Pecan Pies and Homicides (6 page)

Ella Mae hesitated just long enough to realize that the crumpled mass was a body. A woman's body.

“Reba!” she shouted. Rushing forward, she dropped to her knees.

The woman was lying in the fetal position with her long legs pulled up to her chest. She wore only a gray sweater, an ivory skirt and tights, and a pair of silver ballet flats. Her face was milk white, as were her lips and fingers. Her eyes were closed.

“Do you know this girl?” Reba asked softly.

There was a sheen of frost covering the young woman from her crown to the tip of her shoes and as the last rays of the setting sun shone on her face, the miniscule pieces of ice sparkled like tiny stars. She looked like a fairy-tale princess, cursed to sleep until a prince would come along and free her. But no man could wake this princess with a kiss. The girl who'd once danced the dance of the snowflakes had become one herself. White and cold and fleeting in its beauty.

Ella Mae reached out, her fingertips hovering above the dead woman's hand. Bowing her head, she whispered, “This is Eira. This is the woman who asked for our help, who needed sanctuary.” She turned to Reba, tears pooling in her eyes. “She was so close. So close.”

“You'd best not touch her,” Reba said softly, putting a hand on Ella Mae's shoulder. “Come away now.”

Ella Mae allowed Reba to pull her a few steps back, but her eyes never left Eira's lovely, ice-covered face. “Why didn't she go into the grove?”

Reba frowned. “I don't know, hon. It doesn't make sense to me either.”

She turned to warn Verena, Dee, and Sissy about the dead woman, but it was too late. Sissy gave a cry of alarm and then quickly clamped both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were round as moons.

Dee moved next to Ella Mae and slid a strong arm around her waist. “Is that your friend?”

Ella Mae nodded, too upset to speak.

“She doesn't even have a coat!” Verena shouted angrily. “And she's two feet from safety!” She turned to Reba. “Are there any signs of violence?”

Reba shook her head. “None that I can see. But I'm not going to touch her. She's not from around here and we don't know anything about her, so we'd better leave this to the police.”

Sissy began to weep. “Look at her,” she whispered. “She's like the Little Match Girl from that awful Hans Christian Andersen tale. Except that girl died with rosy cheeks and her mouth curved into a smile—lost in happy memories. This girl is just lost.”

“Unless her husband found her,” Ella Mae said darkly. “And wasn't happy about her being here.” She pulled away from Dee's supportive arm and gestured at the silent trees and towering rock wall. “Someone drove her to the park. Saw her walk up that trail, even though she wasn't dressed for cold weather. And then, when all she had to do was put her palms against the boulder and take one more step into safety, she didn't. She froze to death instead.”

“We don't know how she died, Ella Mae,” Reba said. “But I know this. You need to be protected from whatever happened. Let us deal with the cops. You go on inside and stay with your mama.”

Verena pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her houndstooth coat and removed her fuchsia gloves in order to dial. “Reba's right. You can't get mixed up in this, Ella Mae. You have responsibilities to your people and to the folks coming to Havenwood from Tennessee. Nothing good will come of your involvement! I know that you felt a connection to this poor girl, but you can still honor her wishes by helping her friends and neighbors.”

“I can't leave her,” Ella Mae protested. “She—”

“We'll take care of her,” Dee said gently and moved to stand over Eira's body. “She won't be alone for a moment. I promise.”

Ella Mae wiped a tear from her cheek. “All right, but I don't like this. She came here to meet me and I'm abandoning her.”

“You're no good to anyone stuck at the police station for the rest of the night,” Reba said. “I'll be back to pick you up as soon as I can.”

“Don't leave until you've seen how Robert Morgan reacts to the news of his wife's death,” Ella Mae said, her voice low and menacing. “If he did this, so help me, I will make him pay for it.”

Sissy, who was the most sensitive of the four LeFaye sisters, squatted next to Eira and began to hum, as if she were lulling a child to sleep. Ella Mae recognized the beautiful and haunting melody as “In the Bleak Midwinter.”

Verena listened for several seconds before turning away to call the police. For a moment, Ella Mae wondered what reason her aunt would give for being on the mountain so close to dark, but she knew that whatever Verena said, the police were bound to believe her. After all, she was the mayor's wife.

