Peaches and Scream Page 2
“If there were real danger on my farm that would manifest itself in my energy, right? Do I understand that correctly?”
Beth nodded. “You grew up here, I’ve heard. Your aunt owns the place. You’re very involved in daily operations. Yes. I suspect if there were a presence of evil on this orchard your energy would reflect that. But I already know there is evil… I’m looking right at it.”
“I think maybe you and Big Jim got into a little bit of a tiff over nothing,” I said. “Maybe just take a break to cool down, Big Jim, you can check out the peaches. Beth… I would like for you to give me a tarot card reading. If my reading comes up clear, we’re all good and Jim probably isn’t trying to kill you. But if something is off, we can revisit this conversation with Jim. Big Jim, are you willing to hang out in the event barn while Beth gives me reading?”
“Is there peach pie left in there?”
Teeny stepped forward. “Plenty of peach pie. Not so sure about the ice cream, though. I had a few scoops. Maybe eight or nine. Who’s counting?! Once ice cream gets melty, I can eat it forever. I feel fine. I might have more.”
“Fine.” Big Jim turned to me. “I’ll be over by the pie.”
Big Jim trudged away. I looked back over at Beth. “This seems like a good plan to you?”
Beth looked at me with wide, panicked eyes. Like a deer in the headlights, but more frightened… like a deer who had just seen a ghost. When she spoke again her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I’ll be happy to give you a reading, Chelsea. But I must warn you, people aren’t always happy with what I have to say.”
I took a deep breath. “I understand. And I’m ready.”
3
Reading Rainbow
“I think we should do the reading in the bakeshop where it’s quiet.”
“Good,” said Beth. “I need quiet to focus and channel the truth that is swimming in the universe. The truth loves to swim. When it swims it never drowns and its favorite stroke is the backwards crawl.”
Teeny hurried to tag along. “That’s pretty interesting stuff, Beth. You know what? I’m going to stay with Chelsea for this reading. Not because I don’t trust you or anything like that. I just love the bakeshop. I love the way it smells and I’m gonna sneak myself a few chocolate chip cookies while we’re in there. Who needs peach pie when you’ve got chocolate chip cookies? Is that alright? I’m sure it is. What were you saying about the backwards crawl?”
Beth crossed her arms. “I’d rather perform my reading one-on-one.”
Teeny’s eyes widened. “I understand that. But…” Teeny looked over at me for help.
“I have a lot of allergies,” I said. “And Teeny knows what to do if I have an attack. So I need her by my side at all times. Especially if Miss May isn’t around.” I glanced back toward the event barn, then over at the farmhouse. “Where is Miss May, anyway?”
Teeny shrugged. “Not sure. Hope she’s OK.”
Beth held up a finger as though she were trying to detect the direction of the wind. Teeny and I stopped walking and exchanged a confused look. “Mabel Thomas is fine,” Beth declared. “She is safe. I can guarantee that.”
I bit my lower lip. “OK. Thanks for that information. I appreciate it.” As we headed into the bakeshop, I felt a flush of worry redden my cheeks. What was I getting myself into? Who was this Beth woman? Why hadn’t I seen her before? Did she even live in Pine Grove?
“I spend a great deal of time in Pine Grove. But I live two towns over. It’s nice to be here for the Peach Festival.”
Whoa.
How did Beth answer my question before I’d even said it? At first, I thought she’d read my mind. But I dismissed that thought. Coincidences often felt like magic. Not that I didn’t believe in magic. Or coincidences. I just needed to keep my wits about me.
Teeny walked behind the counter and slid open the glass case, removing a few chocolate chip cookies. “I’m going to stand back here and test out this batch of cookies. You girls do your thing. Chelsea, if you’re having an, uh, allergy attack like you do all the time, just grab your throat and gargle or say help or something. I’ve got the medicine.”
I gulped. I didn’t really have any severe allergies but at that moment I felt itchy, sweaty, and scared. Perhaps I’m allergic to this situation, I thought.
Moments later, Beth and I sat at a café table facing one another. Beth pulled a deck of tarot cards out of her purse and began shuffling them. She did not look up at me as she spoke. “Chelsea. Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea. Do you know how a tarot card reading works?”
