Secrets and Pies (A Callie's Kitchen Cozy Mystery Book 3) Read online

Hugh hemmed and hawed. “To tell you the truth, it’s not that close to you, or I’d drop Olivia off myself.” Wonderful!

  “All right, where is it?” Callie asked, wiping her hands on a towel.

  “150 E. Elm, right off of Lakeshore, but on the far side of the bay.”

  “Hey,” Callie said, brightening. “Isn’t that the house that’s been closed up for several years? Grandma Viv told me about it.” If it was the house she was thinking of, it was a glamorous affair. The previous owners had fallen on hard times, and the home had foreclosed. No one had lived in the house for quite some time, and Callie was happy it would have a chance at its former glory.

  “That’s the one. Thanks, Callie. I really appreciate it. I won’t make a habit out of this. By the way, how’s the boyfriend?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Hugh,” Callie said. “See you soon.” She hung up.

  ***

  Callie finished putting together her Greek meatball mix and left Max with instructions on how to finish the dish. As soon as she was in her car with the windows down, she realized how delightful it was to be out of her hot kitchen.

  Windows down, radio blaring, Callie savored the warm, but not too hot June sunshine. Hugh’s new worksite wasn’t exactly around the corner from the main part of town, but the fact that she got to enjoy views of the water for most of the ride made it a pleasant trip.

  Before she knew it, Callie was pulling up in front of the house on Elm. She got out and drank deeply from a water bottle she had brought with her. Looking around, she didn’t see Hugh’s car.

  Callie decided that she’d call Hugh if he didn’t show up in ten minutes. For now, her curiosity was getting the better of her. She decided to take a look around.

  The house had seen better days, but it was clear to Callie what a beauty it must have been in its heyday. Like many of the older mansions on Crystal Bay’s historic lakefront, this house had clearly been built in “The Gilded Age,” and it had all the architectural hallmarks of a home built during that period of economic prosperity. Despite the peeling paint and crumbling columns, the house had an aura of gaudy glamour about it. Like The Harris House, Callie thought.

  Callie had parked in the circular drive, which was bordered with overgrown and scraggly flowers and grass. A rainbow of colors made up for the messiness of the landscaping. Particularly striking were the perennials that burst forth, beautiful despite being untended. Callie admired the luxurious purple bee balm and paler astilbe, with its showy lavender-hued flowers atop fern-like stems, as they swayed in the mild breeze. Alongside them, coneflowers nodded their shaggy heads.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Callie strolled up to the spacious front porch and peered into one of the dusty windows. She’d love to take have a look around. Maybe Hugh would let her take a tour, provided the building was structurally sound. Just for fun, Callie tried the doorknob, and to her surprise, it opened. Slowly she stepped inside.

  The house had a musty smell, but thankfully, no rodents skittered in front of her as she made her way to the center of a large living room. Vaulted ceilings soared. The sunlight, so bright outdoors, was filtered through the immense windows by a film of dust and dirt that had accumulated over the years. Thinking of the home’s many previous inhabitants gave Callie a funny feeling. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she was feeling a little spooked.

  Callie peered down at the hardwood floors. She loved hardwood floors, and when they weren’t covered with dust and dirt, these must be beautiful.

  Wait a minute. Callie looked more closely. She’d created some footprints in the dust when she’d walked in but now she realized that the floor was filled with footprints. Workmen? Hugh said they were just beginning work. In fact, hadn’t he said he was the one taking measurements? Who had been here before her?

  Gathering her courage, Callie shouted, “Hello?” but nobody answered. Her voice echoed throughout the empty, darkened rooms. Callie started to walk towards the back of the house, where she assumed the kitchen would be. Spooked or not, Callie always wanted to see what other people’s kitchens looked like.

  As she made her way through the living room, Callie noticed that one of the sets of footsteps had ended and instead, two lines were smeared in the dust. The lines led to the back door, which appeared to open up into an overgrown garden.

  Bending down to look more closely, Callie saw a small piece of yellowed paper with torn-looking edges. She picked it up and saw some handwriting scribbled on it, just a few letters. The paper was a brittle as an autumn leaf. Out of habitual neatness, she shoved it in her pocket, thinking she’d dispose of it later.

