Pie

  This was not going at all the way Alice had planned. She had pictured her mother smiling at her, as they tried on their matching hats together in front of the mirror. Instead her mother was accusing her of being a liar and a thief as the smell of burning bacon filled the kitchen.

  Alice’s mother went on. “Polly took everything from me. Even you. From the time you were a baby, you’d light up at the sight of her, reach out your little hands to her. It broke my heart, but that didn’t stop her. What Polly wanted, Polly got. All those hours you two spent together in the pie shop — she knew exactly what she was doing. She had to make sure you loved her more than me, and clearly she succeeded.”

  “You’re wrong,” Alice told her mother, fighting to hold back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “I didn’t love Aunt Polly more than I love you. The difference is she loved me back.”

  Alice turned and ran out of the room, out of the house, down the steps, and out to the garage, tears streaming down her face. How could she have been so stupid to think that she could change herself or the way that her mother felt about her?

  “Alice!” she heard her mother calling. “Come back.”

  But Alice didn’t want to go back. Ever. She got on her bike and began to pedal. She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care. She just needed to get away. Away from the mother who couldn’t love her, away from the pain of missing her aunt Polly, away from a kitchen that would never, ever smell like freshly baked pie, away from everything.

  “Alice!” her mother called again.

  But Alice just kept riding. Away, away, away.

  CONCORD GRAPE PIE

  5 cups Concord grapes

  2 apples, peeled

  ¾ cup sugar

  ½ cup flour

  Wash grapes and pinch off the skins, reserving the skins for later. Heat grape pulp, boiling for about 5 minutes. Put through strainer to remove seeds. Use enough grape skins to layer pie shell (unbaked). Slice up apples to cover grape skin layer. Mix sugar with flour. Sprinkle half of mixture over skins, pour cooled pulp into shell, and add remaining flour and sugar mixture. Cover with top crust. Bake at 425 for 20 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 and bake 25 minutes more.

  Helpful hint: To pinch off grape skins without bruising the fruit, squeeze gently between thumb and forefinger — kind of like shooting a watermelon seed.

  Guess whose favorite this one is? Mine!

  Chapter Ten

  The Ipsy Inn was on the top of a hill overlooking the town of Ipswitch. Alice usually avoided that area when she was out riding her bike. The hill was too steep to ride up, and she didn’t want to have to walk her bike all the way to the top. But that day, Alice hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going and when she found herself at the bottom of the hill, she decided to try to make it to the top. At first it wasn’t so hard, but before long, Alice found she had to stand up on her pedals in order to keep the bike moving forward. The hot sun beat down on her as she struggled inch by inch to push herself up the hill. Her chest burned and her back ached but she refused to give up, and five minutes later, with one final push, she reached the top — just as her bicycle chain slipped off.

  Alice left her bike at the curb while she went and flopped down in the grass to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and lay on her back, listening to the steady pounding of her heart. After a while she opened her eyes again and looked across the yard at the inn. It was a beautiful old white clapboard house with black shutters and a bright red door. Snowball hydrangeas were in full bloom along the front, and in the side yard there were crisp white bedsheets hanging on a clothesline, billowing and snapping in the warm breeze. A little yellow bird flew by, landing on the edge of the roof, then fluttering down to perch on a pot of geraniums hanging on a hook outside one of the second-floor windows. Alice saw someone moving inside, and then the window swung open, startling the little bird away.

  Shielding her eyes with one hand, Alice watched as a woman leaned out the window. It was Sylvia DeSoto, the reporter. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, but Alice recognized her from her yellow hair, which was piled up on her head exactly as it had been the day she’d come to the Andersons’ house. As Alice watched, Sylvia DeSoto leaned out the window a little farther and looked both ways, then she ducked back inside, reappearing a few seconds later holding something in her hands. Even from a distance, Alice could tell that it was her mother’s chocolate cream pie. Miss DeSoto looked both ways again, then dropped the pie, tin pan and all, out of the window into the bushes below.

  “Good gravy!”

