The Diva Sweetens the Pie

by Krista Davis

  I couldn’t say what I was thinking. I was pretty sure that one stolen pie recipe and a story about Meemaw weren’t what launched Patsy Lee on the road to fame and fortune. But I found it interesting that both Tommy Earl and Roger claimed the meemaw story. Besides, none of us knew what would have happened had we taken another path. He was envious—plain and simple. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  “Yeah. Me too. My life could have been very different. I can’t help wondering if fate caught up to her. Maybe she finally stepped on the wrong person.”

  I watched Roger amble away, his hands in his pockets. I needed to tell Wolf about Roger. Maybe he thought he was taking fate into his own hands and poisoned Patsy Lee in the belief that she was stopping him from becoming a star. Or maybe he was deranged. Sometimes unhappy people tried to blame their failures on the successes of others. In any event I wouldn’t dream of eating anything he baked!

  Tommy Earl waved at me and hurried over. “Natasha is a friend of yours, right?”

  “I’ve known her all my life.”

  “Buckle your seat belt, buttercup, because she’s going to be the next Patsy Lee.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Peter Presley made Patsy Lee a star. If it hadn’t been for Peter, Patsy Lee would be in the back of a restaurant or bakery like the rest of us. The man has got unbelievable marketing skills. I’m not saying they’re all on the up-and-up, but he knows what he’s doing.”

  “That’s what Natasha has always wanted.” I couldn’t help grinning. “Can Peter really make that happen?”

  “She has hooked her star to the correct chariot if that’s what she wants.”

  I backed off my joy just a little bit. “When you say not on the up-and-up, do you mean things like stealing recipes?”

  Tommy snickered. “There will be plenty of that. If you give her a recipe, be sure to leave out something important.”

  “Tommy Earl!” I scolded. “Don’t tell me you really do that.”

  “We have all learned the hard way. Back in the day we were a pretty tight crew. Grainger Gibbard, Patsy Lee Presley, Roger MacKenzie, Willa Staminski, and I were all hired by Apex Pie. We churned out pies that went to grocery stores all over the eastern seaboard. Hundreds of them! You probably ate them all the time. It was like a pie sweatshop. But we had a good time and got to know one another very well. We were close friends then. Right up until Peter started watching cooking shows on TV.”

  I couldn’t help being doubtful. “Come on. It’s not that easy, or everyone would do it.”

  “Peter’s pretty sharp. He knew Patsy couldn’t cook. She could barely handle the work at Apex Pie, but she had a couple of things going for her. She was pretty in a down-home way. Know what I mean? Patsy Lee looked like a real person, not a model. She looked like everybody’s aunt. And she had an outgoing personality that made people comfortable with her. When you met Patsy Lee, you felt like she’d been your friend your whole life.”

  That worried me for Natasha. She was beautiful, but more like a model than Patsy Lee. And she rarely made anyone feel comfortable. Actually, now that I thought about it, that was one of her biggest flaws. Natasha thought she was always right and that it was a kindness to correct everyone else, which made everyone feel awkward and embarrassed.

  “I won’t say there wasn’t some luck involved, but Peter was brilliant.”

  “Yet they divorced,” I observed.

  “From what we gather, Patsy Lee got up on her high horse and started thinking she was a star. She didn’t want to take directions from Peter anymore. He put everything he had into her career, and she rewarded him by hiring some fancy shark lawyer who left poor old Peter with just a few pennies jingling in his pocket. He went from Patsy Lee’s manager and husband to . . . nothing.”

  I winced. That was probably the kind of gossip that would interest Wolf. “You said Grainger Gibbard was part of your group?”

  Tommy smiled sadly. “Grainger was fun. I still have trouble imagining that he’s not around anymore.”

  “Didn’t Nellie Stokes work at Apex Pie, too?” I asked.

  “Oh, wow. Haven’t thought about her in a long time. Poor Nellie. I was stunned when she flipped out and killed Grainger. They had so much going for them.”

