Pies and Prejudice (18 page)

“Let’s clean them right now,” Ella Mae said, steel entering her voice. “Because I hope this creep comes sneaking around here again. Next time, I’ll stick a shotgun barrel out the mail slot and see if he or
she
still wants to threaten me!”

Grinning, Reba took a packet of licorice twists out of her pocket and handed one to Ella Mae. “Now you’re talkin’ like a real Georgia gal.”

Ella Mae pulled up in front of the Equine Center and smoothed the wrinkles from her white cotton skirt. She’d paired the skirt with a low-cut garnet-colored blouse and open-toed sandals, hoping Chandler Knox would find her attractive enough to invite her into his inner sanctum. But first, she’d have to get past Peggy.

It was clear that Bradford Knox’s practice was bustling despite his absence. Horses were being walked on leads in one paddock, a small troupe of thoroughbreds ran in carefree, lazy circles in the field adjacent to the barn, and the whinnies of contented animals blended with the soft morning light. To Ella Mae, the scene looked like the cover of a puzzle box. It begged to be captured, and she stood by her car for a moment, drinking in the tranquility.

Staff members moved about the grounds, oblivious to her presence. Those on foot carried bridles or plastic bins containing bandages and medicine while others zoomed about in John Deere utility vehicles towing trailers of feed or maintenance tools.

The roar of a tractor’s engine in one of the rear fields broke the enchantment, and Ella Mae gathered the pair of buttermilk chess pies she’d baked at five
A.M
. and headed into the office. Peggy was behind her desk, a phone tucked between ear and shoulder as she jotted notes in an appointment book. She gave Ella Mae a welcoming smile and gestured for her to take a seat in the waiting area.

When she finished her conversation, Peggy stood up and pointed at the two pies. “Well, now, what have we got here?”

“Buttermilk chess. Fresh from the oven.” Ella Mae peeled back an inch of aluminum foil and let the sugar-laced aroma of baked crust escape into the air. The invisible curls enveloped Peggy, hinting at a taste almost too sweet to bear, and the office manager closed her eyes in anticipatory bliss. “You really want a job, don’t you?”

Ella Mae couldn’t deceive this woman any longer. “In all honesty, I’m going to open a pie shop. However, I’d still love a moment of Dr. Knox’s time. You see, my aunt is a renowned metal sculptor and she’s holding a lottery of sorts to raise money for area animal shelters.” She handed Peggy a color brochure displaying some of Dee’s most remarkable pieces.

Peggy gasped. “Oh, my word. They’re lovely!”

“Thank you. She’ll be making her inaugural horse sculpture and I figured your boss, Chandler, could tell me how I could rub elbows with the equestrian crowd.” Ella Mae lowered her voice. “I hear they’re a tight-knit group.”

“Close as cousins and just as catty,” Peggy said with a smirk and picked up the second pie. “But it’s you’re lucky day because the doc’s next client had to cancel. Let me pop back there and tell him that a pretty lady bearing gifts would like to see him.” Her smile wavered for a moment. “It still feels mighty strange to call him Dr. Knox, but I reckon I need to get used to it.”

Ella Mae waited for Peggy to leave before easing behind the counter and examining the appointment book. Several
names appeared to have been scratched out, and she wondered if Bradford’s clients lacked confidence in his replacement. There was also an invoice in Peggy’s inbox bearing a yellow Post-it note and a large, red question mark. Glancing toward the door leading deeper into the clinic, Ella Mae risked a closer look at the invoice. Apparently, a company called Uraeus Pharmaceuticals sought twenty thousand dollars in payment for a shipment of anti-inflammatory supplies.

“Expensive medicine,” Ella Mae murmured to herself and stepped away from the desk just as Peggy opened the door.

“Come on back! Dr. Knox is already working on his pie. He left home without breakfast this morning, and after taking one bite, he said he’d reschedule all of his clients if it was your wish.” She pointed down the hall. “From the look on his face, I’d say he meant it too. Go on. Third door on the left.”

Ella Mae walked down the wide corridor and came to a halt in front of Chandler’s office. He was seated behind an impressive oak desk, upon which papers and patient charts were strewn untidily. He had his eyes closed and was licking his fork with obvious pleasure.

