by Ami Diane
“And it’s all for a good cause, I hear.” Ella patted her stomach. “Question, though, what happens if someone wants to keep the pie they make? You know, for the sake of charity.”
“They can buy it at the auction.” Wink’s eyes widened slightly in both understanding and alarm. “Oh, but if it’s yours, don’t worry. You can keep it.”
Ella feigned a gasp and put her hand to her chest, leaving a handprint of flour right over her heart. “I’m insulted. But I’ll get over it. Especially when I dig into my delicious apple—”
“Pumpkin.”
“—my delicious pumpkin pie.”
“If you think it’ll be edible, be my guest. In fact, I’ll bet you—”
“No,” Ella said, shaking her hands in front of her, “no more bets with you. The last one resulted in me dangling several hundred feet in the air in one of your death traps you call a hang glider.” She tipped her head, part of one of Wink’s previous comments finally registering. “Wait. There’s an auction?”
“Yes. The proceeds help families who are struggling to make ends meet. Also, a portion of the pies will be donated to the food bank.”
Ella’s tongue ran over her lips, thinking about her chances of getting even more pies at the auction—pies she was sure wouldn’t taste a million miles from pumpkin like she had no doubt hers would.
Wink clapped her hands, gathering everyone’s attention. “Alright. Grab a station if you don’t already have one. There’s more in the diner, but I ask if you plan on being in there, wait for instructions and demonstrations first.”
Chaos ensued—not potluck level of pandemonium but more akin to Black Friday shopping.
Ella leaned against the island, taking inventory of the various baking utensils in front of her. Most of them were familiar in a vague sense, between her time spent in the diner and late nights of insomnia watching cooking shows before getting stranded in Keystone. A few items, however, looked like they belonged in Will’s shop and no doubt could be turned into one of Flo’s experimental ghost weapons.
After pinching her skin in something with a gear, a handle, and a whisk, she took in her co-bakers and instantly recognized a wrinkled face.
“Edwin! I didn’t know you’d be here. We could’ve walked over together.”
The other boarder’s eyes crinkled with a warm smile. “That’s alright. I had to run to the market first, anyway.”
“How’s business at the water treatment plant?”
“As wet as ever.”
Like Ella, he’d been stranded when the town had traveled to North Carolina, 1969. Although there were vacant, abandoned houses in town, the older gentleman seemed hesitant to put down roots. In him, Ella saw a kindred fire—a determination and hope—that he might one day return home.
Perhaps that was why he kept to himself mostly, she thought, never one for conversation or social gatherings—which surprised her all the more that he was there. Maybe his walls were crumbling. Maybe he was accepting his fate.
Ella swallowed, wondering at what point she would do the same.
Two other people were stationed at the island with them. A woman, who appeared to be in her late forties but wore her years twice over, stood next to a young girl Ella pegged to be a tween. Based on their interactions and the way the woman scolded the girl for sticking a stale fry she’d found in her mouth, they were mother and daughter. Or a girl and a really bad babysitter.
Before Ella could introduce herself, Wink called the room to order by clapping again. When that failed to get attention, she resorted to letting out a shrill whistle that left one of Ella’s ears ringing.
“Alright, everyone! Thank you, all, for coming. I’m not one for speeches—“
“Since when?” a female voice called out, garnering a few laughs.
“And frankly,” Wink continued, glaring at a woman near the sink, “I find them dull. So, I just want to say, we’ll be following my recipe for pumpkin pie unless you’ve brought your own.
“Ideally, you’d want your crusts in the refrigerator for about four hours, but since we don’t have that time, we’ll be putting them in the freezer for about a half hour.
“Feel free to play with the spices a little, adjust to taste, but don’t go crazy. And most importantly, have fun!”
Wink handed out recipe cards, and Ella squinted at the list of ingredients, her heart drumming up a beat. There were only four for the crust. Even she would have a hard time messing this up.
Once everyone settled down again, Wink did her demonstration, mixing the ingredients to a coarse crumble. She then pulled out a ball of dough from the refrigerator that she’d made beforehand.
