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

this idea, but maybe I’d have to.
    “Call the other vendors,” she insisted. “The ones in the same boat as you. Invite them here for a strategy planning meeting. Get rid of that guy. At least make him irrelevant.”
    “But how?”
    That was the question everyone wanted to know the answer to when I called the meeting to order the next Friday night in my shop. How to get rid of the food critic. But no one, even those who’d met him face to face, really knew exactly who he was and how he landed where he was at the Gazette .
    If Heath had visited my shop during the week his disguise was so good it got past me, and I was on the lookout every day. Was he actually the little old lady who came in for a cup of coffee and bought an apple pie? Or was he the delivery man in coveralls who took home a slice of pecan pie? If he was, I’d been totally punked.
    That Friday all the vendors in question were bravely gearing up for another banner sales day at the Food Fair the next day. But they all took time to meet at my shop. We were all worried about attendance the next day. Would customers boycott our booths after reading the damning reviews? Or would they come by because they were curious? Or was our little newspaper so obscure they were totally unaware of what our hyper-critical hometown reporter said about us.
    Looking around the crowded shop I was pleased to see they’d all appeared. Everyone I’d contacted, everyone Heath had criticized in his article had all made the effort to drive in from their farms, their stores, their vans, or their kitchens to plot a strategy or just vent their frustration and anger. There was Lurline, the cupcake seller, and Lindsey and Tammy, Jacques the flirtatious cheese maker, and the brothers from the sausage booth as well as Martha the chicken lady. I hadn’t contacted anyone who’d gotten a favorable review like Nina or the Italian who made the wood-fired pizza or the beekeeper who made the honey. And definitely not the doughnut people. They certainly didn’t need support. They’d be laughing all the way to the bank. Everyone else had escaped the wrath of Mr. Barr and who knows why? Kate had also sampled their goods except for the doughnuts. She said everything was tasty, but no better than ours.
    At first there was chaos in my little pie shop. Everyone talking at once. Everyone blowing off steam. Kate had helped me set up enough chairs and tables, then she stayed around to help serve pie, what else? And coffee.
    Then I called the meeting to order. I’ve never been much of a joiner, never wanted to belong to any clubs or organizations with long, boring meetings, but this was different. With an adversary like Heath who had a mouthpiece like the local paper, we needed each other if we wanted to fight back.
    “We’re here to do just a few things,” I said when everyone had been served a piece of seasonal three-berry pie and coffee. “First vent frustration here where we all understand each other’s angst. Second, exchange ideas; and finally, plot strategy.”
    The first part was easy. After a few minutes of angry epithets and name calling, like “know nothing” and “big phony” and “Pathetic excuse for a food critic” the crowd settled down. But moving on to the second and third items was tricky. Some like Tammy wanted to do nothing for fear of alienating our food critic more.
    “Nothing? After what he did to us?” said Lurline who was wear ing matching hot pink shorts and a hoodie. “I say we boycott the newspaper.”
    I had to refrain from objecting to any boycott of the newspaper if they were going to promote my pie contest, so I kept my mouth shut.
    “That’ll show ’em,” the long tall sausage brother agreed. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll give the guy a tour of our facilities. That goes for everyone in the room by the way. Please come on out to the farm for a tour. We’ve got nothing to hide. We’re proud of our pork products. It’s not just sausage. We’ve