Barbecue and Bad News (10 page)

“She seems sweet,” Savannah admitted.

“You’ll love her. We all do.”

After two hours Savannah had had enough of the picnic. She was getting antsy and was ready to get back and do some writing. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for relaxing. It always felt so awkward to her. So she excused herself and promised to catch up with Carolanne the next day to get directions to Daphne’s for tea on Tuesday if the address didn’t come up on her GPS.

Just as she pulled out of the parking lot and sat at the intersection to turn onto Route 58, a guy in a baby-blue convertible classic Thunderbird turned in. With the top down, it was easy to see who was driving. It was Scott Calvin.

She pretended not to notice him, but his gaze drilled a hole in her direction. She flipped on her blinker and prayed he was going to the picnic and not about to hunt her down and make sure she didn’t leave town without a ticket as a souvenir.

Scott Calvin parked his 1957 Thunderbird next to the 4-H tent so he could unload the coolers his mom had asked him to bring for her. He was late, but duty had called and there was nothing he could do about that. Not only would his mom probably be pacing like a penned-up panther, but apparently he’d missed a chance encounter with Savannah.

Of course, knowing Mom, she probably had her portable police scanner with her, even here, and knew exactly why he was late. She loved knowing his whereabouts, and had become rather obsessive about it since Dad had died. Sometimes it made him crazy, but she was a good ol’ gal and he wouldn’t do anything to disappoint her. All the attention she used to give Dad was just redirected to him; things could be worse.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, she ran out of the tent carrying two hot dogs with mustard and a deviled egg on a plate.

“Hey, Scott. You’ve got to be starving. You get those bicycle thieves a
ll squared away?”

Just as he’d suspected. “Yes, ma’am.” Her shirt was as bright yellow as the
mustard on those dogs. Good thing he was still wearing his sunglasses.

“Kids?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Whose were they?”

“Not tellin’, Mom.”

“Someone we know?”

He lowered his head, giving her the “really” look over the top of his sunglasses.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Got to nip those troublemakers in the bud early so they don’t grow up to be problem adults.”

Her selective memory made him laugh. It wasn’t all that many years ago that he’d been the kid in trouble for much the same thing. “They were stealing back the bikes that had been stolen from them last month. Same kids, different day. They’re good kids.”

He picked up the deviled egg between two fingers and handed it back to her. “You know I’m not going to eat that.”

“Oh, Scott. One of these days you will eat them again. You used to love them. Everyone else in town does.”

“Not going to happen.” The last time he’d eaten an egg he was dating Ruth. They had laying hens in the backyard then. She’d thought that would be fun, so he’d set up a little chicken coop for her. Only she wasn’t really good about pulling the eggs every day. Evidently one morning she’d found some that one of the hens had been sitting on for a while, because he could hear her bloodcurdling scream coming from the kitchen. He’d been in the backyard working on the weed whacker that Saturday morning. He’d dropped it so fast, it cracked the casing. When he got to the back door of the kitchen, she was screaming, “Save them. Save them!”

He had no idea what he was going to find when he made it inside, but it sure wasn’t what he did find. Two half-formed chicks in a frying pan.

He’d turned off the burner and scooped them out with a spatula, then carried them out and given them a proper burial. He still to this day had no idea what exactly she thought he could do to save them, or why the heck she’d cracked the second egg without noticing the first one, but that memory had ruined him for eggs ever again. Hidden in a cake mix was fine, but anything that looked like an egg was an absolute no. Even chicken wings made him a bit queasy.

He bit into one of the hot dogs. “Thanks. This is good.” He placed the plate on the hood of his car and lifted a cooler out of the back. As he toted it into the tent, he asked, “Where do y’all want this?”

Mom cleared a spot for it. “Right here, son. You got here just at the perfect time.”

He slid the new tray into place, and his mom took the half a dozen or so remaining deviled eggs and nestled them in with the new batch. “I was afraid we were going to run out.”

Scott held back a snicker. “I’d have probably gotten a 911 call if that had happened.”

“I would never do that, but it could have darn near been a social emergency if we had,” she mumbled.

Scott chatted with the 4-H’ers and even helped keep the line moving while his mom fussed with her eggs.

Once she had everything set up just the way she wanted, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked back over to him. “Are you going to be able to relax this afternoon?”

“At least for a little while.”

