Pies and Prejudice (19 page)

Moved, Ella Mae felt her eyes turn moist. She took in the shining black-and-white floor tile, the café au lait walls, the pristine white crown molding, and the shining glass display cases.

Already, the room had begun to fill up with light. The aromas from the kitchen, the banter of the workmen, and Ella Mae’s sense of pride and belonging stretched forth and laid claim on the little cottage. Before long, Ella Mae would be welcoming Reba, her mother, and her aunts to lunch for the very first time. During that occasion, another memory would bloom within the pie shop’s walls, bursting forth with the same heady brightness of the roses climbing up the porch columns. Soon, the space would overflow with stories, old and new.

And yet, a shadow remained. It waited, carefully concealed, as tense as a big cat poised to spring. There was still a killer in Havenwood. It was impossible to cover the taint of murder with butter, flour, and sugar. The stolen rolling pin, the threat penned on the back of Sloan’s letter, the sense that someone didn’t welcome her return—these things would rob Ella Mae’s fresh start of its luster if she couldn’t help restore justice. And soon.

This knowledge tempered some of the joy she felt over
having served a successful first meal in The Charmed Pie Shoppe, but the traces of gloom couldn’t keep their purchase as Ella Mae loaded the dishwasher and swept the kitchen floor. The shop was too sun kissed, too replete with cheer.

Smiling at the gleaming kitchen, Ella Mae locked up and dropped the keys in the pocket of her cherry-print apron. They jingled all the way home, as vibrant and rhythmic as a human heart.

Hearing the doorbell, Ella Mae checked her reflection once more in the mirror and then descended the stairs in a whisper of mint-hued tulle. The strapless vintage gown, delivered on Friday afternoon by Aunt Dee, had been wrapped in tissue paper inside a cardboard box. Removing the lid, Ella Mae peeled back the tissue paper, inhaling the traces of honeysuckle escaping from the folds. When she ran her hand over the delicate lace trim on the shelf bust to the tulle of the flirty skirt, she heard a soft whoosh, like sand being shifted by the wind.

She laid the exquisitely tailored dress on the bed and admired the way the light shimmered over the fabric and wondered where Dee had worn it.

The dress fit Ella Mae perfectly and she couldn’t help but notice how the rich pale green gown complemented her bronze skin and whiskey-colored hair, which fell in loose curls over her shoulders.

Chandler took one look at her and fell speechless, mutely offering her a bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses. “Not that you need any,” he finally said when he managed to find his tongue. “You live in a sea of roses.”

“Those are my mother’s. I wouldn’t dream of cutting them,” Ella Mae answered, accepting his gift. “You look very handsome.”

Smoothing the lapel of his tux, Chandler grinned. “I’m
just a penguin. You’re the swan. The most beautiful woman in Georgia will be on my arm tonight.”

On the way to the gala, which was being held in a banquet room at the Lake Havenwood Hotel, Ella Mae did her best to find out what kind of man Chandler Knox was.

During the short ride, she learned that he’d had a carefree childhood, loved all animals, and had wanted to follow in Bradford’s footsteps ever since his father had taken him along on a house call. A mare was having a difficult labor but Bradford managed to save the day and Chandler was able to witness a live birth. He’d never forgotten the wonder of that moment and vowed to become an equine veterinarian like his father.

“I’m no horse whisperer,” Chandler admitted without guile. “And I know people think my dad was more skilled, but I’m using state-of-the-art equipment and techniques. I can only gain the experience he had over time.”

Ella Mae folded her hands over her purse, which contained the list of those who’d attended Bradford Knox’s memorial service. One of the gala guests could be a suspect. So could Chandler, for that matter. Hadn’t Peggy said that Bradford hadn’t been willing to take his own son on as a full partner? Surely, that kind of paternal rejection must have wounded Chandler to a degree. Ella Mae knew exactly how a wound like that could fester. After all, had her mother called her once in the seven years she’d been married to Sloan?

“So did you and your daddy split the workload at the practice? Were you both equal partners?” she asked innocently.

Chandler’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t think I was ready to take over, but then he met Loralyn and suddenly changed his tune. It was like he wasn’t as interested in the daily goings-on at work anymore and he left me in charge of everything but the thoroughbred house calls. That
woman…” He paused, the muscles of his jaw tightening. “She bewitched him, I swear.”

