Franklin dropped his butter knife. It clanged against the plate.
"Yeah, I 'bout spilled my coffee when Wilson told me," Jackson said.
Roseber Wilson was a real estate agent who handled transactions for most of the properties in town, including Jubilee, the Mason estate.
"Who moved there?" Franklin picked up his knife again.
"Black man with a funny accent, Wilson said. Sounded like he was from France. Can you imagine that? Ain't never heard a black man with a French accent, though I know we got black folk over there"
"Have you seen this Frenchman?"
"Seen him driving around. Got one of them big Lexus SUVs. I ain't talked to him, though, or seen anyone with him."
"Odd" Franklin dug into his eggs. "I wonder why he chose the Mason place."
"He ain't buying it, Wilson said. Said he was only gonna rent it for a few months. He was real secretive, wouldn't tell Wilson much about his business."
"Strange, indeed," Franklin said. "Renting an enormous, dilapidated property like that for only a few months. I wonder if this fellow is aware of Jubilee's reputation."
Jackson shrugged. He looked out the plate-glass window. He glanced at Franklin and nodded, indicating that Franklin should check outside.
Across the street, a silver Lexus sport utility parked in front of the hardware store. A broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man with a shiny bald head climbed out of the vehicle. He was sharply dressed in a gray suit. He strode purposefully into the store.
Franklin frowned. Hearing this news about the Mason place and seeing the mysterious new resident made him uneasy, though he could not place his finger on why. Maybe because it didn't make sense. A foreigner renting an antebellum mansion in rural Mississippi? Either he was planning to refurbish the place and turn it into a tour destination, or he was up to something he had no business doing.
I should not leap to such conclusions, Franklin admonished himself. The fellow could be an upstanding gentleman with a legitimate interest in the property and the town. He was allowing small-town xenophobia to color his thoughts.
However, Van Jackson was frowning, too.
"Excuse me, Doc," Jackson said. He put on his hat. "I've fiddled away enough of the town's money this morning. Got to get back to work"
"See you around, Chief." Franklin watched him leave. He noticed that the chief kept his attention riveted on the hardware store across the street.
Franklin could not help himself. The chief was suspicious. Now, so was he.
What was the man doing at the Mason place?
At one o'clock sharp, David parked in front of MacDaddy's Barbecue. As he climbed out of the Pathfinder, a green Honda Civic pulled into the parking spot near him. Nia stepped out.
"Right on time," she said.
She had changed into a pink blouse, khaki shorts, and sandals. She had let down her hair, too. It flowed to her shoulders in curly waves.
"My father was right," David said. "You are the prettiest girl in town"
She smiled. He opened the restaurant's glass door for her, and they went inside.
It was a small, neat place, with lots of windows. From the size of the take-out counter it appeared that they did a lot of carry-out business, but there were tables spaced throughout the dining area. The mouthwatering aroma of barbecue spiced the air.
The restaurant was busy. People were lined up at the carry-out counter, and all the tables except one were full. David and Nia grabbed the only vacant table, in the corner.
David picked up the single-page menus that lay nestled between the salt-and-pepper shakers.
"I already know what I'm going to eat," she said. "The catfish sandwich is delicious. I grew up on them"
"Then I'll get the same," he said.
A waitress came to take their orders. They asked for the catfish sandwiches, and sweet tea. The server returned quickly with the drinks.
As they sipped tea, their gazes met. They watched each other for a long, quiet moment, a pleasant tingling building in David's stomach.
He felt as though he were in a movie, one of those sappy romantic comedies like Sleepless in Seattle. He had never had an experience like this with a woman, and it frightened and thrilled him all at once.
Then, at the same time, they smiled-in unspoken acknowledgment of the rare chemistry that coursed between them like electrical current.
"So," Nia said. "You were going to tell me why you moved to Mason's Corner."
