One Foot in the Grove (9 page)

“Buck!” I woke with a start. Tears streamed down my face.

“That tomcat's long gone,” Precious said, looking up from a paperback novel with a tawdry cover illustration of a half-dressed woman in the arms of a princely man. “You know, Sunshine, you scared Sheriff Sweet Cheeks to death when you fainted.”

She stood up from the chair next to my overstuffed bed, tossed the book, and opened a drawer, pulling out a pressed white cotton handkerchief. She handed it to me, and I dabbed at my tears. No common Kleenex boxes in this place. No, sir.

“Fainted?” I mumbled. “I don't understand.” Had I fainted?

“Doc says you need bed rest, Sunshine.”

I still felt groggy and confused. I just stared at the woman as she spoke.

“The lightning didn't hit y'all direct, but it seems you got yourself quite a jolt of juice when it blasted the big oak in the woods next to your Pop's olive orchard. The oak tree's completely gone. Smells like a dirty barbeque everywhere.”

I blinked, trying to take it all in. And after she mentioned it, I detected the whiff of smoke.
The burnt toast
.

“We would've taken y'all to the hospital 'cept there was a terrible pileup on the interstate after the concert at the college last night. The hospital is full up. In fact, they said on the news that there's no beds in
any
of the hospitals nearby. They had to helicopter injured folks to trauma centers all over the state. Y'all are better off here anyways. No germs.”

I gulped. My throat felt like I'd swallowed sand.

Precious Darling smiled. Probably had a good dentist. Her teeth seemed unnaturally perfect. Was she a nurse? She just kept right on talking.

“Your big sis, Daphne, she says you're a mite tougher than you look. And that's a good thing, 'cause to tell you the truth, Sunshine, up till now, y'all ain't been lookin' too good.”

“Daphne? Is Daph here?” I whispered. My lips felt cracked.

“Well, Miss Daphne
was
here. She's back at your place in the big house, workin' on getting things started for a late breakfast. That's where I'm headed, in a few minutes.”

Precious started fussing, straightening the bedcovers around me. “Hey, I never seen anyone from these parts all wrapped up like your sister. Vintage Pucci, no less. Just one little slit for her eyes. I swear, I don't know how she sees to get herself around. I wanted to ask about it, but I didn't want to offend. I figured it must be on account of her religion or something.”

“Not her religion,” I whispered. “Just . . . Daphne.” It would take too much energy for me to explain Daphne's allergic reaction to lye, and her desire to never be seen as any less than perfect. Explaining my oldest sister didn't seem to matter anyway. Precious never came up for air.

“Your other sister was here, too,” she continued. “Ain't that Pep a pistol! Promised she'd find me some big dangly skull earrings like what she's wearin'. Now, mind you, when
it comes to accessories, I'm more of a classic designer gal—not usually into that dark, goth stuff, ya know?”

Precious flapped and waved her hands around and nodded her head emphatically as she spoke. Still, she never waited for me to say a word. Just kept right on smiling and talking.

“They got a full house over there with six guests. I said I'd sit with you here a bit, but I gotta head over now. Promised I'd cook a late breakfast for everyone after the detective and his deputies left.”

“Guests? Six?” I'd thought there were only four. Then, I remembered how I'd promised Daphne I'd take care of the New Yorkers. “Oh my God!” I croaked. “Guests! Breakfast! I shot straight out of bed, flailing around stark-naked, hobbling on one foot, looking for my clothes. “What time is it? I've got to cook! Buy
donuts
!”

“Hold on, Paula Deen.” Precious tapped a finger to my shaking shoulder. I was weaker than I'd imagined and keeled backward onto the bedcovers. Jumping up quickly had only made my colossal headache worse. Made my ankle throb. Made me want to throw up. My head pounded, and my left ribs hurt. My heart fluttered and flip-flopped. I wanted to cry. Precious calmly picked up my bare legs and swept them under the sheets. She pulled up the covers to my chin and tightly tucked everything under the mattress. She wagged her finger.

