Peach Pies and Alibis (23 page)

“We’d best brew some coffee,” Reba said, jerking her thumb at the window. “Anyone
who’s willin’ to get soaked to the bone over a piece of pie deserves a free cup of
coffee.”

Ella Mae gave her a playful nudge. “Hey now, it’s a damned good piece of pie.”

Maurelle smiled at them and then left to get the coffee started.

After she was gone, Reba murmured gravely, “I’m hopin’ and prayin’ that it’s your
best yet.” She then retied her apron strings and headed into the dining room to serve
the first customers of the day.

Reba reappeared in the kitchen with an order ticket for two slices of shepherd’s pie
for Mr. and Mrs. Caswell and wedges of chicken potpie for Verena and August Templeton.

“August braved the weather?” Ella Mae was surprised. August was the LeFaye family
attorney and had carried a torch for Dee since the two had been in grade school together.
A short, round, meatball of a man with a heart of gold, August had yet to win Dee’s
love, but he never ceased trying. He donated a great deal of money to area animal
shelters in her name and was always prepared to aid any of her relatives. He’d certainly
helped Ella Mae in the past and was currently working to secure her divorce from Sloan.

“August is sure to wonder why Sloan is here.” She groaned.

“But he’s too much of a gentleman to ask you in front of your other customers,” Reba
said. She’d always been fond of August. “He claims he was all set on eatin’ the ham
and cheese sandwich he brought from home for lunch when he
got a powerful urge to pull on his boots, coat, and hat, and fight his way to our
door. I reckon it’s a good thing. Not many folks care to misbehave in front of a lawyer.”

Ella Mae nodded and opened the oven door to make sure that the mashed potatoes covering
the surface of the shepherd’s pie had turned golden. A burst of warmth escaped from
within, heating Ella Mae down to the bone and granting her a fresh dose of strength.
The tendrils of air caressing her face reminded her of the touch of the butterflies.
She slid her hands into her oven mitts and withdrew the pie. “Has everyone else arrived?”

“Verena’s at a two-top pretendin’ to be real interested in a newspaper article on
the economy of China, and Loralyn and Opal have brought along another Gaynor harpy.
The three of them are grumblin’ about everythin’ from the rain to the color of the
walls to the flowers on the table.” Reba arranged fresh greens tossed in champagne
vinaigrette on two white plates.

Ella Mae cut generous slices of shepherd’s pie and slid a steaming wedge alongside
the salad. “Did Sloan come with them?”

Reba placed a sprig of parsley atop each piece of pie. “Yes, but the man’s just sittin’
there, all stern and tight-lipped. Hasn’t said a word except to ask for coffee. Maurelle
was right about the Shermans. They came in on the Caswells’ heels and are now drip-dryin’
by the front window.”

“Any telling looks passing between them and the Gaynors?”

Reba shook her head. “Not even a polite how-do-you-do. The Gaynors are far too busy
complainin’ to acknowledge anyone else’s presence.”

“Okay. Let’s serve Aunt Verena, August, and the Caswells, and then I’ll start plating
the lamb pie for our special guests. Give Maurelle some odd jobs in the dining room.
I need her to stay out front.”

Ella Mae gave herself over to the rhythm of the kitchen. The rush of running water,
the thud of the oven door closing, the chop of a carving knife against the wood cutting
board, the whisper of a wedge of pie shimmying from spatula to plate, and the subtle,
upbeat sounds of soft jazz coming from the radio.

Maurelle and Reba served the lamb pies, and Ella Mae waited. She loaded utensils into
the dishwasher, glanced out at the rain, and waited. A shimmering layer of water coated
the asphalt of the parking lot. It rippled as the wind pushed the water this way and
that, making the blacktop look like a dark lake. Ella Mae could almost imagine a monster
hiding far below the surface—some coiling, serpentine creature waiting to rise through
the blackness should the water become deep enough.

“Are you okay?” Maurelle asked from behind her.

Ella Mae jumped and then gave a nervous little laugh. “I just got lost in the storm
for a moment.” She studied Maurelle. “Have you talked to Candis?”

