Makin' Miracles (12 page)

“Is this the same Madame Renee you've had run-ins with before?” Spencer asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “And Madame Renee looked into her crystal ball and told Aldo she saw that he would win the Powerball on those numbers. She called it a series of fortuitous signs.”

“So what happened?” He forked up a bite of salad as he asked.

“Aldo got even more excited and started making winning plans—that he'd drop out of school, quit his job, and get into NASCAR racing. He decided he'd buy a Corvette to start, for local races, and then move up.” She shook her head, remembering. “He actually came into the store a week or so ago telling me all this. I listened but I told him I saw that he should not buy a Corvette or quit school or his job. I told him that I knew he was excited over the coincidences of the numbers, but that I believed his numbers were not the winning numbers.”

Zola sighed. “I saw clearly they weren't.”

Spencer leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “And that's what made him come after you?”

“No. There's more.” She took another bite or two of her own salad before she continued. “Aldo didn't listen to me. He bought the car, dropped out of his college classes, and turned in his notice at Beardsleys. The officers said he went all over town telling everyone how rich he was going to be.”

“I gather he didn't win,” Spencer said, before popping a fried mushroom into his mouth.

“No, he didn't win, and he was angry. Now he couldn't pay on the Corvette and he didn't know if he'd be able to get back his old job.” She sighed. “He went to confront Madame Renee in a snit and told her he should have listened to me instead of her. He claimed it was all her fault he'd gotten himself into this trouble because she told him he would win.”

Spencer considered this. “Well, it didn't help things with a guy like Aldo.”

“No, it didn't.” She sipped at the white wine Spencer had ordered.

“What did Madame Renee do?”

“Well, that's the worst of it. She convinced Aldo I'd ‘cursed' his luck and caused him not to win the Powerball.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “I gather she's one of those people that can't admit to being wrong?”

“Evidently.” Zola fidgeted with her napkin. “Aldo fits a pattern, too. He's one of those people who always sees the messes he makes in his life as being someone else's fault—and never his. So, of course, he got angry at me.”

Spencer interrupted in annoyance. “And he decided to punish you by scaring you and throwing a smoke bomb into your store?”

Zola nodded. “That's about it.”

“He told you this?” Spencer tapped his fingers on the table with annoyance.

“Yeah, I think Aldo regretted what he'd done as soon as he did it.” She spread her hands.

Spencer snorted. “And regretted it even more after he got caught and realized he might serve time over this.”

Their steaks arrived and conversation paused as they talked to the waiter who brought their dinner. They'd ordered Howard's T-bone steak for two with baked potatoes.

Zola put pats of fresh butter on her potato and then looked across the table at Spencer. “I didn't press formal charges against Aldo. He'll have some issues to work out with the police on his own, but I didn't add to them.”

Spencer laid down his steak knife after cutting the meat. “You felt sorry for him.” His mouth quirked into a slow smile.

She studied his face. “I thought you'd be critical of me for not pressing charges.”

“No. How could I? I didn't have the police arrest Leena Evanston when she tried to rob me. How could I be critical of you?”

She smiled. “I forgot about that.”

He shrugged and took a bite of his steak. “Eat.” He pointed to their steak. “This is great. And I hear red meat is good to help with stress.”

She watched his mouth twitch. “You've never heard that about red meat in your life,” she accused, spearing a bite of steak with her fork.

He grinned at her. “Maybe not specifically, but it's probably true. I'm sure there's a study out there somewhere that documented it.”

She laughed. “I'm glad you stayed around and still took me out to dinner tonight, Spencer.”

“Is that right?” he said, raising an eyebrow and studying her with those smoky hazel eyes.

“That's right. You've made a bad evening better.”

Later, when he drove her home and walked her up to her porch, he laid a hand on her arm. “Do you think Madame Renee is the type to get vengeful over this and cause you further trouble?”

She wrinkled her nose as she thought about it. “No. I think she'll hear about what happened and worry that some repercussions might come her way over this.”

He smiled. “She'll probably take a malicious delight in knowing your store got smoke-bombed.”

Zola blew out a breath. “She probably will. She's a very strong-willed and opinionated woman. And highly competitive.”

“She sees you as competition.”

Zola sighed. “I guess.”

He put a hand up to her face. “I'm sorry she sicced Aldo your way with her lies.”

“Me too.”

Spencer leaned in to kiss her then, and Zola felt herself tense.