He put down the glass of tea. "Well, it's because of my father. I mentioned before that I never knew him that well. I decided to come here and get to know him, I guess. By living in the same house and being in the town where he spent so much of his life, I'm hoping to .. ." He made a grasping motion with his hand, straining to find the right words to express himself.
"Understand him?" she said.
"That's part of it. Understand him-and understand myself. Because I'm his son, I think I've picked up certain habits, talents, and quirks from my dad. For example, he used to drink strong, black coffee, never adding sugar or cream. When I was a kid, I used to think it was disgusting. Now, guess how I always drink my coffee?"
"Strong, no sugar, no cream?"
He snapped his fingers. "Exactly. I never thought I'd like coffee that way, but it's the only way I like to drink it now. And there're a bunch of other things I think I've picked up from my father, subconsciously. I'll never learn everything about him, but if I can just learn more ... it's important to me, Nia. I can't explain it any other way."
"I understand what you mean," she said. "I really admire you for having the self-awareness and the guts to come here and sort of absorb yourself in his life. That says a lot about you"
"I didn't have anything pinning me down in Atlanta. My mom and my sister live there, but they're doing fine. I'm self-employed and can do my work from anywhere. If there was ever a time to do some exploring, this is it."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I design Web sites. I majored in computer science at Georgia Tech, then worked for a few years at a technology consulting firm, but corporate America wasn't for me. I started my business two years ago and haven't looked back. What do you do?"
"I have a graphic design company. Run it out of my house"
"So you own a business, too? That's cool. How long have you been doing it?"
"For almost a year," she said. "I went to Jackson State on a track scholarship, ran track on the pro circuit for a minute after I graduated, then injured my knee and had to retire. I taught high school for a little while, first in Houston, then here, then took the plunge and started my own company. And I haven't looked back, either." She smiled.
He smiled, too, genuinely impressed. "That's too bad that you had to quit running track. But you've definitely kept yourself in great shape"
"Thanks, I run and work out just about every day. But I don't miss track competition that much. I love being my own boss, building something of my own from the ground up. I know you understand what I'm saying."
"Oh, yeah, I hear ya. People are surprised when they find out that I'm not a writer, though. They always expect me to follow in my dad's footsteps"
"Do you plan to write, someday?"
He laughed. "Are you kidding? I love to read, but I can't write worth a lick. That's definitely something that I did not inherit from my dad"
The waitress delivered their meals: catfish sandwiches, with coleslaw and french fries on the side. Before leaving, the waitress peered closely at David.
"You any kin to Richard Hunter?" she said in a thick Mississippi accent.
"He was my father."
"Willie, I told you!" she shouted at someone behind the counter. "This here's the Hunter boy!"
David blushed. People turned to look his way. Many of them nodded and smiled, or only stared as if trying to see the resemblance between him and his dad.
The waitress clutched his shoulder. "I was awful sorry to hear about what happened to your daddy. I'm praying
for your family."
"Thanks," David said.
He blew out a pent-up breath when the waitress left and people looked away.
Nia smiled, amused. "Get used to the attention, sweetie. Your dad was the only celebrity who ever came from this town. Everyone is gonna want to check you out"
"Seems like it." He picked up his sandwich and began to eat. As Nia promised, it was delicious. "What was it like growing up here?"
She popped a french fry into her mouth. "Wonderful, really. Quiet, safe. Lots of the people who live here have been here for a long time, so mostly everyone knows one another. It was a fun place to grow up. I have two older brothers neither of them live here anymore-and they let me join them on all kinds of adventures. Fishing, hunting, catching snakes
"Snakes?"
"Sure. Not poisonous snakes, silly-though we did trap a water moccasin once. My mama would've had a fit if she'd known. I still haven't told her." She laughed.
"Growing up in Atlanta wasn't anything like that. The closest I came to a snake was in the city zoo"
"There's nothing like living in the country, but I love big cities, too"
"Why did you leave Houston to come back home?"
"I'll tell you, David, another time, I promise. It's something I don't like to talk about. I'd hate to ruin the good time that we're having."
