Cherry Pie or Die

by CeeCee James

  The scent of spaghetti and onions greeted us as we rounded the landing to my floor. I knew it was coming from Mrs. Costello’s place, two doors from my own. There were only four apartments per floor. Like I said, it was a clean place, and everyone was super friendly.

  I brushed my short hair back from my face and unlocked my door. Once inside, I grimaced at how it was pitch-black inside. When would I ever remember to leave on a light? I clicked on the lamp, then turned to check on Rachel.

  She stood in the entry and clung to her purse like it was a security blanket. Too late, I realized she’d left the food in the car.

  “You want me to go get your burger?”

  She glanced around my apartment like a stray dog afraid it was about to be kicked. Slowly, she shook her head and shut the door. I walked into the kitchen area and set about making her some chamomile tea. From the clock on the stove, I saw it was already past nine. She followed me and dragged out a chair from the table to sit, scraping its legs against the tile as if she were too feeble to lift it.

  After a moment, she dug into her pocket and pulled out an object. Metal flashed in her fingers, like she had a coin. She rolled it around in her palm. I removed the mug from the microwave and took a minute fussing about for some sugar and a spoon. Then I carried everything over to the table and set it before her.

  She stared at the steaming cup before her gaze moved up to me. Her eyelashes were wet. Slowly, she opened her fingers to show what lay in her palm.

  A wedding ring.

  “They gave this to me before they took him away,” she said simply.

  I could feel my eyes start to sting. She slipped the ring on her finger, where it hung, overly large, before trying it on her thumb. With a sigh, she dipped the tea bag in and out of the mug and added some sugar.

  I didn’t know what to say. It was perhaps cowardly of me when I turned away to search the cupboards for some cookies. I almost gave up finding any, until I spotted some weird gingersnaps that were probably hard as rocks. Cecelia had brought them the last time she came for a visit. She liked to dip them in her tea.

  Well, we do have tea, I thought, and brought the box back to the table.

  “Thanks,” she said, sounding numb. I snagged a napkin from the Lazy Susan, and shook a few cookies onto it. She scooped one up with trembling fingers and took a bite. Immediately, her eyes flew open at the loud crunch.

  “Aunt Cecelia dips them,” I said, indicating her tea.

  She nodded and, with a weak grin, dunked the remainder. “Dipping’s good.” She bit into the cookie. Her shoulders relaxed. “This is the first thing I’ve eaten all day.”

  I nodded, thinking about how I hadn’t seen her eat much of anything since she’d check in to the B&B. I chalked it up to her trying to keep a slim figure.

  The silence grew between us. It was obvious we were talked out.

  After another ten minutes or so, I gave her a quick tour to show her where the bathroom was, and hauled out a couple pillows and blankets from the closet for the couch.

  “You want the TV on?” I asked, remote in hand.

  She sank to the sofa and felt the edge of the pillowcase. With a sigh of weariness, she moved the pillow to end of the sofa and laid her head down. “I’m fine,” she answered.

  I shook out one of the blankets and placed it over her. “Okay. I’ll just be in the other room. You need anything, you come get me.”

  She nodded and turned on her side.

  I went into the kitchen for my sleeping pill. Ever since Derek had died, I’d been plagued by nightmares and couldn’t sleep. I had to have a little help. Soon maybe, I’d try to brave the night without it. But tonight was not that night.

  When I passed back through the living room again, she was completely still with her eyes closed. But I knew she wasn’t sleeping. She wanted to be alone. I got that. And when I shut my bedroom door, I heard her start to cry.

  I knew what that was like, too. And my heart squeezed for her. I went to my bed and hugged my pillow, feeling helpless once again.

  Chapter 6

  The smell of fresh-brewed coffee filled my dreams. I woke up with a start at the sound of a cupboard shutting. My hand bumped the pepper spray container under my pillow as I rolled over. Oh, yeah! Rachel’s here. I shrugged into my robe and stumbled from my room and into the kitchen.

  Rachel was sitting at the table. She smiled, but her eyes were puffy.

