A Pocket Full of Pie

by Leena Clover

  “Fire away. I have nothing to hide.”

  Jessica took a sip of water from a bottle on her desk. I pulled out a writing pad from my bag.

  “So let’s start with you,” I began. “Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from? How long have you been in Swan Creek? Something of that sort.”

  “I’m from Texas,” Jessica smiled. “Just over the Oklahoma border. My Daddy has a ranch there. A working cattle ranch with a couple of thousand acres. I always wanted to go to college. Swan Creek has great bio technology research. I am working on my doctoral thesis, hoping to finish by next year.”

  I nodded.

  “So where’d you meet Jordan? In some ranching circles?”

  Jessica looked surprised.

  “Right here, in Swan Creek. He went to Pioneer.”

  “I didn’t know Jordan was an alumnus!” I wondered how this tiny detail had never come up.

  Jessica nodded.

  “We met in freshman year. He finished his classes in three years. He commuted while doing his thesis. By that time, he had taken on a lot of responsibility over at the Triple H.”

  “Freshman year?” I was impressed. “That seems like a long time ago.

  “About 7 years,” Jessica said glumly. “We were both on a fast track. I stayed on to do my master’s and doctoral work, of course. But we were still in touch.”

  “Becky said you were celebrating your engagement that day?”

  Jessica looked wistful.

  “He had already proposed. Down by the pond over at his ranch. It was so romantic. We just wanted to get away for a meal. Have a change of scene. He wanted to take me to some fancy restaurant in OKC, but I said Swan Creek was cool. I had to get back and put in a few hours at the lab that night.”

  “What happened after your dinner?”

  “We went to Willow Springs, of course!”

  I understood.

  Willow Springs, our local lake, is one of the few attractions in our small town. It’s a choice hangout spot for the college kids, and for couples looking for a romantic setting.

  “The moon was out, and it was too cold for the usual barbecues and parties. It was perfect!”

  I waited for her to go on. Silence often spurs the other person to talk, rather than a direct question.

  “We talked about our future. Jordan had big plans for the Triple H. Then I had to leave.”

  “Did you drive back on your own?” I couldn’t imagine them going to a romantic date in two cars.

  “I caught a ride,” Jessica said. “Jordan wanted to sit there for a while. I had a meeting back at the lab at 8:30.”

  Talking about some dry research topic at 8:30 on a Sunday night? This is the kind of stuff that made me drop out of grad school. These people need to get a life.

  “Did you talk to him again later?” I was getting close to the wire.

  “I did. Jordan called me around 10. I was just coming out of my meeting. He said he had dozed off on the bench. But he was getting ready to go home.”

  “Did he, er, not stay with you?”

  Jessica frowned.

  “Very rarely. Jordan was very prim and proper. And he had an early start at the ranch every day. He preferred to drive home if the weather was good.”

  “You didn’t insist he spend the night?”

  I tried to imagine them. Say I had just been on a romantic date with the person I was going to spend my life with. Wouldn’t I want to stay over?

  “I was planning an all nighter. I have to submit a research paper for a conference. I am already behind schedule. I was going to slog all of last week and then we would have Thanksgiving Week to ourselves.”

  I was stumped. I thought hard about my next question.

  “Did he like pie?”

  Jessica’s eyes filled up again.

  “Yes! Especially the one at Sylvie’s. He couldn’t eat nuts, but he always went there for her berry pie. She always set some aside for him.”

  “Did he get along with his family?”

  Jessica thought a bit.

  “He looked up to the old man. The ranch was everything to him. It flourished under his management. He planted some crops. There were the horses and then the resort. He built that from the ground up.”

  “What about the siblings?”

  “Pamela’s a spinster. She’s always lived with them. He was fine with that.”

  “She seemed quite efficient,” I observed.

  “The resort gave her new life. She loved talking to the guests, adding a woman’s touch. She was totally on board with Jordan’s plans for expanding the resort.”

  “What about that sour puss?” I crinkled my nose.

  Jessica frowned.

  “Cam? Now Cam’s a surprise.”

  I looked at her inquiringly.

  “He hated the ranch. Still hates it. He went away and joined the Army. Now he’s back, facing a discharge.”

  “What did Jordan feel about the prodigal brother?”

  “Nothing much to feel. He’s family. It’s his inheritance as much as Jordan’s and Pam’s.”

  “So Jordan was okay with Cam coming back to stay on the ranch?”

  “I guess. I didn’t want to interfere.”

  “And the old man?”

  “Oh, Pa Harris? He’s such a dear. He grew up on that land. He was very happy with the changes Jordan made. He as good as signed over everything to Jordan.”

  “I bet the other two weren’t pleased?”

  Jessica was quiet.

  “You don’t think Jordan died because of money, do you?”

  “Hard to say anything at this point,” I quipped. “I’m just trying to get as much information as possible.”

  “My Daddy’s rich. Super rich.” Jessica looked sad. “And I’m an only child. It will all come to me one day.”

  “And did Jordan know that?”

