Chapter 8

“What excuse will we give the club ladies for showin’ up unannounced?” Reba wanted to know when Ella Mae told her that she planned to drive to Sweet Briar the following day.

“Weddings,” Ella Mae said. “I’ll explain that our catering division is rather new and that we’d love to see how the kitchen and banquet areas are set up at Atalanta House because we’re being asked to cater more weddings at private homes.”

Reba considered this. “Sounds reasonable except for one thing. Why would you drive all the way to Sweet Briar? There are plenty of places to see in Atlanta, which is much closer. These Camellias aren’t dumb. They’ll see through your ploy to get into their inner sanctum in a heartbeat, Ella Mae.”

“Not if there’s a second reason for our being in the neighborhood. You could have a sick relative in Statesboro, for example.”

Reba frowned. “Then we’d better find a real person to visit. I’d bet a week’s worth of tips that someone at the Camellia Club will check our story. If they possess an object of power, they’ll be suspicious of strangers.”

“We’ll cover our bases. In fact, Verena found us a patient through a charity she helped establish. It’s called Crafting Wishes Foundation. It’s an online wish list that matches the needs of patients in hospitals and nursing homes with people willing to donate handmade items. For example, if a patient asks for a quilt, someone with sewing skills can sign up to make a quilt for that person. No names are exchanged because of privacy laws, and each facility takes care of distributing the items, but someone from Crafting Wishes contacts the donor later on with an update on how their donation was received.”

“A total win-win,” Reba said.

“Yes,” Ella Mae agreed. “Anyway, Verena signed us up to fulfill the wish of an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s. The poor thing has no family, and she hasn’t been eating well lately. She keeps asking for her mama’s chocolate or blueberry icebox pie. I’m going to make her half a dozen of each. I figure the nurses can freeze the extras. I can add a little clear gelatin to the whipped cream to stabilize the cream layer so the pies should freeze nicely.”

“Good thing we have a refrigerator unit in the truck.” Reba watched as Ella Mae stirred a mixture of melted chocolate and sweetened condensed milk in a saucepan for a few moments. “Now I know why you’re here on a Sunday, but I’m still worried about gettin’ inside the Richest Housewives of Sweet Briar’s Clubhouse. When will you call their secretary?”

Ella Mae turned off the heat and moved the pan to an unlit burner to cool. “Right after I get these pies in the freezer. You can help me by pressing the chocolate cookie wafer mixture into the pie pans.”

Reba glanced from a huge bowl filled with a chocolate cookie crumb mixture to a second bowl loaded with chocolate morsels before pointing at a large bar of semisweet chocolate that Ella Mae would shave into curls and use to garnish each pie. “This lady must really love chocolate.”

“The memory of its scent might increase her enjoyment. After speaking with Aunt Verena, I went online and read up on the symptoms of Alzheimer’s. Often, people in advanced stages experience dramatic changes to their sense of taste. Sometimes, they can only taste extremely salty or sweet foods. Other times, the food they once liked is no longer appealing. I’m hoping that a strong scent of chocolate will help this lady remember the taste of her mama’s pie.”

As Reba began to press the cookie crumbs into the bottom and sides of a pie tin, she looked troubled. “I wish we could do more for this woman. Nobody should end their days in such a state. It must be scary. If there’s comfort in the familiar, in the people and places we know, then what happens when those things vanish like mist? What anchors a person to the world?” She shook her head. “If I thought there was a chance I’d lose my memories of our years together, it would break my heart. Promise to feed me a poisoned pie before you let that happen.”

“Stop talking like that,” Ella Mae said and moved around the worktable to wrap Reba in a tight hug. “You’ll still be filleting people with that knife-sharp tongue of yours when you’re a hundred.”

After returning Ella Mae’s embrace, Reba smirked. “I’m not sure I want to live that long if Loralyn gets her grubby hands on an object of power that will make her immortal.”

“Let’s worry about finding her first,” Ella Mae said. “If a golden apple is somehow tied to the Camellia Club, Loralyn will show up there eventually. If she hasn’t already.”

“That’s what I’ve been wonderin’ since the break-in at her nail salon,” Reba said. “What if Loralyn snooped around the clubhouse and the flower ladies caught her? What if some of the Camellias are magical? You found their last president floating in a lake, remember?”

Ella Mae froze. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten about Bea. I’m hoping to learn more about her when we’re in Sweet Briar, but finding Loralyn is my priority. If she’s being held against her will, we need to free her and bring her home,” Ella Mae declared, retrieving the blueberries from the walk-in for the next round of pies.

