Jilted (2 page)

“Lynda, that man wants you.”

I pressed my lips together and scowled at Dixie, ending the conversation before it started. Clyde Felton may have fancied me when we were teenagers, but I had never returned the sentiment, and Dixie knew it. Besides, a lot had happened since then. Through the front window, I scrutinized Clyde's back as he stood on the sidewalk blocking the doorway with his bulky frame. His blond hair was tied at the base of his neck, and when he looked up and down the street, the short ponytail brushed across his back. He glanced over his shoulder, and his gaze flitted to mine before he stepped to his faded sedan.

I set two plates on the ledge above the grill and slammed my palm against the bell. Clyde didn't have the gumption to get a decent job, much less chase after a woman. Not that I'd given him reason to.

Dixie reached for a tomato, then motioned to the dining room with her paring knife. “Here comes Ruthie. Take a break if you want.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Ten. I expect a rush just before closing time when the city council meeting lets out.”

My daughter perched on the same stool Clyde had been on five minutes earlier, but unlike him, she immediately started swiveling back and forth. She may have been twenty-two years old, but daily she proved she didn't have to act like it.

“Pie?” I asked as I scooped ice into two glasses, then filled them with tea.

“French fries.” She hopped off the stool and peered into the kitchen. “You hear that, Dixie?”

“Got it, sweetie.”

Ruthie stepped to the nearest table, snatched a bottle of ketchup, and then returned to her perch. “How long you been here, Momma?”

“Since three.”

“Things were quiet at the grocery store tonight, so Gene let me leave early.”

“Lucky.” I wrinkled my nose at Dixie, then walked around the counter and set the glasses on the Formica. When I eased onto the stool next to Ruthie, the muscles in my thighs gently reminded me I'd been standing for six hours.

Dixie brought a plate of fries. “I was just telling your mother she should date more.” She crossed her arms and ignored my frown.

“I've been telling her that for years,” Ruthie said. “You see how she listens.”

Ruthie thought she knew everything. She had found the man of her dreams, fallen for him like a bag of cement, and was now living her happily ever after. It was nauseating. “I've got no need for it,” I said.

“I think you should date.” Lonnie Lombard, the high school ag teacher, sat at a booth near the restroom, chewing with his mouth open and giving me a suggestive smile.

I smirked.

“You're all wrong for her, Lonnie,” Ruthie said.

He straightened. “I'm a fine specimen of masculinity.”

“It's true you are, but Momma likes men with hair.”

His jaw fell open, and he ran a palm over his slick head. “Bald is beautiful. Or hadn't you heard?”

“Yes, I got that memo, but Momma never did.”

Dixie crooned softly, “I was thinking of someone with blond hair. In a ponytail.”

A slow breath labored through my lungs as it made its way from my pride to my lips, and I cocked my head toward Dixie. “Could you give it a rest?”

She hummed a melodic
yes
as she returned to the kitchen.

Ruthie continued to banter with Lonnie, but I ignored them and sipped my drink, wishing I were better at chitchat.

Once he was gone, Ruthie turned her attention back to me. “Sunday is the birthday party,” she said.

“Yes …” I already knew where she was headed, and it had nothing to do with a birthday party for my nephew's baby. Now that Ruthie was married to the preacher, most of her sentences began with the words
Sunday
or
Wednesday
. At least when I was around.

“If you came to worship with us, we could all go to the park together.”

“I'll meet you there.”

“Girl,” Dixie called from the kitchen, “your momma ain't ever going back to that church. You might as well give it up.”

I decided to give Dixie a better gift for Christmas this year.

Ruthie didn't say anything else, but she didn't have to. Her eyebrows shot up as she squirted ketchup.

That was Ruthie—
Ruth Ann
, as I called her. Hoby and I named her after our mothers, but she was Ruthie to everyone else in town—spunky, straightforward, invasive. It was enough to drive a well-balanced, emotionally healthy person over the edge, and I had never been described in such positive terms. But she meant well. I knew she did. She wanted me to be as happy as she was, and she hadn't yet realized that happiness could evaporate like mist in a single afternoon.

