A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy (15 page)

"But honey, you want to make a good first impression." She turns her head as a couple of men carrying white boxes enter the kitchen and begin setting up the food.

"What do you suggest I wear then?"

"I don't know?" She casually tilts her head. "A
dress
maybe?"

"High heels, yes. But a dress—"

"Just wear one," she instructs me. I haven't even been here a day, and already I'm back to being the little girl who didn't clean her room. "You'll thank me. I promise."

I raise my eyebrows and roll a couple more candy balls. I place them on a Christmas serving platter that I found in a box under the stairs. Before I have time to ask my mom what's going on, she leaves the room. I sigh and finish preparing my desserts. I set the Christmas dish aside and jog up to my room to look for something more suitable to wear.

I look through my old closet and a box of clothes that I left here before I went to Georgia. I pull out a silky maroon dress that I wore to a Broadway play once back in NYC. It cinches at the waist and puffs out a little around the hips. It is short, but I also find a pair of black tights and heels to go with it. The neckline fits differently than I remember when I slip the dress on. I guess some of those five pounds found their way to my chest.

I glance in the mirror, pleased with what I see. The feeling is new to me. I'm looking in the mirror without scrutinizing my appearance. I don't have rehearsals to worry about and calories to count. I can just be myself now. I'm not ashamed of the fact that I am going to eat
two
pieces of cake and hide a few of Grandma's candies so I can indulge in them later when everyone goes home. Maybe I'll even sneak in a little contraband while I'm at it.
Coffee.

The doorbell rings, and I listen to Mom race to the front door. She greets my brother as soon as she answers it. My eyes go wide when I hear the sound of a second person. A
female
. My big brother, Mark, brought a date.

I finish getting myself ready and peek over the banister trying to get a view of his new girlfriend. I see Mark in a tailored, navy blue suit. His dark hair is perfectly gelled, and he's holding the hand of a blonde woman whose face I cannot see. Chills run down my spine when the woman flicks her hair over her shoulder. It reminds me of Georgina.

"Oh honey," Mom calls me from upstairs. "Come on down. I can't believe my two babies are so grown up now."

My cheeks feel warm as I casually stroll down the staircase in my fancier getup. I act as if I'd been planning to come downstairs all along. I plan each step carefully, hoping that I don't get a stroke of bad luck and trip and fall. Mark looks surprised when he turns towards me. He and I were close once, but ever since he left for college all those years ago the two of us had grown apart.

"Poppy," Mark says. He leans in and gives me a side hug. "When Mom said you were baking muffins down in swamp country I thought she was kidding. But I see you came to your senses." He grins and looks at his date.

"Actually, I'm on my holiday break."

"Oh," he responds, briefly glancing down at his loafers.

"Um, Poppy, nice to meet you. I'm Lauren." Mark's date outstretches her hand. She's wearing a winter blue cocktail dress, and her coat is long and white. I smile politely and shake her hand. My eyes dart to her fair and fragile fingers. No wedding ring.

"Yeah," I respond.

The doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," Mom says. She opens the front door, letting in my Aunt Maggie and Uncle George. A few neighbors, ones that I don't know, walk up. The house begins filling up with guests, and I'm relieved that there are more people to talk to besides Mark and his new date.

"Excuse me," I say, leaving the room. I look over my shoulder and see Lauren nudge my brother in the stomach. I walk into the kitchen where the food is being laid out on the kitchen table. Mom wasn't kidding when she said that she and Dad were on a vegan kick. The Tofurky is displayed in the center of trays of vegetables. I see a couple of salads, fruit, and a quinoa dish. It doesn't look bad, but it's nothing compared to the hearty spread at Shurbin Farms. There are no warm buttery rolls or creamed collard greens.

The doorbell rings again, and this time I hear Mom shout my name.

"No way," a voice says near the entryway. "Poppy, is that you?" My childhood friend Evie walks towards me and gives me a hug.

"Evie," I respond. "I haven't seen you in—"

"Four years," she finishes. "Wow, look at you."

"I know." I look down at my dress. "I'm not as slender as I once was but—"

"I think you look great," she interrupts. She tucks a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear and nods. Her eyes dart to the food on the kitchen table. "Quite a spread."

"You know you're the first person to compliment me since I've been back." I fold my arms. "I think my mom is convinced I'm having a midlife crisis."

"Oh, the whole pastry school thing?" Evie takes a closer look at the food. She almost picks up a cherry tomato and pops it in her mouth.

"You know too?"

"My mom told me about it." She directs her attention to me again and chuckles to herself. "But don't dwell on it. I think pastry school is a brilliant idea."