Reba mumbled something under her breath. Ella Mae caught the phrases “duct tape” and “trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey” before she switched on the radio.

When all the pies were filled and Ella Mae had covered them with tents of plastic wrap, she called Julia Eudailey and expressed her desire to stop by Atalanta House.

“I was utterly captivated by the history booklet you sent,” Ella Mae said, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “And since Reba and I will be in the area, I’d love nothing more than to see the house in person.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Julia sounded guarded.

Ella Mae, fearing that the Camellias didn’t make a habit of rolling out the red carpet for uninvited guests, immediately apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure you’re all very busy and it was rude of me to suggest it on such short notice. I look forward to seeing you in August.”

Ella Mae knew she was taking a risk. It was highly possible that Julia would simply wish her a good day and that would be the end of her chance to get inside Atalanta House. But luck was with her, for Julia said, “We’d love for you to visit. When do you expect to be passing through?”

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Ella Mae gave her an estimate and Julia promised to meet her at the house. “It’s usually closed for cleaning on Mondays,” she explained. “That’s why I hesitated at first, but I can get a key.”

“I’d like to make you a pie for going through so much trouble on my account,” Ella Mae said. “What’s your favorite kind?”

“Forget about me!” Julia laughed. “I’m counting every calorie until our retreat, but you could bake something for my husband. I’ve been so preoccupied with club events that he’s feeling a little neglected. I’ve no doubt that a pie made by someone as talented as you would go a long way toward cheering him up. The only hiccup is that he was recently diagnosed as lactose intolerant. Up until a year ago, his favorite pie was key lime. Is it even possible to make a good key lime without milk or cream?”

“If it’s possible, I’ll find a way,” Ella Mae vowed. After ending the call, she considered which substitutions to use in place of the sweetened condensed milk traditionally found in a key lime pie.

“I could use a blend of organic cane sugar, flour, vanilla extract, and either baking soda or cornstarch as a thickener. But figuring out how much will equal a fourteen-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk will be a challenge,” she murmured to herself while jotting notes on a grocery list. “I could make a meringue topping. There’s no milk or cream in meringue. Just eggs, cream of tartar, and sugar. And I’ll change up the crust too. Instead of the typical graham cracker, a vanilla wafer crust would complement the meringue nicely.”

Ella Mae spent the rest of the afternoon perfecting her lactose-free key lime pie recipe. It wasn’t as easy as she’d initially thought. During her first attempt, she used too much water and the finished pie had a soupy consistency. After that, she was too heavy-handed with the sugar. Luckily, the third try was the charm, and when Reba popped back in to see how Ella Mae’s conversation with Julia had gone, Ella Mae cut her a slice.

“I’ve had key lime a thousand times,” Reba said. “I don’t need to try it again.”

Ella Mae pushed the plate closer to her friend. “Do me a favor and take a bite.”

“Fine, twist my arm.” Reba popped a loaded forkful in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Same as always. Delicious.”

Smiling, Ella Mae reached for the package of vanilla wafers. “Great. Now I can make one for Julia’s husband.”

Reba gestured at the package. “Why’d you buy those? Are you out of graham crackers?”

“No. I’m making this pie for a gentleman who can’t tolerate lactose, so I changed my whole recipe. It was a good exercise too. I’d like to include a dairy-free pie on our menu every day. I’d also like to offer gluten-free and nut-free options. Lots of people have food allergies, and if they can’t eat traditional piecrust, there’s very little they can order at The Charmed Pie Shoppe other than salad.”

“Which is only exciting if you’re a rabbit.” Reba glanced at her watch. “I’ll be at your place bright and early tomorrow morning. As for tonight, I have a date with the dashin’ Fernando. Of all the men at the carnival, I knew he was for me the second I saw the name penciled on the menu board of his food truck.” She smiled at the memory. “The Naked Chorizo.”

Ella Mae grinned. “Fernando? Reminds me of that ABBA song.”

“Me too. I even sang a few bars to my hunky Spanish chef while he was fixin’ me a special dessert, but he didn’t recognize the song. He’s too young. Even younger than you.” Reba’s eyes gleamed with impish delight.

Making a shooing gesture with her potholders, Ella Mae said, “I don’t want to hear his age. Have a good time, but don’t stay up too late. We should leave around six.”

“Not to worry,” Reba said. “Fernando can drop me off on his way out of town. That’s the beauty of datin’ a man with a food truck. His whole summer is booked up with carnivals and state fairs. He can swing through Havenwood every few weeks and light my fire, but other than that, ours will be a relationship without commitment. It’s perfect.”

