Hello, Summer

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “What about you? You gave up a law career to come home and run this paper, and you’ve sacrificed everything to try to save it. Why are you sticking around?”

  “Because I believe in what we’re trying to do? Because this is my home, and I want to make this a better place to someday raise my own family?”

  “Does that mean you and Tony are on again?”

  Gray looked at her watch. “His plane got in a little while ago. I promised him I’d make sure there was gas for the lawnmower and that I’d be home for dinner tonight—deadline or no deadline.”

  “Sounds like a sensible plan,” Conley said. “Speaking of deadlines, guess I’d better get over to the cop shop and pick up the incident reports for this week’s police blotter, huh?”

  “It’s already done,” Gray said.

  “By whom?”

  “Our new police reporter, Lillian King. She’s got a lot more free time now that she doesn’t have to retype Rowena’s column. Why don’t you go on out to the Dunes? I think we can cut you a little slack this once, considering what you went through this weekend. In fact, that’s an order. Go home.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got one last loose end to tie up, and then I will.”

  She called Skelly from her desk phone.

  “Hi.” He sounded surprised to hear from her.

  “Hi yourself. I realize this is short notice, but I was wondering if you’d care to have a late dinner with me tonight?”

  “I’d love to if I can get my mom’s caregiver to stay late. But that shouldn’t be a problem. What time and where?”

  “The Dunes. Can you make it by seven?”

  “What can I bring?”

  “Anything at all, as long as you’re there by seven.”

  64

  The bird dogs announced her presence at Oak Springs Farm before she’d even climbed out of the Subaru.

  Toddie was seated on a rocking chair in the shade of the porch, sipping from an ice-frosted glass. “Hush!” she hollered. The three dogs ceased their barking and settled themselves in a semicircle around their mistress.

  “Hi there,” she called as Conley climbed the steps. “What brings you all the way out here to the country? Heard you had some excitement in town last night.”

  “Excitement is one word for it,” Conley said. She pointed at the chair next to Toddie, who had not invited her to sit. “I’ve got something on my mind, and I wanted to run it by you,” Conley said.

  “Go ahead.”

  Conley sat down anyway. “I spoke to the sheriff this morning about how Symmes was killed.”

  “Damn deer.”

  “Well, that and the fentanyl. Mixed with a pretty substantial amount of alcohol in his bloodstream,” Conley said.

  Toddie rocked backward in her chair and crossed a slender leg. She was still dressed for work, in blue jeans and a polo shirt with OAK SPRINGS FARM embroidered above her breast. With her deeply tanned complexion and snow-white hair held back with a knotted bandanna headband, she looked like something from a Garden and Gun ad.

  “Did you come all the way out here to tell me how my ex-husband died? I could have saved you the trip, because I talked to the sheriff myself today.”

  “No, I came out here because I have a theory—not about how he died but why.”

  “Symmes died because he had end-stage non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was an old man, and his body was worn out from all the meds,” Toddie said. She reached out a hand and scratched the nearest dog’s ear.

  “I think there was more to it than that,” Conley said.

  “Do tell.”

  “A man I know in Silver Bay—a man who blamed his mom’s death on Symmes Robinette—told me he spotted Symmes a while back, sitting in a Waffle House just down the road here, holding hands with a pretty, much younger woman. This man—who has a good reason for hating your ex—snapped a picture of the couple with his smartphone. And then, because he assumed the young woman was Symmes’s new girlfriend, he emailed the photo, out of spite, to Vanessa.”

  “I’ll bet that frosted her fanny,” Toddie said, chuckling.

  “I’m sure it did, but only because she recognized the younger woman as your daughter Rebecca, whom Symmes had been seeing on the sly,” Conley said. “Vanessa is nothing if not intuitive, and I think she figured out pretty fast that the old fox had outfoxed her.”

  “Vanessa told you all this?”

  “No, but I’m pretty good at putting stuff together.”

  “You seem good at spinning an entertaining yarn, I’ll give you that.”

  “It gets better,” Conley promised. “Vanessa had already tightened the screws and cut him off from Charlie, but she didn’t count on Symmes and his midnight rambles. I think after she saw that photo, she confronted him about seeing you and the kids.”

  “This story is getting pretty wild,” Toddie said. “Sounds like a novel. Not that I have time to read a lot of fiction. Because unlike the lovely Vanessa, I have to work for a living.”

  “It would make a good novel, wouldn’t it? Anyway, here’s how I think it played out. I think Vanessa somehow found out Symmes deeded the farm over to you. Now, I admit, I’m not sure how she found out. I wouldn’t put it past the Little Prince telling her, just to rub her nose in it.”

  “The Little Prince?”

  “Charlie.”

  “Hahaha,” Toddie laughed hoarsely. “That fits.”

  “Glad you agree. Of course, it could be that Symmes confessed it himself. I hear he was looking for redemption in those last days. However it happened, here’s what I think went down that night. I think Vanessa flipped all the way out when Symmes admitted he’d literally signed away the farm to you. As you say, he was sick and weak. Maybe she begged, maybe she threatened, but I’m wondering if Vanessa didn’t wear Symmes down to the point that he changed his mind about giving away a piece of real estate worth close to two million.”

