Peach Pies and Alibis (3 page)

Shooting Reba a dirty look, Ella Mae said, “I’ll run another ad in the
Daily
, okay? If I get a break this afternoon, I can check out the auto listings too. As
for the roll in the hay? I should get divorced first, don’t you think?”

Balancing three plates on her arm, Reba still managed a shrug. “Sloan didn’t let his
marriage vows get in his way, so why should you?”

“Hush up! She’s going about things the right way!” Verena scolded, grabbed the next
two orders, and followed Reba through the swing doors. She came back a minute later.
“Dining room’s stuffed, patio’s packed, and there’s a line at the counter!”

Groaning, Ella Mae hurriedly plated two lunches, slipped off her apron, and picked
up the dishes that needed to be delivered to a patio table.

Verena was right. There wasn’t an empty seat in the shop. Reba was busy boxing a key
lime pie for a to-go order while the in-house customers eyed her impatiently. Some
were waiting for food and others were eager to pay their bill or have their drinks
refreshed.

“This place is a train wreck,” Ella Mae murmured. Pasting on a smile, she served lunches
to the couple seated by a cluster of black-eyed Susans and pink coneflowers, checked
to make sure the rest of the patrons were enjoying their meals, and then went back
into the dining room to see to her other customers’ needs.

By the time she’d walked around the room with pitchers of sweet tea and ice water
flavored with paper-thin slices of lemon and lime, the line at the counter had doubled.
Without being asked, Verena volunteered to ring customers on the register. Ella Mae
blew her aunt a kiss of gratitude and then hustled back out to the patio to tend to
people’s empty glasses.

Too preoccupied to bring dirty dishes into the kitchen, Reba and Ella Mae piled them
on the counter behind the display cases, well out of sight of the customers waiting
to buy slices of dessert pies and tarts to take home. Ella Mae had just finished boxing
a half-dozen cherry hand pies when Reba thrust a plate containing a piece of blackberry
tart into her hands.

“Take this outside to Mr. Burton. He’s sitting by the geraniums. And don’t get stuck
at his table,” she warned. “He’s a real talker.”

Reba was right. Mr. Burton accepted his tart, and before Ella Mae could slip away,
asked where the blackberries had come from.

“There’s a lovely swimming hole on the way to my house,” she explained, momentarily
distracted by the image of the deep pool of water in the middle of a copse of old
trees. “On a rise above the water, there’s a ridge covered by blackberry bushes. They
grow plump and juicy all summer long and are the best I’ve ever tasted.” Her eyes
grew distant as she pictured the place. “The sun bathes the berries all day, and at
night, cool air from the swimming hole drifts upward and coats them in a gentle dew.
My mother used to say that fruit and flowers are best picked by moonlight, so that’s
when I go.”

Mr. Burton had yet to sample his tart, but now he lifted a forkful to his mouth. He
closed his eyes and chewed slowly, relishing the sweetness of the berries and the
flaky, butter-kissed dough. “I taste them both,” he said, his eyes filled with delight.
“The sunshine and the moon glow. I think it’s about the most magical thing I’ve ever
eaten. Could you box a piece for my wife? She’s been feeling poorly lately. It’s her
hip, you see.”

Ella Mae did her best to look sympathetic, but she sensed the tale of Mrs. Burton’s
hip could go on for quite some time, and time was one thing Ella Mae couldn’t spare.
With an apologetic smile, she interrupted Mr. Burton’s narrative and excused herself.

The moment she opened the door leading into the dining room, she was assaulted by
an unpleasant aroma. It was strong and acrid—the kind of odor that typically accompanies
a fire. Ella Mae stopped and sniffed.

“Something’s burning,” she murmured and then saw a curl of smoke escape from the crack
between the kitchen’s swing doors. She began to walk toward the counter, horrified
to see another curl and then yet another snake through the tiny opening. The smell
intensified.

At first, Ella Mae had found it reminiscent of smoldering
wood, but now it called to mind the image of something blackened and charred. Something
like a pie. Half a dozen meat pies to be exact.

“No, no, no!” Ella Mae cried and rushed into the kitchen.

