by Diane Moody
Peyton quickly looked away, at a complete loss.
Still holding Kathleen’s hand, she took the seat beside her and looked up at Peyton. “Sorry for the interruption. Don’t mind me.”
As Kathleen pulled her hand free, Peyton asked the crowd to bow their heads as he led them in prayer.
Later, he would not remember a single word of it.
Chapter 24
In the oversized open tent set up on the side grounds of Braxton House, the same string quartet performed a playlist of lovely classical music as the funeral guests gathered for the reception following the service. The caterers had laid out “quite a spread,” according to Earl Simpson, who tucked his utensils in his suit coat pocket and piled his plate high with the various entrees. His wife Sugar, much too excited to eat, floated from group to group, trying to keep up with the kerfuffle surrounding the surprise appearance of the young woman claiming to be Harley’s wife.
Aubrey kept her lips pressed together, thinking it impolite to laugh. Observing Sugar’s antics and those of other townsfolk, she imagined herself at the filming of a Robert Altman movie. A comedy set at a funeral. As she and her mother visited with the others, they all wondered about the mysterious Mrs. Creech and where she went after the awkward and abrupt end of the service. She kept up with the conversation, though she didn’t know many of the others who offered their opinions.
“Poor Peyton,” Sarah Denton said. “I’ve never seen him so flustered. But what was he supposed to do?”
“Where’d she go? Has anyone seen her?” Sugar asked, hustling her way into their midst. Oprah’s hat bobbed up and down and all around as she scoped the crowd for the surprise guest.
“Someone said she followed Kathleen into the house when the service ended.”
“Poor Kathleen. What a shock, and so soon after losing Harley.”
“Yes, but she obviously knew who the girl was, since she called her by name.”
“Did you see how short her skirt was?”
“Forget the skirt,” Sugar said. “That neckline! Why, I had to cover Earl’s eyes when she leaned over to hug Kathleen.”
“I knew Harley had been married several times, but that little tart—”
“Charlene,” Sarah corrected. “Her name is Charlene.”
“Whatever. She’s young enough to be his daughter. Wonder where he found her?”
“We’re presuming she actually is his wife.”
“Oh now, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt.”
They all turned to stare at Georgia Schwimmer, who by then had stabbed a Swedish meatball and popped it in her mouth.
“I think you’re right, Georgia,” Susannah Parker said. “We’re all judging her book by its cover, and that’s not fair.”
“Honey, if that child can read, I’m a monkey’s uncle,” Earl added, after chasing a barbecue slider with a gulp of sweet tea.
Aubrey’s eyes connected with those of Gevin’s wife, Emily. She too appeared to be struggling to keep her composure. They turned simultaneously and stepped away before their laughter erupted.
“Do you believe this conversation?” Emily wheezed then snorted as they distanced themselves.
“I thought it was just me,” Aubrey whispered. “I’m an outsider, but it made me wonder. Is it always like this?”
“Oh, it’s usually much, much worse,” she answered, still giggling. “Can you imagine reading the transcript of all these comments? It would read like the most ridiculous novel.”
“I know. I was just thinking how it feels like we’re all on a movie set.”
Emily laughed again. “Exactly!”
“What are you girls up to?” Gevin asked as he joined them. “Do I detect a trace of snark in the air?”
Before Emily could answer, Faye appeared beside them.
“Gevin, did you know Harley had a wife?” she asked.
“Actually, yes I did.”
She blinked, astonished. “You did?”
He looked at Emily, then back at Faye. “We, um, happened upon some of Harley’s photo albums when we were—”
“—helping with the investigation of the Braxton Sword,” Emily added.
“So she really is his wife?” Faye asked.
“She was,” Gevin answered. “I understood he was divorced. But I’m certainly not the one to ask.”
Their circle widened as others drifted over. Sugar reappeared, a head taller than most of them, her finger pointing across the room. “Will you look at that—Ida Rose, as I live and breathe.”
