Pie

by Sarah Weeks

  As they biked through town Alice noticed a number of houses with pies cooling out on the windowsills. Was that all anybody in Ipswitch cared about anymore? Winning the Blueberry? Alice would have traded a million Blueberry Awards for a chance to spend one more day in the pie shop with Aunt Polly.

  As she and Charlie turned the corner and headed up the block toward the Andersons’ house, Alice was surprised to see a police car parked in the driveway.

  “Uh-oh,” said Charlie. “Looks like maybe Miss Gurke changed her mind and decided to tell on us after all.”

  “You go ahead home,” Alice told him. “The whole thing was my fault anyway. You only went along with it because I made you.”

  But Charlie insisted on coming in with her.

  “I’m the one who pitched you over the fence,” he pointed out.

  Alice’s parents were in the living room, sitting next to each other on the couch. Chief Decker was standing behind them with his hand resting on his holster, and sitting on the coffee table was a cardboard box, the top closed with masking tape.

  “It’s about time,” said Alice’s mother when Alice and Charlie walked in. “Where on earth have you been?”

  Apparently, Miss Gurke hadn’t reported them after all.

  “Alice was keeping me company while I made a delivery,” Charlie said. “To Miss Gurke.”

  It was the truth, but with a number of important (and embarrassing) details left out.

  Alice saw her parents exchange a look.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Lardo,” said her father. “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m afraid he’s — ahh-ahh —”

  “Dead?” asked Alice, fearing that her horrible day was about to become even worse.

  “— choo!” Her father sneezed. “No, no, not dead.”

  “Then what?” asked Alice.

  “See for yourself,” Alice’s mother said, pointing to the cardboard box. “But I warn you, he’s not himself.”

  Alice heard a muffled hiss coming from inside the box.

  “He sounds like himself,” she said.

  “Dick Kaperfew found him wandering around outside the Ipsy Inn, recognized him, and called it in,” Chief Decker explained. “I put him in that box so he wouldn’t scratch me.”

  “Don’t think this changes anything, Alice,” her mother told her. “Regardless of what’s happened, he’s still going to the pound in the morning.”

  Alice bent over the box and began pulling off the tape. The minute the flaps came loose, Lardo scrambled out and tumbled off the edge of the coffee table onto the floor. Alice’s mother had not been exaggerating when she’d said that he was not himself.

  Lardo’s yellow eyes were glazed over and completely crossed. He struggled to his feet and stood swaying back and forth like a sailor on the deck of a rocking ship.

  “Good gravy!” cried Charlie. “He’s drunk!”

  KEY LIME PIE

  1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk

  2 large egg yolks

  ½ cup fresh lime juice

  3 egg whites at room temperature

  ¼ tsp cream of tartar

  6 TBS sugar

  ½ tsp vanilla

  1 prebaked graham-cracker crust (9 inch)

  1) Preheat oven to 350.

  2) Mix together condensed milk, egg yolks, and lime juice. Blend well and pour mixture into piecrust.

  3) Beat egg whites together with cream of tartar until soft peaks form. Gradually add vanilla and sugar, beating until stiff. Spread mixture over pie. I use a table knife or the back of a soupspoon to shape meringue into peaks.

  4) Raise oven rack a notch and bake for 12–15 minutes until tips of meringue peaks are lightly browned.

  5) Allow pie to cool to room temperature. Refrigerate until chilled.

  Reminder: Charlie Erdling loves this pie and can easily eat a whole one without any help! (Birthday: December 30)

  Chapter Nine

  Chief Decker shook his head.

  “If it was alcohol, we would be able to smell it on him,” he said. “My guess is that the cat’s had himself a dose of sleeping powder.”

  “Sleeping powder? Where would Lardo find that?” asked Alice.

  “As I explained to your folks,” Chief Decker said, “either he dug around in someone’s garbage and accidentally ate some, or else it was kids playing a prank. Teenagers get bored in the summer and come up with all kinds of crazy ways to amuse themselves.”

  “That’s how my dad’s tractor ended up on the roof of the barn last summer,” said Charlie.

  “Exactly.” Chief Decker chuckled as he put the finishing touches on his report and handed a copy to Alice’s father.

  Alice hoped that when she became a teenager she would have better things to do than give sleeping powder to a cat or put somebody’s tractor on the roof.

  Lardo hiccupped twice, then made his way unsteadily across the room, weaving and stumbling up the stairs to Alice’s room.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Alice asked.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine by morning,” Chief Decker told her. “He just needs to sleep it off. I will say I’m mighty relieved I won’t be spending my night trying to chase down a dangerous catnapper.”

  He looked at Alice and winked. Obviously, her mother had told him about her catnapping theory. Great. One more person to add to the list of people who thought she was completely nuts.

  “Tell her about the pie shop, Herb,” said Alice’s mother. “So we can put that ridiculous notion to rest as well.”

  “Since there was nothing stolen, I suspect the break-in boils down to the same thing as the cat,” Chief Decker told Alice. “Kids looking for a thrill. I’m glad to know your aunt’s medals are safe, though. Would have been a shame to lose all those Blueberries. They’re an important part of this town’s history.”

