by Gail Oust
After he left and the shop was quiet again, I halfheartedly resumed flipping through back issues of Southern Living, Cooking Light, and the Food Network Magazine but couldn’t seem to concentrate. It had been a strange morning. Jolene Tucker had been congenial. Dottie had alluded to a mystery trip she might be taking—and Dottie wasn’t the sort who kept secrets. What entered her head came out her mouth. Then, last but by no means least, CJ, who normally liked to boast about his lawyerly prowess, hadn’t divulged a clue about his “big” meeting. My intuition told me something was up. And what was all that about Chad having a girlfriend?
When Reba Mae called to say she’d had a cancellation and would I care to join her for an alfresco lunch in the town square, I couldn’t agree quickly enough.
It was warm and sunny, a beautiful spring day for an impromptu picnic. Wispy clouds drifted lazily across the sky while wrens flitted in and out of the newly leafed boughs of the willow oaks. A bank of azalea bushes was weighed down with a profusion of pink blooms. I watched a gray squirrel scamper across the grass in search of nuts. From my vantage point on a wrought-iron bench, I could see the stately courthouse that anchored one end of the square. Behind me, at the opposite end, stood the Brandywine Creek Opera House.
“Hey, girlfriend. Lunch has arrived.” Reba Mae settled down beside me and opened the paper sack she carried. “Hope I didn’t keep you waitin’. Danny at the Pizza Palace had to show me a raft of pictures he’d taken of the twins.”
I took the sub she offered me, popped open the tab of a diet soda, and tried to relax.
“My last client said the town council was meetin’ in a closed session,” Reba Mae said as she unwrapped her sandwich. “Think they’re gonna approve plans for the new addition at the library?”
“I hardly think that calls for secrecy.” I took a bite of my sub and washed it down with a swallow of soda.
“Maybe the council is votin’ on a permanent replacement for Maybelle over at the chamber of commerce. Seein’ how she and Tex got hitched, she plans on makin’ San Antonio her permanent residence when they’re not on the barbecue circuit.”
“Perhaps.…” I took another bite of my sub, analyzing the flavors in the owner’s special sauce. Oregano, basil, and thyme for sure. But what else? Fennel? Tarragon?
“Or”—Reba Mae swung one long leg over the other—“maybe they’re decidin’ which plumber oughta get the contract for the public washroom down by the football field.”
I happened to look toward the courthouse in time to see a group of men parade down the broad front steps. Even at a distance I could see CJ’s ear-to-ear grin as he pumped the hand of Maxwell Ames, his new father-in-law. An older-model black Lincoln appeared from around the corner and drew up in front of the courthouse. A frail elderly man with a cane slowly tottered down the handicap ramp, then climbed inside the car and was driven away.
“Gracious!” Reba Mae exclaimed, following the direction of my gaze. “That’s Brig Abernathy. Wonder what brought him out. These days he rarely leaves that big ol’ house of his.”
Sergeant Beau Tucker and McBride were the last to exit. Head down, McBride turned toward the police department. Beau, however, moved in the opposite direction, cutting across the square toward Creekside Realty.
“Hey, Beau!” Reba Mae called as he was about to pass the bench where we were sitting. “What’s up?”
“Hey, ladies.” He smiled and nodded. “Nice day for a picnic.”
“Where you off to? Care to sit a spell?” Reba Mae patted a spot next to her.
“Can’t, busy,” he said. “I’m on my way to take down the crime scene tape Chief had me string at the real estate office. The place underwent a thorough search, but we came up empty-handed. Council agreed with Mr. Abernathy there’s no sense keeping a local business closed for no good reason when it could be making money.”
I wrapped up what was left of my sandwich and placed it in the sack. “What else did the council agree on?”
Beau avoided looking directly at me. “McBride’s been placed on suspension until Shirley Randolph’s case is resolved. Council says it was conflict of interest—seeing as how the body was found on his property and all.”
“Whoo-ee!” Reba Mae whistled while I sat in stunned silence.
“The mayor ordered McBride to hand over his badge and service weapon,” Beau continued. “I’ve been appointed interim chief.”
Reba Mae polished off the last of her soda. “Bet that didn’t go over with Wyatt.”
