CHAPTER ELEVEN
We were on the road back to Star Junction twenty minutes later. The tow truck driver had efficiently pulled Finn's truck out of the ditch, and I'd signed the papers while stamping my feet against the cold wind rushing across the barren farmland.
The front bumper of Finn's truck was dented, but it was drivable, for which I was grateful. The thought of being squished between the driver and Finn in the small cab of the tow truck had been less than appealing.
"Now I'm the one who has a question," Finn said as the headlights washed over a stand of trees between farm fields.
I was expecting something about the murder investigation, so I was surprised when he said, "What should I expect tonight? You may find this hard to believe, but I've never been to a pie social before."
I wasn't surprised, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to give him a hard time. "What? The police detective from the big city has never been to a good, old-fashioned pie social?" I teased.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. "I'm afraid not."
"It's pretty simple," I said. "The ladies bring in pies, and the guys bid on them. You spend the rest of the evening sharing a piece of the pie you won with the person who made it."
Finn took the last turn into town. "So, it's like a dating service," he said.
"Don't let Mrs. Johnson hear you call it that," I said, laughing. "She'll deny it, but you're not far off. I usually end up eating a slice of pie with someone like Uncle Stan. You know, someone who's known me all my life. Or Chris." My mind, now tied to the cell holding Chris, reminded me of all the reasons I had to be upset with Finn. If I didn't think about Chris, who would?
Words to pick a fight with Finn formed sentences in my mind, but somehow I couldn't force the hurtful phrases out. A mutual silence filled the space, but instead of stewing over the way Finn was handling the investigation, I found myself regretting bringing Chris up in the first place.
The church parking lot was now full. Light poured onto the snow from the windows of the fellowship hall. Finn parked and cut the engine. "Any advice for a first timer?" he asked.
I opened the car door, a gust of wind cutting through my coat. "You don't have to bid on a pie. No one has any expectations," I reassured him.
Finn hopped out of the truck, and I met him around the front of the vehicle. We picked our way across the parking lot. Salt lay scattered across the ruts of now melting ice. Seriously? We went to all this trouble to get salt, and someone else just showed up with it?
"I came to Star Junction to build a life. I want to participate in all of it," Finn said. His interest in the town and our traditions, even the outdated ones, was sweet.
"Stick with me," I said. "I'll coach you through it."
We made it to the sidewalk and started toward the door together.
Finn paused, and I stopped, looking back at him. He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us. "Would it be okay if—" he started.
"There you both are," Margie exclaimed. She bustled toward us, her breath puffing out as tiny clouds in the cold, night air. "I was getting worried you'd miss it. I'm so glad you're both okay." She linked arms with us, putting herself in the middle, and started toward the door.
Laughter and music called us to join the party inside. Margie chattered on about how they'd called everyone in town, trying to find salt for the parking lot. I looked over Margie's head to see Finn smiling down at me, but his gaze was wistful. I tried to reassure him with my own smile. What had he been about to ask me?
Before I could wonder any longer, Margie rushed us into the bright lights and steamy warmth of a very full fellowship hall. I took in the crowd of people milling about, laughing, plates of food balanced in their hands. "It's packed," I said.
Margie beamed at the crowded room. "Biggest group we've ever had. We're going to raise so much money for the library. Don't you worry, honey. I got your pie where it was supposed to be," she said.
I patted Margie's hand, still tucked around my arm, and said, "Thanks, Margie."
"Anytime, darling. Now I better go make sure they got the microphone working. You know Donna and technology," Margie said as she rolled her eyes good-naturedly and rushed off toward the front of the room.
I turned to Finn to comment on Margie's never-ending enthusiasm and energy, but he was a few feet away, talking to Mrs. Horne, the school nurse from when I was in elementary school. She wore one of her hand-embroidered cardigans, this sporting a brown squirrel on each square pocket. Her snowy white hair was perfectly styled in curls that I knew she had reset once a week by Lucille at the Clip and Curl.
Mrs. Horne looked up at Finn admiringly, clutching his arm as she prattled on about something. Finn caught me watching him and shot me a grin before turning his attention back to Mrs. Horne.
My stomach flipped at his smile and then growled with hunger. At least it had its priorities straight. I tried to spot the food table past the crowds of people standing around chatting. There was no telling how long Finn would be sidelined by Mrs. Horne, and I needed food now. I located the buffet table set against the far wall. I'd find Finn later.
