A Deadly Slice of Lime: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 6 by Summer Prescott Page B

offered up the pie.
    He
looked at it without interest and then looked back at Marilyn. “He was at your
house. He followed you. I followed him. After you left, he tried to go to your
shop. I had to…have a discussion with him again,” he blinked in his owlish way.
    “He
tried to go to my shop last night? Why would he do that?” she asked, not
expecting an answer.
    “Why
isn’t important,” Tim muttered, staring at the pie.
    Marilyn
nodded, accustomed to her neighbor’s strange, stilted remarks. “Right. Why he
went doesn’t matter, it’s the fact that he went that’s significant,” she
agreed, thinking.
    “My
grandmother’s was better,” he murmured, still fixated on the pie.
    “I’m
sure it was, Tim,” she sighed, realizing that any helpful conversation was
over. “Do you want it anyway?” she asked.
    Saying
nothing, he reached out, took the pie, and disappeared inside, closing the
door.
    As
she crossed the grass and stepped onto her own driveway, Marilyn’s cell phone
rang and she saw Tiara’s photo on her screen.
    “Hey
sweetie,” she answered. “What’s up?”
    There
was a moment of hesitation, and Marilyn heard shouting and the crash of dishes
in the background. “Tiara!” she said, alarmed. “What’s going on?”
    “Mom…I
think you’d better get down to the store as soon as you can,” she said
hurriedly, and the connection was broken.
    When
Marilyn drove around the corner of the block on which her shop was located, she
saw two patrol cars and Bernard’s unmarked unit out front. Pulling in directly
behind them, she practically leaped from her car and ran for the front door.
She opened it and saw utter chaos in front of her – pies, cookies, tarts and
pastries were strewn, smashed and smeared from one end of the shop to the
other, tables and chairs had been overturned, and two of the largest display
cases had been shattered. A bleeding Melvin Bland stood on top of the front
counter, brandishing a plate-sized shard of glass, while officers stood
encircling him, with Bernard directly in front.
    “YOU!”
he screamed, pointing the glass at Marilyn when she came in. “You killed my
Auntie Liz!” he cried, his face twisted in a deranged parody of grief.
    Bernard
turned to face Marilyn, while still keeping a peripheral eye on the madman in
front of him.
    “I
did nothing of the sort,” she retorted, furious at the havoc that he’d wreaked
in her cozy little shop.
    “Yes,
you did!” Melvin stomped his foot on the counter for emphasis. “First she hurt
herself in your dumpy store and then you killed her instead of paying her the
money that she deserved, but you’re not going to get away with it,” he seethed,
shaking the glass at her. “I’m going to make sure that you pay every penny that
she should’ve gotten, you witch!” he screamed, red-faced, spittle flying from
his mouth.
    “You
need to leave and let us handle this,” Bernard counseled quietly.
    “Where
is Tiara?” Marilyn asked, worried for her daughter’s safety. “Are she and
Kelcie safe?”
    The
detective nodded. “Your daughter and assistant locked themselves in the office
and called us when he came in and started tearing things up. Please, if you’d
like to check on them, go in the back way, I have officers back there, but I
really need you to leave this area right now,” he insisted, glancing back and
forth between Marilyn and Melvin.
    Suddenly,
the front counter snapped with a resounding crack that sounded like lightning
striking a mighty oak, and the entire thing collapsed into a heap with Melvin
in the middle of it. The officers who had been standing behind the ranting man,
used the opportunity to seize him, making sure to grab his wrist, taking away
the effectiveness of the glass that he’d intended to use as a weapon. Marilyn
dashed around the melee, heading for the office to check on Tiara and Kelcie.
    “Girls?
It’s okay, the police have him in custody,” she called through the door, then
heard