Death Bakes a Pecan Pie

by Livia J. Washburn

“Does everyone know about that? Sam overheard them, but was it loud enough to hear in the dining room?”

  Eve shook her head and said, “No, no, nothing like that. I don’t even know if anyone else noticed. Although I suspect there’s been enough tension between the two of them that the others all have an idea that something is going on. But I’m not sure what it is. I think they’re having . . . creative differences.”

  “Creative differences?” Phyllis repeated. “I assumed it was over . . . well, you know . . .”

  “I have no idea if either of them is cheating on the other, but I do know I’d get an email from one of them asking me a question about the book or the characters, or suggesting something that might go in the script, and then I’d hear from the other one with something totally different. After a while, I got the idea that each of them was writing their own draft of the script, and when they tried to reconcile them, it caused quite a fuss.”

  “And they’re still arguing over a movie script, even while shooting is going on?”

  “I don’t know, dear. That’s just how it appears to me.”

  Eve was usually pretty observant and had a good grasp of human nature. Anyone who had been married as many times as she had, and been through as many tragedies, had to have been exposed to a wide range of emotions. So it was entirely possible Jason and Deanne were just bickering over their writing. Phyllis had done enough writing herself, having turned out a magazine column for a while, that she knew how someone could get emotionally invested in the words they produced.

  “Sam said he thought they might try to kill each other.”

  Eve shook her head and said, “Oh, no, it would never go that far. I’m sure of that.”

  “How did those two get together, anyway? They seem like a bit of an odd match.”

  “Deanne won some sort of screenwriting contest. She lived in Ohio and sent in her script, and when it won, it was optioned and the production company hired Jason to do a rewrite. He was already in Hollywood and had been working as a writer for a while. He’d sold several scripts and a few of them actually were produced. Deanne went out to California to get involved in the process, the two of them met . . .” Eve smiled. “Their story would have made a good movie itself. A nice little indie rom-com. Since then they’ve gotten married and worked on several pictures together. Whatever it is that’s bothering them, I’m sure they’ll put it behind them.”

  “Well, I hope so, for the sake of this movie.” Phyllis picked up the tray with the coffee cups on it and headed back to the dining room.

  Melissa was still passing out plates of pie. Jason and Deanne seemed to be on good terms again, or at least pretending to be. Sam, Robert Harkness, Alan Sammons, and Earl Thorpe were talking together at one end of the table, the seating arrangements having shifted some while Phyllis was in the kitchen. Julie Cordell and Heidi Lancaster were talking to Carolyn and Ronnie.

  Lawrence Fremont still sat at the other end of the table, not talking to anyone. Melissa placed a saucer with a piece of pecan pie on it in front of him, and Phyllis went down the other side of the table to add a cup of coffee.

  “Here you are, Mr. Fremont,” she said. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I don’t eat many sweets,” Fremont said.

  Sammons let out a booming laugh and said, “Don’t believe him, Mrs. Newsom. The man’s got a real sweet tooth. Don’t you, Lawrence?”

  Fremont glared a little at the producer and didn’t answer. He picked up his fork, took a bite of the pie, and for the first time, Phyllis saw something that resembled a smile on his bearded face.

  “This is very good,” he said. “Excellent, in fact.”

  “Thank you,” Phyllis said. She passed out the rest of the coffee while Melissa made sure everyone got a slice of pie.

  Except for herself, Phyllis noted. As Melissa sat down and picked up her coffee, Phyllis asked, “You don’t want any pie?”

  “Oh, I want some,” Melissa said, “but I can’t afford the calories. I have to watch my girlish figure, you know. I can tell that you’re naturally slender, but I’ve never been that fortunate.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have baked pies—”

  “Oh, goodness, don’t think a thing of it,” Melissa said with a laugh. “Appearances are everything in Hollywood. We’re used to watching what we eat and denying ourselves some of the things we really want.” She shrugged. “That’s probably why some of us are so self-indulgent in other things.”

  Phyllis wasn’t sure exactly what Melissa meant by that, but she decided it was best not to probe too deeply into the subject.

