Engagement and Espionage: Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries Series Book #1

by Reid, Penny

JT’s voice boomed over the crowd’s extended and astonished chatter, "One hundred going once."

  “Let me go.”

  "Momma, Cletus is right.” I placed myself in front of her. “Where would we put them?"

  "One hundred and ten!" she shouted, glaring at me, and in my side vision I saw Cletus close his eyes and shake his head.

  "One hundred and ten from, uh, who is that? Oh! Goodness. Mrs.—uh, I mean, Ms. Donner. Where is your paddle so we can get the number?”

  Cletus released her wrist, still shaking his head. "Ms. Donner, I'm trying to save you from your vengeful impulses."

  "I don't need saving," she shot back, even her words were like a fiery bullet, and she lifted her paddle.

  "One ten going once."

  "One hundred and fifty,” my father’s smooth voice chimed, lifting his number above his head for all to see.

  Another shocked murmur peppered the crowd at my father's latest bid. Horrified, I watched as my mother squared her shoulders and lifted her paddle once again.

  "Diane.” Cletus’s voice turned as beseeching as I’d ever heard it. “Don’t."

  She ignored him, angling her chin. "Two hundred thousand."

  “You are being played,” Cletus whispered harshly, like his temper was fracturing. "Why do you think they changed the listing? They saw you coming. Kip Sylvester doesn't want those cows. He and Miller are working together. They just want your money."

  The certainty behind my mother's eyes cracked, and yet she pasted on a self-assured grin. "I know what I'm doing." But this time, she didn't sound so sure.

  Unable to help myself, I looked at Farmer Miller, and then at my father. They both seemed to be trying their hardest to disguise elation and self-satisfaction. And that made me sad. I'd always liked Farmer Miller.

  "Two hundred going once. Two hundred going twice. Sold! Two hundred thousand to Diane Sy—uh Donner, paddle number fifty-two."

  Folks offered sparse applause and my mother looked triumphant. But the problem was, so did my father, laughing behind his hand and shaking his head. Elena’s features remained stoic, but the older woman behind her was also grinning, meanly. It was clear to anyone really looking who had actually won.

  "Okay. Well. Dear me. That was exciting. Moving on, let's keep this rolling." JT wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief like he was sweating, meanwhile it was thirty-nine degrees outside, and I could barely feel my nose. “We have Lily, a two-year-old pygmy goat with papers. We'll start the bidding at, let's say, fifty?”

  "Fifty thousand?" Someone hollered from the audience. "Or can us regular folks bid this time?"

  JT pointed his gavel at the old man. "Now don't get your britches in a twist, Blount."

  My mother turned on her heel and sauntered out of the throng, head held high, big smile on her face. She marched toward the reception table, looking cool and collected. Cletus and I followed at a distance.

  "This is nuts,” I lamented, near tears.

  "At least you'll have some milk to drink with those nuts."

  “Don’t you make jokes. You encouraged her!”

  He looked at me like I was also nuts. “Initially, yes, I encouraged her. When the price was reasonable, yes.”

  “Why?” I stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

  “I told you in the car, I wanted one of those cows.”

  “You were serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I stared at him, nonplussed. “Well, wish granted. You can have your pick for ten thousand dollars.”

  “Jenn.” He caught my hand as I began to turn. “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want your mother to look a fool,” he said solemnly. “I would never do anything to contribute to her unhappiness.”

  Lifting to my tiptoes, I pressed a quick kiss against his gorgeous lips. “Yes. I know that now, but—”

  “Because I know it would mean your unhappiness.” His hand squeezed mine.

  I pulled my fingers from his and folded my arms. “But if making her look a fool contributed to my happiness? What would you do then?”

  Mimicking my stance, a small, exceptionally unrepentant smile claimed his mouth, but he said nothing.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I’m consistent.”

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Indulge me?”

