Pie Read online

  “Well, Nora,” he said, “it sure has been nice chatting with you. I’m sorry about all the shouting and, no, I didn’t really think you’d go to the movies with me, but when it comes to asking beautiful girls to the movies, all I can say is you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Alice hadn’t told him to say that, especially not the part about Nora being beautiful. But otherwise, Charlie had done everything exactly the way she’d asked him to. All that was left to do now was wait for the rat to take the bait.

  PECAN PIE

  3 eggs, beaten

  1 cup brown sugar

  1 TBS butter, softened

  1 cup light corn syrup

  1 cup pecans, chopped, plus 6-8 pecan halves for the top

  1 tsp vanilla

  ¼ tsp salt

  Cream butter and sugar, add syrup and well-beaten eggs, salt, and vanilla, mix well, and add pecans. Pour into unbaked pie shell. Line the top with pecan halves. Bake for 1 hour at 325.

  Suggestion: Serve with hard sauce instead of whipped cream or, better yet, homemade honey ice cream.

  Reminder: Thanksgiving dinner at the parsonage goes on the table at 4:00 p.m. Three pies ought to do the trick.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alice couldn’t stop thinking about the plan.

  “What if Sylvia DeSoto, or whoever she is, doesn’t take the bait? What if she leaves town?” Alice asked Charlie. “No one’s ever going to believe me.”

  She had walked her bike over to the Erdlings’ house so that Charlie could fix her chain once and for all.

  “I believe you,” said Charlie.

  “Hey, you two!” Mrs. Erdling called out to them. “Lunch is on.”

  Having skipped breakfast that morning, Alice was starved. Mrs. Erdling made franks and beans. Charlie bolted down four hot dogs in about two seconds flat. Alice only had one, but she could have eaten another if there had been any left.

  “When you’re finished, you’ve got a whole slew of messages waiting for you,” Charlie’s mother told him. “Mrs. Ogden called three times. She’s got a long list of things she wants you to pick up, including a can of black shoe polish for her husband’s dress shoes.”

  “It’s almost two o’clock already. I’m never going to be able to make all of these deliveries today,” Charlie said, sorting through the pile of messages.

  “Maybe I could help,” suggested Alice. “I go grocery shopping with my mom all the time.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

  “It’ll be a good distraction. I’m going to go out of my gourd if I sit around all day worrying about whether my plan is going to work.”

  So the two of them hopped on their bikes and headed off to the A&P.

  “Okay,” said Charlie, handing Alice half of the shopping lists. “You get this stuff and I’ll get the rest. Meet me at the checkout counter when you’re finished.”

  Alice began wheeling her shopping cart up and down the aisles collecting the items on her lists. Three bags of sugar for Reverend Flowers, two dozen eggs for Mrs. Decker, a bag of unsweetened coconut for Mrs. Kaperfew, and a bunch of ripe bananas for Mr. Evans. Mrs. Ogden’s shopping list was the longest of all, and when Alice had located everything — including a can of black shoe polish — she headed for the checkout counter at the front of the store. Charlie was already standing in line, a giant sack of yams balanced on his shoulder.

  “Find everything okay, you two?” asked the cashier as she began to ring things up.

  “Everything but buttermilk,” Charlie told her.

  “The mayor’s wife must have cleaned us out. She was in here yesterday and bought three cartons.”

  Charlie plopped the bag of yams down on the counter.

  “Don’t tell me these are for Pete Gillespie. Didn’t you just take him a bag? What on earth is that man doing with all these sweet potatoes?”

  “He’s trying to get to Florida,” Charlie explained.

  After the groceries had been bagged and paid for, the next step was to figure out how to pack everything into the bike baskets. Charlie handed Alice a carton of eggs.

  “You better take these,” he told her. “I’m not very good with breakables.”

  “You may not be good with eggs, but you sure are good with bike chains,” said Alice, as they pedaled along. “Mine hasn’t slipped off once since you fixed it.”

  “When I grow up I’d like to have my own bike shop,” Charlie said.