He stopped before his lips touched her mouth. “It's only a kiss, Zola. I won't ask for more than you want to give.”

She smiled at him in the moonlight. “And what if the more-I-want-to-give is to go on a photo shoot with you one morning again?”

He kept his lips next to hers as he answered. “I'd tell you to be ready at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. I'm going out early.”

She threw her arms around him and kissed him then with abandon. “Will you really let me go?”

“Of course,” he said against her neck. “You bring me luck.”

“I hope I bring you blessing,” she said, tracing her fingers down his arms.

“That, too,” he said softly, wrapping her in his arms again.

A little later, he pulled away to look at her.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered.

“That you are very beautiful in the moonlight and that I wish I had a camera to capture this moment to remember it.”

She touched his face with her hand. “Just snap the photo with your memory. Then you can never lose it.”

He brought his hands up and made a clicking sound. “There. It's done. A moment never to be forgotten.”

Spencer stepped back, preparing to leave.

“Thanks for being there for me tonight. I appreciate it.”

“I owe you a few, Zolakieran. I'm glad I could be there for you.”

Zola hugged herself in the chill of the evening as she watched him leave. He had made a bad evening turn into a good one.

She stood on the porch until his car was out of sight down the drive.

“I guess we'll simply have to wait and see how this all turns out, Father,” she said on a soft prayer as she let herself into the house at last. “We'll just have to wait and see.”

S
pencer went to bed thinking of Zola and woke up thinking of Zola. The woman was getting to him. He still couldn't decide if that was a good thing for him or not.

He padded out on the porch to let Zeke out and to check the light. Day was just breaking, but it looked like a good morning for photos, the sky clear with no rain clouds in sight.

Spencer stretched and thought about his plans for the day. At mid-April, the wildflowers were blooming. Butterflies and newly hatched insects were out. Birds were returning, and many small animals that had been hibernating or holed up for winter were enjoying the spring weather. Spencer's goal had been to randomly hike up some trails and see what delights he might stumble on today. That made it a nice sort of day to take Zola along.

He talked to Zeke as he made his way back inside. The big shepherd trotted along eagerly beside him toward the kitchen. “Zola probably wouldn't like to go along on some of my shoots that take me wading through swampy lowlands or sitting for hours watching duck nests.”

Spencer reached down to scratch Zeke's head as he poured out his dry dog food. “You eat up, friend, and I'll take you out for a short walk before I head out.”

He pulled up to Zola's house shortly before seven to find her sitting on the porch waiting for him. She picked up a backpack that sat by her chair and grabbed a small cardboard box sitting on the table.

Spencer got out to open the door for her and gave her a teasing grin. “Packing light, I see?”

“Actually, yes.” Her answer was saucy. “The pack is all I'll be carrying on the trail. The box has some breakfast food in it, plus some extra bottles of water.”

“I brought coffee.” He pointed to the thermos and cups in the SUV as she climbed in.

“Good, I like coffee,” she said, buckling her seat belt. “But I like food in the morning, too.”

“Trail bars?” he asked, climbing into the driver's seat and starting the motor while he snapped his seat belt.

“Better.” She dug into her box and brought out warm bagels and a container of cream cheese. She proceeded to spread cheese over a bagel with a plastic knife.

“Girly food.” He grinned at her.

“Don't knock it until you've tried it,” she said, popping a bite of bagel slathered with cream cheese into his mouth.

The bagel had a warm, wheaty taste and was laced with soft raisins. “Mmm, pretty good.”

“Did you eat before you came?” she asked.

“No.” He looked both ways before heading out of the driveway and onto Jonas Creek Road. “I usually only bring snack bars and portable food along. I eat as I get hungry.”

“I thought of that idea but decided this would be better—since I wouldn't be driving.” She began peeling a big navel orange now, and soon broke off a juicy section to offer him.

“I feel like a baby bird being fed by its mama.”

“Then open wide.” She grinned and tucked the orange section into his mouth.

He caught her hand with his and nibbled on her finger. “It's kind of sexy being fed by a woman.”

“Believe me, I do not feel sexy at seven a.m.” She pulled her hand away from his to take another bite of her bagel.

Spencer let his eyes rove over her. Zola wore jeans and a snug-fitting T-shirt today. A gray knit hoodie hung loosely over her shirt to ward off the chill of the early morning. She'd pulled back her dark, wavy hair today and caught it up with a clip, but the curls were already escaping to drift down her neck.