  Toddie kept rocking and sipping her drink. “Does this story of yours have an ending? ’Cause I’m getting pretty bored with all these theories of yours.”

  “Obviously, it ends with Symmes dying from a fatal mixture of fentanyl and dirty martinis. After which, he hits a deer, his car bursts into flames, and suddenly, there’s a House seat up for grabs,” Conley said. “And his ex-wife falls into a very valuable piece of property.”

  “Which was rightfully hers anyway,” Toddie said.

  “But let’s not forget the penultimate part of the story. We know for a fact that Symmes waited until Vanessa was asleep that night, and then he took one of his midnight rides. He came to see you, didn’t he?”

  “I already told the sheriff he did.”

  “Only after the sheriff told you they’d tracked Symmes’s movements that night through his cell phone. And when the sheriff told you Symmes had alcohol in his bloodstream, you eventually admitted you’d played bartender for him.”

  “Vanessa didn’t just cut him off from his friends and his son, she wouldn’t even let him have a damn drink. It was pure meanness. I mean, he was dying. What difference was a martini going to make?”

  “Not just one martini. Two, possibly three,” Conley said. “And I think you knew what difference it would make, since you knew he was wearing a fentanyl patch.”

  “How would I know something like that?” Toddie asked. “I’m not a doctor.” She shot out of the rocking chair with surprising speed for a woman of her age, her formerly placid face flushed with anger. The dogs sat up on their haunches, attentive to the sudden change in mood.

  “I’ve been real patient with you today, out of respect for who your family is, but now I’m going to ask you to get off my property before I lose my temper.”

  “I bet you lost your temper that night, after Symmes told you he wanted to back out of giving you Oak Springs Farm,” Conley said.

  “Off my porch!” Toddie said, her mouth twisting into a snarl. One of the dogs let out a low growl and crept closer, until it was almost on top of her moccasins.

 
; Conley stood up, her face inches away from Toddie’s. “It was easy to give him one martini, then two, maybe three. And then send him on his way, zonked out of his head on fentanyl and gin. I guess it’s lucky for all of us that the only other living thing that died that night—other than Symmes Robinette—was a deer.”

  “We’ll never know about that, will we?” Toddie said. Her demeanor was shockingly calm again. Lethally pleasant. “Because there were only two people in the room that night. And one of them is dead. Vanessa can fuss and cuss and threaten to sue all she wants. I let her win, years ago, because I didn’t have any choice. I had young kids to raise and no money of my own back then. It’s different now.”

  “Charlie and Vanessa don’t want a court battle with you, do they?” Conley asked. “Not with their political ambitions.”

  “I’m the wronged party,” Toddie agreed. “How would it look if they took me to court? Me, a kindly, white-haired grandma who just wants to live out her life on her farm, with her dogs and her family? Totally harmless. Sometimes, you know, age has its privilege. People almost always underestimate you.”

  “At their own peril,” Conley said.

  “You’d best be going now,” Toddie said. “Before I forget my good manners.”

  The dogs followed her to the edge of the porch. “Stay,” Toddie said. They all did, wagging their tails in unison as Conley walked out to her car and drove away.

  65

  Winnie and G’mama had a new jigsaw puzzle spread out on the dining room table. It featured snow-covered mountains, delicately frosted trees, and a variety of snow-loving birds and other wildlife.

  Conley peered down at it. “What’s that supposed to be?”

  “It’s either the Alps or Maine,” Winnie said, slotting together two corner pieces. “I get all those cold places mixed up.”

  G’mama picked up the box top and waved it in her friend’s face. “It’s Alaska, you old fool. Pay attention.”

  “We saw you on television tonight,” Winnie said excitedly. “You looked real cute, once I got over how awful the yard looks at the house.”

  “Gray said the contractor doesn’t think the house can be saved because of all the termite damage,” Conley said. She glanced over at her grandmother, who was sipping her drink and studying the puzzle.

  “I gave myself exactly an hour to feel sad about it, and then I made up my mind that I won’t be sad anymore,” Lorraine said. “Termites didn’t take the things I care most about. So we’ll sell the lot and use the money to put some air-conditioning in this house.”

  “And a dishwasher, praise baby Jesus,” Winnie added.

  “You did look cute on TV,” G’mama said. “Should wear your hair like that all the time.”

  She paused, then continued. “By the way, I talked to your sister before you got home. She tells me you’ve got something important to tell me.”

  “She’s such a tattletale,” Conley said. “I guess she also told you I’m planning on staying on to work at the paper.”

  “She did mention something like that,” Lorraine admitted. She snaked an arm around her granddaughter’s waist. “That’s the best news I’ve had all year.”

  “You might not be happy with some of the stories I want to write,” she warned her grandmother. “I’ll probably be rocking some boats and pissing off a lot more people.”

  “Good,” Winnie said approvingly. “This town needs shaking up.”

  “I might need your help, though, Winnie. I want to write a big piece about that cancer cluster in Plattesville and the railroad’s history of denying responsibility. I’d like to find more families, besides yours, that were affected.”

