Choice Morsels

When the brass curtain rings scraped the metallic rod, Evelyn Leonard’s jaw tightened, her hand clutching the threadbare drapes, leaving a greasy stain from the fish she’d already been frying. Then, as the sunlight spilled into the room, her hips swayed under her snug dress, trying to find the best vantage point. With the widow in her crosshairs, she whispered.

“What are you up to…now?”

She leaned closer, holding her breath, thumb and finger pinching her lower lip, as she hoped to catch the widow doing something obscene. But then the sharp ring of the telephone cut through the still air, pulling her away before she’d spotted anything worth repeating. She snatched the receiver off its cradle and answered.

“Afternoon, Sarah.”

“Evelyn, calling to remind you about bridge tomorrow at Mrs. Henry’s.”

Evelyn edged back toward the window where the widow was pruning her mountain laurels. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“And that dress—no respectable woman would wear such a thing.” Watching the widow, too?

“Is she respectable?”

“Well, she’s certainly made quite a splash all down Pungle Road.”

“I’ve heard. Even the nasty rumors… not that I’d repeat them.”

“I know that her husband’s death was not her fault. But…”

Evelyn cut her off. “Not her fault? He died hours after dinner—didn’t he?”

“My God, do you think? I mean, would she?”

Evelyn glanced down at her copy of Ladies’ Glamor. “You read about it all the time.”

Evelyn peeked back out the window for another look. “Thomas fixed a window for her this morning.”

That sent Sarah into a flustered spin of words.

When she finished, Evelyn recounted her husband helping the widow with her window, excluding any details that’d make Thomas look bad. Evelyn wanted Mrs. Lloyd out of the road, not Thomas.

For now, she’d keep the tastier bits she didn’t like to herself.

“It’s almost three, and I don’t have Thomas’ dinner ready.”

“What? Wait…”

“Sarah, I’m starting dinner. See you tomorrow.”

Evelyn clicked off the phone before Sarah could question her.

Evelyn’s thoughts drifted as she made dinner.

Earlier today, Thomas had ribbed her about her nosiness… But you couldn’t really call it nosiness. ‘It’s my own window after all.’ Not her fault that it faced the widow’s garden. More like a duty to her neighbors than gossiping.

Then, with her guilt laid to rest, she put the final touches on their dinner. Fish cakes and baked beans. His favorites. The beans had been baking all afternoon—the smell of molasses had filled her small kitchen.

Even their old dog Winslow sniffed the air from his bed by the stove. She glanced at the clock as she stepped to the oven for a quick check, but a rapid knocking on the back door stopped her in her tracks.

“Bloody hell.”

She stepped to the back door and fiddled with the deadbolt as the knocking continued. “If that fish isn’t ready for dinner… Thomas’ll run straight into the widow’s skinny arms for a nibble or two. Damn her.”

With the deadbolt off, she threw back the door to find Mrs. Lloyd with her dress flapping around her in the breeze. The widow held out a pie like she’d invented it.

Phony smile from one ear to the other.

“Mrs. Lloyd, what in the… I’m sorry, what can I do for you?”

“Dear, have I startled you? I hope I haven’t.”

“You didn’t?” Though Evelyn could feel the redness in her face.

“You’re Evelyn, yes?”

“Today, I’m trying to cook dinner, Mrs. Lloyd.”

“Oh, ah yeah…I heard.” Her phony smile faltered for just a moment. “I just wanted to drop this off to you—it’s an apple pie.”

“Well, thank you. But my husband can’t eat apples.”

“Oh, I know… He told me.”

The words crawled up her arms like spiders. “Well, then…”

“But… wait, please. I made this one extra-special—just for you.” She shoved it into Evelyn’s hands. “I insist.”

Evelyn thanked her—then shut the door in her face.

“Ah… Have a lovely day, Mrs. Leonard,” she called through the door. “Enjoy the pie.”

Evelyn caught a whiff of spices, then held the pan closer to her nose. Ginger, nutmeg… and cinnamon. “Ew, enough for four pies, Winslow.”

