Breach of Crust: A Charmed Pie Shoppe Mystery (9 page)

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.”

“Hundreds of people are searching for you,” Ella Mae continued as though Loralyn hadn’t spoken. “Have you been in Sweet Briar the whole time?”

After glancing up and down the street again, Loralyn advanced toward Ella Mae. “Listen to me, you interfering, maddening baker twit. You need to leave.
Now
. You have no idea what you’re messing with here. Or who. And if the Camellias catch us talking, the months I’ve spent in this Norman Rockwell town will be for nothing.” She balled up her fist and shook it at Ella Mae. “Seriously.
Get lost!
”

By this point, Reba had joined Ella Mae on the sidewalk. Seeing Loralyn’s threatening gesture, she laughed. “What will you do? Poke us in the eye with one of your acrylic nails? For once in your life, act like an adult and have a civilized conversation without your usual pettiness. Your routine is gettin’ stale.”

Loralyn opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, a white BMW coupe pulled into the spot in front of the car Ella Mae and Reba had been hiding behind. “Crap, it’s Julia,” Loralyn whispered and then turned to Ella Mae. “You need to trust me, okay? It’s really important that you act like you don’t know me. Pretend that we just bumped into each other in town and I was kind enough to show you where the house was, got it?”

When Ella Mae hesitated, Loralyn shot a desperate glance at the BMW. “Please, Ella Mae. You have to do this or I’ll face the consequences.”

“Because of the golden apple?” Ella Mae asked. “Is that why Bea Burbank was killed?”

A veil fell over Loralyn’s features. She had no chance to reply before Julia alighted from her car with a big smile and a cheerful “Hello, ladies!”

Ella Mae turned to shake hands with Julia. “Thank you for meeting us today. This is my oldest friend, Reba. She also works at the pie shop.”

“How nice.” Julia smiled at Reba and then gave Loralyn an inquisitive look. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. What a pleasant surprise.”

To Ella Mae’s ear’s, the latter phrase rang with insincerity.

“I hadn’t planned on being in this neck of the woods,” Loralyn answered breezily. “But I happened to overhear these two ladies asking for directions to Atalanta House and thought it would hospitable to show them the way myself.”

Julia nodded in approval. “Thank you for doing that. I’m about to give them the grand tour, and I’m sure you have a thousand things to do today, so we won’t keep you.”

“More like a million.” Loralyn smiled at Ella Mae and Reba. “I hope you enjoy your visit. I look forward to seeing you again in August.”

Wiggling her fingers in farewell, Loralyn pivoted on her high heels and walked away.

“The entrance is actually farther down the sidewalk,” Julia said once Loralyn was out of hearing distance. “Did I interrupt something just then? The three of you seemed to be in the middle of an in-depth conversation.”

Though Julia kept her tone casual, Ella Mae knew she was being interrogated. “It was my fault we stopped where we did. I was talking about how I’d met Bea and I’m afraid that I got a little emotional. Being here, in her town, has brought back the memory of meeting her . . . and of her unexpected death.”

Ella Mae’s reply wasn’t completely fabricated. Ever since she’d entered Sweet Briar, Bea had been on her mind. When she wasn’t thinking about Loralyn, her thoughts turned to Bea. And about Bea’s murder. There were secrets hidden inside Atalanta House, Ella Mae was certain of that. The problem was that she had only one opportunity to discover those secrets, and her chance encounter with Loralyn had left her feeling flustered and confused.

You need to be sharper than ever
, she told herself.
Julia will be scrutinizing your every move. Assessing your every word.

Her one comfort was that Loralyn was alive and well. Ella Mae would keep her promise to Opal and bring her daughter home. Assuming she could find Loralyn again before she returned to Havenwood.

And then it struck her. What
was
Loralyn’s connection to the Camellia Club? She wasn’t in the directory, and yet Julia was unfazed by the fact that Loralyn had escorted two strangers to Atalanta House and mentioned seeing them again during the retreat.

She must be using a fake name
, Ella Mae thought. And
yet Loralyn’s photograph wasn’t in the directory.
How could she become a member without a familial connection?

“Here we are!” Julia trilled as they reached the front gates.

