Never Say Pie (A Pie Shop Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

watching the Food Channel. Another exciting Saturday night in the life of a small-town pie baker.

Two
     
    Monday morning I was back in my shop, baking and selling pies like one I’d invented in advance for the holidays called Sweet Potato Crunch Pie, made with cream cheese and spices with a walnut topping. I was waiting for the latest issue of the biweekly Crystal Cove Gazette to hit the newsstands. It’s always a boost to read something nice about yourself. A good review, even from a rinky-dink, small-town newspaper would bring in new customers. I thought I’d probably have it enlarged and post it in the window the way I’d seen in upscale restaurants.
    About a half hour later Kate burst into the shop waving the Gazette in her hand. She threw it down on one of my small café tables and dropped into the chair like a fifty-pound sack of sugar.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked. Kate is never not upbeat, so I felt a chill and a premonition of something bad to come.
    She held the paper up and stared at me. “Read it,” she said. “You’ll see what’s wrong. The guy is an idiot. They’ve got to get rid of him.”
    I snatched the paper out of her hands and sat down across the table. There on the front page was the headline. “Crystal Cove’s Food Fair Opens to Huge Crowds and Rave Reviews—With a Few Disappointing Exceptions. By Heath Barr, Food and Lifestyle Critic.”
    “Don’t tell me, am I one of the exceptions?”
    She propped her chin on her palm and nodded sadly.
    “He can’t be serious,” I said, scanning the article as fast as I could, looking for a mention of my pies.
    “I’m afraid he is,” she said.
    “Tell me now, is it really bad?”
    “I’m afraid it is,” she said.
    “Here it is.” I stretched the paper out so tightly it ripped in half. “Crust pale and insipid … The Chocolate Pie dull and listless … Lemon Meringue too sour, Butterscotch cloying. New owner Hanna Denton nowhere to be seen. Afraid to stand behind her pies? I don’t blame her.” My voice shook, my fingers were numb and stiff.
    “Of all the nerve. How could he?” I demanded.
    Kate jumped up and folded her arms across her waist. “It’s not just you. He trashes other vendors too. He thinks it’s his job. He thinks he’s the next Ruth Reichl or Anthony Bourdain.” She grabbed the paper back. “Look what he says about your sausage man’s products—‘Texture too coarse, taste too obvious and ordinary.’ And the cheese you liked so much? He says it’s over-priced and not as good as Vermont cheese. Why doesn’t he go back to Vermont then?” She sat down and pounded my little table with her fist. “You can’t let him get away with this.”
    “What can I do? I won’t get asked back to the fair. I’ll be blacklisted along with the cheese guy and the sausage men …”
    “And Lurline and a few others,” she added. “Call this critic up and tell him he didn’t give you a fair chance. Ask him what his favorite pie is. Invite him here. And if that doesn’t work, take out an ad in next week’s Gazette with testimonials from real people. ‘Hanna’s pies are the world’s best!’ Or ‘Buttery crusts and tasty fillings. You’ll love The Upper Crust.’ You’ll have no trouble getting endorsements from your fans.”
    I hardly heard what she said, my mind was spinning with the repercussions of this critical review. I propped my elbows on the table and stared off into space. “This is terrible. Everybody reads the Gazette . My career is over.”
    “Not yet. Not while I’m alive. You’re upset. You’re overreacting,” she said.
    “Look what he says about Lindsey and Tammy’s bread. ‘Dry, tasteless, and stale.’” I jabbed my finger at the paper. “I don’t get it, their bread was wonderful and you know I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. I don’t owe them anything.”
    “Did you read what he said about those rotisserie chickens? ‘Overcooked and over-priced’.”
    “No. That’s such