It baffled her further because she knew the townsfolk well, knew what they were and were not capable of. She would have suspected the reverend if she hadn’t heard enough of the conversation to know he was as surprised as anyone when Wolfe Boone arrived at his church. And it certainly wasn’t Ainsley. She wasn’t in the business of even speaking to him prior to his change of heart.
Then who?
Her mind shifted back to Ainsley. The town’s dear heart was becoming more and more of a liability. What was the girl thinking spending time with this man? Missy knew good and well that if Ainsley Parker was involved, Wolfe Boone would be sure to hear more of the gospel in some form or fashion. She could think of no one in the town who hated what he had done to it more than Ainsley. In fact, she had seemed to be the only one who couldn’t appreciate what he had done for Skary.
And now she was falling for him. This wasn’t good. Not at all.
The door creaked, and Missy jumped. She squinted through the dark haze and recognized Oliver Stepaphanolopolis.
“Deary?”
Now Oliver jumped. “Miss Peeple! What are you doing in here?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find a mop. Mr. Tetherbaum spilled his coffee again. I thought this was a storage closet.” Oliver stepped further in and looked around. “I didn’t even know this room was here.”
“It’s quite old. Nobody uses it anymore. Except me. When I’m … um … meditating.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Wait a minute,” Missy said and beckoned Oliver to come sit by her. He approached with great timidity, as if the room might be haunted.
“It’s a little dusty, dear. That’s all.”
Oliver eyed her. “Don’t you live alone? Can’t you get this kind of quiet at home?”
“Well, sometimes you just have to get out of the house, if you’re an old woman like me, spending so much time there.”
Oliver swiped a hand across the seat of the chair across from Missy and then sat.
“Oliver, I suppose you’ve heard the news. About Boo. That he’s, well, converted to the faith.”
“Sure. It’s going around. I don’t know how many people believe it though.”
“You know, I wonder who it was who told him.”
“Told him what?”
“Told him the good news. Shared the faith. Preached the gospel.”
Oliver shrugged. “I dunno.” He glanced at Missy, and his eyes widened. “What? It wasn’t me!”
“I never thought it was, Oliver. Relax. I’m simply saying that it might be wise of us to find out, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
“Oliver, how’s your car business?”
“It’s doing really well.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. In fact, last year was the best year yet.”
“Good for you.”
“Do you need a new car?”
“Dear, I haven’t driven a car since I reversed mine right into the front porch of Sam Brady’s house.” The truth was, she’d done it on purpose because Sam had tried to discredit her on a certain little scandalous story about the county commissioner. But when you’re seventy-eight, everyone just assumes you’re old and don’t know what you’re doing. She hadn’t even gotten a ticket. “No, I don’t need a car. I’m just worried.”
“About what?”
“Well, about your little business and all. I mean, if Mr. Boone stops writing, and this town becomes nothing more than just a town, I suspect that people won’t be buying—well.” She looked at Oliver, whose eyes lit slightly with concern. “Anyhow, no use worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. But I am curious, aren’t you?”
“About what?”
“Well, if it’s a real conversion.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, if it’s not, then he’ll keep writing his books and this town will keep flourishing. But if it’s real, well, better days may be over.” She patted Oliver on the knee. “But no need to worry about that now.”
Oliver blinked, as if ridding his eye of some horrible image before him. “I guess if we found the person who witnessed to him, we’d know it was for real. Wouldn’t we?”
Missy feigned surprise. “Oh. Well. I guess you’re right. You always have been so smart, Oliver. It takes a smart person to sell cars like you do.”
He smiled a little. “Thank you. I can go ask Wolfe myself if you want.”
“No!”
Oliver jumped. “No? Why?”
“Because dear,” she said, “if it’s not for real, then he might make something up. We want the truth, don’t we?”
“I suppose you are right. Then we’d know for sure.”
She glanced at him. “And knowing things can sometimes put a person’s heart at ease.”
“I could ask around.”
“Sure. With subtlety, of course.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, we’d hate to start a vicious rumor that it was, indeed, a hoax.”
“A hoax? You think this is a hoax?”
“Well, isn’t that what you’re going to find out?”
“Yeah. Right.”
She twirled her cane in her hand. “There are a few people in this town who might’ve done it. Make a list. Check it twice. Let’s find out who’s been naughty or nice, shall we?”
Oliver swallowed. “And, um, nice is what we’re looking for, right?”
“Of course,” Missy grinned.
He nodded nervously and said, “Okay, well, I guess I’ll get going. See if I can find the … the great human being who did this.”
Missy touched his arm as he stood to leave and with a gentle wink she said, “And honey, not a word of this leaves this room, you understand. I mean, we’d hate for this poor lad’s religion to become a sideshow of some sort. Not everyone has the kind of integrity that we have.”
Oliver nodded and then left quickly, and Missy starting tapping her cane nervously again. Oliver was gullible, which was a good thing, but he had a little bit too much of a conscience for Missy’s comfort, even if he did sell used cars for a living. Surely he could sell the idea that he was just asking out of gratitude or curiosity.
