Pies and Prejudice (34 page)

Over Peggy’s shoulder, Ella Mae could see that the thin, gray beanstalk of smoke had dissipated. The summer sky was a brilliant blue sapphire once more.

“I have you to thank for my happiness,” Peggy added. She took a step back, keeping a hand on Ella Mae’s arm. “Ernest said that we owe everything to you and your shoofly pie—that he was inspired to tell me how he felt after just one bite.”

Ella Mae waved off the idea. “It wasn’t my pie that sent him to your door, Peggy. It was you. But either way, I can’t wait to meet your new beau. Bring him to see me at the shop.”

After promising to do just that, Peggy said good-bye. Her step was light as air, a little smile played at the corners of her mouth, and she hummed like a woman who’d found exactly what she’d been looking for. And even though Ella Mae was delighted that both Peggy and the Equine Center were headed in a positive direction, there was still one more issue Ella Mae had to address. She needed to know if Hugh had helped Loralyn switch the rolling pins.

Gathering her courage, she watched as he started to reel the hose back into the truck. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself by pushing through the remaining crowd of bystanders in order to talk to Hugh while he was still working, so she stood in place and focused her mind on sending forth a single thought.

“See me,” she whispered, willing the air the move her words across the space that divided her from him.

The noise of a second fireman emptying the smoldering contents of the trash can and that of the murmuring spectators faded. Ella Mae pictured Hugh standing before her in the pie shop’s kitchen. She felt their kiss again.

“See me,” she repeated, willing her gaze to touch the skin on Hugh’s back like cold snow.

Straightening as if he’d been pinched, Hugh swung around and saw her.

He let the hose drop from his hands and strode toward her. His protective gear and massive boots gave him the lurching gait of a hunting giant and there was something fierce and wild in his eyes.

“I felt you,” he said, his voice a caress. “Like you were standing right behind me.”

She wanted to reach out to him, but she kept her hands at her sides. “I know this isn’t the right time or place, but I
need to know, Hugh. If you and I are ever going to be anything, I need to ask you something.”

He nodded wordlessly.

“What happened to the rolling pin you and the other firefighters discovered the night Bradford Knox was murdered?”

Hugh was clearly taken aback by the question, but he immediately looked off into the distance, forcing his mind to return to that moment. “Another guy on my crew, Jay, bagged it and put it in the truck along with some other stuff. We weren’t sure how stable the building’s structure was at that point and we wanted to remove anything that might be relevant to our fire investigator.”

“Was it locked up?”

“I don’t know,” Hugh replied. “It wasn’t in our possession very long. Maybe an hour, an hour and a half tops. And we were pretty busy.” He glanced back at his crewmembers. “Why are you asking me about the rolling pin, Ella Mae? I thought that case was closed.”

Ella Mae couldn’t detect any deception in Hugh’s words. His face was open and guileless and she believed his version of events. Loralyn had swapped rolling pins without Hugh’s aid, and that gave Ella Mae an immeasurable amount of relief.

“I’ll tell you all about it later.” She hesitated and then plunged ahead. “When do you think you’ll be done here?”

Hugh glanced at his watch and then adjusted the band, pivoting the watch face so he could read the time. As he did so, Ella Mae noticed a tiny tattoo on the inside of his wrist. She recognized the shape instantly. It was a shamrock. A four-leaf clover identical to the one she’d been given on The Charmed Pie Shoppe’s opening day.

“I like your tattoo,” she whispered.

He smiled at her. “The real thing is better. Only a special person deserves something so rare, so special.”

Then she knew for certain that he’d given her the
shamrock affixed to the plain white card—the one she’d had framed and had mounted above the cash register. Deciding to thank him later for the incredible gift, she gestured at his heavy coat and pants. “I imagine you’ll be hot and tired after this. Wouldn’t it feel lovely to dive into the swimming hole?”

A light surfaced in his eyes and he smiled widely. The radiance of his gaze nearly knocked Ella Mae off her feet. “It sure would. The only thing that could make it better is if you’ll meet me there.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she promised and he turned to finish his work.

Ella Mae got on her bike and rode away thinking,
I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time
.

