by Becki Willis
“A business deal in the area. They say they like it here because of the oversized rooms.”
“Ours is certainly huge, even without the loft.”
“There’s room enough up there for a party, you know,” her grandmother said, slipping her a sly look. “I could make a call. Find us an entertainer for this evening. Something to make Genny’s bachelorette party a little more memorable.”
“No male stripper, Granny. I already told you that.”
“What about a scantily dressed male dancer?”
“No.”
Granny Bert turned her head away with a sniff. “I hope Brash realizes he’s marrying an uptight fuddy-duddy.”
“I heard that.”
“So, what do you have planned?”
“I thought we’d go out for a nice dinner. Maybe a movie.”
“You really know how to paint the town red, don’t you?” her grandmother muttered. “A weak, sickly pink, at best.”
“Fine. We’ll let Genny decide. And look, there she comes right now.” She waved to draw her friend’s attention. “Uh-oh. She looks exhausted.”
“It’s hard work, standing around eating all day. The poor child. Think of all the crème brulee, crepes, and chocolate ganache she had to endure.”
Madison elbowed her grandmother into submission as Genny approached, her blond hair in disarray.
“Rough day, my friend?” she smiled sympathetically.
“Something like that. You know how difficult celebrities can be.”
“You should’ve served it right back to them!” Granny Bert huffed. “You’re a celebrity in your own right. Even before you opened your own restaurant in Naomi and starred on Home Again, you were a well-known pastry chef. That’s why you’re the one judging them. Don’t let ‘em try to one up you, girl.”
“Thanks, Granny Bert,” Genny said with a tired smile. Blood kin or not, Granny Bert always stood up for her, just as she did for the rest of her clan. Despite her mild insults and gruff ways, the older woman was a natural-born mama bear when it came to family.
“If you’re too tired to go out tonight, Genny, we could have something delivered,” Madison offered.
“Give me thirty minutes to unwind and freshen up, and I’m good. Just don’t be offended when I decline dessert.”
“You didn’t happen to bring us back samples, did you?” Granny Bert asked hopefully.
“Better than that,” Genny said, the twinkle reviving in her blue eyes. “Tomorrow, we’re filming here at the hotel, so you can sample them fresh from the oven!”
Chapter 11
“Here you go, Derron. My very first official report as an In a Pinch employee.” The teenager dropped a neatly typed sheet of paper onto his desk, her blue eyes twinkling. Bethani often claimed to inherit her blond hair and blue eyes from her ‘aunt’ Genny, when in fact she owed that particular gene to her late father.
“Good job, girlfriend!” Derron looked over the information, clearly impressed with its thoroughness. “That was fast. You even included links, I see.”
“We’re now friends on her favorite social media sites, SnapChat and TeenMix.”
“Never heard of that one.”
“You’re not a teen,” she reminded him sweetly.
“You hurt me, girlfriend.”
Bethani was unaffected by his pretty pout. “Ask me about your newest mark.”
“She’s not a mark. And where did you get this lingo, anyway?”
“PI 101.” She grinned. “You’re spying on this girl, aren’t you?”
“I am not,” Derron denied with righteous indignation. He tossed his stylish blond head and demurely added, “You’re doing it for me.”
Eager to show off her investigative skills, Bethani skipped the banter. “So, go ahead, ask me about her.”
“Where does she hang out?”
“DQ parking lot, somewhere called Bookerman’s Bridge, and TeenMix chat rooms.”
“Favorite color?”
“Purple and black.”
“Music?”
“Texas Music.”
He looked up in surprise. “That’s a thing?”
Bethani stared at him, dumbfounded. “Seriously? You call yourself a Texan and you don’t know what Texas Music is?”
“I’m a blues kind of guy, myself.”
“I suppose you’ve heard of Willie and Waylon, Steve Earl, Eli Young Band, Ben Morris and The Great American Boxcar Chorus, Aaron Watson, Lyle Lovett, just to name a few?”
“Yeah, yeah. Luckenbach and Gruene Hall. I get it.” He waved it away with an air of disinterest. “Friends?”
Bethani squirmed as she twisted a lock of her long, blond hair. “That’s the thing. I get the feeling this girl doesn’t have very many friends. To tell you the truth, I feel kind of sorry for her.”
“Home life?”
“Non-existent, according to her. Her dad’s always at work. Mom died a couple of years ago.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “I get it, you know? Losing your father is hard enough. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your mom at that age.”
His own eyes turned misty. “It’s not easy at any age.” Even though Derron had often referred to his own mother as the Dragon Lady, it didn’t make her death any easier. He cleared his throat and continued drilling her, even though most of the information she provided was on the paper. “Boyfriend?”