I shook my head.
“First timer. That’s fine. That’s wonderful. Let’s begin by setting our intentions for this reading. What do you want to know about yourself?”
“I’m not sure. I thought you planned to do a reading so we can find out if Big Jim wants to kill you.”
Beth straightened the tarot cards on the table with a loud thud. She looked up at me. “Don’t mention his name to me. That man is pure evil and his energy must not enter this room.”
I stammered. “OK. Sorry.”
“I can tell you are in love,” said Beth. “But your significant other is far away right now. He feels a world away but you should know is always with you.”
“Everyone knows Germany’s in Africa,” said Teeny from across the room. “Germany the person, not the country. Germany is Chelsea’s boyfriend.”
Beth glared at Teeny. Teeny covered her mouth. “Sorry. I’m being a blabber bottom. Sometimes I blab. Maybe you can hypnotize me later and we can take care of that bad habit — wham, bam, Bob’s your uncle.”
“I don’t know any Bob,” Beth said. I did my best not to laugh.
“Oh, ‘Bob’s your uncle’ is just something they say in Britain,” Teeny said with a dismissive wave.
“Well I’m not from Britain. And I’m also not a hypnotist,” Beth said. She turned away from Teeny and looked me square in the eye. Her speech took on a lilting, distant tone. It felt as though she might fall asleep at any moment. Although her eyes were aimed at me they were unfocused and drowsy. “This reading, this reading is meant to bring you peace. What we find out we will find out. I’ve been doing this a long time, Chelsea. I know you, on a deep, soul-baring level…without us ever having met. That’s the thing, with me. I try to know everything and keep myself informed.”
I looked over at Teeny. I could tell from her face that she was also having trouble following Beth’s logic. When I looked back at Beth, she snapped out of her trance and sat up straight. “I’m hungry. I need to eat before we do this.”
I jumped to my feet. “Of course. Let me get you a cookie. Would you like a chocolate chip cookie?”
Beth swallowed with a loud swish in her mouth. “Yes. A cookie is what I need. My blood sugar can drop. I can’t perform my duties here if my blood sugar drops.”
I hurried behind the counter and grabbed a cookie off of Teeny’s plate. “Chocolate chip cookie, coming right up. Would you like it warmed?”
Beth snapped at me. “I don’t care about the temperature of the cookie. I said I need to eat. Now.”
I hurried back over toward the table and placed the cookie down in front of Beth. She slipped back into her drowsy lilt. “I’ve never been a little woman. Some women, they don’t need to eat. They’re little birds. But I’m vibrant and strong. I need my sustenance and I’m not ashamed of that. I have no shame when it comes to fueling my body.”
What are you supposed to say to something like that? I wasn’t sure, but what I went with was, “Cookies are great. I love cookies. Yum. Hope you like it.”
Beth took a bite and chewed in a slow and careful manner. Her eyes widened as she chewed and I could tell she liked the cookie. Our bakeshop had some of the best cookies east of the Mississippi. Probably west of it, too. But then, Beth tried to swallow and the cookie got caught in her throat. She grabbed her neck and coughed loudly. I slid my chair back.
“Are you OK?”
“Are yo
u having an allergic reaction?” Teeny asked, in a panic.
Beth coughed for another moment. I hovered near her, unsure what action to take. “Can I get you water?” I asked. “Do you want me to do the Heimlich?”
Beth held up a hand to stop me. The coughing subsided and her eyes landed on mine with a cold, hard glare. She placed both hands down on the table and grimaced at me. When she spoke again her voice was steely and quiet. “I know you’re trying to kill me, Chelsea.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry about the cookie. Not… I’m not sorry for trying to kill you. I’m not trying to kill you. I’m sorry the cookie got stuck in your throat.”
Beth balled up her fists. “You’re trying to kill me. Just like everyone else. Everyone in this town wants me dead. I fled across the country in disguise. I thought I had escaped the federal agents. But they’re after me. You are one of them. I told you, I already know everything about you!”
