Nuttier Than Pecan Pie

by Rachael Stapleton

  Eve shrugged out of her coat, removed her furry white hat, and shook off the snow. Then she raked her eyes around the crowded room, looking for the owner of the joint.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, a medium‑tall, blonde haired young woman with flour in her hair and a baby tucked into the crook of her arm, pushed her way through the swinging kitchen door and began shooting her eyes around the place, from one corner of the café to the other, obviously looking for someone. And that someone was obviously Eve, since the minute she spotted her, she snapped to attention.

  “Banter! Thank goodness you’re around. I can’t believe the new girl didn’t show up for her shift.”

  “No worries.” Eve said, making googly eyes at the infant as she dumped her gear and placed her purse and keys behind the counter. Her taste buds salivated at the delicious sweet smell oozing from the back kitchen. She popped her head into the back grabbing an apron that hung on a nearby hook. Big steel ovens lined the walls, with flour-covered tables full of rising bread filling the middle. Off to the side was a storage room with ingredients cleanly labeled, covered, and kept off the ground on a silver wire rack.

  “She probably had an overpriced music festival to attend, and bicycles don’t go that fast in the snow.” She motioned with her fingers for the little girl.

  “Oh, Eve. Is that another one of your millennial jabs?” The new mom kissed her baby’s forehead and handed her over.

  “They started it!”

  Pike rolled her eyes. “By being born… you know technically I’m a millennial too.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t paint everyone with a broad brush—especially if it’s not made with organic overpriced bristles.”

  “Hah!” One of Pike’s regulars, Harold Lumos wheezed into his coffee cup.

  “Button it, Harold, or I’ll sick her on you next,” Pike barked.

  “Anyway, it smells scrumptious in here. What are you baking today?”

  “Well, in between feedings and diaper changings, I’m attempting to make a honey pastry. Don’t worry, I’m not using overpriced organic honey. Only the best processed crap for you.”

  “Yum!” Eve winked. “Although, I do prefer Bohemian Lake honey. Is that maple butter in those jars?”

  Pike Hart beamed, her tired eyes shining. “It is. You want a jar?”

  “Does a bear sit in the woods?”

  Harold looked confused.

  “I gave it a PG spin. Too much? You know, we got little ears around now.” Eve said.

  The lunch hour passed quickly, as hungry tourists and townspeople revolved in and out of the café sampling Pike’s luscious pastries. Eve barely had time for a tea break as she continually poured coffee and rang up sales with little baby Valentine strapped to her chest.

  By four in the afternoon, she was on her way across the road to Juniper’s taproom for a drink and a BFC pow-wow about tomorrow’s events. She was halfway up the Inn’s front walk—the jar of maple butter Pike had given her in thanks rattling against the keys in her purse, when her cell phone rang.

  Eve had to dig in her purse to find the darn thing, which by then had stopped ringing—of course. But the readout told her the call had come from Clara. She keyed through the phone’s contact list and called Clara Hart’s number. She really needed to get one of those new fancy schmancy smarty pants phones. All Penny had to do was tap one button to call someone back and quite frankly Eve was getting tired of being mocked. Penny constantly called it the Zack Morris model in reference to that popular 90’s tv show where one of the main characters carried a huge ass phone which hers clearly was not. That phone would be much easier to find in this purse.

  The elderly woman answered on the fourth ring. “Yello?”

  “Clara? It’s Eve. You called?”

  “Sure did. Thanks for calling me back so quickly. Could you possibly stop by the house now?”

  Eve checked her watch. Of course. Why should she have anything of her own to do? It was just after four. She was supposed to meet Ren at seven, she wanted to check in with Junie, and she still had a few errands to run. But Clara sounded worried. Something must be up. “Sure. Are you okay or should I put some grease on these wheels?”

  “I’m worried about Gwen. There’s something... strange going on.”

  “Strange? Spill it.” Eve turned and headed back across the road toward her truck.