“Good. You need a break. There’s a good turnout too, especially for this early in the day.”

“Looks like it.” Truth was, now that they were holding a lot of these events at the artisan center, they pulled in some passersby, and frequent visitors of the center got mailings about them in the monthly newsletter. A plus for the town’s revenue too.

“It’ll be good for you to catch up with old friends. You work too hard.”

He bit into the second hot dog. “I’m not complaining. So why should you?”

“Because I’m your mother and I want what’s best for you.”

He wasn’t about to go down that path again. The two of them had gone round and round about him being an adult and her needing a hobby besides him.

She snapped her fingers. “Scott, I almost forgot, are you still going to take me to my eye appointment on Tuesday?”

“Yep. It’s on my calendar and I’ve already got Deputy Taylor covering for me so I can pick you up at two o’clock.”

“Two o’clock. Yes, just as we’d planned. That will be perfect. Thank you.”

Her eyes danced when she smiled like that. The problem was, that usually meant she was up to something.

“Is everything okay, Mom?”

“Of course. It’s a gorgeous day. Couldn’t be better.”

The way she sang it, he wondered if the 4-H’ers might start jumping off the tables and doing a dance like those kids on
Glee
. Hopefully, he was just reading too much into her good mood.

CHAPTER FOUR

S
avannah quickly realized that Monday mornings were Monday mornings whether you were in an office or not, but she sure as heck didn’t need to be awake at six o’clock today. This whole relax-and-vacation thing might kill her. She just wasn’t cut out for sitting still.

She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head to try to sleep in. Isn’t that what you were supposed to do on vacation?

But her mind was already chugging like a steam engine with a fresh load of fuel. She had those other articles to write, and she was supposed to meet Jack over at the
County
Gazette
to get the details on her assignment this morning.

Most people hated Mondays, but she looked forward to them. In fact, she was thankful she had this appointment. Doing nothing just didn’t suit her well. They hadn’t set a specific time to meet down at the paper, but she’d rather show up early and make a good impression, even if she was the one doing the favor.

Why she even cared what he’d think of her was a mystery. Just part of her DNA or something, because no matter how much she’d rather snuggle under the crisp sheets, she knew she would get up.

And she did.

She pondered how to make a decent outfit from the slim pickings packed for that wedding. The dress wasn’t all
that
fancy, but it was black, and even with a scarf instead of jewelry it was too dressy for around here.

She pulled on her jeans and made do with the camisole of her nightie and the shrug she’d planned to wear with her dress to the wedding. It made for an eclectic but nice dressed-down look. It would just have to do.

Out on the street, the morning was already warm and sticky. Summer was bearing down on them, and if the weatherman was right, it would be a hot one. It was only a short walk to the newspaper, but the humidity had her wishing she’d driven.

Her hands slipped against the metal doorknob to the
County
Gazette
office. She struggled to get a grip, then slung the door open. The metal blinds slapped against the door behind her.

A short gray-haired man popped to attention behind the counter. His eyebrows danced over his eyes like cotton balls after a hard rain. “You must be Savannah. Connor said you’d be by this morning. I’m Jack.”

She stepped toward the counter and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“So glad you can help us out. There’s not much to it, really, but my sister and I have done it all forever and so there really isn’t anyone else to help out when something happens. I’m so thankful for your help.” He shuffled through papers and manila folders stacked at least seven inches high that teetered on the corner of the yellowed Formica counter. He plucked one out of the stack and passed it over. “Here are the last four issues of the police blotter. You can get an idea of the format from those.”

Inside the folder were clippings of the blotter she’d already taken a look at in the diner as well as three others that looked like just a copy-and-paste job. Straightforward. Just a table and some bullet points. Piece of cake.

“My sister is the one who usually does this part. If you have any questions, we can call her. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

Savannah shrugged. Jack had to be every bit of seventy, so she wondered just how old his sister was. She sure hoped she’d be retired by the time she was their age. “I think I can handle this just fine. It’s pretty straightforward.”

“Connor says you’re from up DC way.”

“I am.”

“Haven’t been there in years. Too much traffic for me. Loved the Smithsonian, though. That place was huge. You been there?”

“The Smithsonian? Yes. Several times.”

“How you like livin’ in the city?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” It was none of his business that there was a time in her life when she lived in a town about the size of this one. Some things were better left where they were . . . in the past. The distant past.

