A Pocket Full of Pie

by Leena Clover

  “How do you find these people, Meera? It’s amazing.”

  “He was just there. And then he told me all these things.”

  “So Jessica and Jordan weren’t really the love birds we thought they were,” Stan burst out. “This puts a different spin on things. We never considered Jessica important until now.”

  “That’s just the beginning.”

  I told him everything Colin Stevens had said. Then I told him what Jessica had said.

  “So this piece of crap is blackmailing Jessica as we speak?” he thundered.

  “Apparently, not any more. He doesn’t need to, now that Jordan is out of the picture.”

  Stan was silent. I could imagine his frustration.

  “Any luck with the alibis?” I asked him.

  “Pamela Harris finally opened up,” Stan laughed. “She was on a date.”

  “What? Then why didn’t she say so?”

  “It was all hush hush, it seems. She didn’t want to say anything unless it was serious. But the man in question confirmed it.”

  “How do you know he isn’t lying?” I asked.

  I was curious about how the police decided who was speaking the truth and who wasn’t.

  “They were in a pub full of people until 11, twenty or so miles away from Swan Creek. And the guy dropped her off at the ranch around midnight. One of the ranch hands saw them.”

  “And Cameron?” I asked in a hushed voice.

  “Unfortunately, he was spotted in Swan Creek that night. He was in a bar downtown around 9. After that, we don’t know.”

  “What does he say about that?” I wondered how Cam would field this one.

  “He admitted he stopped by for a drink. He had to. His leg was hurting so he drank a bit much. He slept it off at Jessica’s and drove home around 6. He was doing his usual chores at the ranch when he heard about Jordan.”

  “My God, Stan! This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

  “I know!” Stan sounded as tired as I did.

  “Any more information on what caused Jordan’s death?”

  “Could be anything,” Stan moaned. “We have come up with a questionnaire for the family. Some basic medical history and behavioral questions. The medical examiner’s office hopes to get some kind of indication from it about what to test.”

  “Why do they need that?” I wanted to know.

  “They tested for a few known poisons. Now there are 100s of substances they could test for. But we don’t have the time or money to do that. Maybe this extra information will show them the way.”

  “What about the diner inspection?” I asked the question I dreaded most.

  “Haven’t you heard from Sylvie yet?” Stan was surprised. “The food guys swept the diner. They didn’t find anything suspicious. The diner’s cleared. I hear they are going to open for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “I was in the city all day. So maybe I missed this. That’s the best news you could’ve given me, Stan.”

  I was really happy for Sylvie and Jon.

  “Well, yes. I plan to be there bright and early tomorrow to see everything goes well. That, and it’s been too long since I’ve had a taste of Sylvie’s sausage gravy. I’ve actually lost a couple of pounds, you know.”

  The portly Stan Miller liked to eat.

  “Don’t worry. A few servings of my special fried chicken and you’ll be back in the ring.”

  We were quiet for a moment.

  “This case is turning out to be something, isn’t it?” Stan muttered.

  “It’s all a big puzzle,” I agreed. “I’m still not sure what the motive is. Money doesn’t seem to be it.”

  I promised to keep Stan updated if I came across any more information.

  Dinner time was noisy. Tony’s mom had come over and we all enjoyed the special dinner that had been prepared for my Aunt.

  “What’s this I hear about you reopening Sarla’s case, Meera?” my aunt asked me later.

  Dad had gone back to his study. Pappa was dozing in his chair. He woke up suddenly when he heard my aunt’s voice and snorted.

  “About time!” he muttered, and nodded off again.

  Motee Ba took my hand in hers, silently giving me courage.

  I looked at my aunt.

  “You’ve heard right, Aunt Anita.”

  “Are you prepared for what you might find?” she asked incredulously.

  I didn’t take her words to heart. I knew she was worried about how we would deal with the consequences.

  “Well, we’ve lived without any news for 17 years. Maybe we’ll finally get some closure.”

