“I meant Maggie and I were discussing it.”
“You expect me to believe you got in the car and drove all the way over here to talk about home repairs and you don’t even have a drink? That makes no sense at all. I’m a regular here, but you two? Y’all could probably count on one hand how many times you’ve been here. Doesn’t add up, ladies.”
“Just as much sense as you being here drinking does.” Lil was sorry she’d said it before the last word came out of her mouth, because Abby Ruth was already turning three shades of magenta.
“Excuse me?” Abby Ruth rose to her full height, close to six feet tall in those danged boots of hers.
Lil had already rolled out the grenade. She couldn’t just sit there now. She took in a deep breath and blurted it out. “You shouldn’t be drinking. It’s not good for you in your condition.”
“Oh, Lil,” Maggie said, dropping her head into her hands.
“My condition is fine, thank you very much.” Abby Ruth snapped her fingers in the air above Lil’s head. “Quit treating me like I’m dying. If I choose to drink, bar brawl, or bungee jump, it’s my damn business.” Abby Ruth’s nostrils flared and her spiked-up hair suddenly gave the illusion of an insulted dark-headed cockatoo. “And for the record, I was drinking root beer and watching the game. Now, what the heck are the two of you really doing here?”
It was time to stop with all the lies, so Lil pulled the sketch out from under the table. “We stopped in for a few minutes because we thought someone might have information about Charlie.”
Abby Ruth scooted into the booth next to her and plucked the portrait from her fingers. “So this is what that no-good bum looks like. I could’ve spotted him as a crook from a mile away.” She tossed the picture on the table.
“It looks like he might not have been quite as good as he seemed on the surface,” Lil said.
“Those over-the-top nicely mannered men always raise my suspicions. Probably a sociopath. The nicer they are, the warier I am. That contact information Angelina gave you was useless. Dead end, wasn’t it?”
Abby Ruth had been right. Clearly her radar was better than Lil’s when it came to bad guys. “Like the alley behind the market. Not a thing there of use.”
“Yeah. I knew that was a complete line of BS Angelina was giving you.”
Maggie lifted her arm along the back of the booth seat. “Abby Ruth has Spidey senses on that stuff,” she explained. “Her intuition has been key to every case we’ve solved.”
“Thank you,” Abby Ruth said, her attitude softening a skosh. “But if you really believe that, then why are y’all leaving me out of everything?”
Lil folded her hands on the table. “You became so upset when we went to Angelina’s, and we don’t want to add to your stress.”
“Leaving me out is stressing me out!” Abby Ruth said loud enough that heads turned in their direction.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about.”
Abby Ruth paused and breathed, then leaned in and lowered her voice. “You don’t know anything about guns. You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”
“But your guns disappeared from my home and we’re trying to set it straight.” Telling Abby Ruth her daughter was the main reason they’d left her out of the investigation wouldn’t help the situation. And if Abby Ruth decided to push things, she could probably make Lil file a claim with her insurance and then that bill would go up. She was having enough trouble making ends meet as it was. This whole situation could quickly start tumbling like a pile of TNT-filled dominoes, and they’d all be in a heap of trouble if she lost the house.
“Stop it,” Abby Ruth said. “It happened. It’s not on you to fix it.”
“We can’t just sit and wait for Teague to find them,” Maggie said. “He’s up to his eyeballs in rich celebrity duties. Besides I feel responsible.”
“They’re my guns, so I’ve got the most to lose.” Abby Ruth’s mouth turned down, an expression on any other woman that would’ve indicated she was about to cry. “Besides, what if this is my…my last investigation?”
Oh, Lord have mercy, how could they possibly say no to that pitiful request, even if it was melodramatic hooey?
Maggie didn’t look like she was going to budge, but Lil couldn’t argue with Abby Ruth’s points. There were valid, after all.
“Fine,” Lil said. “You’re in.”
