Collard Greens and Catfishing

by Kelsey Browning

  “So?” Martha asked. “The world ain’t exactly a fair place.”

  “Sera is convinced this means whoever owns the site is trying to dupe women. So it’s bigger than just your niece.”

  “I’m not in this for other women,” Martha said. “They can take care of their own selves. I just want you to track down this Tom guy. How hard can that be?”

  Maggie wanted to reach across the table and shake the woman, but she buried her hands in her lap instead. “Believe me, we’ve been trying.”

  “Sera even dug around to find out who owns the URL,” Abby Ruth added, “but it has one of those privacy things on it.”

  Martha looked up at the ceiling as though they were trying her patience. “Plenty of people do that. Would you want your address and phone number splashed all over the internet for any nut-job to call you up or pay you a visit?”

  The more Martha discounted what they’d found, the more Maggie felt like digging in. “No, but this isn’t just about your niece anymore so you have to give us more time. Sera has a lead.” Maggie wasn’t about to admit she didn’t have an idea in the world about how they might use it. “She found the hosting company.”

  Martha raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “That doesn’t tell you anything. The site could be hosted in Timbuktu, but that doesn’t mean the person behind it is there.”

  “Oh.” Maggie felt herself shrink in her chair. And here she’d thought they’d made some real progress. “Well, I’m sure Sera will find out more.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen through a Whois search,” Martha said.

  “Why not? We’ve proven we’re smart and resourceful. And Sera’s getting darned good on the computer.”

  “What you need to do is get inside that dating site database to figure out exactly who Tom is.”

  “Well, if you’re so smart,” Maggie demanded, “why don’t you tell us how to do that.”

  “All it’ll take,” Martha said with a sharp smile, “is something illegal.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After Maggie and Abby Ruth left, Lil and Martha stalked out of the visiting room. Or rather Martha stalked at a fast clip, and Lil did a hop-skip-jog to keep up with her.

  “I don’t like what we just heard,” Lil said.

  “Your girls better get the lead out before that creep decides to dump Maggie and boot her out of the system too.”

  “Maybe this guy really likes her and has no plans to break up with her.” Wishful thinking, but Lil was grasping at straws.

  Martha shot a raised-brow look at Lil and kept trucking. “Maggie’s nice and all that, but she’s no spring chicken.”

  “Being seventy-something doesn’t keep a woman from deserving companionship and even love. But this doesn’t sound like one rogue Romeo anymore. I don’t want my girls to be in danger, and this is starting to feel dangerous.”

  “What are you saying?” Martha stopped, and Lillian ran a few steps past her before slowing down. “You saying you’re slithering out of our deal? What about your shitters?”

  “You should really work on your language.”

  Martha flipped her hand in an unconcerned gesture and started walking again. “We’re not in etiquette class right now. Besides, your language has gotten a little salty over the past few months.”

  “But Summer Haven’s toilets aren’t a valid reason for putting Maggie and the others in jeopardy.”

  “They haven’t been hurt so far.” Finally, they arrived in the courtyard, and Martha’s attention was only partially on their conversation. Instead, she was inspecting the progress made on the camp’s beautification.

  “Weren’t you the one worried he was a serial killer when he went out with your niece?”

  “Hey, I don’t really care if they bring down a whole scam,” Martha said. “But they still haven’t found Tom, and that’s what I’m really after. I get that, and your girls can flush again.”

  Martha studied the women hunched over new flowerbeds, and Lillian followed her gaze. “Oh, no.”

  “Hell’s bells,” Martha snapped.

  The perennials they were planting were obviously the ones thinned out from the other side of the camp. Only problem was they were drooping as if they’d been allowed to stay out of the ground too long. The indigestion Lillian had been battling recently came roaring into her chest like a bonfire doused with gasoline.

  Martha growled, “Hang on a second.” She strode toward a blonde girl kneeling near a batch of anemic asters.

  Here Lillian was, trying so hard to get out of this place so she could get back to Summer Haven, but she was being thwarted at every turn. And really, was her family home worth putting Maggie and the others at risk?

