Belle groaned. “Look at those columns though. Aren’t they beautiful?”
I gazed up at the long abandoned Civil War era home. “They are, but I don’t think it’s the right place for us. And we agreed we both need to be one hundred percent in to do this, remember?”
She nodded, and as she did, she pressed the start button on her car. The engine hummed back to life. “On to the next property we go.”
“Hey, Carter asked if we’d like to go to a box lacrosse game tonight. You up for it?”
She backed down the long, gravel driveway. “He asked us, or he asked you?”
“Well, technically he asked me, but we’re a team, so that means us.”
“Did you mention you’d ask me to go?”
“I can’t remember. Why?”
Belle turned left onto Highway 369 and headed further away from town. “Because if you didn’t mention me, then I don’t have to go, and I won’t feel bad about it.”
“You’re so going now.”
“I have to wash my hair.”
“Honey, that don’t work with me, and you know it.”
“Do my nails?”
“You get manicures.”
“Pay my bills?”
“It’s the digital age.”
“Take out the garbage?”
“They don’t collect on Sunday.”
“Walk the dog?”
“He’s my dog.”
She pounded her steering wheel with her fist. “I don’t know a thing about lacrosse. Why doesn’t he coach football? That’s a sport I know.”
“He’s our client and our friend. Besides, he’s new in town. It’s a nice thing for us to do.”
“I know. It just sounds so intimidating.”
“What does?”
“The game, or learning it, I mean.”
“It’s not that hard to understand,” I lied. “It’s kind of a mix of hockey, soccer, and basketball, but you know, different.”
“Bless your heart, you don’t have a clue either.”
“Not a bit.”
“And it sounds boring.”
“How would you even know that if you don’t know a thing about it?”
She ignored me.
“Well?”
“Fine, I don’t know that, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”
“You are a hot mess for sure.”
She made another left and pulled off onto a dirt and gravel mixed road. There were so many potholes, my voice sounded the way it did when I was a kid and I talked into a fan, vibrating and humming. “Where are you taking me now?”
She pointed ahead and to the right. “There.”
I glanced at a white mini-mansion. “Uh, no. You might as well turn back around and go home.”
“What? Why? I love this place.”
“We talked about this already.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not backing down on this one.”
“But it’s a true antebellum style home, and you love them.”
“I do, but it’s not a flip. These homes don’t sell well, and you know that.”
“But it would make a perfect bed and breakfast.”
“Belle, I’m not opening a bed and breakfast.”
“Can we just look inside? Please? Just for fun?”
“Fine, but just for fun.”
The sprawling mini-mansion must have been a looker during its prime, but it was way past its prime. What was left of the place was a skeleton of its past, like a dead tree in the woods left to rot through the seasons until it became a pile of dust and dirt. Only the house wasn’t a pile of dust and dirt just yet. The wide front steps and large round columns with intricate carvings on their tops framing the base of the front porch needed work, but still held their historic beauty, and showed that once upon a time, someone had loved the home enough to pay attention to detail. The wrap-around front porch with its mini columns serving as banisters was the perfect match for the civil war era home, and it didn’t take much of my imagination to picture the daily happenings of the people that had once lived there.
I saw children playing with wooden blocks and cards like in old Southern movies. I imagined debutantes in fluffy hoop skirted gowns with big bows, flitting around the porch, laughing and drinking from expensive crystal, at least until the war. During the war soldiers had stolen most everything, they’d taken to hiding what they treasured, or sold what they needed to for money, and women made due with what they’d had. They’d made their own dresses from drapes, bed covers, and other materials. They’d lost so many of their belongings, things they’d never recover. Even as kids we’d find things buried deep in the ground, things the women hid from Union troops—silver, china, family photos, things they cherished but never came back for, or maybe couldn’t come back for.
I had to admit, the home kidnapped my heart at first sight, but that didn’t mean I wanted to own a bed and breakfast. Just the thought of that made my pulse increase, and I started to sweat.
“So, what do you think?” Belle draped her hand along the old stair railing. “Isn’t it amazing? I mean, seriously. Think of the history. We could restore it to its original design, and it would be incredible.”
All I saw were debt collectors knocking on that beautiful door, not guests. “Exactly where do you think the money for this would come from?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure we could finagle it somehow.”
I headed toward the door. “When you figure that out, I’ll come back.” I glanced at my iWatch. “In the meantime, we have a lacrosse game to get to.”
She lagged behind me dragging her feet like a child in a toy store during the holiday season. “But you have to admit it’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is, but I’m a real estate broker, not a bed and breakfast owner.”
“You’re right, but gosh, I really love the idea.”
“In theory, it sounds great, but in reality, I’m just not the bed and breakfast owner kind of person.”
“I’m probably not either, but couldn’t we own it and have someone else run it?”
“Did you answer one of those internet scams where the person wanted to leave you all of their money and it actually worked or something?”
She laughed. “I wish.”
“Then, no, we can’t own it and have someone else run it.”
