Death Takes a Break

by Vikki Walton

  Add slightly beaten eggs to mixture and fold together.

  Optional Step: Brush melted chocolate lightly over piecrust with pastry brush before filling (Christie’s version)

  Place cut pecans into an unbaked pie shell.

  Pour the filling over pecans.

  Set filled pie pan on middle rack in oven.

  Optional: Put piecrust protector shield on piecrust.

  Fifth Step: Bake Your Pie

  Bake at 350 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes (check your oven temp)

  Then reduce heat to 325 degrees for 40 to 45 minutes.

  Optional: If using piecrust protector shield, remove for first or last 15 minutes.

  Optional: Last five-ten minutes brush piecrust with melted butter or egg wash.

  Sixth Step: Check Your Pie

  Test to see if the pie is done by lightly “shaking” the pie pan. The middle should have some jiggle to it but have a solid consistency, not watery. Conversely, insert a knife can be inserted in the middle of the pie and should come out clean. If done, remove from oven.

  Seventh Step: Cool The Pie

  Place the pie on a cookie cooling rack or other stand so that the bottom of the pie has circulation under it. Let the pie cool completely before cutting.

  Eighth Step: Eat The Pie!

  Notes:

  Coating the piecrust can provide an added flavor but can also help with soggy piecrust bottoms.

  Cut pecans make the pie easier to cut and you get pecans in every bite. The cut halves will surface at the top of the pie just like regular pecans.

  In place of vanilla extract, brandy or whisky can be substituted.

