Peanut Butter Pies & Dangerous Lies

by Willow Monroe

  “Maybe we should come up with some special little healthy, nut free treat to sell at our booth,” Eva suggested.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Tiffany murmured, casting a glance in my direction.

  “Oh, yes. Let’s,” Anna Lord said with a sniff.

  Why were they always trying to turn things into a contest? I didn’t care what they did. I had bigger fish to fry - or pies to bake – or something.

  Mayor Gillespie left soon after that, and Vic followed.

  “Sorry about the news about Jimmy’s nut allergy,” Tucker said. “I swear, I just found out yesterday.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll figure out something,” I told him, sounding more confident than I felt.

  He chuckled and stood up. “That’s my girl.”

  Heat rose in my cheeks and I looked away quickly, busying myself with the coffee pots. I hated that he could make me blush with just one simple statement.

  “When are you two going to admit that you were meant for each other?” Poppy scolded when the rush was over and we were alone in the office.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, buying time for my answer. I knew exactly what she was referring to.

  “You and Tucker. I saw you blushing when he said ‘that’s my girl’ this morning,” she said, making sure the bills were all stacked neatly in front of her and turned in the proper direction before she began counting.

  I watched her work quickly and methodically through the cash.

  “Well?”

  “It was a euphemism,” I said.

  She shot me a look that let me know she didn’t believe me and wrote a number in her notebook.

  “Besides, I’ve got more important things to worry about right now,” I told her.

  “Like what?”

  “Like thirty-five pounds of peanut butter that I can’t use the way I’d planned,” I told her. “And I really wanted to do something special for Jimmy Bones last concert.”

  “Then let’s think of something else to sell that would he would approve of,” she said with a shrug, stuffed the morning’s take in the blue First National Bank pouch and zipped it closed. “Come on. We can talk while we walk.”

  I sighed. “Do I have to?” I whined.

  Poppy loved her morning walks. Me, not so much.

  “It’ll do you good,” she promised.

  That remained to be seen.

  The farmers were right. Traffic was bad and moving as slow as molasses in December. It took us forever to get across the street and then we ran into several people we knew who had come to town for the big birthday party. They all wanted to talk, to catch up, to gossip.

  After what felt like an eternity, we finally made it to the bank. All Mrs. Snyder could talk about was our boy, Jimmy Bones, coming back home to do his last concert. Was she wearing leopard print leggings? I didn’t want to know, but I had a feeling she might be.

  We finished our business at the bank and, purple suckers in hand, made our way across the street, dodging between vehicles, to the park. That whole place was a beehive of activity. Mayor Gillespie had hired Tom Brown to build old fashioned looking ‘lemonade stand’ type booths for any business who wanted one. And he’d encouraged all of us to be out there the day of the big concert at least providing information, business cards, anything that would boost sales.

  I only had one thing that would boost our sales.

  Food. Good, wholesome, old-fashioned diner food that everyone in town loved.

  Of course, I’d opened my big mouth at the Chamber of Commerce meeting and announced that we would be selling miniature peanut butter pies in honor of Jimmy Bones. Since that was the first Poppy had heard about it, she looked a little surprised.

  Besides that, there were signs of construction going on all over the place. There were trucks parked everywhere and sweaty men in t-shirts and hard hats running around like crazy. Normally, I would enjoy the view but we continued to get stopped by old classmates, old neighbors, former teachers. Some of these were people we hadn’t seen since high school graduation, people who vowed never to return to Sugar Hill.

  I couldn’t even imagine that.

  “So, I guess that’s going to be the stage?” Poppy said, noting the skeleton of a large platform that had been erected.

  We’d stopped to catch our breath, standing just about where our booth would be located the night of the concert. If that was the case, we were going to have a perfect view of the show.

  What we assumed would be the stage sat at one end of a large open area where kids played soccer. On the far end was where the boy scouts had begun showing kids movies at night during the summer. Admission was a quarter and, from what I’d heard, it had been a hit with both parents and the kids.

  “Looks like it,” I said, my thoughts going back to all that peanut butter I’d bought.

  “Maybe we can think of something else to make for the night of the concert,” Poppy said, as if she’d read my mind. “What else of your grandmother’s cooking did Jimmy Bones love?”

  I thought back on the stories she’d told me. “Her fresh green beans.”

  “We can’t sell green beans.”

  “Her cornbread,” I remembered.

  Poppy shot me a look. “Come on. You’re not even trying.”

  “I really can’t think of anything else.

  “Not her raspberry cobbler or homemade ice cream or some kind of cookies...”

  I shook my head. “I’m sure he liked all of that. She was a legendary cook, but most of the stories she told me were about how much he loved her peanut butter pies.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to come up with something. We already made the announcement and the other vendors tend to follow our lead. Well, almost all of them.”

  We both knew she was talking about Anna and Eva Lord and Tiffany Samples.

  I sighed.

  “Even the older merchants in the area look up to you, to us, Starla.”