Chapter 2
Belle pinched her nostrils together, and I couldn’t help but admire the dark red color she’d picked for her manicure.
“That’s a lovely shade of red you picked.”
“Thank you, but heavens, it smells like dirty, sweaty socks in here.” She uncovered her nose and then covered it again. “And boy. Like stinky high school boy.”
I swallowed hard, hoping that would stop the strong, offensive stench from slamming itself into my senses and destroying them even more than it already had. “I’m a little alarmed by the fact that you remember that smell, but it kind of reminds me of the school gym.”
“It does. I didn’t notice that until earlier today. I wonder if it smelled that way when we were there?”
“Probably, though I’m sure my momma would disagree. She’d blame the moms for not washing the boys clothes right.”
Belle laughed. “Of course she would.” She waved her hand near her nose. “God bless, it’s bad.”
Clarissa Mooney walked over and stood next to Belle. “You’ll get used to it. Just stay away from their lacrosse bags. Goodness, those things stink to high heaven. Last year at the end of the season, you know what I did?” She nodded as if we knew, but she was going to tell us anyway. “Why, I just threw my Justin’s bag right into the trash at the end of the season, that’s what I did. Didn’t even open it to look and see what was in it.” She shook her head. “Uh uh. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want that stink in my house.”
“That’s disgusting,” Belle said.
“Honey, you have no idea. Be thankful you don’t have any kids yet. The smells will kill you. T
hat’s why I only had one you know. The smells. They killed my desire for another.”
When Clarissa Mooney got on a role, it was next to impossible to get her off, so, I changed the subject. “Is Carter Trammell here? I told him we’d stop by.”
She popped onto her tiptoes and searched the bleachers for Carter. “Oh, there he is.” She pointed to the front section near the boys wearing red and white jerseys. “Right over there.” She jumped up and down and waved while yelling, “Coach Carter, woohoo, Coach Carter!”
I caught a glimpse of Belle rolling her eyes and gave her my hush look–pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. She gave me an eye roll in return. “Don’t be salty,” I whispered.
She pointed to her chest, shook her head and said, “Who me? Never.”
We walked over to Carter as Clarissa waved to us and hollered, “Y’all have a nice night. See ya tomorrow at the high school, ‘k?”
“Sounds great,” I hollered back.
“Do you really know her all that well?” Belle asked.
“Nope. Just from Millie’s. How about you?”
“Same, but she’s always seemed pretty fake to me.”
“Ditto.”
“Is she even from the South?”
Carter smiled. “Hey, you made it,” He moved over, making room for us on the bleachers. I sat next to him, and Belle sat next to someone we didn’t know.
Carter explained the basics of the game as they happened, but I missed about half of his explanation because the guy next to Belle had a mouth on him, and he wouldn’t shut it. Belle did a mighty fine job of reigning in her desire to whack him, and I knew that because she reigned it in by releasing her frustrations by pounding the side of her knee into the side of mine every time he screamed.
The eleventh time, I grabbed hold of her knee and squeezed. Hard. “Stop it.”
She leaned into me and sort of whispered into my ear. “Well, have you heard this guy? I’m about ready to throttle him.”
“The entire state can hear him. Obviously, he’s very passionate about getting the ball to someone named Bobby.” I leaned toward Carter. “What’s up with the guy next to Belle?”
He pointed to the clock on the wall above the rink. “I’ll fill you in when the period is over.”
I yelled into Belle’s ear. “Hold off on throttling him for a few minutes, okay?”
“Fine.”
The buzzer went off and a pack of sweaty boys charged the large plastic wall blocking us from the rink. The box rink was actually an ice rink with a layer of flooring over it for when the lacrosse matches were played. Whoever thought of that was pretty darn smart in my book.
The loud man bounded up from the bleachers and all but attacked Michael Longley, the lacrosse coach for the winter season. “Bobby could have scored three of those goals if you’d make your players give him the ball. Stop showing favorites and do what’s best for the team.” He rambled on about the other players lack of skills and Bobby’s superiority over them all. “Tanner shouldn’t be X. You know you need someone that can be either left or right. I don’t care how much money his parents have, it ain’t right, and you know it.”
The coach mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear him over the bellow of the man’s voice.
“What’s X?” Belle asked.
I shrugged. “They don’t have that in football.”
“Isn’t Clarissa’s son Justin?”
“I think so, but I’m not exactly sure,” I said.
Carter stood, and Belle stepped in front of him before he had a chance to move out of ear shot of the loud man, as if that was even possible. “Who’s the loud mouth?”
I grumbled under my breath. “Belle.”
Carter laughed. Coming from Chicago, he was probably used to people saying what they thought, but I didn’t much like it. It wasn’t ladylike, and it was definitely bad for business. Loud mouth could end up a client one day, but it wouldn’t be likely with Belle calling him out in public like that. Then again, I’d just done it privately, and my mother would say that was just as bad.
