by Dylann Crush
Mrs. Mitchell was a little subtler in her efforts to rub the luck out of him. “Mind if I just touch you for luck?”
Presley spread his arms out. “Be my guest. Looks like you two are the only ones who will be getting lucky tonight.”
Eugenia’s mouth opened in mock shock. “I hope you’re not referring to my granddaughter with that last remark.”
Heat prickled across his cheeks. He must be getting rusty. The reference to him getting lucky with Dixie hadn’t crossed his mind. “No, ma’am. Just trying to figure out how to get the intel we need to put a stop to that California investor. Doesn’t seem like luck is on my side tonight.”
Eugenia dotted her card with hot-pink ink as the caller continued to shout out bingo numbers. “Well, your luck is about to turn around. Just let us get through the jackpot round, and Maybelle and I will help you come up with a plan.”
Maybelle nodded. “Genie can be quite the sleuth when she needs to be.”
Presley grinned. “I have no doubt she can. But what I’m considering would be on the, let’s just say, dark-gray side of the law.”
Eugenia dismissed his concern with a wave. “Oh, pshaw. Maybelle and I have been waiting for years for a little excitement to enter our lives. Whatever cockeyed plan you come up with, count us in.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, Dixie would skin me alive if I got the two of you involved in—”
“Excuse me.” A little old lady with a grizzled gray bun tapped on his shoulder.
“Yes?” Presley turned toward her.
“I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be a lucky visitor tonight. Do you mind if I just give you a quick rub? For luck?” she asked.
Presley glanced to Mrs. Mitchell and Eugenia. “Is this typical?”
The two women twittered. “You might not have noticed, but you’re the only good-looking, able-bodied male in the whole joint. Nellie here probably thinks your good luck will rub off on her too.”
“Um, sure.” He held out his arm.
The woman ran her hand over it then touched her bingo cards. “The next game is mine, I can just feel it.”
Nobody was more surprised than Presley when Nellie ended up the only winner of the five hundred–dollar prize.
“Are you ladies about ready to go?” He’d had about all he could take of bingo night. Eager to get started on his plans for exposing SoCal, he handed his remaining bingo cards to the woman next to him.
“Okay, okay.” Eugenia tucked her bingo markers into her bag. “You’ve already jinxed us.”
“How? I thought I was some special good luck charm.”
“You were.” Mrs. Mitchell pointed to a group of older women who were arranging themselves into a line behind him. “But now everyone wants to rub our lucky charm.”
“Oh no.” Presley pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m sorry, ladies, but there’s no more rubbing happening here tonight.”
A chorus of disappointment rose around him as he scooted away from the table with Mrs. Mitchell and Genie behind him. If he was going to spend the night being rubbed by somebody, he’d damn sure get to have a say in who it was. And right now the only woman whose hands he wanted all over him was on a date with someone else. Granted, he’d asked her to do it, but it wasn’t sitting well with him.
He’d get Mrs. Mitchell and Eugenia settled at home and then figure out how to get into SoCal’s room at the B and B. With a glance at the brooding sky, he figured he’d better hurry. There was only one thing worse than breaking and entering: breaking and entering in the middle of a summer thunderstorm.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dixie swirled her straw around in her frozen piña colada. Dining at the Farley Inn was definitely an experience. An experience that seemed like it would take all night, based on how slow the service had been. First they’d had drinks. Then Chandler ordered an appetizer she could barely force down. They’d moved on to their salads a few minutes ago, and her nerves were rattling like a set of maracas.
“So college at UCLA and then I went straight to work for my great-uncle’s business.” Chandler cut his romaine into bite-sized pieces. “How about you? Where did you go to college?”
Dixie gulped down a bite of bread that got stuck in her throat. “I’d rather talk about you. What kind of work do you do for your uncle?” The more she could get him to talk about himself, the more likely he might be to let something slip.
“He’s got his hands into just about everything…real estate, retail developments, even a chain of gourmet coffee shops out East.” Chandler dabbed at his mouth with the cloth napkin from his lap. “I never really know what kind of project he’ll have me working on from one day to the next.”
“What are you working on now?” She positioned the straw between her lips, hoping the soft candlelight from the votive on the table between them would make her look curiously sexy. The straw slipped from her lips, and a few drops of piña colada dribbled onto her salad.
Chandler didn’t appear to notice. He took a sip of his second drink and appeared to contemplate her question. “I’m not sure I should talk about it.”
“Oh?” Dixie tried to keep the interest from leaping into her voice. “Is it a secret project? You’re planning on taking over the Farley Inn?”
He let out what she considered a bit of a nervous laugh. “No, nothing like that. My uncle would like to reestablish some roots in Texas though. I haven’t been completely honest with you about my intentions.”
She’d just taken an awkward, too-big bite of salad, so she nodded, encouraging him to go on.
He covered her hand with his across the table. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I feel like I can trust you.” His gaze met hers. “Can I trust you, Dixie?”
Forcing the salad down, she pulled her hand away to reach for her water. She took a sip, considering her response. Lying wasn’t an option. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
He let out a sigh. “It’s been killing me, trying to keep this from you, what with our history and all.”
