A Pocket Full of Pie

by Leena Clover

  Motee Ba looked mutinous.

  “Sylvie and I can talk to that woman. We’ll put her out of business.”

  We talked about Thanksgiving dinner at Tony’s for a while and then he bid us goodnight.

  “You’re taking a big step, Meera,” Motee Ba said as she brushed my hair later that night. “I’m proud of you.”

  Chapter 6

  I got out of bed with a sense of purpose the next morning. I rushed through my shower and entered the kitchen in a hurry. Motee Ba was standing over a skillet, flipping theplas. These unleavened flatbreads are like tortillas and they are a staple in our family.

  I placed two theplas on a plate, slathered them with chundo, a type of mango chutney, and tore off a piece. I fanned my mouth as I tried to swallow the hot piece of bread. A car honked outside and someone rapped loudly on the door.

  I had a sudden déjà vu moment, thinking about the time Stan Miller had come barging into our kitchen earlier in the summer. The door opened inwards and sure enough, Stan Miller sauntered in.

  I stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “Morning, Patels!” he called out cheerfully, and I sighed.

  He came in peace, apparently.

  “I have an update, Meera,” he explained. “I thought it best to come report in person.”

  Motee Ba fixed a plate for Stan. She handed him a knife and fork and he made quick work of the thin, flaky theplas. Stan had grown up on the neighboring farm, and he had been in and out of our kitchen, just like Tony and Becky. He never misses a chance to enjoy anything Motee Ba cooks.

  “Well?” I asked, gulping some coffee, waiting for Stan to spill the beans.

  Pappa came in just then, tapping his cane. He settled down in his usual chair and smacked his lips at the aroma in the kitchen. Dad and Jeet would soon be coming in.

  “Don’t mind them,” I waved around me. “Go on.”

  “It’s about the woman,” Stan began.

  A woman had been observed loitering around campus since summer. The police thought she was following me around.

  Motee Ba switched off the stove and came and sat next to me, ignoring Pappa’s frown.

  “She’s been spotted in town again. She’s driving a different car this time.”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “Is she following any of us again?”

  “Not to our knowledge,” Stan told me.

  “What does she do all day?” I asked curiously.

  “Nothing specific, I think. Drives around, walks around the campus, walks around in Walmart, eats in restaurants … that’s about it. Last I checked, none of that is a crime.”

  “Why are we worried about her then?” Motee Ba asked.

  “She’s a loose end,” Stan explained. “A lot of things pointed to her last time, in Prue’s case.”

  Stan reddened a bit when he mentioned Prudence, his ex. She had been found dead earlier in the summer. Her death had been linked to the disappearance of another student. I had been implicated in the case, and had been a suspect. Stan had sung a pretty different tune at the time.

  “How can you be sure it’s the same woman?” I asked.

  “We’re sort of sure. She matches the general description. Of course, we didn’t have any photos then. We are going to try and get some this time. But like I said, she is not implicated in any crime. So we can’t just tape her or follow her all the time.”

  “What do you want from me then?” I asked.

  “I wanted to ask if you had noticed anyone following you again. Just keep an eye out and let us know immediately. We are prepared to take her in this time.”

  I promised Stan I would be circumspect.

  “What about the guy on that park bench? Any more news about him?”

  “I can’t talk about that, Meera,” Stan puffed up. “We’re still working on it.”

  “Someone said his heart gave out,” I volunteered.

  “Well, that much is true,” Stan admitted grudgingly. “But we don’t know the cause yet. Could be caused by something he ate or drank. He was a healthy young man, you know.”

  “What about the pie they found on him? Do you think it had anything to do with it?”

  Stan shook his head.

  “Can’t say. Hey, I love Sylvie’s pies myself. I’ve been eating them for years. If the pie was tainted, it happened after the pie came out of that diner.”

  “I’m going to try and help Sylvie,” I started, expecting Stan to strike me down.

