Pies and Prejudice (13 page)

“Who?” Ella Mae struggled to keep her voice mild.

“I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. I only heard a low, angry voice.”

Ella Mae’s pulse quickened. “Why were they arguing?”

“I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I could tell that it was serious. I didn’t stick around to find out because it was late and I was spooked by the doc’s strange behavior. I know for certain now that he hadn’t come in to check on
his patients and I wish he could have trusted me with the truth, but it wasn’t my place to ask questions.” A fresh pool of tears filled her eyes. “Maybe I should have. If he’d confided in me, perhaps I could have helped him. If only he’d picked
me
.”

After this statement, Peggy seemed to deflate. Putting her plate down, she went quiet and stared, glassy-eyed, out the window. Ella Mae knew that she’d gotten all she could out of the drained office manager. “Maybe you could use some help around here,” she said halfheartedly. “I don’t have a job yet and I love animals.”

Giving her a feeble smile, Peggy shook her head. “I dunno. You’d have to meet with Chandler. Oh…I guess I need to call him Dr. Knox now.” She looked so miserable that Ella Mae reached over and took her hand.

“It’ll be okay. Your boss was lucky to have such a caring and loyal employee. A real friend. Just keep that in mind when you’re feeling really low.”

“Thank you, dear.” With a little smile, Peggy held out Chandler Knox’s business card. “Tomorrow’s the funeral, so the office’ll be closed, but you could call him the day after.”

Ella Mae thanked Peggy, corralled Chewy back into his carrier, and left. Instead of heading home, she drove into town and parked in front of Little Kentucky’s upscale clothing boutiques. She cracked the passenger window and poked her fingers into the carrier. “I’ll only be a second. See that black dress in the window? If they have it in my size, I’m going to buy it. Mama’s got a funeral to crash.”

Ella Mae was relieved that the memorial service for Bradford Knox didn’t start until ten the next morning. After taking Chewy out for an early walk on the lakeside trail, she had plenty of time to swing by the pie shop and see how the remodeling was progressing.

Her mother had driven off in the Suburban, so Ella Mae had to borrow Reba’s Buick. She had a harder time maneuvering this vehicle than she had her mother’s SUV. Without the benefit of the truck’s raised seat, Ella Mae felt like she was driving from the bottom of a pit. The engine was loud, the radio was crackly with static, and a rent in the seat fabric dug into the flesh of her right thigh. Still, Reba had driven the hefty sedan for over twenty years, and her scent—strawberries, licorice, and Aqua Net—circulated through the air vents.

“You’re as bulky as a whale,” Ella Mae told the Buick and gave up on her third attempt to parallel park the car on Swallowtail Avenue. She ended up pulling into the small delivery and refuse area behind the small cottage that was quickly being converted into The Charmed Pie Shoppe.

As Ella Mae turned off the engine, she saw Cyrus, the foreman, walk out of the cottage’s back door carrying a rectangular piece of wood. Judging from the swell of the veins in his arms and neck, the wood was heavy. When Cyrus reached the trash receptacle behind the kitchen door, he rested his burden on the metal lip of the container and took a moment to catch his breath. Then, with a grunt Ella Mae could hear within the Buick’s cabin, he shoved the wood into the vacuum. His face took on a look of satisfaction as a series of bangs echoed from inside the metal bin. Dusting off his hands, he strode purposefully back inside.

Ella Mae got out of the car and peered into the deep blue receptacle. The heavy piece of wood had somersaulted on its downward flight, coming to rest face up on a heap of broken plywood boards and shattered bits of laminate flooring. Ella Mae recognized it. It was the previous shop’s sign, the one that had once hung above the front door, gazing possessively out to the street. Now, the words The Mad Hatter would call to no one save for the rodents and insects at the landfill.

At first, the sight saddened Ella Mae. What dreams had the previous owner invested into her business? She’d undoubtedly put just as much time and money into her shop as Ella Mae planned on devoting. It was all too easy to picture some woman poring over supply catalogues, placing every tiny tea table and china plate just so, and baking delicate little cakes for her pint-sized clientele.

