The Diva Sweetens the Pie

by Krista Davis

  “Brock, I don’t want to pry or ask you to give up confidences, but Patsy Lee allegedly wrote me a check for a lot of money. Do you know what that was about?”

  Brock’s gaze shot to Peter. He whispered, “I have twin boys back in New York. They’re everything to me. When Patsy Lee died, I was in a panic. How would I support them? It wasn’t like I anticipated leaving and had another job lined up.”

  That was very possibly the oddest answer he could have given me. “The money? Are you saying you took the money?”

  “No! Oh, please don’t think that. I guess the cops have the money. I just can’t really go blabbing about what Patsy told me.” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head ever so slightly in Peter’s direction.

  Okay . . . it had something to do with Peter. “You’ll love working with Natasha,” I said loud enough for Peter to hear. “And sometime when you’re not so busy, I hope you’ll show me photos of your boys.”

  I reached for a hug and whispered my address into his ear. We joined Peter in the wings.

  The show began with the introduction of the three judges, Roger, Willa, and Nina. The audience applauded and cheered for each of them.

  Peter muttered to me, “This is a big test for Natasha. Think she can bake and engage the audience at the same time?”

  How to answer that? “Probably.” Maybe not quite in the way Peter had planned, though. I crossed my fingers for her and wondered if she was planning to bake a pie with avocado in it.

  Both contestants handled their introductions flawlessly. Natasha came across as the country gal she was supposed to be by telling a story about her mom baking pies at the local diner. That was probably true. Her mom still worked at the diner in our hometown.

  And then they were off to collect ingredients to bake their pies.

  The announcer interacted with the judges. “How do you think Natasha is doing?”

  Willa spoke up. “I’m a little bit confused by the ingredients Natasha has selected.”

  Peter, standing next to me, whispered, “Flour, sugar, eggs, chocolate. What’s she doing? She’s supposed to be baking a coconut cream pie.”

  “Maybe she’s making chocolate cream pie instead?”

  Peter glared at me. “She can’t beat Tommy Earl in the appearance of the pie. It’s incredible what that guy can do with pie dough. The only way she can win is fantastic flavor.”

  We watched as Tommy Earl started his pie dough, deftly cutting in butter.

  Natasha, on the other hand, had the mixer going. She appeared to be creaming butter with sugar.

  An edge of anger had crept into Peter’s tone. “She’s baking a cake.”

  I glanced up at him. His face had turned the color of the luscious strawberries at Tommy Earl’s workstation. I couldn’t help noticing that while Natasha broke eggs and added them to her batter, Tommy Earl smiled as though he had already won.

  The next two hours were pure torture. When the buzzer rang to indicate their time was up, Natasha proudly displayed a stunningly beautiful Boston cream pie, which, as Peter pointed out, wasn’t a pie at all. It was clearly a cake, plain and simple.

  On the other side, Tommy Earl had baked a strawberry pie with adornments on the top that looked like flowers cascading over the strawberries.

  Wong rushed in and whispered, “What did I miss?”

  “You made it back just in time to hear the winner announced.”

  I shuddered at the thought of what was about to happen. Peter no longer stood. He sat on a chair well into the wings, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging down as if he couldn’t bear to see what would transpire.

  The announcer seemed at a loss. To his credit he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a unique situation today. Let’s see what our contestants have to say.”

  Natasha smiled and posed for the cameras as if she had done nothing wrong. She looked stunning. The announcer asked, “Natasha, what made you bake a cake instead of a pie?”

  Her head pulled back as though she was surprised by his question. “Don’t be silly. Everyone knows this is a Boston cream pie.”

  “But there’s no crust,” he said.

  “Where does it say there must be a crust? And, anyway, I used a lot of the same ingredients that Tommy Earl used in his crust, like flour, butter, and salt.”

  The announcer moved over to Tommy Earl. “How do you feel about this surprising turn of events?”

  Tommy Earl said, “It’s a pie bake-off.”