After giving Ella Mae a saucy wink, she left the pie shop, singing “Fernando” and playing air drums with two licorice twists.

*   *   *

The next day, Ella Mae took one glance at Reba and knew that her friend wouldn’t be doing much driving. “You look like hell,” she said.

“I think I’m finally startin’ to feel my age.” Reba dug her fingers into her temples and moaned. “I can’t handle tequila shots like I could when I was younger.”

Ella Mae waved at her pink truck. “You should take a nap. I need you to be sharp when we get to Sweet Briar.”

Reba slept for most of the trip, her face pressed against the passenger window. She only roused when Ella Mae drove over a speed bump in the hospital parking lot.

“Where are we?” she asked through a lengthy yawn.

“We’re about to deliver the icebox pies,” Ella Mae replied brusquely. After consuming two large cups of coffee, she desperately needed to use the restroom and there wasn’t a parking space in sight.

Slipping on a pair of oversized sunglasses, Reba pointed at a loading dock. “Pull up there. I’ll tell the security guard that we need to transfer food straight to a refrigerator. I bet you need to stretch and use the ladies’ room after all that drivin’.”

Ella Mae didn’t argue. While Reba sorted things out with the guard, Ella Mae dashed inside the hospital and took care of business. She then located a nurses’ station.

“I’m with the Crafting Wishes Foundation,” she told a woman in green scrubs. “We have pies for one of your patients.”

The nurse asked Ella Mae to wait while she made a quick call. A few minutes later, another nurse appeared at the desk. “Thank you so much for your donation. I know my patient will appreciate your gift.”

“I brought a few extras. They can be kept frozen for up to a week,” Ella Mae said. “Is there anything else I can do? This doesn’t seem like much.”

“But it is, honey,” the nurse assured her kindly. “It really is. My patient has been hankering for this pie for ages. One of my colleagues tried to make it for her, but it just wasn’t right.”

Ella Mae looked at her doubtfully. “My recipe might not be right either.”

“Only because what she wants is based on a memory, and memories are always better than what’s in front of us,” the nurse said. “Memories are golden. Shining. Without flaw. But it’s what you put in the pie that matters, hon. The love you put into it. That’s what she’ll taste. That’s what she’s looking for. The memory of her mama’s love. Don’t you worry—a stranger’s love can make her feel just as good. That’s the kind of magic I believe in anyway.” She smiled. “If you give me your number, I’ll let you know how she reacted to your pie. We have your info in our system, but our computers are running molasses-in-January slow today.”

Ella Mae scribbled her number on a piece of paper and handed it to the nurse.

“I have a feeling about you,” the woman said as she turned to go. “I think you’re going to make a wish come true today. Bless you, sweetheart.”

By the time Ella Mae returned to the loading dock, the icebox pies had been transferred and Reba was behind the wheel, waiting to drive.

“I stopped by the cafeteria. There’s a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit for you on the dash,” she said after Ella Mae had hopped into the passenger seat. “Sorry about bein’ such a lousy road trip partner, but I’m my perky self again now. I can drive for the rest of the day.”

“Was Fernando worth it?” Ella Mae asked, giving Reba a little smile to show that there were no hard feelings.

Reba adjusted the rearview mirror and paused for a moment to examine her reflection. “Oh, he was. Did you program the nav system?”

“Yes.” Ella Mae reached for her biscuit. “It shouldn’t take us long to get to Sweet Briar. I want to get a feel for the place before I call Julia. We need to find a good hub for gossip.”

“How about a good truck stop or a donut shop? Or a Waffle House?” Reba suggested.

Ella Mae frowned. “Sweet Briar’s too ritzy for those types of places.” She took a bite of the warm biscuit and sighed in contentment. Before taking a second bite, she held out her left hand, fingers splayed, and examined her nails. “I know where to go.” She shot a glance at Reba. “You’re going to relax for a little while longer, my friend. I’m treating you to a mani-pedi.”

*   *   *

The nail salon closest to Atalanta House was called Eminence. When Ella Mae called to make an appointment, putting the phone on speaker so she could wipe biscuit grease off her hands, a haughty receptionist informed her that she’d have to wait because all the technicians were booked.

“We won’t arrive for another forty-five minutes or so,” Ella Mae explained patiently. “Can you put us down for the next available slot?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the woman answered in a frosty tone.

Reba scowled. “You need to take the upper hand with the likes of her. She’s used to the Desperate Housewives type. You’ll have to act like one of the Camellias while you’re in their flower patch. Basically, you have to be a snob.”

