A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy (16 page)

"Oh my goodness," Mom says repeatedly. She studies Lauren's ring and turns to give my brother a smile of approval. "Well on that happy note, let's eat, everyone!"

The joyous crowd makes their way towards the kitchen. At least twenty hungry people are headed my way, and somehow I have to convince them not to touch a single thing on the table. I start to panic. My chest pounds and the pain in my back comes flooding back. I can hardly keep myself from howling like a wild animal.

Aunt Maggie walks in first, and behind her is an entire line of starving guests. She eyes a slice of cucumber on the vegetable platter and picks it up with her fingers. I lunge forward. She looks up and cringes when she sees my face.

"Oh dear," she says quietly. "Poppy, what happened to you?"

"Stop," I shout. "Don't eat that!"

Both my parents step into the kitchen along with Mark and his new fiancée. My mom looks at me like I'm a ghost who has come to haunt her nightmares. She turns towards the rest of her guests and tries to herd them away, but the entire bunch is too curious. More people push into the kitchen, including my old friend Evie.

"Honey, maybe you should go upstairs and lie down?" Mom suggests. But she scolds me with her eyes. "Go on."

"No," I reply. "I'm serious. You can't eat the food. No one can. Something's wrong with it."

"Oh," Mom laughs uncomfortably. "She's a little unnerved by the veganism." She turns to her guests, and continues laughing until others join her.

"No, Mom, I don't have a problem with veganism."

My Aunt Maggie looks at her cucumber slice and moves it towards her mouth. My throat tightens as I watch her, and I do the only thing I can think of to keep her from poisoning herself. I jump forward and knock the bit of food from her hand. My hand slaps against hers.

"Poppy!" Dad gasps. "What has gotten into you?"

"See, Dan." My mom points at me and looks back at my dad. "What did I tell you? She's cracked! We've been letting her fill her head with all these delusions, and she's finally gone mental!"

"Not here, Bobbi," Dad says through his teeth. "Our daughter is almost thirty years old."

"Exactly! She's about to be thirty years old and she has
no
career,
no
man in her life, and
no
hopes of giving us grandchildren." She throws her hands up in the air. If anyone in the room is going mental, it's my mom.

My chest keeps pounding, and my entire face feels like it's on fire. My Uncle George takes a step forward, practically ignoring the drama, and grabs a plate. He then proceeds to eye the food on the table. When he reaches for a handful of assorted nuts, more guests follow his lead. I roll my eyes.

"What do I have to do to get through to you people?" I say out loud.

I take a step forward and knock Uncle George's plate out of his hands. He stares at me, bewildered. The only way I can get everyone to forget about the food is to get rid of it all. I rub my forehead. What I'm about to do is not going to aid my plea that I'm not crazy.

I quickly grab the serving platter of Tofurky and drop it. The porcelain tray shatters, leaving lumps of tofu strewn across the tile. I do the same with every single dish on the table. As fast as I can, I dig into the food with my fingers and toss it on the floor or into the trash.
Anything
to make it look less appetizing.

I hear gasps and whispers, but I don't care. I'm doing them a favor even if I look like I just escaped from an insane asylum in the process. I throw the nut platter in the trash and scoop out handfuls of quinoa until the whole bowl is empty. I turn to my vegan cake. My pride and joy that I spent hours making just for the approval of my loon of a mother. I can't be sure that it's not contaminated somehow so I tear it apart.

"Poppy, stop this right now!" My mom places a hand on her chest as if she is about to have a heart attack.

I ignore her until every last morsel of food in the kitchen is in pieces on the floor. When I'm finished, I take a deep breath and finally look at everyone. Most of the faces I see are terrified. Some are concerned. And Evie is laughing in the corner.

"Um." I take a deep breath. "Sorry, everyone. I guess the party is cancelled."

It's for their own good.

"She's right." Evie clears her throat and begins pushing guests back into the living room. "Nothing to see here, people. Keep moving. Keep moving." She herds as many guests as she can until it is just me and my family standing in the kitchen. I fold my arms and attempt to cover the bits that can be seen through the fabric of my dress.