  Alice practically jumped out of her skin. She’d been so wrapped up in watching Sylvia DeSoto, she hadn’t heard Charlie arrive. He was standing right behind her, straddling his bike and looking up at the window of the inn.

  “Did you see what I saw?” he asked.

  Just then the front door opened and Sylvia DeSoto walked out carrying a brown leather suitcase in her hand.

  “Quick!” Alice told Charlie. “Look busy.”

  Charlie squatted down beside Alice’s bike and started fiddling with the chain while Alice pretended to be helping him.

  “What’s she doing now?” he whispered.

  “She’s walking over to her car,” Alice reported, glancing over her shoulder. “Wait. No, she’s stopping. She’s turning around and going back into the inn. She must have forgotten something.”

  “Like a chocolate cream pie?” said Charlie.

  “Wait. She’s stopping again. Now she’s digging around in her purse looking for something. Oh, her glasses.”

  As Alice watched, Miss DeSoto slipped on her glasses, then she picked up her suitcase again and carried it over to a green Chevrolet that was parked in the corner under the shade of a shagbark hickory tree. After putting the suitcase in the backseat, she climbed into the front and started the engine.

  “We have to follow her,” said Alice.

  “Why?” asked Charlie.

  “My mother’s never going to believe me if I tell her I found her pie in the bushes,” said Alice. “She thinks I took it, and she always will if we don’t catch Miss DeSoto and get her to admit what she did.”

  “Who’s Miss DeSoto?” asked Charlie. “And what’s she doing with your mother’s pie?”

  “I’ll explain later. We have to go now before we lose her.”

  “We can’t go,” said Charlie. “Or at least you can’t.”

  “Why not?” asked Alice, her eyes still glued to the green car, which was pulling out into the street now with the right-turn indicator blinking.

  “Your chain is totally busted,” said Charlie. “I can’t fix it without my tools.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Alice. “Everything is downhill from here — I can coast. Come on. Hurry up before she gets away.”

  Two seconds later, they were sailing down the steep hill in pursuit of the big green Chevrolet. Alice had promised herself that she would never let her imagination run away with her again, but she hadn’t imagined that pie flying out the window, had she? Near the bottom of the hill, Miss DeSoto turned left, and left again at the next corner. Alice would not be able to go much farther without being able to pedal.

  “Where do you think she’s going?” she asked Charlie.

  As if in answer to her question, the brake lights flashed red up ahead and the green Chevrolet slowed down and came to a stop at the end of the Needlemans’ driveway.

  “Welcome, welcome!” Mrs. Needleman gushed, rushing out of the house to greet her guest. “Henry and I are so glad you could make it. He’s waiting inside for you in the den, Miss DeSoto.”

  Charlie and Alice had cut through the neighbor’s yard and were hiding behind some trash cans, listening in.

  “I’m glad you called,” said Miss DeSoto, as she climbed out of her car and shook hands with the mayor’s wife. “I had just about given up hope.”

  Melanie Needleman had heard through the grapevine that a reporter from Look magazine had come to town sniffing arou
nd for information about Polly Portman’s piecrust recipe. Never one to turn down an opportunity for publicity, especially during an election year, she had called over to the Ipsy Inn and stretched the truth a little by suggesting that the mayor had somehow managed to find a copy of the recipe, which he might be willing to share if Miss DeSoto would be so kind as to interview him for the article she was writing.

  “I’m most eager to speak with your husband,” Miss DeSoto told Mrs. Needleman. “I simply must have that recipe before it’s too late — to write the article, I mean.”

  “Yes, yes, the piecrust recipe,” said Mrs. Needleman with a wave of her hand. “That’s all anyone seems to care about anymore. Come inside, Miss DeSoto. I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea, and you and Henry can chat. I had hoped to have some homemade buttermilk pie to offer you, but I’m afraid it didn’t turn out very well. Have I mentioned that the mayor is running for reelection? He’s got some very interesting ideas you might be able to use in your article….”

  Charlie and Alice couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation as Mrs. Needleman led the reporter inside.

  “Now what?” asked Charlie.