  “You could call it Spokes for Folks,” Alice suggested. “Or Deals for Wheels.”

  “I was thinking of calling it Erdling’s,” said Charlie.

  “That’s good, too.”

  Rather than splitting up, Alice and Charlie decided to make the deliveries together.

  “We can share the tips,” Charlie offered.

  But Alice didn’t want any money; she was happy to help and grateful to have something to keep her mind off of what was — or wasn’t — going to be happening that night.

  Their first stop was Gillespie’s Garage. Charlie carried the bag of yams into the office and set it on the floor.

  “How’s it going?” he asked Pete.

  “It’d be going a whole lot better if every pie I made didn’t taste like dirty feet. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Aunt Polly used maple syrup in her sweet potato pie and she put roasted pecans on top,” Alice said.

  “Maple syrup? No kidding! Thanks, I’m going to give that a try.”

  The next stop was the parsonage, where they found Reverend Flowers in his kitchen with a dish towel tied around his waist.

  “Good gravy, what happened to you?” Charlie exclaimed when he saw the Reverend’s red fingertips. “Did you cut yourself or something?”

  “Cherries,” said the Reverend, wiggling his stained fingers to demonstrate that they were all still working. “I had no idea how much work it was going to be to pit them.”

  “Aunt Polly taught me a little trick about pitting cherries,” said Alice. “Use a paper clip. You just unfold it, stick it in, and pull the pit right out.”

  “How ingenious!” cried Reverend Flowers. “I can hardly wait to try it.”

  “Do you mind if I offer you another piece of advice?” Alice asked politely. “You might not remember this, but Aunt Polly won the Blueberry for her cherry pie last year. As far as I know, they’ve never given the prize to the same kind of pie two years in a row.”

  Reverend Flowers smiled and put his hand on Alice’s shoulder.

  “I’ve heard that there are some folks in town who’ve set their sights on winning the Blueberry this year, now that Polly’s not here to do it, but I’m not one of them. Your aunt was a remarkable person and I miss her dearly. I got to thinking about her today and for some reason it made me want to make a cherry pie.”

  Alice felt better somehow knowing that the reason Reverend Flowers was baking a pie was because he missed Aunt Polly. That feeling grew even stronger after she and Charlie arrived at the Evanses’ house.

  “Well, will you look who the cat dragged in,” said Mr. Evans when he opened the door. “Charlie I was expecting, but what a treat to see you, too, Alice.”

  “We brought you those bananas you asked for,” said Charlie handing him the bunch.

  “Shhhh!” said Mr. Evans, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s going to be a surprise. Delores is turning sixty tomorrow. Polly always made her a banana cream pie on her birthday, so I thought I’d give it a whirl this year. Sure wish I knew how your aunt made that meringue of hers.”

  “Add a little cream of tartar to the egg whites,” Alice told him. “And raise the oven rack a notch to brown it.”

  “For someone who says she doesn’t know how to bake a pie, you sure do know a lot about it,” Charlie commented after they’d made their final delivery.

  “I guess I must have soaked things up without realizing it,” said Alice.

  They had reached the corner where it was necessary for them to go their separate ways.
/>
  “Thanks for helping me today,” said Charlie.

  “You’re welcome,” Alice told him, but in her heart it was she who felt grateful. Not only for Charlie’s friendship and the fact that he had fixed her bike chain and had been willing to pretend to ask Nora Needleman out on a date, but because that afternoon she had discovered her aunt Polly’s spirit alive and well in all the kitchens in Ipswitch where pies were being baked for the right reasons.

  “Good luck tonight,” Charlie called back over his shoulder. “With J.Q.”

  Alice had been so busy delivering groceries and handing out free advice to people about baking pies that she’d actually succeeded in putting the plan out of her mind. But now the sun was beginning to set and one way or another it would all be over soon.

  • • •

  When Alice walked in the door there was an awful smell in the house and a hideous new pie sitting on the kitchen counter. Clearly this pie had not been made for the right reason.

