I S-PIE

A Pushing Daisies Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Eleven: In the Dead of the Night

Olive Snook had always been afraid of the dark. Though she was a sweet child, she was shy. Young Olive had a tendency to uneasily turn down reluctantly-offered invitations to sleepover parties (much to the delight of the host, who was usually a spoiled brat forced by their parents to extend the invitation because of the elder Snooks' "status). She excused away her collection of horsey nightlights with their great decorative qualities. She wore a pink wristwatch constantly so that she could know when to head home during one of many summer trail rides. She kept her room meticulously clean, despite the insistence of her maids that they could do it, so that she could be alerted to possible hiding spots for escaped convicts and the like.

No one was quite sure where all of this had originated, but Olive guessed that it might have had something to do with her parents' stash of money, ever-ready for an opportunistic robber to snatch. As she had grown older, her fear had not quite disappeared. It was helped, somewhat, by the presence of both Digby and Pigby, as well as the fact that she had nothing valuable to steal. But still, in a big city, when one is alone, one rarely feels safe.

*

Emerson got home late that night. His house was, as usual, dark and silent. He flipped a few lights on, rummaged through his fridge until he found a midnight snack (a leftover slice of rhubarb), then showered quickly and changed, somewhat wearied by the day's events and various discoveries. He was surprised, but pleased, to see Simone sprawled out on his bed, with Bubblegum curled up beside her. The dog whined softly and raised her head when she saw Emerson, and he scratched her affectionately behind the ears.

Simone stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "You're late," she mumbled groggily.

Emerson exhaled and crawled into bed beside her. "Sorry, baby. Got busy."

"You wish," Simone smirked.

"Now, that was weak," Emerson teased quietly. "You must be real tired."

Simone nodded mutely. Emerson grinned in spite of himself and tried to scoot closer to her. She allowed it, and even though Bubblegum was still between them, he managed to outstretch his arm far enough to capture her fingers in his own.

Choosing his words carefully, as he could see his still-new wife was about to fall asleep again, he said, "I been thinking. It might be nice for you to meet some of my friends."

Even as her eyelids began to drift closed again, Simone managed, "You have those?"

Emerson rolled his eyes and squeezed her hand. "And maybe my momma."

He could feel Simone tense.

"Maybe another time," she said.

"All right."

Bubblegum, who had already fallen asleep, whimpered and thrashed in her sleep. She landed Emerson a good kick in the gut.

"Oof," he grunted, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. "That dog of yours has some crazy-ass dreams."

But there was no response, as Simone had joined her dog in Dreamland. Emerson sighed and sat up far enough so that he could lean over Bubblegum and kiss Simone gently on the forehead.

"Good night."

And as he lay there, hearing the soft breaths of his wife and their dog, his house felt more like a home than it had for a long time.

*

Ned crept up the stairs to his and Chuck's shared apartment. His pocket button-less and his heart content, he was free of guilt and ready to go to sleep.

Everything was dark, and on his way to the bedroom, he tripped over something.

"Oh my God!" he yelled, immediately fearful that he had touched Chuck. But, thankfully, someone suddenly flicked the lights on, and that someone was Chuck.

"What happened?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was in a thin cotton nightgown, and as she stood over Ned, he began to feel rather hot.

"Um, I tripped," he said, stating the obvious. "…Digby's not in here, is he?"

Chuck shook her head. "I'd help you up if I could, you know."

"I do know," Ned sighed, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. "I wonder what that was."

"It's a puddle," Chuck said, puzzled, as they stared at it.

"That would explain it," Ned mumbled sheepishly, beginning to feel the wetness that seeped through his pants and the front of his sweater.

"So would this," Chuck agreed, peeling off a piece of paper. "'We'll talk tomorrow,'" she read.

"Ugh," Ned shivered. "Creepy. Not even an option. Just 'we will talk'."

"Oscar," Chuck said knowingly, shaking her head.

"Time for some emotional baking?" Ned offered.

Chuck agreed heartily.

*

The Pie Maker and Charlotte Charles had been preparing to enjoy the spoils of their late-night chat, in the form of a triple berry pie, when there was a knock on the door. Almost before it was all the way open, Detective Emerson Cod came storming in, with waitress Olive Snook close on his heels.

"I got up in the middle of the night and my bed was wet," Emerson said, scowling. "Simone claims it wasn't the dog, it wasn't her, and it sho as hell wasn't me."

"The same thing happened to me," Olive volunteered, raising her hand tentatively. She turned to Chuck and added in a whisper: "See! I told you my fears had a foundation!"

"You're lucky we were down here," Chuck said, licking her spoon slowly as she relished the opportunity to focus on something other than her newfound fears. "Otherwise, who would you be able to go complain to?"

"The point is," Emerson called, more loudly, "somebody been sneakity-sneakin' 'round. And I don't like it."

They moved to a booth, Charlotte bringing the pie, along with some plates and forks, with her.

"I don't like it either," Ned mumbled, sitting on the edge of the seat, as far away from the others as possible. "Something weird is going on, maybe even weirder than we thought."

"Why do you think we're suddenly being targeted?" Chuck asked.