"Tell me whenever you're ready." We all have issues, he thought. I'm not baggage free, either. Shoot, this move to Mason's Corner is so I can work out my problems.
He took another bite of the sandwich. "A couple of people have mentioned the walks that my father would take around town. Would he go anywhere in particular?"
"He walked through the park a lot, and some of the trails. He walked Main Street all the time, too"
"He never talked to anyone while he was walking? I read somewhere that he'd bite your head off if you said anything to him."
"He kept to himself. I only had a real conversation with him once, and that was in over twenty years of seeing him around. But he'd usually say hi to me and people like Vicky Queen-girls he thought were pretty. Your father was a flirt. But he was charming about it, not like some nasty old man"
"Did he have any friends here?"
She sipped her tea. "Hmm ... he'd go to church pretty often. He went to New Life Baptist, here in town. I think he was good friends with the senior pastor, Reverend Brown. I've been going to the church since I was little, and I'd see them talking sometimes."
David made a mental note. "I might visit the church tomorrow morning."
The waitress returned. She placed a dish of peach cobbler on the table, and two spoons.
"I hope y'all saved room for some dessert," the waitress said. "Willie says this is on the house, 'cuz the Hunter boy's new in town, and y'all make such a pretty couple, too"
"Ooh, that's so sweet," Nia said. She called out across the room, "Thank you, Willie!"
David couldn't wipe the embarrassed grin off his face.
"I might as well tell you," Nia said, dipping a spoon into the cobbler, "in a tiny town like this, an unattached young man and woman having lunch is big news. By this evening, they'll be speculating about when we'll get married and what we'll name our kids."
"You are too much." He laughed. "Speaking of this evening, are you doing anything?"
"Oh, yeah. There's so much going on in Mason's Corner. I run into fine, available young men all the time here, you know. My social calendar is kicking."
He grinned. "How about dinner and a movie?"
"We'll have to drive to Southaven. They don't have a theater here in town. Is that okay?"
"That's fine with me"
"Okay, pick me up at wait a minute. You don't have a girlfriend waiting for you in Atlanta, do you? Or a wife?"
"I'm an unrestricted free agent. No girlfriend, no wife. What about you?"
"Nader. I date here and there, but like I was saying, Mason's Corner doesn't exactly have it going on socially."
He was more relieved than he dared to let on. "So when should I pick you up? Seven?"
"Seven sounds good"
"Cool. That gives me time to go home and cut the grass. The lawn hasn't been cut in weeks"
"Wait a couple hours, until it cools off some. I don't want you to have a heatstroke"
"Good point. It gets hot in Atlanta, too, but this is a whole new level of heat"
"Ain't nothing like summer in Mississippi, honey," she said, exaggerating her southern twang.
They finished eating. After he paid the bill, he walked Nia to her car. They hugged, and she felt wonderful against him warm and firm, yet as soft and inviting as a favorite pillow. Her clean, feminine scent filled his nostrils and made him dizzy.
She gave him her phone number and directions to her house.
"See you tonight," she said.
Smiling, he watched her drive away. What a beautiful, intelligent woman. He could not wait to see her again that evening.
His gaze traveled across the blue horizon and stopped at the old, antebellum mansion. Jubilee. Sitting on the hill, it overlooked the town, like a forbidden castle.
His smile fell away.
Junior Hodges had been working all day.
Every Saturday throughout the spring, summer, and fall, Junior awoke at sunrise, and if it wasn't raining, went to the tool shed behind their trailer home, unlocked it, and rolled out his old John Deere lawn mower.
He'd push his mower across town, making stops at each house on his list.
There was good money in cutting grass. He'd earn anywhere from ten to twenty-five bucks per yard. When he reached the end of his list, he'd usually made over a hundred dollars, sometimes as much as a hundred and fifty, depending on how generous people were feeling and if he could squeeze in some extra lawns or quick jobs.