Then, Evelyn set the pan down in front of Winslow, patting him on the head. “Enjoy the pie.”

By the time the clock chimed five, she noticed Winslow had licked the pan clean, so she tucked it away in the pantry until she could return it. “Remember, Winslow, not a word.”

With dinner on the table, her eyes kept darting to her pantry. The smell of the spices still lingered on her fingers, no matter how many times she’d wiped them on her apron. Then, hearing his key in the front door, she smoothed out her dress, checked her hair in the chrome toaster, and walked through to the front door. “Dinner is on the table—fishcakes and beans, your favorites.”

If he’d answered her, she didn’t remember, just that they’d dined in silence. But her mind kept darting back to the pie and the widow. Thinking about things like…

Why would Thomas tell her about his allergy?

To be fair, though, she reminded herself Thomas was just the sort for things like that—loyal, kind, and friendly.

But then again, women love men like that—just like flies to honey.

And being friendly didn’t explain the damn pie.

Unless… maybe she’d baked it just to rub Evelyn’s face in it?

Of course, she did.

Evelyn didn’t even need Ladies Glamor to tell her that.

Thomas’ voice drew her out of her thoughts. “Mrs. Lloyd mentioned she wants to join the bridge club… once she’s settled. I guess.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrow. “We already have four for bridge.”

He clicked his tongue at her.

“She said she’d seen you through the front window.”

Spying again, that’s what he’s saying… Poor Mrs. Lloyd.

Her cheeks burned as she fiddled with the edge of her plate. “Fixing a window must be chatty work, to know all that.”

“Actually, she said that when I gave her a lift to the shop.”

“You gave her a lift?” Her skin crawled, but her voice stayed in check.

“Yes, she had groceries to get, and it’s on my way. And… I didn’t see the harm.”

“You never see the harm in anything, Thomas. One day, that’ll catch up with you.”

“Evie… don’t be like that? Please?”

“Fine, Thomas… fine.”

He touched her hand as he wandered into the front room to watch TV. She cleared away the dishes and, with the dog back inside, she grabbed her magazine and went upstairs to read. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, though, because she didn’t hear a sound until Winslow’s warm nose nudged her arm. The poor dog whined as it tried to stay on its feet while she dressed. Then she woke Thomas.

“Evie, for heaven’s sake. What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine. It’s Winslow. He’s in pain. I think.”

Thomas checked the old dog over, pressing on its belly and sides, both of which caused obvious discomfort. “Was he sick all day?”

“Of course not. Just now, when he woke me.”

Thomas hemmed and hawed. “Did he get into anything? Eat anything odd?”

Evelyn bit her lower lip in the dim shadows from the light in the bathroom. “No, I don’t think so.”

‘I can’t tell him about the pie,’ she thought…

And then it hit her like a brick…

…her young husband died just after dinner one night.

…no good reason.

…enough for four pies…

That woman’s pie had done it…

Just for you… I insist.

They both sat up with Winslow until the sun broke the horizon. Thomas decided that Dr. Perkins in Mill Falls would be the best place. A two-hour drive each way, but… if it could help. Evelyn’s thoughts raced as she debated telling Thomas about the pie. But he’d blame her… somehow, so she bit back her words. Even as Thomas backed out of the driveway, she still hesitated. But Evelyn couldn’t tell him.

As Thomas drove off, she turned to look at the garden.

“How scruffy,” Evelyn kicked at the prunings Mrs. Lloyd had left sprawled over the ground from yesterday. “Sarah’s right. No self-respect at all.”

Evelyn stomped back to the house—her arms folded against the chilly air. Then later, when she’d finally settled her mind enough for a cup of tea and buttered toast, someone rapped on the back door. “Saints preserve us. What now? A box of cinnamon scones?”

“Mrs. Leonard, I had to come straight over. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, fine. Thank you.”

“I saw Thomas and your poor dog. Is the old boy sick?”