"Well, it probably helps that Emerson's face is pasted on giant signs all over the city," Ned said wryly. "And he's part of a giant murder investigation."

Chuck frowned. "But not that many people know we're involved with him, other than a few people we've interviewed – most of whom are either crazy or in jail – or the people we've brought back from—"

"—from jail," Ned interrupted, over-cheerfully. "Ha, lucky them…"

"Oscar Verbinius might remember us. And there's always the coroner, though he don't say much," Emerson put in, not missing a beat as he shot a glare at Chuck. She had almost blown their cover.

"Oscar claimed he didn't do anything, but after tonight I'm not so sure…" Olive was muttering.

Ned tensed.

"Wait, how did you know that?"

"Oh, he came by earlier," Olive said with a false flippancy that she had to work hard to muster up.

"There have been some weird people stopping in recently," Chuck admitted quietly, almost unconsciously.

"Like who?" By now, Ned was out of his seat, having grown steadily more nervous.

"Oscar,…" Chuck trailed off lamely.

"This ain't right," Emerson muttered. "Look here. There's a pattern developing." He jabbed his finger at his notepad.

"A pattern!" Olive was thrilled by the prospect of anything cliché.

Emerson's finger trailed down along a list of employees at Bradley Milton, organized according to payroll. Those with the highest salaries were at the top.

"First was Darius Edwards. Then the Demetriuses. Then Vishmay I'm-not-even-going-to-try-to-pronounce-his-last-name."

"Oh my gosh," Chuck managed. "Quick, check who's at the bottom. They'd be our most likely suspect, right?"

"It would seem that way. But it's a janitor who doesn't speak English. Plus, I doubt anyone else has access to this," Emerson countered carefully. "Other than us."

"That could be it," Chuck mused. "They know we have the list."

"So does that mean that this 'pattern' is invalid?" Olive questioned, with considerable disappointment.

Emerson shrugged. "I think the evidence speaks for itself."

Ned, who had gone to the kitchen briefly to calm himself down and was now returning with fresh slices of pie and steaming mugs of coffee for all had overheard the conversation.

"Who's next on the list?"

"Her name is Rose Dacey."

"We'd better get to this girl before the killer gets to her."

At that moment in time, there was a thump, and suddenly a body was lying facedown on the pavement in front of the Pie Hole.

Emerson was the first to recover.

"…Or she gets to us."

*

"So, this is Rose Dacey," Emerson said, sounding unimpressed.

They had turned the girl over so they could get a good look at her face. She was rather homely, though Chuck thought she looked nice. (Chuck usually thought people looked nice.)

"If Rose was just a secretary, why was she so high up on the pay list?" she asked, prodding Emerson as they gazed at the body.

"She was Adrienne Edwards' cousin," Emerson said. "I guess Darius found a way to pad his relationship with the in-laws." He stooped to peer at the girl, adding, under his breath, "Smart man."

"I don't think this whole matter is really helping his case," Ned mumbled. "Though I guess they're both dead now, so it doesn't really matter."

"What is the point of this, anyway?" Olive asked, rubbing her arms to stay warm. She was, as usual, somewhat skimpily dressed, and it was doubtful that it was even twenty degrees outside.

"We're gathering evidence," Emerson snapped. "If you don't want to be part of it, that's fine by me."

"Hey, look." Chuck, too, was stooping now, pointing to round dots on Rose Dacey's white shirt. "She looks like a domino."

"Poor Rose," Ned said.

"We all fall down," Chuck agreed, frowning sympathetically.

"Dominoes… That's a game, right?" Ned asked, looking to Emerson.

"If it's a game, Bradley Milton manufactured it," Emerson droned. "Not a very good one, though."

"Dominoes? That's a stupid name," Olive muttered, cranky that she had to stand outside in the cold while her friends were doing things she couldn't know about.

"It probably means something," Chuck said.

"Yeah. Like worst game ever invented," Emerson sniggered.

"I used to love dominoes," Ned supplied. "It was a lot of fun to pile them all up, then knock them down like an evil tyrant crushing innocent citizens under his fist." He paused as he noticed Chuck, Olive, and Emerson all staring at him silently in shock. "I had issues as a child, okay?"

"Looks like you still do," Emerson grunted, just quietly enough so that no one else could here. "Let's get back to work, people."

"Olive, you can go home now," Chuck offered gently. She chose her remaining words carefully. "It's cold, and I… I don't think we need you right now. So, go back to sleep, if you want."

Olive, miffed, crossed her arms. "What if I don't want to go back to sleep?"

Chuck looked at Emerson for help. "Well, um…"

"I can make you go to sleep, if you're incapable of doing it by yourself," Emerson said with an odd cheerfulness at the thought of this.

"I think I can manage," Olive grumped, stomping away.

"Good night, Olive," Chuck called after her into the frosty night air.

"Hmph," was the only reply.

"All right, Pie Boy. It's midnight, there's a murder, and no one else is around." Emerson rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Do yo thing."

"I'm really not comfortable—" Ned began to say, but Emerson pushed him forward and his hand landed on the exposed area of Rose's chest.

