A Dead Pig in the Sunshine
Page 27
Scarlett’s warning rang in my ears, and I ditched the rest of my common sense. “I see it differently.” I plunged ahead blindly, “With her dead, you can sell the farm and disappear with all the proceeds. Disappearing is your specialty.”
Mama pinched me hard on the upper arm. “Leave the past be, Jolene. We paid for our mistakes a hundred times over, and we’ll not apologize again.” She linked her arm in Daddy’s. “Now apologize to your father.”
The words stuck to the roof of my mouth as the full impact of my accusation hit me. Heat flooded my face as I continued to stare in mute silence at my father who seemed to wither in height with each passing second. His once proud face wrinkled heavily with the downward turn of his mouth, and his eyes shifted away when I tried to capture them with mine.
Once again, my impetuousness had reaped immense damage. As usual, I hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences of my rash actions. Words once spoken are hard to take back. Especially when you’ve just accused your father of attempted murder.
“We’re waiting, Jolene.” Mama’s snide voice cut into my thoughts. “And why aren’t you at work? The salon is short-staffed with Billie Jo out. Deena’s nerves are frazzled with wedding preparations, and here you are provoking hard feelings with your sharp tongue.”
Daddy put an arm around my shoulders. “Leave her be, Annie Mae.” His voice softened. “Tell me what’s got you jumping at shadows, honey.”
I slipped my arm around his waist. “I’m sorry, Daddy. If I’d taken the time to think things through… I misjudged you…” My words choked on a sob. “But Mama’s in trouble.”
He steered me out of the barn. “Let’s go up to the house. Annie Mae can whip up a quick breakfast, and you can tell us what’s going on with you.”
Mama kept silent as we climbed the back porch steps and entered the warm, cozy kitchen. She headed straight for the refrigerator and pulled out a slab of thick-cut bacon, her pursed lips never cracking a smile. As she set about frying the bacon, Daddy poured us both a cup of strong, black coffee and joined me at the table.
He squeezed my hand. “Okay, honey, tell us what’s on your mind. Whatever’s going on, we’ll handle it as a family.”
Okay, the time had come, but as I sat there staring into Daddy’s gentle brown eyes, I choked. How do you tell your mama that her neck is on Heaven’s chopping block? The words stuck in my throat, and my head pounded from trying to make sense of an impossible situation. I couldn’t find the right words or a gentle way to break the news, so I just opened my mouth and released the bomb. Mama dropped her fork into the sizzling bacon grease, and Daddy got up from the table and walked out the kitchen door without a backward glance. And me—I was left running full speed toward disaster with the brake line cut.
****
“You told them what?” Deena’s shrill voice blasted over the rock-n-roll tune streaming over the salon’s speakers. Of course, several heads swung in our direction with avid curiosity in their gleaming eyes.
I grabbed my sister’s arm and propelled her past the flower garden in the reception area and into her office. “Damn Deena, give me a break, will you? Every vulture in Whiskey Creek is out for new gossip.”
Deena snatched her arm out of my grip. “Give you a break? Ha! You’re the one who peeled out of here this morning and left me here to deal with your”—here she paused for emphasis—“boyfriends.” She waved two fingers under my nose. “Not one, mind you, but two. Why can’t you settle for one man like the rest of us, Jolene?” Her voice rose. “And those damn flowers are giving me a headache.”
The flower garden was a result of clashing testosterone and the almighty male ego. It had started with Preston Neally’s autumn bouquet and ended with Bradford’s insane attempt to woe me away from the young doctor. And now Deena’s office and reception area were filled with floral arrangements of every size, shape, and color. Oh, boy, what a story, and I don’t have time to fill you in on the details.
“I’m sorry, but I had an emergency, Deena. A life and death emergency.” I tried to touch her, but she moved away with her face pulled into a frown.
“Another cockamamie ghost thingy,” she blurted, and spun around to face me, her eyes spitting fire. “We’re short staffed with Billie Jo out on maternity leave, Holly gave her two-week notice, my wedding is ten days away, and we’re closed up in my office discussing another one of your situations instead of my nuptials. It’s always about you, Jolene, and I’m sick of it. And your brash actions have injured two great guys. I hope they both dump you.”
We stared at one another for several seconds, and seeing all the hurt and anger in Deena’s eyes, I knew the time had come for me to lay it all out on the line. On hearing Mama’s dilemma, Deena would probably stroke out and blame me, but I needed her help. Billie Jo’s too. Mama’s life was more important than her wedding, or Preston and Bradford’s delicate feelings. To hell with them, and anyone else who got in my way.
Being the big sister, and tired of her silly tirade, I grabbed her upper arm and propelled her to her desk chair. “Sit down and shut up.” I applied my superior weight, and she collapsed into the chair. “Maybe you didn’t hear me when I said that Mama’s number’s up.”
Deena’s upper lip curled in a contemptuous twist. “Get real, Jolene. I’m tired and stressed out this morning, and fed up with the drama. Really, Mama’s number’s up? What nonsense. And what does that mean, ‘her number’s up’?” Her eyes sparked rebellious fire at me.
A first for her, I assure you, as normally I’d just whip her ass like I used to do growing up. Now, I just plain felt sorry for her, and didn’t have the heart to mess up her face right before her big day. However, my patience can stand so much without breaking down altogether, and I was close to losing it. The earlier scene at the farm had zapped my usual calm demeanor, and I had no way of knowing when the Death Angel would swoop down and murder Mama.
“Deena, honey.” I patted her cheek with the tip of my finger. “Mama’s on ‘The List’.”
“What list?”
I rolled my eyes heavenward. “Good Lord, Deena. The list! The list! Haven’t you been listening?” I clenched my hands to my side to keep from strangling her.
Confusion clouded her face. “I don’t recall you mentioning a list.”
I inhaled a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled at the count of ten. “When I met you at the back door. I told you about it then.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me about Sam and Preston?”
Dingbat! “What about them? They’re gone. End of story.”
Although my voice didn’t betray my doubts, inside, my heart hammered against my chest as adrenaline pumped through my veins like a gasoline pipeline. I had dashed out of here so fast this morning that I had been unable to name the victor—because I had made a choice.
My choice. I could chuckle about it now. Dating two men had come down to this. Chose one, everyone demanded, so I did, but the chance to reward the winner never happened. Because of Scarlett, and that damn list.
My choice?
A word about the author…
Penny Burwell Ewing was born and raised in Fort Pierce, Florida. Growing up in a Southern coastal town gave her the best of small town living where the residents look out for one another.
Her interest in writing began in the 1970s when she consumed every bodice-ripper published and decided to try her hand at entertaining herself. It worked, and she is now working on her fourth novel. Once a professional cosmetologist, Penny draws on her humorous experiences behind the chair to add spice to her Haunted Salon series. She currently resides in Tifton, Georgia.
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
If you enjoyed the story, we would appreciate your letting others know by leaving a review.
For other wonderful stories,
please visit our on-line bookstore.
ing, A Dead Pig in the Sunshine