Barbecue and Bad News (12 page)

People seemed to really like Scott. Carolanne and Jill sure thought he was a nice guy. So maybe deep down it was her, not him. Maybe her impression had more to do with her past with small-town cops than it had to do with him. Maybe she hadn’t given him a fair shake.

She was prepared to give him a fresh shot at a first impression—in the attitude department anyway, because from a looks perspective, he sure didn’t need a makeover.

Her gut still wrenched just a little when she thought about how information in the hands of a small-town cop could suddenly become public, though. The police blotter she held in her hand proved that too. Small towns were like self-appointed judge and jury, or the blasted gospel. There didn’t seem to be a formula for who was protected and who was going to be the talk of the town at any given time.

She leaned against the wall, shifting her weight to her other leg and trying not to be so obvious about listening in. He’d been on the phone for as long as she’d been standing there, and he must have been able to see her in the hallway, but he hadn’t acknowledged her.

He was young for a sheriff, not an old crony like Sheriff Pittman had been back home—back then, when her life had gone off the rails. He’d probably retired by now.

She and Scott had to be about the same age. She noticed the white bakery bag on his desk. If he ate those sweets every day, he must work out pretty faithfully, because there sure didn’t appear to be any excess weight on him.

A lanky uniformed man nodded her way as he gave a quick double knock on the sheriff’s open door and dropped off a stack of folders on his desk. As he walked out, he stopped and asked, “Can I help you with something?”

For a fleeting moment she considered avoiding the sheriff and getting this guy to answer her questions, but then Jack had been pretty clear about talking directly to Scott.

“No. I’m waiting for him.” She pointed to the sheriff’s office.

“Okay. I’m Deputy Taylor. If he takes too long, I’ll be right down the hall. Just come get me. I’ll be happy to try to help you.”

“Thanks. I’m good.” She turned her attention back to the deep voice coming from the office.

He’d been trying to get off that call for a good five minutes.

He said, “Thank you for the recognition. I really appreciate the award, but I was just doing my job.”

Probably for top speeding-ticket-giver in the whole South, if she had to guess.

“I’m just not sure my schedule will allow me to attend.” After a short pause, he answered. “Yes, yes. No. Mike Hartman has already declined. Yes. I’ll keep that in mind. Right. Thursday night. Seven o’clock. Got it. Yes, thank you very much.”

She heard the call end and him sigh.

She counted to three and poked her head around the corner.

“Excuse me.” She gave another courtesy knock on the door. “You got a minute?”

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Scott motioned her into his office. “Why didn’t you tell me you were filling in over at the paper when we talked Saturday?”

“Jack called you?”

“Yeah. He told me he was sending you over. You didn’t mention—”

“I didn’t know, then. I rented Connor Buckham’s apartment. He asked if I could do them the favor over at the paper. Seemed like the right thing to do. Here I am.”

“Nice of you. Have you ever done anything like that before?”

“Like what? Write an article?” It sure wasn’t rocket science. A fourth grader could probably do this gig if the sheriff’s folks could write a decently clear summary. “Yeah. I’ve got some experience.”

“That what you do up in DC?”

She was definitely not going there. A change in subject was in order . . . right about now. “Was that a sneer? What do you have against DC?”

“Nothing. I could have guessed you were from a city without even looking at your driver’s license.”

“Oh, really?”

“All the beautiful ladies I meet are city girls.”

She smiled. “You think I’m beautiful? Is that why you didn’t give me a speeding ticket?”

“Hardly.”

Even when he was giving her a hard time he had a way of making her feel special in a weird sort of way. “How often do you let someone out of a ticket?”

“Never.”

“Not never. You let me off.”

“You were the exception. You caught me in a good mood. Parade day and all.”

That parade had made for a good day for her too. “What is it with small towns and parades?”

“You got something against them?”

“No. Not really, but you actually closed down the streets. No one could even come into town and get gas. Didn’t it occur to you that it would hurt the revenue stream?”

“The revenue stream was just fine. Everyone in town was right here, and money was spent while they were here. People from neighboring towns come to the parades to see their friends in them too. It works.”

“Seems like overkill to me.”

“It’s a safety matter.”

“Protect and serve and all that, I guess.”