“Like a fart in church—’scuse the expression. McBride’s packin’ his stuff even as we speak.” Beau swaggered off wearing a self-satisfied smile.
CHAPTER 9
IT WASN’T LONG before I learned that Beau Tucker’s announcement wasn’t the only surprise in store for me that afternoon.
Amber Leigh Ames-Prescott strolled into Spice It Up! shortly before Lindsey was to return from school. I’d just finished waiting on a group of senior citizens who were touring small towns listed as “off the beaten path” destinations. Fortunately, all the ladies loved to cook and excelled at outdoing one another at potluck suppers. As a result, my cash register warbled a happy tune. Cumin, chervil, and turmeric were among the spices that captured their imaginations.
“Hey there, Piper,” Amber said as she bestowed her signature toothy grin upon me.
The willowy brunette was dressed in a short skirt that showcased her mile-long legs and a waist-length denim jacket studded with rhinestones. On anyone else the combination might look tacky, but somehow the former beauty queen managed to carry it off with style.
“Hi, Amber. Don’t tell me you actually intend to cook a meal instead of calling for reservations?”
“Don’t be silly. CJ knew when he married me that I’m not one to slave over a hot stove when I could be spending my time on hair and makeup.”
“What was I thinking?” I bopped myself in the head with the heel of my hand. “Then why are you here?”
“Did Lindsey forget to tell you I was takin’ her shoppin’ tonight?”
Had she told me? “Um, she might have, but I’ve been a bit preoccupied lately.”
“I know what you mean,” Amber commiserated. “Our trip to Europe is months away, but it’s all I can think about. For the life of me, I don’t know how Melly managed to pull off both a wedding and a trip abroad. At her age, you’d think either one of them would’ve been enough to do the ol’ gal in.”
“Don’t let Melly hear you say that. She’s very sensitive about her age.” I folded my arms across my chest and studied her. “Do me a favor, Amber, and refresh my memory. What exactly is it you and Lindsey are shopping for?”
“Shoes, darlin’. Your girl needs an amazin’ pair of heels to wear for prom. I happen to know a store in Augusta that sells knockoff designer shoes for a fraction of the cost. And as a former beauty queen,” she simpered, “I can get them at an even greater discount.”
I suppose I should feel grateful they were only shoe shopping. Last year Amber and Lindsey had conspired against my choice of a prom dress and instead picked a gown that exposed far more flesh than I deemed appropriate for a teen. Shoes seemed a safer route. “Fine,” I said, “Lindsey ought to be home any minute.”
“S’pose you heard the news about the Hemmings?”
“No, what about them?”
“Dottie and Harvey are tradin’ in Brandywine Creek for The Villages in Florida. They’re leavin’ bright and early tomorrow mornin’ for an extended visit.”
So that’s why Dottie acted so secretive. “How long do they plan on being gone?”
“Indefinitely. From what I gather, Harvey’s had it up to his eyeballs with all the negative publicity this town’s gettin’. He doesn’t want to be caught in the spotlight if rumor gets around about another murder. At this rate, he’s worried the crime rate will surpass Detroit’s.”
“Detroit always gets a bad rap.” I bristled at the mention of my hometown, a city where I was born and raised.
Various cousins kept me up to speed on all the changes taking place there. “People tend to overlook the positive changes going on downtown. Projects like the RiverWalk, Belle Isle, and Campus Martius Park with its outdoor venue for live performances. And,” I said, “what about the sports teams? The Tigers, Red Wings, Pistons, and Lions. Detroit has a lot to offer.”
“Whatever.” Amber dismissed my staunch support of the Motor City with a careless wave of her hand. “Dottie agrees with Harvey that they need a change of scenery, a break from the stress. Their friends rave about The Villages. Said people drive around all day in customized golf carts and line-dance all night.”
“In my estimation, golf carts and line dancing are overrated.” I moved toward the computer intending to check inventory on my point-of-sale software. I’d need to stock plenty of paprika—both sweet and smoky—when Reba Mae demonstrated her Hungarian goulash.
“Hi, Mom,” Lindsey said as she shoved open the door. “Hey, Amber.”
