The Wedding Audition

by Catherine Mann

  Decision made, Annamae charged up the steps to the porch with her dog tucked under her arm. She turned the low door handle favored by old people and arthritic fingers, more bar than knob. A few kids played in the foyer with crayons and paper near a polished wooden toy box with an elephant painted on the front. A lady who was probably their mother sat in a rocking chair beside a frail-looking old man who frowned and stared at a television as if the thought of visiting with relatives was a wholly unwelcome idea. The kids’ eyes lit up at the sight of the dog.

  Gramps looked up. “Your dog’s not wearing a vest.”

  Annamae paused. “Pardon me?”

  Grumpy Gramps pointed to Bagel. “Your dog ain’t wearing a therapy dog vest. He can’t go inside to visit with the residents. Rules are the rules for the pets that come here.” His eyes narrowed. “You ain’t one of those people who tries to pass off fake working dogs just so you can carry your pet in your purse are ya?”

  She blinked fast at the crash course on working dogs 101. “Uhm, no sir. I just can’t leave my dog in the car and I’m here to see someone and—.”

  He plucked the pooch from her arms. “I’ll hold him outside ‘til you’re done. And don’t worry about me wandering off with him. My daughter here watches me like a hawk since I snuck out for a beer last month. Before you know it, she’ll be making me wear one of those ankle monitors like I’m some kind of criminal instead of the man who taught her to tie her shoes.”

  Annamae looked from the older man to the daughter who nodded with obvious gratitude over having found something that made her father happy.

  “Sure,” Annamae said. “Thank you for holding my dog, sir. I appreciate it. His name is Bagel.”

  His gnarled hands stroked Bagel’s bristly fur. “Just don’t take too long. I’m not a dog sitter.”

  “Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  The daughter mouthed thank you as Annamae grasped the handle again and backed inside.

  Beyond the reception area, a brightly lit check-in desk was bracketed by two thriving fichus trees in front of a curving staircase to a second floor. An elevator chimed somewhere in the background, suggesting the stairs were probably more for show. The Persian carpet runner down the middle certainly looked brand new.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” A young, dark-haired woman in hospital scrubs sat behind the desk, a diet soda at her elbow.

  Annamae tugged the knot in her scarf tighter. “I’m looking for a resident. Hazel Mae Smith.”

  Hopefully her grandmother didn’t share the disposition of the man in the reception area more interested in his crossword puzzle than the toddler waving a crayon drawing under his nose.

  “Certainly. May I tell her who’s calling, Ms. Jessup?” The desk attendant – Bobbi, according to the nametag decorated with teddy bears in nursing hats – grinned as she picked up her cell phone.

  Annamae ducked behind a fichus tree, staring at the cell phone in horror. “No photos. Seriously. Or I’ll contact your boss.”

  Bobbi gasped. “I wouldn’t dare take a photo. I was just going to show you the story on the Internet so you could be careful.”

  “Surely you understand why I’m wary of trusting you.” Annamae leaned back against the wall, but wasn’t ready to step out of hiding yet.

  “Honey, I let my mama push me into marrying my high school sweetheart and he turned out to be a total jackass – pardon my language. He expected me to wait on him hand and foot all the time, then ran off with my best friend.”

  Annamae inched out from behind the tree. If the young woman wanted to take a photo, a measly fake tree wasn’t going to stop her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Me too,” Bobbi said, straightening the nametag on her surgical scrub. “I like my job and all, but I lost four years of my life and all my savings. It’s better to be sure.”

  Stepping forward, Annamae swallowed hard. “What was that you wanted to show me on your phone?”

  “Oh, right.” She scrolled her finger across the screen. “Gus from the gas station has been busy gossiping. You’re gonna wanna be careful.” She passed over the device.

  Annamae took it with a trembling hand and scanned the snippet posted on—of all things—the gas station attendant’s social media page. His status update included a grainy security photo that could have been anyone, especially since she was wearing glasses and a scarf. But judging by the number of Likes and Shares, all of Beulah had already seen the news online. How long before the Atlanta media got wind of this?