“Yep. Maybe you should try slowing down and just enjoying things for a change. Ya know . . . instead of speculating.”

“You do have one heckuva parade wave. Guess you’ve done your share.”

“I’ve done a few. It’s fun. You should try it.”

“Waving?”

“Having fun.”

Ouch. She could be convinced to give it a try with him, though. “Well, I plan to slow down and have a little of that while I’m visiting your quaint town, but right this minute I need some clarification on this police blotter. The first being, why don’t you automate this stuff? It was like a handwriting analysis class.” She shoved the stack of papers toward him.

“We have all that online. It’s just that Jack’s sister isn’t very computer savvy, so she likes it done the way she’s always done it. We jot down the paper copies just for her.”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

She’d typed all those suckers in for nothing. “Can I get the files e-mailed while I’m helping out?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cool. Well, that will probably answer several of the questions where I just wasn’t even sure what the notes said. There are a couple that read kind of strange, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Here’s the first one.” She moved to his side of the desk and placed the paper in front of him as she read it aloud.
“
‘June sixth, 1:34 p.m. Some louse made unauthorized charges on a woman’s credit card, causing a loss of three hundred and ninety-nine dollars.
’
”

She laughed. So did he. He had a nice laugh. “You don’t really want me to print it in the paper that way, do you? You’ll have a slander lawsuit for sure.”

Scott said, “Well, actually, I do want it printed that way. That wording was intentional. You see, we know who the louse was. It was her ex-husband, only we can’t prove it. But one thing we know about him is that he will hightail it up here when this hits the paper to file a complaint on his wife for calling him a louse. We’ll be able to close that issue out.”

“That’s sneaky.”

“It’s not my first rodeo.”

“I hear ya. Okay, well here’s another one.” She flipped to the next page. “How about this one? ‘June seventh, 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.
’
” She laughed. “What? She can’t leave him a note or something?”

“You’re right. Let me help you with that one. I’d like you to add his address.”

“The whole address?”

“Yep. That should pretty much take care of that little issue too.”

“Sheriff Calvin, are you telling me that you use this police blotter to manipulate people?” Evelyn Biggens would have met her match with this guy—he did all this without even leaving his desk.

“It’s Scott to you, and I wouldn’t call it manipulating. I like to think of it more as helping gently persuade people to do the right thing.”

“I see. Well, I bet this one will take some explaining. I didn’t even type this one in. See?”

Scott read it out loud.
“
‘12:16 a.m. Some adults were being overly noisy in a hot tub frolic.
’
” He gave her a sideways glance. “Just what is it you want to know about this one?”

“Some adults? Frolicking?”

“I really can’t share those details
.”

“Now you get a conscience? Okay, fine. So that’s accurate.”

“Print it as is.” He drummed his hands on his desk. “Next?”

“Just one more.” She scanned her notes. “Here it is. It’s the one about a drunk spreading rumors about a message in some painting down at the yoga studio.”

Scott shook his head. “Scratch that one.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to stir people up with rumors. That was a misunderstanding.”

“Do you want me to just rephrase—”

His smile had faded, and so had the joking tone. “Nope. Scratch it entirely.”

“Okay, fine. I won’t include that one.”

“Good.”

There was that cranky mood again. “Well, it appears I wasted your precious time. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled and that dark cloud was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “I’m glad you came by.” He pushed his chair back and stood next to her.

“Thanks for helping me get all the details right.”

“Thank you for helping out with the police blotter. You stop by or call me anytime.”

There was an awkward pause. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’d rather be sure it’s right. Don’t go filling in the blanks on your own. Trust me, it’s never going to be predictable.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” She started to leave, but that nosy side of her wouldn’t let her leave well enough alone. “By the way, I heard you talking on the phone before I came in. You’re getting some kind of an award?”

“Yep.”

“You’re not going?”

“No. I’m not a rubbery-chicken-eating, gripping-and-grinning kind of a guy. Besides, it’s up north in your neck of the woods.”

“It’s not such a bad place.”

“Lots of traffic. Been there, done that. I don’t need a plaque for doing my job.”

“I could show you around. What’s the award for?”
Perfect attendance? I could see skipping that.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m curious.”

“We had a case here not too long ago that struck a lot of nerves. They don’t usually pay attention to anything we’re doing down here.”

