Breach of Crust: A Charmed Pie Shoppe Mystery (19 page)

She headed for Hugh.

Opal Gaynor’s memorial service was attended by hundreds of Havenwood citizens. All of the LeFayes were there, as was Loralyn Gaynor. Verena had exerted her formidable influence on her husband and he’d come through for her again. He’d pulled a dozen strings to ensure that Loralyn had the chance to say farewell to her mother.

Ella Mae expected the townsfolk to treat Loralyn with suspicion or disdain. She was a convicted criminal, and the restoration of Lake Havenwood Resort would take months to complete. However, the editor of the town paper had clearly been swayed into believing Loralyn’s claims that she’d been Meg’s unwitting pawn. Following a series of articles—written by the editor himself—in which Loralyn exposed the darker side of the Camellia Club by revealing how the teenage girls were pressured into having plastic surgery and how the mothers kept an updated list of the
region’s most eligible bachelors, Loralyn had become a tragic heroine. She was the woman who’d been forced into committing terrible crimes in order to save her mother—a woman caught up in the greatest women’s club scandal in American history. Unlike Ella Mae, the general public didn’t know that Loralyn had set fire to the resort and had tried to shoot Ella Mae with a shotgun.

Bombarded by print and television reports of Loralyn’s story, most people sympathized with her plight. The governor received thousands of letters from across the state protesting her incarceration. And thanks to a social media campaign run by the staff of her nail salon, her celebrity status continued to grow. She’d become so popular that the Havenwood Police had had to hire extra security for Opal’s service. When Loralyn alighted from the sheriff’s cruiser outside the church, a crowd of well-wishers instantly surrounded her. They tried to press cards or bouquets of flowers into her hands or snapped photos of her with their cell phones.

The press was there too. In force. They shouted at Loralyn and begged her for sound bytes, but she only responded with a demure smile.

Unable to witness another second of the spectacle, Ella Mae took Aunt Verena’s elbow and entered the church.

“I need to know if Loralyn shot Ruiping or if she was telling Hardy the truth when she said that Meg was responsible for all the killing,” Ella Mae whispered as the two women made their way up the center aisle to one of the polished pews. “I need to know because it will forever change how I see her. How I treat her. I offered her my friendship, and I won’t go back on my word, but can I truly be her friend if she’s a killer?”

Verena settled into a pew. It creaked in protest and she rearranged her black-and-white floral dress around her
knees. “I don’t know. Can you?” she asked Ella Mae. “If not for our brave firemen, Officer Hutchins could have died. Loralyn left him in her hotel room without a backward glance. His life meant nothing to her. She used her voice to enchant him. She took his own handcuffs and secured him to the bed. Then, she gagged him and started multiple fires. The poor man probably lost consciousness believing he was going to die in that room. And what explanation do you think he gave his superiors as to how he ended up in such a compromising position? I doubt he remembers a thing after knocking on Loralyn’s door.” Verena reached for her hymnal. “My point is that Loralyn
is
a killer. I don’t know if she shot Ruiping, but she left that officer to be burned in a fire that
she
started.” Putting a hand over her chest, Verena said, “She’s a murderer in here.”

Ella Mae nodded. Her aunt’s thought echoed her own, but she wanted to believe that Loralyn could change—that Opal’s sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing. She wanted to believe that the love Opal had shown her daughter had thawed the ice in Loralyn’s heart. Following her sentencing hearing, she’d been the picture of humility and remorse. Ella Mae could only hope that it wasn’t all an act.

Ella Mae glanced toward the altar, where a large portrait of Opal was surrounded by enormous arrangements of white roses, hydrangeas, gladiolas, and most of all, chrysanthemums. Ella Mae didn’t see the Opal she’d come to know in the glamorous, haughty-looking woman captured in the portrait. The Opal she’d grown close to had become strongest in heart and spirit when her body was at its weakest. In admitting her faults and seeking her daughter’s forgiveness, she’d become the loving mother Loralyn had yearned for. And despite her frailty, her thinness, and the sallow hue of her skin, she’d been incredibly beautiful on the last day of
her life. Her eyes had been filled with fire and she’d spoken in a voice of calm wisdom, as though she already had a foothold in the next world and was only lingering in this one until her final task was complete.