  Annamae passed over the phone. “Thank you. I appreciate the heads up.” Would her grandmother help her hide out until she could figure out a way to plant herself in the carriage house and recoup? She could only hope. “I’d like to surprise Hazel Mae now, if I may. She’s—ah—an old friend.”

  “Hazel has always had the most interesting friends.” The woman laughed as if this was a great joke, but she made the call for Hazel to come to the commons area, leaving Annamae free to explore more of the downstairs of the retirement home. A game room played host to three ladies bickering over a jigsaw puzzle and two men snoozing between moves on a chessboard. At least, she hoped they were snoozing.

  Past the game room a muffled hint of music and counting suggested dance lessons or a workout of some sort. The scent of chlorine—evident even under the stronger odors of furniture polish and Old Spice—made her think a swimming pool or spa tub lurked behind one of the doors off the main corridor. Finally, she found an empty room with a few shelves of books and settled in to wait. But Bobbi, the desk attendant, was right on her heels.

  “Hazel will be right down, Ms. Jessup.” Bobbi straightened a few of the books on the built-in shelves. “She’s going to be so excited to see you. She and her friend, Ruby, love Acting Up.”

  “Really?” Surprised, Annamae knew the over-sixty demographic wasn’t the one that producers targeted with the show. Did Hazel watch to keep tabs on her granddaughter? Or was the older woman even aware of their connection? After Delilah’s lies about the Smith family, Annamae couldn’t be sure how much they knew about her.

  “They were all up in arms when your youngest sister cheated on her psychology final exam last year.” The woman leaned into the doorjamb, launching into a diatribe about favorite scenes from Annamae’s last season.

  “She didn’t really cheat.” One of many ways the editing process worked to the director’s advantage.

  But the desk attendant didn’t hear her while she chattered about how upset her fiancé and parents must be over the broken engagement. She never mentioned anything about Hazel having a family connection to anyone on the show, so Annamae felt certain either Hazel was unaware or purposely hadn’t shared the information.

  Interesting either way.

  “Bobbi, did you call for me?” An older woman appeared in the hallway outside the door. Head wrapped in a white towel like a turban, she wore a yellow and purple caftan covering her whole body from slender shoulders to dainty feet in flip-flops with daisies between the toes.

  The woman looked as if she’d been in the middle of a sauna or a massage, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, every wrinkle exposed. Still, her skin was lovely, all things considered. The crow’s feet around her eyes only made the vivid blue of her irises more striking. The laugh lines around her mouth settled into comfortable places as she smiled, and for a moment she didn’t look any older than Annamae’s mother.

  “Hi, Ms. Smith.” Annamae stepped forward, suddenly nervous. As she walked closer she realized her grandmother was taller than her. “I’m Annamae and I’m—”

  “I know exactly who you are, darlin’.” The older woman’s smile widened as she reached past Bobbi to stroke her granddaughter’s cheek.

  Annamae’s eyes went misty and despite the mess of her over-processed hair, the guilt of her break up and the refusal of Heath Lambert to be her landlord, she was so glad she’d come to Beulah. She couldn’t believe she’d been deprived of her grandmother her whole life
.

  Leaning back, Hazel Mae clasped her hands to her chest for an emotionally charged moment before glancing over her shoulder.

  Once Bobbi had disappeared and the hallway was empty, the older woman stepped deeper into the room, dragging Annamae with her. She clutched Annamae’s arm with two hands, her eyes narrowing.

  “What in Sam Hill are you doing here?”

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Annamae stumbled back against a coffee table at her grandmother’s harsh tone. Not that she should be surprised… hadn’t Delilah insisted the alligator hunter’s mother was mean as a snake? But right up to this second she hadn’t realized how much she’d been hoping her mother had lied about that, as she’d hidden so many things about Annamae’s father and his family.