  I had to give him credit for remaining composed and not saying anything snarky.

  Peter lifted his head, but the look of desperation on his face made me wonder how much money he had already put into making Natasha a star. He got to his feet and walked over to me. In a whisper he said, “When I managed Patsy Lee, I thought I could fix anything. Bad publicity? No problem. Dropping a pie on the set? Time for jokes. But this . . .”

  The announcer approached the judges. “Roger, how do you feel about Natasha’s pie?”

  “I think Tommy wins by default. It’s a pie contest. That is clearly not a pie.”

  “Then why is it called a pie?” asked Nina.

  Willa piped up. “There are several stories about the name. The most prominent one is that in the 1800s cake tins were scarce, so bakers baked their cakes in pie tins and called them pies. There’s also a theory that the original Boston cream pie was more like a pie than today’s version. It’s believed to be the creation of a chef at Boston’s Parker House Hotel. Curiously, there are also historic references to Washington pie, which was also a cream-filled cake, similar to Boston cream pie and baked in pie tins.”

  Nina gazed at her. “How do you know all that?”

  “I’m something of a culinary historian. I love reading about the history of food.”

  The announcer moved on to Nina. “And what do you think about this pie-versus-cake issue?”

  “I think we should taste both of them,” which brought the house down laughing and broke the tension.

  Peter grinned. “Your friend Nina has potential.”

  The tasting commenced. Roger and Willa tasted tiny bits, but Nina cleaned her plate.

  Roger was the first to speak. “Natasha, you took a huge chance today. Even if cake had its origin in a pie pan, you did not bake this in a pie pan, and I have to assume that you knew perfectly well that it would not be considered a pie.”

  Willa was up next. “I find it remarkable that you managed to bake this and fill it with cream in the time allotted, since it had to cool first. So to that, I say well done. Tommy, your strawberry pie is truly a masterpiece. No one else has your touch with pastry. That said, I wish you had chosen a more complex filling. Your pie is delicious, but barring the decoration on top, it could easily have been baked by a beginner.”

  I suspect I wasn’t the only one holding my breath when Nina’s turn came up. “I thought they were both wonderful, and I would gladly eat them both again. I understand Willa’s concern about your filling, Tommy, but it sure is beautiful to look at. Natasha, I feel like I taste too much cornstarch in your cream. It’s miraculous that it set up for you, but that happened at the sacrifice of the flavor.”

  The other two judges and Peter gaped. No one had expected a sophisticated response from Nina.

  The judges huddled together for a discussion. People in the audience murmured and I heard them defending their favorite baker.

  Finally the announcer declared that the judges had come to a decision.

  Chapter 21

  Dear Natasha,

  My father insists that his mom only baked her pies in foil pans or metal tins and that her pies always had crisp crusts. Do you think that’s true?

  Doubtful Daughter in Lemon, Kentucky

  Dear Doubtful Daughter,

  It stands to reason that metal would convey heat better. However, the appearance of metal pie tins is ghastly. If you bake in metal, please pop the pie into a pretty pan if you want to show it off at the table.


  Natasha

  It was Willa who declared, “Both of you made amazing creations today, but the winner is the baker who made a traditional pie, in the current sense of the word as we know pie today, Mr. Tommy Earl Felts.”

  The announcer wrapped up the show, and Wong ran up to Tommy Earl and plunked a big kiss on him.

  I hurried toward Nina. “You were wonderful!”

  “Whew! It’s stressful to be on camera.”

  “You were great. You stole the show.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been practicing for this my whole life. I eat every day.”

  Roger reached over and shook Nina’s hand. “I thought you might be the comic relief, but you were dead-on about Natasha’s cream filling.”

  Their conversation continued, but I had turned my attention to Natasha. Luckily, a few of her fans had been in the audience. They gushed over her and were telling her how clever she had been to bake something so unexpected.