As the months passed, she’d probably paced around her artfully arranged displays of beautiful children’s ware and posh accessories and wondered why her shop wasn’t teeming with customers. Ella Mae could imagine the advertisements in the newspaper, the sale signs taped to the window, and the worry multiplying in the silent store like an infestation of termites.

Eventually, the rent went unpaid, followed by unpleasant phone calls and letters filled with legalese. The shopkeeper
had to vacate the premises after which the contents of the boutique and tearoom were auctioned and a shiny new sign, this one placed by an eager real estate agent, appeared on the front lawn.

A cloud crossed the sun’s path, throwing the trash receptacle into shadow. The Mad Hatter’s wide grin lost its comedic look. Pinching his teacup with his thumb and forefinger, the peculiar haberdasher bared his teeth at Ella Mae. She almost turned away but refused to be intimidated by a two-dimensional children’s book character.

“I’m sorry,” she told him and hoped that the sign Aunt Dee was making for the pie shop would not meet a similar fate.

Just then, the foreman reappeared in the doorway, a black garbage bag in his hand. “Good mornin’, ma’am! Come on inside. Things are comin’ together real nice. I can practically smell the pies cookin’.”

“I’m going to make the very first ones for you and the crew,” she promised. “Are you an apple pie man?”

“Yes, I am. Add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and I’ll be a pig in mud. No cheese for me. I never did understand why folks wanna ruin a perfectly fine piece of pie.”

Ella Mae watched as he tossed the bag directly onto the Mad Hatter’s face. “Actually, I put the cheese in the crust. You should try it,” she said, following Cyrus through the back door.

“Why not? You only live once,” Cyrus replied affably.

Upon entering the kitchen, Ella Mae gasped in delight. “I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done! Do you ever sleep?”

Cyrus grinned. “We got your appliances yesterday right after we laid the floor. With the pipes and wiring already in place, it was light work to get them in.” He gestured at the black-and-white tiles under their feet. “We’ve got some holes to patch before we put any paint on the walls, and Danny’s gonna install the ceiling fixtures after lunch.”

Ella Mae was speechless. The space was exactly how she’d pictured it on paper. The stainless steel appliances and new countertops were still ensconced in plastic sheeting, and every inch of the room was covered with drywall dust. Work boot prints made dirt-encrusted paths across the tile, but Ella Mae saw none of the mess.

She saw only gleaming surfaces and bright light. Instead of the buzz of hand drills and jigsaws, she heard the hum of the ovens and the industrious whir of the mixer. Freshly washed berries sat drying on the counter, sunlit sugar crystals converting them into garnets and rubies. Bluegrass songs piped through the mounted speakers, the mandolin and banjo notes infusing Ella Mae’s movements with a zealous energy.

She could already feel the dough beneath her fingers. Just the thought of working in this bright kitchen made her heart swell with joy. It must have shown through her eyes for the workmen had all ceased their labors to stop and stare. And to smile.

“This is why we do what we do,” Cyrus said, pleased. “And bein’ paid in cash doesn’t hurt either.” Laughter burst from his chest and sprinkled onto the floor like a scattering of flour. The other men joined in and Ella Mae felt her happiness increasing, rising inside of her like mercury in a thermometer. The shop had been reborn through laughter and hard work and she felt a deep affinity for these men, for each black-and-white tile, for the appliances waiting to be brought to life.

A glance at her watch dampened her spirits. She couldn’t stay much longer if she wanted to make Bradford Knox’s memorial service.

“The display cases are due in tomorrow, right?” she asked Cyrus.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, and that means I need to know what color you want to put on the walls.”

Removing a collection of paint swatches from her purse, Ella Mae handed him a strip containing five shades of
brown. “I circled the winner. Café au lait. It’ll look great with the floors.”

“Coffee-colored paint, huh?” Cyrus took the swatch and held it against the closest wall. He squinted at it and then looked around the room. “I like it.”

Ella Mae was relieved that he approved. She sensed that the foreman was not only a skilled craftsman, but had an innate gift for design as well. He understood what this shop needed. From additional electrical outlets to the style of sink in the customer restroom, he’d voiced an opinion on every detail. Ella Mae had expected to spend hours choosing materials and reviewing the budget, but Cyrus knew exactly what to buy and she trusted in his expertise.