She was met by a wall of gray smoke that obscured the worktable and countertops. As
she moved closer to the commercial ovens, the air darkened from pale pewter to dark
charcoal. Ella Mae quickly turned the appliances off and opened the top oven door.
Smoke burst out like a puff of dragon breath from a cave mouth. Ella Mae waved it
away from her face with a potholder. Bubbles of burned cheese and ground beef pooled
at the base of six black and unrecognizable shapes. To Ella Mae, the pies looked like
charred Frisbees.

“The dinin’ room’s clearin’ out!” Reba shouted, flinging open the back door. “If you
wanted a break, you could have just asked. No need for such dramatics.”

Ella Mae removed the smoldering pies and dumped them into the garbage can. “I know
you’re teasing me, but I don’t see anything funny about this. By suppertime, everyone
in Havenwood will be talking about how I burned an oven full of pies.”

Reba slid the window above the sink open. “They didn’t exactly stampede out of here.
Everybody paid and I gave them a slice of dessert pie to take home for their trouble.
I put up the closed sign too. We’re done for today, hon.”

Sagging against the worktable, Ella Mae watched the smoke race out of her kitchen
and rise into the clear August sky. “At least the smoke alarm didn’t go off.”

Glancing at the ceiling, Reba frowned. “I reckon that’s not a good thing. Isn’t it
supposed to yell and scream when the kitchen is close to burnin’ down? And what’s
that little red blinkin’ light mean?”

“A malfunction,” a man’s voice said.

Ella Mae turned to see Hugh Dylan standing at the other end of the room. He was breathing
hard, his chest straining against his navy blue Havenwood Volunteer Fire Department
T-shirt. He ran a hand through his molasses brown hair and looked around. “No flames?”

“Not this time,” was Ella Mae’s foolish reply. She tried to look away from Hugh’s
startling eyes, but they were as mesmerizing as always. She tried not to be captivated
by their brilliant hue—twin pools of blue that made her think of secluded Grecian
coves, but she found herself getting lost in them just the same. Eventually, her gaze
moved down to his lips, which she had kissed not so long ago, and the strong jawline,
which she’d traced with trembling fingertips.

Ella Mae’s face grew warm as she recalled the two of them working together in this
kitchen. How he’d had his back to her and then had suddenly pivoted until their bodies
had been so close that it had felt completely natural to erase the gap between them.
She remembered raising her chin and parting her lips, how she’d closed her eyes and
slid her hands over his broad shoulders as he’d bent to kiss her.

She remembered the feel of sparks leaping beneath her skin, of the heat coursing through
her veins with such force that she thought she was burning from the inside out.

Even now, despite the smoke lingering in the air, she could detect Hugh’s scent of
dew-covered grass and sun-warmed earth. Just the memory of it filled her senses. But
she could also never forget how quickly those seconds of exquisite pleasure had turned
to pain. How she and Hugh had broken off their kiss, baffled and frightened. They’d
only been alone together once since that day, but they hadn’t touched. And as the
summer passed, Ella Mae feared that they’d never find a way back to the moment they’d
shared in this room.

Reba cleared her throat, forcing Ella Mae back to the present.

“We’re okay,” she told Hugh. “Just a bit of smoke. There’s no damage.”

“Speak for yourself,” Reba said and put a hand to her forehead, feigning a swoon.
“I feel kinda dizzy. You might need to carry me outta here, young man.”

Hugh grinned. Along with everyone else in Havenwood, he knew that Reba was an incorrigible
flirt.

“How did you find out about my little charbroil incident anyway?” Ella Mae asked.

Hugh focused his blue gaze on her once again. “One of your customers called nine-one-one.
The rest of the emergency response crew will be here any—”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by the howl of a siren.

“Oh, no!” Ella Mae shouted and hurried past Hugh and through the dining room. She
burst out of the front door onto the wide, rose-covered porch in time to see a neon
yellow fire truck turn the corner and head down her street. The wail of its siren
cut through the peaceful afternoon.

Ella Mae leapt off the porch. Racing up the flagstone path lined by snapdragons and
purple salvia, she frantically tried to wave the truck away.

