Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) by Carol Culver

opening all the windows. He didn’t say no, so I asked him to help me drag a small wrought-iron table and chairs outside. I love the sidewalk café look. There was a breeze off the ocean but the sun was still warm. It wouldn’t hurt for the citizens of Crystal Cove to see how it’s done. That it’s okay to stop and relax and drink tea or coffee with a slice of pie in the afternoon. I hoped someone might see us eating and drinking al fresco in front of the pie shop. They’d think, it’s so continental. So civilized. And soon they’d take up the custom. Maybe I’d have to stay open on Sundays when the whole town was out and about. Maybe I’d get the aprés-beach crowd. I set two pieces of pie and two glasses of iced tea on the table.
    “How did you like the farm?” he asked after he took a bite.
    I frowned, annoyed that he was rubbing it in. Why didn’t he come out and say, I not only know where you’ve been, I know where you’re going next. “Very impressive. If I had to be a chicken, I’d live there,” I said.
    “Until the Beardsley Processing van pulled up,” he said.
    “So you know about that. Were you out there too?” If he was, why didn’t Martha say anything?
    “I just got back.”
    “That explains it then,” I said. “We crossed paths. Martha must have been thrilled to see you. You made quite an impression on her. I thought maybe you’d come by to return my knife.”
    “That’s not possible. Until after I finish my investigation.”
    “I suppose you’ve got quite a collection of knives by now since the old guy who makes them was handing them out.”
    “I can’t comment on that.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake. So how’s your investigation going?”
    “Slowly. This guy Heath was a loner. He came to town a few months ago to work at the Gazette . No one seems to know much about him.”
    I was amazed to have Sam telling me something new. I couldn’t help following up with another question. “Doesn’t he have a family? Someone who misses him? Someone who hated him? Loved him? Although I don’t know about that. I only spoke to him on the phone and he wasn’t very nice. It wasn’t just me. He gave negative reviews to good products. Have you talked to Bruce, the editor of the Gazette ? Why did they hire him? Why did they keep him?” I moved to the edge of my chair. I leaned forward. This was just what I wanted. A chance to ask questions, maybe have a real conversation with Sam. A sense that I was useful. That I could contribute. That he valued my input.
    “I talked to Bruce,” Sam said, “and he says Heath convinced him he needed someone controversial for the paper. Someone to shake things up. Someone who’d increase circulation with his pithy reviews. Who wouldn’t just whitewash the vendors. And the price was right. Heath was working for nothing.”
    “Donating his time?” I said. “Why would he do that?” Sam didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to. I just knew I had to see Bruce myself. No need to mention I’d been to the newspaper office and seen the crime scene tape across the door, no matter how innocent my trip was.
    “So you’ve been out for a Sunday drive. What else is on your agenda?” he asked, forking a piece of pie while I watched to see how he liked it.
    “In terms of field trips? I don’t know. My new friends all want me to come by and see their places. The sausage guys, Jacques the cheese maker …”
    “I plan on a trip to the pig farm too,” he said.
    “When? Because I could go next week. We could go together,” I suggested. “It would save gas.” I held my breath. He’d never agree. He was after something more than a few pork chops, that was sure. “At your convenience,” I added.
    “Okay,” he said.
    I tried not to act surprised. But why was he doing this? Would I get to ask the questions I wanted to? Was he using me? Or was there some way I could use him?
    “I can go this week. If I can get someone to cover for me