Pies and Prejudice (30 page)

Reba was already dressed and sitting in the guest cottage’s cozy kitchen when Ella Mae stumbled down the stairs. Her whiskey-colored hair was tangled, her complexion wan, and her gait stilted, like that of a newly minted zombie. She’d even put her T-shirt on inside out.

“Coffee.” Reba handed her a thermos. “You can drink it in the car.”

Ushering Chewy into the backseat, Ella Mae examined Reba in amazement. She looked well rested and immaculately groomed. Her hair was gelled into a high waves and her makeup was flawless. “Did you stay in the main house last night?”

Reba nodded. “I’ve got a change of clothes there. I caught your mama up on our little adventure and then slept a bit. You know I’ve never needed much shut-eye. I was born with caffeine in my veins.” She turned on the Buick’s engine and tossed a newspaper onto Ella Mae’s lap before peeling out of the driveway, gravel spraying into the air. “That front page will wake you up. Take a gander.”

Ella Mae had expected the headlines of
The Daily
to center on the arrest of Ashleigh Knox, but the news had apparently occurred too late to make the small town paper’s deadline. The feature story was sufficiently shocking and Ella Mae bolted upright, her seat belt digging into her breastbone.

“What the hell?” She brought the photograph occupying the front page closer to her face. “Are these people wearing any clothes?”

“Naked as babies in the tub,” Reba said cheerily. “But not quite as innocent. Start readin’.”

Below a headline asking, “Havenwood: A Nudist Colony?” the local reporter had written:

Ella Mae’s mouth fell open as she read about the other locals who stripped their clothes and tried to seduce members of the opposite sex. One man grabbed a cashier’s mike at the Piggly Wiggly, dropped his trousers, and recited a Shakespearean love sonnet to the dumbfounded store manager. An elderly Sunday school teacher pulled off her dress and began scattering rose petals at the feet of a Mr. Andrews, an employee at Hogue’s funeral home.

“They completely lost control of their inhibitions.” Ella Mae put the paper down. “Is this town going crazy?”

Reba shot her a sidelong glance. “What’s it gonna take for you to see, girl? What happened to that old man who did cartwheels down the street? How did your aunts cry blue tears? Why did those folks get so turned on that they felt like their clothes were on fire and had to shuck them off like husks from a corncob?”

“It can’t be my pies that—” The protest died on Ella Mae’s lips. “It’s impossible.”

“Says who?” Reba snorted. “People have all sorts of gifts. Maybe yours just comes on a little stronger than most. But you’ve gotta be careful. If those newspaper folks sniff around too much, the world will wanna dissect you like a frog in biology class.”

Ella Mae shook her head in protest, but even as she did so, her mind returned to the pie shop kitchen and she saw
Hugh standing before her. Her fingers tingled, recalling the feel of his wavy, dark hair, and a surge of heat coursed through her body as she remembered how they’d melted into one another. She could almost feel the burning again, as if the electricity generated by their desire had gone beyond any normal physical sensation. Pain alongside pleasure.

“The shoofly pie,” she murmured, her voice embarrassingly sultry. “Every cell in my body wanted Hugh. That’s what I was feeling when I mixed the filling. After he kissed me, I sprinkled sugar on the top of the pie. My blood was pounding and I felt like a fire was lit under my skin. I swear the crumbs sparkled.”

Reba reached over and patted the newspaper. “I reckon those folks had a slice of that pie. Lucky devils. ’Course I don’t need any help from your pies to get the urge. It comes on quite regular, thank you very much.”

She careened into the parking lot behind the pie shop and screeched to a halt. “Better get some of that coffee down your throat or your customers are gonna fall asleep at the table. And that’s no good because they might be too tired to reach into their wallets for my big, fat tip.”

The summer morning grew in strength, filling the kitchen with sunbeams as Ella Mae prepared the regular menu items and then added an almond tart to the dessert list. Despite having only five hours of sleep, her movements were fluid. She felt like one of the dancers from Sissy’s school as she chopped, sliced, and stirred in time to the piano sonata playing on the radio.