Ella Mae touched him lightly on the arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a painful topic. Do you have siblings? Someone to help you out during this tough time.”

“A baby sister. Ashleigh. But she wouldn’t lift a pinkie to help me. Never worked a day in her life, that one, but she still wants to spend money like she’s married to Midas.”

After telling Chandler that she’d met a few women similar to Ashleigh back in New York, Ella Mae asked, “Did your dad spoil her?”

Chandler snorted. “All the time. He gave her money, especially after her latest husband moved out. Regular payments, as if she was an actual employee. Now she wants me to take up where Dad left off, but I think it’s high time for her to earn her own living.” He ran his hand through his hair and shot Ella Mae a quick, abashed glance. “Do you think I’m a total jerk right now?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. You sound like you have too many worries and could
really
use a mint julep.”

He laughed and the sound bubbled around the car cabin like a fast-moving river. “That’s certainly true. Oh, I am so glad you walked into my office the other day. I’m feeling pretty worry-free at the moment.”

The air between them changed abruptly. The casual feeling was supplanted by the weight of the desire in Chandler’s brown eyes. Ella Mae flashed him a quick smile and then faced forward. She didn’t want to acknowledge Chandler’s yearning. Not only was he a possible suspect—though she was reluctant to view him as one—but she also wasn’t interested in romance.

Involuntarily, she thought of Hugh Dylan. If there was anyone in the world she’d take a leap of faith for, it was Hugh. But she’d blown that chance. She’d never even returned his phone call. Too embarrassed to talk to him, she
hoped it would be some time before they ran into one another in town.

I don’t want to have to protest my innocence when I see him again,
Ella Mae thought.
I want to prove it. Irrevocably. Maybe then I’ll have the courage to reschedule our coffee date.

Chandler pulled up to the front of the hotel and a valet raced around to his side and opened his door. A bellhop opened Ella Mae’s and wished her a pleasant evening as he helped her out of the car. Dapper men in tuxedos escorted women in sequined gowns and floor-length dresses into the lobby. From there, the gentry of northern Georgia were filtered into the ballroom.

Upon entering, each partygoer was given a sterling julep cup filled with the signature cocktail. Ella Mae was pleasantly surprised to find a table of nametags and saw that all the guests had stopped to collect theirs.

“Don’t you all know each other?” she asked Chandler.

“Mostly, but there are people from all over the country here tonight. If they’re not local, their home state will be printed below their names.” He gazed around the room, a glint of boyish eagerness in his eyes. “The crème de la crème of the racing world under one roof.”

The room was sparkling like sunshine on calm water. The women’s diamonds, Waterford chandeliers, sterling julep cups, and gold-plated flatware fought to surpass one another in brilliance.

Chandler wasted no time introducing Ella Mae to the other guests. Most of them were familiar with Dee’s work and wanted to claim the honor of being the first client to have one of their horses transformed into a metal masterpiece.

However, the more Ella Mae spoke with the owners, the more she saw that the animals in their stables served a singular purpose: to earn money. She met six couples who’d attended Bradford Knox’s funeral and yet appeared completely disinterested in him. However, two other couples
exhibited odd behavior when she casually inserted his name into their conversation.

The first pair, a Mr. and Mrs. Hollowell, were very friendly and animated right until the moment Ella Mae asked if their racehorses had been treated by Bradford. Shooting a nervous glance at her husband, Mrs. Hollowell had pretended to spot an acquaintance. Apologizing to Ella Mae, the couple hurried toward the bar. Ella Mae ducked behind a potted palm and watched as the Hollowells huddled together away from the other guests, exchanging anxious murmurs. Their bodies were rigid with tension and their shifting eyes betrayed their fear.

Circling their names on her list as being worthy of further investigation, Ella Mae slipped the paper back into her purse and sought out the Malones. According to Reba’s gossip chain, the Malones had faced a racing slump that threatened their reputation as a prominent and lucrative stud farm. Ever since they’d switched veterinarians and began receiving visits from Knox, their thoroughbreds had captured several first- and second-place purses over a remarkable short period of time.

