Pies and Prejudice (9 page)

What’s happening?
She wanted to speak but her thoughts refused to string together coherently. The white light turned her fingertips a glittering alabaster.

Then, one of her aunts retracted her glass to take a sip of the dry champagne, and just as suddenly as it had sprung out of the air, the light disappeared. Ella Mae nearly moaned in disappointment, but she was so thirsty that she closed her eyes and took a deep swallow of the sparkling wine, the image of the strange orb still etched on the dark canvas of her eyelids.

“So what will you do first, Ella Mae?” Verena asked as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Taking another substantial swallow of champagne, Ella Mae almost asked if anyone else had seen the supernatural
glow but decided it must have been created by light ricocheting off the crystal glasses.

“I drove to a restaurant supply company in Fair Oaks and showed them my proposed floor plan.” Blinking hard, she forced herself to focus by handing Verena a copy of the design she’d created on her mother’s computer. “I thought I’d have to go to Atlanta, but these folks have everything I need.”

“Do we have enough cash to cover the start-up costs?” her mother inquired as she closed her menu.

Ella Mae was about to answer when the waiter came to take their orders. When his leather pad was filled with an array of dishes, including cold avocado soup, grilled lobster, spinach and grapefruit salad, smoked salmon with mustard and dill, gazpacho, chicken with mushrooms and tarragon, and sun-dried tomato and pesto torta, Ella Mae answered her mother’s question.

“Our budget covers everything except the cost of painting the exterior.” She went on to explain the breakdown of expenditures.

Verena helped herself to a generous hunk of the baguette from the breadbasket and then added three pats of butter stamped with the hotel’s crest onto her plate. She slathered the butter onto the warm crust and studied the pie shop’s floor plan. “What’s this here?”

Leaning forward, Ella Mae pointed at a square in the center of the kitchen area. “That’s a pie press.”

Sissy craned her neck so she could see the plans from across the table. “Ovens, double range, cooling shelves, dishwasher, sink with drainboards. Walk-in refrigerator and freezer in the rear corner. What’s that smaller square next to the prep area?”

“A twenty-quart standing mixer. I’ll probably use that piece of equipment the most,” Ella Mae replied, accepting the breadbasket from Dee.

“May I?” Sissy reached for the second page of plans. “Ah, the front room—complete with display cases, espresso
machine, soda dispenser, cash register, rotating window display, and café tables. I can
almost
see it in my mind’s eye.”

Dee pointed to a room set off down a narrow hallway at the far left. “Just one restroom?”

Ella Mae nodded. “If there were two, we’d lose too much floor space. We need every inch for people who want to dine indoors. I’ll have tables on the patio as well, but during the winter and in the worst of the summer’s humidity, folks will want to be inside.”

The women exchanged opinions about color schemes as the attentive waiter served them chilled soup or salad. Ella Mae paused before driving the tines of her fork into a soft grapefruit wedge on her spinach salad. She felt a wave of contentment sweep over her. In the soft light of the dining room, with the din of quiet conversation settling around her shoulders like a silk shawl and the glimmering expanse of the lake beyond the window, all felt right with the world.

She watched the beautiful faces of her mother and her aunts as they argued over whether the laminate on the tabletops should be of a marigold or plum or periwinkle hue, and wanted to hold this moment in her heart forever, to lock it away for a time when she would need to cling to a treasured memory—one that could burn through a veil of sorrow and recreate a gilded flash of pure happiness.

Even the slight stiffness her mother displayed whenever she spoke could not tarnish Ella Mae’s belief that she’d been destined to return to Havenwood. She hoped, in time, to be as comfortable in her mother’s company as she was in the company of her beloved aunts.

Perhaps
I
need to make more of an effort,
she thought, recalling how her mother had gone out of her way to make the carriage house especially inviting. Every few days, Ella Mae came home from a meeting with the restaurant supply company, the contractor, or August Templeton to find a bouquet of colorful blooms from her mother’s garden arranged in a silver vase in the small kitchen.