After rolling it out, she showed them how to press the dough evenly into a pie plate and how to pinch the top to make that pretty design Ella had always wondered about.
Quietly counting the sea of heads, Ella wondered how they were going to bake all of the pies of the nearly two dozen people in attendance. Then, she remembered Rose mentioning cleaning the industrial-sized one at the inn so that Wink could commandeer it for the charity bake workshop.
She looked down at her clean workspace, taking a mental snapshot to remember fondly for when it became a mess. “Here goes. Good luck, everyone. Go team island.”
Edwin grunted. The woman gave her a tight-lipped smile before focusing on measuring the ingredients into her bowl.
However, the young girl’s eyes danced with excitement. “Pumpkin pie’s my favorite. I hope I get to keep mine. Mama says I might be able to.” She glanced sideways at her mother, some of the light fading from her eyes. Ella didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d probably have to bid on it if she wanted to keep it.
The first ingredient listed for the crust called for flour. She read the list and instructions three times to safeguard against any mistakes.
After dragging the burlap sack of flour towards her, Ella carefully measured out one and a fourth cups, spilling a good half-cup on the counter as she did.
“Mind if we share?” Edwin reached for the bag, his measuring cup paused mid-air.
“Go for it. It’s Rose’s, so, naturally, I brought it to share with everyone.” She winked.
All levity left the moment she drew eye level with the cup of flour. She brushed a hand over the surface just to be certain it was flush with the top before dumping the contents into a bowl.
A deep breath left her lungs as if she’d been defusing a nuclear device.
The young girl across from her covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. “First time baking?”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Ella introduced herself then Edwin.
“My name’s Sarah Hanks. And this is my mama, Evelyn Hanks.”
Ella nodded at both of them before focusing on the recipe card she’d propped up against her bowl. As she dumped salt in, the measuring spoon dropped in as well.
While fishing it out, she couldn’t help but notice the calculated precision in which Evelyn measured and poured her ingredients. Actually, nearly every movement she made was methodical and orderly, including how she tucked her hair behind her ear.
She swept her hands over the counter, scooping up a nearly invisible amount of flour and dumping it into the trashcan nearby. Then she washed her hands in the sink, scrubbing like a surgeon.
Ella’s eyes met Sarah’s before the girl’s gaze dropped intently to her bowl and she bit her lower lip.
While Ella focused on dicing the chilled butter given to her without butchering her own fingers, she eavesdropped on the conversations around her. A gaggle of women behind her, below the pass-through, were clucking about Erik.
“I heard he was done in with an ax,” a woman with gray hair and a pillbox hat was saying. “Hey, Wink,” she hollered, garnering more than just the diner owner’s attention, “Is it true what we heard? Erik was done in with an ax?”
Wink’s eyes widened a fraction. “Wherever did you hear a thing like that, Gertie? How did you hear a thing like that?” Her eyes flitted to Ella who
subtly shook her head.
“So, it’s true, is it? Bludgeoned or clean through? Was there lots of blood?”
“Good grief,” Evelyn said. “Some ears aren’t old enough to hear, you mind?” She dipped her head in her daughter’s direction.
“I don’t mind, Mama.”
“If it was an ax that killed him,” the woman beside Gertie began, completely ignoring Evelyn’s request, “I bet it was Leif. That man’s never without one of them things strapped to his hip.”
“That’s exactly why it couldn’t be him. Too obvious,” Gertie said, her pillbox hat nodding jauntily in agreement.
Gertie’s station mate leaned in but kept her voice loud. “What I wanna know is what he was doing out there that time of night in the first place? If you ask me, a grown man wandering the snow in the dead cold of darkness ain’t up to no good. Seems like he was looking for trouble and found it.”
“He wasn’t looking for trouble,” a third woman said.
Ella craned her head toward the new voice beside the antique refrigerator. A woman with regal posture that’d make a soldier envious swept aside a wisp of brown hair and began adding water to her bowl.
