Peanut Butter Pies & Dangerous Lies

by Willow Monroe

  “Oh, no,” Poppy gasped.

  “He won’t do that again,” Joylou said. “Luckily, the mom at the party knew what had happened right away. She observed while he used his Accu-Click, called for help, and then called me.”

  “Quick thinking on her part.”

  “So the reaction is pretty fast?” I asked, remembering the conversation Poppy and I had had earlier.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he actually have to eat peanuts to have a reaction?” Poppy asked.

  Joylou shook her head. “He’s allergic to peanut oil or even anything fried in oil that is contaminated with peanut oil. He can’t be near peanut dust, shells, anything like that.”

  I remembered Jimmy telling me the same thing. “How scary for both of you.”

  “It’s scary but you just have to stay vigilant. And don’t get me even started on grocery shopping. I have to read every label. It probably takes two hours.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that part.

  “That’s why I don’t understand what happened to Mr. Bones,” Joylou said, shaking her head. “He had taken so many precautions to make sure he was safe.”

  Chapter Ten

  “So you’ve heard the news. I mean that he died from complications of...”

  Joylou nodded.

  “He’d demanded that no peanuts be brought into the park the day of the show,” Poppy reminded her. “We thought he was just being paranoid.”

  “When your allergies are that severe, you can’t be too paranoid. Obviously, somehow, peanuts got into the park and onto his bus, or at least somehow to him,” she said and then added, “Sometimes if Josh just smells them, he starts sneezing. His skin gets red and itchy. It’s terrible.”

  I wasn’t about to mention the little pies I’d left on his bus and that one had a bite taken out of it. She didn’t bring it up either. Thankfully, Tucker was keeping this news close to his chest as well.

  “Thank you. You’ve been a huge help,” Poppy told her.

  We stood and Poppy and I hugged her.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, kindly.

  “We miss you down at the diner,” I told her.

  “I miss you guys, too, but I’m really enjoying the work here,” she said. “And Vic is the best boss.”

  Both Poppy and I understood, but we still missed her.

  When we opened the door to step out into the main room of the newspaper office, the first thing I saw was Tucker, leaning casually against the counter talking to Vic. He looked surprised to see us there.

  “Are you out causing trouble again?” he asked.

  “No more than usual,” Poppy quipped and then she turned to Vic. “Thank you for giving us a few minutes with Joylou,” Poppy said.

  I was practically pushing her out the door.

  “What was that all about?” Poppy asked once we were out on the sidewalk. “I wasn’t going to say anything to Tucker, especially not in front of Vic.”

  “I just wanted to make sure of that,” I said.

  The street was strangely empty and I kept my thoughts to myself as we started back toward the diner.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Poppy said. “I get worried when you get quiet.”

  “Just thinking,” I said. “Maybe we should have some nut-free items on the menu. We have no idea how many people might be allergic to peanuts.”

  “Good idea,” Poppy said. “And maybe watch Josh a little closer. He’s a smart kid but he might have an accident. You never know.”

  “Agreed,” I said, smiling at the memory of him being so careful when bussing a table where the customers had eaten peanut butter pie for dessert.

  Finally, after numerous assurances from Poppy that she was not planning on talking to Tucker, at least until I’d talked to Jimmy’s national fan club president, we parted ways. Poppy headed home to take a nap. She might actually get to spend some time with Tom that afternoon.

  I went straight to my car.

  Foot traffic had slowed, but cars were still crawling along Main Street. I wondered if it would get even worse as word spread of Jimmy’s death. While I moved slowly along, I dialed the number to the Liberty Hotel. Kathy Stinson answered the phone.

  “Well, hey, Starla. We sure haven’t talked in long, long time,” she gushed.

  “Too long,” I said, smiling.

  Kathy, or Kat as she insisted on being called back in school, had been class valedictorian, and everyone just assumed she’d go off to someplace like JMU in Harrisonburg or even UVA in Charlottesville. What she did was get pregnant by a married man who was a few years older than the rest of us. Rumor had it that she broke up his marriage but, again, that was just rumor. I heard they married pretty quickly after that.

  I’d lost track of them for a while other than hearing that she’d lost the baby and soon after that, her marriage. And evidently, she’d made out pretty good with that. She’d come back to Sugar Hill, bought The Liberty Hotel and had it completely renovated. Despite the fact that it was mere blocks from the diner on the other end of the old train station, I hadn’t been in to see it or her.

  “How’s business?” I asked.

  “Booming,” she giggled.

  “Seen any ghosts?” I asked, remembering what Barbara Ellen had said to me earlier.

  “Pshaw. Ain’t no such thing as ghosts,” Kat scoffed, showing off that southern belle charm.

  I chuckled, picturing her long, naturally curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. Most people with those kind of natural curls cursed their luck. Not Kat. She wore those crazy curls like a badge of honor.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” she said as if she’d just thought of something.

  “An idea?”

  “Could I send someone in to the diner every morning to pick up maybe a standing order of some pastries and baked goods to have on hand for our guests?”

  “That’s a great idea, Kat. I’ll give you a discount on the order as well,” I said.

