Scrappy Summer (3 page)

“Not interested, and Donna is off to school for another year.”

“Ah, so what are you doing here?” Emphasis on
here.

“Well, my husband is at the tractor pull,” she said. “And I’m off to see the pie tasting.
They’ll be doing that any minute.”

“There’s my grandbaby,” Bobby-Jo said and held up her camera, clicked a photo. “I
need to start scrapbooking. I never had time as a mother, but with the grandchildren,
well, I thought it would be nice.”

“You’re right. Just think of how they will treasure those books, especially if you
journal about them. But don’t forget to tell them about you, too.”

“What? Whatever would I say about myself? I’m a boring person,” she said, flustered.

“You are not,” Sheila said, choosing her words carefully. “Just imagine knowing what
your mom or grandmother liked to watch on TV or read, what they dreamed about, what
they thought about a certain politician, or even something like a certain food. It
would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

Bobby-Jo’s lined face cracked into a smile. “Well, yes. I see what you mean.”

“If you need any more ideas, I have plenty of them. Come to my crop or just check
out my Web site, dear.”

“Thanks,” she said, and Sheila walked away.

If Sheila had a dime for every time a woman said she didn’t have a story or an interesting
life, she’d be a rich woman. And that made her sad, but at the same time, it inspired
her.
We all have a story to tell.
So often women were more concerned with other people’s stories.

The almost shrill sounds of the merry-go-round music filled the air, along with the
scent of cotton candy, candy apples, and funnel cakes. A harried mother pushed a stroller
holding twins who looked to be about a year old. The dad followed behind, holding
another child’s hand. The child pointed and giggled at the merry-go-round.
So sweet,
Sheila thought as she made her way around the corner.

A group of teenagers were gathering around a shooting game. One young woman shot the
popgun, and her friends cheered. Sheila kept moving.

When she entered the baking hall, she wasn’t surprised to find a crowd. Paige had
saved her a seat, just like she said she would. Annie and Mike had brought along the
boys, who were already getting antsy.

Rachel Burkholder and her family sat in the very front. Sheila despised her patronizing
manner. It made her feel a bit guilty, because Rachel was a Mennonite and wore the
traditional dress. But Sheila thought it veiled her astounding evilness.

“The bitch is here,” Sheila whispered to Paige.

Paige just shook her head.

“She is a bit overconfident,” Annie whispered and leaned forward. “I see what you
mean. It’s the way she holds her mouth. I can tell.”

“Nonsense. She wins almost every year,” Paige said. “I think you are just jealous.”

Sheila made a funny pshaw noise, and Annie giggled nervously. Vera sat down next to
Paige.

“What’s your mom doing here? Doesn’t seem like her cup of tea,” Annie said.

“You’re wrong about that, Annie. Mom loves this competition,” Vera replied. “She used
to win it all the time but was kicked out a few years ago.”

Annie laughed. “What? How can you be kicked out of a local baking competition?”

“Long story,” Vera said. “I’ll fill you in later.”

Just then the judges entered the room. They sat on a makeshift platform, with the
pies in front of them. The room quieted.

After the horrifying pie incident, which occurred next, and DeeAnn’s quick escape,
her friends scanned the crowd. Sheila noted the smirk on Macy’s face, as if she was
holding back a laugh and would pop any minute. She was certain Macy knew something
about DeeAnn’s pie.

“What on earth?” Sheila said to the other women once they had exited the building.

“Did you see the way Rachel laughed?” Paige said. “Heartless.”

“No, but I saw Macy holding back laughter,” Sheila volunteered. “I’ll see you all
over at DeeAnn’s.”

“Should we really go over there?” Vera said. “She might not want any company.”

“Of course we should,” Sheila said.

“I need to talk to Mike. Can I catch a ride with one of you?” Annie asked.

“Certainly,” Sheila said. “I have my van.”

When they walked into DeeAnn’s house, it was dim. Only one light was on, and DeeAnn
was sitting in the opposite, darker corner. She looked up at her friends. “I just
don’t know what happened.”

“Well, now, DeeAnn, it’s just a silly little contest,” Paige said.

“But I’m the town baker!” she cried.

“It was probably just a little too creative for that bunch,” Sheila said.