  According to safety standards, pecan pie should be placed (and kept) in the refrigerator within two hours.

  ~~~

  The outdoor kitchen—as they called it—had been closed for a long time. For a while the church ladies had used the kitchen when canning but over the years, it had been used less and less as people modernized their own homes. The space got some use when Christie came home during Thanksgiving and Christmas but that had dwindled in the last few years as work had taken over much of her life.

  While enclosed from the elements, it had taken Christie a few days of elbow grease to get rid of all the spiders that had sought its shelter. Now, it shone and was ready for use once again.

  Christie ambled out to the building, a large box of supplies in hand. She opened the screen door into the main front room, which was little more than a screened-in porch with shutters all around it for closing it up when not in use. She unlatched the sliding door that separated the appliance area from the outdoor space and flipped on the light switch. The lights illuminated the space while Christie rolled the stainless-steel island out from the cabinet area.

  Christie set ceramic mixing bowls that she would need for making the pie filling on the counters. The refrigerator was old but still useable and cold. Now, it mainly held watermelon and other things that couldn’t fit in the smaller indoor fridge. She pulled the piecrust dough she’d made earlier from its interior. An old cassette-tape radio from the eighties stood on top of the fridge, and she turned it on. A nasally twang and a melody of fiddles and mandolin filled the air. Real country music—that’s what Pop called it—crackled through the small speakers. She gathered the ingredients and set to work, humming along to older tunes she recalled from her youth. Christie made quick work of filling the pies after adding in chopped pecans like Pop preferred. As far as she knew, her mother had started chopping the pecans after Pop had complained about having pecans in one bite but not the next one. Ever since then, they’d kept preparing pecan pie that way.

  The squeak of a screen door brought her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Pop standing in the door. “Supper’s ready.”

  “Perfect timing, Pop. I was just finishing.” She completed loading all the tools back into the box and eyed the various pies cooling on the counters.

  He cocked his head, listening for a moment. “I think they’re playing our song, darling. Come on.” He took her hand, and they two-stepped around the tiny space. A fleeting memory of watching her mother and father dance around the area came to her mind. She stifled a sob and rubbed at the tears on her cheeks.

  “I miss her, too, darling.” He squeezed her hand. “We can get that box later. Let’s eat.” He’d prepared black-eyed peas with roasted ham, collard greens, and cheesy grits. A plate sat on the table with a tea towel over it.

  She smiled. “Oh, please tell me that’s what I think it is.”

  “Yep. You’re favorite. Fried green ‘maters. Ain’t nothing in this world…” he sang the familiar tune she’d heard so many times growing up.

  “Pop, this is wonderful.” Plates and silverware were already set at their places and in the middle a mason jar held a display of sunflowers and other wildflowers. They filled their plates with the home-cooked spread.

  “Um. Hm,” he muttered through a mouth full of buttered cornbread. He wiped his mouth. “Now, I want the truth from you, girl, and I ain’t stopping ‘til I hear it.”

  There was no use trying to keep something from her father. It was like he had a sixth sense about these things. She shared about the text to Hector coming from her phone and her suspicions about Cole taking her phone.

  “That’s something. I just don’t see that boy doing something he shouldn’t. Nope. Just can’t see it. He’s a good kid. I don’t understand about your phone though.”

  “It’s simple, Pop. If it looks like one of us lured Hector out here and then he dies—”

  “Like to say one of us was to blame for his death?” Pop shook his head. “I don’t see why someone would do that. Nope, not Cole. I won’t believe it.”

  He took a swallow of cold buttermilk. “But that wife of his…never did like her. Whenever all y’all girls were together, I’d hear Ma say to herself, ‘she’s a bad’ un.’ You know your ma, bless her soul, always could read people like that.”

  “Yes, I’m not a fan of Kimberly, either, but if she was having an affair with Hector, I can’t see why she’d want to kill him. What would she gain by that?”

  Pop began to speak but instead speared a crispy tomato with his fork. “Maybe Hector was going to tell Cole.”

  “That’s a possibility. But that would have consequences for him, too. They worked together. I can’t see Emma letting both of them stay on after that announcement.”

  “If Hector was going to stay there.” Pa cut a piece of ham and popped it in his mouth.

  Christie laid down her fork. “Pop, you know something you’re not telling me.”

  “All I’m saying is that maybe Hector decided he wanted to steer his life a different direction. In fact, he may have even been thinking about a new career.”

  “Pop, you’re holding something back. What is it?”

  “A few months ago Hector visited me. He hated how the Websters were so pushy about getting the Altgelt property and this property. He said it obsessed them. He was frustrated, and he told me that he wouldn’t put it past them to have something to do with Curtis’s barn fire.”

  “Really? He told you that?”

  “To my face. He did.” He picked up another fried green tomato.

  “Wow. That changes everything. If Hector had information the Websters were involved in the fire, that could have potentially destroyed their business and sent them to jail.”

  He looked at Christie. “And give them a mighty good reason for Hector to be silenced.”

  Christie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “This is getting crazier and crazier. Pop, what’re we going to do?”

  He pointed his fork at her. “We ain’t gonna do nothing. Stay out of it. Hug can handle it.”

  “But someone has my phone and used it to text Hector. That will not go away.”

  He nodded. “That is something. But we got to give it time.”

  “Pop, I don’t like you being out here by yourself. If the Websters tried to burn down the barn, who’s to say they
won’t try something here?” She took a drink of tea. “Maybe they’re the ones who cut the fence line.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, in all the commotion, I forgot to tell you. Way out past that grove of cedar and mesquite, someone cut the fence line. That’s probably how Curtis’s heifer got over here.”

  “Were there tire tracks?”

  “I didn’t notice any, but I didn’t get off the horse and look. There were some other tracks, but I figure they were from animals crossing there. Deer trails, maybe.”

  “Tomorrow, I’ve got to go talk to Curtis.”

  Christie picked up the dishes and put them over at the sink. “Pop, let me go with you. I have to go with Trish in the morning, but I can take you over in the afternoon after your exercises.”

  He sighed. “I hate those exercises. They hurt.”

  “You may hate them, but you’ll hate not having the full use of your arm if you don’t do them. You never let me know it was hurting. We’ll go easier. Don’t overdo it, okay?”

  “Fine. Now you go on and get them pies inside. I can manage here.”

  “You did pretty well on this meal for someone with only one hand.”

  “Actually,” he winked, “the church ladies brought this over. I think they forgot you’re here. All I did was fry up the ‘maters.”

  “If that’s the case, then what did they bring for dessert?”

  He laughed. “Homemade peach ice cream.”

  “Then, those pies can wait.” She headed to the freezer.