"Oh! I'm so, so sorry," he managed, blushing furiously, as the girl came alive again. He pulled back slightly to avoid touching her again.

"So first you threaten to push me off a building, and then you get fresh with me," Rose accused in a Bronx accent. "The nerve!"

"Uh, excuse me," Emerson intervened, "you were pushed off a building."

"By someone else," Ned was quick to explain. "Not me."

"I'm not dead?"

"Well, actually…" Ned trailed off, grimacing. "Sorry."

"Miss Dacey, do you have any last wishes, or requests?"

"Hunt down the son of a bitch that did me in," Rose snarled, sitting up suddenly and smacking Ned in the forehead with her own forehead.

"You have got to be kidding me," Emerson moaned.

"Hey! It's your fault that you practically shoved me onto her," Ned defended himself.

"She was a lot less delicate and demure than I thought she would be," Chuck said. "I guess appearances really are deceiving."

"That girl was louder than a screaming baby," Emerson agreed.

"I'm surprised she didn't wake anybody up," Ned sighed.

"That's what we hope, anyway," Chuck reminded him, thinking of Olive guiltily.

"Tomorrow, we interview Adrienne Edwards again," Emerson said. "And the other secretaries, too. If their salaries really do have somethin' to do with this, there was probably a good deal of jealousy over her 'special raise'."

"If she thought it was me that pushed her off the roof, it might mean that our killer was a man," Ned added thoughtfully.

"I'll get a background check on more employees," Emerson promised. "But I got to get home. Simone's probably starting to worry."

Chuck nodded and looked up at Ned. "We should all get home."

*

Ned was cleaning up the Pie Hole's kitchen in the aftermath of their midnight-baking-spree-turned-murder-investigation when there was a creak on the floorboards. He armed himself with a rolling pin and tiptoed out into the main dining area. His shoulders sagged in relief when he realized it was just Chuck, barefoot and in her thin nightgown.

"I don't like this. I don't like this one bit," Chuck was mumbling to herself, pacing the floor of the Pie Hole. Ned looked on in concern.

"I don't like it either," he said, "but what are we going to do about it?"

"Maybe you could take me for a vacation. After all, you should probably give me an engagement gift."

"What about the ring?" Ned choked. He hadn't known Chuck could be so high-maintenance. "Do you know how much that cost me?"

Chuck rolled her eyes, grinning.

"No, and I don't want to. I was only teasing you."

Satisfied, Ned returned to the kitchen. Now that he was fully awake, he might as well get started on tomorrow's baking.

"Ned?"

The Pie Maker looked up from the pie crust he was rolling out to see Chuck standing at the counter, drawing a heart in the flour with her finger.

"Let's go somewhere."

"Anywhere for you, fair maiden," Ned replied gallantly, grinning. The Pie Maker was quite used to Chuck's spontaneous desires now. He wiped his hands on his apron. A drive through the country or a walk in the park might be nice. "Name the place, and we shall be off at once."

"The Caribbean. On a cruise."

Ned blanched.

"A cruise?"

Chuck rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Ned, don't look at me like that. I know there are some bad memories and all, but I never really got to get the full experience," she wheedled. "That was Tahiti; this is the Caribbean." She paused, thoughtfully. "Besides, wouldn't it be nice to get away from all this?"

That, he had to agree to. He nodded, almost unconsciously.

"It won't be so bad. I promise no one will murder me this time. After all, I have you to protect me," she cooed.

"Oh, stop flattering me," Ned mumbled, waving her away. "I already agreed."

"I can't help it," Chuck insisted. Stepping closer to him, she nuzzled against his chest, planting kisses on it, and moving her hands into the pocket of his apron. She felt him stiffen slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"Just… be careful," he managed, relenting.

"You're too good to me," she whispered between kisses. "God, I love you."

Ned groaned in response, half out of regret that he had been talked into another one of Chuck's schemes, and half out of pleasure.

"You… aren't wearing… gloves," he panted, almost as an afterthought. Just what was she planning on doing?

"Why don't you just… relax," Chuck replied seductively, her hands fisting within the apron.

For another moment, they stood like that, until she felt his tension gradually ebb away. She smiled up at him before pulling back, leaving him breathless and wanting.

"We leave tomorrow morning," she quipped, twirling and dancing out the back door.

The bell jingled, and Ned sucked in air. She was good.

*

No one is sure what makes the night so frightening, though they try to determine it – as if it would really make any difference. But for everyone, there is a fear that lingers in them, and it can emerge at unexpected times, in unexpected ways. For most people, darkness is the least of their worries.

Everyone is scared of something. For Olive Snook, it was waking up in the darkness and seeing that, despite everything, she was still alone. For Emerson Cod, it was that he was responsible for something else now, and he wasn't quite sure how to protect them. For the girl that the Pie Maker called Chuck, it was nightmares about being killed for a second time. And for the Pie Maker, it was nightmares that he would unintentionally be that killer.

But nightmares are not real. The most frightening thing of all was that there really was a killer out there. And no one had any idea how much of an effect this killer would really have on all of their lives.