“Yeah. Just on the phone though.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I’m not crazy about
hospitals, so I didn’t go sit with her and Mrs. Shaw. I feel really bad about that.
What kind of friend am I if I can’t be with Candis when she needs me most?”

Touching Maurelle on the arm, Ella Mae said, “She knows you’re there for her. Sometimes
the sound of a friend’s voice is all we need. Besides, Rudy’s at the hospital with
her, right?”

Maurelle nodded, looking miserable. “I wish there was something I could do. None of
this makes sense. How could Mrs. Shaw be fine one second and in a coma the next?”

“There’s no obvious explanation as to how Freda was infected by
Listeria
. It’s a mystery to us all,” Ella Mae said, though she hoped she’d discover the reason
soon enough. “I imagine you felt the same way when you were diagnosed.”

Turning to the window, Maurelle’s dark eyes grew pained. “When I learned how much
my life was about to change, I couldn’t breathe. It was like the color drained out
of everything.” She gestured at the rain-soaked world on the other side of the wet
glass. “All I saw was gray, like now, except there wasn’t a storm. It was totally
quiet.”

Ella Mae felt a sudden desire to protect Maurelle, to shield the pale, slim young
woman from further hardship. “You beat cancer. You’re a survivor. To me, that means
you’re due for a few rainbows.” She smiled. “I know it sounds cheesy, but let’s hope
that Freda Shaw fights the way you fought. And when she comes through this, we’ll
have a big party for the both of you.” Wagging her finger at Maurelle, she added,
“You should be demanding more of life. You made it through a trial. Now’s the time
for you to laugh and dance and date a bunch of cute, unsuitable guys and drink too
much and stay up way too late.”

Maurelle gave a little smirk. “I know I’m too serious, but I’ve always been this way.
Even before…” She plucked at the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt. “Still, I like the
idea of dating lots of cute guys. And it’s cool that you don’t think I need to find
Mr. Right straight off. What about you? Reba said that your husband’s in town and
that he wants to get back together.”

Ella Mae jerked her thumb toward the dining room. “He’s sitting out there as we speak.”

“The good-looking guy in the black sweater?” Maurelle’s mouth dropped open.

“That’s him. He wants to talk things over with me, but I’m not sure that we have much
left to say to each other.”

Maurelle whistled. “Whoa. Heavy stuff. Was he Mr. Right once?”

“He was pretty close,” Ella Mae said after a moment’s hesitation and then turned away
to pull open the door to the walk-in refrigerator. She paused in the threshold, letting
the
cool air steal some of the heat from her flushed cheeks. Maurelle had brought up the
very question she’d been avoiding asking herself. But there it was. At one time, Ella
Mae had loved Sloan Kitteridge. What she needed to know now was if she still did.
Was there enough love left between them to give them reason to fight for their marriage?

Taking one of the peanut butter cup pies from the refrigerator, she carried it to
the worktable. She did her best to clear her mind of all thoughts of Sloan, because
those were not the emotions she needed to use when garnishing the pie.

Ella Mae was melting semisweet chocolate and a tablespoon of honey in the double boiler
when Reba entered the kitchen burdened with a tray full of dirty dishes and glasses.
She shot Maurelle a questioning look. “You takin’ a break?”

“It’s my fault she’s back here. We got to talking,” Ella Mae hurried to say. She dipped
a teaspoon into the melted chocolate and drizzled it in a zigzag pattern across the
surface of the pie.
Confess,
she whispered the command in her mind as her hand moved back and forth.
Tell me your secret
.

Reba scowled and jerked her thumb in the direction of the dining room. “They’re ready
for dessert. Except for Loralyn. Apparently she doesn’t eat dessert. Ever.”

Ella Mae hadn’t seen this coming. “We’ll bring her a slice anyway. This pie is irresistible.”

Maurelle raised an inquisitive brow but accepted the plates of peanut butter cup pie
and took them out to the dining room. Reba also collected several dishes and put them
on her serving tray. “August is gonna want one of these, you know. Peanut butter with
chocolate is his favorite.”

