Southern Fried (31 page)

“You’re really thinking about settling in Dacus? Opening an office?”

“Um-hm. Guess I’m hoping for some—I don’t know, remediation, perhaps.” He paused, then asked, “What about you?”

I didn’t answer right away. Even when I did, it wasn’t much of an answer. “I don’t know. I really just planned to light here awhile. You know, rethink some things, get my bearings.”

“I didn’t mean to jump to any conclusions. I guess I’d just gotten some impression that—well, think about it. No rush. My brother won’t be sending his kids to college for some time yet, so he’s in no hurry for the money. And that monstrosity of a house isn’t going anywhere. If you’d like to have a look at it, though, just give me a call. There’s living quarters upstairs, too, you know.”

Over a funeral parlor? I didn’t ask that out loud.

“Thanks, Melvin. That does give me something to think about. I—I’ll let you know.”

“Fine. No rush. To tell you the truth, I’ve got some thinking of my own to do.”

After I hung up, I lay back and studied the ceiling, the wooden cornices over the tall double-hung windows, the plaster medallion around the ceiling fan.

Avery Andrews, attorney-at-law
. Black letters on a discreet white sign. Maybe hung on a wrought-iron signpost, in front of that rambling Victorian. Close to the courthouse. With its wide wraparound
porch and a witch-hatted circular section on one side. I bet it had central heating. The lack of that luxury in my cabin had begun to evidence itself as nighttime temperatures stayed in the thirties.

I lost myself in a daydream of decorating my gracious office with resplendent antiques and of drawing clients who knew the meaning of the word
retainer
. Then the phone rang again.

“Miss Andrews. There you are. Mr. Barner asked me to call.”

At the mention of Carlton Barner’s name, I recognized Lou Wray’s clipped voice.

“He wanted me to let you know that this is a place of business and that we really cannot be bothered with taking personal messages for you.”

“I—”

“I’ll be happy to read these over the phone to you. But you really should make plans to relocate yourself to more permanent office quarters as soon as possible. Mr. Barner’s quite insistent on that.”

“Yes, ma’am, but—”

“The first message came in about an hour ago, from one Donlee Griggs. He wished to inform you that this constituted his one phone call.” She said those last words as if they had a bad taste.

“His message said, and I quote: ‘It’s my car, isn’t it? That’s why you won’t go out with me?’” Lou read in an unamused monotone.

“I didn’t know he had a car.”

Lou Wray continued. She clearly had no time to find humor in any of this. “This second message came in only moments ago. A reporter called from
the Greenville paper, wanting information that I clearly could not give. Apparently Mrs. Geneva Gadsden has chained herself to the Confederate war monument in front of the courthouse, engaging herself in some sort of civil disobedience. She insisted that you were her spokesperson and that the newspaper should contact you.”

“How did the
Greenville News
—”

“I’m sure you can see why Mr. Barner has insisted that the time has come for you to sever any relationship with this firm. Our clientele—”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll be by later to pick up my legal pad and my pencils. Thanks for calling with my messages. It’s been such a pleasure working with you.”

After I hung up, I thought momentarily about calling Jake Baker, to politely but firmly turn him down. I couldn’t think of any reason not to stick around Dacus awhile longer. And I couldn’t think of a good reason to leave. Even Jake’s wildest promises couldn’t pay me enough to watch the disappointment on my dad’s face again. And he certainly couldn’t compete with the entertainment value around here.

Maybe in a few weeks I’d call Andie, the law school classmate who worked at the state bar association and knew everybody in South Carolina. But I was in no rush. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the courthouse and the Confederate war monument.