Read Online Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) by Carol Culver - Free Book Online

that?” I asked. As if I didn’t know. The retirement home was a hotbed of gossip that spread faster than an outbreak of influenza.
    “Oh you know. Here and there,” she said vaguely.
    “Which reminds me,” I said, “I want to check out the knife seller. I’ve never seen his booth.”
    “Over there,” she said with a nod in the direction of the high school. “I passed by it earlier. His display is quite attractive and he’s not bad himself. Go ahead, we’ll watch the booth.”
    After that description I expected a guy who ran a booth called The Perfect Edge with a dazzling selection of knives, cleavers, spatulas, and other kitchen tools to look tough, with bulging muscles and maybe wearing camouflage. But this man looked like the grandfather I never had with a smiley face and a thatch of white hair. I didn’t blame Grannie for not providing me with a grandfather. She’d had two husbands, the latest after I’d left the nest. And she’d done a great job being mother, father, grandmother, and grandfather to me, all the while running a pie shop too.
    “What can I do for you my dear?” the man said with a smile on his round face.
    “I’m Hanna over at The Upper Crust. I’ve got one of your knives.” Or I did have one until Sam took it. And I’ve got an unmarried grandmother who needs a man in her life. “It’s perfect for slicing and serving my pies.”
    “Hello there, Hanna from The Upper Crust. It’s nice to hear something good about my kitchen knives. If only everyone was as positive as you are. But unfortunately …” He stopped and took a deep breath. When he picked up a long serrated bread knife with a smooth wooden handle I saw his hand shake.
    I waited, hoping to hear more. But maybe neither of us wanted to bring up the topic of murder.
    “As with all tools,” he said. “They can be used for good or bad. Which is what I told the police chief just a short time ago when he confiscated all my remaining stock of the model you mentioned.”
    I wanted to say, He didn’t accuse you of murder, did he? But maybe this kindly grandfather figure wouldn’t tell me if he did. Maybe he’d be shocked to hear what his knife-spatula had done yesterday. If Sam hadn’t told him.
    He reached up on the display board behind him where he had all kinds of knives and spatulas hanging in an artful display. Even Kate couldn’t have made a better arrangement. He grabbed a knife set and held it out. “I recommend this one. Made of rosewood,” he said, “hand crafted. Has to be rubbed with mineral oil to protect the wood and preserve the grain.”
    I ran my finger over the blade. This was a lovely knife, but not useful for any kind of tough job like cutting meat. Or cutting throats. “It’s beautiful,” I said. If only I and my colleagues had bought this ornamental wooden set instead of the deadly one, would Heath Barr be alive today? That was presuming one of them committed the murder and I didn’t really believe that, did I?
    I looked at the knives on his counter and focussed on another combination knife/spatula that I really liked. Charley, the knife seller followed my gaze.
    “That’s the Italian artisan knife, made by hand in Piedmont by old-world craftsmen. The rest of my knives are machine-made. They do the job but they’re strictly utilitarian. I’m the only one in California who sells this beauty. For those who want the best. That’s you, if I’m not mistaken,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Ah yes, this was the grandfather I’d always wanted. The kind who would have taught me to ride a bicycle and carved ABC blocks for me in his garage. He put the hand-made knife into my hand and I felt the smooth wood against my palm and the shape that fit my grasp as if it were made for me.
    “You’re not mistaken that I lean toward the most expensive whatever it is,” I admitted. “This is beautiful.” I glanced at a small discrete price sticker and gasped. “Maybe after I make my first million.