  “Good. We’ll get together soon and figure out the details,” she said. “Bye.”

  The line went dead. I sat there for a second realizing I hadn’t gotten to find out what I’d originally called for. I called her back.

  “I completely forgot why I called you in the first place,” I lied when she answered.

  “Oh, yeah.” She giggled again, sounding like she was still eighteen. Everyone wanted to be as happy as Kat Stinson.

  “Can you tell me if the national president of Jimmy’s fan club is staying there at the motel?”

  She hesitated. “Do you know her name?”

  “I think it’s Madelyn. Madelyn, something. It starts with a C.”

  “Let me see what I can find out for you,” she said.

  I heard clicking sounds coming from a keyboard. A phone rang somewhere on her end. While she continued to look through her guest list, I heard her instruct someone to take more towels to Room 213.

  “If she’s here, there’s no notation that she’s the national president and since we don’t know her last name...”

  “I guess I could have looked it up,” I said, an afterthought.

  “Well, duh, wait just a minute, I can do that,” she offered.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Traffic crawled. I turned the air in my car up another notch. August in Virginia can be sweltering and today was a prime example.

  “Madelyn Caldwell,” Kathy said triumphantly.

  “Caldwell,” I repeated. Why was I having such a hard time remembering names lately?

  There was more commotion and I felt bad keeping her on this when she was obviously busy. However, it was only a minute or two before she said, “Nope. No Madelyn Caldwell registered here.”

  “Thanks, Kat. I appreciate your help,” I said.

  “Not a problem. How’s Tucker?” she asked, a sly sound creeping into her voice.

  “Tucker? He’s fine,” I said, wondering why she’d jumped onto this subject all of a sudden.

  “We’ve all been kind of w
ondering when you two are going to make it official,” she suggested.

  “Make what official?” I asked, completely confused. And who was ‘we’?

  “Oh, Starla, don’t be silly. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. The two of you were meant for each other.” She laughed. “You should be an old married couple with a house full of kids by now.”

  “Oh, well, um...I,” I stammered, not knowing what to say while heat crept up my cheeks.

  “Don’t wait too long. We’re not getting any younger,” she warned, before I could answer.

  “You have a point,” was all I could think of to say.

  Why did my tongue get tied and my feelings get all riled up when Tucker was mentioned? I’m naturally sure of myself, my feelings, and where I’m headed in life. Why did everything get all tangled up when it came to Tucker?

  I wondered about that for the rest of the drive, but couldn’t seem to come up with an answer.

  Finally, I made it to the football field out by the high school, which had been turned into a temporary RV park. It looked like a few of the smaller RVs had pulled out but for the most part, everyone was still there. I briefly thought about the services for Jimmy and wondered if they would be held here in his hometown or in Nashville. Would all these people stay here until then?

  I parked at the entrance, stuffed my phone in the pocket of my jeans and began making my way slowly through the rows of RVs. Some were big and fancy, and I imagined the owners spent most of the year traveling around the country in them. Some were small, more campers than anything else. It looked like some people were just sleeping in the back of their SUVs.

  A pallor of grief seemed to blanket the whole place. Most everyone was inside, probably because of the heat, but there were a few people out. I got some questioning looks and the occasional familiar wave as I strolled past the parked vehicles. I really had no idea where I was going but I kept walking, depending on my instincts, hoping that I’d see or hear something that would lead me to Madelyn Caldwell.

  Finally, I spotted an older lady with blueish white hair and leopard print leggings sitting out in the shade of an awning in front of her camper. She was drinking Diet Pepsi and smoking. I smiled. She smiled back and nodded so I headed in her direction. I had to start somewhere.

  “Howdy,” she said, squinting at me through cigarette smoke. She made no move to get up, didn’t offer me a seat so I stood.

  “Hi,” I said. “My name is Starla Cupp—”

  “You work with that newspaper lady?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  “I was gonna tell you, she’s already been around here asking real nosy type questions,” she paused, coughed vigorously and finally regained her composure. “You from that National Enquirer Magazine?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not with the press at all,” I said. “Were you a member of Jimmy’s fan club?”

  “Still am. Just ‘cause he died doesn’t mean his fan club does,” she snorted.

  I forced a smile and nodded in agreement. “I’m trying to find out if the national president is still around.”

  She eyed me carefully but didn’t answer. “What for?”

  “I just wanted to ask her a few questions. I saw her at his tour bus the day of the concert and -.”

  “You’re the one who brought him those little pies.” She said, cutting me off mid-sentence.

  No need to lie. I nodded, expecting her to start spouting accusations and end the conversation right there. “Yes, ma’am.”

  To my surprise, that didn’t happen, outwardly anyway. She might have been thinking that I’d killed Jimmy Bones, but she kept that to herself.

  “Do you know, by chance, if she’s still here in town?” I asked, after giving her a minute or two.

  The woman shook her head back and forth. “Not any more. I saw her camper pulling out just a little while ago.”

