Their order came up and I served it, pushing that green-eyed monster back down where it belonged. Starla Cupp had no reason to be jealous of anything Tucker Ashe did or with whom. At least that’s what I told myself. Still, when I saw her reach across the table to wipe his lip with a napkin, my breath caught in my throat. An intimate gesture for sure, maybe an innocent one but the monster threatening to overtake me growled.
I wasn’t able to get it under control until they left together, with Tucker reminding me to lock up tight and stay safe.
By the time we closed, everyone was exhausted. The whole shift worked together to clean up so we could get out of there faster. When I finally told Barbara Ellen goodnight and locked the door behind her, I pushed thoughts of Tucker, Vic and everything else out of my mind. It was time to start the real work. I pulled out my recipe and gathered everything I would need to make my grandmother’s peanut butter pie.
It tasted, well, okay. Definitely not her recipe. I ran upstairs, grabbed my laptop and headed back down to try again. Luckily, Gladys had made me a few empty pie shells to experiment with, two or three large ones and six small ones. I only had enough sunflower seed butter for a couple more tries until my order arrived, so I had only had a few chances to get this down quickly.
It was almost midnight when I ended up mixing elements of my grandmother’s recipe with a new one I’d found online. On impulse I added grated dark chocolate to the bottom layer and then sprinkled some chocolate curls on top and popped them in the refrigerator to set.
I went to bed tired but feeling accomplished.
The next morning, I pulled one of the cute little pies out of the refrigerator and offered it to Poppy and Gladys. The both declared it a hit, swearing that it tasted exactly like peanut butter pie.
“You know what you could do, is serve it in yellow wrappers of some sort so it would look like a real sunflower,” Poppy suggested.
“What about a thin layer of chocolate on top?” Gladys asked. “That would really add to it.”
While Poppy was at the bank that morning, my bulk order of sunflower seed butter arrived and I made another pie. I decked it out the way they suggested and we all agreed we had a hit on our hands.
About mid-week, Poppy and I judged the cookie contest at the middle school. It was held in the cafeteria with plates and plates of cookies lined up on the big folding tables while the contestants and their parents gathered around to watch. Mayor Gillespie was there, looking proud as punch where he stood next to the ribbons. Vic took plenty of pictures while Poppy and I walked up and down the long table filled with plates of cookies. We tasted everything from chocolate chip to short bread cookies to some small green egg shaped things called zucchini cookies.
Luckily, someone thought to provide coffee for us to sip between each sampling. Slowly, we began weeding out the best cookies, making each move more dramatic than the last. It was a hard decision but we narrowed it down to ten winners. That would need to be whittled down to three. As we’d discussed before-hand, we tried to look like we were dead serious, like this was maybe the most important decision of our lives.
Finally, we decided on the first place winner, second place and third place. Even the ones who didn’t win seemed pleased with the choices we’d made and then we made the announcement that we’d be using the top ten cookie recipes at the diner for a limited time to let the public decide.
We spent the next two evenings making our sunflower pies to sell at our booth during Jimmy’s show. While we worked, we talked about almost everything from her upcoming wedding (still without setting a date) to the future of the diner.
Saturday morning, the morning of the concert, I should have been tired but I was too excited to get the day started. We’d decided to close the diner so all of our employees could just enjoy the upcoming festivities with their families.
The park wouldn’t be ready for us to start selling from our booth until noon. My plan was to put the finishing touches on our pies and get them packed into coolers and ready to go. I really wanted to see the K-9 demonstration.
As it turned out, I arrived just in time to watch Axel ham it up for Vic’s camera. Kellen McClure looked like he was pretty proud of his new partner. And Axel, wearing his Kevlar vest, obeyed commands, quickly becoming the star of the show.
“He has to give commands in Dutch,” Poppy noted. She and Tom Brown were nearby holding hands.
“I think I heard that Axel was born and trained in the Netherlands,” I told her.
I tried not to watch as Tucker put on the bite suit while Vic took pictures. It seemed to me that she was examining the suit very closely.
“That thing looks hot,” Poppy said.
“It does. I’ll bet it’s heavy, too,” Tom said.
And then my phone buzzed insistently in my pocket.
Chapter Five
I tried to ignore my phone but whoever it was left a message and then called right back. By this time Kellen had taken Axel’s leash off altogether and explained that Axel was trained to stay right with him. This kept Kellen’s hands free to handle his weapon or place someone in handcuffs. He demonstrated this and it appeared that Axel was almost a part of Kellen as they moved together.
Everyone, including myself, was amazed and a big round of applause rose from the crowd. The third time my phone rang, I was so exasperated, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Dixie Cupp Diner. Starla Cupp speaking,” I snapped without even looking to see who was calling.
“Miss Cupp. Thank goodness you answered.”
I immediately recognized the rich, baritone voice that belonged to Davis Withrow. He sounded a little panicky.
“How can I help you, Mr. Withrow?” I asked, trying to keep my attention on Kellen and Axel.