"Do you care to explain yourself?" Dad begins.

"Would you believe me if I said that someone poisoned the food?"

"Mark," Lauren says quietly, grabbing my brother's arm. "Maybe we should go."

"Yes," he agrees. He gives my mom a hug goodnight. "Night, Mom. We're going to head over to our hotel. I'll call you in the morning."

"Bye, sweetheart." My mom watches him leave. She looks down at the mess on the floor and avoids looking at me. "Well, I'll send everybody home." She stops just before the door leading to the living area and straightens her shoulders.

"Dad." I kick a piece of broccoli off my shoe. "I promise you I have a completely rational explanation for all this."

"Okay," he responds, hanging his head. "Let's hear it." My dad is more patient than my mom. I know he will at least give me the chance to explain, but I'll have to start at the beginning.

"Mind if I change first?"

Dad nods approvingly as I tiptoe upstairs and pull a set of warm pajamas from my suitcase. They were too warm to wear in Georgia. I quickly dry my hair with a towel and fish through my purse until I find the card Detective Reid gave me. I need proof that I'm not crazy.

I pull out my cell phone and dial his number.

It goes straight to his voice mail.

Beep.

"Hi, Detective Reid. It's Poppy Peters. Call me back as soon as you get this message. Mr. Harris isn't your
only
guy. Some crazy farmer just tried to kill me with a Tofurky."

I take a sip of green tea as Detective Reid instructs his team to take samples of all the leftover food. My mom almost had a heart attack yesterday when I completely trashed the catered meal that she had paid so handsomely for. But what made her panic even more was hearing that she wasn't allowed to clean it up until the crime scene was properly assessed.

"You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Peters," Detective Reid informs my parents. "This could have turned out to be one deadly dinner party."

"I just hope you find the man responsible," she dramatically replies.

I get a kick out of watching her rub the side of her face and collapse onto the sofa like she's experiencing vertigo. When Detective Reid got my call, he immediately jumped on the next plane. He arrived this morning, confirming to my parents that I'm not a nut job and a psychotic farmhand really did try to poison us all out of spite.

"We've picked up his trail," the detective responds. "I've got all my best officers tracking him now. It won't be long before he makes another mistake."

"Thank you, Detective."

Detective Reid grins as he glances at me near the kitchen. I look down at my high-heeled boots and dark wash jeans. Here is a more appropriate place to wear them than in Georgia, where my feet sweat even in winter.

"First Mr. Harris and now this?" he says to me.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I respond.

"At least now we know how far back this goes." He watches his team examine the food in the kitchen. After all the samples are collected, Detective Reid urges them to clean up a little while my mom searches for an aspirin for her headache.

"Since the school opened apparently."

He takes another look at the mess in the kitchen and glances at me.

"You really did all that?" he asks.

"Someone had to." I smile about the whole situation for the first time. "They would've eaten it all if I didn't, and we'd be having this conversation at a hospital."

"That was brave of you to make a fool of yourself like that."

"That's putting it lightly," I comment. "My neighbors think I've gone insane, and I single-handedly ruined what was supposed to
also
be my brother's engagement party. My mother had it all planned."

"I'm sorry." He offers his sympathy, but the damage has already been done. I explained everything to Mom and Dad.
Everything.
Down to the night Mr. Harris held me at knife point. My mom's first words were something along the lines of suing the school for nearly getting me killed. I disappointed her when I said I was going back after the break to finish what I started.

My dad was more understanding, but he's a man of few words. Unlike Mom, he usually chooses to keep his mouth shut and wait for a moment of privacy to speak his feelings. Mom doesn't understand privacy.

"It's okay," I lie, "I'm sure everyone will forget all about yesterday in a couple years…or decades."

*   *   *

Mark and his new fiancée were supposed to come over for dinner, but Mom couldn't bring herself to step into the kitchen after Detective Reid's team left. I took over and finished cleaning the mess I made even though my back was still a little sore from yesterday. I even scrubbed the tile floors on my hands and knees until it sparkled in the sunlight. That's when I looked up at the counters and realized that I had enough ingredients to make more of Grandma Liz's special Christmas candies, the Brazilian truffles that her grandmother taught her to make.