  Callie decided it was time to see if Hugh had arrived with Olivia yet. Rising carefully from her crouching position, she exited through the back door, which opened up into a large backyard that sloped gently towards the water.

  The grass looked recently mowed and Callie guessed that the bank that currently owned the home had kept up the lawn, if not the rest of the landscaping. A strong smell of fresh spearmint wafted towards her, and she went in search of it, planning to surreptitiously pick some of the herb.

  The spearmint smell grew stronger as Callie approached a large grouping of overgrown perennials and prairie grass that stood up tall and bristly like a jar full of bushy paintbrushes. She bent down to grab a handful of spearmint and fell over onto her backside with an exclamation of horror.

  Lying in the center of prairie grass was Holly Tennyson, eyes wide open and lips blue in death.

  Three

  Her breath coming in terrified gasps, instinct took over and Callie scuttled away, crablike, until she was several feet away from the body. Quickly she righted herself and took some steadying breaths before approaching Holly Tennyson once more.

  Callie’s stared at the young teacher, her eyes blinking back tears of horror and sadness. She willed herself to remain calm. Gently, she bent down to examine Holly for any signs of life, careful not to touch any part of her. Unfortunately, she had been around enough crime scenes at this point to know the drill.

  Holly was definitely deceased. The teacher’s once-beautiful eyes were clouded and her face was grey as a stone. She was wearing a yellow cotton T-shirt dress and tennis shoes. There was no blood, but the Callie noticed that Holly had thin, deep red lines burrowed deeply into the skin at her bare neck. Had someone strangled her? If so, there was no weapon apparent anywhere near the poor woman. In the warm weather, Holly wasn’t wearing a scarf.

  Feeling sick, Callie backed away. Her fingers trembled as she first called Sands and got his voicemail. She stammered out a message, then called 911 and told them to hurry. As if from a great distance, the operator told her to stay on the line.

  Callie tried to form coherent responses while she stared, stricken, at Holly’s body from a safe distance away. Callie heard herself babbling answers to the basic questions the 911 operator was asking her, but despite the humid air, her entire body froze at the sound of a familiar voice. Olivia.

  “Mom!” Olivia sang. She sounded close, but not too close. Maybe Callie could catch her before she stumbled onto the crime scene.

  “No!” Callie started running, still holding onto the phone. She raced to the gate and burst into the front yard, ignoring the flurry of questions from the 911 operator.

  “Get back!” Callie yelled to a confused Olivia, who was standing on the circular drive, contentedly sipping from a plastic Tastee Freeze cup. Callie could hear the 911 operator’s voice asking her what was going on. “My daughter’s here. Just a minute,” she begged the operator, but didn’t wait for an answer. Callie gripped the phone and regarded her daughter gravely.

  “What is it, Mom? I’m here. Can’t we go home?”

  “No,” Callie repeated in a gentler tone. She ran to her daughter and crushed her in an embrace that sloshed some of Olivia’s milkshake onto her shoes.

  “You’re sure acting weird, Mom,” Olivia said, her face muffled against Callie’s chest. “I’ve only been gone two days.”r />
  “It’s not that, honey.” She held firmly to her young daughter’s hand. “Something’s happened.”

  Clicking off of a cell phone call, Hugh strode up to the two, a concerned look on his face.

  “Hey,” greeted her casually. “Is something wrong? What were you doing in the back yard?”

  Callie held up a hand and stared into Olivia’s face, her voice urgent. “Olivia, go get in Dad’s car and lock the door, OK?”

  “Why? It’s hot in there,” Olivia asked in almost a whine. He face was flushed and she looked hot and tired.

  “Just make sure the windows are open. I’ll explain in a minute.” She looked at Hugh. “Please tell her. It’s important.”

  He shrugged. “Olivia, do what your mother says. I’ll be right there.” Suddenly, the thin scream of a siren penetrated the air.

  Hugh didn’t seem to notice the sound, but Callie felt weak with relief.

