Pies and Prejudice (22 page)

Ella Mae took a deep breath. “Someone just asked whether or not I was a murder suspect. It’s thrown me off my game.” She glanced nervously around the eatery. “I feel like I’ve just been set adrift and I can’t reach out and grab on to anything to bring me back to the shore.”

“Why should folks order your chocolate bourbon pecan pie?”

Startled by the question, Ella Mae gestured at the row of dessert pies inside the display case. “Every bite is layered with flavor. First, your fork will crack through a crisp bark of pecans, sinking into milk chocolate made smooth and richer by a splash of bourbon, and then the tines will strike the buttery bottom crust. One mouthful and you’ll believe it’s Christmastime. You’ll want to laugh too loudly and make toasts. Warmth will spread from your fingertips down to your toes. It will shine from your eyes like a lighthouse beacon.”

Reba put her hands on her hips. “You’re ready, honey. It’s a good thing too, ’cause here they come!”

The bells chimed a merry greeting. Buddy and Verena entered first, arm in arm, and exchanged hugs with Sissy.

“
Best
seat in the house,” Sissy declared, showing them a two-top table overlooking the side garden. Reba took their drink orders and immediately hustled to the next table. Ella Mae’s mother, Sissy, and Dee came out from where they’d been waiting in the kitchen. Just for today, her mother had volunteered to help Reba deliver food and drinks to the dine-in customers, Dee offered to man the counter, and Sissy was willing to seat customers and clear away dirty dishes.

Within minutes, the shop was filled to capacity and a long line of people placing to-go orders formed at the counter. While patrons tried to decide on whether to bring home a savory or dessert pie or both, Ella Mae began to fill the orders Reba brought to the kitchen. She arranged a generous wedge of pie alongside a mound of salad, her fingers moving with the fluent grace of a skilled pianist. Never before had she felt so calm, so at ease in her environment.

Reba picked up a plate containing a mixed-green salad and a wedge of bacon and spinach quiche with one hand and grabbed a second bearing a fragrant slice of tomato basil tart and a rounded heap of apple, walnut, and goat cheese salad. “You’re doin’ great, Ella Mae.”

In what seemed like minutes later, her mother entered
the kitchen and waved an order ticket in front of her daughter’s face. “I hope you’ve got more apple caramel pies back here. Dee’s boxed up so many takeout orders that we’re running out.”

Ella Mae took a precious second to glance at the wall clock mounted above the swing door leading to the dining area. The Charmed Pie Shoppe had already been open for two hours. Where had the time gone?

She finished filling an order for Reba and then checked the wire racks lining the back wall. “I have three left but I need to keep two for dine-in dessert orders. Everyone is having dessert with their lunch today!”

“That won’t always be the case,” her mother advised. “But it was smart of you to bake extra for the grand opening.” She examined the pies on the rack. “I’ll have to convince people to opt for the triple berry or the fruit medley tart. The contrast between the blackberries and the vanilla custard is most seductive.”

Dee pushed through the swing door and announced, “We’re out of banana puddin’ pies! The manager of Peachtree Bank just took the last four to bring to his employees as a special surprise. Is anything in the walk-in or the oven?”

“Six more chocolate bourbon pecans should be ready in about five minutes,” Ella Mae said, wiping her forehead with the corner of her apron. She hadn’t expected to sell out of a single item, let alone nearly every dessert pie on the menu.

After giving her a quick thumbs-up, Dee returned to the front room. Verena was the next to come bursting through the door. She pushed it with such exuberance that it nearly came off its hinges. “Ella Mae! You won’t believe what people are saying! I heard phrases like ‘utterly divine’ and ‘even better than Grandma’s.’” Verena was rosy-cheeked with pride. “Adelaide, our girl has knocked this opening right out of the park! The reporters are having trouble finding enough flattering adjectives for their articles!”

“It’s the truth,” Reba said. “And no one wants to leave. People are huggin’ one another and extending their lunch breaks as if this was their last day on earth.”

Someone knocked on the back door. Ella Mae’s mother opened it, exchanged a few words with the person on the other side, and turned to face the room, her hands cradling a cut-glass vase stuffed with sunflowers.

“Aren’t those gorgeous?” Verena boomed. “Do you have an admirer, Ella Mae?”

