Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

daughter.
    The oven timer beeped, jarring Ella Mae from her maudlin reverie. The Red Hot apple pie was done baking. Grabbing a pair of pot holders, 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 take-out 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.
    “What’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.
    “It’s a Red Hot apple pie,” Ella Mae said, stepping out from behind the counter. “I was hoping it would warm you up.”
    “It’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 shop’s customers gaped at Mr. Crump, but by the time he’d reached the third stanza, their gazes had turned wistful and several of them swayed in their chairs.
    And then, a woman who’d been sitting alone near the rotating display case slowly rose to her feet and added her soft, sweet soprano to Mr. Crump’s rich baritone. Together, they sang. The words soared through the pie shop like graceful birds, casting a spell over everyone in the room.
    “Hail to the blue-green grassy hills;
    Hail to the great peaked hummocky mountains;
    Hail to the forests, hail to all there,
    Content I would live there forever.”
    When the song was finished, Ella Mae and her patrons clapped heartily and someone cried, “I’d like what he had for dessert!”
    The request was taken up by all of her customers.
    “You’d best get back in the kitchen, girl,” Reba said with a sly wink. “Keep on singin’ folks,” she announced gaily. “A slice of Red Hot apple pie in exchange for a song.”
    As Ella Mae hurried through the swing doors, she heard the organist from the Methodist church sing the opening line of the hymn, “Another Year Is Dawning.”
    Surrounded by music and warmth, Ella Mae began rolling out dough.
    Two hours later, she peeked into the dining room and was stunned to find that none of her customers had left. Some had changed seats to chat with other diners and the organist and the town florist were playing cards with Mr. Crump, but every person was still there. The