Aubrey turned to look at the woman who’d accused Peyton of killing Harley. She looked oddly familiar, with frizzy black hair and a pointed nose that turned up on the end. Ah, she recalled. A dead ringer for The Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. How fitting.
“I’ve tried twice to get her to spill the beans about seeing the pastor the night of Harley’s murder,” Sugar continued. “Third time’s a charm,” she said with a wink as she made a beeline for the woman.
“What did she mean by that?” Emily asked Julie, who’d joined them. “Spilling what beans about Peyton?”
“Ida claims to have seen Peyton at the church the night Harley was murdered,” Julie answered.
“Yeah? So what?” Emily said. “He’s the pastor. He’s probably in and out of there a hundred times a day.”
Then all eyes turned to Aubrey.
“Well?” Julie said. “Because we also heard the pastor has a girlfriend, and maybe she knows?”
“The pastor has a girlfriend?” Faye asked, glancing around. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Don’t be so shy,” Julie teased, looking at Aubrey.
“Aubrey?” Faye said, looking at her with suspicious eyes.
“Aubrey?” Emily said, grabbing her forearm. “Why haven’t you told us? That’s wonderful!”
“But—”
“What a cute couple you make!” Julie added, beaming.
“No, I’m afraid you’ve—”
“Aubrey? Why didn’t you say anything?” her mother asked, eyes wide and rather vacant at the moment.
“Excuse me,” a gentleman said, tapping Faye’s shoulder. “You’re Jed Evans’s wife, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m Faye Evans.”
“Then I owe you an apology. My name is Phillip Carouthers. I’m the headmaster at Harpeth Christian.”
Faye answered by rote. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You see, Jed and I were acquaintances through a mutual friend. I was so shocked to hear of his passing, and would have been at his memorial service except that I was out of the country at the time.”
“How did you say you knew my husband?”
“Through mutual friends in Nashville.” He turned toward Aubrey. “And you must be the lovely daughter he talked so much about. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carouthers.”
“I’m so terribly sorry that I never had a chance to thank Jed in person for his generous donation to the school’s annual fundraising campaign. I didn’t know he had passed away until I returned from Japan last week.”
“What school?” Faye asked.
“Harpeth Christian. We’re located in Nashville. Jed was particularly interested in helping us build our library collection. His passion for reading was certainly contagious.”
“Harpeth Christian, you say?” Aubrey repeated, the dots connecting in her mind. The shop ledger. Her father’s notation of $2000 to HC. They’d assumed it was Harley.
“Yes, that’s correct,” he said. “We would be honored to have you and your mother come visit our campus sometime.”
“That would be lovely,” Aubrey said.
He pulled a card from his inside coat pocket. “Just give me a call, and I’ll be happy to give you a tour myself. And let me say again how very sorry I am for your loss. Jed was one in a million, and I was blessed to have known him.”
As they said their goodbyes, Aubrey smiled, touched by his kind words, but mostly relieved
that the mystery of HC had been solved.
“Oh look, there’s Kathleen and Peyton,” Julie said, pointing to the front part of the tented area.
“Let’s go sit at Mom and Dad’s table,” Julie said, motioning across the room to her husband Matt.
They took their seats at the large round table near the front of the tent. Aubrey ended up sitting between Henry Parker and her mother. As she scooted her chair closer to the table, she looked up just as Peyton spotted her. He smiled at her as he escorted Kathleen to the head table then approached the podium.
“We saw that,” Julie teased.
Aubrey felt like she was back in grade school, and the cutest boy in the class was making eyes at her with the whole class watching.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peyton began, “thank you for joining us here, and for taking time out of your schedules to help us celebrate the life of our friend, Harley Creech. At this time, I would like to invite Theodore Phelps to say a few words on behalf of the Tennessee Florist Association.”
The middle-aged man stood, buttoned his jacket, then checked his perfectly coiffed hair on one side then the other. Aubrey thought he could have been Cary Grant’s double with his bronzed tan, perfectly cut suit, and bright white teeth fixed in a permanent smile.