Dixie nodded as she crossed her fingers under the table. “Go on.”
“My uncle has been carrying a grudge against the Rose. Bad blood from decades ago. I’ve tried to reason with him and get him to move on, but he can’t.”
“What happened?” Desperate for information, she ignored the ringtone Presley had set on her phone for his calls. Toby Keith belted out lyrics about a girl born in Dixie who fell in love with a bad boy while Dixie tried to lower the volume under the tablecloth.
“Do you need to get that?” Chandler asked.
“No, I’m sure it’s just a telemarketer. Tell me about your uncle. Why does he have something against the Rose?” Her phone stopped ringing, and she let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s complicated. He’s a big-time fiddle player. Used to play with a band that traveled the world. I guess something happened one night at the Rose. My uncle got into it with a friend who accused him of cheating at poker. The owner tossed him out and banned him for life.”
Dixie sucked in a breath. She’d heard rumors of a story like that before but always assumed it was another tall tale.
“It gets worse.” Chandler took another sip of his drink. Dixie sent silent vibes of encouragement across the table for him to down it. He must have subconsciously heard her because he drained the last bit of amber liquid. “When his band was finally invited to play the Rose, a huge rite of passage back in the day, my uncle wasn’t allowed to go onstage with them. He couldn’t even be on the premises.”
“Oh my gosh.” Dixie covered her mouth with her hands, not wanting to distract him from finishing his story.
“So…Uncle Leroy has spent his entire life trying to get even. Now he’s got me—”
Dixie’s phone rang again.
“Why don’t you go ahead and answer that? I’m going
to excuse myself for a minute anyway.” Chandler pushed back from the table and made his way toward the men’s room.
Dixie whipped her phone out from under the table. “What?”
“Nice to talk to you too.” Presley’s voice came from far away. Something loud sounded in the background.
“Where are you?”
“You’re not going to like it.” A woman said something she couldn’t quite make out.
“Are you still at bingo?” She put a hand over her other ear, trying to shut out any other noise.
“No. I got tired of older women rubbing me.”
“What?” She pulled the phone away from her ear to look at it. Did he say “rubbing”?
“Never mind. I’m on my way to the B and B to check SoCal’s room. Can you keep him there for another hour?”
“Where’s Gram?” If he’d left her gram at bingo, he’d be sorry.
“She’s right here.”
A loud scuffle came through the phone, then Gram’s voice blared into Dixie’s ear. “How’s your date going, sugar?”
“Gram, what are you doing? Why aren’t you at bingo?” She should have known better than to trust Presley with her grandmother.
“Bingo was a bust. Maybelle won a game, but then everyone wanted to rub on Presley for luck. We decided helping him out on his investigation would be more fun.” She giggled into the phone. “Besides, once he can prove SoCal took Kermit’s toads, we can get them back, and I can get my own horny toad back on level ground.”
She didn’t. Her grandmother absolutely did not refer to Kermit Klaussen as her own horny toad. What was the world coming to? Her parents were definitely going to remove her from Gram duty as soon as word of this made its way back to them.
“Gram, listen to me. Tell Presley to take you home and wait for me there. I’ve almost got what we need to prove Chandler is trying to take down the Rose.” She kept her voice low, casting covert glances around her as if someone might be keeping tabs on her conversation.
“Sorry, hon, you’re breaking up. What did you say?”
Dixie looked around then raised her voice a notch. “I said go home. Do not go to the B and B. I forbid it.”
“And ruin the most fun I’ve had in decades? I will not.” Gram sounded like a petulant toddler as opposed to a grown woman who had a family and a reputation and, holy moly, her son-in-law’s capital campaign at stake.
“Gram, that’s breaking and entering. Do you want to go to jail? We’ll get the info some other way.”
“See you at home later, sweetheart.” The line went dead.
Dixie held the phone in front of her, checking the screen. Her gram did not just hang up on her. Impossible. She’d been so close to getting the information from Chandler. Why did Presley think he had to swoop in and mess everything up? As she lifted her gaze, she realized things were worse than she’d feared. Chandler stood across the table from her, his usually even-toned complexion turning into a mottled mess of red and pink.
Her chest squeezed as her lungs failed her. Coughing, she reached for her water. “How long have you been standing there?” she finally managed to spit out.
“Long enough to know that our dinner date was made under false pretenses.” He pulled a few bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I trust you can find your own way home?”
It didn’t take but a moment for Dixie to realize she was about to be abandoned in the middle of the Farley Inn. As Chandler stomped toward the door, she raced after him. “Wait.”
He spun around as he reached the door. “You, Dixie Mae King, are not the same sweet girl I fell for in sixth grade.”
“I’m sorry.” She put her hand out, intent on touching his arm, but he jerked it away. “My loyalties lie here. With the Rose, with Holiday, with the people I love.” The people she loved. Like Gram and her family, Charlie and her coworkers at the Rose, Maybelle, kooky Kermit, and all the others. And maybe even Presley. Was it too soon to admit her lifelong infatuation may have somehow turned to deeper feelings over the past several days?