  “Do you think she’s going to need a ride home?” asked Nina. “The limo might not be big enough to hold Peter and Natasha anymore.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. I wonder if her little stunt was a violation of her contract with Peter.” I nudged her. “Look over there.”

  Peter appeared to be in a deep discussion with Tommy Earl.

  “Wow,” whispered Nina. “That isn’t just the coach of the losing team congratulating the other side. What do you bet Peter’s in search of a new star?”

  Poor Natasha. As her fans left, her expression changed to disappointment.

  “C’mon, Nina.” I walked over to Natasha and gave her a hug. “You did great. I would never have been so composed under the circumstances.”

  “It’s a pie, Sophie.” Natasha’s lips pulled tight. “Thanks a lot, Nina,” she uttered sarcastically.

  “Sorry. Them’s the breaks. There are people of the pie and there’s the clan of the cake. They know the difference and so do you. You knew what you were doing.”

  “I should have anticipated that you would side with Tommy Earl. Next time I want judges who don’t know me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. She would always fare better with people who didn’t know her. “But Nina was doing everyone a favor by filling in.”

  “And I did not put too much cornstarch in my cream. How dare you even suggest that? You don’t even bake. You know nothing about this.”

  Uh-oh. Now we knew who would be taking the brunt of Natasha’s loss. “That’s not fair, Natasha.”

  She flipped her hair with her right hand and turned her head away from us.

  “Do you need a ride home?” I asked.

  “Not if she’s going to be in the car. I’ll take my limo, thank you.”

  I hoped the limo would be available to her. In any event taking the limo home would probably be painfully awkward.

  There was nothing to do except leave. I hoped she wouldn’t be as cold toward Tommy Earl.

  On the way home Bernie called. On the speakerphone in my car, he told us that he and Mars were tasting new recipes at The Laughing Hound.

  “We’re on our way,” Nina annouced.

  “Who won the contest?” asked Bernie.

  Nina moaned. “Natasha baked a cake.”

  We could hear Bernie laughing when he said, “See you soon,” and hung up.

  Nina asked, “Do you think it’s possible that Natasha really didn’t understand what she was doing?”

  “Natasha’s mind is a mystery to me. I suspect she thought she was being clever. Yesterday she was practicing baking a coconut cream pie. The switch wasn’t because she didn’t have the correct ingredients or she couldn’t remember the recipe. She took a chance by pulling a stunt and she lost.”

  “She’s mad at me,” Nina grumbled.

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t care. But I know how much this meant to her.”

  “Are you saying you care about Natasha?” I asked.

  “Maybe just a little bit. But don’t tell her.”

  I pulled into my garage and the two of us set out on foot for an early dinner at The Laughing Hound. Nina was still fussing about Natasha’s pie catastrophe.

  “Nina, you did not force her to bake a cake for a pie bake-off. She made that decision on her own instead of doing what Peter suggested. Now she has to live with the consequences. If she had listened to him, she would have had a chance.”

  “I know. I just don’t like anyone being upset with me. Not even Natasha!”

  We were walking into the restaurant when Nina blurted, “With all the craziness of cake versus pie, I almost forgot! The woman who did my makeup used to do Patsy Lee’s makeup when she was in town for a show. And guess what—Patsy Lee was seeing someone in Old Town, and it wasn’t Peter.”

  “But we know she went to see Peter the night before she died.”

  “Exactly. So Peter or this other fellow might have killed her out of jealousy.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “That’s the first real lead we’ve had. The woman didn’t know who it was?”

  “She said Patsy Lee kept mum about it. According to her, Patsy Lee could keep a secret.”

  “Unlike you,” I teased.

  The hostess pointed upward and to her right. “Mars and Bernie are eating on the private terrace.”

  We thanked her and wound our way through the main dining room to stairs that led to the terrace where Bernie had held the dinner to welcome Patsy Lee.

  I opened the door and glanced around. I whispered to Nina, “I can’t believe how much has happened since we were here last.”

  Mars waved at us. “Is it true that Natasha lost because she baked a cake?”