  Everyone complimented the pie. Phyllis thanked them graciously, then said, “This is the recipe I’m going to be entering in the contest at the actual Harvest Festival this weekend. Do any of you have any suggestions on how I might make it better?”

  Sammons laughed and said, “This isn’t exactly the group to ask about something like that, Mrs. Newsom. I mean, what do any of us know about baking?”

  “Speak for yourself, Alan,” Julie Cordell said. She was definitely more relaxed than she had been earlier in the evening. “I did quite a bit of baking in my younger years. I didn’t make all that many pecan pies, but I can tell you, my crusts were very good.”

  Carolyn, sitting beside Julie now, nodded and said, “I’ve always taken pride in my pie crusts.”

  “See?” Julie said. “That’s why I’m playing the part I am. We’re more alike than you’d think by looking at us, aren’t we, Carolyn?”

  “It seems that way to me,” Carolyn agreed.

  Phyllis was a little surprised to see that Carolyn was getting along so well with somebody from Hollywood. Carolyn never warmed up quickly to strangers or outsiders, and to her someone from California—let alone Hollywood—was like a visitor from another planet. It had even taken her a while to start liking Sam, and he was Texan through and through. But Phyllis was glad to see Carolyn enjoying herself.

  “So the one thing I think you could do,” Julie went on to Phyllis, “would be to crimp the crust a little differently. This traditional crimp makes it look like every other pie. The pie wouldn’t taste any different, but that would give it a distinctive look.”

  “I was just saying the same thing earlier,” Carolyn exclaimed.

  Julie nodded. “Like I said, we’re on the same page.”

  “I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” Phyllis promised. “I thought I’d bake at least one more tomorrow. Maybe I should experiment a little.”

  Lawrence Fremont said, “If you come to watch us shoot tomorrow, you should bring one with you.”

  “You mean we’re invited to the shooting?”

  “Of course you are,” Sammons said. “All of you. This picture wouldn’t even exist without you folks. You’re welcome to watch. In fact, we can put all of you in the movie if you want, not just Ronnie.”

  “Oh, no,” Carolyn said immediately. “I wouldn’t want to be on screen.”

  “Ronnie hasn’t talked to her parents yet, either,” Sam pointed out.

  “But they’re not going to mind,” the girl said. “I’m sure of that.” She turned to Sam. “Especially if you say that you’re going to be there keeping an eye on everything.”

  “Well, I’ve got to admit, I’ve always been pretty interested in movies . . .”

  “It’s settled, then,” Sammons said, resting his hands flat on the table. “You’ll all be there, and any of you who want to be extras, that’ll be fine, too.”

  “Maybe you’ll wind up movie stars,” Heidi Lancaster said.

  “That’ll be the day,” Sam drawled with a shake of his head.

  ◄♦►

  When everyone was finished with the pie, they took their coffee and went back to the living room to sit and talk for a while longer before the gathering broke up. Only one slice of pie was left, and Phyllis was about to get the plate and carry it back to the kitchen when Melissa picked it up instead.

  “I’ll put this away,” she
volunteered. “You go sit down and enjoy what’s left of the evening, Phyllis. You’ve earned it.”

  Phyllis started to object, then decided not to. Instead she nodded and said, “Thank you.” She felt an instinctive liking for Melissa Keller that she hadn’t expected, based on what she had looked up about the actress before meeting her. Melissa really was more down to earth than the typical Hollywood star.

  Or maybe she just knew how to project that impression. When it came to actors, what was real, and what was artifice? And in the long run, did it matter?

  “There’s a plastic pie cover in the upper cabinet, to the right of the sink,” she went on. “You can just set it over the plate.”

  Phyllis started toward the living room, but on the way she met Earl Thorpe, who had an empty coffee cup in his hand. The assistant director smiled and said, “Is there any left, or did we drink it all up?”

  “I think there’s some,” Phyllis said, “but will you be able to sleep if you drink any more coffee this late, Mr. Thorpe?”