  “Well, Gwen seems to have completely disappeared.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Eve keyed off the phone and slid it back into her purse, gunning the engine as she went.

  Clara was standing on the front porch waiting to greet her as she pulled into the driveway like a bat out of hell, slamming on the breaks and nearly taking out the planters. The elderly woman hurried down the steps as Eve climbed out of the truck.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope you didn’t run anyone over, dear.” Her face was drawn, and she was rubbing her hands rapidly together.

  “No one important. Possibly Harold. So, what’s up?”

  “It’s Gwen. As I said, I’ve tried calling her, but she doesn’t answer her phone. I think something must be wrong. Maybe she’s hurt or needs help.”

  “Why didn’t you just call the police?” Eve asked.

  Clara shook her head. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

  Eve did her best not to scowl.

  “I want you to help me check her house. I have a key.”

  Eve scouted the house next door. It was practically identical to Clara’s, aside from the slate-grey color. The homes on this street were all a combination of wood and stone. Those windows looked dark now in the waning daylight.

  Eve blinked uncertainly. “Do you think that’s the right thing to do? Maybe she’s just visiting someone out of town? Have you tried her cell phone?”

  Clara gave Eve a distinctive harrumph. “Of course. Anyway, her car is still in the garage–I checked. And she would answer if I called. I’m a helpless little old lady.” She nodded sharply, as if that settled that. “We need to check her house, and I don’t want to do it alone.”

  “I see.” Still, Eve hesitated, but by the look on Clara’s face, she knew there was no other option. “Okay, you stay here while I check but just remember this was your idea if she charges us with trespassing.”

  Clara nodded approvingly. “Gwen would never do that. I’d charge her with my boot up her butt.”

  “I thought you were just a helpless old lady?”

  “Can’t I be both? I’ll get my keys.”

  Eve smirked. That was usually her line.

  SIX

  T he snow had really built up in the absence of someone shoveling, but Clara refused to stay put and followed Eve up the front walkway that led to the wide porch.

  “Stay here, Clara, in case it’s icy.” Eve took the keys from her and climbed the few steps. She knocked first and called Gwen’s name. When she didn’t respond, she turned the knob.

  The door opened freely. It was unlocked.

  “Maybe she’s just resting upstairs and didn’t hear us,” Eve said softly to Clara.

  “Yeah, sure, and I read the fireman’s calendar for the articles.” Clara retorted, and dusted off her mittens.

  Eve chuckled and pushed the door open farther. “You know, in another life, I think we could have been besties, Clara.”

  “Maybe. As long as you didn’t try to dress me.”

  Eve entered a dark entryway that was open to the living room and nearly tripped over an umbrella holder that had been knocked over. She cursed as she heaved the cannister upright.

  “What’s going on in there?” Clara called out. She was still outside, standing on the snowy pathway beyond the porch, her hands clenched tightly in front of her, watching Eve intently.

  Eve called back over her shoulder, “I just tripped.”

  “Don’t break anything,” Clara urged.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Eve slipped out of her boots and
took a few more steps, turning to enter a hallway that led to the kitchen, but she saw no one there.

  “Gwen!” she called loudly. “Yoo‑hoo! Anyone home?”

  The place was eerily quiet. Eve looked around. A dirty pot was still soaking in the sink, waiting to be scrubbed. A cell phone, dirty plate, and paperback novel lay on the breakfast nook tabletop next to a half‑empty cup of tea.

  Eve stepped toward the table. Gingerly, she dipped the tip of her pinky into the cup, just breaking the liquid’s surface. The tea was cold. It had been here for a while.

  She looked around. Something’s hinky, she thought. She looked back into the kitchen, then surveyed the living room again. It was as if Gwen had left suddenly in the middle of whatever she was doing and hadn’t returned. She walked through another archway into a reading room. Its hardwood floors were covered with dark area rugs, bookshelves lined the walls, and a large wooden desk, piled high with books, folders, and papers, occupied one end of the room. The radio was on, though the volume was turned down. The drapes were open. But no Gwen.

