The Diva Sweetens the Pie

by Krista Davis

  Patsy moved on to the other person Brock had referred to as trouble—the man with the aviator sunglasses tucked into his shirt. His clothing and overall style marked him as a country fellow, more at home in a field or forest than on a city street. The portly man wore jeans at least two sizes too small for him. They were far too tight to sit at his waist and were tightly cinched by a belt below his belly. An eagle with his wings extended as though taking flight embellished the giant silver buckle.

  “Hello, Peter dear.” Patsy Lee reached out for a hug as though she were pleased to see him.

  Brock discreetly moved away from them and sidled up to me.

  I glanced at him, and he mouthed barely audible words, “Ex-husband, Peter Presley.”

  I could imagine them as a couple. The way she smiled at him didn’t make me think Peter was really trouble like Brock had said. I was still good friends with my own ex-husband. Maybe Patsy Lee was, too.

  Bernie called to me. I gave Brock a little wave and joined a group that was arguing about where to place the tent for meeting Patsy Lee Presley. I agreed with Bernie’s vision that Patsy Lee should be in the center of things.

  “We’re lucky that it will be cooler tomorrow,” said Bernie. “Tables for the nonprofessional bakers’ and the young bakers’ pies to Patsy Lee’s right. Tables for the professional-baking competition to the left. That way there won’t be any confusion between those baked by home cooks and those baked by professionals. Patsy Lee can hold court in the middle.”

  “The microphone will be in Patsy Lee’s tent?” I asked.

  “Excellent,” said Bernie. “When she’s through signing, we’ll take the books off the table and showcase some pies on it during the judging.”

  Bernie whispered his thanks to me for backing him up.

  “In the afternoon, after the judging, will the same tables be set for the pie-eating contests?” I asked.

  “That’s the plan. And vendors will be selling pies around the outer edges under their own tents.”

  “Sounds like you have it under control.”

  “Mostly. Have you ever heard of The Upper Crust?” asked Bernie. “It’s a last-minute entry in the professional pie category.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “That’s what worries me. No one is familiar with it.”

  Chapter 4

  Dear Sophie,

  How do people make those beautiful piecrust edges? I’ve been trying for years and they always look mangled.

  Desperate Daughter in Doughboy, Nebraska

  Dear Desperate,

  Believe it or not, I find it easiest to use the second joint in my fingers. Use one finger on one hand and push the dough through two fingers of the other hand. If that doesn’t work, make a rope with leftover dough and use that as your edge. It’s always lovely!

  Sophie

  “Maybe The Upper Crust is in Maryland or farther south in Virginia,” I suggested. “Did you put any location restrictions on the professional entries?”

  “Live and learn. Maybe I should have. But this is the only entry from someone I’ve never heard of.” Bernie grinned at me. “Maybe that bakery will have the best pie.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

  “Not at the moment. You’re still coming to dinner for Patsy Lee and her entourage at The Laughing Hound tonight. Right?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  * * *

  Shortly before six o’clock, I zipped up a plain fit-and-flare dress, which was the dark purple color of eggplant. I felt compelled to dress it up with a necklace of twisted pearls and mini amethyst chunks. A pair of dangling amethyst-and-pearl earrings completed the look. I knew it would have been more stylish to wear high heels, but I settled for gold sandals with sensible cushy soles so I wouldn’t trip on the uneven brick sidewalks.

  I fed a can of turkey and gizzards to Mochie, my Ocicat, who was supposed to have spots but had bull’s-eyes on his sides instead. He wasn’t impressed. Daisy, however, snarfed her dinner of barley, ground turkey, peas, and carrots.

  I grabbed a little gold cross-body purse and stepped outside my kitchen door. I looked around before closing it, just to be sure the strange man wasn’t outside waiting for me. I didn’t see him and wondered if his presence earlier had just been a weird coincidence. Feeling better, I locked the door and headed for Nina’s house. She was already waiting at the sidewalk in a turquoise sheath printed with large white flowers.

  “Do you think the guy who was watching you at the park today was the dark shadow who sprinted away earlier?” asked Nina.

