Barbecue and Bad News (2 page)

“I’m kind of in a hurry.” He didn’t seem like he knew more than one speed, though.

“Won’t take long.”

Even his short response took longer than necessary.

“You just passin’ through?”

“I am. Is there a restroom inside?”

“On the side, but the key is next to the front counter. Help yourself.” He gave her an exaggerated wink and went about his business. “And welcome to Adams Grove.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Wasn’t he sweet for an old guy. Under the circumstances, it felt a little tacky to grab her keys from the ignition and lock the car.

Besides, if the car got stolen, she’d have a good excuse not to go to the wedding.

Bright side to everything.
Evelyn’s words echoed in her head.

It wasn’t hard to spot the bathroom key once she walked inside the building. Below a plank of wood that someone had branded
BATHROOM
into hung two Virginia license plates—vanity tags at that—reading
BOSSMAN
. One painted pink, the other blue.

She wrangled the pink one from the hook. Upon closer inspection, the license plate had been bedazzled. Was that even legal?

She lugged the supersized key chain with her to the side of the building, wondering just how much of a boss a man could be with pink glitter polka dots. She struggled with the awkward key chain as she worked the key in the heavy metal door. The dented condition of the door didn’t give her high hopes for what she was getting ready to enter. She poked her head in, bracing herself for the worst . . . but to her surprise it was quite clean. Someone had even put up pictures and added a silk flower arrangement. A little tacky but definitely clean. Maybe her luck was about to turn for the better.

She stepped out of the restroom and checked her watch again. She’d lost that head start, but she’d still be on time. She looked to the left. To the right. Her car was nowhere in sight.

A wave of panic hit.
God, I was just kidding about an excuse to miss the wedding. They’ll talk about me if I’m not there, and I do
not
want to be the talk of that town again.

She ran to the front of the building, then slowed and swallowed back the hissy fit she was just getting ready to throw as she saw her car rising into the air on the lift.

“Is all that necessary?” she called out as she approached.

“You picked up a screw. Need to plug the tire. Won’t take long.”

“Just my luck,” she muttered under her breath.
Stay calm and make the best of it.
Evelyn was always saying that too. “Is there somewhere I can grab something to eat?”

“Sure. Up the block, but I’d make it quick if I was you, or you’ll get caught in the parade traffic. That wouldn’t be good, seeing how you’re in a hurry and all.”

“I am, but a girl’s got to eat.” Multitasking. She was the queen of it. “I’m sure I’ll be back before you’re done.” Parade traffic? That was a laugh. No more than a dozen cars had driven by since she pulled onto the man’s lot. She lived in DC; she knew what real traffic looked like. Heck, she knew what real
parades
looked like.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug.

She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and set out up the street with the sound of his tools ringing in the air behind her. After sitting in the car for a couple of hours it felt good to stretch her legs. The blue sky reminded her of those childhood vacations on the Carolina shore with only a few fluffy clouds floating by. All that was missing was the waves crashing and the smell of suntan lotion. The heat waves modulated off the pavement, but the air wasn’t sticky like it could be this time of year. One of those days that begged for outdoor activities. It was just that perfect of a day. Leave it to her family to find a way to ruin it.

Out of habit, she checked her watch again. A quick bite wouldn’t set her too far behind. There was no sidewalk, so she kept close to the shoulder of the road on the slight incline toward the center of town. A big bronze sign boasted that Adams Grove had been one of the major crossroads between the North and the South since 1887. The buildings here had become the oldest residents—the structures rich with history and begging to tell their stories.

Adams Grove was bigger than Belles Corner, for sure, but it was still a small town, and small towns still conjured up negative memories . . . even after all this time. On the next block a row of buildings and a sidewalk led to the small town’s merchant area. Shopkeepers busied themselves in front of their stores, setting up tables of sale items. Families claimed their spots on what was apparently the parade route, and people made small talk and even eye contact with one another as they moved through the streets.

Brick and stone structures nestled tightly next to tiny shops and lined each side of the lazy street like a welcome committee with jewel-toned awnings and fancy lettering. Bright-teal banners hanging from the lampposts did more bragging about the history of the town. Flowers around each of those lampposts added a rainbow of colors and textures, like a wild Picasso in the middle of a wall of landscapes.

She followed an irresistibly sweet aroma right to the bright-blue awning of Mac’s Bakery. A string of brass bells tinkled as she stepped inside. There was barely standing room, and she found herself jockeying for a view of the glass case filled with freshly baked goodies.

How do you pick just one?
The only time she bought pastries or doughnuts at home was for the office. At least then she could use the excuse of buying for the large group that she worked with at GetItNowNews to fill up two boxes with all the prettiest and yummiest-looking stuff. Then, deciding on just one was so much easier in front of everyone.

She stood there eyeing the assortment, her brain quizzing her with silly and untimely questions: Which one would least blow her calorie count for the day? Which would be the most filling? Should she pick the biggest or smallest? She’d managed to get up early enough to get her treadmill time in this morning, so what was the harm anyway, really?

Her mind was changing as quickly as the line moved.

“The bear claw.”

“Excuse me?” She spun around at the slight touch on the back of her arm. “Oh, hi again, Officer—” She let the word hang. The officer who had so kindly given her a break was standing just behind her.

“Sheriff,” he corrected her. “Sheriff Scott Calvin.”

“Ah. I stand corrected.”
La-dee-dah. Sheriff.
Arrogant enough to think he could give out tickets and still get elected? Good thing she didn’t vote in this town. But he would get the cute vote. What a waste of a great body.