  “Hey, lady,” I said. I glanced around to see the kitchen was clean and coffee had already been made.

  “Hi, yourself.” She lifted her mug. “I hope you don’t mind that I made myself at home.”

  “No, of course not.” I got another mug and filled it with coffee. The rich scent cleared my head. I pulled out a chair and immediately laughed.

  Rachel was dunking stale gingersnaps into her coffee.

  “I can do better than that. Want me to make you some eggs?”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. She glanced down at her phone. “By the way, I asked Eliza Sue to bring me some clean clothes. She’s here, now, and wants to know what the code is.”

  “2262,” I told her, and then hurried to my room.

  In the master bathroom, I wrinkled my nose at my reflection in the mirror. I loved the change I’d made to short hair. But I was finding it took longer to get it to look nice. Before, with my long hair, I could always swoop it up into a bun. But with short hair, I actually had to do something with it. I wet my brush and smoothed it out—dirty blonde like my mom used to have. It was one of the memories I still had of her. Sunlight on her head as she handed me my Easter basket and told me we were going to look for eggs. I glanced at my hand now, still remembering how it had slipped into her hand. Blonde hair and soft hand squeezes.

  “Miss you, mom,” I whispered, turning back toward my room to dress.

  A long flannel shirt and yesterday’s jeans completed my outfit. After slipping on sneakers, I returned to the kitchen.

  Eliza Sue was standing in the room alone, looking awkward. I guess Rachel had left her to get ready because the young widow was nowhere in sight.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to be dressed when you showed up.”

  “No worries.” She glanced around, her brassy curls immune to the movement of her head. “Nice place you have here.”

  “Thank you. Do you want some coffee?” By now, I’d walked over to the couch that was still strewn with blankets and pillows. Rachel must have changed her mind at some point during the night about the TV, because it was on, with some game host yelling out the dollar amounts of prizes.

  “No, that’s okay,” Eliza Sue answered. “That’s some hike up those stairs, though. Whew!”

  I nodded as I tossed the pillow up on a shelf. “It really is, but I love it here.”

  Rachel came out of the bathroom as I started to fold one of the blankets.

  “Oh! Let me take care of this mess,” the blonde woman said, reaching for the blanket.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I waved my hand at her. “I’ll probably be curled up in it tonight.”

  Rachel had yesterday’s clothing stuffed into the bag that Eliza Sue had brought. She looked around uncertainly, before dropping it to the floor. Her hands covered her eyes as she groaned.

  “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

  Eliza Sue patted her arm and made a few sympathetic sounds, her eyes flickering a worried look at me.

  There was nothing any of us could say, no matter how badly we wanted to fix this, that would bring any measure of relief. I joined them, and we stood there, holding Rachel up as grief tore through her body like waves against a reef.

  I swore I was going to find the person who had caused this.

  Finally, her tears abated. She dabbed at her eyes and sighed deeply. It was easy to see she was worn out.

  A chime came from Rachel’s bag. She wearily stooped over and dug through it, eventually coming out with her phone. She read the text. “My pare
nts are there, now.”

  “Come on, dear. Let’s get you back to them,” Eliza Sue picked up the bag and began to guide her to the door.

  I grabbed my purse, and we headed out, with me locking the door behind us.

  Going down four floors brought the expected comments. “I can’t believe there’s no elevator,” Eliza Sue grumbled.

  “You get used to it, I swear,” I answered, opening the front door. I left the two of them on the stoop as Rachel was giving Eliza Sue a hug and thanking her.

  I started Old Bella and was surprised to see the passenger door open.

  “You coming with me?” I asked.

  Rachel shrugged and climbed in. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Eliza Sue was sweet, but I just don’t want to talk right now.”

  I nodded, getting that. We’d kind of established silence was okay between us last night. She buckled her seatbelt, and I shifted the van into gear. We headed to the Baker Street Bed and Breakfast, with Eliza Sue following us in her car.

  My aspirations to quickly get to the B&B were halted when an Amish buggy, complete with its orange triangle fastened to the rear, pulled out directly in front of us.