At hearing her voice, Casey woke from his nap in the storeroom and ran out to greet her, his toenails making happy clicking sounds on the heart pine floor. Amber shied away from the little dog as though fearful he might leap on her in a bid for attention.
Lindsey slung her backpack to the floor next to the counter and stooped to ruffle the little dog’s fur, sending him into a tail-wagging frenzy. “Hey, Mom,” she said, looking up at me, “did you hear about Daddy? All the kids were talking about it at lunch.”
What has CJ gone and done now? I wondered. “I’m afraid not,” I said. “Care to clue me in?”
“Daddy’s the new mayor,” Lindsey informed me proudly.
The news stopped me in my tracks. I turned to Amber for confirmation. “Is that true?”
Amber’s Cheshire cat grin gave me my answer.
I tucked a stray curl behind one ear. “When did all this happen?”
“My daddy happens to be chairman of the town council,” Amber explained. “He made a motion at the meetin’ after Harvey’s announcement. Daddy felt CJ was the best qualified for the job. Our bein’ married had nothin’ to do with his decision.”
“Of course not,” I scoffed. That explained why CJ was wearing his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes when he stopped by this morning. He knew all along the council would recommend him as Harvey’s replacement. And he must have been secretly overjoyed that Wyatt McBride would be suspended as chief of police. CJ and McBride had a history dating back to high school. He’d been opposed to McBride’s hiring from the very beginning.
Amber fished a small leather cosmetics case from her Marc Jacobs bag and snapped it open. “Technically, CJ is only the acting mayor—until the next election, that is, when he officially throws his hat in the ring. CJ has aspirations for a political career on a grander scale”—she inspected her reflection in the small mirror—“but everyone has to start somewhere.”
“Mom,” Lindsey said, “sorry, but I forgot to tell you last night that Amber and I were going shopping for prom shoes. Would you mind taking Casey for his run in the park?”
“No problem, sweetie.”
“Great.” Amber dropped her compact into her purse, then draped an arm around Lindsey’s shoulder. “Let’s go, hon. I saw these fabulous shoes advertised.…”
* * *
I’d just placed an order with my supplier on the West Coast when I heard the throaty roar of a motorcycle, followed by a blessed silence when the rider cut the engine. A minute later, Hoyt, my biker friend, entered Spice It Up! Dressed in black from his shiny helmet, heavy leather jacket, and chaps down to his sturdy boots, he resembled a shorter, chubbier, friendlier version of Darth Vader. Who would’ve guessed when we’d first met that we’d become friends? Strange, the curve balls life throws at us.
“Hey there.” He grinned, removing his helmet as he came forward. “How’s my favorite spice girl holdin’ up these days?”
“Fine, Hoyt. What can I help you with today?”
Hoyt unzipped one of the numerous pockets of his jacket and pulled out a neatly printed list. “Gonna have my biker club buddies over for a barbecue now that the weather’s turned nice. But not goin’ to be the typical barbecue chicken like they’re expectin’,” he chuckled.
When it came to experimenting with new recipes, Hoyt dove in headfirst. I took the list he handed me and read off the items, “‘Coriander, fenugreek, ginger, garam masala.’”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “I know when it comes to garam masala most foodies make their own, but, in the interest of savin’ time, I thought you might carry some already made.”
“Remember Doug Winters, the vet who owned Pets ’R People before moving back to Chicago?” At Hoyt’s nod, I went on, “Well, before he left, Doug gave me his formula for garam masala, which is the special blend I sell in my shop.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I took a small wicker basket from beside the register and filled it with the spices Hoyt had listed. He trailed close behind, stopping here or there to examine a label on a jar or scan a recipe card. “What makes your barbecue chicken different?” I asked.
“It’s Indian Tandoori style. Some folks might object to a more exotic dish than the typical barbecue-joint style they’re accustomed to, so I’m just calling it barbecue chicken. Wait and see. It’ll be love at first taste.”
The last item I selected for Hoyt was a knobby ginger rhizome. I held it for a long moment before depositing it in the basket along with the other spices. The rhizome reminded me of Shirley’s quest to remedy her upset stomach.