  “Maybe. He seemed familiar to me. Anyway, let me know if you notice anyone.”

  “Have you done something wicked?” she teased.

  “Yes. I wouldn’t let you cut the pie before it set up.”

  Nina laughed, but I noticed that she turned around and looked behind us. “What do you make of Patsy Lee?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. She seems nice enough, but—”

  “I know! She’s a little bit odd, isn’t she? And that Brock guy! He’s yummy to look at, but do you really think she needs a bodyguard?”

  “She lives a lifestyle that we can’t even imagine. But I’ll admit I got a chill when I thought that guy was watching us today. Maybe there are people who hang on to her, and he has to keep them away.” I didn’t mention that it was definitely Patsy Lee who had crashed through the bushes the other night, but I wondered where Brock had been? Had she ditched him?

  At The Laughing Hound we waved at the busy hostess and went straight to the private patio, where Patsy Lee and entourage were already mingling and sampling Parmesan tuiles with fresh tomatoes, figs with bacon, and shrimp toasts.

  Diamonds flashed on Patsy Lee’s fingers as she made the rounds holding a Sazerac in her hand. She tilted her head and tossed the drink back as if she was used to drinking.

  I nursed my vodka tonic and looked forward to a tall glass of iced tea. It was a beautiful summer evening, early enough for the sun to be out, but late enough for the humidity to have abated. I gazed at the clear sky. Maybe the weatherman had been right about a break from the oppressive heat.

  A raised voice at the door that led from the patio into the restaurant captured my attention. I edged over to see Peter Presley, Patsy Lee’s ex-husband. His fleshy face had turned purple with fury. “But I’m Patsy Lee’s plus-one. Her husband, for heaven’s sake.”

  A burly waiter with a shaved head, who usually worked at the bar, had nodded and smiled at Nina and me when we walked out on the terrace. Bernie must have posted him as a bouncer.

  He consulted a sheet of paper and said very calmly, “I’m sorry, sir. You are not on the guest list this evening. Perhaps you would care to dine on the front patio. I can recommend our barbecued baby back ribs.”

  Peter’s nostrils flared. “But I’m with Patsy Lee’s party. Listen, buster, you’re going to be in big trouble when Patsy Lee finds out that you gave me the heave-ho.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Surely, you understand. There are a lot of people who would like to sneak in to meet Ms. Presley. I have to go by the list.”

  “You will pay for this.” Peter’s tone was controlled but menacing. “I will not be treated like some stranger off the street.” He turned abruptly and, in his haste, nearly toppled a waitress carrying a tray. The chilling tinkle of clinking glasses filled the air as the tray tilted and they swept together.

  The waiter lunged forward like he was doing some kind of deep knee bend. Like Superman, he held out one hand. With his fingers poised upward, he caught the bottom of the tray just in time and righted it.

  The waitress blushed as though he had kissed her.

  He just smiled and said, “You’d better refill all those drinks. There’s no telling what sloshed into other glasses.”

  She hurried away, and I said, “That was a great catch.”

  “Thanks. I’ve seen you around here. You’re a friend of Bernie’s, right?” He held out his hand
to me. “Remy Tarwick.”

  I shook his hand. “Sophie Winston. You handled Peter very well.”

  He shrugged. “I used to be a bouncer. That fellow was easy. Might be difficult when he’s not sober. Is he really her husband?”

  “Ex-husband.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “So he lied to me to get in.” Shaking his head, he said, “You never know who might cause trouble and exes are the worst.”

  A woman ambled up to him, so I gave him a wave and mingled on the terrace, where no one appeared to have noticed Peter’s rejection. Patsy Lee and her entourage chatted and laughed. Bernie had been wise to provide a private place for Patsy Lee to relax without people asking for autographs or snapping photos.

  Bernie had arranged the tables in a square, which I thought brilliant. No one sat on the inside, so it felt as though we were all sharing the meal not just with those beside us, but also with those across from us. A white cloth covered the tables and each place setting had its own grass-green cloth under the service platter, hanging down as long as the white tablecloth. Trendy pear-shaped lightbulbs hung over us, giving the patio an informal yet festive feel. As the sun began to set, a server came around to take drink orders for dinner. She poured white and red wine for most. I stayed with unsweetened iced tea.