  “What happened?” Hugh’s voice was sharp.

  “There’s a body in the garden. I got here early and found Olivia’s teacher, Holly Tennyson. She’s dead. In fact, it’s worse than that. It looks like she’s been murdered.” Callie hated the sob she heard in her voice and took a deep breath to steady herself. “I think she’s been strangled.”

  “What?” The single word was like a shot. “Let me go look.” He started towards the back yard.

  “Don’t go!” Callie shouted, more loudly than she had intended. She grabbed his arm to stop him and softened her tone. “Can you please stay with Olivia?” The sirens grew louder. “Help is on the way. Please, just stay with Olivia.” She realized she was repeating herself, but she was terrified. She dropped Hugh’s arm and hugged herself, suddenly freezing. What if the killer was still nearby?

  Hugh’s face was grim. He looked at her searchingly. “Are you sure it’s Holly?”

  “Yes. I’m positive. I don’t want Olivia anywhere near the murder scene.” She choked back tears. “Holly was her favorite teacher.”

  Hugh started to say something and thought the better of it. He walked quickly back towards his car as two police cars drove up the scene, followed by an ambulance. Callie craned her neck, but didn’t see Sands’ familiar black vehicle.

  In minutes, the place was a hive of activity. Callie signed off with the frustrated 911 operator and began filling the police in on what she’d found and the identity of the deceased. She led the EMTs who had arrived with the police to poor Holly’s body but couldn’t look while they examined her for signs of life. She knew that was a futile exercise.

  Two officers led her away from the body and continued their questions. Dutifully Callie told them about the many sets of footprints inside of the abandoned house.

  “What were you doing in the house if you’re not a resident?” asked one of the officers. He was tall and broad and his face revealed absolutely no trace of friendliness.

  “I admit it. I was nosy. My ex-husband had me meet him here to pick up our daughter because he works for a firm that is going to be renovating this home. I thought I’d see if I could look inside.” She went for the charm factor. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t normally get a chance to look inside one of these historic mansions.”

  “There are paid tours for that kind of thing, lady.”

  Callie hung her head. “I know I shouldn’t have gone inside. I’m sorry.” One of the officers started to write something down, but the other held up a hand in greeting to someone standing behind Callie.

  “I see there’s been another incident. Can somebody fill me in?” Sands’ sandpapery voice with its strong hint of British accent was suddenly the most welcome sound in the world. Callie turned to look at him and he gazed at her with an expression of concern and, if she were being honest, more than a little bit of irritation. Well, she couldn’t say she blamed him. She was irritated with herself. Why did she have a sudden knack for finding dead bodies?

  Callie shivered. The warm sun was giving way to dusk and with it, a slight chill. She wished she were in front of a fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate and a paxemathia, aka Greek biscotti. Most of all she wished that darling Holly Tennyson was still alive and well.

  “This woman found the deceased,” the tall officer was saying to Sands, who nodded once and gave Callie a sidelong glance.

  “I see. Mind if I question her a bit?”

  “Go right ahead. We’ve got other witnesses to talk to.” That would be Hugh and Olivia. Callie’s heart ached for her daughter.

  “Ian,” she said urgently, using his first name, something she rarely did. “The woman I found was Olivia’s teacher. I don’t think Livvie knows she’s dead yet. Is there any way they can avoid telling her right now?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sands said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Truly I am. But we’ve got to interview everyone. She’s a minor, so you or your ex-husband will be with her if anyone questions her.”

  Callie took a shuddery breath, but she knew he was right. If they were going to get to the bottom of this, then difficult questions would need to be asked.

  “What in the bloody hell were you doing at an abandoned house anyway?” Looking around to see if the other officers were watching, Sands grabbed her hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “You’re not catering a séance, are you? This place looks downright haunted.”

  Callie never had thought so before, but taking another look and considering what she had found there, she saw the house in a whole new light. “I was here to meet Hugh.” Sands raised an eyebrow at her unintended innuendo. “Don’t be silly,” she huffed. “Hugh asked me to meet him here for our scheduled drop-off of Olivia. I was doing him a favor.”