I grabbed a paper plate and piled on pasta salad, a ham sandwich, and fruit salad, forgoing the Jell-O "salad" containing a mix of fruit and vegetables in a lime green gelatin. I was as Midwest as the next girl, but I couldn't get behind "salads" inside Jell-O.
I found a smaller table a few yards away covered with standard potluck drinks—lemonade, coffee, iced tea, and water. I filled a cup with water and scanned the room for somewhere to sit.
"Gwen," Penny said as she waved and rushed toward me, pulling her husband, Jack, behind her. "You made it. I heard about the accident. Are you okay?" Penny asked as she scanned my body much like Finn had right after the accident.
"I'm fine," I said. "Nothing food won't help. I can't believe how crowded it is." I turned to Penny's husband. "Hey, Jack, how's it going?"
Jack was as warm and cozy as Penny was sleek and stylish. He matched Penny in height but was wide with muscles useful in fighting fires. Instead of looking intimidating, he looked like a giant teddy bear with his tawny brown hair and bushy beard to match.
On the surface, they seemed like a strange match, but Jack was good for Penny, grounding her, while Penny added the excitement his life needed outside of the fire station.
"Hey, Gwen," Jack said as he frowned. "Sorry about having to find Justin like that. And Chris getting arrested."
My heart sank once again and I sighed. "Thanks. It's been a rough week," I said.
Penny glanced around furtively, leaned in, and said, "I've been asking around, and I think I have some information that might be helpful. I found out—"
"No way," I interrupted her. "You should not be asking around about Justin. It's not safe."
Penny folded her arms across her chest and knitted her eyebrows together. "Why do you get to go around asking questions, and I can't?" she asked pointedly.
"It's not the same," I argued.
"How?" Penny challenged.
Oh boy. I didn't want to get into another fight about why I shouldn't be getting involved in this investigation. "Can we find somewhere to sit?" I asked, changing the subject. "I'm starving, and this plate is getting heavy."
Penny huffed out a sigh. "Fine, but then I'm telling you what I found out. I already know the information, so it's not going to hurt anyone for me to share it with you," she said.
I relented. "Deal. Do you see any open seats?" I asked.
The three of us scanned the edges of the room for an open table. Jack spotted one near the restrooms, and we weaved our way through the crowd, stopping to say hi to what felt like a million people on the way. By the time we sat down, I couldn't stand the hunger pangs any longer. I picked up the ham sandwich and took a bite, a slice of ham sliding out of the bun and slapping against my chin.
"Is this seat taken?" Finn asked, startling me, as I hadn't seen him walk up behind me. His gaze snagged on the ham falling out of my mouth and danced with amusement.
Heat flared across my cheeks, spreading to my chest as I shoved the stray piece of ham into my mouth, shaking my head like an idiot in answer to his question. He sat down and turned his attention to Penny and Jack. He stretched out his hand toward Jack and said, "I don't think we've met. I'm Finn Butler."
Jack shook his hand. "Jack Taylor. Nice to meet you. This is my wife, Penny."
Penny reached out her hand but wiggled her eyebrows at me. I shot her a desperate look that said please, not tonight. In a rare act of restraint, Penny rearranged her face into a sweet smile and said, "It's very nice to meet you, Detective Butler. Welcome to Star Junction."
At least she hadn't called him Detective Hottie.
"Please, call me Finn," he replied.
The sound system let out a shriek followed by Donna, who was wearing all green tonight, from the headband holding her salt and pepper hair out of her face to her green orthopedic shoes and everything in between, shouting, "Is this thing on?"
A chorus of "yeah, it's on" rang out around the room. Donna welcomed everyone to the fifteenth annual pie social and explained the rules.
Finn leaned over and whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my neck. "What's a typical starting bid?" he asked.
I turned, finding myself inches from his face. A butterfly danced through my stomach as my gaze met his. "Usually five dollars," I said, suddenly feeling breathless.
"Thanks," he said as he leaned back in his seat. He left his hand resting on the back of my chair. It wasn't around my shoulder, and it wasn't exactly touching me, but I could feel the tip of his thumb resting gently against the thin fabric of my blouse.
I kept my gaze focused on Donna, who was giving instructions for the auction, but my attention was fixed on the weight of Finn's touch. I was tempted to look around and see if the gossip machine had taken notice of Finn's hand placement, but I was nervous that moving would send a signal that I didn't want his hand there. I remained still, pretending as if my whole body wasn't centered on this simple, innocent touch.