“There's no cookin' for you today, missy. And there's no gettin' out of bed, either, for donuts or anything else,” she scolded. “Like I said, it's all taken care of. Mister Collier ‘loaned' me to your folks. I'm helpin' out, for as long as your big sis needs me.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what to say. My mind was racing to put it all together. I felt worse than crap. I was totally confused. Who was Mister Collier? Where was I?

“Since your sister's staff—the Greene twins?—went to the concert and got laid up from the accident on the
interstate, Miss Pep is helping with the servin' this morning. We got it covered.”

“Daphne's letting Pep help? Really?” I couldn't fathom it. She must be
more
than desperate. “Please. I have questions . . .”

“I'm just glad I could help y'all out. Things have been mighty quiet over here.” Precious looked up at the ceiling for a moment. There was a beat before she mumbled, “Too quiet.”

“Wait. I'm all confused. Where am I? And who is Mister Collier?”

“Why, Sunshine, I thought you knew. I mean, surely, where
else
would you be? I work for Mister Collier, right next door to your place. At Greatwoods.”

“Greatwoods? You mean, this is Greatwoods Plantation? Next door?”

“Yep. Greatwoods. Right next door,” chirped Precious. “Didn't I say that?”

Built during the Gilded Age of the late nineteenth century by cotton broker Duke Dufour and his wife, railroad tycoon heiress Dina Abbot Dufour, the opulent, mega-thousand-acre Greatwoods Plantation featured a grandiose French-style mansion; hunting lodges; stables; guest cottages; and more. The estate was once a summer playground, hunting retreat, and ostentatiously rich and lavish party place for some of America's most wealthy and famous people. A century later, when I was growing up, the mansion was inhabited by a crotchety spinster descendent, Doris Dufour. The place was rumored to be in general disrepair, and the old woman was rarely seen in town. A manservant took care of her needs. Most of the land was neglected and became a playground for poachers. I'd been told that during my eighteen-year absence, Doris had perished, Greatwoods had changed hands, and the new owner, a mysterious and reclusive man from out of town, had brought the estate back to its former grandiloquence.

“Now, Sunshine, you just set back and rest,” said Precious.

“No! Stop! Please. Why was Buck Tanner here? He
was
here, wasn't he?”

“Sheriff Tanner? That man's as hot as a dog on a stick. Yeah, he was waitin' and wantin' to ask you about the dead fellow Mister Collier found layin' with you in the woods.”

“Wha . . . what?”

“Mister Collier found you two out there in the fire, and when his cell phone wouldn't work, probably on account of the weather and all, he brought you back here early this mornin'. We weren't sure who you was at first. Then, when Doc got here, he said he thought it was you, on account of your hair and all. Doc said all you Knox girls have that pink hair.”

Floyd “Doc” Payne was old and decrepit looking when I knew him as a child. He'd always reminded me of photos I'd seen of Albert Einstein, with knotted hands; big, bushy eyebrows; and untamed, wiry white hair. Plus he had bad breath. Worst ever. I couldn't believe he was still practicing medicine—surely he was well into geezerdom.

“It's not pink. It's strawberry-blonde.” I frowned, trying to assimilate everything Precious was saying. It was all too much, too fast, for me to process. Worse still, I didn't remember any of it.

“Whatever. Your hair looks pink to me. Anyway, once we figured out who you were, we called your folks right away. And the sheriff, of course, on account of the dead fella.”

“Dead fellow?” I was starting to remember. I'd been running in the woods . . .