I stood up, knocking my chair backward. Teeny rushed toward me and pulled me away from Beth. “Calm down. Chelsea would never kill anyone. Karate chop, maybe, but kill, never! She’s a sleuth. She catches killers. You’re confused.”
Beth stood. “I know who you are. You are the federal agents. You’re the ones who want me dead.”
The bakeshop door opened with a creak. “What’s going on here?”
Miss May stepped inside, tall and confident, with her hands on her hips. “Beth. No one is trying to kill you.”
“Miss May,” I said. “Where were you?”
“One of our guests misplaced their cabin keys. I was looking out in the field. We’ll talk about it later.” Miss May took a step toward Beth. “Everything’s OK, Beth.”
“No, it’s not.” Beth’s lip trembled. “Chelsea is a federal agent. She tricked me into giving her a reading so she could poison me with that cookie.”
“Chelsea is not a federal agent,” said Miss May. “She’s my niece. I’ve known her my whole life. I’ve known you a long time, too. Remember? I used to come to your place sometimes? I’d bring fresh apples sometimes.”
Miss May’s relaxed and collected voice seemed to put Beth at ease. Beth unclenched her fists and let out a deep breath. “I like apples. And I like your orchard. It’s important to have a connection with Mother Earth and the fruit that she bears.”
“That’s right,” said Miss May. “But you know what? I need to close down the bakeshop to get ready for business tomorrow. This is been an eventful night. Why don’t you head home and get some rest?”
Beth nodded. “Rest is good. Rest restores all.”
Miss May held the door open and Beth crossed toward it. Just before Beth exited she turned back to me. “I know who you really are,” she said.
“OK,” I said. “Um… Have a good night.”
Beth slammed the door as she left. The second she was gone, both Teeny and I breathed a big sigh of relief. “That woman is clinically insane,” said Teeny. “And she had murder in her eyes.”
4
Miss Fortune
After Beth vacated the premises I wanted nothing more than to discuss what had happened with Teeny, Miss May, and/or whatever animals happened to be around.
Yes, I talk to my animals. Yes, they talk back. It’s a sacred bond, OK?
Anyway, I wanted to talk but I couldn’t because we needed to do a lot of cleaning up after the peach party. I couldn’t believe the mess that had been left behind in the event barn. Peach pie was smashed into the ground. A chair was knocked on its side. A big bowl of ice cream had melted on the bandstand.
All told, the cleanup effort took almost two hours. By the time Miss May and I finally made it back to the farmhouse for some much-needed rest, it was after midnight. We had discussed what had happened with Beth in passing as we cleaned, but the real conversation didn’t start until we closed the door of the farmhouse behind us.
“Well,” said Miss May. “That was an unbelievable night.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Unbelievable, yeah. That’s one word for it. I think I ate an entire peach pie all by myself as I was cleaning up. Do you think that’s OK?”
Miss May laughed. “If you’d eaten any less, I’d be insulted. Those pies are good.”
“Delicious,” I agreed.
“Why don’t you put on a pot of tea?” Miss May kicked off her shoes. “I’m going to change into my pajamas and sit by the fireplace for a few minutes before bed.”
I nodded. “Decaf, right?”
Miss May gave me a look like, “obviously,” then plodded up the creaky old farmhouse steps toward her room. I paused a moment to listen as each stair groaned under Miss May’s heavy stride. The sound reminded me of being a teenager. Whenever I’d heard Miss May creaking her way up the steps, I’d known it was time to turn out my light, put my book away, and go to sleep. Funny how even a stern aunt approaching at bedtime can be part of a good memory.
I decided to make some of Miss May’s fancy decaf chai tea that she kept in a jar above the kitchen sink. Neither she nor I typically drank much tea, but when we did we liked the good stuff.
I untwisted the jar and a bouquet of warm, savory spices drifted toward my nose. The tea in the jar was looseleaf, which meant it wasn’t in a bag. It was just a bunch of leaves and spices mingled together in a fragrant heap.
I heaved a big spoon of chai into a pot and covered it with plenty of water. Waiting for the water to boil was agonizing. That expression about a watched pot felt particularly true on that night. Even more agonizing? Waiting for the tea to steep once the water had gotten hot.