  His lips mashed together and he snorted. “How life changes. I was so angry with Grainger at the time. I had this idea for a TV show set in a pie bakery. The two of us were going to do it together. Then he stole the idea, set it in his restaurant, and dumped me. I never expected that from him. I was furious. And hurt, you know? Because we were friends up to that point. I never spoke with him again.”

  “Do you think she did it?”

  “Oh yeah. The story goes that the jury was unanimous from the first vote, but they wanted lunch brought in so they discussed the case and voted again after they ate. I don’t know what Nellie was thinking, but I can guarantee that Grainger didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

  “Was Nellie part of your crew at Apex Pie?” I asked again.

  “Did I leave her out? Freudian slip, I guess. I’ll never be able to understand what possessed her that night.”

  Tommy checked his watch. “Better get home and shower. I’ve got a date tonight.”

  “Wong?” I asked.

  “She told you?”

  “Just a guess.”

  “There’s a special dinner this evening for the people teaching classes at the PiePalooza. I thought Wong might enjoy it.”

  I knew I had seen a spark between them! I tried not to grin like a fool. But hadn’t Roger said Tommy Earl was unreliable? “Are you teaching a class?”

  “You didn’t know? Roger said you recommended me after you took one of my classes.”

  “Wonderful!” But very, very odd. I guessed Roger had run out of choices. I struggled to change the subject. “Nina and I are going to Star-Spangled Pies tonight. Do you have any favorite dishes to recommend?”

  “They have some young kid baking for them now.” Tommy flapped his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s not like it was when Nellie worked there. The turnover in that kitchen is constant. Every few months word goes out that they’re looking for a new pastry chef. My guess is that the Sergeant is a tough guy to please. Let me know what you think about their food.” He gave me a quick wave and hurried off to prepare for his date with Wong.

  I stared at the impromptu memorial to Patsy Lee and wondered who was taking care of the funeral details now that she wasn’t married. A handwritten letter set me straight—I have all your pots and pans, as well as your cookbooks. Thank you for making me the baker I am today. I’ll never forget you.

  Who was I kidding? Patsy Lee Presley wasn’t just a person, she was a business. She had people who took care of details for her. Her friends were bitter about her success. But I didn’t doubt for a moment that their jealousy stemmed from their craving what she had achieved.

  I walked home slowly, thinking about the pastry bakers who had begun together at Apex Pie. Two were dead and one was in prison. How many of them had there been? Tommy, Patsy Lee, Willa, Grainger, Roger, and Nellie. I counted six. Half of them came to terrible ends. What were the odds of that? Something wasn’t right in the Apex Pie gang.

  * * *

  At six thirty I fed Mochie and slid Daisy’s halter over her head. Star-Spangled Pies had a sizeable outdoor patio in the back of the restaurant where dogs were welcome.

  I locked the kitchen door behind us. When we passed through the little gate that led to the street, Nina already waited on the sidewalk in front of her house. During the stroll down to Star-Spangled Pies, I told her about the Apex Pie group and the jealousy that ran deep there.

  “Isn’t it always that way?” she asked. “I would feel the same, especially if I were better at something and my inept friend became wealthy while I struggled. It’s human nature.”

  “Would you be envious enough to kill your pal?” I asked as we walked up to the restaurant.

  At that momen
t a man in a chef’s jacket stormed out the door.

  Chapter 17

  Dear Natasha,

  My mom says you can make a pot pie with frozen puff pastry. Is that true? It seems easier than making one from scratch.

  Pot Pie Princess in Flower Pot, Arizona

  Dear Pot Pie Princess,

  I’m swooning from the vapors at the mere thought of using frozen puff pastry. Make your own crust, already!

  Natasha

  Someone inside shouted ferociously.

  Daisy balked and barked.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her, though I wasn’t at all sure that was the case.

  The shouting continued while we walked around the side of the restaurant to the outdoor dining tables. Almost all the diners, now wide-eyed, had stopped eating and were listening intently.

