Pies and Prejudice (21 page)

“Maybe this place truly is charmed,” Ella Mae turned and smiled at the façade of her eatery. “If only I could work some magic and solve Bradford Knox’s murder.”

“One enchantment at a time, milady,” Reba said with a crooked smile. “Now let’s call up your aunts and set up a practice run. For me, that is. You could do this job in your sleep.”

Ella Mae reached for her cell phone. “How does an old-fashioned chicken pot pie sound to you?”

Reba considered the question. “If Verena’s coming, you’d best make two.”

With the pie shop’s opening only two days away, Ella Mae found herself with nothing to do. The kitchen was loaded with supplies, the tables had been set, the menu posted. She’d taught Reba how to use the cash register and
The Daily
had run a front-page article announcing Saturday morning’s ribbon-cutting ceremony. Her mother would drop by on Friday with bud vases containing greenery and a single rose matching the shade of the café’s butter yellow clapboard.

And while she was prepared, she was not in the least relaxed. Ever since Sloan’s letter had been crammed into her mail slot, Ella Mae had felt uneasy. Whether she was working alone in the pie shop, taking Chewy on a bike ride, or running errands around town, the weight of Bradford’s murder hung over her like a thundercloud.

“I’m not going to give up!” she boldly announced to the rose-covered façade of The Charmed Pie Shoppe and then had spent the morning making a dozen pies. They were now safely loaded into her mother’s Suburban. It was Ella Mae’s intention to drive out to Annie Beaufort’s ranch and worm more information out of the horse lover in exchange for the pies.

Reba, ever a font of local knowledge, had written detailed directions to Annie’s place in her spidery hand. As she drove farther and farther away from Havenwood, Ella Mae was grateful to have a guide, for Respite Ranch was located off a trio of unmarked roads. Nestled at the base of the green hills that eventually gave way to a line of proud mountains, the ranch looked like an oasis.

The fenced paddocks sprawled for miles, anchored by a collection of stables and a log cabin–style home. An addition that resembled a college dormitory had been tacked onto one wing without the slightest attempt to match the current architecture. Despite this boxy structure, the overall impression was of deep tranquility. This was a place made more beautiful by its surroundings, borrowing colors and scents from the hills and glades.

Ella Mae parked the truck in front of the double-car garage. Unlike the Equine Center, the fields of Respite Ranch were deserted. No horses whinnied a greeting or grazed beneath the shade of the oak and ash trees.

Leaving the pies for the moment, Ella Mae wandered behind the main house, admiring the enormous vegetable garden. She remembered Chandler mentioning that Annie received a stipend from the government for helping troubled
teens and wondered if the vegetables were used in the kids’ meals.

Signs of the ranch’s self-sufficiency were everywhere. There were rain barrels scattered across the property, a wall of chopped firewood ran the length of one of the stables, and an herb garden was tucked between the kitchen and a sunny courtyard fenced in by blueberry bushes. Adjacent to the courtyard was an outdoor kiln and drying racks for pottery. Farther up the hill, apple trees had been laid out in neat rows and the dense branches of raspberry and blackberry bushes formed a natural border between the grassy field and the orchard.

“This is heaven,” Ella Mae said to herself, her gaze drifting up to the blue green mountains and the cloudless skies. As she stood admiring every view, voices tripped down the hills. Companionable shouts and the sound of male laughter erupted from the trees to the far left of the ranch, and before long, a line of horses and riders could be seen winding their way down the slope.

One by one, the riders reached the bottom and immediately set forth toward the ranch at a relaxed gallop. As they drew closer, Ella Mae saw that they were teenage boys of all size, shape, and color. They all wore hard hats and leather gloves and seemed at ease in their western saddles. Annie Beaufort, who was clad in jeans, a Cheerwine T-shirt, and a John Deere baseball cap, brought up the rear.

“Who are you?” demanded the first teen, drawing his horse far too near to Ella Mae for her liking. She took a step back, nervously watching the animal’s restless hoofs.