  “I’ll put you in touch with Randee, that lawyer lady,” Winnie said. “She’s got everybody’s names and all their medical records. I hear from her every year, on the anniversary of the day Nedra died.”

  “Okay. That’ll be my first project, now that I’ve got a little job security. On a lighter note, what do we have in the refrigerator that I could cook for dinner tonight?” Conley asked. “Preferably something simple.”

  “Your grandmama and I had a late, big lunch, so I didn’t fix us anything for dinner tonight,” Winnie said. “You might could find some leftovers in there if you look around.”

  “Have you got company coming?” Lorraine asked, playing coy. She picked up a puzzle piece and twisted and turned it, trying to fit it in a slot where it obviously didn’t belong.

  “I invited Skelly to come out and watch the sunset and have dinner.”

  She could almost see her grandmother’s matchmaking antennae quiver. “Any special occasion?”

  “Every sunset is special, especially the night after you thought you might not get to see another one,” Conley said.

  Winnie put together another corner of the puzzle. “I picked the last of the baby lettuce from the garden this morning and some sweet little cherry tomatoes. And there are a couple of fillets in the fridge. All you need to do is sauté some shallots in some butter, add in some of the mushrooms from the crisper drawer, then drop in a good-size knob of blue cheese. Deglaze the pan with some white wine, and that’ll make a pretty fancy steak sauce for a Monday night dinner.”

  “Perfect!” Conley said.

  Lorraine picked up the cut glass tumbler with the dregs of her sunsetter and pounded it on the uncooperative puzzle piece. “You know, sometime soon, you’re going to have to learn how to cook a proper meal if you’re ever going to find a man to settle down with.”

  “You never learned how to cook, and I seem to recall you did just fine in the husband department,” Winnie pointed out. She snatched away the offending puzzle piece, which showed a portion of a mountain goat’s head, and put it in its rightful place, on the other side of the puzzle, atop a mountain goat’s body.

  G’mama glared at her. “Times are different now. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Conley picked up a rounded corner piece and offered it to her grandmother. “What if I told you I think I already found a man to settle down with? And he happens to be a way better cook than I’ll ever be?”

  Lorraine held up her empty glass and jiggled what was left of the ice cubes. “I’d say this calls for a toast.”

  * * *

  He arrived early, with a slightly wilted bouquet of zinnias in a fruit jar and a large brown paper bag, and Conley couldn’t decide if she loved him more for the early arrival or for the gift of groceries.

  G’mama eyed the zinnias with suspicion. “Are those flowers from my garden in town?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Skelly admitted. “Mama wanted to walk down and see your house, and before I could stop her, she’d picked every single flower in your garden.”

  “Well, it would have been a shame to let a bulldozer knock ’em down,” Lorraine said. “What’s in the sack?”

  He handed it over. She reached inside and pulled out an ear of corn.

  G’mama sniffed it appreciatively. “Mmm. Fresh Silver Queen. I know that didn’t come out of my garden.”

  “No, ma’am. I stopped at the farm stand on the way out here,” he said.

  “Save me an ear, and I’ll have it for breakfast,” G’mama said, standing up and giving him a peck on the cheek.

  “You’re not having dinner with us?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t invited,” G’mama said. “Winnie and I are going to sit on the porch and watch the sunset before our programs come on. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “No, thanks,” Conley said, taking his arm. “We’ll be on the beach if you need us.”

  * * *

  They left their shoes at the base of the stairway and walked barefoot down the path through the dunes to the little cove.

  Conley plopped down onto the swing and patted the seat beside her as an invitation.

  Skelly crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head, trying to read her expression. “No sunset beach walk before dinner?”

  “Not enough time,” she said, pointing toward the hor
izon, where the sky was streaked with vivid violet and orange and periwinkle and half a dozen other colors whose names she couldn’t currently remember.

  “Just look at that,” she said softly. The Gulf had turned from green to deep blue, but it was lavender now, barely rippled, and the fading sun cast a reflected orange stripe on the surface of the water.

  Skelly sat down and stretched his arm around her shoulders. “I know how you love your sunsets. But is there something special about this one tonight?”

  “I hope so,” she said. She lifted his hand from her shoulder and kissed the palm of it.

  He looked startled for a moment. “Seems like you have something important on your mind.”

  “Very important,” she agreed, laying her head on his shoulder and snuggling close beside him.

  She stayed like that, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, studying the curve of his jaw, his profile, the barely gray stubble of his beard. She reached up and removed the sunglasses perched on his nose.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because I want to see your eyes,” she said.

  He blinked rapidly. “They’re the same eyes you’ve been looking at your whole life.”

  Skelly’s eyes were brownish-greenish with flecks of black and luxurious lashes that she’d never appreciated until lately.

  “You’re right,” Conley said. “Maybe it’s my eyes that have changed. Maybe I’m finally seeing you the way I should have seen you all along.”

  He kissed her. “About time. Now what’s all this about my eyes?”

  “I want to be looking right at them when I tell you I love you, that’s all.”

  He grasped her shoulders with both hands. “You love me?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I did all along. Maybe I was waiting all this time, to come back home and finally discover the man of my dreams was actually the boy next door.”