  Alice looked at the green Chevrolet.

  “You stay here and be my lookout,” she said. “If you see anyone coming, whistle.”

  “I can’t whistle,” Charlie told her. “I don’t know how.”

  “Then make some other kind of sound,” said Alice. “Just cover me, okay?” She scooted down the driveway and slipped into Miss DeSoto’s car.

  The first thing Alice saw was a black hat with a veil lying on the passenger seat. That wasn’t very incriminating, but her luck improved when she opened the glove compartment. There she discovered a white handkerchief with something wrapped up inside it. Alice carefully unfolded the little square of linen and smiled. It was a gold hoop earring, exactly like the one she’d found under the radiator.

  “I knew it!” she whispered.

  Somewhere nearby, a cat began to meow. Alice ignored it and continued her search, but when the meowing grew louder, she suddenly realized it wasn’t a cat at all; it was Charlie trying to warn her that someone was coming. Alice dove into the backseat, held her breath, and waited. Pretty soon she heard a high singsongy voice.

  Cinderella

  Dressed in yella

  Went upstairs to kiss a fella …

  It was Nora Needleman reciting a rhyme as she jumped rope.

  By mistake she kissed a snake

  How many doctors did it take?

  One, two, three, four …

  Alice waited what seemed like an eternity for Nora to finish jumping and go back inside. When she was sure the coast was clear, Alice climbed out of the car and hurried back to Charlie.

  “Look what I found,” she said, holding out the gold earring.

  “Hey, that looks just like the one you —”

  “It is,” said Alice excitedly. “And that’s not all. Her suitcase has the initials J.Q. engraved on it.”

  Alice had discovered this while she was hiding in the backseat of the car.

  “Why would somebody named Sylvia DeSoto have a suitcase with the initials J.Q. on it?”

  “Because she’s not Sylvia DeSoto — she’s somebody else!” said Alice. “Somebody who’s come here looking for Aunt Polly’s piecrust recipe. That’s why she broke into the pie shop and it’s the reason she stole Lardo, too.”

  “Don’t kill me for saying this,” said Charlie, “but this new hunch of yours sounds an awful lot like the old hunch you had about Miss Gurke. And you remember how that turned out.”

  “I know,” Alice told him. “But this time I’m right.”

  “Why do you think she threw your mother’s pie out the window?” asked Charlie.

  “To get rid of the evidence.”

  “Why did she steal it in the first place?” Charlie asked.

  Alice explained that Miss DeSoto had seemed very interested in her mother’s pie, too interested in fact, and that she’d probably stolen it because she wanted to see if Alice’s mother was telling the truth when she said she didn’t know the recipe by heart.

  “So you think Miss DeSoto was the one who gave Lardo the sleeping powder, too?” asked Charlie.

  “Yes,” said Alice.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. But one thing I’m sure of is she’s after that piecrust recipe, and you’re about to make her think she’s going to get it.”

  “I am?” asked Charlie.

  Alice nodded. “I’ve got a plan all worked out.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Charlie asked. “Spy on her or something? I think I might be pretty good at that.”

  “No. I want you to invite Nora to go to the movies with you,” Alice said.

  “What?” cried Charlie. “Are you crazy?”

  “Shh!!” Alice said, pressing a finger to her lips.

  “I am not asking Nora Needleman to go to the movies,” Charlie said. “Besides, she wouldn’t go with me even if I did ask her. I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

  “She hates me more,” Alice said. “But it’s the best excuse I can think of for why you would have to come over to her house to talk to her.”

  “Why do I have to talk to her in person?” asked Charlie. “Can’t I just call her on the phone?”

  “No,” Alice said.

  “Why not?”

  “I need you to be overheard.”

  Alice quickly explained the plan to Charlie, who listened carefully and reluctantly agreed to follow her instructions.

  “When do I have to do it?” he asked.

  “Right now.”

  “Good gravy,” Charlie grumbled as he climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. Mayor Needleman answered the door.

  “What can I do for you, young man?” he said with a friendly smile.