  “Earl,” he corrected her. “And I’m afraid I won’t be sleeping for quite a while anyway. Once we get back to the hotel, I have a lot of work still to do before we shoot tomorrow. I need to go through the shot list and figure out all the blocking.”

  “Doesn’t the director do that?”

  “Some do,” Thorpe said with a shrug. “Mr. Fremont concentrates more on the performances and the script than he does on the technical details. He leaves most of that to me.”

  “But doesn’t that make you . . . co-directors, I guess?”

  Thorpe laughed, but he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at the same time. “Don’t let him hear you say that. There’s only one director on a Lawrence Fremont film, no matter who does what.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t mention it. I just like to see people get the credit that’s coming to them. It’s only fair.”

  “Fremont’s going to get what’s coming to him, and maybe sooner than he thinks.” Thorpe grimaced. “Blast it, I shouldn’t have said that, either.”

  “What are you talking about, Mr. Thorpe? I mean, Earl.”

  “Just forget it, okay? I should’ve kept my big mouth shut—”

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Phyllis said. “Is it going to endanger the movie?”

  “You could say that. Fremont . . .” Thorpe looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, then went on, “Look, I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t like you folks. You saw the way Alan sort of played up to Mr. Fletcher’s granddaughter—”

  “Yes, and I thought it was a bit unsavory, to tell you the truth. Ronnie’s underage, and even if she wasn’t, a man in a position of power shouldn’t use that to pursue women.”

  “Yeah, tell that to half the guys in Hollywood these days! It’s a big deal, and don’t get me wrong, it should be. But Alan . . . Alan’s all talk. You don’t have to worry about him. He’s really not a bad guy. Fremont, on the other hand . . .”

  “He didn’t say anything improper,” Phyllis pointed out. “He didn’t even seem that enthusiastic about having Ronnie in the movie.”

  “That’s because he’s got one of the other girls in the picture on the string right now, a kid named Becca Peterson. And she came to me and cried on my shoulder while we were down in Austin. Said she was going to go public on the Internet about what he’s been doing. That would be likely to shut down production.”

  And ruin things for Eve, Phyllis thought. But on the other hand, if Fremont was taking advantage of someone, he shouldn’t get away with it.

  She asked Thorpe, “What are you saying, Earl? That Sam shouldn’t allow Ronnie to be in the movie?”

  “No, just that he needs to keep an eye on her, that’s all.”

  “He would do that anyway. He’s very protective of her.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Thorpe grinned and shook his head. “Dang, I can see how you’ve managed to solve all those murders, Mrs. Newsom. I didn’t intend to tell you any of that. I just came back here to get another cup of coffee, and instead I wind up spilling my guts.”

  “You were just trying to be helpful by warning me about Mr. Fremont, and I appreciate that. I’ll talk to Sam, and we’ll make sure that nothing improper takes place.”

  “I don’t think it would have, anyway—like I said, Fremont’s already pretty occupied, and he doesn’t know a bomb’s liable to go off in his face sometime soon—but it never hurts to be careful.”

  A step in the hall behind her made Phyllis look around. Melissa came from the kitchen, smiled, and said, “I hope you don’t mind, Phyllis, but I snooped around your cabinets some. Research, you know. For getting into the character better.”

  “That’s fine,” Phyllis assured her. “There are no secrets in my cabinets!”

  “Oh, secrets can pop up in places where you never expect them,” Melissa said.

  Phyllis traded a quick glance with Earl Thorpe and thought that that was certainly true.

  Chapter 6

  Knowing what she knew now, Phyllis found it a little difficult not to glare at Lawrence Fremont while the entire group sat in the living room chatting and finishing their coffee. She hadn’t liked him to start with, and what Earl Thorpe had told her just confirmed that initial impression.

  However, being a gracious hostess was ingrained in her, and Fremont wasn’t actually doing anything other than sitting there sipping coffee and making an occasional comment, so she was able to put her negative feelings for him aside and concentrate on the other people in the room.

  They really were a friendly bunch, not at all what she had thought they would be like. Of course, as performers the actors were accustomed to being “on” and making people like them. That was their stock in trade, after all. And Alan Sammons, as a producer, was a deal-maker and something of a glad-hander, so he knew how to be likable, too.