“Y’all probably don’t run a police blotter up there. Heck, it’d probably take all the pages in the paper to get all that crime in.”

“It’s not that bad, but now that you mention it . . . you might have a good point.”

“Here, we summarize the traffic stuff.”

No doubt, or it would take pages to cover
that
!

“And we use our judgment on the sensitive stuff like domestic abuse. If in doubt, come ask me and we can talk about it. My sister, Bee, has been doing this since she was a little girl helping Daddy out. She knows this town and the people like the back of her hand. She knows what’s best left out. Or you could probably talk to the sheriff.”

“Your dad used to own the paper?”

“Yes, and his dad, and his dad’s dad. It’s been in our family since its inception. My sister and I are the end of the line.”

“That’s too bad. It’s quite a legacy to pass on.”

“You’re just being nice. We know that papers are struggling everywhere. It’s a dying concept unless you put it all online. We were only putting the paper out twice a month until recently. We’d just restructured for twice a week when all of this happened and Bee had to leave. Probably not a great idea, but we had to try something. Once we go, that will probably be it, but we love keeping our town informed. The online stuff is the big buzz now, but Bee and I are just way too old to learn those new tricks.”

“It’s not as hard as it looks. The online stuff, I mean.”

“I’ll just take your word for that. We’ve been thinking about selling here recently. Anyway, if you need any help, just ask me . . . or Scott.”

“I’m sure you can keep me on track.”

“I’ll do my best. Do you have a computer?”

“I do.”

“Good. You can just e-mail me your write-up, when you’re done, to this address.” He took a card from a small metal holder and handed it to her. “If you don’t have Word, then save it in RTF format.”

“Will you e-mail me the police notes so I can pull them together for the next issue?”

“They’re right here.” He pulled a stack of papers from a mail sorter next to the front desk. “You can just stop by as you get caught up and pick up more. Bee always just typed them up each day. She said it was easier that way, but anything we can keep up while she’s gone is appreciated.” He handed her the stack. “Here you go. This will get you started.”

Savannah stared at the handwritten pages from the log. Seriously? “Alrighty then. I’ll get right on it.” Lord have mercy, she’d be typing for an hour.

“I need the content by Wednesday at ten.”

“No problem.” This little favor was turning out to be less writing and more transcribing, but the sweet old guy needed her help. She knew she’d better turn around and skedaddle before he saw her snicker. It wouldn’t do to hurt the poor guy’s feelings. She waved the pages in the air and headed for the door. “You got it.”

She hiked up to the next block and placed a to-go order at the diner. Then she headed back to her apartment to get down to work.

She juggled the flimsy chef salad container in one hand and a cup of sweet tea and the folder from Jack against her chest as she worked the key in the lock to the apartment.

Kicking the door closed with her foot, she unloaded her arms on the desk and hit the Power button on her laptop.

One quick minute to scan her e-mail for anything critical while she’d been out was all she spent on it. Evelyn had responded to her note about filling in on the police blotter while she was here. She didn’t mind. Savannah had known she wouldn’t, since it would help with the articles she was working on for Evelyn anyway.

“Good deal.” She opened the folder and started flipping through the handwritten pages of the police blotter notes. She’d give her right arm to get the whole story on each of the summarized events. Most of them were worded in a way that left a lot open to interpretation. She wondered if the vague nature of the content was on purpose. Did they mean to make it funny?

6/5 5:15 p.m. A grandson is continually breaking into his grandfather’s locked cabinet and stealing his quarters for the laundry.

6/6 9:36 a.m. A fireman’s ladder was reported stolen from the side of a house on Magnolia Street.

6/6 12:49 p.m. A dog was seen panting inside of a red Toyota in front of the Piggly Wiggly. It may be suffering. Turned out to be the taxidermy remains of the family pet.

6/6 12:57 p.m. A woman is trying to figure out what’s behind an odd poem taped to her front door that says “Every door that opens is one closed for someone else.” She found that the same poem had been left at houses all over her neighborhood. The neighborhood watch has engaged in an all-nighter.

6/6 3:23 p.m. A former mother-in-law was chagrined to receive a letter from her ex-daughter-in-law.

6/6 5:10 p.m. A woman reported that a homeless man was approaching people during the parade on Saturday preaching about a dangerous message in a painting at the yoga studio.