  “Speaking of Blueberries,” said Alice’s mother, “can I offer you fellas a slice of pie, before you go? It’s chocolate cream.”

  “Homemade?” asked Chief Decker.

  “Very much so,” said Alice’s father under his breath.

  “Did you make it, Alice? I know how you loved spending time at the pie shop.”

  “I don’t know how to bake a pie,” said Alice. “Mom made it.”

  “How about you?” Mrs. Anderson asked Charlie. “Would you like a piece, too?”

  “Oh, no, thank you,” said Charlie quickly. He remembered that pie all too well. “It’s almost dinnertime and I wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite.”

  “Nonsense. A growing boy like you? Run and get it out of the fridge, Alice. And bring a couple of plates and forks.”

  Charlie looked absolutely mortified, but Alice had no choice but to do as she’d been told and fetch the pie from the kitchen. On the way, she overheard her mother proudly telling Chief Decker that if she had anything to say about it, Ipswitch wasn’t finished making Blueberry history yet.

  “You sound like my Elsie,” Chief Decker told Alice’s mother. “She’s been talking my ear off about winning the Blueberry herself this year. Can you beat that? Don’t get me wrong, my Elsie’s a fine woman, but she doesn’t have your sister’s gift for pie baking.”

  “So Elsie’s been baking pies, too, has she?” asked Alice’s father.

  “To the tune of three or four a day. I’ve got the heartburn to prove it.” Chief Decker pounded his chest with a fist and winced. “I love my wife, but she’s no Polly Portman. Don’t tell her, Ruth, but I’ve got half of one of your sister’s huckleberry pies hidden in the freezer at home. I picked it up at the shop the day before she passed, but I can’t bear to eat it.”

  Alice thought of the slice of lemon chiffon pie she’d eaten the night before, and wished that she had thought to freeze it. Had she known what was going to happen, she would have filled the freezer with enough of Aunt Polly’s pies to last a lifetime.

  “As long as it’s there,” Chief Decker continued, “I don’t have to face the thought that I mi
ght never taste a Polly Portman pie again.”

  “Perish the thought,” said Alice’s mother sarcastically. Then she called out to the kitchen, “Alice! What’s keeping you with that pie?”

  Chief Decker looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check. I didn’t realize it was so late. Elsie’s probably already got supper waiting on the table.” Then he turned to Charlie and said, “Run and grab your bike, son. We’ll toss it in the trunk of the cruiser and I’ll give you a lift home.”

  Charlie raced for the door, relieved to have escaped without being forced to taste the chocolate cream pie.

  “Tell Alice I said good-bye,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out.

  As soon as they were gone, Ruth Anderson snatched up the newspaper, which had been lying open on the couch, and furiously crumpled it into a ball.

  “Hey, I wasn’t finished reading that yet,” her husband started to protest, but when he saw the look in his wife’s eyes, he stopped.

  “Here’s a news flash for you, George,” she told him. “Elsie Decker’s trying to steal the Blueberry right out from under me.”

  “Now, Ruthie, don’t get yourself in a twist. You heard what Herb said — Elsie doesn’t have Polly’s gift. I’m sure her pies are no better than yours are.”

  “Well, if that isn’t a backhanded compliment, I don’t know what is.”

  “Mom!” Alice called from the kitchen. “Can you come out here, please?”

  Alice’s mother stuffed the balled-up newspaper into the trash basket and went out to the kitchen.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I can’t find the pie,” Alice told her.

  “It’s in the refrigerator,” said her mother.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I put it there myself, Alice.”

  “Well, it’s not there anymore,” Alice said.

  “Don’t sass your mother,” Alice’s father warned as he joined them in the kitchen.

  “I’m not sassing,” said Alice. “I’ve looked everywhere and the pie’s not here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said her mother. “Of course it is.”

  But a thorough search of the kitchen confirmed what Alice had said: The pie was nowhere to be found.

  “That’s odd,” said Alice’s father. “I had the exact same experience today with my shoes, and I still haven’t figured out where they are.”

  “If you’re talking about your black wing tips, George, I stuck them in a box out on the curb this morning for the Salvation Army to pick up.”

  “You gave away my shoes?”

  “You said they pinched.”

  “They did,” said Alice’s father. “But other than that, they were perfectly good.”

  “Can we get back to my pie, please?” said Alice’s mother. “Tell the truth, George. Did you eat it?”

  “Absolutely not,” he told her. “I haven’t seen that pie since this morning.”

  “Well, it didn’t just grow legs and walk out of here on its own, “said Alice’s mother. “So where is it?”

  The thought occurred to Alice that maybe her father had thrown the pie away and didn’t want to admit it. Or maybe Elsie Decker or Pete Gillespie had stolen the pie to eliminate their competition for the Blueberry Award. Alice shook her head. What was the matter with her? Hadn’t she learned her lesson? The last thing she needed to do was try to solve another mystery.

  “I have no idea what happened to your pie, Mom,” said Alice. “I’m going upstairs to check on Lardo. Call me when it’s time to set the table.”