Ella Mae and Reba exchanged barely imperceptible nods. They were prepared to fight should the need arise. Ella Mae’s handgun was in her purse and Reba had an entire arsenal hidden on her person. There were knives in her boots, throwing stars tucked into the waistband of her jeans, and a revolver stashed in an armpit holster.

Julia certainly didn’t look threatening in her Lilly Pulitzer shift dress, and as she led them down the short drive to Atalanta House, pointing out interesting architectural details along the way, she was the picture of a gracious hostess.

“What’s the flower in the frieze?” Ella Mae asked when Julia paused for breath.

Squinting against the sunlight, Julia said, “An apple blossom. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“I thought it would be a camellia.” Reba arched a brow at the carving.

“The founder, Margaret Woodward, was fond of all flowers.” Julia continued walking toward the front doors. “She was going to call us the Apple Blossom Club, but some of the original members pointed out that apple blossoms weren’t as quintessentially Southern as camellia or magnolia flowers. According to club gossip, and this is not the type of thing you’d have read in our history booklet, Margaret had a difficult time fitting in when she first moved to Sweet Briar, so she wisely listened to her colleagues and chose the Camellia Club as the official name. However, this house had been designed and built before the club was established, so her favorite flower is still represented on the frieze.”

Ella Mae nodded. “Like I told you on the phone, I found the history fascinating. Margaret and her compatriots lived
double lives. From the outside, they were a sewing circle for well-bred ladies. But in reality, they were so much more. Activists. Rebels even. I admire their courage and passion.”

Julia made a noise of assent while focusing on the massive key ring in her right hand. Ella Mae noticed that the fob bore a series of Greek letters. Quickly, while Julia was preoccupied searching for the correct key, Ella Mae used her phone to snap a picture of the fob. She dropped her phone back into her bag just as Julia slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door. “Welcome to Atalanta House,” she said proudly and ushered them into the air-conditioned vestibule.

Ella Mae immediately noticed the Greek key fret border carved into the baseboard and the plaster pediments over the doorways. Between the doors, small marble statues stood in curved niches. Ella Mae moved to examine the brass plaque attached to the base of the closest one. “Hippomenes,” she murmured.

“Are you familiar with the characters of Greek mythology?” Julia asked.

“Only the famous ones,” Ella Mae answered. “Like Hercules or Medusa. This man’s name doesn’t ring a bell. Was he a hero?”

Julia’s laugh was derisive. “Hardly. He was a trickster. A cheat. In contemporary terms, he’d be the guy who slips Rohypnol into a girl’s drink so she’ll sleep with him.”

Ella Mae pulled back in disgust. “Why have a statue of someone like that in a women’s clubhouse?”

“To remind us not to be deceived or distracted.” Julia raised her chin. “As a group, we need to keep our sights on the finish line. On our goal. For us, the goal is to do the most good.”

Echoes of the Atalanta myth were evident in Julia’s speech, and Ella Mae wondered if the mythological heroine was part of some club initiation rite. Was she used as an
example of what could happen if, in Julia’s own words, a Camellia was “deceived” or “distracted”? Either way, Ella Mae’s pulse quickened. Seeing such obvious evidence of the Atalanta myth meant that an object of power might be hidden in the house. Ella Mae felt that finding the object and saving Opal’s life were suddenly very real possibilities.

Reba was just about to wander over to the statue in the center niche—a naked woman either wrestling or embracing a bear—when Julia waved them onward in the direction of the kitchen.

There was no Greek influence in this part of the mansion, nor in any of the areas used for weddings. The rooms were elegantly and tastefully appointed. With their high ceilings and large windows, they created a sense of spaciousness without losing the intimacy of the house setting. Ella Mae could understand why so many brides wanted to hold their receptions at Atalanta House, and when Julia informed them that their spring and summer Saturdays were booked for the next three years, Ella Mae wasn’t surprised.

“This garden is part of the reason,” Julia said as she led them through the ballroom and out to a terrace. “Guests can relax here or stroll along the paths. There are numerous benches and statues, and when the lights come on at night, it becomes a magical setting—something right out of a storybook.”

Ella Mae asked dozens of questions about how the food service was handled and took copious notes. The visit was genuinely helpful in many respects, and she knew that she and Jenny could improve how they set up their wedding buffets based on what she’d seen during her tour. However, it was clear that she and Reba wouldn’t be shown the business side of the Camellia Club, for while the ground floor of Atalanta House was open to the public, the second floor
was not. Both the main staircase and the servants’ stairs were cordoned off with velvet rope and a small metal sign reading, “Private. No Admittance Beyond This Point.”