"Really?" I stand up straighter. "Where were you when I was talking about applying?"

"Well, think of it this way." She tugs at the collar of her emerald green dress. It makes her look sophisticated, and I would expect nothing less from a Rocky Mountain journalist. "You spent your twenties doing something you were good at."

"
Mediocre
," I comment.

"And now you get to spend your thirties doing something you
love.
You've always been obsessed with food. Whether or not you ate it, you were always obsessed with it."

"I still am." I look into the living area and tiptoe quietly to the Christmas dish I set aside. I hold it up and let her study the perfectly formed Brazilian truffles on the plate. Her eyes go wide, and unlike that cherry tomato, she grabs one like they're about to go extinct. She smells it before she puts it in her mouth.

"Are these what I think they are?" She takes a huge bite. "Yes, they are!"

The doorbell rings again, bringing in more chatter to the living area. The house is progressively getting louder and louder. My mom steps into the kitchen. She studies my outfit before she nods and looks over my shoulder.

"Poppy," Mom says firmly. "You have a guest." She stands aside, and a man in a gray blazer with dirty blond hair steps past her. My entire torso feels like a tub of frozen ice cream. I haven't spoken this man's name since we broke up.

"Mom?" My head is starting to spin. I don't know what to do first. Yell at my mother for letting him into the house or kick my ex-boyfriend out the door before I accidentally strangle him.

"Now Poppy," Mom states. "I know you two broke up, but Locke started his own business, and I really think you two should talk."

"Oh dear Lord," Evie murmurs.

"Poppy." When my ex says my name like that, my feelings for him come pouring back. That's the problem with toxic relationships like ours. All I have to do is think about him, and I start thinking of nothing else. That's why I haven't even allowed myself to say his name out loud.

"Locke." I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I think we should talk."

"I should probably go," Evie comments, snagging another piece of candy.

"No, Evie, I think you should stay." I snatch her sleeve so she can't leave.

"Come on, Poppy." He sighs and places a hand in his coat pocket. "Don't be like this."

"Yep." Evie jerks herself away. "I'm outtie."

Evie leaves the kitchen along with the rest of the caterers. Locke and I are left alone while the sounds of laughter and shuffling feet ring through the house, covering up the dead silence between us. I don't know what Locke has to say to me, but I know it can't be good. Locke isn't only my ex-boyfriend, he's my addiction. And just when I think I'm clean he shows up out of nowhere.

"I'll meet you upstairs," he says with a wink.

I will have to go upstairs to my room eventually. Locke is in there waiting, and the thought of being alone with him in my room makes my stomach churn. I would rather take my chances chatting with my brother's date, Lauren. I nervously watch the grandfather clock in the living room, as my Aunt Maggie gives me a hug and tells me about my cousin Sam traveling across Thailand.

I nod every couple of seconds, but I'm barely listening to a word she is saying. Instead, I think of what I'm going to say to my ex. He wants me back. That part is obvious. But do I want
him
back? Maybe he really has changed. Gotten his life together. Stopped making frequent trips to that disgusting gentlemen's club.

No, Poppy. He's the same old Locke. He will never change.

"Oh, would you look at that," Aunt Maggie points out. "Your mother forgot to put out plates and silverware. I should go see if she needs any help with that." She gently squeezes my forearm and leaves.

I look at each step until I'm watching the top of the stairs to see if Locke changed his mind. My bedroom door is cracked slightly open. I bite the corner of my lip as I reluctantly walk up the staircase. More neighbors walk through the front door, and now the living room is so chaotic that no one notices me leaving.

I push open my bedroom door and see Locke waiting for me on my bed. My heart starts pounding as I remember all the things we'd done together in this very room. By the smirk on his face, I know he is thinking the same thing. He stands up, taking a step closer so I can smell his woodsy cologne. His dirty blond hair isn't as messy as I remember it, and he looks like a confident businessman in his blazer and fitted jeans.

"Poppy." His voice is deep. It's one of things that attracted me to him from the start.

"Locke." My voice quivers. I bite my lip even harder to keep myself from sounding anxious.

"It's been a while," he continues.

"So it has."

He takes another step.

"We have a lot of catching up to do." He leans in closer. My chest leaps as his warm hand touches my waist. Locke presses his lips against mine. His other hand caresses my cheek. I force myself to pull away. Kissing him again brings back too many memories. Good ones and bad ones.

But mostly bad ones.

"Locke," I scold him. "What are you doing? You and I aren't together anymore."