  Alice’s mother announced that she was in no mood to cook that night, so it was decided that the Anderson family would have dinner downtown at the diner instead.

  “You go ahead,” Alice told her parents. “I’m not hungry.”

  The truth was, Alice didn’t feel right about leaving Lardo alone, especially if it was going to be their last night together. She found a carton of cream in the refrigerator, poured some in a little bowl for Lardo, and carried it upstairs. She expected to find him hiding under the bed but instead discovered him lying on his back in the middle of the rug, snoring loudly.

  Alice kicked off her shoes and curled up on her bed. She tried not to think about all the awful things that had happened that day. She tried not to think about the mean thing she’d said to Charlie about his brain. She tried not to think about accusing Miss Gurke of being a catnapping burglar. She tried not to think about how she’d left the window open and it was all her fault that Lardo had ended up eating sleeping powder, and most of all, she tried not to think about how disappointed her aunt Polly would be in her right now.

  Alice felt a song coming on and as darkness fell she sang it softly to herself.

  If I could make a wish right now

  I know what I would do.

  I’d wish to be some other girl

  And hope it would come true.

  Alice had trouble sleeping that night. She had an awful dream. Everywhere she looked she saw pies. Perfect pies, with tender crusts, overflowing with every imaginable kind of delectable filling. How delicious they all looked and smelled! Her mouth watered ‘til she felt she couldn’t bear another second without having a taste, but each time she reached for a pie, just as she was about to touch it, the pie would vanish into thin air. She woke up whimpering into her pillow.

  “I’d rather be happy,” Charlie had told her.

  But happiness seemed as far from Alice’s reach as the disappearing pies in her dream. She lay in bed wondering if things would ever change, and that’s when she remembered something her aunt Polly had once told her.

  “Things do not change; we do.”

  “Did you make that up?” Alice had asked.

  “No, a man named Henry David Thoreau said it. Do you understand what it means?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “If you want things to be different, you have to start by changing yourself.”

  • • •

  The next morning when Alice got up, Lardo was still sound asleep on the rug, but at some point during the night he had drunk the cream and, even better, used the litter box properly. Alice smiled. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was ready to make some changes. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Alice couldn’t wait to get downstairs to introduce her mother to the new and improved version of Alice Anderson.

  She had made herself a promise: From this day forward, things were going to be different because she was going to be different. The new Alice wasn’t going to make up annoying little songs and sing them to herself, and she wasn’t going to have ridiculous hunches, and most important of all she was never, ever going to let her imagination run away with her again. As she folded her pajamas and tucked them under her pillow, a happy song began to form in Alice’s head, but she caught herself just in the nick of time. It would take some getting used to, but she was determined to keep her promise: no more songs, no more hunches, no more active imagination.

  Mrs. Anderson was in the kitchen, frying bacon, when Alice came downstairs. Her father, as usual, was reading the newspaper.

  “Good morning,” Alice said cheerfully.

  “G’morning,” mumbled her father without looking up.

  “What are you in such a good mood about?” asked her mother over the sound of sizzling bacon.

  “I was thinking maybe we could go shopping together today, Mom,” Alice said. “For hats.”

  Alice’s mother turned to look at her.

  “Hats?”

  Alice nodded.

  “Nora Needleman and her mother have matching hats,” she said. “And I thought it might be nice if we had them, too. So we could be alike.”

  Alice’s father had lowered his paper and was staring at her.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Alice. “I just thought it might be nice for Mom and me to spend some time together. We don’t have to buy hats. We could just stay home and talk instead
.”

  “About what?” asked Mrs. Anderson, turning back to her bacon and adjusting the flame.

  “Whatever you want,” said Alice. “Aunt Polly and I did that all the time. She’d tell me what was on her mind, and then I’d tell her what was on mine, and before you knew it, we’d chatted away the whole day.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, your aunt Polly and I are nothing alike,” said Alice’s mother. “She may have had the luxury to sit around and chat all day, but I don’t. Especially not now.”

  “A little shopping might do you good, Ruthie,” said Alice’s father. “Get your mind off this whole Blueberry thing.”

  “Oh, is that how it’s going to be now, George? The two of you ganging up on me? Well, I won’t have it. I’m going to get myself a new rolling pin today — and I’m going to make another pie, even better than the last one. I’ve spent my whole life living in Polly’s shadow, but those days are over now.”

  “If you say so, dear,” said Alice’s father, returning to his newspaper.

  “I could help you, Mom,” Alice said. After all, she’d helped Polly plenty of times in the pie shop. Even though she’d never made a pie herself, she did know a few things about how it was done.

  Alice’s mother turned and looked at her.

  “You took it, didn’t you?” she said.

  “Took what?” asked Alice.

  “My pie. That’s why you’re being so nice to me this morning. Look at her face, George. There’s guilt written all over it.”

  “She looks the same as she always has to me,” said Alice’s father, peering at his daughter over the tops of his glasses.

  “I didn’t take your pie, Mom,” said Alice. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re just like your aunt Polly, that’s why. Two peas in a pod. You don’t want me to succeed any more than she did.”