by Mary Maxwell
We stood in silence for a few minutes. Viveca stared into space and sighed loudly every few seconds. When a quick glance at my phone revealed that it was nearly eleven, I asked if she wanted to go into the dining room for lunch.
“Oh, golly no,” she said. “I should get back home. I left the white clothes soaking in the washer and the vacuuming isn’t finished and I…” She brushed a finger under her eyes again, catching a few new tears as they appeared. “Just let me know what time you want to go tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “If that’s still okay with you.”
I surrounded her with both arms, gave her a quick hug and told her to call if she needed anything during the rest of the day.
“I will,” she said, opening the door.
“And, in the meantime,” I added, “try not to dwell on your brother’s predicament.”
CHAPTER 4
When I walked into the kitchen after Viveca left, Julia was scowling as she mashed sweet potatoes in a large stainless steel bowl.
“Everything okay, Jules?” I asked.
She nodded. “It is now. I was trying to decipher one of your grandmother’s notes about the Sweet Potato Pie with Marshmallow Meringue.”
I crossed the room and gazed at the recipe. Like all of Nana Reed’s culinary records, the ingredients and directions for the popular Sky High selection were written on an index card that had become stained and creased during the past four decades. My grandmother’s distinctive handwriting, originally recorded in a vibrant blue ink, had faded over the years to a faint shade of violet. Although the original copies of her creations were locked away in a safe deposit box at Crescent Creek Savings & Loan, I still hadn’t gotten around to transposing the contents of the recipe collection into more legible versions.
“What was the question?” I asked.
Julia pointed at a squiggly notation at the bottom of the card. “At first, I thought it said ‘lime pinecones whisk porch mint pager,’ but then I realized it was ‘line piecrust with parchment paper’ before you put in the dried beans or pie weights.”
“Aha!” I exclaimed, grabbing a placemat from the cupboard. “I should write that down this instant. I was looking at that the other day, trying to figure out what the heck she meant. I didn’t even get as close as lime pinecones, so I salute your sleuthing skills, Jules!”
She grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you! I’m a triple threat, Katie! I can bake. I can negotiate Travis Schooner down on the cost of repairing the convection oven. And I can decipher your grandmother’s handwriting.”
I gave her a quick hug. “You got Travis to do better on the price?”
“Yes, I did! We’re saving eighty-three dollars and fifteen cents!”
“I’ll take it! Anywhere we can save is a good thing in my book!”
The expression on Julia’s face told me there was more to the story with Travis Schooner. When I asked her to share the rest of the tale, she mumbled something about dance lessons.
“Okay, hold on,” I said. “Can you please go over that one more time?”
She shrugged and looked away. “I promised Travis that I’d teach him the line dance from Footloose.”
My mouth fell open and I was momentarily speechless.
“What?” Julia said, her cheeks flushing pink. “Didn’t you know that I was a first-class dance instructor on the side?”
I shook my head. “I did not, but now I do.”
“Dancing relaxes me,” she explained. “When I was young, I’d spend hours in my parents’ bedroom in front of the full-length mirror on their closet door.”
“And then what?” I asked. “You started teaching at Arthur Murray?”
She smirked. “Don’t be snooty, Kate. I’ve actually won a few dance competitions in my day.”
“Well, then I guess it’s true! You learn something new every day.”
Julia nodded, turning her attention back to the sweet potatoes in the bowl.
“Want me to zest the lemons?” I asked.
“I can do it,” she said. “Do you feel like making the batter for the Cocoa Loco Cupcakes?”
“Your wish is my command,” I joked. “It looks like Harper’s got the dining room under control, so I can probably finish out the afternoon in the kitchen with you.”
Julia shifted over and stole a quick peek through the pass window. “Unless Blanche Speltzer goes rogue,” she said.
