Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) (34 page)

Her thoughts were crystal clear. Mandy Jo had something to do with the disappearance of the pie. Drinking an entire pot of coffee wouldn
't make a difference. All that would do is make her hands shake so badly her handwriting would look like a seismograph during an earthquake. She crumpled onto the breakfast nook bench again as her friend got the coffee maker going. Carla had breakfast with her so often she even knew how the complicated, Italian coffee maker worked.

"
Let's forget about what happened to the pie for a minute," Carla said as she handed a mug of sugar-laden coffee to Amy. "Is there enough time to make another one?"

Amy absentmindedly took a sip of the scalding liquid and scorched the majority of her tongue. Physical misery on top of mental torture. Lovely. Despite the searing pain and flood of tears blurring her vision, she still managed to answer the disheartening question.
"There is. I have until 9 p.m. to deliver it to the town hall. It's just that this pie was a beautiful masterpiece. My magnum opus. I'll never make one as perfect as that again."

"
Get melodramatic often?"

"
You don't understand. The crust was golden brown. Every slice of apple was exactly the same thickness. The crumble was so buttery and delicate it would've made a real pastry chef jealous."

"
You're right. I don't understand. I don't like Mandy Jo, but I've never felt the need to crush her with my cooking skills." She scratched behind Pogo's ear. The dog tipped his head back so Carla could get to his favorite scratching spot, his chin. She pulled her hand away and sniffed her fingers.

"
What's wrong? Does he smell bad? He's probably been eating rabbit droppings in the yard again. Not sure why, but he thinks they're Mother Nature's version of doggy truffles."

"
That takes disgusting to a new level, but judging from the scent I think he's been munching on something else. Apparently Pogo likes apple pie even more than bunny poo."

Amy shook her head.
"No way! He refused to even taste any of my pies when I started working on the recipe a few months ago. I put a small piece in his dish once, instead of giving him his usual dog biscuit treats. I swear he rolled his eyes before walking away without so much as licking the pie."

"
Then I guess this one must've been very good. Consider it a canine compliment." Carla looked around the kitchen, peeked under the baker's rack, then walked into the dining room. She returned with an empty pie plate. "I found this under your china cabinet."

"
Unbelievable. I bet Mandy Jo has been slipping bits of apple pie through our fence so Pogo would develop a taste for it."

Carla disappeared into the pantry. She emerged with the flour and sugar canisters cradled in her arms. As she set them on the counter she said,
"Stop with the conspiracy theories. Tell me what you need. I'll be your assistant. There's plenty of time to make another pie before the deadline."

*  *  *

"Ohm…ohm…ohm…" Amy whispered as she tightened her grip on the pie plate. The metal pan was still too warm to hold with her bare hands. The bulky oven mitts made it doubly difficult to keep a firm hold on the future prize-winning pie. A muscle cramp seized her ring finger as the car lurched into a sharp, right turn. She lifted the precious cargo a few inches higher off her lap and tried to breathe through the pain. "Ohm…ohm."

"
Why are you saying oh, oh, oh?" Carla asked. "You sound like the soundtrack for an X-rated movie."

Amy rolled her eyes.
"I'm saying ohm, with an M. It's meditative chanting. I'm trying to channel my inner gyroscope to keep my baby safe."

"
You're the one who asked me to drive you and your
baby
to the town hall."

The tires screeched as the car slid around a tight curve in the road. The main road into Kellerton was clogged with vehicles heading into town to celebrate Saturday night. The Summer Festival beer tent and all of the bars and restaurants along
Main Street would be packed with weekend revelers. So Carla had decided to take the back way into town via the curvy, twisty, stomach flip-flopping River Road. Amy held her breath and closed her eyes. Carla swore she had never gotten a ticket, not even for speeding let alone reckless driving, even once in her life. Either her cars were equipped with a cloaking device to make them invisible, or she had a lot of friends in the police department. "Yes, I did ask you to drive, and I really appreciate it, but you can slow down. We're two minutes away from the town hall, and there's a half hour until the deadline. Warp speed is no longer necessary."

"
Chicken."

"
Yes."

The car slowed a bit. Riding with Carla was always a nail-biting thrill ride, but the careening and swerving was more nerve wracking than usual. Amy studied the crumb topping on the pie, checking for cracks caused by sudden direction changes or jolts. It still looked perfect. She didn
't want to admit it, because Carla would pounce on the admission like a feral cat on a roasted chicken, but this pie looked even nicer than the one Pogo ate. It was going to be torture waiting until noon the following day to hear herself announced as the winner of the contest. Some hot milk with honey and nutmeg, or better yet, a shot of Mike's expensive whiskey, might be needed if she wanted to get any sleep.

"
Hallelujah!" she said as Carla pulled into a parking spot 20 feet away from the hall's front door. "Would you mind opening the car door for me?"

"
Of course, ma'am. Would you like a glass of champagne or perhaps some caviar, you know, to go with the classy, premium chauffeur service?"

"
No thank you, but if you could arrange a win in the pie contest, I'll take that."

Carla opened the door and curtsied.
"Sorry, can't do that. I am morally hardwired to be a good girl. Sabotage isn't my thing."

"
Really? Hardwired to be a good girl?" Amy slid out of the car seat. She had a sudden urge to cradle the pie in her arms like a real, precious baby, but the maneuver was too risky. Knocking off a chunk of the fluted crust or putting a C-cup sized dent in the crumb topping would be disastrous. "That would be why Tom nicknamed you D.G. for Dirty Girl."