“I’m here to see Annie.” She smiled at the young man in what she hoped was a placating manner. “I brought you all some pies.”

He frowned. “We’re not charity cases. We do our own cooking.”

“Hey, I’m all for that.” Ella Mae waited while another boy brought his mount in line with the first rider’s.

“Chill, dude,” the second teen chided. “She doesn’t look like she’s here to mess with us.” He looked fixedly at Ella Mae. “Are you?”

Wishing Annie would ride up and defuse the tension, Ella Mae shook her head. “I met Annie a few days ago at a party. I wanted to come out here and see the ranch.”

“You a rich lady?” the first boy asked, his tone still antagonistic. “Comin’ out here to size us up before you write a check? See if we’re worth the money?”

Thankfully, Annie shouted for the boys to head to the stables, and to Ella Mae’s surprise and relief, they obeyed instantly.

“Howdy,” she said, dismounting with the ease and quickness of a woman half her age. She handed the horse’s bridle to one of the teens and shooed him away. “Don’t tell me I forgot an appointment. Your face looks familiar….”

Ella Mae explained who she was and where they’d met. She opened the back of the SUV in order to show Annie the freshly baked treats and couldn’t help but mention that she’d be opening her own pie shop in two days. “I won’t try to sugarcoat my reasons for coming out here,” she said. “I was hoping to exchange these for information on Bradford Knox.”

Annie’s face became instantly guarded. She was silent for a long time, her gaze on the stables where the teens could be seen removing saddles and bridles from the horses. They stowed the gear neatly and then collected brushes from a tack box.

“I love to watch them groom the horses.” Annie’s voice was full of affection. “When they first come, they’re so ripe with anger you can barely talk to them. They hate everybody and everybody hates them. At least that’s what they believe. But a horse, especially a horse that’s been rejected because he isn’t deemed good enough anymore, can heal these kids. It takes time. The boys need to come back again and again. Some of them get carted here from Atlanta, others come
down from the Carolinas. The horses take away their anger and give them hope.”

“And the young men stay with you?”

“For one or two weeks. They have chaperones—usually boys who were in their shoes once. When they arrive, the kids think they’re going to be miserable. They have to harvest and prepare their own food, wash their clothes, and do chores. For a day or two, they wish they were anyplace but here.” She smiled. “By the time they’re supposed to leave, they don’t want to go. They hug me and we all cry like big babies.”

Ella Mae watched the particularly abrasive boy brush his horse. His movements were slow and deliberate and the animal was obviously comfortable and content in his care. “This place is amazing.”

Annie nodded. “Amazing and in trouble. The government’s decided not to provide a cent of funding starting next month and I don’t know how I’m going to keep the ranch afloat. I spend all the extra money I have rescuing horses.”

Both women observed the teens for a few minutes. The sounds of nickers floated from the stables, mingling with the gentle cooing of the boys.

“Are you worried that if you talk to me about Bradford, you’ll lose someone’s patronage?” Ella Mae hazarded a guess.

“I’m already somewhat of a pariah in the racing community, but if I tell you what I know, the few owners who make donations on the sly will freeze me out. Not only that, but they won’t even offer me their spent horses. They’ll just send them away to be…” She trailed off, unwilling to verbalize the fate awaiting a washed-up thoroughbred.

Ella Mae hadn’t expected to be confronted by this complication. How could she ask Annie to jeopardize this sanctuary for young men and horses? How many living creatures had been saved because of the goodness of the woman standing beside her?

“What’s all this to you anyway?” Annie suddenly asked. “Did you know Bradford?”

“Not at all,” Ella Mae admitted. “But the police consider me a suspect in his murder.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Annie dismissed the notion immediately. “Why do they think that?”

Ella Mae briefly explained how she’d become entangled in the investigation. She told Annie about the rolling pin at the crime scene and how it seemed someone wanted to frame her for Bradford’s murder.