  For a while, their sleuthing had seemed daring and romantic. But now, she remembered how scared she’d been at times. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for a life of crime or crime fighting.

  By the time Martha returned to her side, Lil had made a decision. As much as she wanted to impress those BOP folks, she had to put her own girls first. “I want to pull the plug on this dating site nonsense.”

  “Those girls, not a plant lover in the bunch,” Martha grumbled. “They’d probably kill a cactus.”

  “Did you hear me?” Lil upped her volume to pull Martha out of her HGTV Gardening by the Yard fantasy. “Maggie and the others are done with digging into your niece’s love life.”

  That snagged Martha’s attention, and she rounded on Lillian. “Would you think it was nonsense if Maggie was head over heels for a guy who won’t show his face?”

  “Inmate Fairview!” someone called.

  Lillian looked over to find the warden striding toward them. By the smile on her face and the pep in her step, she had another fabulous idea.

  “Yes, Warden Proctor?”

  She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “I just found out the BOP representatives will be visiting us in the evening instead of during the day. And I thought…”

  Here it comes.

  “…that we could whip up a little Southern style dinner for them while they’re here. Show off the kitchen’s cooking skills and give them a little down-home hospitality.”

  Lillian’s knees ached, and she would have collapsed to the ground if she’d had time. But she pasted a hopefully pleasant expression on her face. “That’s nice.”

  “However, I don’t trust the kitchen manager not to slap some limp pasta and a meatball on a plate and call it good. So I want you to work on the menu, vet the recipes and oversee the waitstaff.”

  Waitstaff? The cafeteria was set up buffet style. It wasn’t as if their meals were white-cloth affairs. A little throb behind Lillian’s right eye pulsed in time to the ache in her knees. “And you expect me to put all this together by Tuesday?”

  “For someone like you, Lillian, I’m sure this will be a piece of cake.” The warden waved a careless hand. “Maybe Martha can even help in some way.”

  Once the warden was out of earshot, Martha jabbed Lil with her elbow. “Are you kidding me? What next, a dinner show? Maybe she wants us to tap-dance or juggle too.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly or she’ll turn right around and assign it to us.”

  “What do you know about running a prison kitchen?”

  “Not a darned thing. I do, however, know a thing or two about throwing dinner parties. But I’ll need a full inventory of the freezer and pantry and some suggestions on who I can trust to serve the BOP without throwing us under the bus.”

  “Only if your grannies hold up their end of our deal.”

  Lil was out of options. Too much pressure and too little time. “Fine.”

  * * *

  By the time she and Abby Ruth made it back to Summer Haven, Maggie felt as though she had a ten-penny nail pounded into her temple. Martha only cared about one thing. But to get the information on Tom, Maggie and the others would have to make even more progress.

  Abby Ruth glanced over. “You’re thinking so hard over there, it’s maki
ng my head hurt. Let’s get inside and see if Sera’s made any more progress. If not, then you can torture yourself.”

  “Fine.”

  They walked into the kitchen to find a slightly sunburned Sera enjoying a glass of wine. She lifted it and toasted them both.

  “What’s got you all happy?” Abby Ruth asked.

  “I spent the afternoon with a handsome man and—”

  “You got a date?” Maggie rushed to her side. “Was it Tom or Dan?”

  “—I found some fabulous information. And no date. I spent the afternoon fishing with Teague.”

  Abby Ruth winced. “Was he upset?”

  “He tried not to show it—” Sera pulled her feet up into the chair, “—but he was brokenhearted that Jenny and Grayson were gone.”

  “I should go over and—”

  Sera caught Abby Ruth’s arm before she could stomp out the back door and handed her the wine glass. “I don’t think that’s what he needs right now. Sometimes people just need time to lick their wounds.”

  Maggie agreed. “As sorry as I am about all this trouble Teague and Jenny seem to be having, we have bigger fish to broil right now.”

  “Fry,” Abby Ruth muttered into the glass. “And damned if I wouldn’t like a big old mess of fried catfish about now.”