Reba took charge of the salad preparation and then readied both the indoor and outdoor eating areas. Chewy was stationed on the front porch, his leash tied to one of the rails. The town was still slumbering at this point, but the terrier amused himself by snapping at insects or barking out a greeting to the paperboy or occasional jogger.

Ella Mae was grateful to have so many tasks on which to concentrate. She didn’t want the image of Chandler’s anguished face or the bitter sound of Ashleigh’s cutting words to influence her baking. If her feelings were somehow being transferred into her food, she’d have to be careful not to let the negative ones take over while she was prepping her pies. And this morning, that meant pushing aside the puzzling aspects of Ashleigh’s confession.

At half past eight, Reba offered to bring Chewy to Canine to Five. Ella Mae glanced at the sausage browning on the cooktop and back at her dog with regret. The devoted parent in her wanted to deliver Chewy to day care herself, but she didn’t want to neglect the sizzling meat or chance running into Hugh. She wasn’t ready to sort out what their kiss had meant. Not today. Not yet.

“Have a great day, Charleston,” she said, holding her little dog in her arms. She fed him a piece of chicken breast and ruffled the fur behind his ears before Reba led him outside.

Ella Mae had just transferred the sausage crumbles to a plate covered with paper towels when someone knocked on the back door. Pausing the mixer, which had been beating the eggs for the breakfast quiche, she peered out the window over the sink and instantly recognized Chandler’s car.

“Hi,” she said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

Chandler looked like hell. His bruise had turned the same hue as a prune and the skin beneath his good eye was gray with fatigue. His hair stuck straight out on one side of his head and stubble had sprouted across the lower half of his face.

“Have you been up all night?” she asked, taking him by the elbow and leading him to a stool.

He shrugged with the slow weariness of the grieving. “It feels longer than that. Years longer.”

“I’ve got fresh coffee. Let me get you a cup and then we’ll talk.”

She pushed through the swing doors and filled two mugs embellished with The Charmed Pie Shoppe’s logo with a strong Colombian brew. Grabbing a sugar bowl and a small pitcher of cream from the tiny refrigerator below the counter, Ella Mae was surprised by how much she wanted to comfort the man waiting in her kitchen. It was a completely different feeling from the complex and powerful hunger she felt for Hugh or the dull ache that overtook her whenever she thought of Sloan. This was a calm, governable attraction—something she could handle after everything that had happened over the tumultuous past few weeks.

“Drink this,” Ella Mae commanded gently, placing the mug in front of Chandler. “And you’re going to eat something too.” He began to shake his head but she wagged a warning finger at him. “No arguing. Trust me, my food will make you feel better.”

A row of individual breakfast tarts made with eggs, cheese, avocado, crème fraîche, Capicola, and chives were baking in the oven. When there were only two minutes of cook time remaining, Ella Mae grabbed a bowl of grated provolone and opened the oven door. As she sprinkled the cheese over golden, buttery puff-pastry squares, she did her best to conjure up images that made her feel hopeful. She let her memory drift back to the simple pleasure of shopping for new school supplies every August, listening to Dick Clark broadcasting the New Year’s Eve countdown, and the sight of fireworks igniting the sky above Lake Havenwood.

She didn’t know whether it was a trick of the light, but the cheese shimmered as it fell onto the baking pastry squares. The twinkle was gone in a blink, and by the time she’d placed a tart on a plate with a sliced strawberry garnish, she began to doubt it had been there at all.

“Now we can talk.” Ella Mae served Chandler the tart. She then sharpened a large knife and began to cut cucumbers into delicate slivers. “I hope you don’t mind my working. I’m running a bit behind today.”

Chandler pinched the strawberry between his thumb and index finger and stared at it as if he’d never seen the bright red fruit before. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to get in your way. It’s just that you’re the only one who knows what I’m going through. You were there and, well, you were amazing.” He put the strawberry back onto his plate.

“You were pretty fearless yourself,” Ella Mae said with an encouraging smile.

With a crooked grin, Chandler pointed at his bruised cheek. “Yeah, you should see the other guy.”

Ella Mae laughed. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Most people would be home in bed with the covers pulled over their heads after what you’ve been through.”