“No,” DeeAnn said. “The pie is on the table. Taste it!”

She didn’t need to ask twice. The group waltzed into the kitchen and took forks and
plunged in.

Assaulted by the rotten flavor, Sheila was the first to spit out her bite, and then
the others followed.

Annie’s face turned a bright red, and Sheila thought Vera might get sick as she rushed
to the sink.

After they gathered themselves, they turned to DeeAnn, who stood in the doorway, watching.

“You see what I mean?”

“That’s not what we ate Saturday night,” Annie said.

“Same recipe, except someone laced the pie with cumin,” DeeAnn said. “Cumin!”

“Who would have done such a thing?” Sheila asked. “How?”

DeeAnn threw her arms up in the air. “I don’t know how it happened. I made the pies
at the shop, and I don’t even have any cumin there. I don’t use it in my baking at
all, of course. Who would? I just don’t understand.”

“Well, well, well,” Paige said, crossing her arms. “Rachel Burkholder has some explaining
to do.”

“What?” DeeAnn said, sitting down at her table.

“Didn’t you hear her laugh?” Paige said.

“I heard nothing,” DeeAnn said after a minute. “All I did was feel. My heart racing.
Sweat pouring. And all eyes on me. The town baker who had just made a fool out of
herself.” Her voice cracked.

“Oh now, come on. Everybody loves your place. You’re the best baker in town. You know
that,” Vera said. “Something has just gone very wrong.”

DeeAnn snorted. “I’ll say.”

Sheila noted that Annie’s eyebrows were knit and her head was tilted, as if she was
listening intently. “What do you think, Annie?”

“I think we should do something about this. I’m just not sure what. Something is not
right here.”

“Oh, please,” DeeAnn said. “Let’s just let it rest. I don’t want any editorials or
such in the paper. God, I just want it to go way.”

“I’m not talking about editorials. When you finished making your pie, what did you
do with it then?” Annie persisted.

“I took it to the Baptist church. That’s where they were collecting and storing the
pies,” DeeAnn replied.

“Who did you hand it to?” Annie asked.

“I handed it to Macy. She’s in charge of the kitchens,” DeeAnn said, then drew in
a breath. “You don’t think?”

“Sheila said she was smirking!” Paige said. “I’m sure she was waiting for that to
happen.”

“I can’t believe she’d be so vindictive,” Vera said. She said it in a calm and soothing
voice, as if trying to calm the masses.

Paige spun around and looked at her. “Something is not right about that woman. I’ve
had a couple of her kids in school, and believe me, she’s not what she appears. That’s
all I can say.”

“Well, something happened to the pie,” Annie said. “The person who handled it after
DeeAnn was Macy. I suggest we start there.”

“What do you mean? It’s over. Nothing to be done now,” DeeAnn said.

“I disagree,” Sheila said. “If we can prove she cheated, she’ll be disqualified from
the competition. “

“I just don’t know how comfortable I am with this,” DeeAnn said after a few moments
of silence. “Can we just leave it alone?”

“You just leave it to us,” Annie said.

“I’ve got to go. I told Eric I’d meet him for dinner. It’s one of the few nights he
has off this month,” Vera said and leaned in to hug DeeAnn. “We’ll get to the bottom
of this, sweetie.”

Soon they were all gone, leaving DeeAnn alone in her kitchen. Her husband was out
messing with his cars in the garage. She started to peel potatoes for supper that
night. Mashed potatoes and fried chicken. As she peeled, tears stung at her eyes.
What had she done to make an enemy who would do something like that to her?

She thought about Macy. They had a history, sure, but nothing that would precipitate
such a cruel act. She placed the potatoes in the water and turned on the stove.

She heard the toilet flush, announcing that Jacob was in the house, not in the garage.
Soon he was at the sink, wrapping his arms around her as she rinsed off the chicken.

“Now, Jacob,” she said with a scolding tone. “I’ve got chicken in my hands.”

“Just thought you might need a hug,” he said.

“Do you think someone deliberately ruined my pie?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re a great baker. I don’t know how you’d mess up a pie
like that.”

“But to be so mean!”

“Hey, some of these women are very serious about their pie. I’ve never seen anything
like it. So if you’re asking if one of them might have done something to your pie,
well, why not? I could see it,” he said and sat down at the table.