  I thought about Jerry, who owned the Jiffy Lube. He jumped in right after I made my announcement saying he was giving away free tire pressure checkers. Gil, from Gil’s Hardware, was giving away paint samples. Several others had chimed in, mentioning coupons and gift baskets and we all left the meeting feeling pretty good about ourselves and this special time to celebrate our little town.

  “Thanks, Poppy. You’re not helping.”

  By the time we made it back to the diner, people were already coming by for lunch. Poppy went home. Her job done for the day. I went inside and ran right into a stack of supplies crowding the hall.

  “Sorry,” Barbara Ellen said when she saw me. “We didn’t know where else to put them for right now.”

  I understood. With the diner being so crowded, everyone was busy. “I’ll put them away,” I said, reaching for another thirty-five pound tub of peanut butter I’d forgotten that I ordered.

  “Are you sure you’re going to need this much peanut butter?” Barbara Ellen asked. “I mean those little pies are good and are selling out of the diner like crazy, but this is a lot of peanut butter.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna need it any more,” I told her. “I just found out this morning that Jimmy Bones is allergic to peanuts. Not one nut is allowed in the park after he arrives for the concert.”

  “Well, that’s going to be difficult to police,” she said with a silly grin. “I don’t think they’ve ever been able to keep the nuts out of the park.”

  We both laughed and I began to feel better. Working together, we dragged the supplies into the kitchen. On the way we had to dodge Pete and Pickle Samples, the married duo that takes turns covering our noon and evening shift in the kitchen. Both were busy, filling orders as quickly as they could.

  The aroma of roast beef and gravy reminded me that I hadn’t eaten yet.

  “Get a move on, Pickle,” Pete shouted from his place behind the grill.

  “Keep your pants on, Pete,” she shouted right back.

  “You’ve got both of them here?�
� I asked, smiling at their playful banter.

  “We need all hands on deck right now,” Barbara Ellen answered. “This event has brought everyone back to town and they’re all hungry for a taste of your grandma’s cooking. Besides, the diner is an icon in the community.”

  “And Jimmy Bones is allergic to peanuts,” I said, wrestling the second tub of peanut butter into our big, crowded pantry and stacking it on top of the first one.

  Barbara Ellen handed me a gigantic box of confectioners’ sugar and then rested her hands on her hips. “It’s going to be fun isn’t it?”

  I smiled too, in spite of myself. “It is.”

  “Do you really think he’ll retire for sure this time?” Barbara Ellen asked.

  I shrugged, thinking about the front of the tabloid I’d seen down at the IGA. “I don’t know. He just got married again and she looked awfully young. I hope he’s put enough aside to take care of them both.”

  Barbara Ellen shook her head, pushed her glasses back up on her nose and clucked her tongue. “How many times has he been married anyway?”

  “Gladys would know all about it, but I think maybe eight.” I said. “By the way, you should have seen Gladys in her leopard print leggings this morning.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Barbara Ellen said. “Take a peek in the dining room.”

  I stepped to the kitchen door and glanced out into the busy area. Three waitresses were waiting on customers and Joylou Niblins’ teenaged son, Josh, was bussing tables as quickly as he could.

  All around the room women both young and old were wearing leopard print leggings.

  “Oh, Lord.”

  Barbara Ellen chuckled.

  Once she assured me she really did not need any more help, I went upstairs to my little apartment. I made a grilled cheese sandwich and perched in the window seat near my bed to see what was happening downtown. The street was even busier than it had been that morning and I thought this must have been how it looked back in the day when Sugar Hill was a bustling metropolis. When the trains brought in lumber and flour and coal, unloading it on what is now called the wharf even though there’s not a drop of water in sight.

  Our diner was originally built as a warehouse for these supplies. A hundred years ago? Maybe?

  A flash of red caught my eye and I saw Vic coming up the street. She stopped random people, spoke with them for a moment and appeared to be gathering information with her phone. I imagined she was doing impromptu interviews for the newspaper.

  Just as she reached A Beautiful Balance, Eva and Anna Lord came out onto the sidewalk to greet her. The three women talked briefly and Tiffany Samples came out of her health food store and joined them. She appeared to be giving them cookies or something. They all took a bite and then nodded appreciatively.

  What were they up to?

  Heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to my apartment was followed by a sharp rap on the door. I knew who it was before I even opened it. My heart skipped a beat, a little quiver of excitement made my belly do a little flip flop.

  “Do you just open your door to anyone?” Tucker asked, always my protector.

  I shook my head. “I knew it was you. You’ve been coming up here around lunch time for the past few months.”

  “Could have been anyone,” he argued as he sank into one of the chairs around the old Formica table that belonged to my grandmother.

  I shook my head thinking that he made my kitchen look even smaller than it really was.

  “I’ve never seen so many people in town before. Parking is a disaster.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “How are you guys holding up?”

  “We’ll be fine,” he said and then glanced at my saucer which held a few crumbs. “Was that a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  “It was.”

  “Do you have more of them?” he looked hopeful.

