Every year, the folks at the soup kitchen lined up for their Thanksgiving meal. They were very grateful for a warm place to spend the afternoon, along with wholesome food to fill their bellies. Most of them were used to cold and hunger, especially at this time of year.
“Does anyone know who donates these pies?” Darlene asked. “They’re so delicious. This light, flaky homemade crust is simply divine. I love the pumpkin.”
“The apple is my favorite,” Pete said. “Full of cinnamon and raisins. My guess is that it’s the church lady who brings the mashed potatoes. She’s very generous.”
Doc shook his head. “I saw her come in. She didn’t have any pies. I think it’s the nice gal from the party supply store who gives us the paper plates and stuff. She’s very sentimental, a real pie type.”
Darlene laughed. “What’s a pie type, Doc?”
“She’s just sweet. Always asks how I’m doing. She gave me an old coat last year her husband didn’t like anymore.”
“I could use a coat,” Pete said. “The guy who brings the turkeys is swell too. He usually gives me a couple bucks when he gets gas, but I don’t think he brought the pies.”
The three friends ate and talked and kept debating which of the pleasant folks at the soup kitchen brought the pies, but none of them had noticed the unsmiling man standing discreetly outside the door, providing security.
Yes, it was none other than retired police lieutenant and pastry baker extraordinaire, Stan the Pie Man!
Photo and word prompts via The Haunted Wordsmith