“And?”

“They’re honoring me and your neighbor, Mike Hartman, at a dinner up in Arlington. It’s not just us. It’s a whole night of recognition for various people in our field. Somehow our case got someone’s attention up there for this year. Mike’s already begged off. One of us has to go, and he left me with the short straw.”

“Well, that ought to be front-page news in this town.”

“I don’t care about that stuff.”

“You should. Folks around here will be thrilled that you got that kind of recognition. It’s good for the town too. Hey, they might even throw
you
a parade if you play your cards right.” His look told her he hadn’t appreciated her little jab, so she quickly changed gears. “I’ll let Jack down at the paper know about it. I’m sure he’ll want to cover the event, or at least interview you for the details.”

Scott handed her an invitation on high-quality vellum.

“Embossed. Nice.” She scanned the details. “This is a big deal. You have to go. It would probably be good for your career too.”

A line slashed across his forehead. “It
is
an election year.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the sheriff being a voted position. This could be a
very
big deal for you in an election year.” She reread the invitation and committed the details to memory. That was always one of her strong suits. Served her well in the card games with the guys over the years too.

She handed the invitation back to Scott.

“Yeah, well, unless you’re throwing me a parade, don’t bother telling Jack. That kind of attention makes me uncomfortable.”

“Well, then you better buckle up, Mr. Calvin.”

CHAPTER FIVE

S
avannah had already spent the better part of the morning on the Internet googling and making calls to get more details about the event that Scott had been invited to. Her curiosity always got the best of her. It was none of her business, but she just couldn’t quit digging.

Normally, that kind of research would have only taken a few minutes, but the Internet speed in this town left something to be desired. Plus, this wasn’t some little award ceremony. One link had led to another and another. It was going to be quite a shindig. The list of attendees was impressive too. Hmm.

Savannah:
You sending anyone to cover the Gold Meritorious Safety Award presentation in Arlington?

Evelyn:
Yes. Why?

Savannah:
Sheriff here being recognized.

Evelyn:
Name?

Savannah:
Scott Calvin.

Savannah had no sooner typed out the name than her phone rang. She answered, but before she could even say hello, Evelyn was talking.

“Same guy in your article, Scott Calvin? Are you kidding me? Now I know why Adams Grove sounded so familiar. That’s the small-town sheriff that killed that Frank Goto. The Goto Hell murderer.”

The room seemed to swirl around her. She hadn’t really thought of the sheriff as anything but a paper pusher who gave out some speeding tickets and a face for the county. Her mouth went dry. “I remember that story.”

“It was hellish. No pun intended,” Evelyn said. “You should write a series of stories on him!”

She shook her head. Not that Evelyn could see her, or that she’d pay attention if she could. Evelyn was like that. When it was her idea, she thought it was a good idea and she never changed her mind.

“It’s perfect. Those small-town stories can feed right into a series on that sheriff. We’d get a nice juxtaposition of small towns and big stories.”

“One thing at a time, Evelyn.” No one else had the nerve to tell Evelyn to chill out, but their friendship had been filter-free from day one.

“Fine.”

But Savannah knew that Evelyn was thinking she’d get her way eventually, and she usually did. Even with Savannah. “I better get to work before you make this a two-year assignment too.”

Evelyn’s laugh bubbled across the line. “Get to work.”

Savannah laid her phone aside and sat back in the chair, digesting the new information about Scott.

The
County
Gazette
might be a small paper, but Jack needed to know that Scott was being recognized for his heroism and get the hometown angle. She pulled all her notes together to take them over to him, but first things first. She’d spent way too much time messing around on her computer. She had just enough time to jump in the shower and get dressed so she could be at Daphne’s house for tea by one.

She’d stop by the paper after her visit.

It was only a couple of turns, but the address that Daphne had given her ended up being on the outskirts of town.

Savannah turned onto Nickel Creek Road. The trees, in all their summer glory, hung over the road like a canopy. The road was paved, but narrow and with no painted lines. She’d learned to drive on a road like this. Momma would cling to the door handle, swearing she was hugging the ditches. Dad had way more patience, and thank goodness, else she might never have learned to drive. She zipped around the next corner in her Mini Cooper, knowing her mom would have been terrified in that car. Momma had always driven a big car. She liked lots of metal around her, and she thought her daughter should be the same way, which was why when all her friends were getting their first cars, small economical rides, she was saddled with Momma’s old Buick that only got, like, eleven miles to the gallon. She hadn’t driven a big car since.