  ~~~

  It was late when Christie finally stuck the pecan pies in the pie safe, but it was okay with her. She enjoyed the quiet of the evenings. From her spot on the glider under the trees, she could see the flicker of the television set as her father watched a classic western feature. She stood and stretched, deciding to walk down to the barn. Checking the water in the trough, the horses ambled up to her. She stroked the mare’s side. “What do you say, old girl? Too many questions and not enough answers?”

  The horse neighed.

  “Yep, exactly what I was thinking.”

  That night, Christie tossed and turned, sleep evading her.

  Was Hector having an affair with Kimberly? Had he called it off, and she’d gotten mad? Or was their argument about him telling Cole? Or something else entirely? It was possible that his death could be from natural causes or heatstroke. But then, why would he have driven out to their place if he felt so ill?

  Another thought intruded. Kimberly cheating on Cole…where did she fit in the picture? She would have wanted to stop Hector from telling Cole about it but Hector coming to their place didn’t fit.

  Cole had been out on the property. He could have picked up her phone and texted Hector to come out, then confronted Hector. But Hector hadn’t been attacked, so that made little sense. Maybe he wanted to find out if Hector was having an affair with Kimberly but decided against confronting him and simply didn’t show up. Yet he had been adamant that they take the money offered by the Websters for Pop’s accident.

  Christie laid on her back and wiggled her fingers on her hand that had fallen asleep. She sighed. The fact remained that the people who had the most to gain would be the Websters.

  They had a lot to lose if Hector implicated them in the Altgelt fire. They would lose everything. People have killed for much less. But again, nothing pointed to Hector dying from anything other than natural causes—either heatstroke or—. Christie shot up in bed. The electrolyte drinks. Both Cole and Hector were drinking it and Cole had complained of a stomach-ache.

  “Ugh. Stop it. You’re making things up.” Christie flipped her pillow to the cool side and punched it down. She turned over and faced toward the back of the sofa. She needed to sleep in a real bed. The couch had been comfortable enough for a day or two, but after that, Christie struggled to get comfortable and her back was starting to complain. She needed to talk to Pop about a different arrangement when she visited.

  She thought of her father. At his age he couldn’t handle this place much longer on his own. She’d noticed him having lapses with his memory and had caught him sleeping on the porch with a lit cigar close by. It was a vice he’d tried to give up for years, but he had taken it back up when her mother died. Christie always knew when Pop’s stress levels increased because he caved into smoking. Thankfully, she’d noticed him going back to it less while she’d been back home. But his injury hadn’t helped. He knew she disapproved so he’d often do it while she was away from home.

  She struggled with the thoughts of her father’s growing need for help. It may be that she would need to consider coming back home to care for her father. She would, of course. In an instant. But she couldn’t live here. Christie sighed deeply and took deep breaths. Maybe tomorrow they’d get some answers.

  Chapter Seven

  Christie retrieved one of the pecan pies from the pie safe. The pecans glistened in their sea of syrup. She recalled how she’d found out that when the pie was first made, it had been called syrup pie. Then someone added pecans to it. She covered the pie with a beeswax wrap, and settling it into the seat, she drove over to the address in Boerne that Trish had provided her.

  Hector’s house was in the older section of town where many homes bore yellowed limestone along the lower portion of the outside facades. She drove down Main Street, passing many familiar establishments and some new shops that caught her eye before turning on to Hector’s street. As Christie turned the corner, she spied Trish waving from her truck.

  Christie pulled up at the curb behind Trish and got out. “You been waiting long?”