  Darn him, but that made me laugh. Yet even though he was clever and funny, my laugh was tired, worried, distracted, and quickly waned. My shoulders slumped. I was absolutely exhausted, and I still had a whole evening of baking in front of me. Sunday’s special orders wouldn’t make themselves, not without elves and magic.

  “Cletus. What am I going to do about those cows?”

  His calculating gaze moved beyond me to where my mother was settling her debt. "Let me see what I can do. She won't be able to make her money back, but I can see if the Hills are willing to buy one, maybe Blount, a few others."

  "Thank you.”

  “But Jenn, you didn’t buy them. Don’t waste time and energy fretting about this. They are not your responsibility.”

  “That doesn’t matter, and you know it.”

  “It does matter. Let the woman accept the ramifications of her cloudy judgment and poor decisions. You are not responsible for housing, feeding, and the general care and welfare of twenty heifers.”

  “You said you were going to buy one. Therefore, that leaves nineteen.” I lifted my eyebrows meaningfully.

  “No. That still leaves twenty.” He looked pointedly at my mother.

  I caught his meaning immediately and just barely curbed the urge to smack him in the arm, lowering my voice to a whisper, “You are not nice. Do not call her a heifer. And if it had been your brother Billy who’d done such a thing? Acting out in hurt and anger? What would you be saying then? Would you be helping? Or could you leave him to deal with the consequences of his actions all by himself? Watching him suffer?”

  “Ask me in another four years. He has until January 2021 to make things right.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Shh. She’s coming back. Act normal.”

  I turned just as my mother came to a stop in front of us, her head still held high. “Well now, that’s all settled. I have until the end of the week to pick them up, and that suits me just fine. And Darla, such a lovely lady, said they'd send over the raw milk in the morning, every morning, until we pick them up.”

  Twenty cows worth of raw milk every morning for a week? Where the heck are we going to put it?

  My mother turned to Cletus and gave him a tight smile. "I appreciate what you were trying to do back there, but I'll thank you never to meddle in my affairs again, Cletus Winston."

  Cletus gave my mother a solemn nod. "You have my solemn promise that you shall never hear of another incidence of meddling, by me, on your account.”

  "Thank you." She stuck out her hand for a shake, which he accepted.

  I didn't point out to my mother that Cletus hadn't agreed to her demand, merely that she would never hear (that is, find out) about his meddling. With Cletus, words mattered. He said exactly what he meant. But folks had to be keen to listen if they wished to understand his meaning. My mother had never excelled at listening.

  “Jennifer dear, where are we with the orders for tomorrow?”

  “Oh. Let me see—”

  “You have special orders for tomorrow?” Cletus’s tone was carefully conversational, and the carefulness snagged my attention. I could tell he was disappointed about something because his eyes seemed to have gone from twinkly to dim in the span of two seconds.

  "Yes. I do have special orders to bake for tomorrow. A cake and tea reception, and a few baby showers, three w—wedding showers," I stumbled over the word wedding, seeing as how Cletus's entire person seemed to stiffen at the word. “Not too many, actually.”

  “If Jenn rides back with me right now, she won’t need to stay up all night baking. She needs her rest.�
� My momma gave me a maternal smile, adding, “I’m glad you were here. You gave me strength.”

  I smiled wanly at my mother, distracted by Cletus’s continued watchfulness and the increasingly detached quality to his posture. He bit his bottom lip, pulling it through his teeth, giving none of his thoughts away.

  But he did say, “I guess you better go then.”

  Ignoring my momma’s earlier offer, I shuffled a half step toward him. “Do you want to drive me?”

  “I think I’ll stay here and see what might be worth an acquisition.” He shook his head, and his eyes were so shuttered and dark, my heart ached. “I’ll also speak with Blount, Hill, and the others about—uh, that thing we discussed.”

  Oh. That makes sense. He was staying as a favor to me, to check with local farmers about buying my mother’s ill-got heifers.

  “It’s settled then. Cletus,” Momma said curtly, “Nice to see you. Jennifer—” she pulled her keys out of her coat “—I’ll meet you at the car. I’m parked right at the front.”