After nearly two miles of nothing but trees and fields of crops, a house came into view. White vinyl fencing marking off pastures that nestled right up to a white clapboard rancher with a red tin roof. The long porch ran the entire length of the house.

A sign sported the name
ROCKING R
, but the house number was still thousands off from the address Daphne had given her.

The houses seemed few and far between.

“Am I ever going to get there?”

Then the road came to a stop sign and right in front of her was a neat little brick rancher up on a rise. Bright-red geraniums overflowed from baskets that hung between the white columns on the front porch. On a cooler day, sitting out on the porch in those rockers would be so nice, but today was too hot for that.

Before Savannah even got out of her car, Daphne was out on the porch waving.

“Hi,” Savannah called out. “I didn’t have any trouble finding it, but that’s one long road.”

“Yes, it is. There’s another way to get here quicker. Carolanne could have told you how to come that way, but the way you came is the easiest.”

Savannah got out of the car. “What a lovely home.”

“Thank you,” Daphne said. “Come on in.”

Savannah climbed the three stairs up to the porch and followed Daphne inside.

Tea was already set out on a table in the living room. “That tea set is exquisite.” Savannah stooped to pick up one of the delicate cups. The soft pink china was edged in gold, and full cherry blossoms filled the sides of the cups and their saucers. “There’s even a cherry blossom inside. I love those kinds of details.”

“Thank you. I figured since you live near DC, the cherry blossoms would make you smile. It’s my favorite.” Daphne tittered. “Who am I kidding? They’re all my favorites. Let me pour our tea and then I’ll show you my whole collection.”

“That would be lovely.” Savannah wondered where the heck that came from. She never talked that way, but somehow it seemed fitting with the formal tea setting and all.

Daphne poured the tea.

Savannah took a sip of the floral blend. It reminded her of her mother’s favorite tea. “When I was a little girl my mother would have tea parties for me. All the girls in the neighborhood would put on their best Sunday dresses to come over—even the tomboys.” Her nose tickled and her eyes felt glassy. “I remember being so excited that I wouldn’t sleep the night before. Just the thought of everyone dressed up and using the real dining room and delicate china . . . it was so exciting. I can still remember the china pattern my mom had. A lovely mint green with delicate flowers in the center.” Her heart ached, but it wasn’t quite as painful as it used to be.

“Your mother shared her love of tea with you. That’s very special, but it’s not so much about the tea itself as much as it is the coming together with others and the time spent sharing. Having only a son, I never got to do that, but that sweet boy of mine did accompany me to high tea when we went to Bermuda.”

“I bet that was fun. I’ve always wanted to go to the islands.”

“You should. So lovely, and high tea British-style was quite an experience. But I’m not that snobby about teatime. Don’t you think it’s the people we share it with that makes it extra special?”

“I do.” Savannah smiled. “Mom loved planning those afternoon tea parties for me. I loved it too. We’d bake all kinds of goodies and make finger sandwiches together. Those hours in the kitchen were great.”

“You haven’t done that in a while, have you?” Daphne’s expression softened. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Savannah lowered her gaze as she set her teacup down on the table. “No, ma’am. My mother passed away when I was eighteen.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard. What was she like? Your mother.”

“She was the best.” Even now, after all these years, Savannah had to fight the tears. She never talked about her mom and dad. Never. It was still too hard, but somehow here, now, it felt right. “She was so beautiful, and she always seemed so happy. I don’t think I ever saw her cry. Not once.”

Daphne smiled gently. “It’s okay to cry sometimes.”

“Her smile could light up a room.”

“Like yours.”

“Thank you. She was a stay-at-home mom. I don’t think she ever missed one single event. Not a homeroom party, a sporting event that I cheered, a softball game I played, or even a dance recital. Everyone loved Momma. You could talk to her about anything.”

“Had she been ill?”

“No.” Savannah sucked in a breath. “No. It was unexpected.”