Jenny would just have to forgive them.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Abby Ruth hopped out of bed with the sunrise. She hadn’t felt this much like her old self in months. Not since she’d begun keeping her own secrets from her friends. But hers were out in the open now. And maybe the confrontation at Earlene’s Drinkery last night had been a bit awkward, but now her friends were no longer investigating behind her back, so things around here could get back to normal.
Granted, if Lil hadn’t rented out her room in the first place, her guns probably wouldn’t have been stolen. Then again, if she’d told them where she was going instead of sneaking off to Houston, Lil probably wouldn’t have taken in a sticky-fingered boarder to begin with.
So the missing guns were as much Abby Ruth’s own fault as theirs.
Besides, those gals needed her skills, and working these cases was one thing that made her feel young and useful.
Spidey senses. She thrust her wrists forward like Spider-Man. Whoosh whoosh. Yeah, not a bad super hero to be like. Better than Wonder Woman. Invisible airplane? That was downright silly.
Tucking her denim shirt into her jeans, she slipped a hand-embroidered Peruvian wool belt through the loops of her Levi’s and checked the look in the mirror.
She was still sore from her visit to the gun range. Yeah, she’d rushed that a little, so today she’d just clean her Glock and work with the girls on finding her collection. She knew darn well Bad Charlie had to be the one who’d stolen her guns, and she had a bullet with that son-of-a-gun’s name on it.
Okay, maybe a pellet, but she knew how to make those hurt like the dickens.
A sweet aroma wafted up the stairs and Abby Ruth sucked in a lungful. This day was getting better and better. That had to be the scent of Sera’s famous vegan cinnamon rolls with soy frosting in the air.
“I’ve missed those cinnamon rolls,” she said to herself as she descended the stairs.
More than once she’d been surprised that something Sera had whipped up tasted as good, better in this case, than the real thing. And she didn’t want to know what was in the pastry because that would likely ruin the whole experience.
Her friends’ casual chatter was comforting on this bright morning, and her world finally felt right again for the first time since she’d first heard the words breast cancer. Sure, she still had some big decisions to make, but things would be okay. She’d done everything she’d been told to do up to this point. And she’d learned one big lesson along the way.
No more secrets.
At the sound of Sera’s laugh, a smile tugged at Abby Ruth’s lips. Summer Haven hadn’t been this alive and vibrant without Sera, and if she left again, for good this time, the house might never be the same.
“And I didn’t get any good leads,” Sera said from inside the kitchen. “But I did clear someone off of our suspect list.”
“The actor with the gun fetish?” Lil asked.
“Yes. I spoke with Brad Huffman, and not only does he have a good alibi, but he collects German guns, so he has no interest in Abby Ruth’s Spanish collection. And like Marcus said, he has enough money to buy anything he wants. Sounds like he’s off our list.”
“We didn’t have much luck either,” Maggie said. “But Abby Ruth knows we’re looking into this, and she wants to help find her guns.”
At the mention of her name, Abby Ruth stopped short of the door.
Sera’s voice rose. “How did she find out? I thought we said we were going to be careful to keep her out of the search.”
“She saw us at Earlene’s,” Lil said.
“And she’s got a point. They are her guns. It’s only fair we include her.”
Abby Ruth felt the warmth of friendship course through her. She’d never thought she and Lil would get past amicable to truly friendly, but darned if the old Southern belle wasn’t on her side today.
“She is part of our team,” Maggie said. “And she wants to help.”
“I don’t care what she wants. She’s obviously not thinking straight these days. I read that cancer recovery and survival chances improve significantly if the patient isn’t carrying unnecessary stress. And this is clearly unnecessary. We can handle the search just fine without her.”
Everything inside Abby Ruth, including the recently kindled warmth, froze. That was Jenny’s voice.
Maggie said, “But her intuition is strong on these cases. If we can keep her from going off half-cocked, then—”
“We’re talking about my mom here,” Jenny said. “She doesn’t do anything halfway.”
Abby Ruth might normally take that as a compliment, but today her daughter’s words felt like a slap.
“Jenny and I agreed we can’t take a chance that Abby Ruth could hurt herself, or negatively impact her getting well in any way,” Sera added.