“Just a little under the weather. I really must go.”

Mrs. Lloyd drew in a deep, tragic breath. “Heavens, do you need me to stay? Can I bring you anything? Tea, scones maybe?”

“No, thank you.” Evelyn bit back a sarcastic laugh.

The widow turned to go, her coat flapping around her. “I hope that pie was… okay?”

Her words sounded like a barb—sharp. But Evelyn reminded herself that she had no proof of any wrongdoing, none. Except for a deathly sick dog.

Her husband died after dinner…

Touching Thomas’ arm and hugging him…

Groceries indeed…

But then again, she thought, Thomas might be right… Maybe she needed to be a better neighbor.

Evelyn darted into the pantry, where she pulled a recipe card from the box, a few needed supplies, and the widow’s pie tin.

I’ll show her she’s not bothering me whatsoever.

Evelyn would return her pie tin with a freshly baked meat pie. “A pie someone would enjoy receiving. And… it’ll make Thomas happy.”

Elbows deep in mixing the meat filling, Evelyn smiled to herself, almost proud of her effort, when her phone rang in the front room. Evelyn quickly wiped her hands on a dishtowel as she raced through to answer, fearing the worst for her poor dog.

“Thomas?”

“Thomas? No, Evelyn dear, it’s me, Sarah. Why would Thomas be ringing you? At this time of day?”

“Sorry, Thomas took Winslow to the vet. I’m waiting for a word.”

“Dear me. You won’t miss playing bridge, will you?”

“No, Sarah, but I’m just in the middle of… umm… cleaning.”

“Wait, I need to tell you something. You need to know.”

“Fine.”

“My dear, I don’t know where to begin. I just came back from Thompson’s… are you sitting down? I worry this will sting you.”

“Sarah, can you get on with telling me, dear?”

“Mrs. Thompson told me that the widow was dress shopping yesterday.”

“I’m not sure that’s a crime, Sarah.”

“Well…” Sarah paused for some effect. “She was with your Thomas. Now, what do you have to say to that?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes at the phone. “Sarah, Thomas told me that last night.”

“He told you he helped her pick out a dress? Told you he paid for it? My, I am surprised.”

Evelyn wanted to throw the phone. Thomas had not told her that… he’d lied to her.

No wonder that woman was so smug with her pie.

No wonder the dog was sick.

How dare they?

“Yes, Sarah, every word. I’m not concerned. At all. I’ll be at bridge, of course.”

“I’ll come by at eleven. We can go together.”

This time, Sarah hung up before Evelyn could say no.

Too mad to call back, Evelyn slammed the receiver into the cradle. Her breath came in quick snorts through her nose. She walked to the window and ripped back the drapes. The empty garden gloated at her.

A new dress?

Thomas bought that woman a new dress…

As Evelyn fumed, a small idea formed in her mind. Evelyn went to her writing desk drawer and grabbed her pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She’d quit months ago, but now… she’d need to have a puff or two, at least. Evelyn smoothed her dress, put on some lip gloss, and stepped outside to smoke. Looking frazzled wouldn’t do. The tip of her cigarette flared brightly in the chilly breeze. Evelyn watched the house next door and the garden for any sign of the widow. Not seeing her after several minutes, Evelyn set her plan in motion with a sly smirk on her lips.

Back inside, she hung her coat back on the hook by the front door. Then, tucked her hair behind her ears and donned a pair of blue latex gloves. “There’s no point in destroying a perfectly wonderful manicure.”

Evelyn set to work, grinding and mixing ingredients, and then cooked the meat filling. When she’d finished preparing it, she put it in the widow’s pie tin and placed it in the oven to bake. Yes, Evelyn thought, it’s time to be the friendly neighbor Thomas expects.

“Extra special—just for her.”

While it baked, she bathed and dressed, not allowing herself to second-guess her plan. In under an hour, she’d pull a golden-brown savory meat pie from the oven. The smell of the ground beef mingled with all the spices, would bring a thin smile to the widow’s face—even a phony one.