  I grabbed Cletus’s arm as soon as my mother was out of earshot. "What about tomorrow? Can you come over for dinner tomorrow?"

  He inspected me closely, seeming wary. "Will you have time?”

  “I’m not doing the bakery case tomorrow, just the special orders. I’ll have plenty of time.”

  Cletus Winston had lit a fire in me last fall. I ached for him, his smile, his conversation, his touch, his presence in a way that I’d never suspected existed between two people. Did he really have no idea how much I wanted to be with him? How I longed for him every night and every day?

  His inspection continued. “Why don’t you take the day for yourself, get some rest.” His words were measured, like he was trying to read my mind and give me the right answer to some unspoken request.

  “Cletus.” I moved into his personal space and tried to project the intensity of my desperation by using my expression and tone of voice. I didn’t want to say the words, I feel frustrated and needy, and therefore you will come over, put your hands on my body and attend to my needs.

  Instead, I said firmly, “Come. Over.”

  Apparently, he read me loud and clear then because his features immediately brightened. “Will you be up for that?”

  "Yes. I'll take a nap if I need to. I'll be all rested up. I pro—"

  "Don't promise. Please." Cletus covered my hand with his, dropping his gaze to where we touched, his eyebrows pulling together.

  Ugh. That made me sad. But, all things considered, his request was fair. "Okay. I won't. I’ll just say, I really, really hope you come over.”

  "I will be there." Like before, he lifted my fingers and placed a kiss on the back of my hand. “I’ll bring a bottle of that Italian wine Duane and Jess sent us.”

  "Great.” I jumped up, wrapping my arms around his neck, and pressed several quick kisses to his mouth. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow," I said between kisses, and then quickly skipped away so I wouldn’t be tempted to stay and . . . not talk.

  This was good. This was progress. What a day!

  Yes, my mother had purchased twenty cows she didn’t need (or want). But on the bright side, at least we’d have all the milk we ever needed, plus butter, plus cream. Our dairy cup runneth over, and runneth-over-ing was better than a big cup of empty.

  I jogged to my mother’s car, my step light for the first time in ages, my head full of grand plans. First, I would make the special orders, then I’d go to sleep before sunrise, then I’d see what I had in the kitchen for fixing dinner. Then Cletus would come over, and then—

  “Hey baby, do you mind driving?” My mother was standing on the driver’s side with the door open, her hand lifted like a salute, shielding the sun from her eyes. “I have a little headache.”

  “No problem.” I skipped to her side as she walked around the car. She’d left the proximity key in the cupholder. Once I was situated—seatbelt on, rearview mirror adjusted, side mirrors checked—I started the car.

  “Such a pretty view here,” she said, buckling her seatbelt. “Not as nice as the view from the lodge, but still pretty.”

  I snuck a glance at her because her voice cracked on the words view, lodge, and pretty.

  “You okay, Momma?”

  She nodded, her smile huge and clearly forced. “Just fine.”

  Oh no.

  I braced myself, and this was wise.

  Not two seconds later, her features crumpled like a piece of paper, her head fell to her hands, and she sobbed, "What have I done?”

  Chapter Ten

  “The difference between an admirer and a follower still remains, no matter where you are. The admirer never makes any true sacrifices. He always plays it safe.”

  —Søren Kierkegaard, Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard

  *Cletus*

  The door to my bedroom opened Sunday afternoon while I was getting dressed for Jenn’s, my brother Beau poking his head in the doorway.

  I scowled.

  “Hey, Cletus. Listen, I need—uh . . .” Beau paused, looking me over as though gauging my temperament.

  Allowing the inspection, I gave him my back. “Beau, you will kindly learn to knock.”

  I heard no footsteps bringing him further into the room, he must’ve remained loitering by the door. “What are you doing?”