Gertie pushed her ear forward, dusting flour over her hair, skin, and blouse. “What’s that you say, Gladys?”
“He was there because I asked him to watch over the greenhouses. He was running security for me and patrolling the woods.” The woman named Gladys turned her mouth down at the corners, and her features drooped with the weight of some unseen burden.
Wiping the butter off her hands, Ella leaned close to Edwin’s ear, whispering, “Mrs. Faraday?”
He nodded, his sagging neck quivering from the movement.
Ella’s ears perked up as she grabbed her measuring cup and dodged her way to the sink. She scurried back, sloshing water onto the floor, not wanting to miss any conversation pertaining to the Norseman.
The two women who’d started the gossip were suddenly in a heated debate on whether shortening was better than butter. When it appeared they weren’t going to ask the greenhouse supervisor any more questions, Ella tuned them out and asked herself.
“How come you needed security?”
Mrs. Faraday leveled her gaze on Ella, sizing her up. Her eyes softened a moment later. “You must be Ella. I’ve heard about you.”
“All good things, I’m sure.”
“Yes, well….” She smoothed out her apron.
“Okay, well, maybe just things. So, Erik…?”
“We had some break-ins recently.”
“Anything taken? Tools?”
“Nothing valuable—well, not of monetary value. But some produce was stolen, dirt turned up. Made a mess of our potatoes.”
Ella’s brows pinched together. “Sounds like someone in need of food.”
“Agreed. Ordinarily, I’d just give it to them. But we have a procedure to follow. The town buys up the surplus and stores it at the food bank where it can be picked up there.”
Ella nodded, taking in the information. Turning back to her bowl, she poured the water in a little at a time as Wink had done during her demonstration.
The only logical explanation she could come up with for someone circumventing the system was that perhaps they were too ashamed or embarrassed to go into the food bank. Or maybe they couldn’t wait? Whatever the reason, she wondered if that’s what had gotten Erik killed. Had the bandit returned?
One thing was certain. Whoever it was had gotten the drop on a veritable Viking.
CHAPTER 8
AROUND HER, SEVERAL people were rolling out their crusts. Ella eyed the mush in her bowl.
“Is it supposed to look like this?” she asked Wink.
Her friend leaned over the counter then shook her head. “Is it supposed to look like soup? No, dear.” Wink crossed her arms. “I usually make a few spare crusts for the mess-ups. When I suspected you might come, I made a couple of extra and set them aside. Just for you.”
Ella pumped her fist in the air. “Awesome.” She held her hand out, hoping for a high five. “Honestly, it’s not hard.”
She forced Wink’s stiff hand to hit hers. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to get a high five from someone in Keystone.
She added, “Be thankful I’m not teaching you how to fist bump.”
Wink stared at Ella like she’d grown a second head. “Just dump that muck into the trash and start working on your pumpkin filling.”
“Sure thing. I don’t suppose you made an extra batch of that, too?”
Wink blinked then walked away, shaking her hot pink head.
“Is that a no? Yeah, that’s a no,” Ella said to anyone listening nearby. She caught Sarah giggling. “She secretly likes me. That’s why she made me a special crust—”
Wink hollered from someplace in the corner. “I didn’t want you burning down my kitchen!”
Ella mumbled under her breath about the woman’s supersonic hearing as she tossed the ooze in her bowl into the trash. She grabbed dough from the fridge, rolled it out, and hurriedly put it into the pan.
When the majority of the bakers were ready to move on to the filling, Wink walked them through another demonstration then let them loose again.
“You all will have to take turns on the mixers. Thanks to those who brought their own, by the way. I’ll walk around and help who needs it.”
“Why are you looking at me?” Ella shot her a dark look.
While they measured and added spices to their pumpkin puree, Ella grew comfortable enough with her measuring skills to chat with Edwin. Eventually, conversation turned to his wife.
“Was Martha good at baking?” Ella asked.
He chuckled, lightly beating an egg. “She was lousy at it. We both were. We usually ordered takeout or opened a can of something and warmed it on the stove. It was something we both joked about often.”