  Only Willa was composed and continued eating her dinner. She spied us and waved her hand. “Come join me!”

  When we sat down, Willa patted Daisy. “I hate to eat alone. Besides, I’ve been dying to ask Nina something. Do you think the little boy who won the junior division of the pie contest had help from his parents?”

  Nina gasped. “Oh no! You think they cheated?”

  “We’ll never know unless they blab, but I’ve been thinking about it and that pie was far too advanced for someone his age,” whispered Willa. “It was the best pie in the youth category, but when I saw that little guy accepting the trophy, I just had a hunch he wasn’t the one who baked it.”

  “Aww,” Nina moaned. ”That’s unfortunate for the other children. But how would you know unless they baked the pies in a public forum?”

  Willa nodded. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway. I just wondered if I was the only person who suspected more than a little help from his mom and dad. Maybe I’m wrong and he’s a pie savant!”

  “Who’s doing all that yelling inside the restaurant?” asked Nina.

  Willa responded calmly, as though it were common. “The Sergeant. He’s not the best manager. He’s been yelling since Grainger died, and probably before that. Grainger’s sister Greta took over, but she doesn’t know beans about restaurant management. She’s a nice woman, but the Sergeant keeps interfering and firing people.”

  “You seem so calm about it,” I observed.

  Willa’s laugh was warm and hearty. “I worked here for a few months after Grainger’s death. When the Sergeant yells, it reminds me how good I have it at The Laughing Hound. I can’t imagine Bernie losing his temper like that.”

  I opened the menu and said, “Neither can I. He gets annoyed with Natasha, but I don’t believe I have ever heard Bernie scream like that.”

  “I’ve been here before, but I’ve never heard any screaming. How’s the chicken pot pie?” asked Nina.

  “Used to be the best in town when Nellie worked here. It’s still good, but the crust isn’t as delicate.”

  A woman wearing her hair in a long ponytail arrived at our table. “Willa!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were here.” The woman sat down with us. “Would you come back and work for us again?”

  Willa introduced Nina and me to Greta Gibbard. Greta was very gracious, but immediately turned her attention back to Willa. “I’ll pay you twice what Bernie is paying you.”

  Willa cocked her head. “Very tempting. But no amount of money would bring me back here.”

  Greta slumped in her chair. “I don’t know how Grainger managed Dad. He tries to run this place like a boot camp.”

  “You can’t get him to stay home?” asked Nina.

  Greta winced. “My mom doesn’t want him there. Thank goodness we’ve maintained a reputation for good food. But every time Dad erupts and fires someone, we lose diners. I can’t blame them, really. Who needs an old grouch yelling when they go out to eat? Do either one of you bake?”

  “Sophie does!” offered Nina.

  “Sorry, I’m not a pastry chef, and I have a job.”

  Greta rose. “If you hear of anyone who is looking, send him or her my way.”

  I thought of Roger. If I saw him, I’d let him know. He had wanted a bakery of his own, but maybe in the meantime he’d be content here. We placed our orders and Greta retreated to the kitchen.

  Nina lowered her voice when she said, “My family is so quiet. I can’t imagine putting up with a dad who yells like that.”

  “If he would limit himself to that kind of behavior at home,” said Willa, “I could deal with it. But the old man has a volatile temper.”

  Surely, the Sergeant hadn’t killed his own son? “Did you work here when Grainger was managing the place?”

  “Nope.” Willa shook her head. “I came on board the week after he was murdered. Nellie had been the pastry chef up until then. They were closed for several days before and after the funeral, and that’s when I was hired.”

  “By the Sergeant?” I asked.

  “He seemed so nice during the interview. Greta is right, he tries to run the place military style, but that just causes people to quit.”

  “You must have heard a lot of gossip,” said Nina.

  “About Grainger? That was all anyone could talk about.” She clammed up when a waiter arrived with our food.

  He placed pot pies on the table for us, then knelt to Daisy and said, “This is our chicken pie for doggies.” He placed a bowl of food and another of water in front of her. “No crust and no onions,” he said for our benefit before he walked away.