  “Putting clothes on my person.” I didn’t spare another glance for my brother, nor did I ask him what he wanted. I don’t make a habit of asking folks questions when they’re obviously willing to volunteer the information without any prompting on my part, as was my way, an efficient habit I’d learned from watching my brother Billy.

  But this time, I also didn’t ask because Beau and I were still in a fight. About him. Sleeping in my bed. With Jenn. While she’d been improperly attired for anyone but me.

  He responded to the unveiled displeasure in my tone with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re still mad about yesterday?”

  “I don’t get mad.”

  “You just get even, right?”

  “No.” Getting even was a waste of time. Why would I get even when I could get the advantage?

  “What are you going to do this time?” Now I heard footfalls carrying him into the room. “Replace all my shoes again with exact replicas, two sizes too small?”

  I said nothing, allowing silence to hang between us like a noose. As the quiet stretched, I heard him swallow, loudly. A worry-swallow. Good. More silence.

  “It’s not fair for you to be angry with me about something I had no control over in the first place.” He walked even further into the room as he said this, coming to stand about four feet from my side. “Especially since the reason I was up the entire night was ’cause I was helping Mr. Badcock pluck those chickens because you asked.”

  Hmm. Well. He had a point there.

  “And you said I could sleep in your room. I specifically asked for permission, which you gave. And—”

  “Fine. Fine. I won’t do anything.” But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t ask someone else to do something.

  He released a long breath that sounded relieved. “Good. I have a favor to ask.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at this. “No.”

  “You don’t know what it is.”

  “No.”

  “I just helped you with all those chickens.”

  “You helped Mr. Badcock with his chickens, not me. We were all helping the poor man because it’s what the good Lord—and our momma, rest her soul—would want us to do.” I stood, picked up the tie on my dresser, and held it up to my neck.

  “You are—” he cut himself off, his jaw clenched tight, and he shook his head. But despite his invented frustration, he was also smiling.

  “What do you think?” I asked, turning to the side. “Should I wear a tie?”

  “Unless it’s a funeral or a business meeting, no tie. What if I told you the favor was for Shelly?”

  Oh! “Then yes.” I returned the tie to my dresser next to the five
open ring boxes I’d removed from the top drawer, giving them each another quick assessment. I’d bought them all during December—engagement rings, for Jenn—but I still had no idea which one was the right one.

  Meanwhile, in my peripheral vision I saw Beau’s mouth fall open. “You’ll do a favor for Shelly but not for me?”

  “I’ve been doing favors for you my whole life, Beau. I’m tired of doing you favors.”

  His hands came to his waist, most of his earlier smiling diminished into a plain old scowl. “Fine. Here’s the deal, I want to take her away for a weekend. But one of us is always working unless it’s a Sunday or a holiday. Can we get a temporary mechanic? Someone who can take a shift or two? So Shelly and I can be off at the same time?”

  Scratching my beard, I weighed our options. Fact was, I didn’t know any mechanics in the Valley who weren’t also working with or for the Iron Wraiths. Joel Barnes, for example, was a great mechanic. But he’d been roped into motorcycle club “business” since his shop began to suffer a few years past.

  Plus, finding a part-time mechanic would be a good idea in the long run, freeing up my time for other pursuits. Should Jenn ever have any time off from the bakery . . . I wasn’t going to hold my breath, but I’d continue to hold out hope.

  “Let me see what I can do.” Scrutinizing my reflection, I endeavored to press a length of disobedient curls to the left of my cowlick into some semblance of order.

  “Thank you,” he said, his tone more than a little sardonic, and he paired this unmannerly show of mock gratitude with a curt bow. “I am in your debt.”

  “No. Shelly is in my debt. As you said, I’m doing this as a favor to her.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I glanced at my brother.

  He frowned. “Right. You’re always serious.”

  “And I have a favor in mind. Please have her people call my people.” Bringing my attention back to the assemblage of superior, sparkly engagement rings, ridiculing me from their velvet boxes, I also frowned.

  Which one is the right one?

  “Your people? Who are your people?”