Kellen had instructed the dog to search an old car that had been brought in for the demonstration. I was sure something was hidden in the vehicle and Axel certainly acted like a dog on a mission.
“I’m here with Jimmy Bones on his tour bus,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, wondering what in the world this had to do with me.
“Jimmy would like for you to come to his tour bus and bring some of these little sunflower pies we’ve heard about,” he said.
“I was going to have some sent over -.”
“No, ma’am, he wants you to bring them. I think it’s mostly because of his connection to your grandmother. He really wants to see you,” Davis explained.
“Okay, well, I guess I could. What time?” I asked.
“As soon as possible,” he said and left no room for argument. “The tour bus is parked behind the stage area over in the park. I’ll tell his security detail to let you in.”
“Alright, I can do that,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I wouldn’t get to watch the rest of Axel’s demonstration.
Or Tucker in the bite suit.
“I’m going to give you a secret password that security will ask for when you arrive,” he finished.
Secret password? Security detail? I was going to see Jimmy Bones, an aging country music star, not the president.
“It’s ‘sunflower’,” he told me. “Can you remember that?
“Yes, I think I can,” I said. “I’ll have to run by the diner and pick up the pies and then I’ll be there.”
“Who was that?” Poppy asked, when I returned to her side.
“Jimmy Bones’s manager, Davis Withrow. It seems Jimmy wants me to personally deliver some of our pies to him,”
“Want me to go with you?” Poppy asked.
I shook my head. “Nah, stay here and enjoy the show. No need both of us missing it.”
At the diner, I prepared a small plate which held three of the little hand-held pies, wrapped it securely and walked back to the park. I managed to make my way through the throng of people already settling in in front of the stage and then I spotted a big black and silver bus parked in the back. There was yet another group of people between me and
the bus. I skirted them and, as I approached, I spotted a small knot of women waiting outside of Jimmy’s tour bus.
Almost all of them had white hair, although I did see a couple with very poorly colored red hair, piled high on their heads. They all wore leopard print leggings and one or two were showing some abundant cleavage. When I arrived, they all turned to look at me. I recognized Nonnie Rupert and some of the others from his local fan club. No sign of Gladys anywhere, but maybe she just hadn’t made it there yet.
I hesitated and smiled at them.
They did not smile back.
The door to the bus opened and they surged toward it, squealing and jumping up and down like excited children. I kept my head down, trying not to watch.
A man dressed all in black appeared at the door. He scanned the crowd, spotted me and motioned for me to come forward. The gaggle of women grudgingly parted to let me through.
“Password,” he breathed in my ear when I was close enough. He smelled of some sort of exotic, spicy cologne.
“Sunflower,” I whispered, feeling like I should be wearing a trench coat and dark glasses.
With a quick nod, he stepped back, opening the door wider and allowed me to enter the bus. Behind me, Jimmy’s fan club booed and hissed as if I’d done something horrible. I tried not to think about that.
The door closed and we were plunged into darkness.
“Please take off your shoes,” the man said, his voice soft, coaxing.
I couldn’t see his face to judge whether he was joking or not so I slipped out of my sneakers.
“Watch your step,” he said and touched my arm.
I was thankful he’d reminded me, took the steps upward and then let him guide me toward the back of the bus. The windows were tinted dark and most of them had small blinds covering them as well. We passed through what looked like a lounge and then a small, neat kitchen to a closed door.
“Mr. Bones likes the darkness before the show. It calms him,” my guide whispered, sounding even more mysterious than before. “You can leave those in here.” He pointed to the small plate I’d been carrying.
He must like it quiet, too, I thought as I placed the pies on a small counter space beside a cook top. The only sound I could hear was some sort of motor running somewhere. I imagined it to be a generator. From what I could see with the subdued lighting, everything was done up in black velvet, neat as a pin. Maybe this was Elvis’s old tour bus.
“I’ll let him know you’re here. He’s expecting you, but I don’t want to startle him,” he told me when we came to a halt outside of a sliding door that partitioned off the bus.
I stopped and waited while he went inside the room, thinking this was the most bizarre thing I’d ever experienced.
He returned in just moments, smiling for the first time since I’d seen him. “Please come in.”
I entered the small area, stepping up yet another step and peered around what appeared to be a black folding screen. Sitting in a chair in front of a dressing table with a lighted mirror was - no other way to describe him - a little old man. His thinning hair was snow white and his stockinged feet didn’t even reach the floor.
So this was the rich, handsome, famous country music star? This was the man those women were clamoring to meet?
“Starla Cupp,” he said, reaching out to take my hand.
“Mr. Bones,” I said.
His fingers were cold as ice. He squeezed my hand and pulled me closer, peering into my face, almost like he was having trouble seeing me.
“Please, call me Jimmy,” he said and then added. “You look just like your grandmother.”
“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
This man looked nothing like the pictures I’d seen of him taken in my grandmother’s kitchen. I knew he was in his sixties but he looked more like eighty. He was barely able to sit up, much less entertain the crowd that had gathered to see him perform.