“Now don't go botherin' yourself about things—your big sis told me that y'all fret too much.” Precious waved her hand in dismissal. “And Doc said you need to stay calm and rest. No fretting. Besides, I'm sure the dead guy deserved what he got. Men usually do. Maybe it was some sort of accident, like the time my cousin Dewanna shot her husband, Tyrell, when she came home early and found him doin' the deed with the babysitter on top of the portable dishwasher. Dewanna wasn't thinkin' straight when she ran into the bedroom, opened the closet, climbed up on the
chair, opened the shoe box, and grabbed Tyrell's gun and started wavin' it around—just to scare him, ya know? Well, before y'all know it, the silly gun goes off and Tyrell is plumb dead as a doorknob. Anyway, Dewanna's always been a good girl, and since the babysitter took off and was never seen again, there was no one to say it
wasn't
an accident, so Dewanna made out just fine. And I think you're a good girl like Dewanna. So, no matter what other folks are sayin', I think that whatever happened was accidental, ya know? Anyways, y'all have got time to think about it. Sheriff won't be botherin' us again for a bit. We sent him away, cute, pinchable ass and all.”

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I whined in a squeaky voice that I didn't even recognize as my own. I put my hand to my forehead, closed my eyes to concentrate, and continued, mustering all the strength I could in my voice. “I remember now. What was the guy from Anthony's Awesome Pastries—in Boston—doing here? In Abundance? And he was dead. Right? Dead!”

“Now listen, Sunshine, I don't know nothin' about no pastry guy from Boston.”

“It was him—the guy I ordered my wedding cake from. In Boston.” A wave of confusion and anxiety washed over me. Nothing made sense. “He was here. The pastry guy! From Boston.”

“Hon, I don't have the faintest notion what you're talkin' about.”

“I tripped over his foot. In the woods—our woods! Oh my gosh, he was really dead, wasn't he?” I felt tears welling.

“Now listen, Sunshine. You're not makin' sense, 'cept the part about there bein' a dead guy. You must be confused . . . What would some ‘pastry guy' from Boston be doin' here in Abundance? Doc said your heart had a shock—literally—and you need to rest and remain calm. So, we're not gonna think about a pastry guy anymore today. Or donuts. And we're not gonna think about whatever it was that happened in the woods, either. Doc's orders. I promised to keep you calm.”

“But I have to know! Please, why was the guy from Anthony's Awesome Pastries here?”

“Sunshine. This conversation is over. Ya hear? I'm not gonna be the one callin' Doc to tell him you keeled over on account of your fussin' and havin' a big ol' heart attack about some Boston pastry fella. It ain't gonna happen. Not on my watch. Nuh-uh.”

“But it doesn't make any sense!”

“If it don't make sense now, then maybe it'll make sense tomorrow after y'all have had some rest and Doc has been out to check on you again.” Precious fluffed my pillow. “Now, I promised your big sis that I'd head on over to make breakfast after you were up. So, that's what I'm gonna do. Y'all just stay here, cool your jets, enjoy your pretty room, and relax. There are some snacks on the bedside table. Someone'll check on y'all in a little while.”

With that, Precious turned on her yellow Louboutins and marched toward the hidden door.

“Wait!”

Precious reached for the latch in the wall, pulled open the door, and stepped into the hallway.

“Are you
seriously
telling me that Buck Tanner is the
sheriff
?

The door clicked shut.

I tried to sort out what had happened. I remembered that I'd been running in the woods with Dolly when the storm changed direction and got decidedly dangerous. Then, apparently, I'd tripped on a dead man's foot just on the edge of Daddy's olive grove. Just as I'd recognized the dead man as the guy from behind the counter at Anthony's Awesome Pastries in Boston, according to Precious, lightning hit a big oak tree behind me and I got zapped. Ian Collier, the new owner of Greatwoods next door, found me in the early morning and brought me to Greatwoods where Doc Payne examined me. I had a sprained ankle, probably a cracked rib or two, and was suffering from the aftereffects of a lightning strike, which somehow affected my heart. Still, it couldn't have been too serious, or I'd be in a hospital. Right? But then, Precious said the hospitals were all full, on account of a big accident on the highway. Also, Precious said she was helping Daphne prepare meals for the guests—six, not four—until we hired a chef to replace Loretta, who'd vanished without giving notice to marry our guide, Leonard, who'd also vanished.