“You look sexy to me.” He caught her eyes with his and reached over to trace a finger down her cheek.

He saw a wary look in her eyes that surprised him. Evidently, he wasn't the only one wondering about their relationship.

She put his hand back on the steering wheel. “You seem to be in a pretty good mood today.”

Intuitively, he knew she was remembering the times he'd acted more broody and moody. She'd seen him in one of his darker moments, too.

He drove silently, thinking on this, while she picked up the newspaper on the seat to browse over the front page. Zola passed him bites of bagel and orange as he drove.

They made quick time through Gatlinburg in the early morning hours. The tourists were still sleeping in, and even the town had just begun to wake. The only places busy at this hour were the restaurants serving breakfast and the hotels checking out travelers heading home.

Zola's troubled voice interrupted Spencer's thoughts. “Oh, no,” she said, her eyes still on the newspaper. “A little kid is lost up in the mountains. His parents must be worried sick.”

Spencer poured more coffee into both their car mugs. “I saw that piece earlier,” he replied, taking another bite of the bagel she offered him.

He watched her eyes scan the newspaper article. “It says here he was with a Scout group camping in the mountains and wandered off.” She paused, an anxious frown darkening her face.

“Lord have mercy, Spencer, he's only eight years old and he's been out all night. They've searched for him since yesterday afternoon.”

“I heard something about that on the news last night.” He merged into the turn lane to swing a right at the Sugarlands Visitor Center. “The television news reporter said eight Cub Scouts hiked that short trail down from Clingmans Dome Road to the Mount Collins shelter to spend the night on the mountain. Evidently this one kid took off when they were looking for kindling around the camping area. The other Scouts and their leader didn't miss him for an hour or so and when they couldn't find the boy they called the rangers.”

“Well, bless his heart. He must be scared to death. I hope they find him today.”

Spencer reached over to snag another orange section from her hand and rustle the newspaper playfully. “Got any good news in there?”

She grinned at him. “Why sure. Dolly Parton's in town for some event having to do with her Imagination Library.” She paused to sip her coffee. “Isn't it wonderful she gives children free books every year through that effort? She is one fine person.”

Spencer changed gears as he started up the mountain.

Zola looked out the window then. “By the way, where are we going for this photo shoot? We've left Gatlinburg far behind now.”

“Well, my plan was to try for some early wildflower shots today, maybe find some spring wonders for my new book. I thought the Little River Trail out of the Elkmont area might be a good place for photos.”

“Oh, that's a favorite trail of mine.” Zola turned a sunny smile toward him. “Further up that trail after the bridge is a stunning display of phlox and there are snowy orchids along the early trail if you look carefully for them.”

“So I've heard.” He smiled at her.

She sighed. “I can climb out onto some of those big boulders in the stream to sit in the sun while you're shooting your pictures.”

“Maybe. But we have to stay together, Zola. That's important.” He frowned.

“You're thinking of that child. If he'd stayed with the others, or with a buddy, he probably wouldn't have gotten lost.”

“Yes. It's one of the first things you learn in scouting—the importance of a buddy.”

She patted him on the knee. “Well, I'll be your buddy today, Spencer Jackson. And the lunch I brought is even better than the breakfast.”

He resisted the urge to capture her hand and hold it on his leg. “What did you bring us for lunch?”

“Ham and cheese sandwiches, made with some of Nana Etta's fresh-baked ham,” she recited. “Chips, pickles, fresh pineapple chunks in a Ziploc bag, and homemade sugar cookies.”

“Sounds good.”

She nodded.

An hour later, they'd hiked almost a mile up the Little River Trail. Spencer had found a bounty of trillium to photograph, both the white and yellow variety. They'd discovered fire pinks, showy orchis, and a world of different violets along the trail. Spencer even cut down a side path to photograph the remains of an old, rusted-out car left behind from the logging days.

“I read that old car was a fancy Cadillac once belonging to one of the logging superintendents,” Zola said as they walked on up the trail.

Spencer grinned. “Doesn't look very fancy now.” He hoisted his tripod over one shoulder.

Zola swung her arms happily while she walked. “Have you photographed anything special you might include in your new book today?”

“Maybe. That squawroot you discovered is interesting.” She wrinkled her nose. “It's a parasite, you know. That's why it's yellow like it is and not green like most plants. It steals its chlorophyll from the trees it grows under.”

