“There! Now let me try it.” Scott applied the pliers, and the tack slid out. He grinned at her. “Triumph! Amazing what we can do when we work together.”
Shelby blinked, smiled, and held up the tweezers for a joking squeeze.
“After that, I need my sweet tea.” Scott stood, taking the unwelcome tension of awareness with him. “Can I get you something?”
Shelby sucked in a lungful of man-free air. “Uh, nope, I’ve got a water right over there, thanks.”
After he left, she made a wide-eyed grimace at the wall, gave her head a brisk shake, and returned her attention to a tack right against the thick baseboard. Shifting her weight, her knee bumped the trim piece, and it wobbled against the doorframe. Shelby slid her finger along the edge to determine the size of the crack. Yep, she probably should mention it to Scott. Then she froze, because something with a pointy edge contacted her skin. A piece of paper?
Picking up the tweezers, Shelby fished in the slight opening … and pulled out a faded Polaroid photograph.
Chapter Fourteen
On Friday, Scott startled Shelby with a sudden announcement from the doorway of the bungalow’s master bath. “The insulation guys are finished for today, and I’ve got to go.”
Shelby looked up from her sixth row of subway tile in the shower. “Why?” She glanced at her watch. Wasn’t it early for him to be cutting out? Did he have a hot date? She frowned at the notion. Not because she felt jealous, of course—but that he’d leave her toiling while he left to have fun.
“Lester called and said Ruby’s been working in the yard all day getting ready for their house showing tomorrow, and he wants to make her a good meal.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She didn’t pause to examine the relief that rushed through her.
“That’s looking great, Shelby.” Scott stepped into the opening behind her and reached down for the level.
She gave an indignant laugh. “Yeah, but you’ve still got to check me, don’t you? I just did that!”
He moved the level along the wall and whistled. “You sure did, girl. Man! I’ve found my new tile master.” When he held out his fist, she tapped hers against it. His eyes sparkled with admiration. “Who would’ve thought you’d love this?”
Pushing on his leg to get him to move, she dipped her trowel in her bucket of white, thin-set, polymer modified mortar. “I wouldn’t say I love it. I’d say once you got me started in here, and then left me by climbing up in the attic with those insulation guys, I had little choice. You know how unfinished projects annoy me.”
Scott grinned. “I was counting on it.” Then the grin vanished. “But honestly, I don’t want to trap you into anything. If you want to go, I can ask Todd to finish this.”
“No, I can do it. Todd’s got his hands full right now. It helps that these white tiles have built-in spacers.”
Scott unbuckled his tool belt. “Right. You’ve got your reference lines on the backer board. Just keep using the level every few rows so you don’t get a bow.”
Shelby narrowed her eyes. “I won’t mess it up, Scott.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.”
Turning back to the wall, Shelby asked, “So Lester won’t settle for takeout?”
“Apparently, only his mother’s recipe fried chicken will do.”
“Oh, that sounds heavenly.” Shelby had been so taken up with the tiling that she had only eaten half of her sandwich several hours ago. Amazing how hungry physical labor made a person. No wonder Chet used to eat like a bear every night.
“Why don’t you come out in a couple of hours? Uh, you got that?” Scott asked with an undertone of anxiety as Shelby spread mortar.
“I might be clunky and slow, but you can believe I’ll get it smooth. You wanted me to learn to do this stuff, right?”
“Yeah, but I really didn’t expect you to take to it. I thought I’d end up tiling it all myself.” Still hovering annoyingly close, Scott gave her a wink.
Pinching her face into a fake scowl, Shelby whipped around and brandished the goopy trowel in Scott’s direction. As he jumped clear of the shower, she cried, “Back, back, out of my domain!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Snatching his tool belt, Scott retreated into the bedroom as she chased him, then whirled and held up his index finger. “But you’ve got mortar on your face.”
She stopped and raised her free hand. “I do? Where?”
Scott grinned. “Right here.” Tweaking her nose, Scott displayed the evidence on his thumb.
“Oh, kind of makes me look less fierce, I bet.”