“Thank you, Reverend Gellar. It is my esteemed privilege to stand before you today as the chairman of the Tennessee Florist Association to impart our deepest condolences both to Kathleen,” he paused, turning toward her, “and to all of you, his fellow townsmen and women, in the loss of a true giant in the industry we love. We at the TFA are accustomed to floral talent. We encounter such creative brilliance every single day. Just look around at all the arrangements here today, and those that graced the stage during the funeral service. Such art. Such beauty!
“But rarely do we come across the extraordinary talent and sheer genius that was Harley Creech.”
Taking the microphone from its stand, he turned briefly toward Peyton. “Reverend, if you’ll pardon me just this once, I think it’s appropriate to describe Harley as truly a god in our industry.” Turning back to the crowd, he raised a hand toward his fellow florists. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
A roar of applause followed until at last he motioned for them to stop as he returned the mic to its stand. “And it is for this reason, that those of us serving on the Tennessee Florist Association board of governors convened a special meeting on Thursday, whereupon, by a unanimous vote, we are inducting Harley Creech posthumously into our Tennessee Florist Association Hall of Fame.”
On their feet this time, the florists once again applauded and cheered as another board member brought a colorful jacket hanging on a wooden hanger to Mr. Phelps. Aubrey thought the loud design rather garish at first glance, then recognized the print as the famous Van Gogh oil painting of irises.
As Peyton escorted Kathleen to join Mr. Phelps, he continued.
“As you see, there are a handful of other Hall of Famers with us today, which you can identify by their beautiful iris jackets. The iris, of course, is the state flower of Tennessee. The Hall of Fame is a small, elite group, limited to the very best in our field. Why, you might ask, are there so few? Because it is an honor bestowed with the utmost respect—and dare I say, reverence—as befitting those of highest regard.”
Turning to Kathleen, he concluded, handing the jacket on its hanger to her. “Of this immense honor, we welcome our dearly departed friend, Harley Creech.”
The applause continued while Kathleen accepted the jacket and held it higher for others to see.
“Ms. Creech, we would be positively thrilled if you gave this jacket a place of honor in the special room here at Braxton House which will be reserved to honor Harley. Then much later, of course, with your blessing, we hope you might consider allowing us to give it a personal home in our Hall of Fame Museum, located in Lynchburg, Tennessee. There, we are planning a special display set up in Harley’s memory.”
“It would be an honor,” Kathleen said.
“Oh, I assure you, the honor will be ours.” He shook her hand while another round of applause sealed the deal. “And if I might add one last word, we would love to have all of you come visit our Hall of Fame in Lynchburg. Now, folks most often associate Lynchburg with the famous Jack Daniels Distillery, so I would invite all of you to come to town and make a day of it, visiting both the Hall of Fame and the Jack Daniels Distillery. Though I strongly recommend you stop by the Hall of Fame first—for obvious reasons!”
The crowd laughed in response and none more boisterous than the florists.
Once the presentation was over, Phelps laid the jacket on a small display table, then took his seat. Kathleen remained at the microphone to say a few words.
“Thank you, Theodore, for such a tremendous honor in memory of my brother. I know how much he loved being a part of your organization. Somewhere, I feel sure he’s wiping away tears of joy at the kindness you have shown him here today.”
As she began, Aubrey noticed that Kathleen seemed far more calm and relaxed than during the funeral.
“After the initial shock of losing my brother, I decided to put my grief to better use as I tried to think of ways to honor his life. I believe we can best remember him and his many talents and accomplishments by displaying a collection of the many facets of his life. We will begin immediately, gathering the mementos and photographs and hundreds of other belongings. You’ve probably noticed Gevin Parker, Braxton’s favorite photographer, taking pictures today at my request. And by the way, thank you, Gevin, for the wonderful slide presentation. Wasn’t it lovely?” she said, leading the applause in his direction. He nodded and smiled in return.