That's all I could put together before Precious said she had to run off to help Daphne. I still didn't know what happened to Dolly. And, more important, I didn't know what happened to the pastry guy before I stumbled over him. Or why he was here in the first place. I shuddered thinking about the rubbery foot and his deathly face.

Also, I didn't remember seeing Daphne, Pep, Doc Payne, or Ian Collier. Although, I'd been told that they'd all been at my bedside. On the other hand, I did remember seeing Buck Tanner. And he'd most definitely seen me.

All of me.

My stomach flipped. I felt myself flush at the thought.

“Crap.”

I needed to find Dolly. And I needed to figure out what happened to the man in the woods and how he got to Knox Plantation. Not to mention how the hell Buck Tanner had become sheriff.

I threw off the quilt and slid down the bed to the floor.
Ouch!
Still bandaged in elastic, my left ankle hurt when I put weight on it.

“Ignore it, Eva.”

I wrapped myself in the satin quilt and hobbled to the foot of the bed where, lo and behold, sitting on a tufted velvet bench, were my clothes. My
GEORGIA VIRGIN
tee, cutoffs, underwear, and all were clean and folded. Except, my sneakers. They were nowhere to be found.

“I have to get out of here.”

I grabbed my clothes. Every muscle in my body ached as I tried to dress quickly. I was clumsy, holding on to the bedpost for support as I stepped gingerly though my panties and shorts, ever-so-carefully placing weight on my wrapped-up foot.

“Just don't flex it,” I thought. Since I could put weight on it, I knew that I could get pretty far if I just kept the joint immobile. The elastic wrap would help. My aching ribs were another story.

After I'd finally managed to dress myself, I tossed the quilt back on the bed and rested on the bench. It was hard to
breathe. My ribs were killing me. My head ached, and I wanted to puke. What about the dead pastry guy? I shuddered. Why was he here in Georgia? I shuddered again. Then, another reality began to set in.

Wait till the tabloids get ahold of this
.

Already, I could see the headline: “Runaway Bride Trips Over Dead Pastry Guy.” Tammy Fae Tanner and Debi Dicer would have a field day. Not to mention everyone on the Internet. They'd probably blame me for the poor guy's demise.

And what about Buck? Was he actually sheriff?
Impossible
. Growing up, Buck had been everyone's favorite bad boy. After his dad had left his unwed teenaged mother, Tammy Fae, when she was pregnant, Buck had been raised to work on his granddaddy's farm. From the time he was a little boy, mornings before school he'd milked cows by hand. When he was in high school, after football and swim team practices—he led both teams to state championships—he'd worked in the fields, mowing, plowing, seeding, and handpicking weeds until after dark. Buck was anything but shy. He'd irreverently spoken his mind whenever he pleased, even when it meant a whipping from his granddaddy. He'd been a cutup in class. His coaches had made him do extra laps—on the field and in the pool—during almost every practice. He hadn't cared. In fact, I think he'd rather enjoyed the extra challenge.

When he was a junior and I was a freshman, Buck's football coach had arranged for me to tutor Buck in English. Buck was smart; he'd just had no time for studies. Months later, much to the dismay of every other girl in Abundance, the most popular guy in school had made me his sweetheart.

Still, Daphne always said Buck would never amount to anything once he got out of high school. She often described him as a “sweet talker” and a “loose cannon.” And, on those counts, Daphne was right. Buck had played pranks on everyone at school. Even the principal. He'd raced cars on the interstate. He'd gone with the boys and hunted illegally. Buck and his chums had done silly things with snakes and
alligators in the swamp. They'd partied all night. Still, Buck never got in trouble. And the one time he was caught red-handed, Buck was so damn cheeky that he got away with it.

Now, could this man actually be Abundance County sheriff? No, I'm sorry. Thinking of irreverent Buck Tanner as sheriff was a total stretch.

No way.