At any rate, she’d planted a few seeds. She knew by the way Oliver drove around town proudly in his BMW that his business was his life. She just hoped he didn’t end up becoming a regret of hers.
Missy clutched her cane and stood to her feet, wobbly for a few long seconds. As she gathered her things, she heard the creaking of the door again. She looked up, but the door to the small conference room in which she was standing had not moved. She heard the creak again, and shivered. Looking around the musty room, she squinted, trying to find something that would make that noise. Then, near the east corner, she found it.
Garth.
There he stood, in the doorway of an old closet, with a huge smile on his face. His hand was raised above his head, and in his hand was something small and shiny. He walked three paces toward her, his hand dropping to his side, and then stopped, only four feet away.
“Hello, Miss Peeple.”
Missy tried to sound pleasant. “Why, Garth. What a surprise.”
“I bet,” he chided. He sounded very amused with himself. “Wondering what I was doing in the closet?”
“No doubt cloning rats.”
He narrowed his eyes but still kept his smile. “No. Actually, I was, well … let me just show you.” He opened his hand, and there sat a small voice recorder. “So, you see, two can play at this game.”
Missy swallowed hard but did not lose her composure. She scratched her nose with one hand and tightened her grip around her cane with the other. “Well, well. What do we have here?”
“I’d venture to say it wasn’t an innocent little conversation between two upstanding citizens of Skary. We could listen to the conversation again and decide, if you want.”
She glared up at him, baring her yellow,
coffee-stained teeth like a dog trying to protect its territory. “What do you want, Garth?”
“The same thing you want, except I’m going to be in charge from here on out. I’m not comfortable with little old ladies bossing me around and accusing me of murder. You can understand.”
“I still have a sample of your hair.”
“I have a recording that could set off more fireworks than the fourth of July.” He patted his recorder. “So I guess we have a problem.”
“Don’t you think we can work together to achieve the same goal, young Garth? I mean, we’re not the enemy … are we?”
Garth’s hardened expression softened as he thought. “I want one thing out of this deal: Ainsley Parker.”
Missy Peeple scooted forward and, in a wise elderly way, patted Garth on the sleeve of his coat and said, “Oh, honey, just stick with me, and she’s all yours.”
Garth tapped his fingers on the recorder as a reminder, then slipped out of the room. Missy let out a breath of frustration. That Garth Twyne. If ever there was a liability. She took a moment to gather herself, then got her mind back on track. The week was still young, and she had much to do, not the least of which was plan a way to let a certain somebody know his daughter was preparing for a forbidden date.
CHAPTER 12
AINSLEY DIDN’T BOTHER to find her slippers as she traipsed across the chilly, creaky wood floor to the bathroom. On cold mornings, the house always seemed even emptier than it was. A few years after her mother died, Ainsley and her father had discussed selling the house and moving into something smaller. Butch, her brother, had already moved away, and Ainsley had hoped to marry soon. Fifteen years later, still unmarried and still at home, she was glad they hadn’t decided to sell the house. On cold, empty mornings, she had warm memories of her mother in every corridor of the house. Aunt Gert, in her more vibrant days, had practically lived here too.
Ainsley brushed her teeth and played with her hair, trying to decide exactly how she was going to fix it for her lunch appointment with Wolfe. She didn’t want to appear flirty, but she did want to do something special. She spent ten minutes in front of the mirror before she decided to go downstairs and fix her father breakfast.
She hadn’t seen him last night—she’d gone to bed early, and he’d apparently come home late—which was probably for the best. She wasn’t quite ready to tell her father whom she was having lunch with. She just didn’t know exactly how to put it. Her father had managed to run off every guy she’d ever dated, with the exception of the one that she wished he would run off. She sighed as she swung her robe over her shoulders and punched her arms through its sleeves.
How exactly was she going to explain that Wolfe wasn’t a romantic interest, but that he could be? Her father would never understand such an idea, though she might get further with him if she could convince him that they were just friends. However, her father had a very stubborn notion that men and women couldn’t possibly be just friends, so she knew that idea would fizzle as soon as it spilled from her mouth.
Perhaps she could express herself with boldness, maturity, and clarity. Her father couldn’t run her life forever, after all, and it was high time she stood up for herself and told him how it was going to be. If he didn’t like it, too bad!
Of course, she’d tried that approach before, and her sense of obligation always got the best of her. She melted under his demands and caved to his insistence. She stood in her bedroom doorway and felt her head throb. She looked at her watch. Wolfe would be here in four hours, and she was going to have to resolve this long before then.
It had taken her several days to get something else resolved as well. She’d been so angry with Wolfe Boone for so many years that her animosity had become part of her daily routine. Every morning she’d get up, make breakfast, sip her coffee, and dwell on what he’d done to her town. Certainly, a part of her was still unsure who he was. But as much as she hated to admit it, her anger toward him had been something of a twisted comfort. She was definitely out of her comfort zone now.