Ella Mae was too busy slicing a pancetta and Gruyère tart to respond. “Will someone read the card?”

Her mother complied. “‘Best wishes on your opening day. Yours, Chandler Knox.’”

The noises in the kitchen abruptly ceased. Only the twang of a Patsy Cline song floating through the radio speakers permeated the silence.

“Knox?” Verena examined the card over her sister’s shoulder. “I guess
he
doesn’t view you as a suspect!”

“Interesting,” her mother remarked just as another knock sounded on the door. This time, she accepted a large, beautifully etched crystal vase filled with bloodred roses. “Not even a trace of scent. Hothouse flowers.” She eyed the offending blooms with disdain. “Utterly devoid of passion. Not a single remnant of the journey from seed to blossom.”

Verena snatched the card from the center of the rose cluster. “But they
are
red!” She tore open the envelope. “‘Congratulations, darling. You did it! I am so proud of you! Call me. We need to talk. Love, Sloan.’”

“I could have told you who sent those flowers without even opening the card,” her mother murmured darkly. “He probably let the florist pick this arrangement. Not an ounce of personal thought went into this.”

Ella Mae waved at the roses. “Why don’t you put them on the front counter near the register? But leave the sunflowers near the sink. They’re like a burst of energy.”

Reba entered to collect the lunches Ella Mae had just
prepared. “What’s going on? Is this a flower stall or a pie shop?” She sank onto one of the kitchen stools. “I’m about due for a Twizzlers break.”

Verena picked up the dishes from the counter. “I’ll get these. Mr. and Mrs. Fergusson are on the Parks Preservation Board with me. They’ll get a kick out of having me as their waitress. After all, when I’m carrying food, it’s usually for me!”

After her aunt’s boisterous departure, Ella Mae loaded the dishwasher and leaned back against its stainless steel surface to drink thirstily from a glass of cool sweet tea. Her eyes roamed over the flour-encrusted worktable, the pies browning in the oven, and the depleted baker’s racks. She let loose a sigh of satisfaction that welled up from her very core.

“That’s what it feels like to meet your destiny, take it by the hand, and jump off the cliff with it,” Reba said from her perch on one of the kitchen stools. She pointed at Ella Mae with a licorice stick. “Mighty empowerin’.”

For the third time, a knock sounded on the kitchen door.

“There’s no one left to give me flowers,” Ella Mae protested good-naturedly and went to see if the visitor was indeed the delivery boy from the local florist. But no one was waiting on the other side of the door. Instead, a white note card sat squarely in the middle of the stoop. Ella Mae opened it and grinned.

“Somebody scored, huh?” Reba asked, hopping down from her stool. “What’s it say?”

“Nothing.” Ella Mae showed Reba the card. There was no writing inside, but someone had glued a pristine four-leaf clover in the center of the white paper.

Reba brought the card to her nose and closed her eyes. “I can practically smell the secluded meadow blanketed by sunshine. Don’t know who this boy is, but he’s a keeper.”

Ella Mae laughed. “Boy? It could be from anyone. One of the construction workers or a rep from the restaurant supply company.”

“No.” Reba sniffed the clover again. “They would’ve given it to you firsthand. Somebody searched high and low to get this for you but wasn’t ready to show his face. It’s been ages since I saw one this big.” She handed Ella Mae the note. “Put this in a frame and hang it near the register. This is a true gift.”

Setting the card aside, Ella Mae turned her attention to the beeping oven. “What makes a shamrock so special anyway?”

“One leaf for love, one leaf for hope, one leaf for faith, and one leaf for luck. The fourth leaf is a teeny bit smaller than the other three. That’s how you know it’s real.” Her eyes grew distant. “For more years than this town’s been standing, people have looked to clovers to ward off evil spirits.”

Ella Mae frowned. “Well, I can use all the help I can get keeping them at bay.”

At that point, Dee poked her head through the swing door and motioned for Reba. “Table five just left you a very generous tip. And their compliments to the chef,” she added for Ella Mae’s sake.

Sissy joined her sister in the threshold. “It’s a good thing you’ve got tomorrow and Monday off. You’ll have to bake for
hours
before your next business day. People are already talking about coming back on Tuesday.”

“And the cash register’s so stuffed I can barely close it,” Dee declared happily.

Ella Mae’s mother pushed her sisters aside and entered the kitchen with a new order ticket. “You’d better use that money to hire another employee.”