Ella Mae only made it a block farther before the vision of Loralyn’s license plate made her pull over onto the sidewalk and pause. She thought of how Loralyn had always been able to sweet-talk her way out of any fix. And her vanity plate had read “Siren.” Was it possible that Loralyn possessed a special vocal gift? Was it anything like her own ability to transfer her emotions into the food she made?

For weeks, Ella Mae had been dismissing the unusual and implausible things that had been happening around her and to her, but now she wanted to understand why she was different in Havenwood than she had been in New York.

Reba had told her more than once that names had power. Perhaps the answer was hidden in the meaning of her name. Ella Mae pushed her bike the short distance to the corner of Painted Lady Avenue and Soldier Street and stepped into the Cubbyhole, Havenwood’s bookstore.

Normally, she would have happily tarried in a shop crowded with new and used books, plush reading chairs, and sleeping cats, but she felt driven by a need for answers. She purchased a book of baby names and then pedaled
home. After setting the coffeepot to brew, she took a quick shower and then sat down at the kitchen table and cracked the spine of the thick pink and blue paperback.

Pen and paper at the ready, she decided to look up her aunts’ names first.

“Let’s start with Verena.” She flipped to the
v
s and began to read. “Verena means ‘true’ or the ‘detector of truth.’”

Ella Mae took a sip of coffee and jotted a note. “Sounds like Verena. She always knew when I was lying. And neither Buddy nor her sisters ever bothered trying to deceive her. I wonder if she can differentiate between lies and truth with everyone. Is that her gift?”

She turned to the
c
s. “Sissy’s full name is Cecilia. Cecelia is the patron saint of music.” Ella Mae remembered how Aunt Sissy had told her to be inspired by the sight of her students dancing, by the sound of the music filling the school. Sissy had always supported the arts. She played five different instruments, sang like a nightingale, and floated like she walked on airy, musical notes instead of solid ground. “She inspires people through music. Okay, these are pretty accurate so far.”

Next up was Aunt Delia. “Named for Delos, the birthplace of Artemis, goddess of wild animals.” Dee definitely had a connection with animals, and the way she could bring life to those sculptures was beyond anything Ella Mae had ever seen. A spark of life had flowed from Dee’s fingertips into the metal dog. If that wasn’t goddesslike, then Ella Mae didn’t know what was.

Her mother’s name, Adelaide, meant noble and her middle name, Salena, stood for the moon. Ella Mae thought of the white-robed figure in the back garden. The couples who’d visited during the full and new moons. The fireflies and the Luna roses.

And Reba? Reba’s full name was Rebekah. “To secure, to bind, to protect.” The last definition reminded her of Reba’s anger over not being present when Annie Beaufort
was killed. Reba had always been there for Ella Mae. She’d walked her to the bus stop, tended to her childhood injuries, and stared daggers at anyone who glanced at her sideways, especially a member of the Gaynor clan.

It was Ella Mae’s turn.

“Okay, there’s nothing mind-blowing about Mae. It’s the fifth month of the calendar and honors the Roman Earth goddess.”

Ella Mae put the book down and sighed. “This is so stupid.” She drank more coffee and scanned her notes. Finally, she turned to the
e
s and found Ella. “What am I? A ‘torch, bright light, beautiful fairy, enchanted, and other.’” The last word gave her pause. “Other? Other what?” But the baby name book had nothing more to offer.

Frustrated, she left her pen and coffee behind and went into the living room. Her mother had transferred a selection of Ella Mae’s favorite girlhood books over from the main house to this room. She reached for a beautiful coffee-table book on magical creatures and glanced at the stunning color plates of goblins and witches, mermaids and nymphs, and ancient gods and goddesses. She stopped when she reached the section on Arthurian legends.

“Morgan le Fay,” she whispered, tracing the fiery hair of a beautiful and terrifying woman casting a spell on Merlin. “Sorceress, priestess, half faerie, other.”

There was that word again. Other. And she, Ella Mae, shared a surname with Morgan le Fay. Her mother and her three aunts were all LeFayes, and neither of the two married sister’s had taken their husband’s surname. “There’s power in a name,” she echoed the statement Reba had uttered weeks ago.