Unable to keep from grinning, Ella Mae asked, “Any good?”

Chandler jumped to his feet, the fork still clutched in his hand. He looked like a guilty child overindulging on cookies right before suppertime. “I wasn’t exactly striking a professional pose, was I?” He gave her a little contrite smile and then pointed at the pie. “But this…it’s beyond delicious. One taste and I was a kid again. Barefoot, toes in the sand, chewing on saltwater taffy. All my cares vanished. I couldn’t stop eating. Who wouldn’t want to feel like that in the middle of a workday?”

Ella Mae wondered how many burdens had fallen on Chandler’s broad shoulders since his father’s death. “It must be hard to have to fill your dad’s shoes so suddenly,” she
said softly. “But I imagine it’s also a great comfort to his clients to know that you’ll be caring for their horses.”

“Thank you. Um, Peggy told me your name and something about your artist aunt, but I’m afraid this pie has wiped my mind clear of intelligent thought, so how Ican be of service?” He glanced at the pile of journals on the room’s only spare chair and leapt forward to remove them, knocking another stack of paperwork from the top of his desk onto the floor.

Laughing, Chandler and Ella Mae both dropped to their knees and began to collect patient charts and magazines. Chandler said. “Don’t look at this as a reflection of my skills as a vet, okay?”

Nodding, Ella Mae handed him the latest issue of
Thoroughbred Times
. “Are these your clients? Famous racehorses?”

The glint of amusement vanished from Chandler’s eyes. “Just a few. My father handled most of the top-notch racers and I’m still trying to win them over. The owners aren’t partial to change, and the trainers are even worse, but I’m making some headway.”

Ella Mae handed him the brochure of Dee’s sculptures. “I’m hoping to mingle with the racing set in order to raise money for our area’s animal shelters, but I’m not sure how to break into their circle. Even though I grew up a few towns away, I’m not a horse enthusiast,” she added apologetically.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take you out back and shoot you,” Chandler said, looking over the brochure with interest. “These are incredible. I had a dog named Butterfinger who could have been this guy’s twin.” He pointed at one of Dee’s most famous pieces, a golden retriever leaping in the air to catch a Frisbee. “I still miss that big, drooling hairball. He was the best dog a boy ever had.”

Emotions flitted across Chandler’s face as he studied the photograph of the sculpture. His wistful expression made him look young and vulnerable, and Ella Mae felt a twinge of conscience for using a man who’d just lost his father to
gain access to the elite equestrian crowd. And yet, a murderer was on the loose, and who wouldn’t want to see that killer apprehended more than Chandler Knox?

“I read about the Mint Julep Gala in
The Havenwood Daily
,” she said brightly, hoping to chase away the shadow of memory and that her lack of subtly wouldn’t put Chandler off. “Are you going?”

At the mention of the exclusive fête, Chandler perked up. “Yes, and it would be the perfect place to spread the word about your aunt’s work.” He came around his desk to return the brochure. There was a moment of awkward silence as he cast a glance of unveiled longing at the buttermilk pie. He then studied Ella Mae with a similar hunger, and she felt her cheeks growing warm. “Would you like to be my date?”

Ella Mae told herself that neither Chandler’s boyish charm nor his all-American good looks influenced her decision. She told herself that she wasn’t interested in men and therefore had not noticed the streaks of gold in his sandy hair, the glimmers of caramel in his large brown eyes, or his obvious love of animals.

“That would be wonderful,” she answered quickly and gave him her address.

She was dictating directions to her place when his pen abruptly froze, its point pressing hard into the paper.

“Sulphur Springs?” His voice had turned cold. “Isn’t Rolling View Farm on that road?”

“Yes, the Gaynors are neighbors of ours.”

Chandler scowled. “Loralyn Gaynor was almost my stepmother, if you can imagine such a thing.”

“That’s an unpleasant thought.” Ella Mae rapidly covered her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to let that remark slip. “Sorry, but Loralyn and I went to school together and we didn’t exactly get along.” She picked at a loose thread on her blouse. “She was a bully back then, but I shouldn’t put her down. She was your dad’s fiancée, so she must have changed, or he wouldn’t have wanted to marry her.”