Besides being the reigning queen of gossip in Crescent Creek, Blanche was a daily regular at Sky High Pies. After she retired from teaching history at the local high school on her seventy-fifth birthday, Blanche had spent the last five years building a tight-knit network of contacts in the area to keep her abreast of all the latest developments. With her blue-rinsed hair, ever-present pearl necklace and sensible shoes, Blanche was regaled as the oldest resident in town as well as one of the most capricious. Depending on her mood and the results of the most recent bingo night at Wagon Wheel Saloon, she could be either an absolute delight or a thorny disaster.
I joined Julia at the pass window and watched as Blanche greeted Harper with a delicate kiss to her cheek.
“Looks like a good day,” I said. “She must’ve had a winning night at bingo.”
Julia returned to the mixer. “Thank heavens for small miracles,” she said. “I remember a few months ago when she and Constance Flagg battled it out for the top prize. After Mrs. Flagg hoisted her cane and screamed that she had a winning card, Blanche threw her dauber into the air and left a nasty orange streak down the back of Midge Gruber’s white cashmere cardigan.”
I hadn’t heard the story, so I launched into a laugh that elicited a rebuke from Harper.
“Hey!” she called through the pass window. “Keep it down back there! Blanche is going to think you’re snickering at her.”
“We are,” I whispered. “But I promise to cool it.”
Harper gave me a thumbs up before swinging back to work. The dining room was filled with regular customers and a couple of new faces. As I surveyed the crowd, my eyes suddenly came to a halt when I saw Trent walking through the front door.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “It’s the deputy chief of police. Do you think somebody already filed a noise complaint?”
Julia looked up from the sweet potatoes. “No doubt. They probably called in advance, knowing that you were going to lose it this morning.”
“I think you’re right,” I said as Trent motioned for me to come out of the kitchen. “He’s walking this way.”
After Julia told me that she’d bail me out if necessary, I headed for the swinging door.
Trent flashed his dazzling smile as I strolled into the dining room. “Hey, Katie!” he said in his deep baritone. “What’s shakin’?”
I held out my hand and he gave it a quick squeeze before surrounding me in a hug.
“Deputy Chief Walsh,” I said, wiggling out of his arms. “How can I help you this morning?”
He tilted his head. “You can start by calling me Trent.”
Since I’d returned to Crescent Creek a few weeks earlier, Trent and I had developed a cordial working relationship. Although our tumultuous high school romance was ancient history, I still felt a pang in my heart when I heard his voice or saw his face. Even more, I was constantly reminded that we can never truly escape our past; Trent’s ex-wife and my teenage nemesis, Dina Kincaid, worked with him as a detective at the Crescent Creek Police Department.
“Okay, Trent,” I said after a moment or two. “What’s on your mind?”
“You,” he said.
The familiar flutter of melancholy swept through me, but I kept the affable grin on my face and asked if he could elaborate.
He flashed another smile. “Sure thing, tiger.” His eyes widened slightly while the long ago nickname lingered briefly in the air. “I hate delivering bad news over the phone,” he continued. “Figured I’d come by and tell you in person.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling a sudden jolt of alarm. “Did something happen at—�
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“Simmer down, Katie. It’s nothing major. And there’s been no emergency in town. But I have to reschedule our dinner. I’m heading over to Grand Junction today to give a deposition in a case that involves someone I arrested last year.”
For a brief moment, I held his gaze, feeling a mix of disappointment and relief. I’d been looking forward to having dinner with Trent, but I also knew there were a million things to do for Sky High Pies. Instead of enjoying a leisurely meal with an old friend, I could use the time to pay bills, calculate food costs on a new pie recipe and file the mountains of paperwork teetering on the edge of my desk.
“You’re frowning,” he said, splintering my daydream. “Does that mean you’re going to miss me while I’m gone?”
He’d been teasing me with similar questions since I returned to Crescent Creek. My sister said it was because he hoped to revive our romance. I figured it was because Trent joked with everyone. His lighthearted, good-humored personality seemed like the exact opposite of what many people would expect from the deputy chief of police. But Trent had the ability to shift seamlessly between genial and solemn, depending on the situation and circumstances. I was thinking about that ability when he asked if I was okay.