  Trish bounced over. “Nope. Just got here, too. Need a hand?”

  “No, thanks. Got it.” Christie opened the back door and retrieved the pie container. They walked past a stand of crepe myrtle on their approach to the front door and rang the doorbell. The door opened, and a young woman wearing a baggie t-shirt with the Texas star emblazoned on it and cut-off denim shorts answered the door. She wore her dirty blonde hair up in a high ponytail. Christie guessed the woman to be in her early twenties.

  “Hey, Trish. Come on in.” The woman switched a washcloth to her other hand and opened the screen door.

  “Thanks for letting us stop by, Shana May. This is my friend, Christie. She’s the one I told you about who makes this to-die-for pie.”

  “Sounds yummy. I’m about to take a break anyway. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Christie and Trish followed the woman back to a small kitchen. The house wasn’t much bigger than her father’s place.

  As Trish and Shana May conversed, Christie asked, “Is it okay if I use the bathroom?”

  “Sure. Normally, I’d say I couldn’t since it’s not my house, but with Hector…it’s just so sad.” Shana May teared up and pointed to the right. She took a deep breath before replying, “It’s just past the living room.”

  Christie entered a hallway that was only long enough to have three doors. She peeked into the front room and saw that it was being used as an office. Papers were piled in a wire tray, and a computer’s black screen revealed nothing. She’d love to look around in there but didn’t want Shana May to get suspicious. She turned to the door on the other end of the hallway.

  The modest bedroom at the back of the house included a queen bed and two antique nightstands. The tiny room was clean, and Christie guessed Hector had a chest of drawers in the closet. But first, the nightstands. One side of the bed was clearly his side. A Yeti cup with a Whataburger logo sat next to the bed. Another wide-mouth bottle of indeterminate color made Christie gag. She never could understand snuff. A can of the chewing tobacco sat on top of the alarm clock radio. Other than that, the top of the bedside table was clear. She drew closer to his side and eased open the top drawer, in case it made any noise. She rifled through it, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  Christie listened for a moment and heard the women laughing. Trish was doing her job of keeping the woman interested in the discussion. She quickly went around to
the other side. Hand lotion and some other woman’s things proved that a woman had slept here at some point. She couldn’t go through it now though. She wished she had time to check out the closet, but time was ticking away.

  She peeked around the corner of the bedroom door, then scurried into the bathroom. Once in the room, she shut the door and opened the medicine cabinet. Inside were standard items, like ibuprofen tablets, shaving cream, toothpaste, and other toiletries. It didn’t look like Hector had been on any medication. Christie had seen nothing like that in the bedroom or the kitchen. Hector must not have been afflicted with any major disease or took any meds unless he kept them in the kitchen or with him. That meant that whatever had killed him had been given to him or he’d had heatstroke. But Christie knew that was a remote possibility. Hector had been driving in an air-conditioned truck. His shirt did not bear the signs of sweat under his arms or around his collar. That meant that something he ingested had caused the issue. Now if she could only figure out what that something had been.

  Christie opened the door quietly, and when she heard the women still talking, she went over to the office. On the desk, a parcel map and other documents were stacked in a tray. Shana May’s voice called out. “You okay in there?”

  Christie jumped.

  Shoot. I’ve got to hurry.

  She snuck back into the bathroom and flushed the toilet. As she went into the kitchen, she moaned and rubbed her stomach. “Sorry. I felt like I would be sick. But nothing. Must have been something I ate.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that.” Shana May took a bite of the pie. “This pie is delish.”

  “Thanks. I like to serve with a scoop of Blue Bell homemade vanilla ice cream.”

  “Yum. You don’t want any?”

  Christie shook her head and rubbed her tummy. “Do you think Hector has any milk in the fridge? I hate to bother, but it might settle my stomach.” She didn’t acknowledge Trish rolling her eyes at her stunt.

  Shana May hopped up. “Let me check.”

  Christie rushed over to the fridge. “Oh, I can do it.”