Tragic Toppings by Jessica Beck Page A

head finally, and I heard her sigh. When she spoke again, the sternness of her previous tone was gone. “I honestly did have a headache,” Momma admitted. “It was crushing.”
    “And yet it’s gone now,” I said, making certain there was not a hint of mocking in my voice. I was on thin ice at the moment, and nobody knew it better than I did.
    She waved a hand in the air. “Who can explain these things?” she asked.
    “Are you going to try again soon?”
    Grace looked at me as though I’d lost my mind, but I wasn’t about to stop.
    “Perhaps in a few days,” she admitted. “I truly was having a good time when the headache came on so suddenly.” She paused, looked surprised to be admitting it, but then added, “I really was reluctant to end it so abruptly.”
    I hugged her, and as I pulled away, she asked me, “What was that for?”
    “You tried once, and you’re going to try again,” I said. “There’s nothing more that I can ask of you. I’m proud of you, Momma.”
    She looked puzzled by my explanation. “Nonsense. I’ve done nothing to be proud of.”
    “If it matters, I think you did, too,” Grace said.
    “You two are getting to be too much alike,” she said. After dismissing the thought, she asked, “Would either of you have room for some apple pie? I baked one this afternoon.”
    I smiled at her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather share it with Chief Martin? He’s just over there, and I’m sure he can spare ten minutes for a slice of pie.”
    “Phillip has his hands full at the moment,” she said as she glanced briefly in the direction of the Patriot’s Tree. “Don’t worry, there will be other times, and other pies. For tonight, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share a slice with than the two of you.”
    We each got our slices, and as we sat at the front table eating, the lights from outside were an unspoken presence that kept trying to violate the sanctity of our home. Death had come to April Springs again, too close for our comfort, but we would find a way to deal with it, as we did the other troubles in our lives.
    *   *   *
    Half an hour later, Grace stood and stretched, then said, “I’m going to take off, if you don’t mind. Thanks again for the pie.”
    “You’re most welcome, dear,” Momma said. She turned to me and said, “Suzanne, you should walk her to her car.”
    I got up and moved toward the door. “Come on, Grace. Let’s go.”
    “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I can manage just fine by myself.”
    “I’m sure you can, but I don’t mind.”
    “Fine. Good night,” she called out to Momma as we started out the door.
    “Sweet dreams,” Momma answered.
    Before we could go, she added, “Suzanne, don’t linger out there. The police are still working, and they don’t need you nosing around in their business.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said with a smile, and we both knew that I was clearly lying. I suddenly realized that Momma hadn’t been all that concerned about Grace getting an escort after all. She wanted to know what was happening at the Patriot’s Tree, and it was the only way she could ask me to check things out without openly encouraging me to meddle.
    I wouldn’t let her down.
    Once Grace and I were outside, I said, “See you tomorrow.”
    As I started back toward the Patriot’s Tree, Grace asked, “You’re really going back over there after what your mother just told you?”
    “Are you kidding? She practically begged me to check things out just now.”
    Grace frowned at that. “Odd, I didn’t hear anything like that.”
    I smiled. “That’s because you don’t speak “Momma.” You’re welcome to come with me again if you’d like.”
    “Why not?” she asked as she changed directions at the last second to join me. I hadn’t really meant to offer the invitation, and Grace had surprised me by taking me up on it. Perhaps she was dealing with it okay after all.
    As we approached, I was relieved to see that