  I smiled sheepishly at Rachel. “It’s going to be a while. You might want to text your parents and let them know.”

  She searched for her phone. As she typed, I noticed her husband’s ring was still around her thumb.

  Twenty minutes later, we finally arrived at the bed and breakfast. A black Lincoln was parked in the driveway.

  As we walked to the veranda, the door opened, and a woman about ten years older than me stepped out. Her husband, an older man with winged gray hair, wearing a blue sweater vest, was behind her.

  “Mommy!” Rachel cried and sprang the rest of the way up the stairs. The three of them hugged.

  Eliza Sue entered the B&B first, with me following behind. As quietly as possible, I shut the door.

  The scent of cinnamon and bacon was nearly tangible, hitting me like a soft feather pillow. Wanting to check in first with Cecelia, I scurried past the entrance of the dining room, where the group of guests sat around the table.

  Clanging metal rang out as I walked into the kitchen. Cecelia was bustling about the stove, flipping eggs in a huge skillet. Her white hair was piled high in a bun, her cheeks pink from the heat.

  “Hi, Auntie,” I said.

  She jumped. “Young lady! You have to quit scaring me! Drag your feet or something.” And then softer, she continued, “How are things? How is Mrs. Green? I assumed she found her parents?”

  I smiled at being called a young lady, now that I was thirty-one. “Yeah, she’s out there with them right now.”

  She pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. “That poor thing. Would you like some coffee?”

  I walked over to the coffee pot and waiting mugs, and helped myself. “How were things yesterday?”

  “Oh, my goodness. It was a late night around here. The sheriff came back around eleven and took statements from everyone who was still awake.” Slap. An omelet hit the plate. She poured another ladleful of eggs into the empty pan. “Except for that one gal. Sarah.”

  Odd. I could feel my forehead knotting. “Oh, really?” I took a sip of coffee.

  “Yep. She spent the entire evening in her room. Haven’t seen her this morning either, come to think of it.”

  Her mention of Sarah reminded me of that nagging feeling I’d had yesterday. Never did figure out what it meant.

  Slap! More eggs hit a plate. “Can I get you something, hun?” Cecelia’s dress swished as she spun around, her legs clad in tan support hose.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Carefully, she layered the plates on her arm.

  “Here. Let me carry a few.” I picked up the remaining plates and followed her out to the dining room. Everyone called out good morning as I entered.

  Cecelia placed the plates around the table, with me following as she unloaded mine. “Your waffles will be right up,” she reassured Mrs. St. Claire. The woman was in the process of clipping her red hair back at the base of her neck as she said thank you. She didn’t have on makeup, and her eyes looked strangely bare without the blue shadow and long black fake lashes.

  I walked back to the kitchen and brought out the waffles. Cecelia returned with the coffee decanter. She pulled a container of real maple syrup from her apron pocket and set it before Mrs. St. Claire. “Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked, as she walked around refilling the coffee mugs.

  I retrieved my coffee cup from the kitchen and then sat at the end of the table. The guests had already dug into the food, and fruit plates, glasses half filled with orange juice, and muffin wrappers littered the tabletop.

  “Is Rachel here?” Mrs. St. Claire leaned over to whisper to me.

  I nodded, still taken aback by how different she looked without makeup. “She’s outside with her parents.”

  “Poor lady. Everyone’s just falling apart. Last night was so strange.” She shook her head and then cut a corner of her waffle. “Which reminds me, has anyone seen Eliza Sue or Sarah today?” she asked a bit louder.

  Nearly everyone shook their head. Mr. Peterson was the only one who didn’t respond. He sat with a confused expression on his handsome face.

  “Well, I saw Eliza Sue this morning,” I answered. “Mrs. Green texted her to bring by some stuff.”

  Mr. Peterson reached for the salt shaker.

  It tipped over and Mrs. St. Claire gasped. “Quick! Throw the salt over your shoulder. It’s bad luck!”

  I looked at her, a little surprised at how adamant she was.