By the time she’d changed into her second dress, she could smell the spicy aroma, and the clock told her time was against her. Within minutes, she had it on a rack to cool, and with no time to spare as Sarah yelled from the front hall.

“Hello, Evelyn? Evelyn, are you ready?”

Evelyn opened her mouth, then clamped it shut.

How would she explain the mess on the counter?

The pie? God, why hadn’t she baked something for the luncheon?

A pie for the widow?

Evelyn couldn’t focus her mind on anything. Checking her face quickly in the toaster… she slammed through the door to the hall, almost colliding with Sarah on her way into the kitchen.

“Heavens, Evelyn. You are so jumpy. Are you okay, dear?”

“Fine… just fine.” Evelyn forced a thin smile.

“We’ve time for a tea.”

“No!” Evelyn yelped. “Let’s walk. The crisp air will do me good.”

Sarah looked skeptical but agreed, with few other options available as Evelyn had already slipped into her coat, brushing off any bits from outside. As they walked, Sarah offered dull advice as Evelyn’s mind raced with thoughts like…

Had she gone too far?

If she had? What should she do now?

Thomas was a kind husband…after all.

She’d get rid of the pie… that’s what. But that’d have to wait until the bridge luncheon ended.

She only hoped she’d get home before Thomas…

“Thomas? Land sakes, Evelyn… stop mumbling about your husband… We’ll figure it out after bridge.”

“Sorry, just the dog. Such a worry.”

“Oh…” Sarah said, stifling a smile. “Yes, the dog. For sure, that’s your worry.”

Evelyn barely touched lunch and played bridge so poorly that the other three women suggested they break early. Evelyn accepted the suggestion, almost snapping a heel on her hurried walk home. Just inside her front door, she heard Winslow’s claws skidding toward her. The old dog licked her face playfully. “Oh, you’re all right. Thank heavens, my boy.”

“Evelyn, is that you?”

“Yes. What did Perkins say about Winslow?”

“Winslow got a bellyful of mountain laurel—it’s toxic to dogs…”

“Toxic? Mountain laurel?” Her voice cracked.

“Doc fixed him up with activated charcoal. He’s going to be fine.” Then, seeing she was out of breath. “Where were you?”

“Bridge.”

“It’s over early, no?”

Evelyn stammered. “A bit.” Not really a lie.

Evelyn’s shoulders slumped, her breath now tight in her chest. Just get rid of the pie.

“I have a surprise for you.” He smiled at her as he picked up a box by the door.

“Something for me?”

Mountain Laurel?

In the pie?

“Open it and see.” Thomas’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of the box—anxious?

Inside the box—a new blue dress. One that’d suit her… but?

“Thank you. It’s lovely. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, no?”

She’d forgotten.

“Oh, and sorry I told a little lie. I asked Mrs. Lloyd to look at it. Just to be sure you’d like it. You are always so stylish.”

“That was nice of her.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. She’d been a fool. Now, get rid of that damn pie.

She slipped into the kitchen, but the rack was empty.

Evelyn trembled with creeping dread. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“I baked a pie this morning—a meat pie.”

“Evie, I ate it. You know I love meat pies.”

Thomas stared at her hands, clutching the edge of the table. “Evie, what’s the matter?”

Her knuckles were turning white.

She couldn’t face him.

Then she noticed the laurel clippings, the ones she’d taken from her garden.

Call for help, call an ambulance… call Sarah… Call anyone…

She stood still, staring at the clippings.

Thomas stared at her for a moment and then followed her eyes to the counter.

Her hands trembled as he picked one up and looked at it…

“Evelyn, aren’t these mountain laurel clippings?”

She stammered his name. “Thomas”

“Evelyn, what have you done? What did you do to Winslow?”

She stared up at him. “But the widow…”

She heard Thomas’ sharp intake of breath as his mouth burned from the Mountain Laurel.

Yes, she thought—you read about it all the time.