Ainsley knew one thing for sure: She had to forgive him. She’d been wrong to hold this kind of grudge for so long. God had forced her hand. Either forgive him and go to lunch, or refuse and let him pass on by.
It did help, she had to admit, that he had apparently turned from the dark and seen the light. Only time would tell if it was genuine or not. But in the course of only a few short days, she’d realized just what all that anger had done to her. It had made her cold. Indifferent. Bitter, certainly. And focused on the wrong things.
Friday night, quietly in her bedroom, she had finally knelt and asked God’s forgiveness for her grudge. Then with all the might she had in her, she forgave Wolfe for what Skary had become.
She’d slept great.
Ainsley quietly made her way downstairs, hoping her father was still asleep. Maybe he’d sleep past noon, and she could sneak out without him knowing. She tiptoed across the living room toward the kitchen and glanced backward at the stairs, relief filling her at the idea that she might have another hour or so alone.
“Sneaking around for a reason?”
Ainsley whirled to the voice. Her father sat at the table, reading his newspaper and sipping the orange juice she’d squeezed last night while mulling over the forgiveness issue. She’d squeezed nearly a gallon!
“Daddy! You scared me to death.”
His right eyebrow cocked. “Why is that?”
She tightened her robe and swept past him at the table and into the kitchen. “I was thinking of French toast this morning,” she said with a ring of lightness in her voice. “Is that okay?”
“Fine,” he said, but his voice wasn’t as light or cheery. He stuck his nose back in his paper and rattled it around. Ainsley quietly prepared the eggs and turned on the gas flame underneath a skillet. She wondered if her father was just tired. He had always been a morning person, and cheery for the most part. She stole glances at him as she dipped the bread into the egg batter, trying to decipher his real mood.
“Two or three?”
“Two.”
“Blueberry sauce?”
“Yes.”
“More orange juice?”
“No.”
Ainsley sighed and flipped the first batch of toast in the skillet, careful to make sure the edges were crispy but not burned. When she had two ready, she put them on the plate, drizzled the sauce over them, and took them to the table.
“You were out late last night,” she said as he folded his newspaper and found his silverware.
He unfolded his cloth napkin and stared into her eyes. Something was wrong. He was angry, but she didn’t know why.
“Dad?”
He regarded his French toast, but then set his silverware down and threw his napkin onto the table. “Isn’t there something you want to tell me?”
This doesn’t seem like the right time. “Like what?”
His jaw protruded. “Did you think you could keep something like this from me?”
“Something like what, Daddy? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So you’re sitting across from me acting as if you have no idea, lying to me.”
Ainsley felt herself growing angry. “I’m not lying to you about anything! Why don’t you just tell me what’s got you so upset!”
“All right!” his voice boomed. “You’re having an affair with Wolfe Boone!”
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “How did you—”
“So it is true!” he cried in anguish. “How could you do this to me? How could you sit across the table and tell me you have no idea what I’m talking about?”
Ainsley held up her hands. “Wait just a minute. First of all,” she said, her heart pounding with so much anxiety she could barely get her words out, “I am not having an affair with Wolfe Boone.”
Her father eyed her skeptically. “Well, the look I just saw on your face was nothing short of guilt, young lady.”
“No, that was no
t guilt. It was surprise.”
“So you’re telling me you’re not having an affair with Wolfe Boone?”
“Yes. No. I mean …” Ainsley shook her head and tried to figure out what to say. Her father waited impatiently. “I am not having an affair with him, Daddy.”
Sheriff Parker’s chest heaved with relief, and he almost smiled. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t.” He looked her in the eye. “How could I have believed it? I know my little girl.” He winked at her and cut into his French toast.
“But I am having lunch with him in three-and-a-half hours.”
His fork rattled against the plate and fell to the floor. He stared at her, his cheek bulging with a wad of toast.
“It’s lunch,” she said. “It’s civilized, proper, and perfectly normal. Just a lunch. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just lunch. Lunch, lunch, lunch.” Her rambling belied her air of confidence, and her gaze fell to the table.
Sheriff Parker’s hands were flat against the table and he leaned forward, making her look up into his gaze. “Okay, Ainsley. Let’s say it is just an innocent lunch. I want to ask you a question. And I want you to answer me honestly.”
“I always answer you honestly, Daddy.”
“Fine. Did you, or did you not, ask him to lunch?”
Ainsley’s eyes widened as she tried to remember. Had she asked him? Hadn’t she insinuated that he ask her out? He asked her out first, but that was on a date, and then she declined, and then changed her mind, and so … so … what was the answer?
“By your inability to speak, I think I have my answer.” Sheriff Parker pushed his plate away and stood up, ready to exit to the kitchen. But Ainsley stood too.
“Wait! Don’t you move!”
Her father looked surprised. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, “this conversation is not finished.”
“What more is there to say? First, you lie to me. And now I find out you’re asking men out? And not just any man. Wolfe Boone, for Pete’s sake!”
Boo Page 13
