Should she mention the journal? Her father had trusted the man. But she wanted to keep quiet about what she’d discovered. The less people who knew, the better. “I found some things that made me wonder.”
His gaze locked on hers. “Do you have any idea what might have happened?”
She shook her head. “All I know is that there was some foul play involved. I have to get to the bottom of this. I can’t go on unless I do.”
Mr. Snelling frowned. “If there was foul play involved, your father would want you to stay out of it. If some people hurt him, they could do the same to you. He wouldn’t want that.”
Daleigh’s chin dropped. “I know. But I think my dad wanted me to know something was wrong. I think he wanted to make sure things were righted.”
He pushed his drink aside. “I don’t know, Daleigh. Maybe there’s something you’re not seeing, something you’re misunderstanding.”
“I hope there is. I hope all these theories I have floating around in my mind are wrong. But I have to make sure.” She stood, her drink nearly untouched. “There’s nothing else you can think of?”
He shrugged after a moment of thought. “He met with Fanny Pasture every week.”
“Fanny Pasture?” Could this be the elusive girlfriend that Ryan had mentioned he might have?
“She’s a widow living out in the country, about five miles from here. He went over each week to read the Bible and pray with her as part of his role as deacon at the church.”
Daleigh nodded. It was something. Something was better than nothing. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Snelling.”
“Call me Henry.”
Daleigh smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Henry.”
“Come back and visit again, Daleigh. And be careful.”
Back outside, thoughts swirled in Daleigh’s head. She was no closer to getting any answers. Hope didn’t even bob on the horizon.
She wandered back toward her house, ambling down the sunny sidewalk and enjoying a cool breeze coming off the water. Her conversation with Henry both comforted and disturbed her. He’d been kind, helpful. Yet his response confirmed in her mind that something was wrong. Did he know something that he wasn’t sharing?
“Daleigh!”
She turned and saw Ryan jogging across the street. Just the sight of him caused her to smile. His mechanic’s uniform looked well used, yet she didn’t mind. It fit Ryan, who he was and what he enjoyed. She paused and waited.
“What are you up to?” He stopped beside her, a light covering of sweat across his brow. His hands went to his hips, but he wasn’t out of breath.
“Trying to tie up loose ends.”
“Any luck?”
“Not a bit.”
“What are you going to do now?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
His gaze lingered on her, and she wondered what he was thinking. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I could ask around to a few people, see if they know anything.”
Hope flitted inside. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe between the two of us, we can find some answers.”
Daleigh liked the sound of them working as a team. It fit. Too well.
“Thanks, Ryan.”
Their gazes locked, and Daleigh lost herself in the depths of his bright blue eyes. The moment ended when a man yelled from the garage that he needed Ryan’s help. Ryan muttered something about a “Frank” as he turned back to her, the same sparkle in his eyes that enticed her.
“We still on for tonight?”
“You betcha.”
He grinned. “I’ll swing by around five then, if that’s okay.”
Daleigh couldn’t help but grin also. “I look forward to it.”
***
Daleigh drove through the iron gates on either side of the entrance to Fanny Pasture’s house just as a black truck was leaving. The travel to the woman’s home had taken Daleigh through country back roads and across a one-lane bridge. She was certain she was lost, until finally she found the address.
A gravel, tree-lined driveway stretched beside a creek that branched out from the Perquimans. Branches covered with moss reminded Daleigh of old women wearing threadbare shawls on their bony shoulders. At the end of the drive, a huge white plantation house appeared, standing like an aged beauty queen in the unkempt landscape.
A has-been, Daleigh thought. That’s what this house was. She felt a moment of kinship with the structure.
A cloud of dust surrounded Daleigh’s car as she stopped in front of the massive wrap-around porch. She’d called Fanny earlier, and the woman said she could stop by this afternoon. Daleigh had plugged her address into her GPS and headed out right away.
As she climbed the creaky steps to the front door, Daleigh marveled that one person would live in a house of this size. The nearest neighbor was probably twenty minutes away. Why wouldn’t an eighty-year-old woman move closer to town, to help?
Daleigh raised her hand to knock at the screen door but before it even connected with the wood, a woman appeared on the other side.
“Daleigh McDermott.” The woman pushed open the door and revealed an aged, frail face complete with red lipstick, pink blush, and blue eye shadow. The woman wore a lacy dress and had her hair curled back neatly from her face.
“Fanny Pasture?”
“I reckon that’s me. I’m so old that sometimes I forget.” She turned away. “Come inside. I’se just fixin’ some collard greens and liver. You like to join me?”
Daleigh stepped into the house, noting how the inside looked like it was stuck in another decade. A bitter scent, mixed with that of onions, mingled in the air. “I just ate, actually. But thanks for the offer.”
“Collard greens were your father’s favorite, you know. He had some every time he came. Except last week.”
Daleigh followed Fanny into a pea green and mustard yellow kitchen. “What happened last week?”