  “I mean it! Please!” Her eyes widened with desperation and fear.

  Carefully, Mr. Peterson swept the salt into his hand and threw it over his shoulder. As soon as he did, she settled back in her chair and, as if realizing how she sounded, her cheeks turned pink. She glanced bashfully at the rest of us at the table.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I think we’ve all had more than our fair share of bad luck, don’t you agree? I didn’t want to test it any more.”

  Her husband pushed up his glasses and patted her hand. “It’s okay, dear. Who could blame you?” he said under his breath.

  Mr. Peterson cleared his throat and leaned toward me. He looked so serious that I leaned in his direction, too. His voice was low as he asked me, “You know how Mrs. St. Claire asked if any one of us saw Eliza Sue?”

  I nodded, not sure where this was going.

  “Well, I did, actually. Last night. Or, early this morning, I mean. And it’s not the first time that’s happened.”

  The small talk around the table stopped as everyone tried to listen in.

  His gaze flicked around the table and his jaw tightened. He obviously didn’t like being the center of attention. Sitting up, he stabbed at his eggs and took a bite.

  “What?” he asked, staring around at everyone. “It was two. I needed to get some fresh air. I was just going to tell Georgie that Eliza Sue was outside, too.”

  “Really?” I said, slightly surprised. “What was she doing out there?”

  “I can tell you what I was doing.”

  Everyone’s head turned to look at the person who spoke from behind me.

  Eliza Sue.

  Chapter 7

  Eliza Sue sauntered into the dining room with a cool expression on her face. Her dark helmet of curls were as stiff as ever.

  “Good morning again,” I said to her. Her gaze moved toward me and her lips tightened. With a small smile, she pulled out a chair next to Mr. St. Claire, who shifted uncomfortably closer to his wife.

  “Good morning, everyone. Seems I’m the topic of conversation this morning, hmm?”

  Cecelia bustled in with a cup of coffee. She set it before Eliza Sue. “What can I get you for breakfast? We have a fruit platter, cereal, eggs to order, and waffles.”

  “A plate of fruit would be delightful,” she repli
ed.

  Cecelia nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “So, what were you doing outside that late?” Mrs. St. Claire asked. “I know it was a crazy night. Just processing your thoughts?”

  Eliza Sue glanced down at her mug of coffee. She cupped it as though to warm her fingers. “I often go for a walk before bed. It clears my head, and the moon’s been beautiful, lately. Besides, after everything that had happened, I couldn’t sleep.”

  That spurred the rest of the group into talking.

  “Oh, me either!” Mrs. St. Claire exclaimed.

  Her husband nodded and adjusted his glasses. “It’s true. You tossed and turned all night. Stole the covers like you were making a beehive.”

  “Well, you snored,” she shot back sweetly.

  Mr. Peterson sighed. “I couldn’t quit thinking about poor Rachel.” That statement shut the conversation down again as a few anxious faces glanced in the direction of the door as if expecting her to appear.

  Cecelia came into the dining room once again. She set down a plate of fruit in front of Eliza Sue and then quietly cleared some of the plates.

  “Here, you can take mine,” Mrs. St. Claire said, pushing it forward. She’d scarcely eaten.

  “You sure, honey? You want me to make you something else?” Cecelia asked.

  Mrs. St. Claire set the napkin next to the plate. “No, I’m finished for now.” She shrugged thin shoulders. “I’m just so upset about everything.”

  “Glad to see everyone’s here,” came a deep voice from the dining room doorway.

  Inwardly, I groaned. I knew who that voice belonged to.

  Frank.

  Last night, we didn’t really get a chance to talk. Maybe I was crabby this morning because of lack of sleep, but his tone brought me right back to the time he yanked my braid because I was winning at the game Stratego.

  I turned toward him. Yep, there he was. All six-foot plus of him, dressed in full police gear. He frowned as he studied us. We stared back at him like he was a coyote who’d invaded the chicken coop.

  And we were the chickens.

  “Grandma,” he said to Cecelia. “Can I have a minute to talk to your guests?”