Over his shoulder I spotted a portrait of a beautiful young woman in a wedding dress, smiling happily. Was this the new bride I’d heard so much about? She looked young enough to be his granddaughter.
For lack of anything else to say, I added, “I hear that often and I take it as a compliment.”
“She was a fine woman,” he said. “I was sorry to hear of her passing.”
I thought back briefly to my grandmother’s funeral. Unable to remember exactly, I was sure there had been flowers from him.
“She is sorely missed in our community as well,” I said.
“You’re carrying on her legacy?” he questioned.
I nodded. “Those are awfully big shoes to fill,” I said. “My friend Poppy and I own the Dixie Cupp Diner. I like to think she’d be proud of what we’ve done there. Most of our recipes are hers.”
He nodded and continued clutching my hand. What had once been bright blue eyes were now somewhat faded, the whites tinged with yellow. “And I understand you brought something for me.”
“I know how much you loved her peanut butter pie, but I also know you’ve developed a peanut allergy,” I began.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said sadly with a shake of his head. “The only thing I trust to have around me are these,” he said, opening a small drawer with his free hand.
I peered inside and saw that it was filled with what I recognized as the blue, red and yellow presentation of the Accu-Click Injector. Of course, I imagined he would have one on him or nearby at all times, but there must have been ten in that drawer. Then I noticed that there were five or more lined up neatly on the dressing table under the mirror. A quick glance around the small space told me there was one lying on each of the two small padded stools nearby.
“My manager makes sure I have one within reach at all times,” he explained.
I nodded, thinking that his peanut allergy must be really severe.
“If I even smell peanuts, I have a reaction,” he continued as if reading my thoughts.
“It must be horrible,” I said. “And scary.”
“It is,” he said and then smiled. “Now, tell me about what you brought.”
“I started with the recipe that you loved so much, tweaked it somewhat and used sunflower seed butter instead of the peanut butter,” I told him.
“That sounds delicious,” he said, finally letting go of my hand.
“Would you like for me to get one for you?” I asked.
“No!” He said it so quickly, so vehemently, that I was startled into silence. “I’ll taste them later.”
He grabbed my hand again and then looked to his right and left as if to make sure we were alone.
“Can I tell you something?” he whispered.
“Of course,” I said, thinking that this little old man had slipped right off the edge of sanity. I hoped there was someone to catch him when he fell.
“I think...me,” he said so softly I only heard a few words.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you,” I said, leaning in closer.
“I think someone is trying to kill me.”
Chapter Six
I was speechless. Working hard to keep the surprise and shock off my face, I searched his to see if he was joking.
As far as I could tell, he wasn’t.
He nodded slowly.
What do you say when someone, basically a stranger, tells you something like that?
Without waiting for me to say anything he told me, “About a month ago I had a traffic accident. Luckily, it wasn’t serious and no one was hurt. Davis and Caroline, my wife, told me I had no business driving. As though it was my fault,” he continued.
I nodded, thinking they were probably right.
“Later, my mechanic told me that the brake line on my truck had been cut,” he said. Letting go of my hand and reached for the photograph on the table, touching it tenderly. “And the day I married my sweet Caroline...”
I’d been correct. This was his new wife.
“What happened?” I asked, realizing that this onc
e famous, flamboyant country star was now a terrified little old man, trying desperately to get my attention.
Or he was crazy as a loon.
“I became deathly ill,” he finally finished his sentence.
“Like food poisoning?” I asked.
“This was much, much worse. I thought I’d accidentally been exposed to peanuts. I used one of my injectors, but it just got worse and worse. Finally, I collapsed and someone called an ambulance.”
“What did they find out?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing, really. I kept telling them I thought I’d been poisoned but no one would listen.”
“Not even the doctor?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure he thought it was just the rantings of a crazy old man,” he said sadly.
“Surely your wife...”
“Caroline and Davis both assured it me it was just food poisoning, and maybe they were right. After a couple of days I was better and able to go home.”
“Have you spoken to the authorities about your suspicions?” I asked, thinking this was something Tucker probably needed to know.
“I’m letting Davis handle that. He’s a dear friend and has managed all of my affairs for years,” he said, sounding more confident. “I’ve also added more security for this trip. Men I’ve worked with before. Men I can trust to protect me. I even brought my private chef along this time.”
“Okay, well, it sounds like you’ve taken steps to protect yourself,” I said, gently removing my hand from his and standing.
I had to get out of that bus. The darkness, the silence, this man barely clinging to reality was suffocating me. “I really do have to leave now,” I said backing slowly away from him. “Let me know what you think of the new recipe.”
“I will, and I do appreciate you coming by,” he said, remaining seated.
I forced a smile and nodded.
“Oh, and what I told you, let’s keep that just between us, okay?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, inching my way around the screen.
Peanut Butter Pies & Dangerous Lies Page 4