  “Be careful, Meera. You’re smart. You helped us a lot in Prue’s case. Personally, I will take any help I can get. This has us stumped.”

  He picked up his hat and stepped out of the door.

  Pappa was tapping his cane impatiently.

  “Hansa, where are my theplas? How long are you going to make me wait for them?”

  He glared at me next.

  “You stay out of trouble, girl! This family has had enough nonsense this year. You should be living with your husband, raising kids, not running around with this tomfoolery.”

  I escaped before Dad came in to add his two cents.

  I met Tony and Becky at our favorite Thai restaurant for lunch. It was quieter than any place on campus.

  “Have you made a list?” I asked, pulling out a piece of paper.

  “We need to know where the guy was from,” Becky plunged ahead. “All we know is he has a ranch or a farm somewhere down south. But exactly where. Who does he live with? Like, does he have a family?”

  “I’ll look that up,” I promised, writing down the first item on my agenda.

  “What about the girl friend?” Tony asked.

  I punched him in the shoulder.

  “Of course you would think about her!”

  “Didn’t you say her name was Jessica?” I asked Becky. “Got a last name?”

  Becky didn’t remember a last name. She thought the girl studied something related to food or chemistry. I added another item on my list. I could look up the current students in some of the departments.

  “What about those nasty women?” Becky asked. “Why are they suddenly in Swan Creek? Where did they come from?”

  “I want to know that too, Becky,” I objected, “but how is that relevant to Jordan Harris?”

  Becky’s face fell.

  “I’ll write it down but let’s keep it aside for now,” I consoled her.

  The waitress brought over our Red Curry and Pad Thai noodles. We gobbled the spicy food, sniffling and wiping the tears that rolled down our eyes. We washed it down with icy coconut water.

  “That was great,” Tony burped, finally pushing his plate away.

  I told them about Stan’s visit.

  “So what is it you are supposed to do, Meera?” Becky asked.

  I shrugged. “I never saw the woman. So I don’t really believe in her.”

  I knew this would annoy Tony and he interrupted me as expected.

  “That woman is real, Meera. I saw her follow us all the way to Wichita and back.”

  “Cool your jets, bubba!” I held up a hand. “Maybe you should be on the lookout for her, then,” I said. “Since you’re the only one who’s at least had a glimpse of her.”

  “You can bet I will do that,” Tony promised.

  “I know there’s no way there was anything wrong with the pie,” I began. “But say we have to prove it. We should be prepared.”

  “What do you want to know?” Becky asked.

  “Where does all the stuff for the pie come from?” I asked.

  “It’s all made in house,” Becky said defensively. “The flour, butter, sugar is from our usual supplier. It’s the same we use for making anything in the diner. The fruits are fresh from the market. The nuts are bought whole sale from our supplier.”

  “Was there anything different that day?” I asked.

  Becky shook her head.

  “You think I haven’t gone over this in my mind? The pie we served was fresh, baked earlier that afternoon. Eve
rything was as usual, using Sylvie’s secret recipe. There was not a single ingredient that was different.”

  “What about any spice or any other flavoring?” I persisted. “You know, you like to experiment with the food.”

  “With the regular food yes, but not the pies,” Becky denied. “The pies are all Sylvie. I don’t touch them at all. And I wouldn’t dare to add anything to them.”

  Tony looked at me.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “At this point, hard to say. One might say there’s something toxic in Sylvie’s kitchen.”

  I held up my hand, cutting off both Tony and Becky’s protests.

  “I’m just saying.”

  We gathered our stuff and Tony dropped me off.

  I was manning the front desk at the library the rest of the afternoon. I tried some searches within the school network, in between answering students’ queries and keeping an eye on the audio-video room.

  A search in the student directory threw up thirty three Jessicas. Boy, sure looks like a popular name, I thought.