“Can’t I just kill her with kindness?”

“Nope.” Reba tapped the map screen of the navigation system. “Reprogram this puppy to get us to Eminence, would you?”

Ella Mae did, and it wasn’t long before they passed a sign welcoming them to Sweet Briar. “Look at that,” she whistled. “This community has won the Governor’s Circle Award as part of the Keep Georgia Beautiful campaign for the past twenty-five years. That’s impressive.”

“It’s easy to be beautiful when you’re rich,” Reba said derisively. “Poor folks don’t have money for rosebushes and pergolas. They’re just tryin’ to get by.” Her scowl deepened as they drove past one immaculate yard after another. “Where do all the workers live? These people don’t mow their own lawns and clean their own houses. There must be a set of railroad tracks someplace in this town, and I can tell you that we’re on the right side of the tracks.”

Ella Mae had to agree. The tree-lined roads were flat, shady, and clean. Groups of children rode bikes on the sidewalk. Women in straw sunhats pushed baby strollers or stood in their front gardens leisurely clipping snapdragons or gladiolas. The air was perfumed with honeysuckle and cut grass, and a cool river breeze provided relief from the summer heat.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire town suddenly burst out in a unified ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,’” Reba muttered. “Is this place for real? It’s all birds and butterflies. There isn’t a speck of litter on the ground or a kid with an untied shoe or a dropped ice cream cone in sight.”

“Look.” Ella Mae pointed at a sign to the right. “That public lot will take us behind the block where the nail salon is located. Let’s park so we can stay undercover for a little while. My pink truck isn’t exactly subtle.”

Stepping inside Eminence was like entering another world. Everything was white. Gauzy white curtains hung from the white marble floor to the white painted ceiling. They ballooned outward like wind-stretched sails, forming an elegant barrier between each of the pedicure stations. The technicians wore starched white uniforms and used soft white towels. Clients were served cucumber water from white lacquer trays. The only colors that managed to invade the space were the nail polishes themselves, and Eminence had shelves upon shelves of polish in every imaginable hue.

“May I help you?” A young woman whose icy voice Ella Mae immediately recognized glanced up from her iPad screen with a look of unconcealed disapproval.

Before Ella Mae could reply, Reba said, “I hope so. We have a meetin’ at Atalanta House and we don’t want to be late.” Reba flicked her wrist toward the pedicure chairs. “You don’t seem booked up to me. And yet you told my friend that you were. I wonder if the Camellia Club member who recommended this salon made a mistake.”

Something shifted in the young woman’s face. Whether it was Reba’s abrupt manner, her mention of the Camellia Club, or both, there was suddenly no longer any wait. Within five minutes, Ella Mae and Reba were comfortably installed in cushy white pedicure chairs. They were then offered cucumber water and a selection of beauty, fashion, and gossip magazines to peruse during their treatment.

“That red is super bright,” Ella Mae whispered to Reba when their technicians asked for the colors they’d chosen from the wall display.

Reba handed the bottle to her technician and then leaned close to Ella Mae. “It’s called Cherry Bomb. You know I like to go into a strange place armed and dangerous. From my head right on down to my toenail polish. What did you pick?”

“More Than Meets the Eye,” Ella Mae answered with a grin.

Reba nodded in approval. “Atta girl.”

Their pedicures began and Ella Mae tried to exchange small talk with her technician, whose name was Traci. However, there was an overall hush to the salon and Ella Mae’s chitchat was noticeably out of place. It seemed that the only sounds that were encouraged were the instrumental harp music and the gurgling of the wall fountain. And though Ella Mae couldn’t see her neighbor because the gauzy curtain obscured her view, Traci glanced in that direction every time Ella Mae tried to initiate a conversation with her.

“We’re going to Atalanta House for the first time when we’re finished here,” Ella Mae told Traci brightly. “Do many of the Camellia Club members patronize your salon? I bet they do. It’s heavenly. I love the massage features on this chair.”

Again, Traci’s gaze slid to whoever occupied the chair to Ella Mae’s right.

“We have many loyal clients,” Traci answered politely and then clamped her lips together.

“We’re meeting with Julia Eudailey. Do you know her?” Ella Mae pressed.

Traci kept her eyes on Ella Mae’s toes. “Would you like me to cut these shorter?”

Foiled, Ella Mae murmured her assent and then turned to Reba with a shrug.