  Daisy plunged her nose into the bowl and ate with gusto.

  Willa dug into her pie. “Mmm. There’s a nice touch of thyme, and I love the way they sliced the carrots. When they dice them, I always wonder if they were frozen.”

  Nina eyed her. Leaning toward Willa, she said, “I heard that Nellie and Grainger were engaged.”

  “I don’t think it had gone that far. The Sergeant thought Nellie wasn’t good enough for Grainger. Apparently, he was upset that she had left her husband. I remember him saying it would be one thing if Nellie were a widow, but if a woman left one husband, she would leave the next one, too. All nonsense, of course, but he’s old school and has some crazy ideas. Rumor had it that Nellie wouldn’t have been working here at all if it weren’t for Grainger. The other employees said he was completely besotted with her.”

  “Then why would she have murdered him?” I took another bite of the savory pie.

  Willa shrugged. “It has never made any sense to me. He adored her, and she was crazy for him. What could he possibly have done to make her that angry?”

  “Did Nellie have a temper?” I asked. “Was she the kind of person who might flip out if Grainger broke up with her?”

  “Nellie?” Willa sipped a glass of white wine. “That’s rich. Nellie would walk a mile out of her way to avoid a confrontation. Now, Patsy Lee, she was another story. She stood up for herself.”

  Patsy Lee? It was an odd jump from Nellie to Patsy Lee. “Was Patsy Lee around Old Town at the time Grainger was murdered?”

  Nina’s fork clattered to her plate. “Are you suggesting that Patsy Lee murdered Grainger?”

  I had been trying to be subtle.

  Willa’s lips drew tight. “I don’t know why she would have murdered Grainger, but she was in and out of town for a long time. I always suspected she had a honey down here in Old Town.”

  Now that it was out there, I might as well ask Willa more questions. I lowered my voice lest other diners overhear. “I’ve been hearing stories about Patsy Lee not knowing how to bake and miraculously becoming a star by stealing recipes and stories from her friends.”

  Willa groaned. “All true. She and Peter stopped at nothing in their quest for Patsy Lee to be a star.”

  Someone at another table looked over at us. I lowered my voice and shifted the conversation to another topic. “So you were Patsy Lee’s best friend?”

  “Oh, gosh, yes. We went way back. I was her maid of honor when she married Peter. She was”—she paused as if choosing her words carefully—“a different person then. S
he really was a country girl, more at home with horses and goats than anything else. She was sweet and honest, and I would have trusted her with my cat’s life.”

  Nina frowned at her. “She changed when she became a star?”

  Willa took a big swig from her wineglass. “The biggest mistake I made in my life was moving to New York to work for her. I left behind everything I loved just to help her. Five months later she canned me because I wasn’t sophisticated enough for her anymore. You know, the sad thing is that I felt like the real Patsy Lee, the simple one whom I knew and loved, was still in there somewhere.”

  Willa sighed and picked at her dinner. “But now it’s too late. Do you know why I came here to eat dinner tonight? Because this is where Patsy Lee and I had agreed to meet to catch up.” Willa raised her wineglass. “To Patsy Lee, the woman I knew, not the star. May you rest in peace.”

  Nina and I joined in her toast. It was a melancholy moment. One I wouldn’t soon forget.

  Nina, Daisy, and I walked Willa to her condo after dinner. The sun had set and the day-tripping tourists had gone home to start the workweek fresh on Monday.

  Willa lived in a redbrick house that had been divided into condominiums. She said good night, walked up the stairs to a grand glass door, and disappeared inside.

  “Would you fire me?” asked Nina.

  I laughed. “Would I hire you in the first place?”

  “I knew there was something going on between them when they met at Bernie’s the other night. Patsy Lee was excited to see Willa, but I’ll never forget the wariness on Willa’s face.”

  “None of them trusted Patsy Lee. It sounds like they all liked her in the beginning, but each one of them got burned by her in some way.”