  I decided to weed out the doctoral students first. There was one girl called Jessica in Architecture and another in Chemical Engineering. Becky had mentioned something about food or nutrition. I checked the list of masters students. There was one in Management, another in English, one in Teacher’s Ed and one in Agriculture. None of these seemed right.

  I decided to check out the Agriculture department. I called the general department line and asked about the girl. I was hoping someone would be ready to gossip.

  “Hello,” I spoke in a hushed voice.

  “I’m calling for Jessica. She left a ring here for resizing. Her order is ready.”

  “We don’t take messages for students,” a voice drawled at the other end.

  “Oh? But this is the number she gave us. I’m sure she must be eager to wear her engagement ring.”

  “Look! I can see you are calling from somewhere on campus. So quit yanking my chain, alright? The Jessica I know is nowhere near getting engaged.”

  Strike One! I had managed to eliminate one of the Jessicas. I was pretty sure the one studying management or English wouldn’t be studying food or nutrition. And the undergraduates were too young to be getting engaged. Weren’t they?

  On a hunch, I walked over to the Chemistry department. I preferred to tackle this in person.

  A couple of women were working at their computers outside a door labeled Director, Chemical Engineering. Another door to the right listed the Head of Department and a smaller door a few paces to the left was for the Assistant Director of Admissions. This is pretty much a common set up for every department at Pioneer. A cluster of desks seated a bunch of secretaries and coordinators. They were all busy tapping on their keyboards, staring at their computer screens. One girl looked up and smiled as I entered.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Er, I’m looking for Jessica,” I dived in.

  The girl’s smile froze. She leaned forward and whispered.

  “She’s not in. She’s in deep shock. We are not supposed to give out information about her.”

  “I was hoping to pay my respects. We went to school together. Then we lost touch. I came as soon as I heard.”

  I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping my lie would fly.

  The girl grinned naughtily.

  “Jessica’s not from around here. She’s from some place down south on the Texas border. And I know you. You work at that diner.”

  “Busted,” I admitted, holding up my hand in a peace sign. “Look, I really do want to pay my respects.”

  “She’s holed up at the Harris ranch,” the girl said. “But don’t tell anyone you heard it from me.”

  I thanked her and stopped at a vending machine. I treated myself to a giant cookie and a can of soda. All I had to do now was find out where the Harris family lived. I already knew they didn’t live in Swan Creek.

  A few dozen piles of books were waiting to be reshelved. I did that and hardly noticed when the clock crept past five. I stayed on to run another online search.

  I loaded up a search engine program in my browser and looked for farms in Oklahoma. There were just too many. I entered the names for nearby counties one by one. Then I tried to find ranches. I typed in ‘working ranch’ to narrow down the search. I found one about sixty miles south east.

  “It looks like a big thing,” I told Becky and Tony at the diner later that evening.

  The diner was deserted. Other than a couple of regulars, no one had come in for dinner. Sylvie and Jon were trying to be upbeat.

  “How big?” Tony asked.

  “Over five hundred acres. They have a big lake and cabins for rent. And they have horses.”

  Tony whistled.

  “Who manages all that?”

  “That’s what we have to find out. Maybe we should just drive down there this weekend and talk to someone.”

  “I have a better idea,” Tony winked. “Why don’t we go there for the weekend? Just us kids though.”

  Becky’s face fell.

  “I have to work.”

  Sylvie was half listening to our conversation.

  “Nothing much to do around here, kid. And you deserve a break any way.”

  “I’ll call and ask about reservations tomorrow.”

  My eyes gleamed in anticipation. Whether we found any information or not, a trip out of town sounded good to me.

  Chapter 7

  Jeet was thrilled when he heard about the impending trip. I told him to calm down.

  “Hold your horses. I haven’t called them yet.”

  I called and asked about their cabin rentals. They offered a cabin that had two bedrooms and slept four. I booked us in for the weekend. Next week was Thanksgiving but we would be back Sunday night.