Sometimes, kids made fun of him, calling him dumb, teasing him for being a thirty-year-old man who made a living doing odd jobs like lawn mowing. Junior didn't let their mean words stop him. He'd push his mower through town cutting grass until he was an old man, God willing. He didn't dare tell those youngsters how much money he was making. He didn't want any competition.
Still, sometimes the teasing hurt. He wondered whether they were right about him being dumb. Mama, when she was alive, used to say that he was "special," and Junior had liked that-but Pa was one of the people who called him dumb. He'd never done well in school, and had pretty much dropped out in the tenth grade. He could read a bit, and write things, too, especially the names of people who were going to hire him for work, and jobs that he had to do. As far as math, he could add up how much money he'd made and subtract the cost of gas and other stuff, to get at his profit. Mama had taught him how to do that she called it "business math." She'd run a hair salon out of their house, back in the day.
But Junior knew that he could never be as smart as a guy like Doc Bennett, for instance. That old guy was a walking, talking book. He cut Doc Bennett's grass every Saturday, and afterward, if Doc was around and Junior had time to spare, Junior liked to talk to him and soak up everything he said, and learn new words.
He wasn't sure whether he was really dumb, and he figured he shouldn't worry about it too much, though it bothered him every now and then. All he knew for sure was that he loved to work. One Sunday, Reverend Brown had spoken on how God respected the man who put in an honest day's work. Junior thought about that sermon whenever he felt bad about himself. He'd rather have the respect of God than a bunch of sassy kids.
Around three o'clock that afternoon, Junior was rolling his mower along the sidewalk. He was a bull of a man, sixfoot-three, and coal-black, with a large, flat nose. He wore his favorite work overalls, a T-shirt, and work boots. His giant hands, curled around the push-handle of the mower, were padded with calluses.
It had been a steaming day, but he was used to the heat, having lived in Mississippi all his life. He couldn't afford to be lazy and stay in, waiting until it cooled off to cut his lawns. There was too much money to be made. Some
times when it was especially hot, he imagined that he could see crisp dollar bills wedged between the blades of grass, and the image kept him motivated to suffer through the heat.
He was saving money to buy himself a truck. He'd seen a black Ford pickup sitting in the parking lot of Earl's Used Autos, and how he wanted it! With a truck of his own, he could get around to his jobs faster, and have time to do more work, and more work meant more money. The truck cost three thousand dollars, and Junior had saved two thousand so far. He'd only been able to save the money by putting it in a secret place in the trailer, otherwise, Pa laid his hands on his money to borrow it. Pa never paid him back.
Ahead, Junior saw the last house on his list for today: Vicky Queen's place.
He always made her yard last, on purpose. Not only because it was on the way to the basketball court at the park, where he planned to go when he was done working, but because he liked to take his time at her place, too.
Her white Cadillac was parked in the driveway. She was home.
His heart beat a little faster.
He pushed the mower into the driveway, beside the Cadillac. He went up the steps to the front door, knocked.
"That you, Junior?" a soft voice said from within.
"Yes, ma'am," Junior said. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a ragged handkerchief. "I'm here to cut the grass."
The door opened. Vicky Queen was so pretty it hurt to look at her. She wore a white blouse that showcased her ample cleavage, a tight black skirt that rose well above her knees, and heels. The sweet scent of her perfume enveloped him like a mist.
Her big eyes were precious gems. They sparkled.
Junior smiled. "You look real nice. You going to work today?"
"I sure am, Junior. A queen has to work, too, sometimes." She cracked a smile. "You want some ice water, honey?"
"Ice water sure would hit the spot"
"Come on in, then"
He stood just inside the door while she sashayed into the kitchen.
Her place was full of nice stuff-leather furniture and expensive-looking vases and artwork everywhere. Folks said that Vicky Queen got mostly everything she owned-from the new Cadillac to her clothes, to the plush things in the house-from the rich men she met while working at the casinos in Tunica. Junior didn't believe it was true until he rode his bike past the house one morning (on the way to doing a paint job) and saw a white limousine parked out front.
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