I shrugged a silent response.
“No, I mean that sincerely,” he said. “You seem a little…” He squinted and studied my face. “Kind of frazzled,” he continued. “And maybe a bit pale.” He pressed the back of one hand against my forehead. “Do you have a fever or something?”
His hand felt warm and calming, but I quickly pushed it away and told him that I wasn’t sick.
“Frazzled?” I said. “You bet! Exhausted and burning the candle at both ends? Absolutely! But I don’t have a fever and my stomach isn’t upset. Everything would be just great if I could find another twelve hours in the day and the guys that deliver from the dairy could arrive at some point besides our breakfast rush because that always seems to—”
“Whoa!” he chuckled. “Slow down there, tiger. I was just concerned because you look kind of shaky on your feet.” He shrugged. “That’s all, Kate. Just one friend worried about another.”
I felt my hands trembling, so I stuck them in my apron pocket. “Well, thanks. That’s really…” He stepped back and waited. “Well, that’s really sweet, Trent. Thank you for being concerned.”
“Maybe you should consider hiring at least one more person to help out around here.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?” I asked. “One more person would be nice, but I’m determined to stick to the same business plan that my parents and grandparents used. They all ran Sky High with just three full-time staffers and a part-time handyman.”
“Suit yourself, Katie,” Trent said. “Traditions can be good things. But they can also hold you back if you’re too stubborn.”
I narrowed my eyes and pressed my finger against his chest. “I am not stubborn, Deputy Chief Walsh. I’m just a woman with a strong will, a clear vision and—”
“The need to always be right,” he interrupted. “But that’s why I love you so…” He stopped and blushed. “That’s why I like you so much, Katie! Because you’re strong and passionate and dedicated to pursuing your dream.”
I glanced around the dining room. “Even when it can sometimes be a nightmare.”
Trent smiled. “Tomorrow will be a better day.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“I’m always right, too!” he said with a mischievous wink. “Or haven’t you noticed yet?”
As he continued smiling, his declaration sent me tumbling back in time to the night he dumped me for Dina. It had rocked my teenaged world and left a scar on my heart. But it hadn’t completely changed how I felt about Trent. He was human. He was capable of mistakes. And he was also willing to admit when he was wrong. A few days after I’d moved back to Colorado, he’d apologized for the callous, selfish way he’d ended our high school romance. I’d graciously accepted the admission of guilt. And I’d offered forgiveness. But I also knew that I’d never forget the pain and humiliation I felt on that horrible night.
“Anyway,” Trent said as I surfaced from the memory. “I should let you get back to work.”
I blinked and forced a smile. “Yes, there are ten thousand things to do before noon.”
He leaned in, gave me a light kiss on the cheek and promised to call when he got back to town.
“I still want to take you to dinner,” he said, turning for the door. “Wherever you’d like to go.”
I watched him leave and then checked with Harper to see if she needed anything before I got back to work.
“I’m fine,” she said. “And he’s still one of the hottest men in town.” She raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t let him get away, Kate.”
“And you shouldn’t worry about such things,” I said, swatting her rear. “I’ve got my hands more than full with Sky High Pies.”
“It’s not your hands I’m talking about,” Harper said. “It’s your heart.”
I waved away the remark, mumbled something about appreciating her concern and then made my way to the kitchen. Julia was carefully studying another index card when I came through the swinging door.
“What’s this word?” she asked, pointing at a scribbled entry that had faded over the years. “I know your mother told me once a while ago, but my brain is pretty much fried at this point.”
I studied the memo that Nana Reed had added to her recipe for Harvest Moon Muffins, but the tangle of faint letters didn’t resemble anything I could dredge up in my mind. “Well, it might be golden raisins,” I suggested. “What do you think about that?”
Julia muttered under her breath. “Nope,” she said. “Those are the third thing on the list and she wrote that plain as day.”
I checked the list of ingredients. Julia was right. I had no clue what the two smudged words were in the margin beside the recipe.