  I braced myself for a tirade. My Aunt Anita is not known to mince words.

  “Are you encouraging her in this, Ba?” she accused her mother. “You should know better than that.”

  “Anita, we’ve all waited for a long time to get some kind of closure on this. I’m with Meera on this one.”

  My aunt glared at her father next. He ignored her. If anyone could stand up to my aunt, it was my grandpa.

  “What about Andy? Does he know about this?”

  “Dad’s helping me a lot. He’s handed over all his old files. I’m going through them now.”

  I was trying to be calm, but I was seething inside. My aunt always does this. She riles everyone up just a few hours after she lands.

  “I’m warning you, Meera! No good can come of this.”

  “I know you’re worried about all of us, Auntie. But you can’t change my mind on this one.”

  She stood up, ready to storm out of the room.

  “You’re making a big mistake. Why don’t you do something normal for a change? Like run after some boy your age?”

  Motee Ba was looking tired.

  “Sit down, Anita! You’re too old for tantrums.”

  “Anything else you’ve been keeping from me, Ba?”

  “Plenty,” Motee Ba shot back. “For starters, Meera has a stalker.”

  Chapter 21

  I banged around some pots and pans as I made breakfast. I was too mad at my aunt to make any special effort for her, but I had to be polite. I made spinach and feta omelets and made a cherry tomato sauce to go with them.

  “Did you know Sylvie’s is going to reopen today?” I asked Motee Ba.

  She put her hand on her mouth.

  “Oh my God, I forgot all about that.”

  She stood up and dialed the café’s number from the kitchen phone. Sylvie answered and Motee Ba offered her congratulations.

  “Too busy to talk right now,” she told me. “There’s a small number of people for breakfast, but they are prepping for a big lunch crowd.”

  “Maybe we should give them a helping hand,” I mused.

  Motee Ba was all smiles.

  “See, when we went to Nancy’s, we noticed all these special promos they were doing. Like free coffee refills if you spend over 10 bucks. Or soup and sandwich combos. Maybe we should do that in the beginning. Just until the old crowd gets used to going to the right diner!”

  I raised my eyebrows at Motee Ba and she high fived me.

  “Great idea, Meera!”

  “School’s out so no point posting any flyers there, but maybe we can just write these up on the chalk board?”

  I was eager to get on to the diner and sound my new ideas off Sylvie.

  “Go!” Motee Ba said, reading my mind.

  I untied my apron and grabbed my keys. I could always have biscuits with gravy at Sylvie’s.

  “Where are you off to?” my aunt complained, walking into the kitchen.

  I waved at her and kept going.

  Sylvie’s was a welcome sight. Jon was rubbing down the windows with some paper, and a big wreath hung on the door.

  He grinned at me.

  “Hello Meera. Thought we’d get into the holiday mood.”

  Becky was in the kitchen, humming to herself. She looked comfortable in her old domain. I hugged Sylvie and congratulated her.

  “Guess they didn’t find no
rats in my kitchen,” she smirked.

  A few old timers were already working on their eggs and hash. They lifted their coffee cups and a cheer went up.

  “I have an idea, Sylvie,” I cut to the chase.

  “Don’t be shy, baby,” she encouraged me.

  “How about some special offers to get the place going again?”

  I explained what I was thinking and we listed out different ideas.

  “Are you still planning to supply pies to Nancy’s?” I asked Sylvie.

  She shook her head.

  “Not anymore.”

  “We do need to push the pies again. How about a free coffee with every slice of pie? It can be a holiday special. I don’t think anyone can resist that.”

  Sylvie got the idea.

  “And let’s offer a cup of soup with every sandwich.”

  “Are you planning to bankrupt me, woman?” Jon complained, but the twinkle in his eye told me he was kidding.

  “I think that’s enough of a start,” I nodded. “We’ll have to make lots more soup.”

  “I’m on it,” Becky called out from the kitchen.

