The next chapter will be uploaded right after this one; Missy just really wanted to add her take and wouldn't let me move past her. She's pushy!

Thank you to Beth, Sarah, and born2speakmirth for their beta powers of good.

Stephanie Meyers owns Twilight and I own everything and everyone else in this story.

Interlude: Pecans

April 1917

"The secret to a good pecan pie is the ingredients. The filling has to be fresh and the crust mixed with ice water so it's flaky and light. Most importantly, the pie, as with any meal, has to be made with love, or it won't turn out at all."

- Ms. Delores Jones, 1899

Missy held the faded scrap of paper up to her face and smiled. She had woken up that morning with a sudden urge to bake and, after washing up, she went through her recipe box to find the familiar instructions. She'd made the pie so many times she was sure she could make it in her sleep; on occasion, she woke to find her fingers poised in the air, pinching the edges of an imaginary pie crust. Still, something about her mother's handwritten note was comforting, and she looked at it each and every time she began the dish.

The shockingly sweet dessert was a constant in her life growing up, even before she could reach the stove. The pie was the only fond memory she had of the plantation: when she was a child, she'd run beneath the trees that surrounded the house, catching the falling nuts in her full skirts. As she grew older, she found solace in the simple recipe, and made it for every grand moment in her life. It was even the first meal she'd served Terrence. When she laid out the dessert first, he had raised an eyebrow and asked if dessert should come before the main course.

"Perhaps not. But if you can't handle this," she'd smirked, "there's no point in going through an entire meal." Terrence had given her a cocky smile as he dug his fork in and took his first bite. Missy let out a hearty laugh at his reaction; his lips puckered and she knew his tongue was pressing hard against his palate. Once he swallowed, he gave a low whistle.

"My goodness," he'd said. "No wonder everyone speaks highly of your mother's recipe."

Then he'd winked at her and gone in for another bite.

###

Two hours later, Missy took a large bite of the cooling pie and squirmed. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It was too hot, but just as good as ever.

There was a light rap on the door and she went to answer it, hand still fanning her mouth. Mary Brandon stood on the stoop, swinging her hands back and forth, her blue dress swishing in the cool ocean breeze. Missy quickly swallowed and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Mary Alice! How nice to see you. Are you having a good day?"

"Hi, Mrs. Pleasant!" Mary took a deep breath. "I was in my yard and I smelled your famous pecan pie. You're baking one, right? I thought it'd be alright if I came and asked for a piece. It is alright, isn't it? I can take it home with me if you're afraid it will spoil my dinner, although you really mustn't worry about that. If anything, my momma wishes I'd eat more, judging by how often she tries to feed me."

Missy struggled to catch up with the rapid-fire conversationalist. "I'm sorry, can you repeat yourself?"

"I said I smelled that you were baking a pie. May I have a piece?"

"Oh. Of course you can have some. Wait here." She left the door open and headed back to her kitchen. As she cut a small slice, she caught her reflection in the glass of the window and paused. The kitchen window was closed. All of her windows on the first floor were closed.

Missy hurriedly placed the dessert on a napkin and walked back towards the door to hand it to Mary.

"Thank you!" Mary grinned and took a bite. "Don't tell my momma, but you're the best pie baker in the whole world."

Missy thanked the girl for the compliment. "But, how did you know I was making a pie?"

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped herself; her eyes fell on something to her left. Missy followed her gaze and realized the girl was looking at the obviously shut window.

"Hm," she shrugged and looked back to Missy. "I guess it was just a hunch, Mrs. Pleasant."

Something about the girl was suddenly unnerving. Missy took a large step back into her threshold and wrapped her arms around herself, fighting a primal urge to flee.

"Are you cold?" Mary asked.

"A little," she lied. "Why don't you run on back home now?"

Mary grinned and began walking back toward her house. "Thank you for the dessert!" she called over her shoulder.

Missy retreated further into her house, closed the door, and leaned heavily against it. Her hand lingered over the deadbolt, but she finally decided against it, convincing herself that there was nothing to be worried about. She busied herself with cleaning the kitchen and then the rest of her house.

Later that night, when there was nothing else to occupy her mind, something kept gnawing and nagging at her. She tossed and turned for hours before settling for finding shapes on her bedroom's water-stained ceiling. Right before dawn, Terrance rolled over to face her.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he mumbled.

"I'm worried," Missy replied. She took a deep breath and reached for his hand under the sheets. "There is something very wrong with Mary Alice Brandon."