I pulled the band from my hair, fingered the loose strands back in place, and then reworked the bun on top of my head.

The bell above the door clanked, and when I saw Neil Blaylock, I automatically clenched my jaw, but just slightly. Dixie's cousin stepped into the restaurant, and his raised chin and sweeping gaze seemed to judge the worth of each person in the room—two elderly women, a family of four, a teenager in the corner … and Ruthie and me. After his instantaneous analysis, he turned and held the door for his daughter.

Fawn, with her willowy legs and curly blonde hair, still looked out of place pushing a baby stroller. She bumped past chairs to make her way to the table behind us. “I finished my economics paper, Ruthie.”

My daughter swiveled on her stool. “Stop bragging.”

“I'm not bragging. I'm rejoicing.”

“Same thing, and it's ugly.”

The two girls couldn't have been more different—Ruthie in worn jeans and her work shirt from the United grocery store, and Fawn wearing a pale-pink mini-sundress complete with matching nail polish—but they complemented each other in ways that went unseen.

Neil's boots scraped across the linoleum as he wandered toward us, and I wondered if the man had to buy new footwear every month just from wearing holes in the soles. The action, coupled with his straight-backed posture, created an air of confidence that most people found intimidating.

I knew better.

Neil Blaylock was a deceitful coward, but even though the townspeople could see through him, they acted as if he were a celebrity because he had enough money and power to buy their respect.
Welcome to Trapp, Texas.

I toyed with the idea of escaping back to the kitchen.

Fawn maneuvered the stroller between her chair and Ruthie's stool, and Neil took the chair opposite her. He mumbled a greeting to Ruthie and me before turning in his seat so we were looking at the side of his face. Cold, but even so, his behavior had drastically warmed since Fawn married JohnScott, my nephew. Apparently Neil lowered himself to our status in order to appease his daughter. Whatever.

“Bummer, Nathan's asleep.” Ruthie poked the toddler in the stomach. “Can I wake him up?”

“No way. He's probably down for the night.”

“Fawn, you want a sandwich?” I asked.

Her eyes smiled. “That would be great, Lynda.”

I may have been lousy at conversation, but at least I remembered my customers' favorite orders. Fawn was easy—chicken salad—and I would have added a side of well-cooked green beans for her baby had he been awake. Normally Fawn would have him in her arms, talking to him, tickling his neck, laughing. Happy, happy, happy.

I let the waitress take Neil's order.

“Ruthie, can you babysit tomorrow?” Fawn asked.

I walked into the kitchen, but if I stayed close to the window to fix the sandwich, I could still plainly hear the rest of the conversation.

“Mother and Dad have a meeting at the same time as my business math exam.”

“Sorry,” Ruthie said, “but I'm scheduled to work then, and Dodd will be writing his sermon.”

An extended silence prompted me to look up and notice that both girls were gazing at me with eyebrows raised. “I'm working the day shift,” I said quickly, “so I can go to the football game tomorrow night.”

Neil squirmed in his seat as though joining the discussion caused him physical pain. “Your mother can pick Nathan up after the meeting, but it'll be a good hour after you leave for class.” At least the man was trying to be social. Thanks to Fawn, Neil had spent the past year attempting to undo some of the hurt he had caused—and I was glad for it—but it would be a while before I could sit next to him in Dixie's Diner and shoot the breeze. Ruthie, on the other hand, shoved fries into her mouth and chattered merrily to Neil and Fawn and anyone else in the restaurant who looked her way.

She scooted over one stool to lean toward the next table where the two elderly women were just finishing peach cobbler. “How are you ladies today?”

The closer of the two laid down her fork. “Not too good since we went to the quilting bee over at Sophie Snodgrass's place. Should've stayed home.”

“What happened?” Ruthie tilted her head, and even though she sat with her back to me, I could tell she made eye contact with Fawn. The two of them secretly called the old sisters
Blue
and
Gray
, and even though the nicknames made perfect sense because of their hair colors, I always feared Ruthie would accidentally slip someday and say the names aloud.