“How about we skip whatever it is?” I suggested. “If they taste bad when they come out of the oven, we can scrap them for now until I can figure out what that says.”
A playful smile appeared on Julia’s face. “You are so reading my mind right now. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with that or not.”
“I’m more than okay with it on a day like this,” I said. “And I promise that I will sit my butt down soon and rewrite all of Nana Reed’s recipes. I’m so sorry that I haven’t tackled that yet.”
Julia chuckled. “Your parents ran this place for twenty-five years without doing that,” she said. “As long as you’re here to interpret the chicken scratch that I can’t make out, we’ll be just fine.”
I heaved a sigh and glanced at the whiteboard on the wall.
“What’s next on the list?” I asked. “Berry Cheesecake Bites?”
Julia shook her head. “Those can wait until tomorrow,” she said. “I was getting ready to start on Eliza’s order. If you don’t mind helping, I think we can get it finished lickety-split.”
“Then let’s do it!” I said, washing my hands. “I’ve got an errand that I can run tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll take the goodies to her on the way.”
CHAPTER 5
“That one right there,” the man said, scowling at the assortment of pies in the display case and jabbing his pudgy fingers against the glass. “Is that mincemeat or what?”
It was half past nine on Wednesday morning, and I was behind the counter while Harper circled the dining room with a fresh pot of decaf. The place buzzed with the sound of contented customers eating breakfast, drinking coffee and trading tidbits of gossip and local news.
“Well?” Mr. Scowl demanded. “What kind is it?”
I leaned down to check. “That’s our Apple-Blueberry Breeze,” I said. “It’s a blend of apples and blueberries with—”
“I hate apples,” he announced, dragging his hand along the pristine glass. “How about that one?”
I followed the smudged trail of fingerprints.
“I’m sorry,
sir. That one contains apples, too.”
He stood up, wrinkled his nose and leaned closer. “Is that all you’ve got—nothing but apple pies?”
“No, sir.” I moved toward the far end of the case. “Our cream pies are all really delicious.” I pointed through the glass. “We have chocolate, vanilla, banana, toasted coconut, raspberry, cappuccino, pistachio and—”
“Cappuccino’s something you drink,” he said, grimacing as if in pain. “And I’m not thirsty, lady. I’m hungry.”
I took a quick breath and smiled. “Then you’ve come to the right place,” I offered. “Sky High has more types of pie than—”
“Just gimme a slice of that.” He leaned closer, pressing his nose against the glass. “The one right there with the whipped cream and whatnot.”
The peaks of the pie were dusted with cocoa powder and chocolate shavings. I guessed those two items fell into the whatnot category in Mr. Scowl’s book.
“Very well,” I said, keeping my smile soft and bright. “Is that for here or to go?”
He gestured toward the door with a solitary nod of his Carhartt cap. “I got a truck of cattle parked in your lot,” he said. “Better make it to go unless your customers enjoy the smell of manure with their apple pie.”
My smile wavered briefly before I recovered, quickly packaged a large slice of chocolate cream pie and sent the trucker on his way.
“He was a peach,” Harper said, sliding up beside me at the register. “What was his deal?”
I shrugged. “He’s not a fan of apples. But that’s okay by me. The guy was all about satisfying his sweet tooth and getting back on the road.”
Harper giggled. “I can handle things out here,” she said, glancing around the room. “If you need to help Julia in the kitchen.”
“I probably should. We got a very last-minute special request that needs to be finished by three o’clock.”
“Go on then,” she said. “If I get in the weeds, I’ll send up a flare.”
I smiled at my childhood friend and headed for the kitchen. When Harper learned that my parents were retiring and I was returning to Crescent Creek to take the reins at Sky High Pies, she’d immediately offered her services. Besides being my friend and one of the most patient people you’d ever meet, Harper single-handedly managed customers at the ten tables and eight counter spots on most days like an amazing combination of a symphony conductor, a nimble juggler and an even-tempered diplomat.