  “I suppose,” Jessica mused. “It was kinda obvious, although we never talked about it. Jordan was the proud sort. He wanted to make it on his own. The land wasn’t his, of course. But everything else was.”

  “How was his state of mind last week. Was he happy, sad, troubled about something? Angry?”

  “You don’t think he harmed himself, do you?” Jessica demanded. “Jordan would never do that. He had big plans. We were planning our wedding for next summer, after my graduation.”

  “He must have been feeling something,” I probed further.

  Jessica was silent for a while. I rode it out.

  “He was a bit worried about Cam,” she finally admitted. “He didn’t know what to expect from him.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Cam never hid the fact that he hated the ranch. One day he would talk about selling off the land. Then he would want to plant wheat on all the acres. Then he wanted to plant an organic farm.”

  “Did they fight over it?”

  “Not in front of me,” Jessica shook her head. “Cam was unpredictable. You never knew what fancy plan he might come up with next.”

  I had a lot to process. And I couldn’t think of any more questions.

  “That’s all I can think of right now. But I may want to ask you more questions later.”

  Jessica wrote down a number on a Post-It note. She slid it over to me.

  “This is my number, and my email. Feel free to get in touch any time. I’ll do anything to help you get to the bottom of this.”

  “Um, about that,” I ventured. “Do you think you could get me back on the ranch? I would like to talk to the rest of the family.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Jessica promised.

  I walked back to my desk and spent the rest of the day on my feet. I drove to the diner, knowing it was closed. There was a big fat seal across the entrance. A callous flyer informed whoever concerned that the property was closed for inspection.

  Becky sat on a stoop, looking morose. She had been waiting for me.

  “Where’s Jon and Sylvie?” I asked.

 
“Haven’t seen them today. I spoke to Jon on the phone. Sylvie’s been crying her eyes out. They are afraid they might lose their license.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

  I was trying to figure out what was wrong.

  “We work here every day, Becky. We know there’s no rats in there. Or any rat poison. Maybe we shouldn’t be worried.”

  “Reputation is everything in the food business,” Becky lamented. “Even if the department clears the place, people will still remember it was shut down.”

  “We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” I sighed. “Let’s go!”

  Chapter 11

  The campus was like a deserted town in an old Western movie on Wednesday afternoon. I drove straight home. Tony was busy running errands for his mom. We were all invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the Sinclairs’. We’ve split up holidays between us so everyone can enjoy. We do Labor Day and Diwali, and Aunt Reema has us over for Thanksgiving. Her menu is always a mix of traditional Thanksgiving dishes with some of her Indian recipes.

  I was making my cranberry relish. It was the only dish we were taking to the party. Sylvie was expected to bring a couple of pies, but I wasn’t sure she would be up to it in her current frame of mind.

  I had chosen to cook the cranberries in our guest house. This is like a spacious apartment right on our property, a few feet away from the main house. It’s a great hang out spot for us when we’re in a rowdy mood. I like to use the kitchen there for trying out new recipes. It’s one of the few places where I can be alone and undisturbed.

  I switched off the burner and lifted the pot containing the spicy berries onto a cold one. I was looking forward to a few hours of solitude.

  I settled down on the deep leather couch that looked out onto the patio. I closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my mind of all thought. I had put this off long enough, but it was high time I embarked on my personal project.

  The last memory I have of my mother is walking back home from school, holding her hand, begging for cookies. On that fateful day, Swan Creek was struck by a freak tornado and it ripped off more than the roof of our house. My mother, Sarla Patel, was a casualty of this F-3 that wreaked havoc in our lives. She was never seen or heard of again, declared dead by the State after the required number of years.

  Jeet and I were raised by Motee Ba and Pappa. Dad was more an absentee father, buried in his books and his research. Anything related to Mom has been taboo in our family. Until this summer. My search for a hapless Indian student had stirred the pot, riling us all up. I had finally dared to confront Dad, and voice all my anguish related to my mother. I learned how hard they had worked to track her down. I was able to forgive my Dad a bit. But a new resolve had developed in my mind.

  I vowed to try and find my Mom, dead or alive. Maybe I am being foolish. What do I know, after all? The trail was cold, seventeen years later. I was setting myself up for failure.

  The first time I’d mentioned this, Tony had looked at me like I was crazy. Jeet, that stupid teen brother of mine, had been ready to burst into tears. That had only strengthened my resolve and told me one thing. I had to do this on my own.

  I considered the type of investigations that had already been done. Right after the accident, police had checked the neighboring states for any casualties. Mom’s photograph had probably been faxed over to surrounding police stations. I didn’t know exactly what had been done. But there was a good chance some new information had surfaced in the last seventeen years.

  I fired up the computer and tried to find some information online. I was trying to find out if there was some kind of database for unsolved cases. I wanted to check if Mom’s name was still on there. If not, I wanted to put it there.

  One of the first things anyone would need was a photograph. I imagined approaching people with a twenty year old photo. It just wouldn’t fly. I needed to get a brief idea of what Mom would look like today.

  I wrote my first task down. Find out what Mom would look like today. Image processing was one of my favorite subjects in college. I had played around with a lot of morphing software. Now I needed to write a program that would add age to a photo. It would take a few days but I could do it.