Armed with this information, Ella Mae located the couple at the same moment the dinner gong sounded. Chandler was in the restroom and she didn’t dare hesitate in case her quarry escaped, so she took a seat at one the tables next to Mr. Malone, a debonair gentleman in his seventies with wavelets of silver hair and a splendid mustache. He eyed Ella Mae appreciatively and began a flirtation with her. Judging from his breath, Mr. Malone had consumed his token mint julep and had graduated to gin and tonics. Shaking his empty glass, he waved a waiter over and ordered another.

Once his drink had been delivered, Ella Mae showed him Dee’s brochure. He immediately passed it to his wife, his attention already divided between his cocktail and Ella Mae’s décolletage.

“I’m fascinated by thoroughbred racing,” Ella Mae lied, leaning conspiratorially toward her neighbor. “Is it true that the jockeys of competing stables often get into fistfights off the track?”

“And on it too,” Malone said, his forehead rippling in ire. “We lost a good horse because one of our wetback riders cut off another taco eater around a tight curve. He didn’t have the room, that fool. He took out the other guy, sure, but our Max’s Millions would never race again after that day.”

Shocked, Ella Mae struggled to ignore the racial slurs. Instead, she asked, “What happened to your horse?”

Malone took a slug of his drink. “When they can’t earn out anymore, they have to go. I’m a businessman and I don’t fill my stable with charity cases.”

A middle-aged woman with a kind and weathered face, who’d joined the table during the tail end of their conversation, picked up her bread knife and pointed it at Malone. “What he means to say, dear, is that the horses who turn lame or are just too slow or too old get turned into dog food. Or glue.”

This was not what Ella Mae wanted to hear. Still, she needed to press Malone further. She pivoted, pretending to be hanging on his every word, but he was staring down the newcomer with obvious dislike.

Ella Mae touched his arm in order to reclaim his attention. “You must have some secret,” she purred. “To have become so successful. I mean, you practically glow with power. So tell me.” She inched in closer. “What’s your secret? An incredible trainer? Special feed? Powerful medicine?”

At the mention of medicine, a prideful gleam appeared in Malone’s eyes. “We do have a magic potion of sorts.”

The woman, whose freckled cheeks were flushed pink from too many juleps, slurred, “You weren’t the only ones Knox was supplying. Plenty of snakes in the grass in your
own backyard with their share of magic potion. I guess one of you wouldn’t stand for that kind of competition, huh?”

Ella Mae turned to the woman, her eyes round with mock innocence. “Bradford Knox? Wasn’t he the victim of a horrible tragedy?”

She nodded. “It’s a real shame. Once upon a time, he was a decent man.” She gave her mint julep cup a wistful glance. “Racing isn’t what it used to be. The purity’s gone. In the beginning, people lived for the thunder of hoofs against the brown dirt track. Horses were treated like royalty. Now, they’re like slaves. It’s all tainted by drugs and greed and—”

“Don’t pay that old hippie any mind,” Malone growled menacingly.

Ella Mae was just about to ask the woman her name when Chandler appeared at the table. “I’m sorry,” he said, touching Ella Mae on her bare shoulder. “I can’t stay at this party another second.”

Chandler’s features were pinched with anger. Ella Mae rose to her feet and pulled him aside. “What’s wrong?”

“Loralyn Gaynor just showed up, acting for all the world like she didn’t just lose the man she supposedly loved.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t sit here, eating filet mignon and crab cake, while my father’s fiancée shames his memory by fawning all over her new man.”

Curious, Ella Mae’s gaze flitted around the room. “I understand completely. Show me where she is so we can leave without walking too close.”

“There, to the right of the stage with her stud boyfriend.”

Ella Mae spotted Loralyn immediately. She flaunted a form-fitting white gown and a stunning necklace of diamonds and pearls. Her mouth stretched into a wide, white-toothed smile as she poked the mint spring from her glass into the buttonhole of her date’s jacket.

The room suddenly turned so cold that Ella Mae felt her heart freeze beneath her ribcage. The most important muscle
in her body felt brittle, like a hunk of ice threatening to shatter should she dare breathe.

“Do you know that guy?” Chandler asked.

She nodded, stricken.

Loralyn had come to the gala on the arm of Hugh Dylan.