Southern Comfort (4 page)

Maybe there’s a story there too.

“Hey … Natalie … ” He rushed over to her car. “Can I catch a ride with you to the meeting?”

He could drive himself, but if he rode with Natalie, he would have that many more opportunities to talk to her, plus save on his own gas. Funds were getting mighty low in the Tran household.

She seemed to mull it over for an eternity before she finally gave him a stiff chin nod.

“Okay.” Her voice ended on a note that sounded like she was about to say more, like maybe give him a list of rules of things he could and couldn’t do in her car. But she just jerked her head toward the side and waited for him to get in.

Newland wasted no time.

She backed out, and they were off.

“How’s your brother getting to the meeting?”

Natalie didn’t bother to take her eyes from the road as she gave a one-shoulder shrug. “He either rode his bike or took a cab.”

“He doesn’t have a car?”

This time she did look away from her driving and shot him an incredulous look. “Of course not. He doesn’t know how to drive.”

“But you said he was sixteen.”

“Do you think I’m really going to let my immature baby brother behind the wheel of a car?”

Newland bit back a chuckle. “But you let him run the town.”

He wished he could see the look in her so-blue eyes, but she had already turned back to the front. “That’s different. There aren’t nearly as many lives at stake with him at the helm of the city.”

This time Newland did laugh. But it didn’t draw any attention from Natalie. He supposed she expected it.

They drove in silence for a few moments before Newland ran a loving hand across the dash of her car. “Nice ride.”

Natalie made a noise that sounded like some sort of agreement, but he couldn’t be sure.

“You don’t see many cars like this in small towns. This had to have set you back a pretty penny.”

“Listen, Mr. Tran—”

“Newland,” he corrected, but at least she said it correctly, with the “ah” a sound.

She coughed. “Newland,” she acquiesced. “I have had more than my fair share of dealings with the press, and I know every trick in the book.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m not going to answer a bunch of other questions about my family and my life here in Turtle Creek and my brother as the mayor and the nonexistent ghost in my aunt’s house just because you complimented my car.”

Newland threw up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, all I said was you have a nice ride.”

She chanced another look in his direction. “Thank you.” Her tone was unreadable. He didn’t have time to start another conversation as they pulled up in front of the school.

“The town meeting is here?”

“In the gym, yes.” Natalie got out and dropped her keys in her purse, but didn’t bother to lock the car. Now that he’d sat in it he knew it was a Jag. And cost upwards of a hundred thousand dollars. But he supposed in a town the size of Turtle Creek, if anyone stole it they would be easy to find. It had to be the only one around.

“So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“Agenda?” She seemed distracted. “Oh, you mean the meeting. I believe tonight we’ll be talking about whether or not to change the school colors and if something should be done about Harvey Johnson’s hound dog.”

Newland stopped as sure as his feet had been glued to the parking lot. He looked around at the milling faces. It seemed half the town had turned out to discuss these important matters. “You mean everyone is here to talk about the school colors and a hound dog?”

Natalie nodded. “Of course. We take politics very seriously around here.”

Evidently
, Newland thought as they walked into the gymnasium. Rows of chairs had been lined up on the gym floor, and a table had been placed in front with a line of chairs waiting behind it.

He had seen enough to realize that the chairs were for the townspeople who didn’t want to sit in or had spilled out of the bleachers, and the table and chairs under the basketball goal were the places where the town council and the mayor would sit.

Aubie Coleman sat in the middle of that long, white cloth-covered table—the honored seat reserved for the mayor—awaiting the meeting to start.

Natalie slipped out of her red shoes and hooked them on the fingers of one hand before walking smartly across the gym floor. She perched on the edge of one seat in the front row. Newland was forced to follow behind her, noticing that the other women who wore heels had, out of consideration for the wooden floor, removed their shoes as well.

She sat ramrod straight in her chair looking straight ahead. He supposed she was serious about not giving him any more information about anything at all.