  The hard part was getting in touch with the right authorities, asking them stuff. I wrote down the scenarios that had been already considered. Death! No body had ever turned up and this gave me hope.

  Dad had told me about another scenario they had thought of. What if my mother did not want to be found? I decided to table it for the time being.

  What if Mom had been hurt or injured, unable to speak or tell someone about herself? Maybe she had been held against her will? I forced myself to think about worst case situations, however dire they sounded. The alternative was my Mom didn’t exist. Anything was better than that.

  Contacting the authorities was going to be the next step. I needed to check if there was any active missing persons report about Mom. If not, I probably had to open one. I realized I couldn’t do all this on the sly. I needed to discuss this with Dad and Motee Ba. It wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to.

  Writing an aging program was something I could do without anyone’s help. I got started on it right away.

  Everyone woke up late on Thursday. I made pumpkin pancakes and served them with a special spiced syrup. I add ricotta to the batter and these pancakes are really heavy. So okay, we would stuff ourselves at Thanksgiving dinner but that would be much later around 3 or 4 PM. A hearty brunch was in order.

  Cheesy scrambled eggs with jalapenos went great with the pancakes, topped with fresh salsa and sour cream.

  I had come to a decision last night. I was going to level with Dad from the onset. I decided to confront him right after brunch.

  Dad had disappeared into his study the minute he finished shoveling his breakfast. Half the time, I doubt if he even notices what he eats. I knocked on the study door, bracing myself for a tough talk.

  “Come in, Meera!” he called out.

  Dad can always tell who’s at the door.

  “That brunch was excellent,” he complimented.

  I smiled.

  “How much trouble are you in?” he joked.

  “I want to reopen Mom’s case,” I blurted out.

  Dad’s face turned a shade darker.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I want to look for her, Dad. I need this.”

  He was quiet for a minute.

  “I thought you might get around to this some day.”

  “Look, Dad. I’m glad you told me about all your efforts. I have no doubt you did your best. The best that was possible at that time. But it’s been, what, seventeen years. New information could have come to light.”

  “So you’ll look for her now,” Dad began. “And what? Look again 20 years later? Who knows how far technology will advance in the next 20 years?”

  I thought that was unfair, but I stuck to my point.

  “I need to do this now. Reopen the case. Talk to people.”

  “What do you want from me?” he asked, sounding old.

  “Your blessing,” I answered. “I don’t want to hide anything from the family. And I need you to help me with any questions that might arise.”

  “Alright,” Dad said. “I’m with you. But remember one thing, Meera. You’ll have to face the truth, whatever it is.”

  I told myself I was ready for that. I went around his desk and hugged Dad.

  “I’m writing a program that will show age progression,” I told him.

  His eyes gleamed.

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” he slapped his head.

  “I need an old photo, or a few old photos to work with.”

  “By all means,” Dad said cheerfully. “Use the scanner here. Scan them in.”

  I smiled. We were supposed to be intelligent. We could achieve a lot if we put our heads together.

  Dad read my mind.

  “You know what, Meer
a? Maybe fresh eyes on this is a good thing. And everyone might come up with something different. Something they missed at that time, either because they were too close to it, or because they were grieving. I think you should start by interviewing Pappa, Ba and me.”

  I was amazed. I had decided to broach this at some other time, but Dad had made it easy for me.

  “And,” he said, stooping down with a bunch of keys, “take this.”

  He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a binder that was at least 10 inches thick.

  “This has all the information – reports we filed, reports sent in by the investigator I hired, missing people organizations we contacted, newspapers we put ads in. Review this first.”

  “Thanks Dad,” I teared up. “This should be a good starting point.”

  “I suggest you still redo all that, since we want to start fresh. But this way you’ll know what was tried last time and what wasn’t.”

  I had gone in expecting a big argument. Instead, Dad had handed me a treasure trove of information.

  “Today’s Thanksgiving, isn’t it?” Dad mused. “It’s kind of fitting that you embark on this today.”

  Giving Dad one more big hug, I scrambled out. I decided to call a family meeting right then. I summoned Jeet to the living room. Motee Ba & Pappa were already there, watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV.

  “I have an announcement!” I plunged ahead.

  I gave them the short version of what I proposed to do.

  “Good luck, sweetie. I hope you succeed.”

  Motee Ba had teared up as expected. Jeet looked resigned.

  “I’ll pitch in if needed, Meera.”

  He had been barely two when we lost Mom. He didn’t remember her at all.

  Pappa tapped his cane, getting excited. I thought he would blow a fuse.

  “Finally you’re talking sense, girl,” he sputtered. “I’ve been waiting for you to grow up and go look for your mother.”

  This was my second shock of the day.

  “Why didn’t you say something all this time, Pappa?” I burst out.

  “Waiting for you to grow up, wasn’t I?” he growled.

  “Hush, Mr. Patel,” Motee Ba warned, fearing an argument.

  She held out her arms and I went into them, sitting on the edge of her chair. Jeet rolled his eyes, made a gagging sound and disappeared into his room.