"Poppy." He doesn't look as concerned as me. "Let's leave the past in the past, okay? You went away, and I started my own consulting business, and now you're back. Let's just move on." He leans in to kiss me again, and though my heart is pounding and my extremities feel tingly, I don't let him this time.

"I'm not here to stay," I respond. "And you and I are done. For good."

"Look." Locke rolls his eyes. "You can't expect all your problems to go away by baking cookies and trading recipes or whatever it is you went off to do. I am talking about real life here."

"Pastry school
is
my life now." I feel tears forming behind my eyes. The pressure builds until I blink a few times, making my eyes moist and glassy. "It makes me happy. And think what you want, but I
will
be successful at it someday." I stand aside, gesturing towards the door. "Now get out."

Locke shakes his head, glaring at me like I'm the one who ruined our relationship. He always does this—finds ways to blame me for his mistakes. I can't live like that anymore, and for a whole semester at Calle Pastry Academy I didn't have to.

I miss the South.

"Unbelievable." Locke strolls into the hallway and chuckles lowly. "You know, the only reason I even came here tonight was because your mom told me you were having some kind of mental breakdown or something."

"What?"

"Or was it midlife crisis?" He shrugs. "But I guess I would be a mess too if my career was over and I had to start all over again." He raises his eyebrows and quickly jogs down the stairs before I can say anything in response.

I blink again, letting a tear escape. It runs down my cheek and drops off of my chin and onto my silk dress. The people who care about me are back in Georgia. The people who actually
want
me to succeed are miles and miles away. I wipe away my tear, thinking about my Grandma Liz and all the people who probably laughed at her when she decided to open her bakery.

She did it anyway, and so will I.

I compose myself and peek over the banister. The front door slams, and I see Locke's figure walking down the steep driveway. He's gone, and now I'm ready to take on anything. I walk down the staircase feeling like a new woman. I may not be a ballerina anymore, but I sure as hell can cook a mean peach pie. I am going to win that dessert contest, and I am going to do it with grandma's recipe.

"There you are." My mom meets me at the bottom of the staircase. "Your dad was just about to say a few words before everyone starts eating. Where is Locke?"

"He's gone, Mom."

"Oh," she sighs. "Well, be a dear and go grab my bell from the kitchen."

"Sure," I agree. It has always been tradition for my dad to say a few words about friends and family before the party starts. My mom then rings her Christmas bell, which she carefully labels a
holiday
bell when certain neighbors are present, and everyone moves into the kitchen to start eating.

I walk into the kitchen, admiring the setup on the table even though it's not Mom's traditional turkey this year. I place my vegan chocolate cake at the end of the table, hoping it will be an instant hit. I turn towards the window and see a hint of something strange outside by the garbage cans.

Jeans.

A flannel shirt.

Cowboy boots.

I quickly open the door leading into the backyard and step onto the moist grass. My heels sink into the mud. I fold my arms as a chill breeze gives me goose bumps. The man in front of me doesn't look startled that I caught him doing something shady in my backyard. He actually looks pleased. His weathered face and sun-burnt skin sends chills down my spine.

"
Dirk
?"

"Well, if it isn't Poppy Peters. How are you, ma'am?" He tilts his head as if he's wearing a cowboy hat. Out of all the people I met in the South, the head farm hand from Shurbin Farms is the last person I expect to see.

"What are you doing here?"

"One word," he breathes, "revenge."

The sky seems grayer when I look down and see raindrops hitting the windows on the side of the house. My shoulders feel cold and clammy as the rain falls heavier and heavier. Dirk's eyes dart to the trash cans and then back at me.

"What?" I shout over the sound of thunder. "What are you talking about?"

"You cost me a fortune," he huffs. His cheeks turn red. A fiery spark lights in his eyes when he takes a better look at my face. "All those years of planning and smuggling. We had the perfect operation going until you came along and ruined it all."

"Smuggling?"

He takes a step towards me, and I'm instantly enveloped in a bubble made up of fear and anxiety. The bubble begins to suffocate me. I can hardly breathe. It's like I have a stack of pastry-filled cake boxes sitting on top of my chest and no way to push them off.

"You are a bright one, aren't you?" he mocks me. "When you exposed our smuggling business, who did you think called all the shots, huh? Certainly not Mr. Harris and his student puppets. I knew we were in trouble when he insisted on blackmailing that brainiac Tom Fox into working for him, and then he ran off like a coward."

"So it was you this whole time?" I gulp.