  “Is Nora at home, sir?” Charlie asked, his voice cracking and jumping an octave, he was so nervous. “I need to speak to her about a personal matter.”

  “Nora!” the mayor called over his shoulder. “There’s someone here to see you, honey.” He turned back to Charlie. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Charlie Erdling.”

  “Dorothy and Ed’s boy?” asked the mayor.

  Charlie nodded.

  As Alice watched from her hiding place behind the trash cans, she saw Nora Needleman appear at the door with a bottle of pink nail polish in her hand. Fluffy white cotton balls peeked out from between each of her toes, and she was walking tipped back on her heels in order to keep from smudging her freshly painted toenails.

  “What do you want?” she asked when she saw Charlie.

  “I was wondering if we could talk,” Charlie said.

  “About what?”

  “POLLY PORTMAN’S PIECRUST RECIPE,” shouted Charlie.

  The mayor’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Polly Portman’s piecrust recipe?” he said. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about that inside.”

  “Really? You were just talking about POLLY PORTMAN’S PIECRUST RECIPE?” Charlie shouted again.

  “Why are you shouting?” asked Nora.

  “Was I?” said Charlie. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “What on earth is going on out there, Henry?” Mrs. Needleman called from the den.

  “There’s a young man here who’s come to talk to Nora about —”

  “POLLY PORTMAN’S PIECRUST RECIPE,” Charlie shouted, finishing the sentence for him.

  Alice couldn’t have been more pleased. Charlie was following her instructions perfectly.

  “I don’t see what Polly Portman’s piecrust recipe has to do with me,” said Nora. “And for golly’s sake, quit shouting, will you?”

  “Mind your manners, Nora,” said her father. “Why don’t you invite the young man to sit in the porch swing with you while I go inside and finish my interview.”

  “Henry!” called Mrs. Needleman. “We’re waiting. Look magazine is waiting.”

>   “Coming, Melly,” said the mayor.

  Hobbling on her heels, Nora led Charlie over to the porch swing.

  “Sit,” she told him.

  Alice saw the curtain move as the window behind Charlie slid open a crack. So far, so good, she thought.

  “Did you really come all the way over here to talk to me about piecrust?” asked Nora. She hadn’t joined Charlie in the swing, choosing instead to stand in front of him, with her arms crossed.

  Charlie pulled at his collar, and even from a distance, Alice could see that the tips of his ears were bright red.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the movies with me this Saturday,” he said.

  “What?” said Nora, her mouth dropping open.

  “I said, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the movies with me this Saturday,” Charlie repeated.

  “What does going to the movies have to do with piecrust?” asked Nora.

  Charlie took a deep breath. Here we go, Alice thought.

  “I WAS GOING TO ASK ALICE ANDERSON TO GO TO THE MOVIES WITH ME, BUT NOW THAT SHE’S FOUND HER AUNT POLLY’S SECRET PIECRUST RECIPE, SHE DOESN’T HAVE TIME FOR THINGS LIKE GOING TO THE MOVIES ANYMORE.”

  “You’re shouting again,” said Nora.

  “I just want to make sure you heard me when I said that ALICE SURE HAS CHANGED SINCE SHE FOUND THAT RECIPE. ALL SHE TALKS ABOUT NOW IS HOW RICH SHE’S GOING TO BE WHEN SHE SELLS IT. SHE EVEN SLEEPS WITH IT UNDER HER PILLOW EVERY NIGHT. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? RIGHT UNDER HER PILLOW.”

  “Charlie Erdling,” Nora said, stamping her foot so hard, several of the cotton balls popped out from between her toes, “I always knew you were strange, but I had no idea you were this strange. Do you really think I would consider going to the movies with someone like you?”

  Charlie took another deep breath.

  “LIKE I SAID, I WOULD HAVE ASKED ALICE, BUT NOW THAT SHE FOUND THAT PIECRUST RECIPE —”

  Alice whistled long and low three times — the signal she and Charlie had agreed she would give as soon as she felt he’d accomplished his mission. He heard Alice and wrapped things up quickly.