  Nina slid into a seat. “Painfully true.”

  A waitress took our drink orders and promised to be right back with Chicken Skillet Pie.

  Mars passed Bernie a ten-dollar bill.

  “Paying for your dinner?” asked Nina.

  “Paying my gambling debt. I keep losing to Bernie. He bet me ten bucks that it would be a disaster for Natasha. I thought she’d do well, with Peter coaching her and telling her what to do. I wonder if this is the end of their contract.”

  “I had the same thought,” I said. “I had hoped this would work out for her. From what I gather, Peter took Patsy Lee under his wing and made her into a star. They must have faced some hurdles. Maybe Peter will stick with Natasha for a while in spite of her disastrous error. I did notice him in a discussion with Tommy Earl, though.”

  Bernie winced. “Natasha isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

  “I’m not sure Patsy Lee was, either. I’m beginning to wonder if that was a front. She seemed so sweet and friendly, but she wasn’t very well liked by the other pastry chefs in town.”

  The waitress brought a skillet for Nina and me to share.

  It didn’t look much like a pie to me. Baked in a cast-iron skillet, thin sheets of light golden phyllo flared in layers around the edge. The middle was covered with browned cheese. “Who baked this? Willa judged the contest today, so I assume it wasn’t her.”

  “It was Honey Armbruster’s idea,” said Bernie.

  Mars shuddered.

  “What’s wrong with Honey?” I asked.

  “She’s Mars’s latest admirer.” Bernie guffawed.

  “You don’t like her?” asked Nina. “I think she’s nice.”

  In a low tone Mars responded, “She’s like a mini-Natasha clone. Pardon me for expressing myself with an overused phrase, but I’ve been there and done that. Not going back.”

  I couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. “So, will this pie be self-served or will the server scoop it out on the diner’s plate?”

  Mars shot Bernie a smug look. “Exactly what I asked. You scoop it out yourself and make a mess. If you ask me, it’s way too big for one person, so two people have to share.”

  Nina cut into it with a serving spoon. “Maybe if they cooked it in smaller dishes?”

  “It makes
a nice presentation,” I observed, spooning it onto my plate, “but it falls apart after that. So, Bernie, how well did you know Nellie Stokes?”

  “Nellie?” Bernie stopped eating and gazed at me. “Nellie never worked for me, but I would have hired her in a split second. She’s a superb pastry chef.”

  “What about Dooley?” asked Nina.

  “I didn’t know them well,” said Bernie. “I’m told Nellie thought the world of Dooley until Grainger started up with her.”

  Mars sat back and eyed me. “What’s going on?”

  “In a nutshell Patsy Lee, Tommy Earl, Nellie, Roger, Willa, and Grainger worked together a long time ago at a pie-making business. Today two of them are dead and one is in prison for life. I feel like there’s something odd going on in that group.”

  “In other words you think one of them murdered Patsy Lee?” asked Bernie.

  “It’s possible. She wanted to talk with me about something, but she didn’t live long enough to tell me what it was. It doesn’t seem right to me that she would make a lunch date with me and then kill herself.”

  “I guess it didn’t seem right to Wolf, either,” said Bernie, “or he wouldn’t have asked us so many questions about Peter renting our little house.”

  Nina choked and coughed. “Do they think Peter murdered Patsy Lee so he could sponsor a new starlet?”

  Bernie’s eyes widened. He was clearly horrified by the thought. “I’d hate to think that. But it’s common knowledge that Patsy Lee threw Peter out once she was established. If anyone had good reason to resent her, it would be Peter.”

  “But they spent the night together,” I pointed out. “That seems more like a reconciliation if you ask me.”

  “Apparently, Patsy Lee had a sweetie in Old Town,” said Nina. “Do you think that could have been Peter?”

  Mars excused himself and returned in a minute with a sheet of paper. On it he wrote, Peter—ditched by Patsy Lee.

  “Well, we know it wasn’t Nellie who murdered Patsy Lee,” said Bernie.