His face pinched with emotion as his eyes lifted to some far-off point as if his wife was just over the horizon, just out of reach.
“I wonder what Martha’s doing right now.” His voice caught. “And if she’s married. If she’s happy.”
He turned the wedding band on his finger. “Our anniversary is this week. We got married on Christmas. Made it easier to remember the date.”
“I’m so sorry, Edwin. How long had you two been married before…”
“Forty-two years.”
Ella reached out with her flour-covered hand and squeezed his, leaving a ghost print behind.
“If I ever had one wish, it’s to see my Martha again. Someday.” His voice came out low and wistful as he stared at that distant point again. He didn’t have to expound. She knew. She knew what he meant because she held the same hope.
Someday.
A band grew tight across Ella’s chest with pain for the man, with pain for Martha. Somewhere in the annals of time was a woman mourning the loss of her husband, with no answer for where he’d gone, just disappeared.
It made her think of her own family. How long would her parents search for a body before declaring her dead? Would they hold a memorial?
Ella cleared her throat and stopped the waterfall dark thoughts from flooding her mind.
Attempting to lighten the mood, she said, “It was 1969 when you were stranded here, right?” She whistled. “You missed the seventies.”
“Did I miss much?”
“Depends. What’s your stance on long hair, tight pants, and political coverups?”
He made a face, and she laughed before dipping her fingers into her bowl to retrieve a shard of eggshell.
Across from them, their two co-bakers remained subdued. Sarah’s hand searched the debris littering the counter and came up with another cold fry. Her mother lifted the empty egg carton and told Sarah to make herself useful and get more.
“I’ll do it,” Ella volunteered. “I’m closer to the fridge and know right where they are.”
The young girl smiled gratefully but the corners of her mouth strained. When El
la went to the fridge to hunt down another carton, a ball of gray fur on top of the appliance caught her eye.
Ella eyed Wink’s pet squirrel, particularly his velour tracksuit—a repeat outfit. Thankfully, her boss wasn’t wearing her matching outfit today. That was an image Ella was still trying to scrub from her brain.
Wink appeared at Ella’s side like a ghost, snapping her fingers at the rodent to get him down while at the same time trying to be discreet, probably because it violated some kind of health code.
Ella spoke just above a whisper. “I thought he was supposed to stay out of the kitchen?”
“He is.” Wink’s nostrils flared, her pink bob brushing over her shoulders.
After a minute of noncompliance on part of the squirrel, she plied Chester with a handful of nuts and rushed him out of the room.
Shaking her head, Ella returned to the island with the egg carton. The moment Evelyn reached for the eggs, Sarah popped another stale fry into her mouth behind her mother’s back.
“Mind if I borrow that when you’re done?” the lady in the pillbox hat asked, jabbing an arthritic finger at the carton.
“Sure, but there’s another two dozen in the fridge if anyone else needs eggs.”
The older woman’s mouth formed an “O” as she nabbed the carton.
On Wink’s next lap around the kitchen, Ella caught her elbow and dropped her voice. “This isn’t the time nor place to discuss this, but we are going to Columbo Erik’s death, right? I mean, the three of us?”
With the help of both Wink and Flo, she’d helped solve two other murders, well, three if she counted the skeleton drudged up from the bottom of the lake.
“Is that some sort of twenty-first century slang for a seance?”
“What? No. Good Lord, how’d you get a seance from that? Never mind. I should’ve said something about Sherlocking his murder instead. Oh! That’s great. It’s like unlocking and using the fictional character as a verb simultaneously. It works on two levels, get it?”
She held out her hand for another high five. After several awkward seconds, she let it fall to her side with a sigh.
“I don’t know. I suppose we should let Chapman do his job, and there’s so much to do here—who am I kidding? Of course, we’re sticking our noses where they don’t belong.” Wink’s eyes glinted, and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Why do you think I talked Gladys into coming? She was on the fence, but I told her she could take home a loaf of banana bread.”