“I came to you so I could clear my name.” Ella Mae said. “I figured you’d know whether Bradford was being paid to administer illegal drugs to the racehorses, and if so, which owners were involved. If I could give the police a viable lead, I might be able to get them to cross me off their list.” She sighed. “But I can’t ask you to do anything to put this place at risk. It’s too important.”

“Thank you,” Annie replied after a long pause.

Gesturing at the Suburban, Ella Mae said, “I still want you to have the pies.”

Annie picked up a pie, peeled back the aluminum foil tent protecting its crust, and took a whiff of apple caramel. Straightening, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A teenage boy wearing an apron appeared in the doorway of the dormitory building.

“Yeah?”

“Grab a few bodies and come unload this truck. This nice lady brought us a bunch of pies!” Annie shouted.

The boys didn’t need to be told twice. They raced into the yard, grabbed the pies—thanking Ella Mae very courteously—and disappeared back inside.

“I’d like to bring you regular deliveries,” Ella Mae said. “If that’s okay.”

Annie touched her on the arm. “I can’t make it to your restaurant opening because this group will still be here, but will you be at the shop on Sunday? At about three? Maybe
there’s a way for me to help you without folks knowing about it.”

“The Charmed Pie Shoppe is closed on Sundays, so that would be the perfect time for us to meet. We could have a cup of coffee and you could sample any pie you’d like,” Ella Mae answered. “If you’re sure this is what you want to do.”

“I’m not sure, but I’m coming anyway.”

Annie walked off toward the stables. The horses whinnied at her, their ears pivoting and their snouts reaching forward in search of a lump of sugar, an apple, or perhaps with even more yearning, the touch of a loving hand.

The Charmed Pie Shoppe opened to much fanfare on a blissfully mild June morning. By exerting her considerable influence, Verena had convinced all of her acquaintances in Havenwood and a host of journalists and food buffs from across the state to attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

Her husband, known to the locals as Mayor Buddy, addressed the crowd from a mahogany podium positioned on a square of red carpet. Though his speech was rather dull, focusing on the economic growth of the business district and the increase in tourism during the previous quarter, it was also short. After reminding everyone of the upcoming Row for Dough boat race, he bragged about Ella Mae’s culinary training and read the menu aloud with such enthusiasm that the crowd actually began to press forward, centimeter by centimeter, until they threatened to sweep him aside.

“Homemade food created with fresh, local ingredients,” he concluded, smiling at his niece. “Like it used to be. We get so busy that we often neglect the delight of gathering together around a table to enjoy Georgia’s bounty. Peaches
picked from the Ellisons’ farm find their way into one of Ella Mae’s pies, eggs from the McCartles’ farm are whisked together to make a lemon chiffon tart, and herbs from Adelaide LeFaye’s famous garden add spice to the quiches! Boy, am I hungry! So without further ado, I’d like to ask my lovely bride to cut the rope and then we’ll all go inside and stuff ourselves silly!”

There was a roar of applause, but just as Verena opened the golden blades of the ceremonial scissors, a voice from the crowd called out, “Mayor Hewitt! What about the murder of Bradford Knox? Isn’t Ms. LeFaye considered a person of interest by the police? Should we be concerned about her wielding a rolling pin?”

Buddy shot a quick look of command to one of his assistants, who dashed off in search of the questioner. Buddy then switched the microphone back on. “I would like to direct all inquiries regarding that incident to Havenwood’s police chief. All I can say is that Ms. LeFaye has given the authorities her full cooperation and is not a suspect. This is a time of celebration and of fellowship and there will be no further comments on that particular matter. Thank you. Now, Verena darling, let them have pie!”

Verena winked at Ella Mae, allowing her a moment to scuttle inside the shop before she severed the shiny length of yellow satin cordoning off the front porch.

“Ready?” Reba asked from behind the counter. She had an order pad and a row of pens tucked into the front pocket of her apron. Her brown eyes were glittering with anticipation.