“Oh, goodness. Well, I’m so sorry to bring that up, but I’m sure she was a very beautiful woman, because you are quite stunning.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be meeting up with some other gals on Friday to prepare some treats for a fund-raiser. I’d love it if you’d join us. We’re going to meet up at the church.”

Savannah started to say no. A knee-jerk response. But really, why wouldn’t she help out? It wasn’t like she had anything else to do. She enjoyed Daphne’s company, and the thought of working side by side with a bunch of ladies in the kitchen had an unexpected appeal to it. Besides, she might find out some neat details. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Great. Why don’t I just pick you up? You’re right on the way. Around six o’clock on Friday.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Daphne.” Savannah felt an overwhelming swirl of joy inside. Evelyn had been her protector, in a sense, since she hit DC, but their relationship was different. Just a few moments with this woman and she felt like she was with Momma. There was a soft kindness about her, slow and purposeful, that made Savannah feel like she’d just slowed down for a school crossing compared to her highway-speed life . . . and it felt good.

“We’ll be baking cookies and brownies, that kind of thing. If you have a favorite recipe, bring it along. If not, I’ll hand over one of mine for you to make. Of course, you’ll have to promise to never share it with anyone.”

“Of course. Your family secret will be safe with me.” But her wheels were already turning. Could she remember how to make Momma’s special shortbread cookies?

“Let’s talk about something happy.” Daphne patted Savannah on the leg.

Daphne sounded just like her mother.
Fill your space with happy and you will always be
, she’d say. “Let’s. How about those teapots? Carolanne
and Jill went on and on about your collection. I’d love to see it.”

“Yes, I collect teapots like some girls shop for shoes. I adore them. It’s silly. I should sell them. I started the collection years ago. I’d always said when my sweet Tom retired that I was going to open a tea shop in town. He bought me one for every occasion.”

“What happened?”

“He died, and I just couldn’t imagine doing it without his help. He’d probably be disappointed that I didn’t follow that dream. He’d always encouraged me to do it. Now I’m just getting too old.”

“You are not too old. He must have really believed you’d be a success.”

“Together he and I could have made anything work. He loved buying those teapots. I’m not sure if it was really because he wanted me to open that shop, or if it just made for an easy go-to gift for any occasion. You know how men are about buying gifts. If you tell them exactly what you want, you’ll get exactly what you want. That’s what I always say, but I never picked a single one of these out that he gave me. He did all the legwork to hunt them down. I haven’t added any new ones in a while.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Daphne reached out and squeezed Savannah’s hand. “It’s okay, dear. God has his own plan. Doesn’t have to make sense to us.”

Savannah knew about loss not making sense, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever face God and ask why again.

Tears danced in Daphne’s eyes. “I still miss him, though. It’s been five years and it still feels like yesterday.” Daphne’s expression softened. “Tom used to love estate sales, so quite a few of these teapots had probably been in families for generations.”

“I’ve never been to an estate sale, but I bet that would be fun.”

“They have them all the time around here. Guess it’s not really the kind of thing they do much of up there in the big city.”

“Maybe. I don’t really know.”

“I can’t wait to help you with your book. I guess you can really do that from about anywhere.”

“Yes, I’m mixing in a little fun with work on this trip. That’s a nice perk.”

“It sure is.” Daphne moved toward the dining room. “I’m glad you landed in Adams Grove.”

“Me too.” Savannah followed her. The dining room had wall-to-wall shelving with just a table in the center of the room. Each shelf displayed a tea set, or a few, in some cases. Some housed complete sets, others just the teapot.

“Oh. My. Goodness. Now this is a collection!”

“Thank you.” Daphne’s cheeks flushed.

“Not one speck of dust here either. You must spend all your extra time dusting.”

Daphne let out a hearty chuckle. “They do require a little dusting now and then, but I don’t mind. They all bring back such good memories. I just do a few each day and work my way around the room eventually.”

Memories. Some memories were easier to just push aside.

Daphne lifted a small blue porcelain teapot from the shelf. “This one is extra special. Tom gave this to me on Mother’s Day one year to thank me for our son.” She hugged it to her chest like a treasure. “Isn’t that so sweet? He’d think to thank me for giving him what’s already the most precious gift in my life. Tom and I were so blessed to have that child.” She stepped closer to Savannah. “See here. The pot has Romans 15:13 in gold on it.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace
.”