  “We have more important things to do than eat,” Sera said. “After you left, I did a little research and read about something called a trace route.”

  “And?” Maggie asked.

  “So I ran one and I have some very good news.” Sera bounced in her chair and clapped. “I was able to trace the IP address to Summer Shoals Telephone Company.”

  “Does that mean whoever’s behind this works there?”

  “I doubt it. But if we can talk to the people at SSTC, then—”

  Just when Maggie’d begun to get her hopes up for some real progress. “The telephone company isn’t open on the weekends.”

  “Um…and there’s another thing,” Abby Ruth said. “Do you remember what Martha said about doing something illegal? The telephone company won’t tell us where that ISP address goes unless we have a subpoena or warrant. And unless Sera is hiding one of those two things in her tight yoga pants, then we’re shit outta luck.”

  Maggie sagged against the kitchen counter. “There has to be some way around all this. What’s the point of living in a small town if you can’t find out things about your neighbors?”

  “If you two Nellie Naysayers would just be quiet and listen to me,” Sera said, her voice surprisingly tart. “I do have an idea.”

  Maggie just nodded.

  “Billy Parr comes to my yoga class every Wednesday, and I happen to know he works for the phone company.”

  “That doesn’t get us around the fact that it’s Saturday night, and I doubt Billy’s at work.”

  “You’re right. He told me he goes to a meditation session this time each week. If we can just find that, then—”

  Abby Ruth snorted. “Meditation? Is that what he called it? More like medication—the liquid kind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Billy is a Saturday night regular down at Earlene’s Drinkery. Maybe he considers the way he becomes one with his barstool a form of meditation.”

  “That man,” Sera fumed. “Lying brings bad karma. He has to know that.”

  “I think he’s more concerned with his Johnnie Walker than his karma,” Abby Ruth said. “But the good news is we know exactly where to find him and what to ply him with. Maggie, do we still have any of that birthday cake left over?”

  “Only because I stashed a couple of pieces.”

  “Wrap ’em up because we’re going fishing.”

  Earlene’s Drinkery was dark and loud on a Saturday night. The TVs were broadcasting sporting events at ear-bleeding levels and the crash of billiard balls came from the back room. But Maggie, Sera and Abby Ruth homed directly in on a forty-something man with a receding hairline at the end of the bar.

  They ringed around his barstool, effectively caging him in.

  “Hi, there, Billy,” Sera said, her tone as sweet as peach preserves.

  He glanced up and did a double-take. “Oh, hey…uh…hi, Sera. Funny meeting you here.”

  “Isn’t it? Your meditation session must’ve already wrapped up for the evening.”

  “My medit…oh, yeah, yeah. It was…uh…cancelled tonight.”

  Abby Ruth knocked on the bar twice with her knuckles to get the bartender’s attention. “I need four shots down here.” When the young guy strolled over, Abby Ruth leaned in and said in a low tone, “Cheapest you’ve got.”

  Holy moly. Maggie leaned over and whispered, “I don’t drink whiskey straight.”

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered back. “They’re not for you.”

  “Ladies, I’d offer you a seat but…” Billy gestured to the occupied stools to his right and left.

  “Oh, don’t worry—” Abby Ruth smiled and it reminded Maggie of one of those Trigger Fish with the pointy teeth, “—we won’t be here that long.”

  The bartender carefully placed four shot glasses on the bar. “That’ll be five dollars.” Lordy, at a dollar and a quarter a piece, those glasses probably held drain cleaner.

  “Put it on my tab,” Abby Ruth told him. Then she turned to Maggie. “Didn’t you bring something for Billy?”

  “Oh, yes.” Maggie pulled a plastic fork and a hunk of foil-wrapped chocolate cake from her purse. “We thought you might enjoy some of Abby Ruth’s birthday cake. It’s a special family recipe.”

  He unwrapped it and grabbed the fork.

  “Before you eat that,” Abby Ruth said, nudging a shot glass toward his hand, “let’s drink to it.”