“The question is, who?” she said, dipping the chicken into the batter, then into the
flour, before plopping it into the pan, where it sizzled.

“Well, now, I wouldn’t know,” he said after a minute.

“My friends think it was Macy,” she said, fussing with the frying chicken so it was
lying just so in the hot oil. The popping and crackling sound of frying chicken filled
the kitchen.

“Lord help Macy, then,” he said and grinned.

Sometimes when he smiled, still, it made DeeAnn’s heart skip around in her fleshy
chest.

She smiled. “Yeah, I’m a bit worried about what they might do.”

“You’re the tough one,” he said and laughed, scratching his upper arm, marked by navy
tattoos.

“Well, I know that’s true.” He was referring to her knocking a man down a few years
back, when she and her friends were snooping around on Jenkin’s Mountain. She’d never
live that down. “They told me to leave it up to them, so I don’t think any strong-arming
will happen.”

“God knows what they are going to do,” he said, shaking his head.

“I shudder to think. Maybe after they have a good night’s sleep, they will leave it
alone. I hope. I mean, I don’t want any trouble.”

Jacob wrapped his arms around her. “I think you mean you don’t want any
more
trouble.”

But trouble was in the air.

Sheila waited for Annie. Paige and Vera were already seated in her basement. They
weren’t scrapbooking; they were waiting for Macy, who was coming to Sheila’s place
to pick up her order of scrapbooking supplies—which made it easy to get her cornered
for questioning. They had all learned a thing or two about interrogation over the
past few years.

Annie slid open the glass door and walked into Sheila’s basement. “Are we ready?”
she said.

The others nodded in unison.

“I didn’t think Mike was ever going to get home,” she said. “Sorry I’m a bit late.”

“She should be here any minute,” Sheila said. “All you have to do is stand by the
door, Annie. Try not to let her out.”

Annie started to say something but appeared to think the better of it and closed her
mouth.

“She’ll be surprised to see us,” Paige said, looking up from her latest Louise Penny
mystery novel.

“I hope so,” Vera mumbled. “I just hope she keeps her mouth shut. Mama would have
my hide. She and Macy’s mom go way back.”

The doorbell rang. Sheila opened the glass sliding door as Annie stepped aside.

“Well, hello,” she said. “Please come in while I get your things.”

Macy entered the room and saw the two women sitting at the table and nodded a hello
to them. She stood close to the door.

Annie slipped in front of it, briefly bumping into Macy, who turned, startled. “Oh,”
she said. “I didn’t see you there.” She smiled a tight, nervous smile.

Annie didn’t respond.

The room held a nervous tension.

“Well,” Macy said, “I can’t wait to see that scrapbook paper in person. It looked
so lovely in the catalog.”

“Oh, I think you’ll love it, once I find it,” Sheila said. “It was right here. What
did I do with it?”

“Have a seat, Macy,” Vera said. “It might be a while, you know. Sheila is getting
so scatterbrained these days.”

“No thanks,” Macy said, looking around nervously. “I really need to go. Sheila, when
you find my paper, give me a call—”

“Please sit down, Macy,” Paige said, standing and moving around to the other side
of the table. “We insist.”

“What? What’s this?” Her face reddened, a slight quiver on her chin.

Paige gently pushed her into the chair. “Have some pie,” she said, and Sheila sat
a plate with a slice of DeeAnn’s pie in front of her.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Macy said.

“Why not?” Paige said, leaning down into her face. Macy backed her face up. “We all
know you love pie.”

“I’m in a hurry,” she said, tight-lipped. “And I’m not hungry.”

The room quieted.

“Tell me something, Lacey,” Annie said and sat down beside her.

“It’s Macy,” she said.

Annie made a waving gesture. “Okay. Sorry. Macy, how does this competition work? I
mean, the contestants bring their pies to the Baptist church, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s right. They are stored at the church because we have the
facilities for it. No other place in town does.”

Annie handed Macy the fork. “Taste the pie. Tell us what you think.”

Macy reluctantly took the fork.

“Then what happens to the pies?” Paige asked.

“Then they are taken to the fire hall the next day.”

“Who takes them?” Annie asked.