  We were packed and ready to leave Friday morning. I put in half a day at work and we finally set off. Dad had reluctantly let us have the LX.

  “Isn’t it too cold already?” he grunted.

  “We’re not going camping, Dad. The cabins are heated, with TV and stuff, in case it’s too cold out.”

  I didn’t tell him about the paddle boats or the kayaks, or the outdoor swimming pool. We planned to have a blast, without parental supervision.

  Motee Ba had a knowing look in her eye. She knows us too well.

  “Jeet’s your responsibility,” she warned. “Don’t let things get out of hand.”

  I hugged her and laughed.

  “Oh Motee Ba! Do I ever? We’ll be good, don’t worry.”

  I had been a geek growing up. So okay, I had been the snarky type, but I had never gotten myself or anyone else into big trouble.

  “Don’t you trust me, Granny?” Tony hugged her next. “I’ll have them back safe and sound.”

  Pappa had come out to say goodbye and wave us off. He was tapping his cane, clearing his throat, glaring at everyone.

  Dad had already gone in to his books and his study.

  Motee Ba was the only one who knew about the real purpose of our trip. She urged me to be sensitive to the family.

  The weather for the weekend was cold and clear. Highs in the 40s were expected and the nights in the 30s. That meant some frost in the mornings, and maybe some sleet. We wouldn’t get the most bang for our buck, but maybe we could meet the family and ask them some questions. I thought of Sylvie’s wan face the previous evening, and strengthened my resolve to get to the bottom of Jordan Harris’s death.

  The ranch website said they offered three meals a day with plenty of snacks. But we had still stocked up. Food is something I never kid about. We took local two lane roads so the going was slow. Jeet had his headphones on. Becky and Tony were bickering about some latest song. I was lost in thought and an hour flew by.

  “Let’s stop here for a bit,” Tony nudged me and I snapped out of my reverie.

  There was a country store looming up and I needed a break anyway.

  We used the facilities, and Tony c
hatted up the guy at the counter. He came back and pointed somewhere in the distance.

  “Just a couple of miles now. Turn left at the sign and we’re on the road to the ranch.”

  We piled in and Tony slowly merged onto the road. I was letting him drive. Acres of open land surrounded us. A lot of it was still green. This place deserved a visit in the summer.

  I spotted the wooden hand painted sign for the Triple H ranch. Tony turned onto an unpaved road. It was smooth and well maintained, and I hoped it wouldn’t mess up the suspension.

  A large iron arch hung over a wooden gate announcing the Triple H. A rearing horse was placed between the two words. The gate was wide open. They must be expecting us, I thought gladly. I always appreciate good service. Who doesn’t?

  Tony followed directions to a central building that was called The Lodge. There were hand painted signs at various turnoffs, showing the way to a lake, hiking trails, fishing spots and different cabins. Jeet had finally ditched his headphones and was looking around with interest.

  Tony parked in front of The Lodge. A golf cart with the Triple H logo was parked in one spot. Other than that, the parking lot was empty.

  We went in, looking for a front desk of sorts and came across a polished wooden counter. Keys hung on a board on the wall behind it, and a calendar had notes scribbled in. I nodded at Tony. We seemed to be in the right place.

  “Hellooo,” Jeet hollered, tapping an old fashioned bell.

  There was no response. Jeet called out again, a bit louder this time. We heard some swearing. I noticed a small room to one side for the first time. It looked like a kind of office.

  A tall, hefty man hobbled out, using a cane. Becky and I looked at each other involuntarily. He was handsome enough to make a girl swoon. His golden brown hair was cut very short. He sported a thin mustache and his blue eyes were as clear as a summer Oklahoma sky.

  “We are closed!” he rasped.

  I cleared my throat, but Tony beat me to it.

  “We have a reservation for four. For the weekend. We are in Lake View Cottage.”

  The man hobbled closer and his face twisted in a sneer. Suddenly, he didn’t look all that handsome.