  “What kind is it supposed to be?” she asked her father, who was drinking a glass of tomato juice and circling ads in the Help Wanted section of the paper.

  “I believe it’s rhubarb,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t tell your mother I said this, but I don’t recall Polly’s rhubarb pie ever being quite that color, do you?”

  “Where’s Mom?” asked Alice.

  “She’s gone to bed with another headache. Doc Fyfe called in a prescription so she’ll probably sleep right through ‘til morning. I picked us up a couple of those newfangled TV dinners for tonight — Salisbury Steak or Chicken and Dumplings. Take your pick.”

  “Chicken, I guess,” said Alice. “Is Lardo still here?”

  “Achoo!” said her father by way of an answer. “I’ll put those dinners in the oven as soon as I finish up here. Run along now and I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

  Alice and her father ate their TV dinners together in front of the television, but Alice was fidgety and kept asking what time it was until finally her father took off his watch and handed it to her.

  “Some of us are trying to watch Bob Hope here,” he said.

  During the summer Alice’s bedtime was nine o’clock, but by seven thirty that night she was tucked in bed with her teeth brushed and the light turned out. She lay awake for hours, nervously waiting. After a while when she heard her father come upstairs and get ready for bed she began to wonder if maybe it was time to give up. That’s when she heard a rustling of leaves followed by the sound of her window being opened. A minute later the shiny black toe of a man’s wing tip shoe appeared on the sill.

  Alice’s heart began to race. Had she been wrong about Miss DeSoto? Was it someone else who was after the recipe? A man?

  “Pssst. Alice. Are you awake?”

  Alice turned on the light and sat up in bed.

  “Charlie Erdling, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might need a backup,” he said. “I’ve been sitting out in that tree for the past three hours. I wore dark colors so nobody would spot me.”

  “Where did you get those shoes?” Alice asked.

  “I outgrew my old ones so Mom picked these up for me at the Salvation Army store. I don’t know why somebody would give away a perfectly good pair of shoes.”

  “Probably because they pinched,” said Alice. “Did you see anybody outside?”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” Charlie said, “but I don’t think J.Q. is coming.”

  Alice’s heart sank.

  She couldn’t believe this was happening again. Was she never going to learn? None of her hunches had been right — why did she think it would be any different this time?

  “Where’s Lardo?” asked Charlie.

  Alice had just pointed under the bed, when they heard a branch snap outside. Alice and Charlie looked at each other. Another snap sent Charlie skittering across the room into the closet to hide. Alice turned off the light and lay back down in her bed to wait.

  A few minutes later, a shadowy figure slipped through the window, crossed quickly to the bed, and hesitated slightly before slowly sliding a hand under Alice’s pillow. That’s when Lardo made his surprise attack. Charging out from under the bed, fangs bared and back arched, he leapt at the intruder with a terrifying hiss. Alice turned on the light, and Charlie came busting out of the closet screaming bloody murder. In a flash the woman, dark haired and dressed head to toe in black, was out the window again, but Charlie grabbed her by the legs and hung on for dear life. Alice’s parents came running when they heard the commotion.

  “What’s going on?” her mother cried. “Who’s that hanging out the window?”

  “It’s the person who stole your pie, Mom. The same person who broke into the pie shop and catnapped Lardo and stole Aunt Polly’s key and —”

  “Can you hurry it up?” said Charlie. “I don’t think I can hold on to her much longer.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me unless you saw it with your own two eyes, Mom,” said Alice. “This time the jig really is up. Pull her in, Charlie.”

  Charlie pulled the woman kicking and screaming back into the room. When Alice’s mother saw who it was, she gasped.

  “Jane Quizenberry!” she exclaimed. “The Blueberry Bridesmaid!”