  The surliest person in the room, even more so than Fremont, was probably Jason Wilkes. The earlier argument with his wife had left him brooding. Deanne was still friendly enough with everybody else, but her laughter had a slightly brittle edge to it. She was keeping up appearances, but Phyllis could tell that she was upset, too.

  Phyllis enjoyed talking to Melissa Keller enough that she was sorry to see the evening end, and Carolyn and Eve seemed to feel the same way about Julie Cordell and Heidi Lancaster. Sam clearly had bonded with Robert Harkness. But there was shooting to do the next day, and as Sammons said, “We have an early call in the morning, folks, so we’d better call it a night.” He looked around at the others. “Nobody’s sleeping in, right?”

  “We’ll be on time, boss, don’t worry about that,” Earl Thorpe said. Maybe he was sucking up a little, Phyllis wasn’t sure about that, or maybe he was just being legitimately conscientious.

  Everyone stood up and said their good nights. A few hugs were even exchanged. Despite enjoying the evening overall, Phyllis heaved a sigh of relief when all the guests had filed out and the front door closed behind them.

  “I think that went wonderfully well, don’t you?” Eve said.

  Other than screenwriters fighting in the bathroom and a sexually harassing director, Phyllis thought. But she said, “It was very nice.” She turned her head to look toward the dining room. “Now there’s all the cleaning up to do.”

  “We’ll help you with that,” Sam said without hesitation. “Come on, Ronnie.”

  “Should I call Mom and Dad and ask them about being in that movie?” Ronnie said. “It’s an hour later in Pennsylvania, you know.”

  Phyllis knew she wasn’t just trying to get out of helping. Ever since Ronnie had been here, she’d been willing to pitch in with chores. So Phyllis said, “Yes, you go ahead and call them. We can take care of everything else. I’m not going to try to get all of it cleaned up tonight.”

  She did want to get her pie plates in the dishwasher, though, because she planned on using them early the next morning. She could put that one piece of leftover pie on a saucer.

  Af
ter she, Sam, and Carolyn cleared the table and brought all the dishes to the kitchen while Eve collected the coffee cups in the living room, Phyllis lifted the pie cover and saw that the pie plate under it was empty after all. She laughed.

  “What is it?” Carolyn asked.

  “Now I understand why Melissa volunteered to bring this in here,” Phyllis said. “She didn’t eat any pie earlier because she said she was watching her figure.”

  Carolyn pointed a finger at Sam and admonished him, “Don’t you say anything.”

  Sam held up his hands, palms out defensively, and gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look.

  “In here by herself, though, she gave in to temptation,” Phyllis went on.

  “And ate that last piece of pie,” Carolyn said.

  Sam said, “Hey, there’s a mighty good chance I would’ve done the same thing. There’s nothin’ better than holdin’ a piece of good pie in your hand and eatin’ it standin’ up in the kitchen. I’ve done just that many a time.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Carolyn said.

  Sam held up a finger. “The secret is, you’ve got to cup your other hand under the pie, see, to catch any crumbs you might drop—”

  “Yes, we get the idea.”

  Phyllis put both empty pie plates in the dishwasher, along with the other dishes that would fit, and started it rinsing.

  Sam picked up the carafe from the coffeemaker and said, “There’s just a little bit left if anybody wants it.”

  “I thought Mr. Thorpe was going to finish it off,” Phyllis said. “He told me he still had a lot of work to do tonight to get ready for the shooting tomorrow. There must have been more than he wanted.”

  Sam held up the carafe and cocked an eyebrow. Carolyn shook her head and said, “Too late for me.”

  “Me, too,” Phyllis said. “If you don’t want it, Sam, just pour it down the sink.”

  He was doing that when Eve came in with the cups. She stacked them on the other side of the double sink, then pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  “You know, a lot of the time I still can’t believe this is happening,” she said. “I mean, we had movie stars and a famous director right here in the house tonight. How is that even possible?”