Reba, who had a knack for getting people to open up, had no success with her technician either. The women were courteous, but they deflected all questions about the Camellias by focusing on their work. Because Reba had mentioned their meeting at Atalanta House, their skilled technicians gave them quick, but excellent manicures from the comfort of their pedicure chairs. Ella Mae felt utterly pampered.

At one point, when both technicians stood up and explained that they’d be back shortly with hot towels to wrap around Reba and Ella Mae’s calves, the client next to Ella Mae pulled back her curtain and whispered, “They’re not going to discuss the Camellia Club with you because Traci’s daughter has applied for one of the scholarship funds. In fact, she’s a finalist.”

“How wonderful,” Ella Mae said, instantly recognizing the woman from the Camellia Club directory. “I wasn’t trying to pry. I just want to get a feel for what they’re like because I’m heading over to their house when we’re done here. I’m a small-town pastry chef and these ladies are so accomplished. It’s a bit intimidating.”

The woman smiled. “That’s very kind of you to say. I’m a member, actually. My name’s Savannah McGovern.” She studied Ella Mae for a long moment. “Don’t tell me that you’re Ms. LeFaye, the pie baker we’ll be seeing in a few weeks?”

Ella Mae raised her hand. “Guilty as charged. My friend, Reba, was in the area visiting a sick relative and I asked to tag along in hopes of touring Atalanta House. I’ve only recently begun catering weddings and I need to learn how to arrange and serve food in an elegant house setting. More and more brides want their receptions in private homes these days.”

“Didn’t you see our online gallery?” Savannah asked. A shrewd look entered her blue eyes.

“Yes, and it was lovely,” Ella Mae said airily. “Unfortunately, there were no photographs of the kitchen. The images reflect what the bride wants to see, but a caterer’s needs are completely different.”

“Ah.” Savannah’s glance returned to her decorating magazine as though she no longer found Ella Mae interesting. “Well, I’m sure Julia can satisfy your curiosity.”

Recognizing that their conversation was over, Ella Mae thanked Savannah. By the time Traci returned with the hot towels, Savannah had allowed the curtain barrier to fall back into place.

Reba muttered an expletive under her breath, but not so low that Ella Mae didn’t catch it.

What am I in for this August? she thought miserably.

When their services were complete and Ella Mae had paid the most she’d ever paid for a manicure and pedicure, she sent a text to Julia Eudailey saying that she could meet her at Atalanta House whenever it was convenient.

“Let’s head over there now,” Reba said. “Maybe the gates are open.”

Ella Mae nodded. “I’d love to take a walk. I’ve been sitting for far too many hours today.”

It was a relief to escape the hushed, whitewashed salon and return to a world of color and noise. After a pleasant, ten-minute stroll, they stood in front of Atalanta House’s massive iron gates.

“Locked,” Reba said, giving them a firm shake. “Wait here. I want to take a brief survey of the perimeter.”

Reba trotted to the end of the block, turned right, and disappeared. Ella Mae gazed around the stunning grounds, but her eyes kept returning to the apple blossom frieze.

“The fence runs around three-quarters of the property,” Reba said when she returned a few minutes later. “The third border is a natural one: the river. There are no signs of life anywhere. No gardeners or cleaners. No cars. I didn’t see anyone movin’ around inside the house either, but there are thick curtains drawn across some of the windows.”

“There must be another way in,” Ella Mae said. “How would the servants have come and gone during Margaret Woodward’s time? They wouldn’t have used the front gate.”

Suddenly, Reba stiffened. “I heard a door slam. From up at the house. This way!” Reba took off in the direction from which they’d come. As she ran, her gaze was fixed on the wrought iron fence line. Suddenly, she stopped, reached out, and grabbed a clump of ivy. Pushing it off the fence rail, she smiled at Ella Mae. “Hinges! You’re right. There’s a hidden entrance. This must have been the servants’ gate.”

A woman’s heels striking flagstones could be heard on the other side of the gate, and after exchanging a panicked glance, Ella Mae and Reba ducked behind a car parked by the curb and peeked through the car windows to see who was leaving Atalanta House by the secret exit.

The ivy-covered section of the gate swung outward and a woman with blond hair poked her head around the gate and peered up and down the street. Satisfied that no one was around, she stepped onto the sidewalk and closed the gate behind her. She was already walking away at a brisk pace when Ella Mae darted out from behind the car and cried, “Loralyn! I can’t believe it. Thank goodness I found you!”

Loralyn Gaynor swiveled on her heel, her eyes flashing and her lips curling into an ugly snarl. “Damn you, Ella Mae. You always show up at the worst possible time.”