Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

experiencing for the past three weeks.
    “Don’t get your scarves in a knot, folks. I’m comin’ around with coffee as fast as I can!” announced a middle-aged woman with nut-brown hair and the sharp chin and high cheekbones of a pixie. She filled half a dozen mugs and then intercepted Ella Mae on her way to the kitchen. “You’ve gotta warm these people up. And you know I’m not referrin’ to the thermostat. What’s in the oven? Somethin’ real special, I hope.”
    Ella Mae gestured at the chalkboard menu mounted behind the counter. “Lots of health-conscious dishes. It’s the beginning of January, Reba. The whole town is on a diet. Except for you. You’re in perfect shape, as always.”
    “Don’t try to butter me up. And I know what the specials are. I’m a waitress, for cryin’ out loud. You’ve got a fine list of hot dishes written on that blackboard. Cheesy quiches and meat and potato pies. Warm berry cobblers and molten chocolate tarts. But where’s the
heat
?” Reba put her hands on her hips. “I know you’ve been feelin’ wrung out lately, but these folks need somethin’
more
.” She shot a quick glance around the room and then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’ll do you good to give them a dose of magic. You haven’t used any in weeks.”
    Ella Mae pivoted to look at her customers. As a whole, their faces were pale and wan. The Charmed Pie Shoppe was normally an animated place, full of conversation and laughter, but today it felt lifeless and dull. Ella Mae’s gaze swept over the room and she couldn’t help but notice the empty tables. A few months ago, there wouldn’t have been a vacant seat in the place. Frowning, Ella Mae was about to turn away when her eyes fell on the elderly gentleman she’d let into the pie shop. He was clutching the lapels of his wool coat with the thin fingers of one hand and reaching for his coffee cup with the other. His lips had a bluish cast and his scraggly beard did nothing to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. At that moment, he looked up and caught Ella Mae staring. In his pale blue eyes she imagined too many long and lonely winter nights and wondered if he spent most of his evenings sitting in front of a fire, dreaming of springtime and warm memories. Though she couldn’t recall his name, Ella Mae knew that the old man lived a solitary life in a crude cabin off the mountain road. The fact that he’d driven to town in this weather made Ella Mae realize that he must be desperate for a homemade meal and a little companionship.
    The old man lowered his face so that it hovered above his mug. He closed his eyes as the steam flooded over his wrinkled skin and Ella Mae could see the slightest loosening of his shoulders. She turned back to Reba. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll bring him a summer day. I’ll give him heat and the drone of insects and the sound of fish splashing in the lake. I’ll remind him that he belongs to this community—that he matters. I’ll make him smile from the inside out,” she promised, and pushed through the swing doors into the kitchen.
    Ella Mae had just begun to comb the shelves of dry goods in search of a particular ingredient when Reba entered the room. She perched on a stool and pulled a red licorice stick from her apron pocket. “What do you have up your sleeve? A little cayenne pepper? Some dried jalapeños? Curry?”
    “Red Hots,” Ella Mae said, dragging a step stool in front of the shelves. She climbed to the top step and reached for a plastic tub of bright red candy. “There you are.”
    “That old man’s dentures don’t stand a chance,” Reba muttered.
    “Don’t worry about his or anyone else’s dental work. I’m going to bake them into a pie. An apple pie,” Ella Mae said, jumping off the stepladder. “Trust me.”
    Reba put a hand over her heart. “With my life. Always.” She popped the rest of her licorice stick into her mouth, plated two orders of spinach and mushroom quiche with a side of field greens, and left the kitchen, humming as she walked.
    Ella Mae peeled, cored, and sliced apples. While she worked, her mind began to wander.
    “Hot,” she murmured as her knife flashed side to side and up and down, chopping the apples into bite-sized pieces. The word automatically called forth an image of Hugh Dylan, the man she’d been in love with since high school. She could practically feel his muscular arms sliding around her back, pulling her in for a deep kiss.