Chandler’s icy glare froze any warm feelings she’d had growing inside. “Well, my loyalties lie with my family. So may the best one win.”
With one last sneer, he ducked out into the rain. Dixie had been so preoccupied with fishing for information she hadn’t noticed the sky had darkened and a true summer thunderstorm now raged outside. Now what was she supposed to do?
She returned to the table. No sense in letting the rest of her piña colada go to waste. As she took a sip of the giant frozen beverage, she pulled up Presley’s number. He’d have to abandon his crazy mission and come get her. They could figure out their next step as a team. If Gram and Mrs. Mitchell wanted to pitch in, that would be fine too. In fact, getting the whole town of Holiday to rally against the outside threat and put up a united front wasn’t a bad idea at all.
The only problem was she didn’t know exactly what kind of threat they were fighting. Obviously Chandler and his uncle wanted Kermit’s land. She’d have to start there. Convinced she was on the right track, she waited for Presley to pick up his phone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So we’re all clear on who’s doing what?” Presley asked.
Mrs. Mitchell and Genie nodded.
“Do you want to run through it one more time, just to be sure?” he asked.
Genie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a worrywart. We’ve got this.”
“It’s just like being on one of those shows on TV.” Mrs. Mitchell’s hands fluttered under her chin. “Do you think Angela Lansbury felt like this when she was filming episodes of Murder, She Wrote?”
Presley twisted in the driver’s seat and pointed a finger at Mrs. Mitchell. “This is nothing like Murder, She Wrote, okay? I need you to understand, if we get caught, there could be serious consequences. Y’all can wait in the car if you want. If it looks like things are going bad, then take off in the Jeep, and I’ll catch up to you later.”
“Neither one of us is supposed to drive.” Mrs. Mitchell shrugged.
“Would you relax?” Genie reached into her purse and pulled out a black knit beanie. “I grew up in the sixties. I’m not afraid to go to jail or stage a protest.” She handed the beanie to Presley. “You might need this.”
“Neither one of you is going to jail.” Presley humphed. He’d gotten more help than he’d bargained for when he’d agreed to let the two women take part in his espionage. “And why do you have a black cap in your purse?”
Genie shrugged. “You never know when you might need it.”
“Genie’s always prepared.” Mrs. Mitchell nodded.
“Thanks—this might actually come in handy. Okay, you ready to go?” He cracked his door.
Dixie’s gram reached into her purse and pulled out an umbrella. “Come on, Maybelle. I’ve got us covered.”
The two women climbed out of the Jeep and walked to the front door of the B and B while Presley pulled his Jeep around the corner and killed the engine. While they were inside distracting Mr. and Mrs. Knotts, he planned on scaling the side of the stone building and trying to find a way in through the window.
He waited, making sure the women received an invitation to come in, then ran across the lawn and pressed himself against the building. Peering through a dining room window, he watched as Mrs. Knotts took their coats and hung them on the coatrack in the entry. The light flickered on in the dining room, and he crouched down, duck-waddling to a stretch of stone wall that didn’t have windows.
Muted laughter reached him through the driving rain. Good. With the owners occupied, he’d have a few minutes to see if he could figure out a way inside. His fingers scraped along the stone blocks, trying to find a place to grab. No luck. He should have tossed a ladder onto his Jeep. Or a grappling hook. Or even a fishing pole.
He circ
led the property for the next fifteen minutes while the pouring rain soaked through his shirt, his pants, and his boots. With no way to climb up, his plan seemed doomed. Then the front door opened, and Eugenia called out. “Presley? Where are you?”
Dammit. She was going to ruin everything. He ignored her, moving farther down the wall.
“Presley? Come inside. Beverly says she’ll open the room for you. There’s no reason to sneak around in the dark out there.”
He pushed away from the wall and stalked toward the door. “The idea of a covert operation is that it’s covert. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. But we started talking to Beverly and Jim, and before we knew it, we’d filled them in on your concerns. Beverly’s daughter Darby is married to Waylon Walker, you know.”
“Yes, of course I know that. She’s my sister-in-law.” Presley stepped into the vaulted foyer. He’d only been inside the historic home a few times.
“Well, that makes us family too.” Mrs. Knotts held out a towel. “If one of my guests is threatening my family, he’s not welcome here.”
Relief flooded Presley’s system. Why hadn’t he thought to just ask for access? Because evidently running around in the rain and scraping his fingernails against unyielding stone seemed like so much more fun.
As he rubbed the towel over his hair, he tried to find out how many of the beans Dixie’s gram and Mrs. Mitchell had spilled. “So you understand why it’s important to take a look around Mr. Bristol’s room?”
“Absolutely.” Mrs. Knotts held out a key.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble for this.” Presley hesitated to take the key.
Genie knocked the key out of Mrs. Knotts’s hand. “Oh look, Presley. There’s a key on the ground. I wonder what it goes to.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You think it’s that easy?”
She winked at him. “No, but who knows what will happen when we go back to the kitchen for a piece of that huckleberry cobbler Beverly’s been talking about? It’s a big house. We probably won’t be able to hear a thing. Would you say that’s right, Bev?”