After heating up the candy mixture, I pour it onto a marble surface, a cutting board that my mom hardly uses. I wait until the candy cools and start forming balls that can be rolled into an assortment of sprinkles. Rolling each piece comes naturally, and it makes me feel better. Almost like yesterday never happened.

I find another serving dish. A festive one with red poinsettias painted on it. I place each candy on the plate so that they all line up perfectly. They are all the same size and the same chocolate flavor, but they alternate between chocolate sprinkles and Christmas sprinkles. I set the plate down on the counter and admire my work.

It was easy.

It was fun.

And I feel happier having accomplished their perfect circular shapes.

I take a large bite of an extra truffle that didn't fit onto the plate. It's still warm, and it's the right level of sweetness. I chew it slowly, thinking of all the times I've impatiently waited next to Grandma to take a first bite. Every year I would look forward to this.

The doorbell rings, and my brother and Lauren walk through the front door. My parents suggested that we all meet here and then choose a restaurant to go to. I pick up the tray of candies and grip it firmly as I walk into the living room. Mark spots me and watches me carefully, eyeing the tray as if I might drop it at any second.

"Don't worry," I joke. "I'm not going to drop it. I promise."

Lauren laughs a little to lighten the mood. She's carrying a couple gift boxes with red bows. She hands one to my mom, and then she hands one to me. I set the tray of Christmas sweets down on the coffee table and accept her gift. I don't know anything about Lauren, and my first impression of her wasn't exactly the greatest since she reminds me slightly of Georgina.

I neatly open her gift, making sure I smile as I do. I tear aside the wrapping paper and see a tiny, square canvas. A simple vanilla cupcake is painted on it. It has a baby blue wrapper with polka dots and a fondant pink heart on top. Lauren anxiously bites her lip and watches me observe the piece of artwork she selected.

"Wow," I mutter. "This will be perfect for my apartment."

"Oh, good. I'm glad you like it."

"I haven't really seen any cake art like this before." I study it again and gently touch the smooth paint strokes. Bree might try and steal this from me when we graduate. "Where did you get it? I might have to buy a couple more."

"Oh, I painted it myself." She clasps her hands together like it's no big deal.

"
You
painted this?"

"Lauren is an artist," Mark chimes in. "She works at a gallery in the city. That's how we met actually."

"I can paint you another if you'd like," she says.

"Really? I have a friend who would absolutely love one of these."

I wasn't sure about Lauren at first, but I guess I can learn to like her.

My mom grabs her coat and suggests a few places for dinner. All of which, as she puts it, have excellent vegetarian options. Dad chooses Italian and we all grab our coats and purses. Before we walk out the door I pick up the platter of Grandma's candies.

"Does anyone want one?" I look around. No takers. "Please. For old time's sake?"

"I'll try one," Lauren says. She steps forward first after nudging my brother to do the same.

"Okay," Mark agrees.

When Mark agrees my Mom takes a candy, and after she takes a bite my Dad grabs one too. All four of them nod as they slowly chew the sugary treat from our childhood. Lauren nods and reaches out to take another. Mom takes tiny bites, savoring each piece before she swallows it. I look at my dad twice, but I could have sworn that his eyes were misty for a brief second.

"I love them," Lauren comments.

"Yes honey, they are delicious," my mom adds.

"Just like Grandma's," Dad responds.

I take a deep breath, finally feeling as if I've succeeded in making everyone else as happy as I was when I made them. The atmosphere in the room feels different. Mom holds her smile for longer. Dad doesn't seem so distracted. Mark isn't clenching his jaw, and I'm not counting down the hours until I can fly back to school.

The lot of us are loosening up.

I set the tray down and pick up my jacket. My mom places her hand on my back as we step out into the gray winter air. She squeezes my shoulder and leans in to whisper something in my ear. They are the very words I was hoping to hear the moment I spotted her at baggage claim.

"Good job, honey. Good job."