Reba plucked the ticket from her fingers. “Let her put it in the bank. I’m not sharin’ my tips with anyone, right, Ella Mae?”

But Ella Mae wasn’t listening. Noises poured in through the open door. The murmur of relaxed voices, the clink of flatware, and the sweet, light music of laughter floated in on a stray air current. This rainbow of sound, this vibrant
spectrum of merriment and pleasure, was precisely what Ella Mae had been dreaming about for years.

“Honey, you’re crying! What’s wrong?” Verena shouted in concern.

Ella Mae touched a finger to her cheek, catching a tear as it slid toward her chin. “This is joy. Maybe I should add it to a pie.”

“Maybe you should,” her mother suggested.

The next morning, Ella Mae couldn’t wait to get her hands on
The Havenwood Daily.
While Chewy scampered around the yard chasing chipmunks, she drank coffee and poured over the article on The Charmed Pie Shoppe. Verena wasn’t exaggerating when she’d said that the reporter had used a host of complimentary adjectives to describe her cooking, but it was the secondary story that made Ella Mae nearly splutter coffee out of her nose.

“EIGHTY-YEAR-OLD DOES CARTWHEELS DOWN MONARCH STREET!” proclaimed the headline.

Ella Mae dropped the paper on the garden bench and drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. “Is it possible?
Do I have some sort of gift?” She stood up and began to meander down the path leading down to the lake, her mind churning.

Chewy followed, a stick clamped between his jaws, tail wiggling madly.

“I should be angry with you,” she scolded the terrier. “My favorite sandals look like a straw and leather bird’s nest.”

Rolling his eyes, Chewy dropped the stick and barked.

She stroked his soft ears, instantly contrite. “You’re right. What did I expect? You’re just a puppy. Tomorrow we’ll visit Canine to Five and look into enrolling you in doggie day care. Mama’s going to be working quite a bit.” She hurled the stick into the shallows and Chewy dashed forward to retrieve it, his mouth curved into a toothy smile.

Ella Mae reached out to touch the sparkling skin of the water, fracturing the diamond glitter with her hand. Sunlight freckled her palm instead as she continued to reflect on the newspaper article. Had Jefferson Baxter eaten the last dessert pie of the day? She’d poured her joy into the filling as if it were tablespoons of pure vanilla extract. Did she really have the power to transfer emotions into the food she made?

“Impossible.”

She removed her hand from the water and stood up. Chewy bounded onto the bank, shaking droplets all over her legs. She laughed, kissed his nose, and sent the stick high into the cerulean sky. The shade was the same blue base as Hugh Dylan’s eyes but lacked the striations of lagoon green.

Thinking of Hugh stirred things in Ella Mae’s heart she did not wish to have awakened. There was too much work to be done at the pie shop and in unraveling the riddles surrounding Knox’s murder. Perhaps Annie Beaufort held the answers. Ella Mae was meeting Annie for coffee later and wanted to make a pie that would prove her worthy of the older woman’s trust. Throwing the stick one more time, Ella
Mae headed back to the guest cottage where her recipe box waited inside the kitchen cupboard—a treasure chest full of riches.

“Oh, my, my, my!” Annie exclaimed after swallowing the first bite of Ella Mae’s creamy lemonade pie. “It makes me think of one of the trails at the ranch. It leads to my private place—a field in the middle of a ring of trees. The air is as sweet as syrup and big, whipped-topping clouds hang down so low you feel like you could reach up, scoop out a piece, and take a bite of heaven.”

Ella Mae topped off Annie’s coffee. “Respite Ranch is amazing. You’re amazing. Have you always spent your life helping, for lack of better phrasing, broken spirits?”

Annie nodded. “That’s accurate enough. And, no, I had to have my eyes opened first. I ruined a horse before realizing what it really cost that animal to be a winner.” She put her fork down and stared out the window of the empty café. Locking her eyes on the wall of hollyhocks lining the picket fence in the patio garden, Annie’s face tightened with the pain of unwanted memory. “Bradford Knox had to euthanize that horse after I rode him to the ground. My pride killed that graceful creature. My pride drove him beyond what he was meant to endure. I was like most of these thoroughbred owners. All I cared about was becoming a name in the racing world. We were the ones wearing blinders, not our horses.”