  My heart sank. I really needed to talk to this woman, if nothing else to find out if Jimmy said anything to her about someone trying to kill him. Or if he took the bite out of the little pie while she was there. Was she the last person besides his entourage to enter that bus? Did she see anything that might give her a clue to how peanuts got into that bus?

  “Do you know how I could get in touch with her?” I asked.

  She put her cigarette out in the dirty ashtray beside her and fished around in the little stack of papers on the table beside her. “Here’s her phone number. She gave it to Nonnie Rupert and Nonnie shared it with all of us.”

  “Great,” I said, taking it eagerly and texting the number to myself. “Thank you.” I handed the ragged slip of paper back to her. I was anxious to get back to my air conditioned car, the back of my neck sweaty.

  “She’s an odd one,” the woman said, through a haze of cigarette smoke.

  “Nonnie or...”

  “Madam President, as we were instructed to call her. Not very friendly. Like she was better than the rest of us, above us. I mean she actually got to go on his tour bus and meet him in person. She should have at least invited Nonnie to come with her,” she shook her head. “Weird. And I’ll tell you what I saw that no one else did.”

  “What?” I asked, only half listening to her rant.

  “When she thought she was out of sight of the rest of us, she took off that black wig and those big glasses she wore and threw them in the trash.”

  Now she had my attention.

  “That is odd,” I agreed, thinking back to bumping into her. She did have teased black hair and big glasses. A disguise?

  The woman nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. No one else believed me when I told them about it, so I just let it go.”

  Why would she need a disguise? Maybe she wasn’t really Madelyn Caldwell but someone hired to kill Jimmy Bones. By his new bride? My thoughts were all over the place.

  “Thank you. You’ve been a big help,” I told her, glad that all might not be lost after all.

  “You’d think she’d stick around for the services, or at least to find out the details,” she added.

  “You have a point but maybe she thought she’d just get her information from Nonnie Rupert,” I suggested.

  She shrugged and lit a fresh cigarette from the end of the first one that was nearly gone to the filter. “No tellin’.”

  “Well, thanks, again,” I said, and started back through the heat to my car.

  The moment I was inside with the air conditioning running again, I tapped the phone number of the national president of the Jimmy Bones Fan Club.

  “Hello.” The deep, gravelly voice of the woman that answered was definitely the one that told me to watch where I was going.

  “Hello. Is this Madelyn Caldwell?” I asked, just to be sure.

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “Hi, my name is Starla Cupp. Mr. Bones was an old friend of my family,” I said, trying to think of a reason to get on her good side.

  “So?”

  “Well, you were on his bus the afternoon before he died and I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “You the law?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Press?”

  “No, ma’am, just—”

  “Then this call is over,” she snapped.

  “Ma’am, please, did you see Mr. Bones take a bite out of the little pies I brought at his request?” I asked quickly.

  “Oh,” she laughed. “So you’re the one who killed Jimmy Bones.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “No. No, ma’am, those were sunflower butter pies,” I said, my temper rising. I did not kill Jimmy Bones but I had a feeling I was going to be saying that a lot in the weeks to come.

  “Whatever,” she snorted. “Either way he’s dead and I know I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  The line went dead and I sat there for a few moments, just staring out the windshield and trying to get my emotions under control.

  “I did not kill Jimmy Bones,” I said aloud to no on
e in particular. It took forever but I finally pulled out into traffic and made my way back to the diner.

  It was late afternoon. The heavenly aroma of baking lasagna reminded me that I’d missed lunch altogether. Barbara Ellen was out in the dining room taking care of the few customers that were there.

  “Slow?” I asked.

  “It’s just a little early for the dinner crowd,” she said, checking her watch. “And it’s Sunday.”

  “And so hot,” I added, hoping this was truly the case. Sugar Hill was still crowded so I knew we should be busier than this.

  “Or eating with families today. Or maybe they drove up to Harrisonburg. I hear there’s a new Olive Garden up there,” Barbara Ellen reminded me.

  “I guess so,” I said.

  Barbara Ellen studied me closely. “I hate to mention it, but we’ve gotten a bunch of hang up calls in the last hour or so. A few of them left some pretty mean messages,” she said

  “Did you recognize any of the voices?”

  Barbara Ellen shook her head. “Obviously disguised.”

  I let that sink in.

  “There’s something else bothering you besides Jimmy’s death,” she said, changing the subject.

  I sighed. Barbara Ellen had known me since I was a child, knew me as well as Poppy, as well as Tucker. “Rumor has it that Jimmy took a bite out of one of the little pies that I left there. That it was tainted with peanut butter and that’s what killed him.”

  She chuckled and squeezed my hand. “Rumors are just that - rumors,” she said, reminding me of my thoughts about Kat earlier. Her smile was confident. “Everything is going to be fine. You give this a little time to blow over and things will be right back to normal.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said.

  “Trust me,” she said, patting my cheek.

  The bells over the door tinkled, telling us we had a customer. We both turned to see Davis Withrow, Jimmy’s manager, striding into the diner. He was always pleasant enough, but we all had the impression that he wished to be left alone. He spent most of the time talking on his cell phone. I assumed he was probably busy taking care of Jimmy’s appointments and business affairs.