“That’s the end of our tour,” Julia said as they returned to the front vestibule. She pointed at the staircase, which curved upward in a graceful sweep. “Of course, every wedding photographer wants to pose his or her bride on our staircase, but only a Camellia may pass beyond this point.” She patted the banister for emphasis. “We’ve actually caught a handful of spoiled brides-to-be trying to sneak upstairs despite our express warnings that the second floor is off-limits. Can you believe the rudeness of some people? Their self-entitlement?” She rolled her eyes and then smiled at Ella Mae. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get riled up. Is there anything else I can do for you? Has your time at Atalanta House been well spent?”

Not quite
, Ella Mae thought ruefully.

Aloud, she said, “Absolutely. Thanks to you, I have several ideas on how to improve our fledgling catering division. Oh! And I don’t want to forget your husband’s pie. It’s in my truck, which is parked in a public lot in town.”

“In that case, I’ll give you a lift back.” Julia opened her handbag and dug around inside. After a few moments, she became agitated. “Where is the damned thing?” she muttered. Crossing to a side table, she began unloading objects from her purse. As she did so, she cataloged each item. “Wallet, cell phone, sunglasses, mirror,
my
keys, lipstick, checkbook, blotting paper, perfume, protein bar. But no Atalanta House keys!” She looked around the vestibule, her eyes slightly wild, and then fixed her gaze on Ella Mae and Reba. Putting her hand on her chest, she released a nervous little laugh. “You didn’t see me put the keys down anywhere, did you? After we came in, I could have sworn I dropped them right in my bag.”

Ella Mae and Reba shook their heads in unison.

“We’ll just retrace our steps and they’ll turn up,” Ella Mae said optimistically. “Don’t worry about it. I misplace mine all the time.”

Julia flashed her a grateful smile. “Really? It’s a relief to know that I’m not the only one. Okay, let’s head back to the kitchen.”

As they walked, Ella Mae darted a glance at Reba, who responded with a mischievous shrug. It was then that Ella Mae knew Reba had stolen the keys from Julia’s purse.

This made Ella Mae anxious. After all, Julia would eventually conclude that she hadn’t mislaid the keys and that her guests had taken them. From that moment, Atalanta House would be under constant surveillance and they’d never have the chance to search it. At her first opportunity, Ella Mae signaled for Reba to return the set, but it took another three rooms before Reba pretended to discover the keys on the floor.

“Here they are!” she declared triumphantly and handed them to Julia. “It’s that heavy fob. It probably got caught on the outside of your bag and just fell out while we were walkin’. We didn’t hear them land because this rug is so thick.”

Julia nodded absently. “I bet that’s exactly what happened. Thank you, Reba. Let’s keep this little incident between ourselves, shall we? The rest of the officers wouldn’t be pleased if they knew I couldn’t keep track of the keys to the castle.”

Again, she laughed nervously, and Ella Mae felt sorry for her. Was Julia Eudailey genuinely frightened of her fellow club members? Would she be punished for accidentally losing a set of keys?

If a priceless object is hidden inside Atalanta House, then anyone with access to the mansion carries a great responsibility
, Ella Mae thought.

Ella Mae was suddenly torn. Julia had been willing to
do her a favor by showing her around Atalanta House, and Ella Mae didn’t want to repay the woman by getting her in hot water with the other Camellias. At this point, there was no hard evidence that a Camellia had killed Bea, and Ella Mae had seen nothing inside Atalanta House to indicate that they were up to anything nefarious. Perhaps it was best to reserve judgment until Loralyn could provide her with more concrete information. Deciding to focus on the fact that she’d found Loralyn, Ella Mae chatted with Julia on the short ride to the parking lot, handed her the key lime pie, and said good-bye. As soon as Julia was gone, Ella Mae got in her pink truck and called Rolling View.

“Mrs. Gaynor is asleep,” the housekeeper informed her in a hushed voice. “May I take a message?”

But Ella Mae wanted to speak with Opal herself. “I’ll call back in a few hours,” she said and hung up.

Reba was staring at her sulkily. “Why’d you make me give those keys back? We could have been searchin’ the second floor right now.”