Peach Pies and Alibis (12 page)

“Why on earth should I?” Loralyn was genuinely perplexed. “After all, we were terribly
mismatched.” She scrutinized her manicured nails. “This time, I need a partner who
can help me make serious changes around here. I think Havenwood could use a breath
of fresh air. A new mayor,
for example. The current one could retire. Maybe take up beekeeping.”

The reference to Melissa Carlisle was so obvious that Ella Mae had to clench her fists
to keep from striking Loralyn. Not only did she allude to Melissa, but Verena’s husband,
Buddy Hewitt, was the town’s current mayor. He was both honest and fair, and Loralyn’s
insinuation that Buddy needed to be replaced was either a threat or an insult. Ella
Mae could feel her rage rising. Moving closer to Loralyn, she spoke in a low, menacing
voice. “If you think what happened to Melissa Carlisle will change the course of Havenwood’s
future, then you’re wrong. I’m—” She stopped, sensing that it would be unwise to reveal
that she’d been Awakened.

Loralyn threw her head back and laughed. Opening her car door, she eased onto the
leather seat and put her sunglasses back on. “You’ve always been so dramatic, Ella
Mae. Instead of baking your bland little pastries, you should have sought a career
on the stage. There’s still time, you know. And you’re already quite familiar with
New York City. Why not go back while you still have the chance?”

Tugging on her pale peach apron, which was embroidered with a rolling pin and the
phrase, “That’s How I Roll,” Ella Mae stood as tall as she could. “I’m here to stay,
Loralyn. Maybe you should consider stretching your wings. Or is the big, bad, wide
world too scary for a small-town beautician?”

Loralyn’s lip curled. She owned several businesses, including two nail salons, and
was offended by Ella Mae’s choice of words. But she recovered quickly, pasted on her
phony smile, and fluffed her gorgeous leonine mane. Over the hum of her engine, she
called, “Keep an eye on your family, Ella Mae. It’d be a shame if they ended up like
Melissa Carlisle.”

And with that, she peeled away from the curb, forcing Ella Mae to leap out of the
way. Ella Mae watched the convertible
zip to the end of the block and then, in a flash of chrome and red, it turned the
corner and was gone.

Ella Mae stormed into the pie shop. She wanted to rant and complain to Reba, to blow
off steam like she did when she was a girl, but she couldn’t vent in front of Maurelle.

“That was the first rude person I’ve seen in this town,” Maurelle said after Ella
Mae slammed the door shut, making the bells jangle wildly. “That nasty blonde. Who
is she?”

“A julep-guzzlin’ socialite,” Reba said. “One of them diva types that gets a kick
out of causin’ trouble for honest, hardworkin’ folks. Thinks she’s better than everybody.”

Frowning, Maurelle said, “I can’t stand people like that. But women like her always
get the hottest guys. Look at the one she drove here with. Totally hot. Was that her
boyfriend?”

The thought of Hugh being manipulated by Loralyn’s magic fanned Ella Mae’s anger,
and she untied her apron and wadded it into a ball. Instead of responding to Maurelle’s
question, she gestured at the spotless dining room and forced herself to behave normally.
“You did a great job today. We’re actually done early, so you can head out now.” She
smiled, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that she wanted Maurelle to go home. “Unless
you have any questions.”

Maurelle shook her head. “No, I’m good. Today was fun. Thanks again for giving me
a shot.” She took off her apron and folded it into a neat square and then collected
her purse from the cabinet under the cash register. “See you tomorrow.”

The moment she was gone, Ella Mae released a long sigh, but Reba held out a finger
to stop her from speaking.

“Save it for the shootin’ range. I need to know that you can still hit a target when
you’re boilin’ mad.”

Ella Mae hesitated. She’d rather get Chewy from doggie day care and take him to the
swimming hole, but she hadn’t practiced firing a handgun for years. She and Sloan
had had other hobbies, like attending concerts, plays, art gallery
openings, and the occasional opera. And Ella Mae had always felt safe in Manhattan.
It was ironic that she was destined to encounter real danger not in a subway station
or city alley but in a sleepy town in the Georgia foothills.

