Peach Pies and Alibis (22 page)

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her head was filled with a sudden,
overwhelming roar. It subsided as quickly as it had come, leaving her with the sensation
of a hundred tiny heartbeats drumming inside her own heart.

Eyes still shut, she reached out for Reba’s rifle. “Place a target for me, please.”

She could feel Reba hesitate, but Ella Mae eventually heard footsteps moving away
from where she stood.

Then, Ella Mae’s senses sharpened even further and all the colors of the woods came
to life behind the shutters of her eyelids. She saw the browns and grays of the tree
bark, the rust-hued pine needles, the sun-dappled leaves, and far off in the distance,
the wink of red. The Dr Pepper can.

She raised the rifle and aimed but didn’t pull the trigger. Ella Mae waited for the
picture in her mind to become
clearer still. She slowly breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth,
seeing the tiny fissures in the bark, the spots of black and brown on the brittle
leaves, and a line of ants marching along the edge of a pine needle. Only then did
she focus on the soda can. Only then did she squeeze the trigger.

She opened her eyes in time to watch the Dr Pepper can disappear from a high branch
over a hundred and fifty yards away.

“Whoa,” she whispered and instinctively looked up. There, gathered above her in a
cloud of black and blue or black and gold wings, was a mass of swallowtail butterflies.

“Your totem,” Reba said, her voice filled with awe.

Ella Mae gently laid the rifle on the ground and held out her arms. Butterflies landed
on her wrists, forearms, shoulders, and the palms of her hands. They formed a crown
of fluttering wings around her head. “My totem?”

“The butterflies formed the rainbow that led you to the grove. I should have known
as soon as you told me…”

“Known what?” Ella Mae said calmly. She felt a strange mixture of power and peace
flow through her body.

“Since they’re your totem, you can command them,” Reba said, wide-eyed. “Like your
mama commands her roses to grow. But this is rare. Havin’ a livin’, movin’ creature
respond to your thoughts.” She gestured at the rifle. “Did you ask the butterflies
to show you how to hit that can?” She jerked her thumb to where the Dr Pepper can
lay on a pile of dried leaves and twigs. A hole had pierced straight through the loop
of the letter
P
.

Ella Mae shook her head, smiling at the blue swallowtail on her hand. “I just wanted
to see the path the bullet should take and they showed it to me.”

Reba simply stared at her for a moment, but then recovered her usual aplomb. “Well,
are you going to stand there
like a butterfly coat rack or are you going to help me pack up our guns before the
sun goes down?”

Ella Mae had barely made it back to the guest cottage after helping Reba clean their
firearms when the sky turned ominously dark. The storm front pushed to the northwest
by the hurricane churning off Georgia’s coast had arrived, and the rain began to fall
just as Ella Mae pulled back her covers and climbed into bed with Chewy and a stack
of cookbooks she’d picked up at a church rummage sale over the summer.

She flipped through a spiral-bound cookbook published in the fifties by the Junior
League of Augusta. Ella Mae loved to read the vintage recipes and to study the black-and-white
illustrations of women wearing aprons over flouncy dresses. With their pearls, pumps,
and perfect hair, it came as no surprise that the drawings of their Sunday roasts
and Thanksgiving turkeys were things of beauty. Ella Mae’s favorite images showed
mothers presenting their families with desserts like molded gelatin or Bundt cakes
decorated with whipped cream and strawberries. The beaming children in these pictures
were always immaculately groomed while the fathers wore tailored suits and expressions
of smug satisfaction.

“There’s no such thing as these Norman Rockefeller families,” Ella Mae told Chewy.
“Look at me. I was raised by five women and never knew my father.” She showed the
terrier the illustration of a glazed pound cake marking the cookbook’s dessert section.
“But this cake was real. You can’t fake the taste of butter, flour, sugar, eggs, and
spices. Food doesn’t lie. It’s either pure and delicious or it isn’t.” She glanced
over the names of the women who’d contributed recipes. “Maud, Janet, Ruth, Iva, Shirley,
Martha…” her voice trailed off and she closed the book and let it rest against her
belly.

She thought of all the women who’d lovingly prepared the dishes listed in the table
of contents, and for a moment, she wished she could cook for the single purpose of
bringing delight to another. To bake without an agenda or any trace of enchantment.

“That’s a thing of the past now,” she said. “Just like this cookbook.”

Setting the pile of books aside, Ella Mae turned off her lamp and snuggled up to Chewy.
She listened to the steady patter of the rain and reviewed tomorrow’s menu for the
umpteenth time. Her last image before sleep was of Sloan, the Gaynors, and the Shermans
seated around an enormous dining table covered by a cloud white linen cloth. Unlike
the bright, happy faces peering from the pages of the Junior League cookbook, the
assembled guests were tense, suspicious, or openly hostile.

At least Maurelle was a part of these drowsy imaginings. She stood serenely, ready
to fill the guests’ empty glasses with homebrewed iced tea. Reba was there too. Her
order pad was in one hand, and when she dipped into her apron pocket with the other,
Ella Mae wondered if she’d draw out a pencil or a pistol. That last vision of Reba,
who’d been Ella Mae’s friend and guardian since the day she was born, finally allowed
Ella Mae to sink into sleep.

The rain had intensified by the time Ella Mae let herself into The Charmed Pie Shoppe.
Her mother had volunteered to watch Chewy for the day, citing that the little terrier
might be scared of the storm once it reached its fever pitch during the early afternoon
hours.

