Pies and Prejudice (20 page)

Loralyn let her hand linger on Hugh’s chest and then she scanned the room, her eyes glittering with a joie de vivre incongruent with that of a woman grieving over the loss of a fiancé. Chandler watched her fixedly. His anger was a living thing, charging the air with red heat. Ella Mae could almost smell something burning.

“Come on,” she said. “Don’t let her get to you.”

But Loralyn had spotted them. With a haughty smile, she crossed the dance floor, the disco ball throwing starlight onto her white dress. Dozens of guests turned from their meals to stare as the blonde beauty glided from one end of the room to the other.

Without missing a beat, Loralyn threw her arms around Chandler and kissed him noisily on the cheek. “It’s lovely to see you.”

Chandler was vibrating with rage. “Don’t touch me,” he growled, unceremoniously pushing her away.

Aware of how many sets of eyes were upon her, Loralyn remained perfectly poised, her face glowing with
self-assurance. These were her people. She was at home in this jeweled and tailored crowd.

On the other hand, Chandler was just a veterinarian—a man whose living depended on winning the approval of the esteemed guests in this room. Should any of them denounce his skills as a veterinarian, his career would be reduced from treating thoroughbreds to inoculating farm animals and petting-zoo ponies.

Ella Mae knew she had to protect his future by getting him out of there.

“We have to run,” she said in a light, carefree voice. “You look stunning tonight, Loralyn. Enjoy the gala.” She offered Chandler her arm. “Ready?”

But Chandler could not stop glaring at his father’s fiancée. He didn’t even blink. It was as if Loralyn’s face had gone Gorgon and had turned him into a block of stone. Only Hugh’s appearance, which had been delayed because he opted to skirt the perimeter of the room in lieu of crossing the dance floor, interrupted the staring match between the two.

“Ella Mae.” Her name rolled from Hugh’s lips like a warm whisper against her skin. “You’re beautiful.”

What she would have done to freeze time, to remain the center of Hugh’s attention, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, clearly liking what he saw. But Loralyn’s mouth curved into a scythelike smile and she gestured at Ella Mae’s gown with an elegant finger.

“Is your dress old? Looks like it just came out of a steamer trunk in the attic.”

There wasn’t a trace of scorn in her voice, but it swam in her eyes like a barracuda moving through the shallows.

“How could you?” Chandler hissed, refusing to let Loralyn focus on anyone else but him. “How can you show up and act like my father wasn’t murdered? That he wasn’t bashed on the head and left to burn?” His voice wavered. “Didn’t you care about him at all?”

“Of course I did, sugar. But I’m not dead. I’m young and alive and ready to seize life by the throat. I’m sorry about your daddy, but he and I were more partners than passionate lovers.” She was on the verge of an Oscar-winning pout. “You can’t be angry with me forever,” she sulked. “Can’t we be friends?”

Chandler struggled with his reply. Ella Mae knew he had to remain civil to Loralyn as long as people were watching them. He nodded and then took Ella Mae’s arm. “Shall we?” he asked her.

Hugh took a step toward Ella Mae. “Wait. Why didn’t you return my calls? I thought we—”

“Hugh, darling.” Loralyn touched his elbow, a hint of reprimand in her fingertips. “We’d better mosey on over to our table. I haven’t eaten all day and am feeling a touch light-headed.”

It was like a switch had been flipped in Hugh’s brain. He wished Chandler and Ella Mae a pleasant evening and immediately pivoted his body toward Loralyn’s, giving her fingers a stronger claim on his arm.

Chandler waited for the valet to collect his car and then he drove Ella Mae home without uttering a word. When he parked in her driveway, she thanked him for giving her the opportunity to hand out Dee’s brochures and told him that she’d had a nice time despite Loralyn’s arrival.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you out of there. It was childish of me. It’s just that my parents had such a loving relationship and so, when Loralyn entered the picture, it felt like an offense against my mom’s memory. To see her tonight, completely untouched by my dad’s death…it was too much.” He looked chagrined. “I’m going to put your aunt’s pamphlets out at the office, but is there anything else I can do to make up for your having to leave the ball before midnight?”

Ella Mae returned his brief smile. “I met a woman who made several remarks about the inhumane treatment of
thoroughbred racehorses. I believe she adopts some of the, ah, retired horses.”