“Mac’s known for his bear claws. I highly recommend them.”

“Well, then I guess I can’t leave Adams Grove without trying one, can I?” Darned if his eyes didn’t sparkle . . . even in here, under the fluorescents.

Someone behind them cleared his throat and she realized she was holding up the line. “Sorry.” She quickly stepped to the counter with the sheriff at her side.

The man behind the counter handed the sheriff a glossy white bakery bag and a large cup of coffee. “Here ya go. The usual. On your tab.”

“Thanks, Mac.” Scott turned to leave, then leaned toward Savannah. “Safe travels,” he said, then in one quick movement, he was out the door.

Savannah caught herself watching for a moment too long, then turned back to the counter. “I’ll have what he had,” she said, thumbing toward the door, then turning one more time . . . catching herself smiling as she saw him jog across the street. Maybe a speeding ticket wouldn’t have been so bad if it meant coming back to face him in court. Or not. Last thing she needed was another ticket, or another man.

Mac’s Bakery only had a few stools at the counter and a couple of small tables, so Savannah took her cup of coffee and still-warm-from-the-oven bear claw outside to one of the benches that lined Main Street to enjoy the sunshine. The rich smell of the cinnamon evoked fond memories of being with Momma in the kitchen. As she tugged on the outer edge of the bear claw, the flaky crust gave way to a sumptuous middle and the gooey lace of icing clung to her fingertips. It was every bit as good as Sheriff Scott Calvin had promised.

Despite her attempt to appear aloof sitting on the bench all alone sipping her coffee, almost every single person who walked by smiled and said hello, or at least nodded. It gave her an odd sense of belonging that she’d never felt back home in DC, and she’d lived there, in the same neighborhood, for over seven years now. For one fleeting moment, she wondered if it would have been like this had she stayed back in Belles Corner.

Even though her tummy was satisfied, she couldn’t help but notice the diner across the street, filled to the brim. That would have been a much healthier choice, but not nearly as fun. Too late now. She chased the sweet pastry down with the last of her coffee. Her car should be ready by now; she’d be late if she didn’t get a move on. She licked the sugary icing from her thumb and forefinger, then tucked the sticky bakery paper into her empty coffee cup. Heading back to the garage, she dropped her trash in the waste can in front of a florist’s shop called Floral and Hardy. The storefront window sparkled with more twinkle lights than an entire galaxy. Even in the daylight it was pretty darn dazzling. Inside, a cute blonde girl scurried around the store and a handsome man tucked fresh flowers into a cobalt-blue vase, fiddling with an arrangement that was sure to make someone’s day.

Another old building had been given a new life with a coat of bright-orange paint. It would have reminded her of a pumpkin, except that the yoga studio had accented it with island-like melon and turquoise that gave it a playfully serene look. Inside, rows of people stretched so gracefully that they probably felt like they were on island time. Not that island time was a feeling she’d ever experienced, other than on the Travel Channel. Someday, though.

In that instant, she let go of the image of all those stretching yogis and her eyes transfixed on the old bank building. Stone columns ran the length of the three stories on each side of the entry. Shiny gold letters graced the fairy-tale tall wooden-and-glass doors in a way that said “Come on in,” and darn if she wasn’t tempted. She double-timed it across the street. A lawyers’ office. Someone had bought the old bank and set up an office. Too bad. She’d have loved to go inside, but browsing in a lawyers’ office wasn’t likely to be allowed. A sign tucked in the corner of the glass front gave her cause for pause.

OFFICE FOR RENT

INCLUDES FURNISHED STUDIO APARTMENT

It tugged at Savannah’s sensibilities. The small blue block letters read
2ND STORY OFFICE/APARTMENT $450 PER MONTH
, followed by a phone number.

A parking space and a tiny storage unit in DC cost her that. She craned her neck to the second story—it had to have twelve-foot ceilings. Bright marigolds peeked over window boxes upstairs. She could almost picture herself working from up there, looking out over the throng of locals getting ready to enjoy their little parade.

Turning to leave, she paused, then swung back around and snapped a picture of the building and that sign. She texted the image to Evelyn with a note that read
Why can’t we get deals like this in DC?

Technically, she could work from anywhere. She had options, but why was she even daydreaming about living in that old building? She loved the city.

Why had she let herself lollygag like that? Now she really was going to be late. She double-stepped it back down the hill to the garage. Her c
ar was parked out front at last, but both the entrance and the exit were barricaded off with bright-orange sawhorses spanning both driveways.

Savannah waved to Bobby. “Hey, are you getting ready to close for the day?”

“No. Why?”

“The barricades. I just assumed. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What do I owe you?” She tugged her wallet out of her purse.

“Forty-two dollars.”

“That’s it? For the gas and the tire?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She pulled a fifty out of her wallet and handed it to him. “Keep the change. Thanks for everything. I better hit the road.”

“You’re welcome, but you can slow down. You won’t be going anywhere for at least an hour.”

“What? Why? Is there something else wrong with the car?”

“This is the parade route. You can’t leave.”

The sound of an almost-in-tune version of “Soul Man” filled the air, followed by an equally aggressive thumping on a bass drum. “Is that the Blues Brothers song?”

Bobby guffawed. “Yep. Band director did the best Blues Brothers karaoke around back in high school. He loves that song. Everyone around here gets a pretty good kick out of hearing it too.”

“I bet.” That’s the way it was around small towns. People never forgot anything.

“By the way, didn’t you hear some scraping coming from your car? Your brakes are shot.”

She
had
heard something when the radio was off, now that he mentioned it. “Is that what that was?”