  “I don’t understand—” she began, uncertain and regretting ever coming to Beulah. “I thought—”

  “How kind of you to want to volunteer!” Hazel Mae exclaimed loudly, turning her head as if to project her voice as far as possible. “That sounds wonderful.” Then, lowering her voice to a whisper again, she ducked closer. “The walls have ears here, even though they all need hearing aids.”

  “Um…” Annamae had no idea what to make of this woman. Was Hazel Mae delusional? Suffering early dementia?

  “No one knows we’re related,” Hazel Mae insisted. “I suggest we keep it that way and if I were you, young lady, I would maintain a low profile. That means staying away from the gas station, the diner, and the retirement home.” She ticked them off on manicured fingers. “And that dye job isn’t fooling anyone. I’d go dark brunette. Dye the brows too.” Her eyes tracked over Annamae’s features. “Although I like the blonde.”

  “Thank you. That is, I appreciate the suggestions, but I came here hoping to ask you some questions about…” She bit her lip. “My father. My biological dad.”

  Hazel Mae’s eyes went wide. She turned to look over her shoulder again, then glared at Annamae.

  “Honey, you might not mind having your life story plastered all over the Internet, but I have skeletons that are very comfortable in their closets, thank you very much.” She grabbed a paper off the coffee table behind Annamae and jammed it in her hand. “That’s a flyer for the retirement home’s community garden project. It’s a total flop and no one ever shows up to hoe tomatoes but me. Meet me near the marigold bed by the fountain tomorrow morning and we’ll talk there.”

  Before Annamae could argue, Hazel had an arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the door and down the hallway past Bobbi’s desk.

  “You are an angel to consider volunteering your time to bring attention to the aging veteran community. I think the local VA hospital is the best place to start, but I’m so glad we got to visit.” Hazel must have done theater at some point, or else she was used to dialing up her volume for hard-of-hearing friends because her voice boomed loud enough for the whole first floor to hear.

  “Of course.” Annamae smiled, too well-schooled in peacekeeping to defy her grandmother and insist on answers to her questions.

  Besides, if the meeting in the marigolds panned out, she could quiz her then.

  “Thank you, darlin’. And good luck to you!” Hazel opened the front door with one hand and gently shoved Annamae toward the threshold where Bagel was already barking.

  Thanking the dog sitter, she made tracks toward her VW Bug. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow. But first, she would find her way back through those apple orchard fortress gates one way or another.

  *

  Wynn needed better technology if he wanted to survive three more weeks in Beulah, especially if he was going to let Annamae Jessup back on the property. He’d wrestled with the idea ever since he’d let her leave the first time, but he kept coming back to the fear that he’d put her in danger. He had no idea how close his enemies were. He’d like to think no one had a clue where he’d disappeared after he left Miami, but he was positive that the Dimitri family would have allocated considerable resources to find him.

  He wouldn’t let an innocent get caught in that crossfire again.

  If he acted fast, he might be able to get her settled into the carriage house by nightfall. But only if she promised to lay low for a few weeks.

  Otherwise… he didn’t want to think about the otherwise. He did not want to get witness protection services involved in the three-ring circus of securing a television personality.

  Now Wynn walked the perimeter of the eight-foot fence that some paranoid farmer had once used to encompass his prize apple trees and wondered how long he could count on the electric wiring to keep out unwanted company.

  The beeper on his hip chimed while he secured a loose nail on a post along the back of the property. There’d been a gate on this side of the fence at one point, but Wynn had welded it shut before moving onto the grounds. Trip wires and alarms were set.

  The place was secure.

  “Lambert.” He wedged the intercom receiver between his shoulder and his ear so he could keep working. He liked farm life just fine, but his crop wasn’t nearly as important as security.

  “It’s Annamae Jessup, Mr. Lambert. I thought I’d follow up with you about the carriage house. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Actually, I was just about to contact you.” Tucking the bent nail in his pocket, he decided the rest of the fence repair would have to wait until tomorrow. No sense lingering around the fence if Annamae and her entourage lurked nearby.