The shooting range wasn’t far, and when they arrived, Reba unloaded a bagful of weapons
from the Buick. After paying the attendant for the rental of two lanes and a pile
of paper targets, she motioned for Ella Mae to sign a waiver stating that she’d abide
by the range laws at all times.

“That means headphones and eye gear, ladies,” the man said, his lower lip stuffed
with a fat plug of chewing tobacco.

“You got it, Jessup,” Reba said with a charming smile. Satisfied, Jessup returned
his attention to his copy of
Guns & Ammo
.

Reba followed Ella Mae into her lane and laid three handguns on the counter. She pointed
at an all-black gun. “Smith and Wesson M and P nine compact. Try that one first.”
She then touched the steel barrel of a slim revolver. “Next, you’ve got a Smith and
Wesson Model Sixty J-Frame with both single and double action.” She moved to the third
gun, which was black with an attractive wood grip. “This beauty is a Colt Forty-five
ACP. Has a nice, light trigger pull and a double safety. A good one to carry in your
purse or tuck into the waist of your pants.”

Ella Mae accepted a box of bullets and began to load the cartridge of the M&P 9. “Is
it that bad?” she asked. “Do I need to carry at all times now? Even in the pie shop?”

Reba nodded. She slid a paper target under a pair of clips and pulled on a chain until
the image of a sinister man in a hooded sweatshirt holding a gun was fifteen yards
away.

“Think of Loralyn and aim for the ocular zone,” Reba ordered. “Do you remember what
that is?”

Years of target practice with Reba came back to Ella Mae. “The triangle formed by
the nose and eyes. A bullet in the ocular area will stop an attacker instantly. A
shot to
anywhere else on the head, the heart, stomach, or kneecap might not have the same
result. Only the ocular area stops him dead.”

Reba grinned proudly. “You can take the girl out of the country but you can’t take
the country out of the girl.”

Ella Mae loaded the cartridge and heard a satisfying click as it locked into place.
She then reached for the headphones, but Reba shook her head. “I know what the waiver
says, but you won’t have head gear or goggles if someone’s after you for real. You
need to hear the bullets tear through the air without losin’ your focus. Go on. Fire
away.”

Raising her arms straight out in front of her, Ella Mae lined up the sight at the
end of the gun’s barrel with the target’s paper nose and squeezed the trigger.

The force of the bullet exploding from the gun surprised her. She’d forgotten how
powerful the sensation was, but her hands were steady and the bullet pierced the paper
right between the man’s eyes.

“Perfect,” Reba said. “Now squeeze ’em off until you’re empty. Pretend he won’t go
down and you need to take him out. NOW! GET HIM!”

The shout served its purpose. Ella Mae took aim and fired twelve shots in a row. She
then lowered her weapon and saw that she’d hit the man’s chin twice and chest once.

“Not bad. Try the revolver next,” Reba said.

Complying, Ella Mae unloaded the gun’s five rounds into the paper target. They all
hit the two-dimensional assailant in the mouth.

“Doesn’t seem to be the best trigger for you,” Reba said and handed Ella Mae the magazine
for the Colt.

Sliding it into place, Ella Mae ran her fingers over the wooden grip. “Loralyn’s voice
is enchanted. She can use it to make people do things against their will, like a siren
from Greek mythology.”

“Her type’s been called that and more,” Reba said. “And
I’m glad you brought it up, because that’s another one of our rules. We can’t reveal
what kind of abilities other folks have. You guessed Loralyn’s, so that’s all right,
but we don’t go around talkin’ about these things.”

Ella Mae frowned. “What would happen if we did?”

“For starters, the elders would punish you. And if you blabbed about secret stuff
to an outsider, then you’d feel terrible pain like you did at your Awakenin’. We don’t
know how it works, but it’s like an invisible energy force that keeps us all in check.”
Reba tossed a spent shell into the trash can. “Don’t go messin’ with it, you hear?”