Ella Mae’s eyes moved to the circular stained glass window above the choir. She studied the troupe of angels smiling benevolently down upon the robed singers and thought of the monster Opal had to become in order to drag a ruthless killer to the bottom of the lake. It had taken a monster to destroy a monster. Magic had saved them.

Opening her hand, Ella Mae touched the spot on her palm where her clover-shaped burn scar had once been. She thought of all the times she’d cursed magic and had wanted nothing more to do with it.

This was not one of them.

At that moment, Hugh entered the church. Ella Mae could feel his presence before she actually saw him. She turned just as he was scanning the crowd, searching for her, and when their gazes met and the corners of his mouth twitched and his bright blue eyes sparked at the sight of her, she forgot about her missing scar.

A minute later, he slid into the pew and took her hand. “Opal would have been thrilled by all the attention Loralyn’s getting,” he whispered. “Especially from the trustees of Gaynor Farms. And she’d have loved to learn that the Camellia Club will never hold another meeting. The scholarship money will be distributed, but Atalanta House will soon belong to the State.” He watched Loralyn shake hands with two elegant men in dark suits. “She’s made serious mistakes, Ella Mae. She’s done terrible things. But it’s good that she could come today. Everyone should have the chance to say good-bye to the people they love.” Hugh nodded deferentially at Verena. “I imagine you had something to do with this.”

Verena shrugged and turned the pages of her hymnal. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hugh smiled at her. “Sure you don’t.”

“
I’m
not the one recovering from a concussion.” Verena tapped her temple. “You’re probably as scrambled as a pan of eggs up here.”

Hugh groaned. “Not you too. For the past two weeks, I’ve gotten so much grief from the volunteer crew. They keep putting this Halloween skull in my locker or in the truck. The skull’s head is wrapped with bandages made of girls’ socks, and the socks change every day. They started out pretty tame. Pink with purple kittens, rainbow unicorns—that kind of thing. But they’ve evolved. Now it’s thigh-high tights with racy patterns and fishnet stockings.”

“You should give those to Reba,” Verena said. “Fernando is heading back this way next week, and I bet she’d love to add those fishnets to her lingerie drawer before he gets here.”

Ella Mae held out her hands. “Please. We’re in church. I do
not
want to think about Reba’s underwear drawer at the moment.”

Suppressing a laugh, Verena turned to greet a friend in the next pew.

“Have you had a chance to talk to her yet?” Hugh asked, indicating Loralyn with a slight jerk of the chin.

“Honestly, I haven’t tried,” Ella Mae said. “This has too much of a circus atmosphere for a memorial service if you ask me. Between the organ music, the chitchat, the crush of people surrounding Loralyn, and the media presence in the back row, this isn’t quite the intimate ceremony I had in mind.”

Hugh nodded. “That’s because Loralyn’s celebratory status keeps growing. If only the masses knew the truth.”

“If they did, dozens of people in this building would be
exposed,” Ella Mae said, and Hugh knew that she was referring to all the magical people sitting among them. “At least Loralyn is still involved with Gaynor Farms, which was Opal’s most fervent wish. If Loralyn can behave herself while she’s doing her time and also maintain her current status with the community, she may serve a shorter sentence than the one she was given. Someday, the future of a very valuable and influential company will be in her hands.”

“When that day comes, I hope that will be enough for her,” Hugh said. “I hope she won’t set out on another quest like the one that brought Margaret Woodward to Havenwood.”

Ella Mae shook her head. “It won’t be enough. Loralyn is a woman with intense desires, Hugh. She may even feel them more deeply than the average human. Over the last year, those desires have caused Loralyn to side with Nimue, a woman who almost destroyed Havenwood. After that came Margaret Woodward. It was through Nimue that Loralyn first learned of the golden apples, and it makes me nervous to think what other knowledge Nimue may have shared with Loralyn.” Ella Mae was silent for a moment before she continued. “Do you know what Loralyn needs?”

When Hugh shook his head, Ella Mae went on. “To fall in love. She hasn’t experienced enough love. If she had, maybe she wouldn’t be headed back to prison after burying her mother.”

“Maybe.” Hugh sounded unconvinced. “Then again, she was born a siren. Maybe her only hope of finding real love is a life without magic.”