Chandler nodded knowingly. “Annie Beaufort. She’s got a farm between here and Little Kentucky. It’s part government subsidized because she takes on troubled teens to help her run the place. It’s got a flaky name. Relaxing Ranch or something. But don’t set your sights on her. She barely has enough feed for her horses. I doubt she’ll be ordering a sculpture anytime soon.”

Opening her door before Chandler decided he wanted to prolong the evening, Ella Mae said, “Probably not, but she seemed like an interesting person.”

“You do too, Ella Mae. I’d like to get to know you better.”

She smiled. “Then come to the grand opening of The Charmed Pie Shoppe. You’ll see me in my truest form. Oh, and bring everyone you know!”

“I will,” he promised, unable to disguise the flicker of disappointment over her hasty exit.

Ella Mae waited until he was gone and then opened the front door to release Chewy. He leapt around her knees, fervently licking her hands, wrists, and ankles. After a quick visit to the edge of the woods, she and Chewy wandered through her mother’s gardens.

Once her restlessness had subsided, Ella Mae sat on the stone bench where the young lovers she’d met at the police station had gotten engaged and reviewed the list from her cocktail bag. She made notes detailing her observations of both the Hollowells and the Malones, writing by the light of the new moon, while Chewy chased fireflies and white-winged moths.

“Annie Beaufort seems to know all about the dark underbelly of the racing world,” Ella Mae mused while fingering the soft petals of the rosebushes behind her. As usual, the ones in the center of the path bore only tight, secretive buds. Not a single flower was in bloom. “And she mentioned
Bradford Knox too. We’ll have to pay her a visit once we’re done hiring our first employee.”

The rose she caressed released a heady vanilla scent. Ella Mae closed her eyes and inhaled, recalling every word Hugh Dylan had spoken, the movements of his body, and the way the intensity in his eyes had instantly faded at Loralyn’s command.

“Never mind,” she told herself and scooped up Chewy, placing him on the bench beside her. “The only man I’m looking for has to wear an apron, carry an order pad, and have enough charisma to talk the most disciplined dieters into a wedge of dessert pie.”

Two days later, Ella Mae was sitting at a table at The Charmed Pie Shoppe waiting for the first applicant to arrive to be interviewed for the position of server/cashier. That’s how she’d advertised the position in
The Daily
, knowing full well that whomever she hired would have to wear more than one hat.

The appointment had been set for two in the afternoon and it was nearly two thirty. A second applicant was scheduled for three o’clock.

Glancing at her watch, Ella Mae paced back and forth in front of the display cases. She’d set out doilies on each shelf and had printed placards waiting to identify each pie, tart, or specialty item. Her daily specials would be written on a whiteboard near the cash register while the regular menu items were printed on a sign positioned on the back wall behind the display cases. The signage company had delivered exactly what Ella Mae requested—a menu that could be read from across the room while still retaining a vintage diner feel.

Two thirty came and went and Ella Mae began to get angry. She could be doing something useful. Instead, she alternated between pacing, examining the time, and flipping through pages of
Bon Appétit
.

At five minutes to three, she picked up her pen and put three black lines through the applicant’s name in her notebook.

“Let’s see if Meg Singer can manage to show up,” she told Chewy, who was napping behind the counter and didn’t stir at the sound of her voice.

Ella Mae needn’t have worried. With a minute to spare, the pink raspberry front door opened to the merry jingle of sleigh bells. A young woman entered and momentarily ceased chewing what must have been an enormous piece of gum in order to gape at the bells hanging from the inside doorknob.

“Cool,” she said, shifting the gum around again. “Like Christmas.” Approaching Ella Mae’s table, she thrust out a hand whose fingernails had been chewed right down to the beds. The cuticles were dirty and every finger sported a cheap silver ring. “Hey. Meg Singer.”

She’s not fond of complete sentences,
Ella Mae thought and struggled to tear her gaze away from Meg’s hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I thought we’d just chat a bit about your employment history. Have you ever worked in the food industry before?”

“Nope.” Meg twisted one of her rings and slid it to the end of her finger, revealing a circle of dirt on her skin below the knuckle. “But I’m bored at the job I have. None of the guys are hot.”

Ella Mae asked a few more perfunctory questions and then thanked Meg for stopping by. Meg blew an enormous bubble, popped it crookedly so that it clung to her top lip, and used her filthy fingers to pry the gum free and place it back into her mouth.