But Ella Mae wasn’t listening. She was thinking of how effortlessly Loralyn had been
elected class president, homecoming queen, head cheerleader, editor of the student
newspaper, and every other lofty position that defined a person’s status in school.
Ella Mae had always wondered how someone so disingenuous and unpleasant managed to
be so universally adored, and now she knew. Though rich and beautiful, Loralyn had
had to resort to enchantment to become the most popular girl in school.

A wide smile spread across Ella Mae’s face. “She cheated. All along, she had to trick
people in order to get what she wanted. She was never better than me.”

Reba pulled the paper target in and replaced it with a female silhouette. “What are
you gonna do about it?”

Ella Mae barely waited for the target to be reeled back out before she started firing.
The Colt felt good in her hands. She thought of Hugh and how Loralyn must have been
enchanting him since they were children.

A cloud of smoke billowed across her face as she lowered the pistol. She felt strong
and confident. “This is the gun,” she told Reba, and then looked up to see that all
nine bullets had pierced the ocular window.

“Hell, yes, it is.” Reba nodded happily. “That’s at twenty
yards too. You’ve still got it, girl. Now move that target out to fifty yards. I’m
going to show you a few of
my
tricks.”

The next morning, Reba duct-taped a loaded rifle to the underside of Ella Mae’s worktable
in the pie shop’s kitchen. She hid another beneath the display case in the dining
area. Patting the holster concealed under her loose T-shirt, she said, “Not very flatterin’,
I know. I prefer to wear tight tops, giving the menfolk a clear picture of my assets,
but my sexy clothes will have to stay in the closet until after the harvest.”

Ella Mae touched the oven mitt she’d put on the counter next to the commercial mixer.
“The Colt’s inside. I can’t work with it stuck in my waistband. It’s too distracting
and I can grab it like this just as quickly.”

Reba looked unconvinced. “Show me.” Without warning, she pulled a knife from her pink
cowboy boot and rushed Ella Mae.

Fingers curling around the Colt’s grip, Ella Mae yanked the pistol free and aimed.
She could have put a bullet between Reba’s eyes, but only a second or two before her
wicked little knife would have punctured her lung.

“Shave a second off that draw and I’ll be satisfied,” Reba said, sliding the knife
back into her boot.

“What’s in your other boot? A grenade?” Ella Mae teased. Despite the fact that she’d
come into the pie shop an hour earlier than usual to make a group of tarts for Candis
and Rudy to taste later that afternoon, she was in a good mood.

The discovery that Loralyn had used enchantment to achieve her goals had Ella Mae
looking at her own life through new eyes. For the first time, she felt superior to
her nemesis. After all, she’d never bent the rules to acquire anything, and now here
she was, running a successful business.

And then there was Hugh. Last night, in the moments before sleep, with Chewy snoring
at her feet and ribbons of moonbeams sneaking between the bedroom curtains, Ella Mae
knew that she had to find a way to free Hugh from Loralyn’s spell. Fantasizing about
this while she melted chocolate over a double boiler had her feeling tingly with hope
and excitement.

“Glad to hear you hummin’,” Reba said. She stood at the sink, washing fresh fruit,
a licorice twist tucked behind her ear. “I thought you’d hit me with a billion questions
this mornin’.”

“Believe me, I have plenty.” Ella Mae poured the chocolate into four miniature tart
pans lined with Oreo cookie crusts. “But I want these tarts to taste like a bright
and happy future. Candis and Rudy don’t need to sample forkfuls of confusion or worry.”

Reba nodded. “Makes sense. Well, you get back to your daydream and I’ll let the radio
keep me company. That Keith Urban can sing me a love song anytime he wants.”

By the time Maurelle arrived, Reba was dancing to a Taylor Swift song and the oven
was filled with breakfast pies and dessert tarts. Ella Mae was careful not to add
unnecessary emotions to any of the pies, tarts, quiches, or salads she prepared, and
the three women worked with such an easy rhythm that the hours passed in a pleasant
blur of food, music, and chatter.

“Candis is coming in at two thirty,” Ella Mae told Maurelle when the younger woman
came into the kitchen, balancing an armload of dirty dishes. “She and Rudy are going
to sample a selection of mini tarts.”