Pecan Pies and Homicides Read Free Page A

now the Jeep was encrusted with dirt and needed an oil change. Like everything else in Ella Mae’s life, the lovely truck was showing signs of neglect.
    Until I can find a way to free my mother, nothing else matters
, Ella Mae thought. For the thousandth time, her mind returned to the moment in which her mother had sacrificed herself to renew the magic of Havenwood’s sacred grove. Adelaide LeFaye had spread her arms and leaned against the rough bark of the shriveled and dying ash tree. In the space of a few horrible and spellbinding seconds, the tree and Ella Mae’s mother had merged. Instantly, the grove’s power had been restored and everyone had celebrated. Everyone but those close to Adelaide. In the beginning, Ella Mae had been able to communicate with her mother, but with each passing day, she became less and less human. Eventually, she would forget that she had a daughter.
    The oven timer beeped, jarring Ella Mae from her maudlin reverie. The Red Hot Apple Pie was done baking. Grabbing a pair of potholders, Ella Mae opened the oven door and a blast of cinnamon-spiced air rushed out to greet her. Unlike the sharp, wintry wind that had snuck inside the shop with Mr. Crump, this was a warm and gentle caress.
    Without waiting for the pie to cool, Ella Mae cut a large wedge and plated it. Pushing through the kitchen’s swing door, she carried the dessert to Mr. Crump and set it before him. “This is on the house,” she said, smiling. “When you mentioned having icicles hanging from your beard, I felt inspired to bake you something special. I promise that it’ll only take one bite to transport you to a place of sunshine and birdsong.” With that, Ella Mae moved behind the counter and began to assemble takeout boxes that she didn’t need. From the corner of her eye, she watched Mr. Crump study the pie warily. Eventually, he lifted a forkful to his mouth.
    Ella Mae held her breath.
    Reba came around the counter to refill the coffee carafe. “Don’t worry, hon. You were born to inject food with magic. To influence how folks feel. That, and so much more. Watch Mr. Crump there. Watch how he changes for the better. If you’d just believe in the good your gifts can do, then you’ll realize that you’re capable of anythin’. You can rescue your mama, unite your kind, and bake a helluva pie. Watch and believe.”
    Reluctantly, Ella Mae complied. She saw Mr. Crump chew, swallow, and hesitate. He stared down at the food on his plate as if he couldn’t comprehend what he’d just tasted. Clearly surprised, he took another bite. A glint of light surfaced in his eyes and as he continued to devour the pie, his entire face started to glow. His sallow cheeks turned pink and his mouth curved into a wide, boyish smile. After one more bite, he was shrugging off his coat and unwinding the threadbare scarf wrapped like a noose around his thin neck.
    â€œWhat’s in this pie?” he shouted. His voice was no longer weak and reedy. It resonated with strength and virility.
    The other patrons stopped talking and turned to see what Mr. Crump was eating.
    â€œIt’s a Red Hot Apple Pie,” Ella Mae said, stepping out from behind the counter. “I was hoping it would warm you up.”
    â€œIt’s done more than that, my girl!” Mr. Crump sat back in his chair and grinned at her. The joyful expression transformed him, erasing years from his skin and making his eyes shine like sunlight on the lake. He stood up, tossing back the dregs of his coffee as if it were a shot of whiskey, and turned to face the other customers. After clearing his throat, he began to sing.
    Ella Mae didn’t recognize the melody or the lyrics about woods and fertile meadows, but the song painted a picture of the mountains surrounding Havenwood. She could visualize the blue hills as they looked in springtime, dressed in green leaves and sunshine.
    At first, the pie