Fortunate Harbor by Emilie Richards Page B

minding the counter was on the telephone, and she signaled to Wanda that she would be with her in a moment.
    Wanda used the time to examine the baked goods. She was surprised there was so little to see other than bread. Shiny,seeded loaves sat on a shelf behind the counter, long tapering loaves Wanda might buy if she wanted to pitch baseballs to one of her grandsons. Then there were round loaves of differing colors and textures. Sandwich loaves that ached to be slathered with peanut butter or layered with cheese.
    She spotted three cakes, all covered with fluffy commercial icing that probably tasted like paste, and four platters of perfectly symmetrical cookies that looked like cardboard. One shelf was devoted to éclairs that were sadly dripping chocolate on parchment paper. The final item was a lemon meringue pie missing two slices. Due to the dissection Wanda observed an anemic graham cracker crust, an egg-yolk-colored filling that was much too shallow and meringue that was much too deep. If a person wanted nothing for dessert but meringue oozing sticky little droplets, Sunshine was the place to come.
    The woman hung up and sighed. “I’m sorry. Problems with a supplier. Prices going up, up, up, or so he says. I’ll be darned if I’m going to pay college tuition for his children.”
    Wanda thought the woman sounded like maybe she was happiest trying to get people to give her more for less. There was nothing wrong with getting a bargain; Wanda shopped on sale when she could, but she also knew times were tough. Likely the man just wanted to put food on his table, not send his children to Yale or Harvard.
    The woman gestured to the case. “So, what can I help you with? We have some nice éclairs on sale. That first cake’s chocolate, with raspberry filling. If you want it for a special occasion, my daughter can write on it in a jiffy.”
    The woman was pushing sixty, round as a doughnut, with frowsy brown hair and a little smile that seemed to be engravedon her face. Wanda thought the smile was as fake as the frosting on the cakes.
    “As a matter of fact, I thought maybe I could help you.” Wanda set the two carriers on the counter. “I’m a pie baker. It’s what I love to do most in the world.” She was glad Ken wasn’t there to hear the insult to his charms. “I decided it’s time to start selling them, and I wanted to give you first crack. I brought three for you to try, but I make about a hundred different kinds. I’m just wondering if we could work out some kind of partnership.”
    The little smile widened just a bit. “Did you make them in a professional kitchen?”
    “No, I make them in my own kitchen, but I can turn out a lot if I need to.”
    The woman looked pleased, as if educating Wanda was the best part of her day. “You haven’t looked into this very much, have you? You can’t sell anything you make at home, not in Florida. A kitchen and living quarters have to be completely separated. And you have to have permits. My, the permits you have to have.” She shook her head and looked even more pleased.
    “Well, do you have a professional kitchen?”
    “Of course. My daughter and I make most of what you see here.”
    “Then I suppose I could come in and bake here for you, if you were interested, that is. It’s not my preference, but it sounds like the way to go.”
    “I have pies.”
    “Not like these, you don’t.” Wanda began to take off the covers. “I can tell you that nobody who eats one of my pies ever forgets it. Your customers won’t, either. By the way, I’m Wanda Gray.”
    “I’m Frieda Mertz.” Frieda walked over to examine the pies. “What did you bring?”
    Wanda told her. “But like I said, I have about a hundred carefully tested recipes. I could make just about anything you wanted. Why don’t you give one a try?”
    “Well, I am partial to apple.”
    This didn’t surprise Wanda, although it would surprise her if Frieda could turn out a tasty one herself. Frieda