  They clinked glasses and tossed back the whiskey. Just the smell of it made Maggie’s eyes water.

  Billy dove into the cake, shoveling in bite after bite. “This shtuff is delishush.”

  Abby Ruth leaned toward Maggie. “If I’d realized he was such a cake fan, we could’ve just doused it in liquor.”

  Within the next fifteen minutes, Abby Ruth and Billy had done the first four shots, and Abby Ruth had ordered another setup. Thank goodness the man on Billy’s right finally abandoned his stool because all this drinking was making Maggie woozy. She perched on the stool and braced her elbow on the bar.

  “So, Billy,” Sera said, moving in to lightly brush against his arm. What she and Abby Ruth needed with Maggie, who knew? Between them, they had temptation down pat. “I’d love to hear more about your work at the telephone company.”

  He scraped up one last bite of icing with the side of his fork. “Not much to tell. Pretty boring. I just work in accounts.”

  Abby Ruth gave a fist pump near her hip.

  “I’ve always admired men who can work with numbers,” Sera cooed.

  Lord have mercy. If it got any deeper in here, Maggie would have to get out her septic system slogging boots.

  Billy puffed out his chest. “Well, I guess when you think about it, it is impressive.”

  “Do you know I’ve never seen the inside of a telephone company?” Sera draped herself on the bar, apparently trying to drum up some cleavage for Billy to ogle. That’s what they should’ve left to Maggie. She could provide enough cleavage for all three of them. “I’d love a tour. A private one.”

  Billy swallowed. “That’s…uh…kinda against company policy.”

  “Oh,” Sera pouted. “That’s too bad. I always feel so free when I try new things.”

  “And,” Abby Ruth drawled, “Sera’s been known to get naked when she feels free.”

  He pushed away from the bar and shot off his stool so fast that he bumped Maggie’s still-sore foot. Not that he realized it even though she sucked in a pained breath and grabbed her throbbing foot. “I suppose a short tour couldn’t hurt anything.”

  Sera looped her arm through his and squeezed his biceps. “I do love a man who’s not afraid of breaking a few rules for a good time.”

 
; Billy led her toward the door, and Sera shot a look over her shoulder, mouthing follow me.

  Once Sera and Billy pulled out of the bar’s parking lot, Abby Ruth eased out behind them but left a good distance between the cars.

  “Shouldn’t you get closer?” Maggie asked.

  “We know where they’re going.”

  “What if Sera needs help?”

  “She’s a big girl, and we’ll be parked right outside.”

  Not fifteen minutes later, Maggie received a text from Sera. Need backup. Meet me at the front door.

  She and Abby Ruth hustled out of the truck toward the twin glass doors fronting the phone company. Sera pushed it open and stuck her head out. “He passed out.”

  “Before or after?” Abby Ruth asked.

  “After,” Sera said.

  “Sera,” Maggie gasped, “you didn’t…”

  “No! Of course not, but I need help. He’ll get fired if anyone finds him like this.” Sera led them to a cubicle behind the reception desk. And sure enough, Billy was sprawled out on the indoor-outdoor carpet, shirt unbuttoned and snoring like a freight train. “He might’ve gotten a little enthusiastic, but he’s obviously not one of those men who can drink and drive, if you know what I mean.”

  Abby Ruth gave a belly-busting laugh and hauled Billy up by one arm. “Y’all get the other side.”

  Once they had Billy stashed in his backseat to sleep it off, Maggie asked Sera, “So where is this database thingie?”

  “According to Billy’s records, Dogwood Ridge Assisted Living.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Standing in front of Dogwood Ridge Assisted Living the next day, Maggie toyed with the macaroni necklace around her neck. The gift that would gain her, Sera and Abby Ruth access to Warner Talley and, in turn, a reason to snoop around the facility for the person behind this whole dating site farce.

  She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat she got every time she reflected on the day Warner had given her the necklace, certain she was his wife, Melba. Alzheimer’s was a wicked disease. One that Maggie never wanted to experience firsthand.