The heady scent of her mother’s roses mingled with fronds of fresh greens, lacing the air with a feminine perfume that Ella Mae had always associated with her mother.

As a child, she’d waited breathlessly each night for her mother’s good-night kiss. She would tiptoe in the room, her white nightgown glowing in the moonlight, and kiss Ella Mae’s cheek. Stroking her daughter’s hair, she’d whisper, “I love you more than all the petals in my garden,” and instead of being envious, the signature of the thousands of roses in the yard would embrace mother and child in a burst of enchanting scent.

Each night, Ella would fall asleep with the feel of that kiss on her skin and the smell of a wonderland of flowers on her pillow. Envisioning her mother entering the carriage house to plump the sofa cushions and deliberate over where to place her latest arrangement made Ella Mae smile. The roses had replaced the good-night kiss, but the perfume was as tender and magical as ever.

“Mom,” she said, leaning to the side as the waiter cleared away her salad plate. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to design the patio garden. No one in Havenwood has your touch when it comes to growing things.”

“Not in all of Georgia!” Verena declared enthusiastically.

Sissy was bobbing her head in agreement. “Not
just
the design. She’s got to be in charge of the planting too. The flowers will bloom in triple-time to please you, Adelaide.”

Ella Mae found her aunt’s statement peculiar but easily forgot it when presented with an entrée of porcini-crusted filet mignon topped with a molded dollop of herb butter. She inhaled the salty aroma of chives, tarragon, and garlic rising from the melting butter and watched as an assortment of artistic and fragrant dishes were set in front of the other women.

Her mother cut a piece of her salmon and dipped it into a drizzle of creamy dill sauce. “I believe I could manage a patio garden for you.” Her reply was brief, but the look of
pleasure in her eyes provided the response Ella Mae had been seeking.

The LeFayes dined like queens, sipping champagne and offering one another tastes of their exquisite entrees. For dessert, they ate pomegranate sorbet garnished with fresh mint leaves. They chewed the leaves before leaving the table to cleanse their palates and then instinctively linked arms on their way out of the restaurant.

“If I hadn’t eaten so much, I’d be drunk!” Verena exclaimed with a loud laugh.

Dee hiccupped and then let loose a giggle. “I think I
am
a bit drunk.”

“Good thing
I’m
driving,” Sissy said and jiggled the car keys. “Would you look at that moon?” She glanced at Adelaide. “This is your kind of night, Sister.”

Verena paused to admire the glowing face of the full moon. “We’d better get on home. I haven’t stayed out ’til eleven for years! Buddy will think I’m a burglar. He’ll either call the cops when I try to sneak in through the garage or shoot me dead with his shotgun.”

“I hope it’s the former and not the latter,” Adelaide said with a wink.

Ella Mae smiled at her mother and aunts, hoping her face could manage to convey her gratitude. “Thank you. All of you. For having such faith in me.”

“You’re a LeFaye,” her mother stated with a proud tilt of the chin. “And that means—”

“That we’ve had faith in you since the day you were born,” Sissy finished the thought and the merry band dispersed. The women went to bed with full bellies and light hearts, unaware of the shadows that would be revealed by the coming dawn.

Ella Mae was jarred from sleep by the sound of knocking. Without fully waking, she wondered if she was hearing the clank of the old pipes in the guest cottage, but as the noise persisted, she realized that its source was that of a demanding pounding of a fist. Someone was at the front door.

With a growl, Chewy leapt off the bed in a flash of brown and white fur. Ella Mae heard the click of his nails on the stairs, his agitated barks bouncing off the slumbering walls and floors of the silent cottage like gunfire, and Ella Mae could almost hear the aged pine boards groan in protest as she jumped out of bed.

Ella Mae slipped a University of Georgia sweatshirt over her head where it fell protectively over the upper half of her gauzy white nightgown. Eschewing slippers, she hurried downstairs in her bare feet and peered through the glass panes of the front door.