  Nina whispered, “You’re missing out by not drinking the wine that was chosen for these dishes.”

  Maybe she was right, but the presence of the dark shadow, as Nina had called him, drove me to keep my wits about me.

  The appetizer consisted of two teeny potato pancakes topped with sour cream, sliced salmon, and a garnish of caviar. I felt thoroughly spoiled. But the tender crab ravioli with a heavenly hollandaise sauce, which came next, was even more delicious. I would have been very happy to simply eat more of it for my dinner. But the waiters soon whisked our plates away and replaced them with sliced duck breast served with a bourbon-laced peach sauce, roasted asparagus, and creamy Parmesan duchess potatoes.

  Needless to say, the food was the biggest topic of conversation. Bernie’s chef had outdone himself.

  By the time the dessert arrived, I had relaxed enough about the dark shadow to want to taste a cream-pie after-dinner drink, created just for the pie festival.

  We were all wondering if a pie would be served for dessert when Willa Staminski, The Laughing Hound’s pastry chef, strode in carrying an ice-cream pie with chocolate sauce drizzled on top.

  Willa wore her nutmeg-colored hair short and messy. She was pale enough to be a natural blonde, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  I was always impressed by dessert chefs like Willa who maintained a slim figure. I didn’t know how they did that. I would be tasting and eating all day.

  The patio was alive with laughter at the wise and humorous choice, since an ice-cream pie definitely wouldn’t be entered in the contest. The judges would be eating a lot of pies the next day and probably appreciated a bit of ice cream instead.

  A waiter followed Willa with a tray of dessert plates containing slices of the ice-cream pie.

  Patsy Lee’s mouth fell open. She stood up and cried out, “Willa Staminski, as I live and breathe!”

  Willa set the pie on the table and readily embraced Patsy Lee. The two hugged for a long moment.

  “I just can’t believe this,” said Patsy Lee. “It has to be the highlight of my visit to Old Town. It’s been years since we saw each other.”

  It seemed to me that Willa was a little more restrained. I didn’t know her well. Maybe Willa was just naturally reserved and didn’t show her feelings as much as Patsy Lee, who tended to be effervescent or at least pretended to be excited.

  “How do you know each other?” asked Nina.

  “We go way back,” said Patsy Lee. “Besties, I think the kids call it now. Willa, honey, we have got to find some time to get together and catch up while I’m in town. Give your number to Brock and he’ll set it up. It’s so good seein’ you!”

  With that, Patsy Lee sat down, emptied her wineglass, and started on her after-dinner drink. “Somebody pass me a piece of that pie. Willa is an amazing chef. I bet it’s delicious!”

  After everyone left, Nina and I lingered a bit to chat with Bernie and make sure he didn’t need a hand with anything. An hour later we headed home.

  We had only walked a couple of blocks when we spied Patsy Lee.

  Chapter 5

  Dear Sophie,

  I need to bake a pie for my book club. I’m a complete dolt with pie dough, but they’ll know if I use one from the store. I’m terrified. Who said easy as pie? It isn’t easy at all!

  Panicking in Pie, West Virginia

  Dear Panicking,

  Make a graham cracker crust. You can just press it in place! No rolling or fussing with dough required.

  Sophie

  She glanced around furtively. There were plenty of lights from stores and restaurants, but she must not have seen us, which made me wonder just whom she was looking for. A man, perhaps? Was that the reason she didn’t notice us? She was looking for a man?

  Nina elbowed me. We fell in step about half a block behind Patsy Lee. We hadn’t even reached the end of the block when Nina and I shared a look. We weren’t the only ones casually strolling behind Patsy Lee. Brock was tailing her, too.

  “There’s something up with that woman,” whispered Nina. “Did you notice how unenthusiastic her bestie was? You’d better be excited to see me if we’re ever apart for several years.”

