Cherry Pie, 4 Women, and a Dead Man

Warning: Mentions of abuse, suicide, and violence

“We can’t question them tonight, Frank. Don’t you think they’ve been through enough?” I could still see the crimson red dripping off the table pooling onto the hardwood floor. 

“The governor of this town is dead. It has already been leaked to the public. The people are going to have questions, and it’s our job to have answers. As soon as possible I would like to add.” I could still hear the sharp crinkling of the body bag as his ghostly pale face was zipped up into a dark oblivion. 

“Right as always Frank. Let's just get this over with then.”

My legs finally found their courage and I marched into the living room. Ready to confront the four suspects. All the dangerous women that surrounded the man in charge. 

An aristocratic lady on a lounge sofa dabbing her mascara stained cheeks with a dainty tissue, I assumed to be his wife. The London socialite Pearl Mayton. She was being comforted by a girl with a brilliant shine in her eyes, despite her hysterical sobbing. Who could have only been his free spirited artist of a younger sister, Dahlia Roberts. Across the room sat Marissa Chanelli with raven black hair cropped at her shoulders. Her legs violently vibrated against the cushion of her seat as she clutched her chest in pure shock. Then in the back corner stood his bold, brazen communications director who at first glance seemed detached from grief. But after a closer inspection I could see her glossed over eyes and quivering upper lip, as if she was trying to professionally hold it all in. One of them was quite the actress. 

The suspects were interviewed individually, in the hopes that we could catch the killer and drown them in their own lies. But there were more skeletons in the closet than murder. 

“When did the affair begin exactly, Mrs. Chanelli?”

“Well, he and I have always been best friends. We went from throwing eggs at snobby neighbors to going to class high in college. I never considered anything more. And well it took his engagement to another woman for me to realize that I loved the man.”

“And then what?”

She sighed, unafraid of holding back, “I told him the truth. I just couldn’t stand a life watching him hold another woman. It was too late though. I knew it was too late for us. But I just couldn’t say no when he realized I was what he wanted, which was just about a year ago.” 

“Is Mrs. Mayton aware of this?”

“Very much so. She’s always been jealous of that magnetic pull we have to each other from across a room. No one could ever be that blind. She’s never once mentioned it though. It’s not her style.”

“And what exactly is her style?”

Marissa huffed out a bitter laugh, “Vengeance with class.”

Frank and I waited patiently for Dahlia to take her “Moment of Clarity” which involved her whispering incomprehensible speech into an ivy crystal that looped around her wrist. 

Finally Dahlia exhaled a sigh, “Sorry, it helps me find my sanity in these difficult times.”

With as much reassurance I could muster, “No worries. Now, please be honest, did you like your brother?”

“Absolutely not. He used to try and yank all my hair out. But who likes their siblings?”

I casually smiled and in one swift move I leaned over the table and pulled aside the crystal bracelet, revealing a swollen bruise. 

“And where did this come from?”

“Oh that was from this painting I made. Five hours of non-stop strokes can really damage your hand.”

Frank managed to chime in, “We all know that isn't true. This will be faster if you just tell us the truth.”

“If I must. Paul could be aggressive at times, and my pure existence angered him. So when no one else was around he took out all his pressure on me. He said that if I ever told anyone that he would-”

“He would do what?”

Dahlia looked up to fiercely hold my gaze, “Kill me.”

No one knew much about his work partner, Alexandra Kurt, which made me even more anxious to crack her open like a walnut. But to no avail. 

“We worked quite well together,” she simply stated. 

“Why did you come to his house tonight?”

“He invited me. I beg your pardon but is this really necessary? My co-worker just died.”

We couldn’t press her any further. Which could only mean moving on to the interrogation that I had been dreading. Pearl strode in opulent and collected, ready for a true battle of wits.

“Before you begin, no. I didn’t murder my husband. None of us did,” she smugly took her seat.

Frank irritatedly attacked, “Then how come he’s lifeless sitting in a body bag?”

“It was a suicide of course. Paul was a deeply distraught man. I tried to help him the best I could, but he truly was unsavable,” she smoothly replied.

Frank couldn’t help but fixate on her prideful resistance, and I couldn’t help but watch her sheer prowess over him. So reluctantly I observed the lion circling the gazelle for about twenty minutes, until she took the leap to make her kill. 

Pearl finally posed the question, “And what exactly makes you so confident that this was a murder?”

“That’s confidential information Mrs. Mayton. I’m afraid we’re done here.” 

But it wasn’t confidential, Pearl had truly stumped him. With the grace and elegance of a swan she floated away, only turning around to wink at me. 

I turned to face my dejected partner, “She’s not wrong Frank. We detectives always expect a twisted thriller, and sometimes we try to make it into one. Let’s just look at what we know, and get the right person.”

His dejection was immediately silenced by the rush of anticipation that came with the idea of quickly solving the case. I took the files in hand and we went over to privately discuss the death of Paul Roberts, for the final time. 

Confirming how he died turned out to be a simple task. The doctors established that he had been poisoned with what appeared to be cyanide. I pointed out that cherry pits could have easily been crushed up into his food, and Frank was able to connect this to Pearl’s cherry pie that Paul had mysteriously died in the middle of eating. His face forever stained with its ripe blood.

The tricky part then became determining who managed to discreetly sprinkle the cyanide into Paul’s favorite pie. Pearl was the most obvious suspect considering she knew about his affair, and was the one who made the pie and had stuck it in the refrigerator. But any one of them could have slyly poisoned the pie, since they all took turns cooking in the kitchen together. That was until Marissa burst in, tears sliding down her cheeks, as she handed me a crumpled letter.

She fought through the choked sobs to say, “I just found it. He must’ve tucked it into my pocket before dinner.”

Without another word she rushed out, and after reading it was clear why. Paul had given her his suicide note. Proof that all the women were innocent, and the only person to blame was the governor himself. 

Frank reported this to the police still in the house and left to go do whatever lowly activities he had so eagerly wanted to rush through the case for, while I ensured that everything was thoroughly taken care of. I stayed until it was just me, Pearl, Dahlia, and Marissa left next to the crumbs of pie on the dining table. That was when we all embraced and exhaled in total relief. The plan had worked.

I had met Pearl and Dahlia a couple weeks before when they had come to the police station seeking urgent assistance. Pearl had just uncovered her husband’s abusive tendencies towards his younger sister, and had come to report him. The whole station had laughed it off as a lie. Because how could the governor, a man of such high stature, cause any harm?

I of course heard them out on the side, because while most detectives fought for the law I fought for justice. We agreed that Paul Roberts was a potential threat, the only problem was that I wouldn’t be able to watch him at all times. We searched for other answers but deep down we knew that the only option would be to eliminate him.

Marissa quickly caught on to the secretive meetings and Pearl decided to fill her in on our dark goal, as well as all the other women Paul was sleeping with. After accepting the heartbreak of her life Marissa had nothing but a need for revenge. 

Pearl dropped the toxic white powder into her mesmerizing dessert as it chilled. Marissa forged the suicide note. Dahlia distracted everybody as she did so. I got all the other detectives off work at the exact time of the murder, except for Frank. Frank was a man who wanted nothing more than to leave his job early everyday, and was prone to glossing over the important details of a case. The suspects also made sure to feed him mysteries and scandals that distracted him from the truth. Frank almost made it too easy to pass off the killing of such a highprofile figure as a suicide. But getting away with murder is unchallenging when you are always underestimated. So while it may seem immoral and horrific, us women enjoyed our little slice of revenge.