“And let’s also thank the members of the string quartet for sharing their talent here with us today, as well as the extraordinary gentlemen from the Nashville Symphony Orchestra Chorus. Their rendition of Harley’s favorite song took my breath away. Weren’t they tremendous?”
More applause.
“Oh, and before I forget, please make sure you all sign the guestbook there at the main entrance. You will see that there is room to include a memory you have of Harley or whatever else you might like to write. We will also have the guestbook in our Harley Creech Room where visitors can write a word or two in his memory.
“I’ve had so many thoughts today as we said our goodbyes; things I wanted to say to you now. But I’ll confess I’m a little tired after the events of this week. And to be honest, Harley wouldn’t want me to stand up here and bore you with my fond memories of him, or anything like that. He would much rather we chat with each other, enjoy some good food, and have a nice time together. So please—”
“WAIT! Wait a minute! I have something to say!”
They turned to find Charlene rushing to the front of the tent.
“Oh Charlene, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kathleen said, shooting a look at Peyton. He stood, coming to Kathleen’s side.
Charlene ignored them and grabbed the microphone from the stand, putting distance between them. “As Harley’s wife, I think it is my right to say a few words here since I wasn’t allowed to speak during the funeral. The fact is, I know most of you don’t know me from Adam—or should I say Eve?” she said, giggling at her clever joke. “But anyway, Harley and me were married in Vegas just two years ago. I only came here the once, and then I had to get back to Vegas. See, I headlined with Tom Jones for years and years—”
“Is Tom Jones still alive?” Henry quipped quietly to Aubrey who couldn’t help snickering.
“Well, actually, I was just one of the show dancers, though I had a solo dressed as a cat whenever he’d sing ‘What’s New, Pussycat.’ But then he retired from his Vegas shows, so I got a gig performing with—”
Kathleen snatched the microphone from her hand and stepped back so that Peyton could escort Charlene out of the tent. She left under protest, shouting at the crowd, beckoning their sympathy for her mistreatment.
“Please accept our apologies for
the intrusion,” Kathleen said, once they were out of sight. “We’ll see that she gets the help she needs. Now, please enjoy a good time of food and fellowship.”
Chapter 25
Peyton and Sterling stood outside the ladies’ restroom just inside Braxton House waiting for Charlene to emerge. When they removed her from the reception, she had berated them with every step she took, insisting they had no right to stop her from talking at her own husband’s funeral reception. When Sterling called for a cab to take her to the airport, she demanded they allow her to first stop and powder her nose.
When the door opened again, Charlene seemed much more relaxed and coherent. Almost as if she had tucked her stage presence away and returned to being herself.
“Guys, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. You just don’t know how hard this has been for me, learning that my husband died. Nevertheless, it was unprofessional of me to speak out of turn, so please accept my apology.”
Peyton glanced at Sterling, then back at Charlene. “Apology accepted.”
“I agree,” Sterling added, turning her toward the front entrance. “Your cab should be here any moment.”
She stopped, raising a hand. “But there is one more thing I must ask. As Harley’s attorney, I’m sure you are knowledgeable as to the provisions of his will? As his wife, I’m entitled to—”
“No, Harley did not have a will.”
“No? But surely there’s some indication as to how he would want me to handle his assets?”
Sterling chuckled. “What assets? Once his gambling debts are all paid off from the sale of his shop and house, I guarantee you there won’t be any assets.”
“There must be some mistake. I know for a fact that Harley was worth millions.”
Sterling couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Maybe so, but he lost more than he ever made.”
Peyton watched her eyes glaze over as her mouth dropped open. “You mean—”
“What I mean is, if you came here in hopes of financial gain, you’ve wasted your time.”
Peyton could almost see the gears of her mind clicking into place.
Suddenly, she straightened and waved them off. “Well, now. That changes everything, of course. And I suppose it’s time for me to finally annul my marriage. I don’t suppose you could help me with that, could you?”