After about ten minutes of waiting, I sifted the tea leaves into a strainer and I was left with a caramel brown liquid that made my nose tingle.
The next step in my tea recipe was top-secret, passed down to me from Miss May, but I guess I’ll tell you anyway... I grabbed another jar and added a couple tablespoons of heavy whipping cream. Then I sealed the jar and shook it like a maraca for at least thirty seconds. Gradually, the heavy whipping cream got thicker and creamier — halfway between liquid and whipped. I stopped shaking the jar, added a touch of honey, then shook for another few seconds. Finally, I added the tea into the jar and gave it one more shake. Then I poured a big mug for both myself and Miss May and I took a big, indulgent sip.
The English way to drink tea was with hot milk, which was tasty, for sure. But I have to say, Miss May’s recipe with heavy whipping cream was delicious. And, dare I say, better.
That first sip felt like falling back into a hotel bed. Soft and luxurious and warming, all the way through.
Miss May sidled into the kitchen wearing a nightgown covered with apples and I handed her the mug I’d poured for her. She took a sip and smiled. “We need to make chai more often.”
I beamed. “You like it?”
“I love it. Oh! I know what we should do. We should make apple cider chai in the fall. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”
“It sounds amazing.”
“Remind me to remind you about that in a few months.”
I chuckled. “Will do.”
“For now, you need to tell me every detail of what happened with Beth in that bakeshop.”
Miss May and I headed into the den. We sat by the empty fireplace, which was still cozy even in the summer, and I recounted all the details of the strange and unsettling encounter. The story shocked Miss May and I got a little sweaty retelling it.
Yeah, I’ve got the nervous sweats. I’m living with it. Thank you for your concern.
When I finally finished talking, Miss May shook her head. “I’m sorry you went through that. That poor woman, Beth... I don’t think she’s OK. Maybe I shouldn’t have made her leave like that. She didn’t even get any pie.”
I put my hand on Miss May’s arm. “You did the right thing. Trust me. But I understand. Everyone deserves a slice of that pie. Maybe we can bring her a slice in the morning?”
Miss May nodded. “I’ll go to the door and you can stay in the car.”
Half an hour later, I tucked myself into bed with a warm, happy feeling in my stomach. But the longer I laid there, the worse I felt. My interaction with Beth had been tense and almost otherworldly. Nothing like I had ever experienced prior to that day. And the whole thing left me feeling uneasy, almost like Beth had cursed me.
The more I tried to push the thought out of my mind, the larger it grew. That’s always how it seemed to work with me. After a few hours, I realized I hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes. So I gave up on the idea of sleep and decided to work out my anxious energy with some middle-of-the-night baking. What can I say? Working in the bakeshop, I’d learned to stress-bake my troubles away. Baking was cheaper than therapy and more delicious too.
Down in the kitchen, I opened Miss May’s baking cabinet and groaned with disappointment. We were almost out of flour. “Just my luck. I work in a bakeshop but I don’t even have flour in my own kitchen.”
I peeked out the window beside the front door and looked out at the bakeshop. “I guess I could borrow some from out there.”
My fussing in the kitchen had awakened Steve, our adorable little dog who walked with a serious (but still adorable) limp. Steve had been a gift from Germany Turtle. Ever since Germany had gone to Africa, Steve seemed to know that I needed a little extra affection. He wagged his tail and rolled over on his back, presenting his tummy for a quick rub. I patted Steve’s belly and he whimpered. I couldn’t be sure what his whimper meant, but it seemed to me like he was saying, “Yeah, Chels, you should definitely go out to the bakeshop to get some flour and make something delicious.”
I gave Steve one more big pat, then straightened up. “Alright, Steve. You talked me into it. Let’s go.”
I grabbed Miss May’s keys from the hook near the door and headed outside, Steve limping along excitedly beside me.
As I walked across the field toward the bakeshop, an ominous feeling overtook me. A full moon hung high in the sky. Fog draped over the apple trees, obscuring all but the lowest branches. And the night had gotten a little too chilly for my T-shirt and pajama pants.