“But she’s a grown woman,” Maggie protested. “Who are we to decide if she’s well enough to help or not?”
“She drove herself all the way from Texas to Georgia after a lumpectomy,” Jenny said. “She obviously can’t be trusted to take care of herself, so we need to do it for her.”
“I hate to lie to her too, but we have to support Jenny in this,” Sera said. “So let’s simply tell Abby Ruth what she wants to hear. She doesn’t have to know we’re figuring out this gun thing without her.”
How could Sera, of all people, do this to her? The woman who was all about following your bliss and self-actualizing your…well, whatever the hell you self-actualized. Abby Ruth jammed her hands into her pockets, her fingers twisting into the seams. Not only was Sera planning to keep things from her, but Jenny believed she couldn’t take care of herself.
Bull crapola.
The day Abby Ruth Cady needed to be coddled was the day the devil was hosting a house party and serving up daiquiris and frozen margaritas.
Part of her—the hurt and angry one—wanted to march in the kitchen and set these women straight. But they’d already decided she was out, and they’d only tell her what she wanted to hear.
Summer Haven had just lost its charm.
So she headed directly for the front door and took long, angry strides down the porch stairs and across the grass to her dually. When she dropped the tailgate, she ignored the stab of pain from unlatching the heavy piece of metal.
Dammit, she hated being weak.
She slid into the driver’s seat, and with a quick three-point turn she had the huge truck repositioned in front of the gooseneck trailer, lined up perfectly on the first try. She hopped out, dropped the trailer on the ball, and clipped the safety chains into place.
“I don’t need anyone’s help.” Back inside her truck, she gunned the engine. The trailer clanked along behind her as she pulled across the lawn and onto the driveway. To hell with Lillian Summer Fariview’s pretty grass. “Cady women take care of themselves. Thank you very much.”
Her first instinct was to drive straight out of town. Back to Houston. Atlanta. Hell, Kalamazoo would be better than Summer Shoals right now. She didn’t know a damn soul there, so no one could push an agenda on her. But that was a longer drive than she planned to make today, so instead she pulled into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot.
It was time for a fresh start if she planned to leave Georgia.
She flung open the trailer doors, revealing everything she owned except for the few personal items she kept in her room at Summer Haven. She could send for those later.
Dragging a pile of horse blankets out of the trailer, she spread them on the pavement across two parking spaces, then started unloading her belongings.
On the side of a tall cardboard box full of housewares she hadn’t used since she sold her house in Houston and hit the road, she scrawled EVERYTHING MUST GO.
For the right price, she might even let the trailer go. Without her guns, who needed it anyway?
Her arm ached, but that was a small price to pay for freedom. She drew a definitive arrow on another box, pointing toward the trailer. People could dig through everything she owned for all she cared. When all this crap was gone, she’d have a pocket full of cash and open road to roam.
Dragging a lawn chair out of the trailer, she plopped her butt down in it and willed herself not to cry.
It didn’t take long for people to start perusing her belongings. No surprise. She had some good stuff here. Pots and pans, dishes, camping gear, more linens than she knew what to do with after dating that man who owned an outlet store, and assorted sports memorabilia. Lots of it autographed.
With a hundred and forty dollars in her pocket inside of thirty minutes, she wished she’d thought to unload this junk a long time ago.
Then Teague pulled up in the parking space next to her. She turned her back to him and kept talking to the gray-haired trucker who was interested in her autographed Dale Earnhardt hat.
“Excuse me, Abby Ruth?” Teague tapped her on the arm. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I’m busy here, Tadpole. Why don’t I catch up with you later?”
“I’m not sure this can wait,” Teague said with a tug on his sheriff’s cowboy hat.
“How about a hundred dollars?” the trucker asked.
“You kidding me?” she railed at him. “This is the real deal. The Intimidator himself sweated in this cap.” She turned the hat over. “See that big splatter? That’s where the champagne splashed on him on victory lane. This ball cap is worth at least four hundred bucks. But today…” She glanced back at Teague. “I’m highly motivated to unload this stuff. Two hundred. Take it or leave it.”