  “I thought Willa might be the type that doesn’t show her emotions.”

  “Hah! She was showing emotions all right. Either they didn’t part on good terms or they weren’t besties at all.”

  Patsy Lee made an abrupt turn to the right. Nina and I dodged traffic to cross King Street and catch up. By the time we reached the corner where she had turned, Patsy Lee was out of sight. Brock, however, stood in a dark patch on the sidewalk, just across from a small cream-colored town house. The light to the left of the front door shone a beam on a tasteful wreath and a flower box at the window that was full of coral impatiens.

  The barest hint of a light shimmered through the downstairs curtain, but a light flicked on upstairs. Despite the fact that a gauzy white curtain hung in the window, there was no mistaking the fact that two people were in the room.

  Nina sidled up to Brock. “Who’s she with?”

  Brock’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were on our way home. So who is he?” Nina persisted.

  I nudged Nina and murmured, “It’s not any of our business.”

  Brock eyed us. “Maybe not, but sometimes you have to take care of people so they don’t get into trouble. For the record I don’t know who he is. He was already in the house when Patsy Lee arrived.”

  “Are you supposed to wait out here all night?” I asked. That sounded like a miserable job.

  “I’m not supposed to know she’s in there. She told me she was turning in for the night.”

  I couldn’t help laughing softly. “She snuck out on you! Maybe we should leave and let her have her privacy.”

  “You two go ahead.” Brock rubbed the top of his head. “I don’t know what to do. She pays me to look out for her. Now I’m in a quandary. If I hadn’t been down the hall getting ice, I never would have noticed her leaving our hotel. I’d be back in bed, having a drink and watching a Big Bang Theory rerun. But I followed her, so maybe I ought to stick around.”

  “She might be there all night,” Nina cautioned.

  I groaned. “What’s wrong with you two? Brock, if she had wanted you to stand guard, she would have told you. But she didn’t say a thing, right? The mere fact that she slipped out quietly without telling you indicates that she didn’t want you to be here. If I were in her shoes, I’d be mighty mad if I knew people were gathering on the sidewalk to discuss my private business.”

  “That certainly applies to the two of us,” Nina agreed.

  “Fr
om what I can tell,” I said, “Patsy Lee doesn’t get much private time. I can’t imagine living that way. It’s like she’s in a fishbowl with everyone watching. It would drive me nuts if people observed my every little move. C’mon, Nina. Let’s scram.”

  “As much as I’d love to know who it is she’s with, I think that’s the right thing to do. You coming, Brock?” asked Nina.

  He nodded. “You ladies are exactly right.”

  The three of us strolled back to King Street, where we said good night and split up. Nina and I headed home.

  “You think he’s doubling back?” asked Nina.

  “We’ll know tomorrow morning when he looks dead tired.”

  Nina peeled off to her house, but I stood silently on the sidewalk for a moment, peering into the dark just to be sure the dark shadow wasn’t hanging around. When I didn’t see him, I went home to Daisy and Mochie.

  * * *

  In the morning, I took Daisy for a stroll before breakfast. I felt obligated to be at the pie festival early, in case Bernie needed a hand.

  I shivered a little as we walked down to the park, where vendors were already setting up their tents. Everyone had been right about a wave of cool air coming through.

  Thanks to my job as an event planner, I had done business with local bakeries and recognized some of the people who worked at them. A few stopped setting up long enough to say hi and pet Daisy, but others clearly needed a second mug of coffee before they could function.

  It probably wasn’t right of me, but on the way back, Daisy and I strolled by the house where Brock had seen Patsy Lee the night before. After all, we had to walk somewhere.

  The house was quite small, but it was a darling place in a prime location. People hurried by, a few undoubtedly heading to work on a Saturday morning. There was no sign of Patsy Lee, of course, which was just as well. I hoped Brock had gotten some sleep.

  I stopped by the take-out window of Big Daddy’s Bakery for some fresh pancetta and Gruyère croissants to enjoy with eggs for breakfast. Unless I missed my guess, Nina would be over shortly to join me.