“Don’t worry, I made a pie free of enchantment,” she said. “I’ll have his and Verena’s
pieces ready by the time you get back.”

Several minutes later, Reba returned, her mouth pinched in irritation. “While my back
was turned, that little wench Loralyn gave her pie to August. I couldn’t exactly rip
the
fork out of his hand or the whole jig would be up, so now what?”

“I guess we’ll have to hope that Opal will feel like spilling her family’s secret.
Is she eating her dessert?”

“I saw her take a tiny nibble,” Reba said with disapproval. “What a bunch of divas.
It just goes to show. You can’t trust folks who don’t have a sweet tooth. It’s simply
unnatural to say no to anythin’ made of chocolate.”

Ella Mae couldn’t agree more. “She won’t be able to settle for one bite. The pie is
too powerful. But what about the Shermans?”

“Maurelle served them first. I thought it would be a good idea to give you a little
space between confessions, so I expect Lynn or Vaughn to be comin’ back here in a
minute or two, unless August beats them to it.”

“That’s no good,” Ella Mae murmured to the saucepan of melted chocolate. Suddenly,
she had an idea. “Have Maurelle wrap up some apple and cherry hand pies for him to
take back to his office. On the house. She knows he’s a friend of ours, so when he
starts telling her how much he loves Aunt Dee, Maurelle will listen politely. You
might even encourage her to steer August out onto the front porch. It’s raining, but
it’s not cold.”

Reba grinned. “And August will chew the poor girl’s ear off goin’ on and on about
how sweet and lovely and gentle Dee is. Shoot, the hurricane will be in New England
by the time he leaves.”

Ella Mae had no idea whether her plan would work or not. All she knew was that within
seconds of Reba’s departure from the kitchen, Vaughn Sherman was pushing cautiously
on the swing door, his wife trailing behind him.

“We’re sorry to intrude,” he said, sticking his hands into his pants pockets and gazing
at the floor with a sheepish expression. He looked like a little boy caught filching
apples
from the neighbor’s orchard. “If you’re busy, we can leave, but—”

“We were hoping to have a quick word,” Lynn said, cutting Vaughn off.

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Ella Mae pulled out the two stools tucked beneath
the counter and smiled warmly. “Of course. Have a seat.”

Because there were no other stools, she remained standing, the worktable separating
her from the Shermans. Her Colt was hidden beneath a potholder, and she picked up
a sharp carving knife and began to cut a fresh strawberry into paper-thin slices.
She pushed the blade into the soft, red fruit very slowly and with infinite care,
knowing that her rhythmic movements were hypnotic.

Lynn and Vaughn watched her intently, and then Vaughn began to speak.

“We’re worried that our cheese might have been contaminated,” he blurted, as if he
needed to get the words out before losing his courage. Beside him, Lynn nodded wretchedly.

“Not on purpose. We’d never want to make someone sick,” she added and wrung her hands
together. “But we never had the soil or the water tested.”

Husband and wife exchanged agonized glances.

“That’s unfortunate.” Ella Mae tried to sound sympathetic. “Did Freda Shaw ever buy
or sample your products prior to the wedding?”

Lynn went pale. “On the day you came to the farm to test drive the Jeep, Candis and
Rudy were visiting along with Maurelle and Rudy’s parents. The Shaws both had work
commitments and couldn’t come. Vaughn and I sent a few varieties of cheese home with
Candis for her parents to try.”

Ella Mae frowned. “But no one else in that group was
infected with
Listeria
. Only Freda. So unless she ate a variety they didn’t, it doesn’t sound like your
cheese was tainted.” She stopped cutting the strawberry and gave the Shermans a steely
stare. “What about Melissa Carlisle? Did she ever taste your cheese?”

The Shermans gazed back at her with blank expressions. “We don’t know her,” Vaughn
said and then, hesitantly, turned to his wife. “Do we?”

She started to shake her head, stopped, and let out a little gasp. “Wait! I read about
her in the paper. She died a few weeks ago, right? Not from…?” She couldn’t finish
the question.