  “You were?” Her happiness transcended the piss-poor sound quality of the old-fashioned speaker system. He’d been so focused on better surveillance, he hadn’t bothered with the sound.

  While the woman was on her mysterious errand, he’d researched her online enough to familiarize himself with her storyline on the reality TV show—knew that she played the part of the good daughter in a household full of attention-seeking females. But he would be wise to remember that was just a role she’d been assigned. He wasn’t about to get sucked in by a fake demeanor.

  “If you’re serious about wanting privacy while you’re in town—.”

  “One hundred percent.” She cut him off, her words blaring overtop of his since they both couldn’t talk at the same time on this speaker system. “And if you wouldn’t mind opening the back gate soon, I would really, really appreciate it. I’m pretty sure someone was following me earlier.”

  Wynn’s feet stalled beneath him like a dead tractor. He shoved a hammer into the tool belt at his waist.

  “Following you?” The back of his neck itched in warning. “A celebrity watcher, some kind of autograph seeker?” He hoped. “Or the media maybe?”

  “That’s the funny thing.” She cleared her throat and in the background he could hear her dog panting—almost as if he had his muzzle right up to the microphone. “I didn’t see any flashes or lenses, which is kind of weird for the people who normally stalk me. I thought it was someone who worked on your farm since he seemed more preoccupied with the grounds than with me.”

  What the hell was she talking about? He ground his teeth.

  “Listen carefully to me.” He gripped the beeper intercom harder, his thumb pressing the Plexiglas until it blurred the readout. “Is there anyone with you now?”

  “No. A minor miracle since—”

  “I’m opening the gate. Drive through fast.” Tension clamped his head and stiffened his joints while he wondered who she’d seen. Probably just a curious local, but—Damn.

  Without waiting for her response, he pressed the button on the remote opener and forced himself to wait a three-count before he closed it again. He might not care for this woman’s upper crust air of entitlement or her self-involved manners, but he wouldn’t allow an innocent to get caught up in the mess his life had become. A woman in the public eye couldn’t make a better target for the people Wynn was hiding from and he needed to do everything in his power to make sure she remained out of their sight.

  Once he had her settled, he’d figure out who was following
her.

  *

  Annamae had won.

  She was so used to being the overlooked sister that she almost couldn’t believe that for once in her life she was calling her own shots. But she’d left Atlanta. Gotten a pet. Met her grandmother. And now she’d convinced Beulah, Alabama’s sexiest hermit to rent her his carriage house, effectively winning their standoff.

  It had been a banner day, but she’d been determined not to give up until she got what she wanted. And she wanted – needed – the solitude of that carriage house to get over losing her fiancé, wrecking her life and disappointing her family. She also needed the solitude to bolster herself for the inevitable showdown when her parents decided to confront her.

  Old VW jostling along every pothole, Annamae steered down the long driveway toward Heath’s house shortly before sunset, pleasantly surprised she’d convinced him to let her stay. Either way, she wouldn’t turn her nose up at a break.

  After the strange visit with her grandmother, Annamae needed to regroup and plan for their meeting tomorrow. The beginning stages of senility might account for some of Hazel Mae’s odd behavior, but what if she truly had information to share about Annamae’s father?

  Besides, getting to know her grandmother would be easier if Annamae lived a stone’s throw from the retirement center that Hazel Mae had warned her not to visit. She hoped the marigold patch was as quiet as the older woman believed. Annamae had the feeling her soon-to-be landlord would not appreciate any more celebrity buzz coming too close to his private apple haven.

  He was definitely not the sort of guy who lobbied to meet her and her sisters just to be on television. Even though show producers would have fainted to have such a—er—virile man making appearances on the show. They’d asked for months to get Boone on Acting Up last season, but his game schedule had been too busy. And Heath Lambert was every bit as good-looking, along with a dangerous, tough guy edge.