  “I see. Well, what was he doing here?”

  Callie felt something in her chest unkink as she gazed back at Sands’ hazel eyes and the warm glow in them. “He has a job here next week and said he was short on time. He told me his firm wanted him to do some pre-measurements or something like that.”

  “Had a job here next week,” Sands said firmly, stepping back for a better look at the impressive structure. “This house is officially a crime scene for the time being, at least until we get all the evidence we need. And even then, I don’t think a big renovation project will be happening here anytime soon. Any reason to think he had a beef with this teacher?”

  “No way,” Callie said. “I was the one who went to most of the meetings, if you want to know the truth. Until recently, Hugh didn’t live that close to Livvie’s school. I don’t think he knew her that well, if at all.”

  Sands nodded and took Callie’s hand in his. “I’m sorry about Olivia’s teacher. But now, I’d like you to make an official statement with one of my friends over there.” He jerked his head toward the two officers who were now speaking to a thoroughly freaked-out looking Hugh. “I’ve got work to do here.” He gestured at the crew who were coming in to take photos and examine the crime scene.

  Callie shivered at the prospect of reliving the discovery of Holly Tennyson. “Fine. But will you call me later?”

  “Of course I will. Just as soon as I’m free. It might not be for a while, though.”

  “I know.” Callie attempted a smile at Sands. “You know where to find me. I’ll be home with Olivia. I have a feeling she’s not going to react very well to this.”

  “Probably not,” Sands said softly, glancing towards Olivia. She was sitting in a police car, crying on her father’s shoulder. “She’s a strong young lady with a great mother. She’ll pull through.”

  “Thanks,” Callie said, clearing her throat. She was moved by his words but it didn’t make facing Olivia any easier.

  ***

  Olivia sobbed the entire way home in the car, and Callie could do nothing other than murmur soft words of sympathy to her distraught daughter. “I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating, feeling completely helpless. The officer on the scene had taken her statement but warned her they may need to question her again. Callie shook her head. Of course, they’d probably call her again.
But first things first: she had to take care of her bereaved 10-year-old.

  Suddenly, Olivia stopped sniffling and stared at her mother, red-eyed. “The thing I don’t get is: why? Why would this happen to Ms. Tennyson?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” Callie said. She’d be wondering the exact same thing.

  “Will you try to find out?” Olivia said.

  “Try to find out why this happened to Ms. Tennyson?” Callie repeated as she glanced sidelong at her daughter. Eyes on the road, she told herself. She’d had a minor car accident last winter, and it had sufficiently shaken her up. She didn’t want it to happen again, especially with Olivia in the car.

  “Yes. Mom! You can help. You knew her and your boyfriend is with the police. I know you can figure it out!” Olivia sounded near hysteria.

  “Olivia, you’ve got to calm down. I’ll do what I can. Now let’s just get on home.” She kept one hand on the steering wheel and patted her daughter’s knee with the other.

  “Fine,” Olivia mumbled. She leaned her tousled head back on the seat and stared out the window.

  Callie was so upset and so focused on maintaining steady driving, that the trip home went more quickly than she had thought it would. She and Olivia staggered into the house, where they were greeted by her Yorkie, Koukla, who ran around in circles and barked excitedly at them.

  She sniffed the air appreciatively. Someone was cooking: the smells of melting butter and feta cheese wafted out of the kitchen. Suddenly, Callie was starving.

  George sauntered out of the kitchen and into the entry way. “Calliope! Olivia!” His voice was hearty but his expression was solemn. He must know what happened. But how?

  “Hi Dad,” Callie said, suddenly engulfed, along with her daughter, into a large bear hug. “Whatever you’re making smells great.”

  “I heard what happened, and I came right over to make dinner for you.” George broke the embrace and clucked his tongue at his daughter and granddaughter. “Such a shame.”

  Olivia hung her head and choked back more tears. George got down on one knee so he could look her in the eye. “There, there, hrisi mou,” he said. Honey, what he often called Callie, fully grown adult that she was. “Pappou is here,” George was saying to his weeping granddaughter, “and you’ll be all right.”