  Pondering what this might mean, she walked out of the living room and into the front hallway. “Gwen!” she called out again, louder this time. “It’s Eve Banter. Are you here?”

  She turned right and almost walked right into Clara, who had come into the house, clearly intent on giving Eve a heart attack. Eve let out a yelp of surprise, and Clara squeaked and backed away quickly, her hands flying up in front of her.

  Eve put her hand on the elderly woman’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” she said, her heart beating just a bit faster.

  “Have you found Gwen yet?” Clara asked in a loud whisper.

  “Does it look like she’s with me?”

  Clara’s gaze shifted to the open staircase that led from the front hallway to the second floor. “You’d better check upstairs.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Take a weapon—just to be safe.”

  “How about I take you and that famous boot you mentioned.”

  Clara grinned. “You flatter me, girl.”

  Eve thumbed her purse and gave a wink. “Got it covered.”

  Clara nodded, “There’s no better weapon than a woman’s purse.”

  “Especially when you’re packing a dumbbell or two,” Eve smiled and started up the stairs, calling out Gwen’s name. But again, there was no response. And once she checked the second floor, she knew why – no one was home. The place was vacant. “She must have gone somewhere,” Eve said to Clara as she came back down the stairs.

  “But her car is in the garage. And she never goes on vacation without telling me first.”

  Eve shook her head as she started along the hallway to another door. “I’d better check the basement, just to make sure.”

  “It’s just a root cellar.”

  Eve found the root cellar cold, damp, and full of spiderwebs. It was illuminated only by a single naked lightbulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling, but it was enough for her to see by. Wooden shelving hung along one wall lined with jars of pickles and jams. No eye of newt or body parts in formaldehyde, so that was good. You never knew in a place like Bohemian Lake.

  There were several bins of vegetables– nothing heinous. Eve poked around a little, then switched off the light and climbed back up the stairs. “Nope, she’s not down there.”

  “Well, I’m worried,” Clara announced. She still stood in the hallway looking about her, as if expecting to see Gwen appear at any moment. “It’s just not like her. She’s never disappeared like this before.”

  “Maybe we should call the fuzz.”

  Clara nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should.”

  “Let’s head back to your place,” Eve suggested as she took out her cell phone. They trotted back across the snow-covered lawn to Clara’s and removed all of their winter gear. As the phone rang, Eve headed down the hall to the kitchen. She sniffed the air. Something smelled peculiar.

  “Bohemian Lake Police Department.”

  “Hi, I’d like to report a missing person.”

  Eve was connected to a police officer, who asked her several questions – the name and age of the missing individual, and whether the person had any chemical dependency or mental health issues. While she chatted with the police, Clara laid out the table with tea, a freshly made loaf of bread and maple butter. After also inquiring if there was a history of disappearing and reappearing, the police officer asked, “Are there any signs of foul play?”

  “What? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Is she suicidal?” The police officers asked.

  “No more than anyone else in Bohemian Lake.”

  “Pardon?”

  “No. Not that I’m aware of.” Eve clarified realizing her sense of humor was not appreciated right now.

  “Forty‑eight hours?” Clara said when Eve had keyed off the phone. She’d clearly been listening to the officer’s explanation that Gwen was an adult who had the right to roam about as she pleased.

  “But what if she needs us now? What if she’s hurt somewhere and needs our help?”

  Eve took a sip of her tea and sighed. “There’s not much more we can do immediately. Do you think she might have been the one to take the doll? I mean it was hers, right?”

  Clara shook her head. “It was, but I don’t see why she would. The timing is right though.”

  Eve sniffed the air again. That peculiar smell was back. “Do you smell something strange?” she asked, looking around the house.

  Clara seemed distracted. “No, dear.”