The way he smiled made Shelby feel around for other splotches.
“You’re good. But seriously, come out tonight. Lester doesn’t know how to cook for two.”
“Are you sure they’d be okay with it?”
“They’d be delighted.”
“All right, but text me if they have other plans.” Shelby turned back to work.
She didn’t want to give Scott the satisfaction of admitting it, but she did kind of enjoy laying tile. She wished her life possessed the predictable symmetry of the shiny rectangles. Placing them helped organize her thoughts, thoughts that had been whirring ever since she found the photograph of Sharon Barnes. The young woman pictured wore a little black dress. The center-part of her long tresses just reached shoulder-height of a handsome, dark-haired man. The man who abducted her? Her killer? Her lover? Or perhaps someone who had nothing at all to do with her disappearance.
Scott’s advice to content herself and take a life lesson from what she’d learned about the Barnes family fresh in her mind, Shelby had told no one about the Polaroid tucked in her purse. Not even Angelina.
But she had pored over the screen of her laptop, searching for old news clippings and even stalking social media for possible relatives of David and Charles. That proved difficult because, for obvious reasons, both men maintained a low profile. But as far as Shelby could tell, the man in the print wasn’t a younger Charles, and he didn’t resemble anyone Shelby could guess might be related.
In the car, she brushed her hair and applied makeup in the rearview mirror. She opened her sun roof to enjoy the cooling temperature on her drive and turned on the radio to a popular Christian station. Somehow in the midst of this project, while nature faded into winter, life stirred inside her.
A few minutes later, Shelby’s CRV bumped down a long, sandy driveway. Ruby waved from the front porch of a brick ranch. Dressed in a rayon blouse printed in autumn shades of rust and gold with coordinated slacks, she stood as Shelby parked. One would never guess the older lady had spent the day trimming hedges and putting out pine straw. Self-conscious of her casual work attire, Shelby brushed off her jeans as she got out of her car. Despite kneeling on a towel and making every effort to putty with care, some white flecks adorned her pants legs.
“I’m so glad you’ve come!” Ruby leaned down the steps to embrace her.
“I appreciate the invitation. You have a lovely place.”
“Yes, it’s going to be hard to part with it. Lots of good memories here. This is where I raised my boys, you know.” She smirked. “But I know you’re going to make that bungalow so snug I’ll feel at home the minute I walk through the door.”
Shelby laid a comforting hand on Ruby’s arm. “That’s the plan.”
“Speaking of walking through doors, I’ve been exiled to the front porch.
I’m sorry if Lester lured Scott away from important work and left you holding the bag. He can be very persistent when the urge to cook hits.”
“Oh, not at all. I’m enjoying work on the bungalow.”
“I’m so glad. Scott told us how you’ve rolled up your sleeves.” Ruby extended a hand toward the rockers with gingham cushions grouped by a small table. “Won’t you join me? We do have some lemonade and cookies to tide us over.”
“Thanks, I’d love a drink, and I’m glad we have this moment to speak alone.” Shelby’s legs sang in relief as she eased her weight off muscles tight from ho
urs of squatting, bending, and kneeling. “I’ve been wanting to ask if you have some photos of Lester’s coaching days and maybe even some old menus from the restaurant that I could frame for his new office.”
“My dear, that’s a wonderful idea.” Ruby set the pitcher down with an expressive clunk. “You see, that’s exactly why I hired you. I do have some things stashed away that I can slip you before you leave tonight.”
Shelby clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”
“And what’s more, your timing is perfect.” Ruby smiled and handed her a glass. “The new owners of the restaurant are refurbishing and having a little sale this weekend. You might want to check it out.”
“I will.”
After admiring Ruby’s roses and flowering crape myrtle, they sipped in silence for a minute, listening to the breeze, the chirp of field crickets, passing traffic, and the faint sound of the men’s voices from the kitchen. A tantalizing whiff of the fried chicken slithered past the Plexiglas door, making Shelby’s stomach rumble. But not wanting to ruin dinner, she resisted the store-bought chocolate chip cookies. Her mind returned to the Polaroid in her purse.
