By J. R. Kruze and S. H. Marpel
Part 1
(Get the whole story here, why wait? https://calm.li/WalkawayBlues)
I
I came for the pie — to glue back together the pieces of my broken heart.
Comfort food. That’s why I got the ice cream on top.
Apple pie. Something wholesome. All-American. Innocent.
Like the innocence and beliefs in America I’d lost long ago.
Not just any ice cream. They stocked a special cinnamon-vanilla ice cream which turned their apple pie into a piece of heaven. One that gave meaning to the phrase “pie in the sky.”
Perfect for soaking the pain out of my soul, for mending the rips in my heart that the lies had left.
I hardly noticed the man who sat on the counter stool next to me. The place was packed this time of day, the usual lunch crowd. And their blue-plate special was nearly as good as their dessert.
But nothing mattered to me more than the ice cream in front of me. One small bite at a time. Getting all the comfort out of it I could.
“Is she having your famous apple pie a la mode? Please give me a slice just like hers.” The man spoke in a Midwestern accent, obviously not from around here. I only glanced at the sleeve of his tan corduroy jacket. While his hands were lined from use, their light tan showed he got outside to work. Might even be a visitor to the city.
My thoughts turned back to my ice cream. Even the term “city” brought back the anguish I’d only started realizing days before. When I found out the secret that had been hidden all this time.
It was worse than watching the election returns. That night, I drowned my sorrows in a full bottle of Chardonnay, along with a friend who came over to watch with me. She got the couch while I managed to drop fully-clothed onto my bed before losing consciousness.
The next morning we didn’t know what was worse — how our heads felt or that we had to go to work in that condition. I let her borrow a fresh blouse and slacks, the least I could do. But I saved that bottle. And it probably was the first step to uncovering the long list of lies that didn’t seem to quit.
Today, I was here again. A non-alcoholic way to keep the sorrows at bay. At least my regular few hours in the gym daily would take off the excess calories my emotions required.
“Isn’t this just the greatest dessert ever?” The stranger asked me. “I’ve heard about this all over town, and finally came to try it.”
I had to nod and smile briefly in agreement.
“I don’t mean to seem forward, but that smile makes your face look better.” He held his hand out. “Hi, I’m John.”
“Mary,” I said as I shook his hand. “And thanks for the kind word.”
“Anything to help a fellow traveler through this wild world we live in.” John replied.
“I could agree with ‘wild’ world. Even worse than the Old West. It was hard enough back then to find the law and get them to act, so scammers and criminals tended to get away with murder or worse.” I replied.
“You’re a Western fan?” John asked.
“Yes, my favorite is L’Amour, but I also go to Max Brand and Zane Grey. The classics generally are better than what’s come since. But I take a break now and then for a good mystery by Doyle or Chesterton.” I warmed to talking about my favorite diversions.
“It’s just too bad there aren’t more cross-over books. Good western mysteries are so hard to find. I have seen this in some of Brand’s books, and even L’Amour, but the mystery usually plays second-fiddle to the action. That even happens in the Western romances, though.” John replied between mouthfuls.
“You might want to slow down on that pie — two helpings are just going to add pounds you will have to work off.” I suggested.
John looked down at the next fork-full of pie, and set it down to halve it. “Thanks. You’ve got the better approach. Treat it as a delicacy, not as a main course. Time enough to enjoy the simple things.”
“True. It’s good to take time to sort things out instead of rushing into them all the time.” I sighed.
John continued on talking about books, “Most of the Western mysteries wound up on TV to get any real series of them. Like ‘Hec Ramsey’ and ‘McCloud’. But there just isn’t the same flavor as reading it in text.”
“You must like mysteries.” I mused.
“It’s my living. I do write other genres, and of course the best books have all three story structures in them. Mystery, Romance, and Action. But cozy mysteries and clean romances are my current best sellers. People seem to be looking for more light-hearted entertainment these days.” John replied.
“That’s what I like about Westerns. You don’t have all this ‘I’m a victim’ stuff out there. It was back in the days where there was still an American Dream that you could do something about.” I took another small bite to savor. I used a spoon instead of a fork, because the sauce was the secret and a fork left too much on the plate.
“You’re right there. Even when ‘Gunsmoke’ was still on the air, there was some understanding of what is right and wrong.” John replied. He saw my spoon option and tried it himself. The look on his face was priceless as he closed his eyes in delight.
“And probably goes back to your cozy mysteries and clean romance. Back in the ‘Gunsmoke’ days, you hardly even saw Matt Dillon and Kitty ever kiss. Different times.” I sighed again.
John noticed my glumness had returned. “What’s your favorite mystery?”
I had to take my time with that one. So I kept the spoon in my mouth upside down while I looked at the wall where it met the ceiling. “Well, that would be Doyle, I suppose. He wrote so many good ones. Probably “The Final Problem.” I replied at last.
“What made you choose that one?” John asked me.
“Of course Doyle always started out well, but what kept me going was how he pulled the idle strings of so many Holmes stories together to wrap up what he thought to be the death of his character.” I replied.
“Only to bring him back to life later.” John added. “Something the later movies all seem to take into account.”
I smiled slightly at that. John was taking my mind off my other matters. “You aren’t trying to cheer me up with all this talk of favorite books?”
John smiled. “Well, since it’s so obvious, yes. An odd habit of my old optimistic self. Sorry if that bothers you.”
“Not at all. It’s about the best I’ve felt in maybe years.” I replied.
“Years? What has been haunting you all that time?” John asked, then paused. “Oh, you don’t have to answer that. I don’t mean to pry, it’s just my writer’s nature.”
“What nature does a writer have that is prying?” I asked in return.
“A writer, or at least this writer, wants to know all about a character. Frequently one that is haunted has an unsolved mystery in their lives. Ghost stories are just another version of mysteries, along with riddles and detective stories. Carolyn Wells laid that out a century ago. Once you can start seeing the mystery, then the story starts writing itself, like any good story.” John explained.
“How does your prying-optimism solve personal hauntings?” I had to ask.
John replied,”It’s not the hauntings, but that the technical back end to mysteries, the ones writers use to build their stories. That’s what can be used to solve continuing mysteries and problems…”
Part 1 of 4 — The rest are coming soon…
(Get the whole story here, why wait? https://calm.li/WalkawayBlues)
Find more books (clean romance, cozy mystery) by J. R. Kruze
Find more books (cozy mystery, clean romance) by S. H. Marpel
And stay tuned for Part 2…