  “Did you leave the gas on?”

  “I don’t think so.” Clara checked the stove. “No, everything’s off. I just can’t figure out what happened to Gwen.”

  “Well, she’ll probably turn up just fine. I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Maybe she wanted to surprise you with something—maybe she’s getting a new outfit for the doll or something.” Eve pulled open Clara’s garbage drawer to dust the bread crumbs from her plate and the foul odor assaulted her full-force. “Good lord! What the heck did you throw in here.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It could be the chicken packaging from a few days ago or the tinfoil from the fish I made yesterday.”

  Eve nodded and shut the garbage lid with a thud. “Alright well, I have to run. Are you going to be okay?”

  The elderly woman looked very worried, but finally she nodded.

  “Why don’t you make yourself a nice cup of tea and relax for a while,” Eve suggested. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  Clara seemed to consider that. “Maybe you’re right,” she said after a few moments, then checked the clock on the wall. “Maybe I’ll watch a little Netflix. I just love that Jessica Jones. You know she kind of reminds me of you.”

  “Really? Cause she’s a tough kick-butt modern day heroine.”

  “No, I think it’s more about her flawed personality. And she’s a bit of a drunk.”

  “Of course. Well, it’s always lovely to visit with you but I’d better get out of here while I still have some self-esteem left. Give me a call when Gwen kicks up some dust. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow at the Bake-off. Do you need a lift?”

  “No, Pike’s picking me up.”

  SEVEN

  A fter finishing up her search for the widow Barker with Clara, Eve drove fifteen minutes out to the Festival grounds where Juniper was running the Ice Bar for the evening.

  “Something’s going on in this town,” Eve said, shouting to be heard over the crowd and the live music. “I can feel it.”

  Juniper removed the cork from a bottle of red wine and sniffed its bouquet thoughtfully. “What, you mean like with Gwen?”

  “Ren?” Eve asked, using the nickname most of the townspeople used for Lawrence. “Why would you think something’s going on with Ren?”

  Juniper reached across the cold, translucent bar top and removed Eve’s puffy white earmuffs. “That’s not what I said. But now that you mention
it, you are sitting here at the festival’s ice bar, aren’t you?” she said lightly, indicating the Carnival icy igloo event as she freshened their glasses. “On a Friday night and you’re not even the one scheduled to oversee it. Not to mention, you’re supposed to be out on a romantic date with real tablecloths, aren’t you? Don’t get me wrong, Jack’s working late restoring the cottage over at the manor so I’m glad for the company, but if it were me, I’d rather be out on a date.”

  “No offense, but me too,” Eve said, appraising her friend over the rim of her wine glass.

  “None taken.”

  They clinked glasses and sipped.

  “So,” Juniper pressed on, “just how are things going with you and Ren?”

  Eve considered the question. “Well, if you must know, some old buddy of his is suddenly in town at the last minute. Apparently, Sticky—that’s his name—is here for the winter carnival.”

  “And so, Ren just dropped you like that…to spend time with somebody named Sticky? That doesn’t sound like the Mr. Trubble I know.”

  Eve gave her a look and took another sip of wine as she pondered the question. “Well, no, it doesn’t. I guess that’s what’s the matter. I’m surprised with his behavior. He’s usually such a reliable and thoughtful person. Not many people can get one over on me. It’s not really about one cancelled date. I’m wearing my big girl panties and I don’t like needy. I just hope I haven’t been wrong about who he is. You know, I don’t like to admit it but my track record with men isn’t all that great.”

  “You don’t say?” Juniper winked. “Well, he raised Penny and he seems alright to me.”

  “True. Maybe I’m just feeling guilty.”

  “Guilty about what?”

  “I kind of sort of broke into Bianca Hyena’s office today to search for Clara’s doll.”

  “At the museum?”

  Eve nodded.

  “What does that have to do with Ren and since when have you ever felt guilty about breaking and entering?”