I wonder what has her so up in arms.
But he doubted he would be there long enough to find out. He had ten days before the ghost turned back up and after that he would probably hit the city limits as fast as he could.

Until then … He allowed his gaze to wander around the gym. Things were painted in an unfortunate combination of green and black. Though most of it was simply black. The center ring on the basketball court, the wall in front of the far-end bleachers, the doorways leading into what had to be the locker rooms, everything black, with touches of green, reminiscent of that of the famous tractors.

No wonder they wanted to change the school colors. He looked to one wall where a huge green and black turtle had been painted. Someone had drawn a ferocious looking face on the turtle, or at least they had tried to. On him, it just looked constipated.

Newland leaned closer to Natalie. “Instead of changing the school colors, how about the mascot?”

She cut her eyes in his direction with a look that clearly said,
“Will you shut up?”

He didn’t know what her problem was. The meeting hadn’t even started yet.

About that time Aubie stood, rapping what looked to be the end of a croquet mallet against the table.

“Here ye, hear ye,” he said in that same singsong voice he’d used earlier. “I declare this town meeting now in session.”

Aubie called forth the secretary to read the minutes from the last meeting. But since at the last meeting they had talked about making Earl Rogers paint his gas station to help spruce up Main Street and figuring out how to tear down Jude Maness’s barn before it fell on top of some unfortunate cows, Newland once again allowed his attention to wander once around the room. It seemed that most everyone there was a farmer of some sort, all dressed in overalls with mud-caked work boots. There were a few suits among the people, but not many. Most of the women had the same uniform of dress as women everywhere. He could almost pick them out as they sat there. Yoga mom, baseball mom, cheerleader mom, some things were the same the world over.

He cut his glance toward the woman at his side. She was the one he couldn’t figure out. Dark brown hair pulled back into a smart bun. The tresses hadn’t dared loosen as they drove with the top down. He wanted to reach out and touch it and see if it felt as soft as it looked. Her makeup was light, but immaculate and precise. Perfect eyeliner, perfect amount of mascara, perfect shade of shadow. Just a tiny bit of blush on high cheekbones, and maybe a dusting of powder across the nose that might have had freckles on it. He couldn’t quite tell from this angle, though he hoped it was true. That was what she needed to break that I’m-so-perfect-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-myself attitude. Freckles. Yeah.

Her diamond-studded earrings twinkled in the overhead lights when she turned slightly in his direction. As if sensing his gaze, she turned around to face the front once more. Everything about her from her car to her fingernails screamed money, but where did such money come from in a small town? Did it really matter?

Anything could matter at this point, as far as Newland was concerned. A story was a story. If there was a story dealing with the town, he would walk away with that one as well as this ghost—existent or nonexistent—in Bitty Duncan’s graveyard. He didn’t care. All he needed was one good story, one
really
good story. Between the ghost, the sixteen-year-old mayor, and the old money sitting next to him, surely that story was in Turtle Creek.

• • •

Natalie could feel his eyes studying her as she tried to listen to the town meeting. School colors and hound dogs might not be important to him, but they were important to Turtle Creek and that meant they were important to her.

She sat with her chin up and pretended she couldn’t feel his gaze roving over her. Almost like a touch, a caress.

After what seemed like an eternity, they agreed to take the black out of the school colors, and just leave them green and white for the time being. Mainly because no one wanted to buy new uniforms for the school. She’d have to talk to someone about some donations to the school to help jump-start that program. Every time the teams went somewhere they looked as if they were in mourning, instead of playing high school basketball. The cheerleaders looked like generic cans of peas all lined up in a row. White uniforms, blocky black letters, a big TC across their chest. It was sad really, but it been that way since Natalie had been a cheerleader here in this very gym.

But she didn’t have time to think about that right now. She had to make sure that her brother knew—mayor or not—that he was spending the night at Aunt Bitty’s house tonight. She started toward him where he stood talking to the principal, but didn’t make it more than two feet before she was stopped.

“Natty Nat.”