The first pie up for bid belonged to Penny, and she jumped up and headed to the front of the room. She picked up her strawberry rhubarb pie and shook her finger at the room as she said, "I'm expecting to eat a slice of this delicious pie with my husband tonight, so let's raise some money for the library, but let's not get carried away."
The crowd laughed, and someone shouted, "But I want to eat pie with you, Mrs. Taylor."
Penny's bubbling laugh floated through the room. "It won't help your grade in Advanced Literature, Robbie."
I'd complained to Penny about having to come tonight, but the truth was, I loved the feeling of community at events like the pie social. The bidding got hot and heavy, but it was all in good fun. A few minutes later, Jack had secured the winning bid for his wife's pie at twenty dollars, and she skipped back to the table, planting a kiss on his lips before sitting down.
Donna looked over her clipboard and called out, "The next pie was made by Guinevere Stevens."
Finn and I looked at one another. I wiggled my eyebrows playfully, which prompted a chuckle from Finn.
"Go get 'em, Tiger," he said, patting me on the back.
I could feel the goofy grin on my face as I made my way to the front of the room.
Donna continued, "Gwen has brought a Lemon Blueberry Swirl Cheesecake." She looked at me in surprise. "How delightful, dear. Did you make this yourself?" Everyone in Star Junction over the age of sixty called me dear, honey, or sweetie. Donna was no exception. She frowned. "Although not technically a pie." Donna was nothing if not a stickler for the rules.
I smiled as I leaned into the microphone. "This delicious cheesecake," I said, emphasizing the offending word, "is completely homemade." I held up a finger as I made my next point. "Although not technically a pie, I did make it in a pie pan, and it has all the hallmarks of a great pie—a buttery crust, a delectable filling, and lots of sugar."
"That's what I'm talking about," someone yelled from the back, prompting a smattering of chuckles around the room.
"There's that debate team experience shining through," Mr. Locke said from one of the tables near the front. As the coach of the debate team both currently and when I was in high school, Mr. Locke considered himself something of a Robin William's type character from Dead Poet's Society, even down to the tweed blazer with suede elbow patches.
I gave Mr. Locke a quick smile before returning my attention to Donna. Was she going to let my cheesecake slide?
Donna seemed to consider my words before looking over the crowd and saying, "Who'll start the bidding to get this delicious cheesecake and some nice company from our very own Guinevere?"
I'd won my argument.
Finn's strong voice from the back shouted, "Ten dollars!"
"Oh! What an opening bid!" Donna exclaimed, clearly delighted and no longer worried whether or not my non-pie had broken the pie social in some way.
Finn grinned confidently. My cheeks grew warm, and I ducked my head, trying to hide whatever emotions were flashing across my face. I was increasingly confused by my ever-changing feelings around him.
"Twelve!" another voice called out from the other side of the room.
I turned toward the voice to see Mitch standing with his hand raised. He'd traded his normal uniform of faded wranglers for a darker, cleaner-looking pair of jeans, but still sported the beat-up Texaco baseball cap. Mitch, Justin, Chris—we all grew up together, but Mitch and I were never particularly close. I gave him a small smile despite my confusion. Maybe he really liked cheesecake.
"Fifteen!" Finn leaned forward in his chair, looking expectantly at Donna.
"Sixteen," came another shout from the back.
I turned to see Derek watching me eagerly, his arms crossed over his chest, putting his biceps on full display once again. Oh no! That was not happening. Derek wouldn't care that I'd turned down his offer of a date at the gym yesterday. He was evidence number one of why my crush on Chris felt safer than dating in Star Junction.
I was starting to seriously rethink the appropriateness of the pie social. It was all in good fun until Derek Thompson with his smarmy smile bid on your pie and you were faced with the possibility of having to be trapped in a pseudo-date with him.
Finn knew nothing about my ongoing issues with Derek. Neither did Mitch. I turned to Finn anyway, my look pleading.
Finn sat up a little straighter and called out, "Seventeen!"
"Twenty!" Derek shouted.
"Fifty dollars!" a voice called out from near the doors to the parking lot.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
I knew that voice.
I turned to the back of the room along with everyone else.
There, in the doorway of the fellowship hall, stood Chris Crawford.