“Hoyt,” I said as a thought occurred to me, “was Shirley Randolph your Realtor when you bought the old Cooper place?”
“She sure was. Best Realtor I ever dealt with, too, and I’ve dealt with my share.” He dropped a jar of cumin into the basket. “Told Shirley what I wanted. A property with a few acres, maybe a pole barn. Said the house didn’t need to be shipshape. Since I took an early retirement, I’ve got time on my hands and don’t mind havin’ some do-it-yourself projects.”
I went to the counter where I began to tally his purchases. “You sound pleased with the place she found for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached into another zippered pocket and produced a wad of cash fastened with a gold money clip. “The woman really paid attention to my wish list, unlike other Realtors I’ve dealt with who pretend to listen but don’t hear a word. Ask me, that’s the quality that made her so successful. Funny thing”—he rubbed his jaw—“with everything that’s happened, I nearly forgot that I ran into her in Savannah a couple weeks ago.”
I made change from the fifty-dollar bill he’d peeled off. “When was this?” I hoped my voice didn’t betray my blatant curiosity.
“Back on St. Patrick’s Day. I drove down to see Savannah’s annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade. You know, don’t you, that it’s the second-largest one in the country?”
“And you saw Shirley at the parade?”
“Considerin’ the streets were jammed with people, we were both viewin’ the festivities from the same street corner. How’s that for coincidence?” He tucked his change back into a pocket. “I went up to Shirley, asked if she was alone or with friends, but she mumbled some excuse and left in a rush. At first I wondered if she thought I was hitting on her. But, later, I got to thinking. I came to the conclusion she ran off because she didn’t want me to see who she was with. Far be it from me to know what the woman was thinking.”
I handed him the sack with his purchases. “Do you think she might’ve been having an affair?”
“None of my business if she was. Shirley was a fine-lookin’ woman, so it wouldn’t surprise me none. I asked her out to dinner after I first moved here, but she said, no offense, I wasn’t her type.”
“Did that upset you?”
He shrugged. “Nah. I’d already figured out that the lady was too high maintenance for my taste. I’m lookin’ for the type of gal who’ll hop on the back of my Harley and enjoy a spin down a country road.”
After Hoyt left to confer with Pete Barker at Meat on Main about some drumsticks, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told me. If McBride had been the one Shirley was having an affair with—and I didn’t believe he was—why the need for secrecy? Both of them were single.
Unless…?
Unless Shirley’s companion wasn’t unattached. What if the man was married? That would be a whole other kettle of fish.
And a whole new kettle of what-ifs.
CHAPTER 10
IN THE LAST hour, I’d regressed to being a sophomore in high school. “She who watches the clock will always be one of the hands.” That had been my geometry teacher’s favorite saying back in the day. Mr. Corrigan would repeat it each time he caught one of his students sneaking a peek at the clock over the blackboard.
Finally, I’d had enough clock-watching. If Melly were here, she’d have a conniption knowing I was closing shop fifteen minutes early. I almost glanced over my shoulder to see if she was watching but caught myself in time. Ridiculous! I chastised myself. Melly was thousands of miles away, probably sipping wine in Tuscany this very minute.
Casey perked up his ears at seeing me whip off my apron and stuff it under the counter, his expression hopeful.
“Sorry, pal,” I told him. “Promise I’ll take you for a run soon. Just be patient a little longer.”
Casey placed his head on his paws and gave me a reproachful look as I flipped the sign on the front door to CLOSED. If he could talk, I was certain he’d tattle my transgression to Melly first chance he got.
Locking the door behind me, I forced myself to walk sedately toward Creekside Realty, a few doors down from Spice It Up! As I passed Gray’s Hardware, I waved to Mavis and she waved back. She appeared to be unloading a shipment of herbs in tiny pots. I resolved to buy some soon for the container garden I planned.
I crossed my fingers Vicki Lamont hadn’t decided to emulate my bad example by closing early. Other than the fact that Shirley Randolph was beautiful and successful, I didn’t really know the woman very well. Vicki, until recently, had been a good friend of hers. From what I observed, their friendship had bonded even firmer when Shirley agreed to mentor Vicki in the real estate business.