Teague positioned himself between the customer and Abby Ruth. “You need a permit to sell from this parking lot.”
“Don’t you start that mess with me.” Abby Ruth waved him off and barked at the truck driver, “Fine. Give me your hundred bucks. Take that hat. I don’t care.”
The trucker traded the bill for the hat and ran, probably in case Abby Ruth changed her mind.
“Abby Ruth, what’s gotten into you?”
Her lips were pinched so tight she thought they might split. Without a doubt, she should’ve headed to Kalamazoo. Except she was pretty sure Kalamazoo was someplace cold.
“How many of these lawn chairs you got?” a bleach blonde woman asked.
“That’s the only one. Ten bucks.”
“Five.”
“Six, and it’s yours.”
“Done.”
Teague returned to his car, but didn’t crank it, just sat there watching her. Why the hell wasn’t he leaving?
She ignored him to tend to the six people checking out her wares. But not five minutes later, Sera’s van pulled into the lot, and out rolled Abby Ruth’s so-called friends and traitor daughter.
She held up her hand like a traffic cop, aiming it directly at Jenny. “Do not,” she warned. “No, ma’am.”
“Don’t what? Don’t stop you from having an illegal rummage sale? Mom, what the heck is this all about?”
“Oh, don’t you use that surprised tone with me. Just tell me what I want to hear, why don’t you?”
Jenny’s mouth snapped shut, and her eyes popped as wide as the bull’s-eye on a two-foot target.
“Oh, yeah. Can’t deny it, can you? Not a single one of you. I heard it with my own ears.” Abby Ruth felt her face contort as she mimicked them. “She can’t make a decision for herself. We should make all of her decisions for her,” she sneered. “Well, let me tell you what I want you to hear. You do not know what’s best for Abby Ruth Cady. None of you.”
Jenny snatched four hangers with Western pearl-snapped shirts on them from a lady’s hand.
“Not for sale,” she said.
Abby Ruth darted over, grabbed the hangers from Jenny, and handed them back to the woman. “Those aren’t even your size, Jenny.”
Jenny gave the plus-sized woman a once-over. “Well, they aren’t her size either.”
“I’ll have you know these shirts are for my daughter’s Halloween costume. She’s always wanted to dress up as a cowgirl.”
“Oh.” Jenny’s face softened, and she thrust the hanger holding Abby Ruth’s red shirt with silver and black stitching toward the woman. “My treat.”
Holding up a rhinestone-studded belt, the woman asked, “This too?”
“Sure.”
“Dammit, I was asking twenty bucks for that belt!”
“I’ll buy you a new one, Mom.”
The woman, probably sensing a knock-down drag-out, scurried off with her prizes.
When another lady began sifting through Abby Ruth’s jeans, Jenny snapped, “Get away. This is my stuff.”
“Stop it, Jenny. These are my belongings. At least until I die and will them to you.”
Jenny stared her down with a hot look that would’ve made a lesser woman pee her pants, but Abby Ruth just scowled back. Apparently realizing she wouldn’t win the stare war, Jenny rushed across the parking lot to the buggy corral and came clanking back with a Piggly Wiggly cart in tow.
“In the basket,” she ordered to each potential customer as she steered the wonky cart around the lot. “This sale is over.” She aimed it like a bullet toward a man holding a Houston Astros jersey. “Drop it, mister.”
“I’m buying this. I’m the biggest Astros’ fan around.”
“No, sir. And that shirt wouldn’t fit over your head much less that belly. Hand it over,” she said with snap of her fingers. “Now.”
He dropped the shirt, letting it fall to the asphalt, and backed away from Jenny, one step at a time, watching her like she’d lost her ever-loving mind.
Abby Ruth understood his fear, but she also felt a surge of reluctant admiration for her take-no-prisoners daughter.
With Jenny baring her teeth like a rabid bear at them, every customer made a hasty exit.
Under the Gun Page 15