Verena had never been able to speak sotto voce and her conversation with the emergency operator echoed into the woods and floated out over the valley below, disturbing the peacefulness of Sissy's song. Ella Mae cringed when she heard her aunt say the words, “dead body.”

The daylight was fading fast and the shadows were multiplying all around them. Ella Mae didn't think it was possible, but she felt colder than before. The chill sank so deep into her bones that she began to feel numb.

“Go,” Reba commanded, pointing at the boulder. “Your mama will help you through this. She'll help with all of it, but she can't do a thing if you insist on standin' out here, shiverin' like a leaf.”

Ella Mae looked at Eira one last time. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

Sissy began to sing very softly. “Snow had fallen, snow on snow. Snow on snow.”

The song tugged at Ella Mae's heart. She leaned over the beautiful frozen woman, wishing she could touch her hand just once in farewell. Her breath plumed over Eira's pale hair—a curlicue of regret and sorrow. And then, Ella Mae stood and pressed both palms against the boulder.

As usual, she felt instantly dizzy and nauseated. Her skin felt stretched taut and her blood surged like a rushing river. The intense physical discomfort was over almost as soon as it had begun, and before she knew it, Ella Mae was on the other side of the rock wall.

She sucked in a deep breath and steadied herself. Entering the grove always made her feel as if she'd been turned inside out. But the discomfort was always worth it. No place on earth was as lovely and tranquil as the grove. The air was always warm, a playful breeze rustled the tree branches, and glorious flowers bloomed all year long.

Seasons were different here too. Outside, it was blustery and gray. Here, the sky was a soft blue tinged with streaks of silver and lilac. The tree leaves turned brilliant colors in the autumn, their crimsons, oranges, and golds as bright as bonfires, but in the winter, all the color leaked out of them. The entire grove turned a pure and gleaming white, from the tree trunks to the leaves to every blade of grass. It was a glittering white, holding all the magic of the first snowfall or the sparkles inside a snow globe. And because Adelaide LeFaye was the Lady of the Ash, there were roses everywhere.

Ella Mae stepped under an arch covered with a tangle of wild roses. The blooms smelled of sugared marzipan and opened wide as she passed by. Any other time, Ella Mae would have stopped to drink in the amazing variety of scents her mother's flowers produced. In December, she'd walked from bush to bush, inhaling hints of candy canes, fir trees, cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and wood smoke. Now she was too upset to pay attention to the ethereal beauty of her surroundings. She hurried through the apple orchard, barely noticing that the apples had turned from gold to silver and raced up a low hill to where her mother stood, tall and magnificent, on its crest.

I'm here, Mom!
Ella Mae shouted wordlessly. She never needed to speak when she and her mother were together. Their thoughts and feelings were exchanged in silence—a knot of complex emotions flowing between them like air currents.

Ella Mae fell to the ground and wrapped her arms around the ash tree's trunk. The rough bark scratched her skin, and for the hundredth time, she wished her mother were herself. Someone made of flesh and blood. Someone who could return an embrace. Who could smooth Ella Mae's hair with long, graceful fingers.

Why are you crying?
The voice whispered inside Ella Mae. Absently, she raised a hand and touched her wet cheek. Closing her eyes, she formed a picture of Eira in her mind so her mother could see what she'd seen.

She then called forth images and memories of the Gaynors' party, sharing the news about the burned Tennessee grove and Eira's plea to help her friends and neighbors.

“I'm going to let them stay at Partridge Hill,” she said. Speaking the words out loud gave them more strength.

Invite them and you invite danger in as well,
her mother replied.

“Maybe so.” Ella Mae pressed her face against the bark. She smelled roses and crushed herbs and moonlight—her mother's unique perfume. “But I've been in danger since I came back to Havenwood. And while I might be putting myself at risk, I can't sit by and let these people suffer. Even if the arsonist ends up under our roof, I'm going through with this.”

I wouldn't expect any less of you.

Ella Mae switched subjects and began to talk about the winter carnival. She described the pies she planned to make, and how she intended to increase the pie shop's business, but her mind kept returning to Eira.