"Why do you think Thomas Calle left the Academy all those years ago?" He chuckles, enjoying his opportunity to prove that I had it all wrong. That he had deceived me and it was easy. "He didn't run away. He was kicked out by his own father.
Shunned
for turning Calle Pastry Academy into the most profitable racket in all of Georgia. All those stories James told you in Alabama were lies invented by Thomas himself, except for the part about the kitchen fight."

"So Thomas Calle started a smuggling business to sell black market truffles via the student bakery?" I ask. "This is all about some fancy mushrooms?"

"Oh, wake up," he scoffs. "We smuggle anything and everything. As long as it fits into the goods, we sell it." He widens his shoulders and lifts his chin, looking down at me. "Thomas knew my father through some business dealings, and the two of them built this business together, no thanks to that French moron Francois. And now the business is all mine, and what do you do? You come in and stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Well, I'll show you what happens to youngins who stick their noses where they don't belong."

All the muscles in my body feel like they're flexing all at once as I bend down and grab the only weapon I can find. A rock from my mom's flowerbed. I hold it up as my wet locks fall across part of my face.

"Don't come any closer," I warn him. "I'll scream, and I'm a
really
loud screamer." I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping that someone has noticed that I'm outside in the pouring rain.

"I believe you," Dirk replies. He still has a smirk on his face, and it's killing me. Why hasn't he charged at me yet? Why isn't he pulling out a gun and waving it around in the air like a madman?

"Why didn't James just kill us when we came asking questions, huh?" I ask. "Why wait until now?"

"James isn't in on it. That's the best part." He throws his head back and laughs. "His dad never told him what he
really
did for a living. All the profit is mine, and mine alone. I don't need James anymore. I was days away from handing him my resignation."

"Save it for the cops," I shout, glancing again at the kitchen window. "And don't you even think about vandalizing my parents property or—"

"Sweetheart," he interrupts. "I'm afraid the damage has already been done. James will
never
find out about this, and you're not going to tell him." His expression changes to one that looks friendlier, but I still feel like I'm going to collapse at any moment. My hand is shaking, and my skin is starting to feel numb from the cold.

Dirk hops over the wood fence like it's made of cardboard. He has no problem maneuvering his body to the other side where his car is waiting. I hear his engine rev, and in seconds he speeds off. My hand finally drops the rock. I let out a giant yelp as I race to the garbage cans to see why Dirk found them so comical. I stand on my tiptoes and look over the side.

"Empty jugs?" I say out loud. "Empty jugs of…" I reach down and grab one of the empty containers. "Weed killer?"

I drop the container and glance back at the house. My eyes go wide when it finally dawns on me what Dirk came here to do. His plan for revenge didn't involve hurting just me. He came here to hurt all the people I care about. I turn too quickly and feel something in my back pop.

"Ah!" I automatically yell as a sharp tingle pierces my side. I take baby steps back to the house, keeping my shoulders and back hunched to avoid any extra pain. When I finally open the back door, I take a deep breath. I hear my dad speaking to all our guests in the living room.

They started the party without me. My fingers fumble and shake as I wring the water from my hair and dress. My tights feel like too damp clothes against my legs. I shake my dress as much as I can to prevent it from being see-through. I gasp when I catch my reflection in the glass window over the kitchen sink. My heavy mascara is running down my cheek, and I look like a hunchback in a transparent robe. Another needle-like pain pierces my back, but I focus my attention on the food.

Dirk must have poisoned the food.

What did he poison? What!

My eyes dart from the Tofurky to the many side dishes of sautéed vegetables. A platter of assorted nuts and a serving bowl of pumpkin curry soup are sitting beside them. I can't be certain what it was. I would have to taste everything to figure it out and even then I still won't know for sure until I see someone doubled over, puking on the porch.

There were a
lot
of empty containers in the trash. My heart starts pounding, and I take small steps towards the house phone to call the police. Mom is going to hate me for this, but I have to do it. The living room falls silent for a brief second.

"I was going to wait until later but…" My brother, Mark, takes the floor. I glance into the living room and see him reach into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a tiny box, and right away my mom gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. He gently kneels and looks at his date, Lauren. He slowly opens the box, revealing a glittering engagement ring. "Lauren, we've been friends for a while, and now that we're finally together I want to make
us
official. Will you marry me?"

The entire room gasps and patiently waits for Lauren's response. As soon as her eye catches the diamond on the ring, she starts nodding. I run my fingers through my wet hair and stand silently wondering what's going on in her head or if she even loves my brother at all.

"Yes," she answers. "Yes Mark, I will!" She leaps into his arms, and the entire room breaks out in applause. My mom's cheeks are rosy, and she doesn't waste any time hugging her new daughter-in-law to be.