

  A man wearing designer jeans, a dark sports coat and a white shirt stopped halfway inside and smiled tentatively.

  He didn’t look like the sort of man who would do anything tentatively. His square-jawed face, erect posture, carefully tousled steel-gray hair and dark eyes suggested he was always in control. A crooked nose was the only distinctive element in his otherwise normal features.

  “Vince, come in.” Rick slid off his stool and extended a hand toward the man.

  Vince grasped Rick’s hand. Rick was tall, but this guy was taller. Bigger. Powerful.

  “Lindsay Powell, this is Vincent Aldridge,” Rick said. “Lindsay owns this place. She makes the best chocolate desserts in town.”

  “In the country,” I corrected as I accepted Vince’s well-manicured hand. It was big, strong, and smooth. He got those muscles lifting weights, not doing hard labor. His clasp was surprisingly gentle. There was no reason for my instinctive dislike of the man except that he was Rick’s associate.

  “Lindsay, I’m pleased to meet you. Rick has told me much about your chocolate creations.”

  He was smiling the right smile and saying the right things with a slight, unidentifiable accent that was kind of cute. I was being unfair to him because he was associ
ated with Rick. I shook his hand firmly. “Pleased to meet you, Vincent.”

  “Lindsay,” Rick said, “I know you’re trying to close, but can Vince and I sit here and talk for a few minutes? Vince is interested in revitalizing the downtown Pleasant Grove area, and your shop will be a big part of that.”

  This could benefit my business. I should put my distrust of Rick aside for the moment and focus on greed. “Of course. I think we’ve ditched the leftover coffee, but I’d be happy to bring you some iced tea or a soda.”

  “Iced tea would be great.” Vince sat on the stool beside Rick. “This is a very nice place. You’ve maintained the rustic atmosphere while making it feel cozy and comfortable.”

  I had no idea what he meant by that, but I liked the sound of it.

  I went behind the counter and prepared two glasses of iced tea.

  Both men thanked me graciously.

  I debated my next move. If Vincent planned to revitalize the downtown area, it would be a good thing to be on his side. Unfortunately, if I sucked up to him, I had to appear to suck up to Rick too.

  Should I indulge my righteous indignation and toss Rick out, or be nice to him and his friend in the hope it would improve my financial situation?

  My greed won.

  I gave a brownie to each of them.

  Again they thanked me graciously.

  I returned to the kitchen to find Paula had finished cleaning.

  She stood beside the sink, arms folded. “What’s going on?”

  “You heard, right?”

  “I heard.”

  “It could be a good thing for us if this area becomes trendy.”

  “Yes, it could be.” She paused. “Do you trust any project Rick is involved in?”

  I shrugged. “He’s made a lot of money in real estate.”

  “True. How long are they going to be out there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We need to clean out front.”

  The idea of cleaning and mopping while Rick sat at the counter appealed to me. Lift your feet, Rick. Oh, did I splash some dirty water on your Gucci loafers? Here, let me wipe it off with this rag I used to clean the toilet.

  Rick’s smiling face peeked around the kitchen door. “Okay if I show Vince the rest of your place?”