Time worked differently inside the grove. On previous occasions, Ella Mae had spent hours with her mother only to find that on the other side of the rock wall, she'd been gone for a less than fifteen minutes. Now, she wondered what was going on out there. Had the police arrived? Was the coroner examining Eira? Were they taking photographs of the body in situ, the camera flashes lighting up the dark woods, forcing the shadows to retreat for the moment?

Ella Mae felt something land on the back of her neck. Reaching up to touch the spot, her fingers closed around a silky smooth rose petal. More petals fell about her head and shoulders, brushing against her brow and cheeks and hands. Each one felt like a warm kiss. Her mother was trying to comfort her.

It's not enough.
The thought escaped unbidden.
I need you back and I know how to free you. There's a magical flower at the bottom of Lake Havenwood. I just have to figure out exactly where it is and how to get it.

The branches of the ash tree whipped around as if caught in a high wind. Ella Mae knew that this was her mother's way of saying no. The petals swirled feverishly, twisting on frantic eddies of air until they looked like massive snowflakes.

Call the butterflies,
her mother commanded. Her branches stopped moving and the roses blooming around the glade folded into tight buds. The tree had taken over, forcing the woman inside into a twilight sleep.

Ella Mae knew better than to plead with her not to go. In the beginning, she'd been so frightened by the abruptness with which her mother's presence vanished that she used to rage at the tree, beating its trunk and crying, terrified that her mother was gone for good. And though she always returned, Ella Mae noticed that her mother's sentences were growing shorter and shorter with each passing visit. By the next harvest, she would be able to speak to her daughter only once a season.

Picking up one of the white petals, Ella Mae curled her fingers into a fist. Her mother's advice made no sense. Ella Mae had learned months ago that she could see through the eyes of any moth or butterfly, but there were no such creatures in Havenwood during the winter.

“What could they show me anyway? Who came here with Eira? Who torched the Tennessee grove? What monster guards the Flower of Life? That would certainly be useful.” She looked down at the crumpled petal, which rested just above her clover-shaped burn scar. Pushing down on the smooth, puckered skin, she cast a final glance at the ash tree and then returned to the orchard. She'd walked past two neat rows of ancient trees when she ran into Reba.

“It's over,” Reba said. “Your aunts are with the cops. Verena's already planted a seed that Eira's husband wasn't exactly the kind and gentle sort, so they'll be askin' him plenty of questions tonight.”

Ella Mae shook her head sadly. “What if that's not enough? What if they only see Robert Morgan as an influential businessman in town to look at property? What if he spins a bunch of lies about Eira or claims that she was unstable? Will the cops still insist on a full investigation? With the winter carnival approaching, I could see them wanting to hush this up to maintain the illusion that Havenwood is a safe place . . . a place that is on the verge of welcoming hundreds of tourists.”

Reba snorted. “Are you forgettin' who the mayor is? If Verena doesn't plan on lettin' this girl's death go unnoticed than neither will your uncle Buddy.” She put a hand on Ella Mae's arm. “You should have seen Verena out there tonight, Ella Mae. She made up this wild story about how we all come up here every year for a sunset ritual. She told them we each write down our New Year's resolution on a leaf. And then we send the leaf off on the wind.” She smiled. “The cops looked at us like we'd lost our marbles, but they bought what she was sellin'.”

Ella Mae smiled. “Actually, her idea sounds lovely. Maybe we'll put it into action right now. She yanked a leaf from the apple tree. “Do you have something I could write with?”

Surprised, Reba dug around in her pocket and then handed Ella Mae a silver glitter pen. Ella Mae wrote on the smooth leaf and then gestured at the silver apples. “What happens to them when they're removed from the orchard?”

“They transform into Galas or Golden Delicious or Granny Smiths dependin' on the season. Most times they end up pretty withered. Everybody tries to take one at least once, but even the folks who've managed to get an apple out in good shape say they taste real bitter. Why?”

“I need an extra dose of magic. I don't have much time to make the pie shop boom and it needs to become the town's biggest hot spot real fast. If I could make a few dozen enchanted hand pies, I could have people all over the county lining up to eat with us.” She cupped her palms around the closest apple. “Normally, I'd feel like a slime using magic to net new customers and fill our cash register, but every dime will go toward helping the Tennesseans.”