The next applicant was a sweet elderly lady whose tongue wagged tirelessly. Despite her friendly demeanor, she moved with the alacrity of a tree sloth and was adamant in her refusal to handle the cash register.

“Those contraptions aren’t for me,” the woman declared. “Anythin’ that needs button pushin’ is the work of the devil.”

That ruled out the register as well as every one of the state-of-the-art commercial kitchen appliances.

Sighing, Ella Mae proceeded to interview a retired army officer who was interested in earning extra cash. He and Ella Mae struck up an easy rapport and just when she thought her search for an employee was over, the sergeant let her know what he expected to be paid and Ella Mae nearly fell off her chair. Head chefs in top Manhattan restaurants didn’t make that kind of money, let alone the wait staff.

By the end of the day, her pool of potential candidates had run dry. Not one of them fit the picture she’d formed of her right-hand man or woman.

Dejected, she whistled for Chewy and led him out to the front porch. She sat on the stoop, inhaling the perfume of her mother’s roses and wondering how her mother had bred a flower that smelled faintly of warm sugar and vanilla.

“You look like your ice cream just fell outta your cone,” Reba said, appearing from around the side of the building, a white shopping bag in her hand. “Your mama did a good job with the patio garden. The way she blended basil, rosemary, and lavender plants with the clusters of geraniums and black-eyed Susans—it’s as cheerful as a kindergarten room.”

Ella Mae made a gesture that encompassed the entire eatery, from its butter yellow clapboard to its sparkling windows to the tables shaded by pink and white striped umbrellas on the patio. “It’s a slice of heaven, there’s no doubt about it, but I won’t be able to keep this place open long if people have to wait thirty minutes to be served.”

“No luck finding suitable help?”

“None.” Ella Mae gave Reba a quick rundown of the applicants.

Reba started giggling when Ella Mae told her about Meg
and her less-than-hygienic appearance. “I’m glad you’re amused. This is the one thing I’ve got going for me and it’s on the verge of falling apart.”

Pulling a licorice twist from inside her purse, Reba picked up the notebook and held the candy poised over a blank page. “Well? Do I look the part?”

Ella Mae couldn’t help but grin. “You’d be the world’s best waitress, Reba. You’re neat, fast, friendly, have a great memory, and could coerce people into stuffing themselves silly.”

“Does that mean I’m hired?”

“As if.” Ella Mae’s smile faded. “You’ve been with my mother for decades. She’d never let you go.”

Reba’s eyes were twinkling with mischief as she pulled a gift-wrapped package from the shopping bag. “She already has.” Reba handed the present to Ella Mae.

Perplexed, she ripped open the box and drew forth a custom-printed apron. It was a pale peach and had a rolling pin embroidered in the center. Above the graphic was the name of the shop. Below was the phrase, “That’s How I Roll.”

“I came up with the slogan,” Reba stated proudly. She’d taken one of several aprons from the shopping bag and tied it around her tiny waist. “It’s a mite big on me. I guess your average waitress isn’t quite so vertically challenged.” She touched her nut brown hair, which was styled into an interesting wave cresting over from her forehead. “Good thing I can add a few inches with a dozen sprays of Aqua Net.”

Ella Mae pressed the apron to her chest. It smelled of roses and strawberries. Reba and her mother. “Do you really want to do this? I still have time to find a server. You don’t need to—”

“I’m sick of cleaning a house that barely gets dirty. It’s like a museum in there. This girl’s ready for some excitement, a little flirting, and a change of scenery. I want to go home with tired feet and a brain stuffed with conversation
and colors and scents. I might not be a young filly, but I defy you to find someone who could do this job better.”

“Not possible. And I’d love to have you at my side. It’ll be just like the old days when we used to cook together.”

Reba opened her arms and invited Ella Mae in for a hug. “You’ve gone way past my level, honey.”

The two women held one another for a long moment and then Ella Mae stepped back and asked, “Who’ll take over for you at Partridge Hill?”

“Remember Kelly, that sweet gal you met at the police station? Your mama hired her. Noel got a raise at his job and it won’t be long before the two of them can buy that little house they’ve been dreaming of.” She examined her apron with obvious pleasure. “Things have a way of working themselves out, don’t they?”