  I laughed and opened the refrigerator to get the cheese. “I think I can find one somewhere. Relax. You look tired.”

  “Not really tired, just busy trying to keep up with everything. The mayor wants everything to run smoothly and to be fun. Once things really get started toward the end of the week, it will be.”

  “But until then...”

  “Yeah.”

  We chatted while I made him two grilled cheese sandwiches with thick slices of pepperoni hidden inside the melted cheesy yumminess. I smiled when he bit into one, groaned and closed his eyes.

  “Heaven,” he said. “I swear, Starla, I should marry you just for your grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  I was suddenly very busy rearranging something in the refrigerator so he wouldn’t see me blushing - again.

  After that was under control, I mentioned that I’d seen Vic walking up and down the street doing interviews with some people. When the beautiful newspaper editor first arrived in town, fawning over Tucker and inserting herself into everything he said and did, I’d experienced the green-eyed monster, jealousy, for the first time in my life. I didn’t like it one bit. Tucker and I were old friends and I wasn’t about to let some outsider cause a rift between us, even if she was drop dead gorgeous every moment of every day.

  I’d almost managed to put those feelings aside.

  Almost.

  “Mayor Gillespie wants heavy coverage of everything and she’s sort of a one woman show here in town,” he was saying. “I heard she was going to enlist some of the students from the high school newspaper to help her out.”

  “Good experience for them,” I said, and Tucker nodded in agreement.

  “Listen, I’m sorry you had to hear about Jimmy Bones peanut allergy the way you did. I wish I’d had the chance to tell you before,” he said, growing serious for a moment.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “I’ll figure something out. But it would have been nice to know before I bought seventy pounds of peanut butter.”

  “Cookies?” he asked, wiggling his dark eyebrows at me.

  I nodded. “And I can still make peanut butter pies for the diner, both regular sized and the small ones.”

  “Just not for Jimmy’s concert,” he reminded me.

  “Right.”

  Chapter Three

  Tucker left after wolfing down his second sandwich and finishing off the last of my iced tea. I had time for a short power nap, and then I headed downstairs to help with the dinner rush.

  And was it ever busy.

  The crowd was hungry and I chatted with customers while running back and forth between helping the wait staff and manning the cash register. All of the talk was about Jimmy Bones’ last concert and how exciting it was that his old friends were going to get to be there to see it in person.

  A heavy set gentleman entered the diner, wearing an expensive suit. He was clearly not from the area. I scooped up a menu and approached him with a welcoming smile.

  “All by yourself this evening?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Is there someplace toward the back where it might be quieter? I have some phone calls to make.”

  “Sure thing,” I said, leading him toward an empty booth at the back of the diner. Once he was settled, I asked “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Sweet tea will be fine,” he said, already pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket. I detected a little bit of a drawl.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  “Who is that?” Barbara Ellen asked, while I filled a glass with ice and poured tea over it.

  “Not sure, but he’s definitely not from around here,” I said.

  “Maybe someone connected with Jimmy Bones?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” I said, with a shrug.

  I returned to his table with the tea but didn’t hang around because he was on his phone talking to someone. When I came back a few moments later to see if he was ready to order, he held up one finger.

  “Yes, this will be his last concert,” he said, giving me an apologetic smile.

  I waited.

  After a few seconds, he laughed
and said, “In more ways than one.”

  He ended the call and placed his phone on the table. “Sorry about that,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. Then he opened the menu. “I’ll just have a burger and fries,” he said after barely even glancing at it.

  “Coming right up,” I said.

  “I think you’re right about him being connected to Jimmy,” I told Barbara Ellen after placing his order. “He said something about this being his last concert.”

  She nodded

  I was busy for the next little while waiting on customers, clearing tables and running the register. Looking up, I saw Barbara Ellen coming toward me with a secretive smile on her face.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “That’s Jimmy’s business manager,” she told me.

  “Who?”

  “The man in the suit.”

  I shook my head, laughing. Leave it to Barbara Ellen to figure that out.

  Less than ten minutes later, he approached the register. Since I was the closest, I took his ticket and his credit card and began ringing up the transaction. I added the ticket to the growing stack and ran his card.

  Davis Withrow was the name on the card.

  “Here you go, Mr. Withrow,” I said, handing him the receipt and his card and reached for a pen so he could sign.

  It was missing.

  “My pen is missing again,” I announced to no one in particular and began searching for one on the shelf below the register.

  “I have one,” he said, pulling a pen out of his inside jacket pocket.

  “Thank you,” I said, and then decided to see if Barbara Ellen was right in her prediction. “So, you’re Jimmy’s manager.”

  “I am. Came into town early to scope things out and make sure everything was ready for him,” he explained.

  “Including the ‘no peanut’ rule,” I said, hoping he knew I was joking.

  “Especially the ‘no peanut’ rule,” he said and he sounded dead serious.

  “I understand. Where are you staying?”

  He shook his head and frowned. “Nice hotel here in town. Can’t remember the name right now but it’s pretty close.”