“There is something else, Miss Ruby.”
“What’s that, my dear?”
Shelby dug out the evidence and handed it to her client. “I found this stuck behind the baseboard in the back bedroom. From the best I can discern, that’s Sharon Barnes, probably in her thirties, but I don’t think that’s her husband.”
Ruby fingered the print, turning it in the light to get the most out of its golden seventies tones. “Their clothing suggests a holiday party. Well, it could be anybody, but the way this man’s arm is around her does make you wonder. However, it could be a relative.”
“I thought that, too, but there’s this light in her eye I hope I don’t get when I hug a cousin.”
“Oh dear. Maybe a long-lost brother?” Sighing, Ruby lowered the picture to her lap. “What have you done about this, Shelby?”
Shelby leaned back and rocked in her chair. Her legs ached in protest. “Nothing, but I can’t quit thinking if this is evidence Sharon Barnes had a significant other, it could be a clue to solving her missing person’s case.”
“I hadn’t thought about the fact that the police might have interest in it.”
“That file probably went to the cold case shelf decades ago. What do you think we should do, Ruby?”
Ruby handed the photo back with a frown. “For now, nothing. I’m glad you didn’t forge ahead, Shelby. Let’s ask the Lord to show us the next step. All right?”
With the sharing of the burden, a sense of peace enfolded Shelby. She nodded, sliding the picture back into the side pouch of her handbag. She’d just gotten it put away when the storm door flew open, and Lester stood there with a goofy grin. “My dear.” He bowed over his wife’s hand before glancing at Shelby. “Shelby. Dinner is served.”
Ruby stood up. “Well, that’s wonderful news, but you’d best take off my apron before we sit down at the table.”
Shelby burst out laughing.
“Right.” Without a touch of embarrassment, Lester looked down at the ruffles silhouetting his slim hips and tugged off the offending garment.
Pursing her lips, Ruby shook her head and snatched her apron, while Lester stole a kiss. The older couple’s romantic camaraderie made Shelby recall the antics her parents had once enjoyed … before her dad met Aubrey.
In the traditional dining room, Scott—thankfully, sans apron—placed a steaming basket of chicken onto an autumn-leaf tablecloth. As he smiled at her, Shelby noticed he’d lost the hat, brushed back his hair, and donned a collared cotton shirt over his colored T-shirt. Shelby wished again that she’d had time to run home to change.
After saying a prayer, Lester passed the food with the zest of a young boy. “Scott’s strong arms made mashing all those potatoes really fast. And Shelby, these are my mother’s secret recipes for fried chicken and biscuits.”
Shelby glanced up from serving herself some of the potatoes Scott handed her. “It looks wonderful.”
“I can’t wait.” Ruby selected a large chicken breast before passing the basket to Shelby.
“Yes, my love, it’s been far too long. I don’t know what I’ll do after our house is ready. I’ll have to find someone new to finagle into the kitchen.” Lester winked at Scott, making one scruffy eyebrow descend like a small, nesting bird.
Scott smiled as he unwrapped the basket of fluffy biscuits. “Our friendship doesn’t have to end with the house renovation.”
Shelby was starting to feel similarly about the Wentworths. She filled her plate with a chicken breast, a biscuit, creamed corn, square-cut pole beans, and mashed potatoes. As hungry as she was, she had to force herself to slow down and savor the bacon-y sweetness of the beans and the rich buttermilk tang of the chicken crust.
“It doesn’t seem like Scott messed anything up too much,” Shelby said. “Not at all. He’s a natural.” Lester grinned at the young man with grandfatherly approval.
The Wentworths laughed, and Scott pretended to toss his biscuit at her.
Ruby shook her head as she broke open her own bread. “You know, the only thing I can think of to compete with Mama W’s biscuits are those the open hearth cook makes at Colonial Days.”
Shelby asked, “What’s that?”
“The North Augusta Living History Park just across the river in South Carolina has a first person weekend every mid-October. Lester and I always look forward to going.”