Promising to return the next day with homemade treats for Cyrus and his crew, Ella Mae raced back to Partridge Hill. She took Chewy for a short walk, fed him, and changed into her black dress. She’d borrowed her mother’s black dress hat and a pair of sunglasses with large lenses. Wrestling her hair into a knot at the base of her neck, she donned the hat and glasses in front of the mirror and smirked at her reflection. She looked like a two-legged beetle in the enormous black glasses and wide-brimmed hat. Yet she’d blend right in with the rest of the woman attending the service, because in rural Georgia, women still wore hats to church.

Reba returned from the Piggly Wiggly in the nick of time, staggering into the kitchen with an armload of groceries and a red licorice twist dangling from her mouth like a damp cigarette. She tossed the keys to the Buick onto the table.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn!” Reba declared, the words escaping through a narrow gap between licorice and lips.

Thanking her for the compliment, Ella Mae took a brown bag from Reba’s hands. “Can I leave Chewy with you? I’ll pick him up this afternoon before my…before I meet Hugh Dylan in town.”

Reba bit down hard on her Twizzlers and scowled. “Do you think it’s smart to be jumpin’ in the datin’ pool already?”

“Who said anything about dating?”

That earned her a snort. “You don’t have coffee with a steamin’-hot fireman to talk about politics or religion. You sit there, your fingers dyin’ to touch that hair of dark chocolate and willin’ the buttons on his shirt to pop off one by one. You think about puttin’ your hands on his rock-hard—”

“I’m going for him!” Ella Mae interjected, pointing at Chewy. “Hugh runs a doggie day care center and obedience school. I figured Chewy might benefit from a few classes.”

Pulling a pack of licorice twists from the rhinestone-encrusted pocket of her denim skirt, Reba shook the candy at Ella Mae. “Really? So you didn’t bake Hugh a
special
pie? You’re just a concerned parent looking for the right school for your fur baby, huh? You haven’t noticed that Hugh’s sexy enough to have his own calendar or that he doesn’t wear a weddin’ ring? That he’s so fine the birds fly lower in the sky just to get a closer look at him?”

Ella Mae hadn’t listened beyond the word “pie.” With all that had been going on, she hadn’t had the opportunity to bake Hugh a shoofly pie. “Damn it,” she muttered, ignoring the mischievous twinkle in Reba’s dark brown eyes.

“Have a nice time!” Reba trilled as Ella Mae headed for the door.

It was only when the house fell away in the rearview mirror that she realized that it was rather odd for Reba to have wished her a good time. Then again, Reba was able to enjoy herself wherever she went. It was one of her most endearing qualities.

Ella Mae waited in the shaded parking lot of the United Methodist church until it seemed like the majority of the funeral attendees had passed through the polished oak doors. She slipped in to the gloomy accompaniment of the organ and selected a pew far in the rear of the sanctuary. She then slid all the way to the end of the row in order to
gain a clear view of the front pew and the grieving family. Her gaze found Loralyn Gaynor.

If Reba thought Ella Mae looked like Audrey Hepburn, then Loralyn easily outshone her as a contemporary Grace Kelly. With her glossy blond hair carefully coiffed beneath a small but fashionable hat, her black gloves, and simple but elegant black suit accessorized by a single strand of pearls, Loralyn looked pale and beautiful. Every movement carried the smooth elegance of ballerina, from the dip of her chin as she accepted a whispered phrase of condolence or briefly took an offered hand, to the graceful manner with which she dabbed at her dry eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

Ella Mae imagined how Loralyn must have enjoyed walking down the aisle, knowing that she had a captive audience. She was so arrogant that she would have failed to recognize the irony of her solitary procession. A few months from now, she would have been marching on the red velvet runner wearing a Vera Wang wedding gown and clutching a bouquet of calla lilies in lieu of a cream-colored handkerchief. Now, she stood before her pew, her back as straight and stiff as a bride’s. All eyes were upon her as they would have been during her autumn nuptials, but her face held no glow, no glimmer of happy expectation. Her groom was not waiting for her at the altar, but in the air-conditioned hearse stationed outside. It was the right stage, but the wrong play. Ella Mae felt a stirring of pity for her old enemy.