Absently gripping his fork, Chandler cut through the breakfast tart and speared a mouthful with the tines. He didn’t eat, however. “Couldn’t sleep if I tried. There are things that still don’t make sense about what’s happened. It’s bad enough that my own sister had a hand in my father’s murder—it’ll take me years to deal with that—but I have questions.” He sighed. “And until they’re answered, this isn’t over.”

That was the last thing Ella Mae wanted to hear. More than anything, she hoped that the taint from the deaths of Bradford Knox and Annie Beaufort would fade as quickly as possible. She knew the pall cast by two murders would linger, forever staining her homecoming and the opening of the pie shop with a dark and ragged shadow, but at least the townsfolk would know that she had no part in the violence that had ridden into Havenwood on the shoulders of Ashleigh Knox.

“Take the rolling pin,” Chandler continued. “Why would my father show up at a meeting in a nail salon carrying one? Did he go out and buy one? My mom’s was made of wood. She never had the marble kind. What is the significance of the damn rolling pin?”

Without warning, Ella Mae’s knife skittered sideways,
coming within a centimeter of her exposed palm. Surprised by her sudden clumsiness, she swept the cucumber slices into a bowl and salted them.

“I’d wager this shop that the rolling pin was Loralyn’s idea. She and I have always been enemies and she didn’t want me sticking around town. She was furious when she found out we’d outbid her on this property.” Wiping her hands on her apron, Ella Mae took a sip of tepid coffee. “I know it sounds crazy and I’ve been trying to sort out whether I’m blindly prejudiced against Loralyn or if the only rational explanation for the use of the rolling pin was to plant it at the scene so I’d become a suspect.” She went on to explain that her prints were on the pin the firemen found and that someone had stolen that same pin from her mother’s kitchen.

“Being a suspect would keep you in Havenwood,” Chandler pointed out. “If Loralyn wanted to get rid of you, why get you involved in a murder investigation?”

Ella Mae considered his question. “Maybe because she knew there wasn’t enough evidence to build a case against me. Just enough to get me to hightail it back to New York as soon as I was free to leave.”

“Or maybe she hoped you
would
take the fall. In a town this small, that would have an impact on your entire family.” His eyes were full of pain. “God knows my practice will fold as soon as people hear about my twisted sister and that my father was doping injured racehorses.”

Though she sympathized with Chandler’s fear about the future of the equine center, her thoughts were focused on his first point. The Gaynors and the LeFayes had been at odds for generations. Perhaps Loralyn was striking out at Ella Mae’s mother and aunts too. If Ella Mae had been charged, the enrollment in Sissy’s school would have dropped dramatically; Verena would no longer influence the politicians and Havenwood’s upper crust; the garden center would cancel orders for her mother’s roses; and someone
might finally confront Dee about the number of animals in her care.

“If we’re right about Loralyn planting the rolling pin, then she believed there was a good chance my father would die that night.” Chandler directed this mournful statement to his plate of food. “She led him into a volatile situation while making sure she had a nice, neat alibi. But how could she know things were going to go sour? Did she tell my dad to carry the rolling pin so he could look tough?”

Ella Mae pulled up a stool and sat so close to Chandler that their knees nearly touched. “The answer must lie with the money. That’s what went wrong. Loralyn must have convinced your father not to pay Ashleigh or Uraeus a single dollar. He was supposed to deliver a bunch of cash in the form of bearer bonds, but when Ashleigh went to collect them, he tried to run. He also tried to call the cops.”

“Those bonds had been in his safe deposit box for decades. They were his retirement fund. All his other cash had been sunk into the clinic. He was going to take out a second mortgage to buy Loralyn that tanning salon. The cops showed me his financial records.” Chandler shook his head. “And where are the bonds now? We’re talking about well over two hundred thousand dollars!”

That kind of money could save the equine center
, Ella Mae thought. “Uraeus didn’t get it and neither did Ashleigh, so all signs point to Loralyn. The police have no grounds to question her, but she might let something slip if I confront her. She’s never resisted the chance to brag about a victory to me, whether it was a blue ribbon in dressage or being crowned Homecoming Queen.” She patted Chandler on the arm. “I’m going to be insulted if you let that tart get any colder.”