More confused than ever, Ella Mae slammed the book shut and marched into the kitchen. She tied on an apron and took a ball of pie dough from the freezer. While the dough defrosted in the microwave, she put random pieces of fruit and cheese on the counter. She grabbed a handful of spices
without glancing at the labels and began to mix eggs, sliced fruit of every color, and shredded cheese in a stainless steel bowl. “Show me what I am!” she repeated over and over as she stirred. “Show me,” she commanded as she sprinkled nutmeg and dried mustard and paprika and cardamom over the mixture. “Show me!” she shouted as she pressed the dough into a pan and poured the filling inside. Covering the unappetizing mess with a top crust, she shoved the pie into the oven and set it to broil. Pacing around the kitchen, she ignored the conflicting smells coming from the oven and mumbled her refrain again and again.

When crust had turned golden brown, Ella Mae removed the pie and set it on a trivet to cool. She poured the rest of her coffee down the drain and searched for some wine or something even stronger, but she’d forgotten to restock her liquor supplies.

Filled with restless energy and a sense of desperation, she jogged across the back lawn into her mother’s house. She heard laughter from within and discovered Reba, her mother, and her aunts sipping lemonade on the sunporch. The women were all wearing gauzy white sundresses, and for a moment, they looked like debutantes before a ball.

“It’s spiked!” Verena shouted upon spying Ella Mae. “Want one?”

“Absolutely,” Ella Mae replied, reaching for the pitcher. She poured herself a glass, drank it down without pause, and refilled the glass. The taint of vodka and orange liqueur did nothing to calm her nerves.

Reba gestured at her apron. “What are you cooking?”

“Answers!” Ella Mae snapped, feeling as though the world were unraveling. “You see, I have the power to put my emotions into food and I don’t get how that’s possible, so I’ve made a pie that’s going to define what the hell I am. Want a piece?”

Exchanging curious glances, the women rose and followed Ella Mae to the guest cottage. Ella Mae walked next
to her mother. “Ever since I was little, I’ve known that your ability to grow things isn’t normal. Your roses can be the size of dinner plates and their fragrances are so powerful that they move people. They influence people. And then there’s this business with the couples in your garden. I’ve seen them. Somehow, you use a special rose to tell them something. What is it they want to know?”

“If they’re well matched,” her mother answered simply. “The rose is a symbol. A messenger if you will.”

“So you’re like some kind of oracle?” Ella Mae was stunned. “How is that possible?”

Her mother opened the door to the guest cottage. “Let’s see what else is beyond the realm of possibility.”

The tiny kitchen smelled of the deep wood after a thunderstorm and of a wildflower field, as wide and endless as the sea.

“The pie is moving,” Dee whispered in awe and pointed at the counter.

Indeed it was. Beneath the top crust, something pulsed, straining against the baked dough.

“Are you going to let it
out
?” Sissy asked, and despite the surreal situation, Ella Mae noticed that the sight of a writhing pie didn’t alarm the women in white in the slightest.

Her mother picked up a pair of potholders. “Grab a knife. We’d better take this to the garden.”

Ella Mae followed, her eyes riveted on the cracks forming in the piecrust. “Do you know what’s inside?”

“Your answer, I imagine,” her mother said as though they were discussing a commonplace item on The Charmed Pie Shoppe’s menu. “But I have no idea what form it’s taken.”

“Only one way to find out.” Reba handed Ella Mae a butter knife. “Ask your question once more and then cut the crust.”

It took a moment for Ella Mae to move. Did she want to know what was inside? Did she really want to hear the answer to her question? She looked at her reflection in the
blade of the knife. “What am I?” she asked for the last time and then stuck the knife into the pie, slicing it neatly down the middle.

Butterflies burst from within. Hundreds of butterflies in every color. They were striped, speckled, iridescent, and monochrome, and there were species of fantastic beauty that Ella Mae had never seen before. Their wings were like tissue-thin stained glass painted by the afternoon light.

Instead of flying away, the winged insects began to gather on the garden path. They jostled one another as if in a rush to get to the correct place, and Ella Mae gasped when she realized what they were doing.

“They’re forming letters,” her mother said, her eyes wide with wonder.

The women watched, spellbound, as butterflies continued to rush out of the pie. In a rapid blur of color and fluttering wings, they completed their word and then, as if they’d been frozen in time, held perfectly still.