The gray-haired woman clucked her tongue. “We're getting too old for news like this, but we can't give up our quilting.” She pointed a crooked finger as she looked from Ruthie to Fawn to Neil. “Something happened out at the lake today.”

“Dad was telling me about that,” Fawn said. “He heard it at the city council meeting.”

Neil shifted in his chair again, but Gray raised her voice and spoke before he could open his mouth. “We heard it all from the police chief's wife. Biggest thing that's happened here since—” Her eyes shifted from Neil to me, and her face wadded as though she had just remembered a distasteful joke.

“Since a long time ago, Sister,” Blue chimed in.

Gray's lips puckered slightly. “Anyhoo, the chief's still out there doing what he can to help the sheriff's posse, but he called Clara Belle on his cellular telephone so she wouldn't be too worried if she heard something about it on the radio or television.”

“Radio or television?” Ruthie glanced at me to see if I was listening.

“I don't think there'll be any media out there,” Neil said. “From what I heard—”

“You'll never believe what they found,” Blue interrupted. “Over on the south side of the lake, not a quarter mile from Rock Creek, a couple hikers were skipping stones on the water—”

“I think folks ought not to skip rocks like that,” Gray said slowly. “Could fill up the lake eventually, don't you think?”

“Or at least make it too shallow for boats. I've never been out to Lake Alan Henry, but I've heard it's a little low.”

“Don't leave us hanging,” Ruthie blurted. “What did they find?”

“Oh, Land sakes.” Gray waved her palm. “They found bones!”

Ruthie, Fawn, and I stared at her blankly while Neil peered toward the back corner of the dining room.

“So?” Fawn asked.

Blue's hand swept the air. “
Human
bones!”

I started wiping down my work surface, but I stayed close to the window, as did Dixie. Blue and Gray were the town's most notorious gossips, and couldn't always be trusted, but Neil had just come from the council meeting, and he wasn't disputing the rumor.

Ruthie asked the question I was thinking. “How do they know they're human?”

“One of them was a
pelvic bone
,” Blue bragged. “The other was a thigh bone, also known as a
femur
.”

It occurred to me the sisters might not truly be sorry they had been at Sophie's quilting bee.

Ruthie rested her chin on a fist. “Maybe it's another Native American skeleton like the one they found five years ago. Remember? The anthropologists could even tell the woman was bowlegged from riding a horse.”

Gray ignored her. “They're calling in the
Texas Rangers
.” She emphasized the last words as if that tidbit of information put her back in the center of the conversation.

“Dad, what did you hear?” Fawn asked.

“Ruthie could be right.” He shrugged. “There'll be a hubbub for a few days, and then everybody will forget about it. Even if it's not another Indian, I imagine they won't be able to identify the body from only two bones.”

A cold chill shivered down my arms and legs, just like when I watched crime scene investigation shows.

Blue and Gray teetered to the cash register, and I met them there. “That'll be seven dollars and five cents.”

“I think I've got a nickel.” Gray handed me a ten-dollar bill, then set her handbag on the counter so she could rummage through it, looking for her coin purse. She tucked her chin. “Sister? You think our convict had anything to do with those bones?”

“Might at that,” Blue said.

Six feet down the counter, Ruthie crossed her arms, and as I glanced at Fawn, I knew she had heard the accusation as well. My nephew's wife smiled as she chewed her sandwich, but her eyes were dull and lifeless.

For as long as he lived, Clyde Felton would be suspected of any crime that happened in our little town, be it bones found at the lake or a candy bar stolen from the United grocery. He was the town's
ex-convict
after all, and it would take a lifetime to live it down, whether he deserved the sentence or not.

I jabbed the cash register to open the money drawer and quickly pulled out three dollars. “Forget about the nickel.”

“Now, Lynda, aren't you a sweet girl.” Blue fiddled with the toothpick dispenser next to the cash register, then followed Gray.

As the women shuffled through the door, I remembered Clyde standing on the sidewalk. He had looked back at me one last time before he left, and even though his eyes only met mine for a split second, in them I could see anticipation. And hope. And something else.