She paused to take off her jacket and tie it around her waist. “You know, squawroot is really common in the Smokies, Spencer. I thought this book is supposed to be about hidden treasure in the mountains and the unexpected. Perhaps we'll run across something more unique.”

Spencer put out a hand to slow down her pace. “Maybe we just did, Zola. You might want to walk more to the left side of the trail.”

She followed his eyes, and Spencer heard her quick intake of breath. “That's a rattlesnake, Spencer.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “You don't want to mess with him. He's a big one.”

The large snake lay coiled in a circle on a sunny spot on the side of the trail. His mottled, brown snakeskin almost blended in with the dirt.

“He's just resting in the sun on the side of the trail.” Spencer studied him. “I don't intend to bother him or interrupt his siesta, but I think I might be able to get a shot or two of him if we're quiet about it.”

Zola retreated backward and climbed on top of a big rock beside the trail. “You don't usually see snakes on well-hiked trails like this. They don't like people, and they try to stay away from places tourists frequent.”

Spencer focused his camera. “Yes, but it's early. We haven't seen anyone on the trail except for those two guys hiking down from Jakes Creek when we first got out of the car. He probably thought he could snag a little nap in the morning sunshine before the tourist traffic kicked in.”

He heard her blow out a breath. “You know, I really think I could skip this experience, Spencer, and slip on by this big guy. Why don't we simply let him sleep on? I'm not fond of snakes.”

“I'll only be a minute.” He squatted down now to plan and frame his shot. “This rattler blends in so beautifully with the trail and the rocks behind him. I think he'll make a great photo.”

He snapped off a few shots without the rattler even moving a muscle. Then the big snake seemed to sense the light from the camera and lifted his head from out of the coils. A soft rattle followed as he saw them.

“That's a warning. Time to go,” Spencer said, skirting carefully backward to catch Zola's hand as she climbed down from the rock.

They walked quickly up the trail, staying as far away from the snake as they could. Spencer heard Zola breathe a deep sigh of relief when they moved out of sight of the reptile.

“I hope he's not there when we come back.” She shivered slightly at the thought. “We really should have stayed clear of him.”

“Yeah, but I got some great pictures.” He stopped to back up the digital camera to show her the shots he'd taken.

“Eeew.” She made a face. “You zoomed in really close. It looks like you were right on top of him instead of a safe distance away.”

He grinned. “They're great shots. Maybe I can use one of them in the new book.”

“Hmmmph.” She snorted. “I'd hardly call a rattlesnake an unexpected treasure in the Smokies.”

He laughed and swatted her on the bottom. “It's all in the eye of the beholder, Zolakieran.”

Farther up the path, they found the sweeps of purple phlox Zola remembered seeing on an earlier hike on the trail. The flowers spread gaily in a broad, sunny area beyond the bridge that spanned the Little River. In a cluster by the stream bank, Zola also found lush stonecrop, with starlike white flowers, for Spencer to photograph. It was a pretty spot.

“We can sit here in the grass by the bridge and eat our lunch if you like,” Spencer told Zola.

He scanned a nearby hillside. “You get our things out while I walk up that hill to get some shots of those ferns around that fallen log.”

She nodded and smiled as he started up the slope.

A short time later, Spencer came back to find Zola sitting quietly on a log by the bridge, the picnic still not out of her backpack. She looked tense.

“What's the matter?” he asked, squatting down beside her.

She looked up at him with big eyes. “I see the child.”

“What child?” He dropped down to sit beside her, puzzled. “What are you talking about, Zola?”

“The child that's lost. I can see him.”

Spencer felt a chill go up his spine. He hoped Zola wasn't seeing a little corpse or something.

“Is he all right?” Spencer finally asked.

“He's hurt.” She closed her eyes, looking pained. “It's his foot, or his ankle or something. I can feel how much it hurts. He can't walk anymore.”

“Where is he?” Spencer laid a hand on her arm. “Can you see that, Zola? Can you see where he is?”

“Only sort of.” She shook her head. “The Lord said you'd know where he is.”

He stood up then, irritated. “Well, that's nuts, Zola. How would I know?” He frowned at her. “You're the one that does this seer stuff.”

She took his hand and stood up, too. “No, Spencer. It's the Spirit that sees. We're simply the channels or the vessels for the spiritual gifts. And God is no respecter of persons. Everyone has the gifts deep within. It's only that not many people walk in them.”