Ella Mae considered this while watching Loralyn make her way to her seat. As she moved under a stained glass window portraying Moses parting the Red Sea, a sunbeam highlighted the glass, coloring Loralyn’s face and pale hair
the dark blue of deep ocean water. Her pale blue eyes turned dark and fathomless, and in that moment, she looked every bit the siren.

“I see your point,” Ella Mae whispered as the organ music ceased and a hush fell over the sanctuary. “But there’s no grove in prison. Her powers will wane to almost nothing. She’ll be as close to a human as she can ever be upon her release. She stands a chance of having a genuine relationship then. Not one based on manipulation and enchantment.”

“Yeah, but who’s going to convince her to do that?” Hugh asked.

Ella Mae squeezed his hand. “We are. Despite what she’s done to us and what she’s done to others, we’re going to be her friends. Opal died hoping Loralyn might come around. I have to carry on that hope. Will you help me?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Hugh promised.

As she joined the rest of the congregation in bowing her head for the opening prayer, Ella Mae detected the faint perfume of chrysanthemums filling the air. She smiled and whispered a soft farewell to her friend.

*   *   *

August already felt spent by the time the full moon arrived. To Ella Mae, it was the largest, most beautiful, and most terrifying moon she’d ever seen.

“Many Native American tribes call this the Sturgeon Moon,” Hugh had said when he’d met Ella Mae outside her front door. He’d pointed at the sky. “Apparently, it’s easy to catch that particular fish this month. We should test the theory before September comes. Take a drive to the Great Lakes. What do you think?”

“How can you be so calm?” Ella Mae had demanded, hating the tremble in her voice.

Hugh had responded by taking both of her hands in his. “Because I
know
that rose is going to light up like a torch. Like fireworks. It’s going to light up the way
I
do whenever I think of you.”

“So why I am so scared?
I’m
the one who wanted to trust in us—to march forward the way most people do—without knowing for certain what our future holds. But here I am, shivering like a wet cat, because we’re about to shake a
real
Magic 8 Ball, and the only answer I want that enchanted rose to reveal is, ‘It is decidedly so.’” Ella Mae had clung to Hugh until she’d grown calm.

“
I’m
certain, so don’t worry about the magic bush,” Hugh had said. “And if the petals are printed with the words ‘Reply hazy, try again,’ I can always set fire to the damned thing.”

Ella Mae had laughed then, and the tension bubbling up inside her had spilled out and dissipated like water soaking into parched earth. Hugh had held her and laughed with her until Ella Mae had pulled away and expelled a long, slow breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Hand in hand, Ella Mae now led Hugh to the entrance of her mother’s garden. Partridge Hill had been Ella Mae’s home. She’d grown up here. She’d spent endless summer afternoons meandering its winding paths, following the flights of hummingbirds and dragonflies, and picking flowers to turn into crowns and necklaces. But the garden had never been hers. It had always been her mother’s domain. Even before Ella Mae had become aware of the existence of magic, she knew there was something unique about her mother’s connection to the plants she tended in her gardens and greenhouse.

Tonight, the garden was more enchanting than ever. It was as though the plants were putting on a special display for Adelaide and her daughter. Touched by moonlight, the
dewdrops on every leaf took on a diamond sparkle, the spiderwebs glinted like spun silver, and every flower, regardless of what color it had been during the daytime, had turned a shimmering, iridescent white. The closer Ella Mae and Hugh got to the Luna rosebush, the more the flowers pulsed and glowed until it looked like the entire garden had been strung with fallen stars.

Ella Mae’s mother was waiting for them near a stone bench engraved with cherubim. She wore a swan-white robe with a deep hood and a belt of silver leaves, and when she pushed the hood back to reveal her face and hair, Ella Mae could hardly believe she was staring at her mother. This tall, slender woman with the silver hair and the ageless face was as cold and distant as the moonlight.

Adelaide raised her arms to the night, silently beckoning to the sky, and a cluster of stars seemed to detach from the center of the Cassiopeia constellation. Ella Mae recognized the shape from the rare nights when her mother would take her to the end of the dock and point out patterns in the indigo canvas that was the August sky.

“There’s Cygnus, the swan,” she’d whisper. Using Ella Mae’s small finger, Adelaide would draw invisible lines in the celestial map above them. “Can you see how those stars form the wings? And there’s Lyra, the harp. I can almost hear it strumming. Can you?”