She closed her eyes at the sound of that voice. The last person that she wanted to talk to. Ever. She whirled around and opened her eyes. “Darrell Hughes. So nice to see you.” She almost choked on the words. And where Darrell was, there was also Gilbert. She nodded to his twin. She had been at odds with these two fellows since high school. They teased her mercilessly and in general made her life harder than it needed to be. They were always asking for money for one project or another, trying to get her in on the “ground floor” of whatever big scheme they had going on at the time. There had been the plastic cow vomit prank idea they had come up with, along with the skunk flavored gum and the spun-sugar t-shirts for spring break. That had been a doozy. The girls would be hosed down and the t-shirts would melt. Natalie rolled her eyes at the thought.

“Listen, fellows,” she stated as nicely as she possibly could, “If you have another product idea, then bring it to the office tomorrow, okay? I have some business to take care of here tonight and I don’t have time to listen to your pitch.” If they brought something in tomorrow she doubted very seriously it would be a product she could get behind. But still she would listen. She always did.

“Oh, we ain’t here to talk about that,” Gilbert said. Neither one of them had the sense God gave a goose, but they were good old boys at heart. They were slightly mischievous, a little on the ornery side, but thank heavens they weren’t mean. Each one was like a mountain and both were strong enough to crush rocks.

Natalie somehow kept herself from wilting in relief. “Oh?”

“Yeah we got this other thing going—” Darrell broke off as Gilbert elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Hey, why’d you do—” but he didn’t finish the sentence as his brother’s look cut him off but quick. Natalie was sure all the secrecy had to do with it being such a fabulous idea that they didn’t want anyone else within earshot to hear it. But she didn’t say as much.

“Well, that’s nice then.” She smiled at each of them in turn, so very aware that Newland Tran was right behind her, absorbing every word of their exchange.

“Hey, you that reporter from Chicago?” Gilbert asked.

Newland nodded. “I am.”

Darrell dragged a hard gaze over Newland, starting with his tan corduroy blazer that had seen better days to his Falling in Reverse t-shirt and ratty blue jeans, and on to his equally ratty Converse Chuck Taylor All Star shoes. “You don’t look like a reporter from the big city.”

“Gotta keep things interesting.” He chuckled, and Natalie hated that she liked the sound.

In fact, there wasn’t a whole lot about Newland Tran that wasn’t likable, except that he was here. And breathing the air around her. And surely out to exploit her aunt.

She knew something had to be wrong with him. He seemed legit enough on the Internet, but if he had gotten released from his job at
I Spy
and then decided to go “freelance,” why would he pick a story like this to get himself back on his feet? The chances of there even being a story were slim to none. And yet he seemed to be basing the return of his career on it? Not a smart move as far she was concerned. And if there was one thing Newland Tran looked, it was smart. At least smarter than Darrell and Gilbert, for sure. No, there was something else to Tran. And she vowed to keep an eye on the family silver until he was gone.

• • •

Natalie leaned her head back and let the nighttime breeze wash over her. She had let Oskar out in the grass for one last potty before bed. But she couldn’t allow herself a break. She ran over in her mind her schedule for the next day.

She needed to talk to someone about school uniforms, needed to figure out what Darrell and Gilbert were up to, needed to run an inventory on the things in the house to make sure Tran wasn’t walking off with anything more valuable than one of her aunt’s perfume bottles. And a host of other things that kept the foundation going.

After the argument with her brother over returning with her to Bitty’s house, Natalie’s head was pounding. But it felt good to be out here in the air, breathing in the familiar smells of the night-blooming jasmine and the gardenias that her aunt kept at the end of the porch.

The screen door creaked open, and then shut quietly behind whoever came out onto the porch. Natalie didn’t bother to open her eyes and look to see who it was. It couldn’t be Aubie; he never shut the door quietly behind him, and her aunt was more than likely inside, still watching
Dancing with the Stars
. That left only one person, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him.

“You don’t trust me.”