As if proving her point, Chewy whimpered and then curled into a ball on the floral
sofa in the sunroom. He hid his face beneath one of the plump pillows, but his tail
gave away his lack of fear, and the women laughed as he thumped
it against the cushions. And then, mother and daughter looked at each other. Their
mirth immediately vanished.

“I know you’ll do your best today,” Ella Mae’s mother said solemnly. “I wish I could
be there, but my presence would only set the Gaynors on edge.” She took her daughter’s
hand. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that I’m proud of you.”

Ella Mae embraced her mother. “I won’t let you down. Not you. Not my aunts. Not Reba.
Or any of…our kind.”

Hours later, she stood in pie shop’s kitchen, inhaling the aroma of half a dozen lamb
pies baking in the oven. Ella Mae had deliberated long and hard over what to serve
but had finally decided upon the savory pie she’d planned on making for Sloan the
night she’d caught him cheating on her.

As she’d blended the tender ground lamb with sautéed onions and garlic, she’d thought
back to her girlhood. When she was eight, she’d stolen a pack of Reba’s Twizzlers
and had snuck down to the docks with a storybook and a Coke. She’d lain in the sun
reading and snacking on licorice sticks until they were all gone. Later, when Reba
had served her a supper of fried chicken, black-eyed peas, and okra, Ella Mae had
felt too guilty to eat. Why had she taken Reba’s candy? Why hadn’t she just asked
for it? Reba had never denied her anything.

Picking at her food, Ella Mae had remained silent. Hours later, she’d sat at the foot
of her bed, too ashamed to sleep. The moon glared down at her from an ink black sky
and, finally, she’d tiptoed downstairs, picked up the phone, and called Reba at home
to confess her crime.

Clinging to the memory and to that overwhelming need to admit her wrongdoing, Ella
Mae blended toasted pine nuts and yogurt into the lamb mixture. She then added lemon
juice, cumin, and cinnamon, still focusing on that moment from her childhood. And,
while pouring the filling into the piecrusts, she closed her eyes and concentrated
on how she couldn’t rest until she’d made her confession.

“There,” she said, sliding the pies into the oven. “That should do it. But just in
case, I’ll add more of the same desire into the dessert.”

The kitchen filled with the exotic scents of cumin and cinnamon, calling to mind a
Middle Eastern food stand and the intense heat of a searing sun. Ella Mae was so focused
on her cooking that she forgot about the storm beyond the pie shop’s walls. Even a
deafening crack of thunder was unable to penetrate the second memory she called to
mind while crushing chocolate wafers over the bowl of her food processor.

Pouring sugar and melted butter over the chocolate cookie crumbs, Ella Mae became
a teenager again. She pictured a gawky girl named Becky who’d just moved to town and
had yet to make friends with anyone. Becky’s face was covered with acne, she wore
braces, and her clothes were dowdy and ill fitting. The popular crowd, led by Loralyn,
instantly dismissed the new girl with sniggers of derision, but when Ella Mae had
accidentally tripped Becky in the hallway, sending her books, ruler, and pencils skidding
across the floor, she hadn’t stopped to help her. She’d listened to the other kids
laugh and had decided it was better to protect her own reputation than to be seen
helping the most unpopular kid in the school.

That afternoon, Ella Mae’s shame had twisted inside of her like a snake until she
told Reba what she’d done.

“I’m not the one you need to be talkin’ to about this,” Reba had said, her face stern
and unyielding. The next day, Ella Mae planned on apologizing to Becky, but she’d
transferred to a school in another county and Ella Mae never got the chance.

“I still regret that day,” she murmured over the pie filling—a light, fluffy, and
decadent mousse made of creamy peanut butter, confectioners’ sugar, whipping cream,
and vanilla extract. When the mousse had been spooned over
the chocolate crust, Ella Mae melted chocolate over a double boiler and drizzled the
surface of several pies with its rich, brown sweetness. She then put the pies in the
walk-in refrigerator.

“Almost ready,” she said when Reba entered the kitchen.

“It’s comin’ down by the bucketful out there. Even the roses Maurelle’s puttin’ on
the tables look like a storm. Only your mama could grow a blue gray rose.”

Ella Mae glanced at the oven timer and wiped her hands on her apron. “I should have
let Maurelle stay home. There’s no telling what could happen today.”

“As long as she keeps out of this kitchen, she should be fine and dandy. We’ll have
a few regular customers in the dinin’ room, and that’ll keep Maurelle busy and the
rest of our guests on their best behavior.”

Beyond the window above the sink, a sheet of lightning lit up the wet world. The kitchen
lights flickered once but remained on.

“I’ve checked the guns,” Reba whispered, moving over to the window. Her sharp gaze
scanned the parking lot as if a nameless enemy were crouching behind the Dumpster
or hiding behind a streetlamp.

“You’ve got to trust me,” Ella Mae said, touching Reba on the arm. “No matter who
comes back to talk to me or what you hear them say, you can’t follow them. This will
only work if I’m alone.”

Reba frowned. “So you say.” Her hand snaked around to the small of her back and Ella
Mae knew she was making sure that whatever weapon she had tucked into her waistband
was firmly in place. “I’ll do it, but I don’t have to like it. This goes against all
of my trainin’ and every bit of my common sense.”

Maurelle pushed open the swing door and poked her pale face into the kitchen. “I didn’t
think anyone would come out in this weather, but a woman carrying a black-and-white
umbrella is already at the door, Mr. and Mrs. Caswell are heading up the front path,
and there’s another couple right behind them. I think it might be the Shermans, but
it’s hard to tell in this rain.”