  “Has Stan been here yet? He was talking about missing your sausage gravy.”

  “He was here minutes after we opened,” Sylvie laughed. “He dug into those buttermilk biscuits like there was no tomorrow.”

  “Things will turn around, Sylvie,” I said softly, hugging her again.

  We had all been through a rough time, but Sylvie and Jon had faced the brunt of it.

  “Any more ideas on what happened to that boy?” she asked.

  I shook my head. I helped Becky for a few hours and headed home. I looked in on Tony on the way back.

  “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he teased.

  “Any guesses what Pam’s alibi is?”

  “Just say it,” Tony said.

  He doesn’t like these guessing games.

  “She has a beau!”

  “You should’ve thought of that!” Tony kidded, but he was half serious.

  “Want to come and check out my aging program?” I asked Tony.

  “Are you ready to demo it already?” his eyes gleamed.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  We drove home and I fired up the computer in the guest house. I fed in a photo of Aunt Reema’s from when Tony was born. I ran the program and it spit out 10 different photos of Aunt Reema as she should look now.

  Tony was speechless.

  “Why do they all look different?”

  I explained how each photo was a projection of a peculiar combination of aging parameters. Two or three of the photos looked very much like Aunt Reema as she looked now. The others were a good likeness.

  “It’s like a portrait,” Tony exclaimed. “Some artists get it exactly right, while some are almost right.”

  I laughed.

  “Yeah, sort of. The trouble is we don’t know which one is going to be right, or most right, in my Mom’s case. That’s why I’ve come up with this option of getting 10 possible results.”

  “You mean you want to pass around 10 photos instead of just 1,” Tony summed up.

  “Exactly!”

  “As long as the people you give these to don’t mind, that should work well.”

  “You think I’m ready to show this to Dad?”

  Tony’s response was a bone crushing hug. I took that as a Yes.

  The guest house soon filled up with the entire family. Aunt Anita sat in a corner chair with a frown on her face. Apparently, she still hadn’t forgiven me.

  “Get on with it, girl,” Pappa tapped his cane.

  I started with a photo of Motee Ba and fed it to the program. Everyone gasped at the 10 photos the program spit out. I followed with a photo of Dad, Jeet and Pappa. Finally, I fed a photo of my Mom.

  The silence in the room was deafening. The photo was in profile so I didn’t expect much from it.

  “I’ve never tried running the program with a side shot,” I mumbled.

  Before I finished speaking, the screen was splashed with 10 different photos. I looked at the screen in dismay. For some reason, the software hadn’t worked well in this case. Many features were distorted and I ended up with what looked like funny caricatures.

  Dad looked disappointed.

  “You’ve done an excellent job, Meera,” he said kindly. “But we need a better photo. Or you need to fix the code.”

  My aunt spoke up.

  “This is like magic. You’re a genius, Meera.”

  No one commented on that. Being a genius isn’t enough in my family.

  “I think I have a front facing photo of your mother,” Aunt Anita announced. “Now I just have to remember where it is, and then have someone back home scan it and send it to me.”

  I looked at her hungrily.

  She spoke to Dad.

  “You remember the photos we took at the airport when you were going to the US for the first time? Sarla’s staring straight at the camera in that one.”

  Dad had paled a bit. He licked his lips and blinked at his sister.

  Aunt Anita nodded at me.

  “Don’t worry, Meera. I’ll get it for you.”

  Motee Ba was gently wiping her eyes. Even Jeet looked disturbed. Everyone had realized that we would soon be privy to what my mother might have looked like now. It was an eerie feeling. We didn’t know if such a person existed or if it was a ghost.

  “Hansa! It’s time for my lunch!” Pappa roared, breaking the tension.

  Everyone dispersed. Tony and I stayed on, along with Jeet.

  “You’re close, Meera,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “This is just a photo, Jeet!”

  I was close alright. Close to tears. The phone rang and I picked it up.

  “For you, Meera,” Motee Ba said and hung up the extension.

