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

a lie. Well, what did he like?”
    “The herbs, the honey, the candy. He went ape over the salted caramels Nina Carswell makes. Or whatever her name is now. Listen to what he says, ‘… buttery flavor that lasts a long time on the tongue.’ ‘A harmonious blend of complex flavors.’ Did you like them?”
    “I thought they were very good, but over-priced. Maybe I don’t realize how much work goes into them and he does. Why didn’t you tell me Nina turned into a hottie and married that geek Marty what’s his name?”
    “I don’t know. You didn’t ask me, that’s why. She never was part of our crowd. The important thing is that you have to meet this guy in person. He’ll back down. He’ll issue a retraction. He’ll admit he was in a bad mood on Saturday.”
    “A bad mood? He loved those caramels.”
    “I know. I know. But there was so much he didn’t love. I mean if it was just you, but it wasn’t. He’ll realize he was wrong.”
    “You think so?”
    “I’m positive. Call him now while I’m here. Before you lose your nerve.”
    She was right. I couldn’t sit here whining while my career went into the toilet. Maybe the others weren’t worried. Maybe they didn’t read the newspapers. As for me, I had to take action.
    I pulled my phone from my pocket, pressed the speaker phone option so Kate could listen and called the number of the Gazette office located in the middle of the town square. Then I took a deep breath.
    I don’t know why, but I thought he wouldn’t answer his phone. I wouldn’t if I’d trashed a bunch of locals like us. I’d be hiding out. But he wasn’t. I got connected to a recorded message.
    “You have reached the office of Heath Barr, food and lifestyle critic. If I’m not in the office I’m out on assignment. Call me on my cell phone.”
    “On assignment?” I said with a glance at Kate. “I must have the wrong number. I must have reached the LA Times by mistake.”
    He left his cell phone number so I called it. He answered on the first ring.
    “Heath Barr, newspaper pundit,” he said.
    I almost gagged. Who calls themselves a pundit anyway? “This is Hanna Denton,” I said. “The Upper Crust pie baker. I just read your review.”
    “And what did you think?” he asked. As if he didn’t know. As if he expected me to thank him for his frank and unbiased opinions.
    “What do you think I thought?” I demanded pacing back and forth across the well-worn hardwood floors that had lasted for the past thirty years. I choked back a retort, bit my lip, and began again. “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry I wasn’t in the booth when you stopped by.”
    “Why is that?”
    “I could have told you something about my pies, my background, the history of the shop, and steered you toward one of the pies you might have enjoyed more.”
    “All that is irrelevant,” he said dismissively. “You obviously don’t understand how food critics work.”
    “How do they work ?” I asked. “And I use the term loosely.” I was sincerely curious. I assumed they donned a disguise, went out with an open mind, and tasted food all day. What a job.
    He sighed loudly. “I really don’t have time right now to explain my job to every disgruntled vendor who calls,” he said.
    So I wasn’t the only one who was disgruntled and who’d let him know. No big surprise there. “I’d like to invite you to come by my shop just off the town square. Taste some of my pies in a different atmosphere. Give me a second chance. When would you have time?”
    “I prefer to make a surprise visit. That’s what the famous restaurant critics do. Frank Bruni, Ruth Reichl. They even come in disguise. That way you don’t have time to chase the rats out of the kitchen or replace the stale cupcakes with fresh ones.”
    “It’s pie. I make pie. And for your information, you are not a famous restaurant critic. You write for a small-town newspaper with a circulation of a few hundred and you are