“That’s Bobby Yancy.” He guided us away from the crowd and toward the refreshment line. “And Belle’s right, he is a loud mouth. His son is an excellent player, definitely the best on the team, but he’s not a team player, and judging from his father’s actions, it’s clear where he gets that.”
“Like father, like son,” Belle said.
“He’s going to be upset when he finds out his son won’t be starting next season, and might not play at all, too.”
“Really, why is that?” I ordered a drink and a bag of chips at the refreshment counter. “I mean not playing, not that he’ll be upset. That part is obvious.”
“Grades. It’s a requirement by the state athletic association that athletes aren’t allowed to participate in games without a certain grade point average, and the school can be suspended for not following it. Most coaches don’t adhere to it here, but it’s a standard practice where I’m from, and I intend to follow it. I don’t understand how they’ve gotten away with it for so long here, actually. Grades are more important than sports in my book, and I plan to drive that point home.”
Belle laughed. “Well, thank God you aren’t coaching football, because talk like that would get you six feet under in no time.”
“You haven’t met many lacrosse parents, have you?” he asked.
“Actually, after sitting next to Mr. Loud Mouth, I’m not sure I want to.”
“What’s an X, and when are you planning to tell him that?” I asked.
“An X is a position that plays behind the goal and can run back and forth to shoot. It’s a key position, and one that should be able to shoot both left and righthanded. Bobby Yancy, the player, not the dad, is the only one on the team that can play it, and he’s pretty darn good, too. Probably the best I’ve seen in a long time.
“I’m planning to tell him now, actually. It will give his son a chance to get his grades up. If they improve, then he can play, but once he’s suspended, he’ll only be allowed to attend workouts and practice. There are several rules the state association has that the high school doesn’t quite follow. They don’t break them, but they find loopholes to work their way around them. It’s not the way I work, and I won’t let things continue that way, either.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’ve already started the ball rolling on a few things, and I’m not the most popular guy in school right now, but it’ll all work out.”
I gave him a half smile, because that was all I could think to do. “You think so?”
He nodded. “The team has a winning record, and it’ll stay that way. People will change their minds. My coaching record is good, and I didn’t get it by being easy on the kids or by breaking rules. I wasn’t hired to be walked on, either. It’ll be interesting with this one though.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Yancy is the head janitor at the school.”
“Oh, that could be awkward.”
“That’s my point. I’m not really concerned for myself, but I don’t want any problems for the other players.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to let people walk on you,” Belle said.
“I’m not.”
We sat back in our seats as the buzzer buzzed for the last half of the game. Bobby’s father had several heated discussions with Coach Longley, and Carter finally had had enough. He pulled him aside to talk.
Clarissa scooted next to Belle. “Oh Bless his ever lovin’ heart. I sure hope you have an umbrella in that pretty Coach purse of yours, Annabelle Pyott, because I’d hate to see that to-die-for striped little sweater get covered in the manure of a man who just saw his hopes and dreams swirl down the drain without a plunger in sight.”
Clarissa tended to over-dramatize things, and Belle despised it when people used her full first name. Despised really wasn’t a strong enough word. Hated from the depth of her soul was more like it.
“Clarissa, I’m sure it’s not going to be th
at—”
A loud, guttural growl exploded from Bobby Yancy’s throat, and everyone in the rink turned and stared. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his face burned a bright red. He clutched his hands into fists and lunged at Carter, knocking over a full Styrofoam cup of something in the process. He swung his fists wildly at Carter’s stomach, but missed. He grunted and swung again, and Carter bent and dodged each swing. Regardless, Bobby Yancy continued trying to make contact. “I’m gonna kill you, Trammell, you hear me? I’m gonna kill you.”
No one tried to stop him; no one said a thing. We all just stood there watching like rubberneckers staring at a car wreck along the highway.
Carter blew out a long, frustrated breath and shook his head. His neck stiffened, his shoulders straightened, and his entire demeanor changed from casual to determined. He flung his forearm out in a stiff, swift, and strong move, and stopped Bobby’s punch mid-swing. The surprise move startled Bobby, and he stumbled forward into Carter. From the oohs and ahs of the gawkers, it shocked many of them, too.
Bobby roared, charged again toward his intended victim, and ducked his head into Carter’s chest, but Carter pushed him back, taking him off balance once again. Bobby toppled backwards and landed flat on his backside.
“You done now?” Carter asked. He wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. He bent over, extended his hand, and offered to help him up. “Come on Bobby, don’t be like this. Not in front of your son.”
Bobby Yancy shoved Carter’s hand away and pushed himself up on his own. Shaken and unsteady as he was, it was obvious he didn’t want us to see him that way. He thrust his chest out and kept his shoulders stiff. “You think you can come here and change everything? Tell us what to do? How to run our lacrosse program? You’ve got another thing comin’, Mr. Big Shot. That ain’t how it works here. You’ll be out before you know it, you just wait and see.” He grabbed his things off the bleachers and hollered to his son, “Come on Bobby, get your stuff, we’re going home.”
Signed, Sealed and Dead Page 2