“He insisted he had something to take care of. I said, what could be more important than me? You know, I used to be Miss North Carolina when I was young.” She flipped a faded blonde curl over her shoulder and jutted her chin out. “In fact, my daughter won twenty years after I did. My family has lived in this state for generations. Those Yankees tried to take this house from us, but my great-grandfather and his brothers fought ’em off.”
“Sounds like quite the legacy.”
“The house was built in 1802 by my ancestors. We ain’t ever gonna give it up. When I pass away one day, I’ll give it to my kids and then they’ll give it to their kids. All of whom live in the South, by the way.”
She gracefully lowered herself into a chair by the mahogany table. “Sure I can’t interest you in some greens? I seasoned ’em with fatback. With some pepper vinegar and onions, they’re just about as close as you’ll get to heaven on earth.”
“Really, I’m fine, but thank you.”
“Your father also loved my Brunswick stew. Only make that about once a month ’cause it takes all day. But it’s just delicious. I make the best in the state. That’s what they tell me, at least. People always said I should go into business for myself. I told them it would take the fun outta it if I did.”
“About my father—”
“You know what else I make real good? Tomato pudding and fried okra. Used to always bring ’em to potlucks at church and never returned with a spoonful even.”
Daleigh’s stomach roiled at the thought. She lowered herself across from Fanny and tried to redirect the conversation.
“Did my father tell you why he had to leave last Tuesday?”
“Business, he said. Seemed bothered by something. Kept fidgeting and lookin’ out the window. I said Ray, you got ants in your pants or something? He laughed and said he loved my Southern expressions. I think he wrote ’em all down in his little book as soon as he left here.”
Daleigh smiled. Fanny was probably right. “You knew about his journals?”
“I saw
’im with ’em in his car. Always jottin’ down things. I finally asked him what in tarnation he was doin’. He just said he was awritin’ about life.”
“What kind of business do you think he had to attend to?”
“He didn’t say and I didn’t think it was my place to ask.”
Of course. She was a Southern belle.
“What about Hertford? You’ve lived here all your life. Is it pretty safe?”
“Except when we have those Northerners come into town. They always try to take us over, think they can steal our land and property.”
“You’re talking about the Civil War?”
“Call it what you want. My daddy always said we had our pride, and they could never take that away.”
Daleigh stayed an hour longer, listening to the old woman’s stories of life in the good old days before the Yankees tried to take over. As she stood to leave, Fanny called her name. Daleigh turned toward the woman.
Fanny’s eyes looked bright and perceptive as they locked onto Daleigh’s. “Something’s happening on these rivers at night.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “I’d give my eyeteeth to know.”
Was the woman telling the truth? Or was she reliving some ancient time in life? Daleigh didn’t know.
“I’ve heard screams.” Fanny nodded.
Any hope that had started to rise deflated. The woman was hearing things. Probably some kind of fantasy about the Civil War or something.
Daleigh sighed. The one thing she did know was that she wasn’t one step closer to the truth.
Chapter Twelve
Ryan knocked at her door precisely at five o’clock. Daleigh’s heart quickened as soon as she saw him. He leaned against her doorway, his chiseled biceps flexed enough to make her throat go dry. His hair glistened, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His face looked freshly shaven, and she wondered if she got close enough, if she’d smell soap and aftershave.
“You’re prompt. I like that.” She grabbed her guitar, placed it back in its case, and stepped toward the door.
“My mama taught me that. Respect other people’s time.” He lowered his arm, straightening as she approached.
At the last minute, she grabbed her cowboy hat from the coat hanger by the door and slipped it onto her head. “It sounds like your mom would be someone I liked.”
“Most assuredly.” Ryan tapped the top of her hat, playfully shoving it down over her eyes. “Cute.”
“It goes with the country-western singer persona.” She stepped outside, strolling down the sidewalk with Ryan.
Ryan pointed across the street. “My sister’s house is just down the road. How do you feel about walking?”
“Walking sounds wonderful.” The early spring day had just enough sun left to light their path, and the breeze was perfect. Stretching her legs sounded like just the right medicine to drive away the doldrums that had washed over her. Well, walking and being with Ryan sounded like a great solution.
“I’ll carry this then. I’ll be your roadie.” He took the guitar from her hands.
Their hands brushed, and shivers shimmied up her spine. She could definitely get used to having Ryan as a roadie. They kept a steady, leisurely pace beside each other. The wind swept over them, and Daleigh delighted at the scent it brought—minty soap and leathery aftershave.
He nodded toward her guitar. “You been playing today?”
“I have. And it felt good. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve played just for the simple love of music.”
“When you stop loving it, it becomes work.”
“You’re absolutely correct.”
He glanced over at her. “How’d you make the jump to where you are today, Daleigh? So many people want to be discovered. How’d it happen for you?”
She sidestepped a crack in the cement as they strolled past Ryan’s garage. “I was working part-time as a waitress at this place in Nashville. Barely making ends meet. They let me play there on weekends sometimes. Anyway, one day a guy from a label came in and liked my sound. Long story short, he signed me. Unfortunately, the label buried me with that contract.”