6/7 6:28 a.m. An injured cat was reported on Bleeker Street. When the officer arrived to check on its condition, the cat suddenly jumped up and climbed a tree. The fire department was dispatched to perform the rescue.

6/7 9:57 a.m. Mac’s Bakery received two threats from an unknown female for making her fat with their bear claws.

6/7 10:18 a.m. Called out to Hunters Lane about a nuisance dog. New resident stated that the barking dog case has followed him all the way from Florida.

6/7 3:25 p.m. A man is getting around a trespassing order against him by making harassing phone calls to his ex-girlfriend.

6/7 8:42 p.m. A resident of Purdy Manor wants to complain to a neighbor about his barking dog, but the neighbor is never at home.

Since the paper only came out twice a week, she really would only have to spend an hour or so twice a week on the task, even with all the typing. It was actually proving to be pretty entertaining. She was nearly done with the stack when her phone whistled.

That was the sound she used for texts from Aunt Cathy. Like a cuckoo bird, which seemed fitting. Momma used to say Aunt Cathy was plumb crazy. Her momma would always follow it up with—“but the good kind.” Was there really a good kind of crazy?

Momma had never meant it unkindly. She and her sister, Cathy, were so close it was like they were twins. When Momma and Dad died that night, the only thing nearly as bad as losing them was the fact that Aunt Cathy had withdrawn from Savannah so completely.

It had been a clear night, and there was no weather-related reason why Dad had lost control of the vehicle. Although Savannah had remembered the headlights of the oncoming car, there wasn’t any evidence of it. Having no answers was hard for Aunt Cathy. She needed answers. She’d even asked Savannah if she’d been
arguing with them when the car had gone off the road. She hadn’t been, but the fact that her parents would have never been on the road if she hadn’t been drinking that night made Savannah feel responsible anyway. She’d never been able to forgive herself, and she knew the town wouldn’t either.

The sheriff had questioned her a thousand times over. So many that there was a point when she began to question what happened herself. In the end they called it an accident, but the tongues were already wagging. The damage was done.

Savannah grabbed the phone and absently thumbed in the code to check the message.

Pictures from the wedding.

She only recognized about half the people in the pictures. People changed a lot in eight years.

She could almost imagine the hushed whispers about her since she didn’t attend the wedding. Maybe it was just as well that she didn’t go. The stares. The questions. There’d still have been those “bless her heart” whispers even if she’d been there. You can’t change the past.

Everyone in the pictures looked so happy.

She’d never even met her cousin Winnie. Technically, they weren’t related at all. She was Uncle Stu’s third wife’s daughter. She hadn’t even lived in Belles Corner when Savannah lived there. But they all probably accepted her more than they ever would Savannah after all that had happened. Aunt Cathy certainly had accepted her stepniece. That stung.

Tripp looked good. Really good. And happy.

The smiling faces she did recognize were people she’d gone to school with. Aunt Cathy had aged. A lot. Funny how in her mind everyone had stayed exactly the same as they were the day she’d left town . . . well, even younger than that, in a way.

She skipped back to the picture of Tripp. He’d been good to her. He deserved a wife who loved him more than she ever could. So why did it make her feel just a little bit jealous to see him so happy? It had been her
idea to end the marriage. He was so miserable in northern Virginia, and she didn’t really love him the way a wife should love her husband. Not that she realized it at the time. When her parents died, it was Tripp who was by her side. He shielded her, gave her reasons to live on while the whole community seemed to stare at her in pity, or blame, or . . . heck, she still wasn’t sure. Even Monica, her very best friend, had seemed to get wrapped up in all the talk and speculation, and that made her dive even closer to Tripp.

He’d always said he wanted out of that town, so his dream became her rescue. She couldn’t wait to go on his adventure, but when it came down to it, he hated the hustle and bustle of the big city. And when his dad got sick, it was all the excuse he needed to move back home to Belles Corner. He’d promised to come back, but she knew once he left, she needed to let him go.

Tripp had begged her to at least visit and try to work things out, but she just couldn’t bring herself to go back. And maybe it wasn’t even that she wanted to be in a big city. It was just that she needed to be out of that small town. She needed to leave that history behind.

He was married. She wasn’t. He’d finally found happiness . . . and she was still afraid to even look for it.