Scott paused in scooping green beans onto his fork, glancing up. “I know the cabinet maker at the new wood shop there.”
“Really?” Ruby raised her eyebrows, then clasped her hands as an idea came to her. “We should all go this year.”
As Lester and Scott voiced their enthusiasm, Shelby smiled. She cast her gaze downward and tried to sound as humble as possible as she declined. “Thanks, but I don’t really get why people would want to dress up as someone they’re not. Like kids playing pretend. It’s just … awkward. I guess history’s not my thing.”
“Exactly why you should go,” Scott said. “Even though Colonial is a different period, it would give you a feel for the rustic simplicity the Wentworths enjoy.”
“Oh, think about it, Shelby.” Ruby’s sweet face and pleading tone made it almost impossible to keep up a solid defense.
“Why am I the only one always trying new things?” Shelby fixed Scott with a challenging stare. “I seem to remember a promise to learn some decorating tips.”
“You’re not decorating yet.”
“No, but I’m going antique shopping next Saturday. If you’ll come along, I’ll consider this Colonial thing.” Cupping her mouth in a theatrical aside to Ruby, she whispered loudly, “I really just need someone strong to tote the heavy things I buy.”
Ruby laughed in delight. “Scott, I think she’s got you there. And may I suggest that your outing include Culpepper’s on James Brown Boulevard and Broad? Their reclaimed wooden accent pieces are right up my alley.” Patting her lips with her napkin, Ruby directed a wink at Scott.
Why did Ruby look so smug and Scott so blank, almost as if he didn’t want to go? Wasn’t he the one normally defending their client’s preferences?
Uncomfortable over Scott’s lack of response, Shelby spoke up. “As crazy as you and your dad are about old wood, you should love it, Scott. Even though we didn’t need their style for past renovations, Culpepper’s has a great reputation. I met Linda Culpepper once or twice at chamber events. A very nice lady. And the store is right down the street from my favorite antique mall.”
“Culpepper’s it is, then.” Ruby tossed up her hands, her cream-colored napkin waving like a sign of happy surrender. “I’ll let you two arrange the details, but I’m so glad to see you working together to create the home of our dreams.” Patting her napkin back onto her lap with a quiet smile, she picked up her fork and addressed her homage to Lester’s mashed potatoes.
Chapter Fifteen
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Shelby didn’t have to wait for Colonial Days to step outside her comfort zone. By the time she left their home, the Wentworths talked her into attending Cornerstone Church with them that weekend. Angelina expressed interest in trying out a campus church. Lin and Casey offered her a ride, as they often did for events when the campus bus wasn’t running, leaving Shelby no excuse. Besides, she didn’t want to use her younger sister as a crutch for her own comfort. So on Sunday, decked out in one of her best, deep-pink suits and the “real” jewelry Chet always liked, Shelby admired beautiful wooden beams overhead, organ pipes behind a raised platform with a choir loft, and a bunch of people who appeared to have their lives perfectly in order.
When a small worship band plugged in on stage, and the congregation started singing with enthusiasm, Shelby relaxed. The people seemed much more engaged than at her old church. The place exuded a warmth and sincerity that continued into the pastor’s energetic message. Shelby hung on every word of his Ephesians 2:10-based sermon about finding God’s purpose for your life.
After the benediction, Ruby turned to her. “I understand if you’re ready to head home, but we’d love for you to try Sunday school. We can help you connect with people your own age, or you can visit in our class.”
A lady Ruby’s age who had met Shelby before the service leaned up and tapped Shelby’s shoulder. “You need to come with us. Granted, we’re all old enough to be your grandmas, but we have a lively discussion every week. They’d love all over you in there.”
“It’s true.” Ruby confirmed her friend’s statement with a smirk.
“And you can be guaranteed you won’t be the only widow. In fact, a lot of us are in a grief support class. It’s a revolving, open-door group that meets on Thursday nights.”
Thinking that would have been helpful six or eight months ago, Shelby admitted the idea still piqued her interest. “And I’d love to come to your Sunday school today.”
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