“Buried you?”
She nodded, waving hello to a passerby. “Record labels do that sometimes. They see someone could be competition for their other artists, so they sign them just so no one else will. But then they don’t do anything to move that person’s career forward. Maybe they’ll release an album that gets no publicity. Maybe they’ll let them open for an artist who’s relatively unknown, knowing they’ll get no exposure. They really just sign that artist so they don’t have to worry about them competing with their stars.”
“That sounds nasty.”
She pulled her arms across her chest. “The music business can be a nasty place.”
“Then what?”
“Toward the end of my contract, someone got in touch with me. They’d heard bits and pieces of the album I did and thought I had potential. We worked in the studio to write some new pieces and produce them. Then he let his friend at another record label hear it, and I signed with them.”
“And the rest is history?” Ryan asked
She shrugged as they turned away from the historic downtown and onto a residential street filled with small, wood-sided houses, most of which needed a facelift. “People think it’s a lot easier than it really is. I was fortunate that my first single on that second album did really well. I got booked on a great tour and really got some steam. The release time between my first and second album took way too long. I lost some of the momentum, but eventually I put out my third CD and another single made it onto the top ten. I did two hundred tour dates with that album, though. It was fun and exhausting. Now that momentum is dying down again, and they’re pushing me to do another tour.” She shrugged again. “I’m just not sure I’m up for it.”
“They worried about your career?”
“They’re always worried about careers. I mean, think about it. Half the songs that were on the radio a decade ago were by flash-in-the-pan artists you never hear about anymore. That could be me.”
“But you’re really good, Daleigh.”
“I appreciate that. I do. But sometimes it’s not talent that determines popularity or longevity.” She paused. “You know what, though? I think God is teaching me that my worth is found in him and not in any of my worldly successes.”
“That can be a hard lesson to learn, can’t it? But it’s true. For a long time, I was a Christian in name only. Then God took me through some things that brought me to the end of myself. It wasn’t until I lost everything that I realized how messed up my perspective was.”
“You are a wise man, Ryan Shields.”
They paused in front of a small house located only a few blocks from the downtown area. “This is it. Trevor’s going to love meeting you. I could hear him screaming into the phone when I called last night.”
“Let’s do it then.”
Ryan knocked at the screen door before pulling it open. “Anyone home?”
A woman wearing her hair back in a ponytail came around the corner, a dishtowel in her hands. The woman had to be Ryan’s sister. They shared the same square jawline and sandy hair. Only this woman looked tired, exhausted almost, as she reached up to kiss Ryan’s cheek. “Thanks for coming.”
He stepped back. “Willa, this is Daleigh McDermott.”
Willa extended her hand. “We’re big fans around here.”
“I love to hear that. It’s so nice to meet you.” Daleigh waited to hear feet pattering toward the door. Instead, a boy of about eight scooted around the corner in a wheelchair. He had a shock of black hair and an infectious smile.
“I’ve dreamed about this day.” The boy extended his hand to her.
Daleigh reached out both hands to take his outstretched one, soaking in the T-shirt he wore. It was from one of her concert tours. “You must be Trevor. You’re just as handsome as your uncle.”
“Uncle Ryan?” he
asked, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “He’s kinda old to be handsome.”
Daleigh fought a laugh. “I hear you like country music.”
“I like your country music.”
This time Daleigh did laugh. “And you’re a charmer like your uncle, too.”
“He’s always had a way with the ladies,” Willa said. She motioned for everyone to follow her. “Let’s get out of the entryway and sit down.”
They sat in the living room, a small space with worn-out furniture placed specifically so Trevor could get around in his chair with ease. Daleigh made sure to sit close to Trevor.
“So, tell me about yourself, Trevor.”
Trevor proceeded to tell her that he loved video games and fishing. As he told her that he used to like baseball and roller coasters, her heart ached for the boy. What had happened? Where was his father?
She wished she had more time to learn about Ryan and his family. She hoped she’d be around long enough to get an inside peek, at least. Still, the realization remained in her mind that the relationships she was best at were the short-term ones. They were all she’d known for almost her entire life. Maybe they were all she was meant for. Period.
***
Ryan listened as, for the next thirty minutes, Daleigh entertained Trevor with stories about her songs, often laughing at herself and her reasons behind writing certain lyrics. She also talked about losses and hurts and making decisions that sometimes didn’t make sense.
This was part of the reason people liked her so much, Ryan thought. She had the great ability to tell stories, not only through her songs, but also through her interaction with her audience. She wasn’t one of those performers who used lights and dancers. She didn’t change into five outfits and have a band drowning out a mediocre voice.
She was Daleigh McDermott, just as she was. She was the same person now as she was yesterday bouncing down the road in his truck.
He found himself falling even harder for the kindhearted beauty. Finally, after the sun had sunk below the horizon and after they’d downed some brownies, Ryan stood, knowing that Trevor would gladly keep Daleigh here for the rest of the night.
Home Before Dark (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Carolina Moon Book 1) Page 10