“They’re not going to drive by!” Hugh yelled, clearly amused by her antics. “Someone
reported a fire, so they have to investigate now.” The smile playing at the corners
of his mouth suddenly disappeared. He stared at the fire engine, frowning in confusion.
“What the hell?”

Ella Mae followed his gaze. It took a few seconds for her mind to register what she
was seeing, but when the image became clear, she began to laugh. For there, clinging
to the steel handrail on the back of the fire truck, her canary-colored dress flapping
in the wind like a ship’s sail, was a middle-aged woman.

She was no firefighter. That much was obvious to both Hugh and Ella Mae. In addition
to her bright sundress, the woman also wore a pair of blue Converse sneakers and rhinestone-encrusted
sunglasses. As the truck drew closer, Ella Mae could also make out a fuchsia headband
in the woman’s gray hair.

“Why are you laughing?” Hugh asked. “Do you know that crazy lady?”

“It’s Mrs. Dower,” Ella Mae replied, delightfully awestruck. “She’s the organist at
the Havenwood First Baptist church.”

Hugh threw out his hands in frustration as the truck drew to a halt and the siren
ceased blaring. “I don’t care if she’s the preacher! She can’t just hitch a ride on
the back of our engine!”

Ella Mae smiled. “I think she’s having a carpe diem moment. It’s been a long time
coming too, so let her be.”

Mrs. Dower hopped off the back of the truck, waved at Ella Mae, and paused by one
of the rosebushes marking the far corner of the pie shop’s lot. She bent over, drew
in a deep lungful of flower-scented air, and then plucked one of the soft purple roses
from the bush. Tucking the flower behind her ear, she skipped down the sidewalk in
the direction of the church, as agile and carefree as a young girl.

Hugh’s shock quickly faded and his eyes twinkled with humor. But then he looked at
Ella Mae and his expression changed. She saw longing there. And a reluctant resignation
too. “When you first came back to Havenwood and I saw you at your aunt’s school, I
knew you were going to be trouble.” His smile was twisted, as if being this close
to her was agonizing. “So why is it I keep ending up here? Why can’t I stay away from
you?”

And then, without waiting for an answer, Hugh walked off to meet his fellow firefighters.

Hurt and confused, Ella Mae turned back to her pie shop. She noticed how the gray
white smoke still hovered over the roof like a pair of wings. She studied their shape,
thinking that they didn’t resemble the wings of a bird or even an angel. They were
wispy and diaphanous, shimmering in the air for a few precious seconds before disappearing
completely. Like the wings of a dragonfly. Or a fairy.

Ella Mae slept late the next morning and awoke thankful that it was Sunday, her one
and only day off. The pie shop wasn’t open to the public on Mondays, but Ella Mae
always went in for a few hours to prepare dough for the upcoming week. She’d also
fill the bud vases on every café table with flowers from her mother’s garden and spend
the afternoon purchasing fresh ingredients from area grocery stores, roadside stands,
and farms.

On this particular Sunday, she would have lain dreaming even longer had Chewy not
pressed his nose against her cheek and then begun to repeatedly lick her chin.

“Stop.” She groaned and tried to hide her face under the quilt, but Chewy thrust both
front paws beneath the covers and whined. He was hungry and needed to be let outside,
and she knew that he was only going to warn her once before piddling on the shower
mat.

Ella Mae reached out a hand and stroked her dog’s head. “Okay, boy. I’m up. I’m up.”

She trudged downstairs to open the front door for Chewy and was pleased to see that
her mother had left a copy of the
Havenwood Daily
on the stoop. After brewing coffee and filling Chewy’s bowl with his breakfast kibble,
she turned to the classified section and began to search for a used car.

The pickings were slim. Old trucks, ho-hum sedans, high-mileage SUVs, and beat-up
minivans—nothing seemed to fit Ella Mae’s needs or budget. Then, at the end of the
column, was a listing for a retired mail Jeep. She didn’t recognize the model number,
but the price was right and she liked the description of the sliding driver and passenger
doors as well as the roomy rear storage compartment. In the near future, she wanted
to deliver pies around town, and her customers had already expressed an interest in
hiring her for catering jobs. To do that, she needed one or two additional employees
and a roomy and reliable car.