  “Meera, Hello, can you hear me?” Pamela Harris came on the line.

  “How are you Pam?” I asked.

  “The cops asked for my alibi. And I had to tell them. So I guess there’s no harm in telling you now.”

  I felt uncomfortable.

  “I sort of know, Pam!”

  “Oh? I suppose you spoke to that cop friend of yours?”

  Pam took my silence for a yes.

  “Now you know why I didn’t want to talk about it,” she sighed.

  “I understand. Everyone’s entitled to their privacy.”

  “It’s not just that. I’m ashamed!”

  “Why?” I was curious.

  “Can you imagine having a beau at my age? I’m too old. What will Pa say?”

  Pam may not be too old to date, but she was certainly too old to worry about what her Pa thought. I didn’t say a word.

  “I used to go out with someone, back when Ma was alive. Then I got busy taking care of the boys. I never met anyone. Until now, that is.”

  “Relax, Pam,” I crooned. “No one’s judging you.”

  “Jordan would’ve been happy for me,” she sniffled. “He always tried to make me go out and meet people.”

  “Hey, have they given you some kind of questionnaire about him?”

  Pam sniffled again, taking a deep breath.

  “I just spoke to that policeman. They are going to be faxing it over soon. Do you want to come over and help me go through it?”

  “I’m not sure I can help. You’re the one that knew him.”

  “Please. I’ll be glad of the company.”

  “Let me get back to you,” I promised.

  I asked Tony if he was up for a ride to the Triple H. We had nothing much going on anyway. I called Pam back and told her we’d start after lunch.

  Jeet wanted to tag along and I agreed reluctantly.

  “Maybe I can ride a horse today. We missed doing that when they kicked us out.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. We are going there for work, Jeet. And Pam’s already refunded our money from that time.”

  “What?” Jeet pounced. “Where is it?”

&nb
sp; “It’s gone!” I laughed, making a face at him.

  “Bet she bought some fancy gift for you with it,” he accused Tony.

  We piled into Tony’s pickup after lunch. I wondered why Pam couldn’t fill out that questionnaire on her own. I decided to take this chance to ask her about Cam and Jessica.

  Jeet kept Tony busy in some guy talk all the way. I was bored to death by the time we drove through the arches of the Triple H. Pam had asked us to come to the homestead.

  Pa Harris was ensconced in his rocking chair, and a fire was blazing. I was glad because the temperature was beginning to drop quite a bit. Pam poured coffee, looking excited.

  The lack of any holiday decorations was obvious at the Triple H.

  Pa Harris must have been thinking the same thing. He nodded toward an empty corner.

  “That’s where we usually put our tree. Jordan had a good lot going over at the west border of the ranch. We get at least an eight foot fir every year. One year, it was so tall, the tops brushed the rafters.”

  He seemed lost in some old memory, his eyes looking sunken and empty. I didn’t have an appropriate response so I stayed quiet.

  Pam picked up a sheaf of papers held together by a clip.

  “This is what they faxed over. I hope we can answer most questions without having to go to our old family doc.”

  I leaned forward, reading the questions as Pam checked them off one by one.

  “Heart disease, No. Hypertension – No. Jordan was very calm most of the time but his temper could flare up in an instant.”

  I tried to peek at the next question.

  “Cholesterol? Borderline.”

  Pam went over questions related to almost every bodily function.

  “How is any of this going to help?” she began looking frustrated.

  I noticed something about the papers she was holding.

  “Look, Pam, these papers are all mixed up. You need to start from Page 1 and go through them in the right order. Maybe that will make some more sense?”

  “You’re right, Meera!” She slammed the papers in my hand. “Can you do it, please? Then we’ll take it from the top again.”

  Pam looked like she was about to burst into tears, or blow a gasket, so I obliged.

  “Okay! Was Jordan allergic to penicillin?” I asked.

  She shook her head no.

  I moved to the next question.