Masking his emotions, Chandler shrugged. “You’ll be able to judge for yourself. I’m sure she’ll be at the gala.”

Probably on the hunt for her next husband,
Ella Mae thought wryly.

A buzzer sounded and Peggy’s voice emitted through the intercom on Chandler’s desk. “Dr. Knox, your next appointment is here.” A pause followed by a whisper. “It’s Mr. Culpeper and he is
not
happy. Says they lost last weekend’s race because you didn’t give their horse the right medicine. Just wanted you to know you’ve got a live one waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Peggy.” Chandler shook his head and gave Ella Mae a small smile of resignation. “These are the charming folks you’ll be socializing with Friday night. Pick you up at seven?”

By Friday afternoon, Ella Mae was exhausted. She’d woken early to ensure that she’d be able to bake in The Charmed Pie Shoppe’s sparkling new kitchen for a full eight hours.

Crooning along to the country radio station, Ella Mae had tested out every commercial appliance and workspace. The ovens browned perfectly, the mixer blended flour and butter into the perfect pea-sized consistency necessary for piecrust, and the cutting board service of the prep table seemed to welcome having its unblemished surface altered by the knick of the knife. The walk-in freezer was stuffed with balls of dough and dozens of unbaked savory and dessert pies. Rows of fresh, locally grown fruit filled the large refrigerator, waiting patiently for Ella Mae’s hands to release their untapped essence.

Singing the latest Carrie Underwood hit with abandon, Ella Mae washed spring greens and halved pecans. She added goat cheese, dried cranberries, and a balsamic vinaigrette to the lettuce and tossed all the ingredients in a large stainless steel bowl. It was time to put her recipes to the test.

Cyrus and the rest of the workmen showed up at noon. Dressed in clean T-shirts and jeans, they sat down at the
laminated tables in the dining area and placed napkins demurely on their laps.

“This sure is nice of you, ma’am,” Cyrus said, removing his baseball cap in deference. “No one’s ever cooked for us before.”

“Maybe you should make it a stipulation of your contract.” Ella Mae twirled in a circle around the pie shop, her arms outspread. “Look at this place! You guys did this! It’s exactly how I dreamed it would be. Warm, inviting, fun, casual. I think people will want to linger here.”

One of the men nodded. “It sure is cozy.” Then, instantly embarrassed by the remark, he added, “But the smell is what’s gonna drag folks in from the streets. My stomach started rumblin’ like a monster truck from a block away.”

His colleague reached over and poked the soft rise of flesh that pulled the fabric of the NASCAR T-shirt taut. “You’re not gonna waste away any time soon, pal.”

“Not if I can help it,” Ella Mae declared and fetched their lunches.

The men were treated to glasses of iced tea flavored with a twinge of mint, Ella Mae’s mixed-green salad, and a sampling of two of the savory items from the regular menu. The first was a bacon, Gruyère cheese, and onion tart and the second was a tomato and feta cheese quiche.

For dessert, she served coffee and a selection of sweet treats, including a slice of chocolate peanut butter tart, a piece of apple caramel pie, and a rectangle of triple berry crostata.

The men ate every morsel on their plates, showering Ella Mae with compliments. She pleaded for constructive criticism, explaining that she wouldn’t truly be prepared for next week’s grand opening until she found something to improve upon.

“The only thing I have to say is that you can’t cook, take orders, serve drinks, and bus the tables by yourself,” Cyrus said. “This place is gonna be busier than a mall on Black Friday. You need another pair of hands. Or two.”

“I put an ad in
The Daily
,” Ella Mae said. “I just hope I can find the right person.”

Cyrus wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and gazed around the shop with proprietary affection. “This shop’ll let you know who’s right. It was just waiting for you to come along and fill it up with folks talking and laughing and enjoying home-cooked food. This is gonna be a merry place, the heart of the whole town. Wait and see.” He cleared his throat, stood, and gave Ella Mae a deep bow. “You brought it to life, Ella Mae, and now it’s going to bring you to life. We’re honored to have been a part of it all. Thank you for the wonderful meal.”