  • • •

  The police were called and Miss Quizenberry was taken down to the station for questioning. Chief Decker sent a couple of his men up to the Ipsy Inn with flashlights to recover the chocolate cream pie. They found a number of interesting things in Miss Quizenberry’s suitcase, including the key to Polly Portman’s pie shop, two wigs — one white, one blond — and a bottle of sleeping powder. Miss Quizenberry had sprinkled the powder on some cat food in order to make it possible for her to examine Lardo without being scratched. She was convinced for some reason that Polly had tattooed the piecrust recipe on his belly.

  • • •

  After the police left, Mr. Anderson drove Charlie home. Alice’s mother came and sat beside her on the bed. She was holding a scrapbook filled with articles about Polly and her pie shop. Included were thirteen black-and-white photographs taken at the American Pie Makers Association award ceremonies after Polly had given her Blueberry acceptance speeches. Polly stood smiling in her leopard-print hat, holding up her gold medal for the camera. Next to her in each photograph Alice was surprised to see Jane Quizenberry, looking extremely disappointed.

  “What’s she doing there?” asked Alice when her mother showed her the photographs. “And what’s that little round thing in her hand?”

  “It’s a silver Blueberry. That’s what they give to the people who win Blueberry Honors,” she said. “Jane Quizenberry was a runner-up so many times the press gave her a nickname. They called her ‘The Blueberry Bridesmaid.’”

  “What does that mean?” asked Alice.

  “‘Always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ is an expression. I guess I’m not the only one who felt she was living her life in Polly’s shadow.”

  “Where did you find this?” Alice asked, slowly turning the pages of the scrapbook. “Was it in the pie shop?”

  “No,” her mother answered simply. “It belongs to me. It’s been here all along.”

  “Did Aunt Polly know you were saving all this stuff?”

  “She probably would have thought it was silly. Polly didn’t care about being famous. She didn’t even really like it. All she wanted to do was make pies.”

  “If I tell you something, do you promise you won’t get mad?” asked Alice. “I don’t think you’re going to win the Blueberry this year, Mom.”

  “Did you happen to see the rhubarb pie I made this afternoon?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think —”

  “That you’ve ever seen a more beautiful pie in your entire life?”

  Alice didn’t know what to say — then she saw the corners of her mother’s mouth begin to twitch and realized to her great relief that she had been kidding.

  “I only wish you could have se
en the look on your father’s face when he saw it,” she said with a giggle. “I thought he was going to cry.”

  “Does this mean you won’t be baking any more pies?” asked Alice hopefully.

  “Can you ever forgive me?” Alice’s mother asked. “I’ve been such a fool. I wasted so much time envying Polly’s gift, I somehow lost sight of the greatest gift I’ve ever been given — you.”

  Alice lay her head in her mother’s lap.

  “Will you stay with me, Mom?” she asked. “Until I go to sleep?”

  “Of course I will,” said her mother.

  There was something else Alice wanted, something she’d been thinking about for a long, long time.

  “Will you sing to me?” she whispered.

  Alice closed her eyes and her mother began to sing. She really did have the voice of an angel. High and pure and as she sang, Alice’s heart unclenched, and something warm flowed into the spaces inside her that had been aching and empty since Aunt Polly had passed. The next morning when Alice woke up, her mother was still there, and curled up next to them on the bed, was Lardo — purring.

  PEACH PIE

  6 ripe Red Haven peaches, peeled and slivered

  ½ cup brown sugar

  ¼ cup sugar

  ¼ cup instant tapioca

  2 TBS crystallized ginger, finely chopped

  ½ tsp ground cinnamon

  1 TBS butter

  Mix ingredients together — reserving butter. Pour into unbaked, pricked pie shell. Dot with butter. Cover with lattice-top crust. Bake at 450 for 10 minutes, then reduce temperature to 350 and bake until done — about 45 minutes.

  Reminder — as if I need one. Alice’s favorite. (Birthday: March 18)

  Chapter Twelve

  A couple of days later, Charlie Erdling showed up at Alice’s house with a paper bag full of peaches.

  “They’re Red Havens,” he told Alice. “The same kind your auntie always used. I saw them at the A&P this morning and it came to me in a flash.”