In the gray-tinged half-light of the burgeoning morning, Ella Mae could tell that the uniformed man on the other side of the door was a cop. His stance was impatient and he
continued to knock even as Ella Mae fumbled with the lock, terrified to open the door and invite this policeman into her small, cozy home.

What else would she be letting in once the deadbolt was turned and the heavy wood door swung inward? What dire words would come from the lawman’s mouth at this ungodly hour? Had Reba or one of her aunts been in an accident? Was someone hurt? Dead?

Ella Mae put her hand on the knob, her fingers lingering on the cool brass. From this moment, there would be no turning back. Whatever pain the turning of this knob would bring, it had to be turned.

Holding Chewy by the metal-studded collar Reba had bought for him, Ella Mae opened the door.

“Yes?” she asked and winced, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“Are you Ms. Ella Mae LeFaye Kitteridge?”

She nodded. “It’s just LeFaye now. What’s happened?”

The officer looked her up and down and Ella Mae had the distinct feeling that the table lamp in the narrow entrance hall had given her nightgown the transparency of onion skin and that the slightly overweight, ruddy-faced police officer standing on her welcome mat was checking out her toned legs from ankle to hip. Tugging the sweatshirt lower, she repeated her question.

Blinking, the officer lifted a pair of unreadable eyes to her face. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get dressed and come with me to the station. We have some questions to ask you about an incident that occurred two hours ago.”

“What incident?” Ella Mae felt anger growing in her chest, unfolding like a red rose under the summer sun. “I’m not going anywhere without more information.” Her years as a New Yorker had taught her a thing or two about standing up for herself. “And while you’re giving me an explanation, how about showing me some ID?”

The officer frowned but produced his badge and held it
out for her inspection. “Officer Jon Hardy, ma’am.” He waited for Ella Mae to nod and then pocketed the badge. “A man was killed tonight and we have reason to believe you can shed some light on the matter. This is not a request, ma’am. I can cuff you and escort you through the station in your nightdress, or you can quickly change your clothes and come along of your own free will. Which one’s it going to be?”

“What man?” Ella Mae insisted, gathering her squirming, snarling terrier into her arms.

Hardy hesitated. “A Bradford Knox of Little Kentucky.”

Ella Mae couldn’t help it. Her eyes opened wide in surprise.
“What?”

“So you know him.” Hardy made it clear that his remark was a statement, not a question.

“I know
of
him. We’ve never met.”

Hardy took a step forward, forcing Ella Mae to retreat deeper into the house. “Plenty of time to talk through the details when we get to town. You’ve got five minutes. And, ma’am?” He pointed at Chewy. “Leave the dog here.”

Upstairs, it was nearly impossible for Ella Mae to obey Hardy’s commands. She wasn’t being deliberately rebellious as she stared at the meager selection of clothes hanging in her bedroom closet, but the news that Bradford Knox had been killed and that the police believed she knew something about his death had rendered her immobile.

“Bradford Knox?” she addressed her limited wardrobe of comfortable T-shirts, form-fitting pants, and a pair of flirty sundresses. “Why would the police have anything to ask
me
?” She automatically slid on her favorite jeans, a chocolate brown T-shirt, and her Keds. Chilled by the strangeness of the situation, she put the UGA sweatshirt back on and ran a brush through her hair. Fastening it into a loose ponytail, she grabbed her watch and hurried down the stairs.

“One second.” She gave Hardy an apologetic glance and
dumped a can of dog food into a bowl for Chewy. “If I don’t leave him something, he’ll tear my couch to shreds.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Hardy’s face. “You should send him to obedience classes at Canine to Five. My boxers went, and within a month, everything changed. No more marking their territory on my golf bag or my wife’s favorite chair.” The affection he felt for his dogs was extinguished as suddenly as it had flared. Opening the front door and gesturing for Ella Mae to step outside, Hardy was all business again. “This way, ma’am.”