"
Tom was the biggest prude I have ever dated, or known for that matter. I thought his head was going to explode when I took him to an adult novelty store for his birthday."

"
Well I thought he was a nice guy. Glad you didn't kill him buying flavored massage oil and edible panties."

Carla slammed the car door shut.
"I see your foodie obsession extends to the bedroom."

"
Huh?" Amy carefully stepped over the curb and scanned the sidewalk ahead for loose pebbles. Tripping, at that point, would be an epic nightmare of a disaster. "What are you talking about?"

As Carla fell in step beside her she answered,
"I mention sex toys, and you name edible ones, Miss Foodie."

"
Those things may technically be safe to eat, but I wouldn't really consider them edible."

"
Ha! Sounds like you've tried them."

It was also not a good time to reminisce about the long weekend she and Alex spent in
Traverse City a couple years ago. Talk about a distraction. "If I drop this pie because you're messing around and making me not pay attention to where I'm walking, I won't make double chocolate muffins for you anymore."

"
Okay. I'll stop." She held her hands up in surrender. "I can't live a week without those muffins."

Carla opened the heavy glass door and stepped aside. Elliot Maxson, owner of Maxson
's Bakery and main sponsor of all of the Summer Festival baking contests greeted Amy. "I'm so glad you made it, my dear. You told me you were entering this contest too, but I was afraid something dreadful had happened as the hours ticked by."

Pogo was far from dreadful 97% of the time, but his unexpected foray into pie thievery sure was. She set the pie on the corner of the small table Elliot was sitting behind. He scribbled something on a sheet of paper then handed her a red sticker with the number 51 written on it.

"Thank you." She plucked the sticker out of his manicured grasp. "My dog ate my first pie this afternoon. Hopefully this one is just as good."

"
I prefer canines over felines, if I am pressed to choose, but the seemingly perpetually hungry mongrels can choose the worst moments to help themselves to their owner's food." He flashed a sympathetic smile. "Please state the name of your pie."

"
Bumble Apple Crumble Pie."

"
What a fascinating moniker," he said as he filled in the blank on a form. He held out the clip board and used the tip of an ink pen to point at a line. "Please sign here. It's a document stating that you produced the pie from your own, original recipe. When I lived in Chicago an unscrupulous scoundrel entered a contest with a pie he had procured at a gourmet bakery. The disingenuous cad may have won if the professional baker who actually made the pie hadn't been a judge."

She looked at Carla and raised an eyebrow. So, her theory about Mandy Jo taking the pie to enter it as her own was plausible. As Amy signed her name she said,
"I promise on my entire collection of cookbooks that I created an original recipe, and Carla is a witness that I baked it myself. This should be a scandal-free contest."

"
Let's hope so." He gestured at a doorway in the movable divider wall that was used to split the space into two rooms. "Find an acceptable display space on one of the tables in the other room, and affix the sticker to the bottom of your pie tin, so it isn't visible. The numbers are to ensure impartial judging."

"
Got it." Elliot had said the same thing to her dozens of times over the years, twice that week even. Did he think she was stupid and he needed to repeat it when she entered every contest? Or did he have to explain the numbers to every contestant for legal reasons?

The intoxicating scent of fresh baked goods intensified when Amy walked into the display room. Nobody else was in the room, so she had plenty of time to study the fifty other pies. As expected, that late in the day there was little space left on the three, long tables arranged end to end. A cluster of pies had accumulated directly in front of the door. A blatant ploy to be noticed by the judges when they entered the room. Glass pie plates rubbed shoulders with disposable aluminum pans. The front and center strategy was a decent one, as far as strategies went, but she had another one. She would put her beautiful, perfectly golden brown, crumble topped pie next to the ugliest one she could find. A splash of bright green caught her eye as she searched for prospective pie neighbors.

A pumpkin pie covered with scorched blisters and edged with a ragged, charred crust was definitely a contender, but the rainbow-colored pie at the end of the third table was the winner. She stopped to study the abomination. It appeared to be some kind of pineapple pie with a Grand Canyon sized crack, from being over-baked, spanning its width. Blobs of blue tinted, whipped cream crowned with green maraschino cherries were plopped in a random pattern on the fluorescent yellow filling. She had found the perfect pie to set hers next to. In fact, there was plenty of room around the garish creation, as if the other competitors were afraid its freakishness was contagious.

The table was too wide for Amy to reach the perfect spot from the front. She walked around to the back side. As she started to set down the pie her toe slammed into something protruding from under the table, but hidden by the ruffled, linen skirt. The pie plate thunked on the table. She held her breath as she once again examined the crumble and crust for cracks. Thankfully she didn
't find any. Now to make sure none of the judges would trip like she had and shake the table or worse, do a face plant into her pie. Losing because of faults caused by someone other than herself…not a journey she wanted to take. She lifted up the fabric and screamed like a horror movie star.

"
What's wrong? Did you drop your pie or something?" Carla yelled as she and ran into the room.

Amy shook her head. She couldn
't take here eyes off Mandy Jo, sprawled under the table with a fresh raspberry pie smashed on her face. "Is she dead, Carla? She sure looks like she is."

"
What…damn," Carla said as she rushed to Amy's side. She dropped to her knees and pressed her fingers into the side of Mandy Jo's neck. "I don't feel a pulse. Elliot call 9-1-1."

"
Certainly." Elliot fished a cell phone out of his shirt pocket as he trotted across the room to see who was under the table. "Oh my," he said as he dialed the emergency number.

Pies & Peril

Culinary Competition Mysteries book #1

available now for Amazon Kindle!