“She wishes. She has her eye on a loser named Frankie. No idea what she sees in him. Nappy hair, baggy jeans, scruffy little beard. Looks sort of like Shaggy on Scooby Doo, you know?”
Derron made a horrific face. “So not my type.”
“Mine either, my friend,” Bethani agreed.
Until recently, she went for the same sort of guys Derron did, only younger. Short hair, button-down shirts, polished shoes, and polished smiles. The preppy type, the kind found in her upscale Dallas neighborhood. Moving to The Sisters had been a bit of a culture shock for the then-fifteen-year-old. In the early days of their arrival, she made fun of the local boys, mistaking them for hicks, but it hadn’t taken long to fall for their laidback charm and polite country manners. She now preferred faded jeans to pressed khakis, scuffed cowboys boots to polished loafers, and pearl snap shirts to button-downs. Her date to prom was none other than Drew Baines, the president of the Future Farmers of America. Bethani knew if her friends in Dallas saw her with Drew, they would call her crazy.
Her friends here, however, called her the luckiest girl at Sisters High.
“Good work, Bethani. I’ll put this in the file and show your mom how helpful you can be.”
“Do you think she’ll hire me?” the teen asked, her voice filled with hope.
“You mean, like pay you a salary?”
“That was the plan.”
He considered himself lucky when Maddy was able to pay him, but he wisely held his tongue. “I can’t really speak for your mom, but I’ll stand by my offer. Help me with this case, and I’ll take you shopping for your prom dress. I know all the best designers and how to get a one of a kind dress at off the rack prices.”
The teen’s shoulders sagged. “But unless I get a job and have money of my own to pitch in, the only rack my mom can afford will be at Target.”
Which was exactly why Maddy wouldn’t hire her own daughter, a fact Derron didn’t point out. “You’re forgetting that I am a master negotiator, and that people can seldom resist my charm.” He struck a pretty pose and batted his blue eyes. “Leave this to me, girlfriend. I won’t let you down.”
“Good. Because I have an idea about how to meet Tasha.”
“I’m listening.”
She hesitated for only a moment. “I’ll need to borrow your car.”
Chapter 12
Dinner at Royal Taj was not only delicious, but educational. The owner personally made recommendations on which dishes to order and how to best enjoy the cultural experience. By the time the final glass of wine was poured, Granny Bert had a new favorite cuisine.
“I bet th
is would be even better with a little of my homemade salsa on it. Throw in a pot of red beans and cornbread, and you’d have a real feast.”
“This isn’t a red beans and cornbread kind of meal, Granny.”
“What’s wrong with red beans and cornbread? Use a little fatback for seasoning, and it’s hard to beat a good pot of pinto beans. This naan is good, but there’s nothing like cornbread to go with beans. Many a night, that’s all we had for supper.”
Knowing the subject would soon turn to walking five miles to school each day—through the snow, no less—and doing chores before dawn, Madison gently turned the topic toward Genny’s upcoming wedding.
Midway through the conversation, Madison had the uneasy sensation of being watched. She subtly turned her head, pretending to work a crick from her neck. She didn’t see anyone, but the feeling persisted. She asked Genny about the flowers for the ceremony as she shifted in her seat and peered deeper into the restaurant. She didn’t see anyone returning her gaze.
“Are you okay, girl?” Granny Bert finally asked. “You act like you have ants in your pants.”
“I think I’ll find the little girl’s room.”
“It’s right around the corner,” her grandmother supplied.
“I’ll be right back.”
She spotted him on the way back to the table. He sat in the far corner of the restaurant, at a small table near the front. Ready to dash out the door, no doubt. The man from the airplane looked no more relaxed now than he did then. His eyes met hers for the briefest of moments, before he looked hastily away. Not before she felt their heated intensity.
“You look pale,” Genny noted when she returned to the table. “This spicy food hasn’t upset your stomach, has it?”
“It’s not that. Granny, remember yesterday when you thought someone was following us?”
“You mean when I said, ‘don’t look now,’ so you craned your neck around like a nosy giraffe?”
Madison made a face. “So, here’s your chance to show me how it’s done. Don’t look now, but I think our friend is following us again.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Where is he?” To her credit, the older woman didn’t as much as cut her eyes.
“Small table against the front wall. Near the door.”
“I know Genny doesn’t want dessert,” Granny Bert abruptly changed the subject, “but the owner said they had a fabulous rice pudding here. I think I’ll have some.”
For a moment, Madison thought her grandmother had lost her mind. Here she was babbling about dessert, instead of worrying about the potential danger of a stalker. When Granny Bert tossed her hand into the air and looked around for their waiter, Madison understood.
“Yoo-hoo,” her grandmother called.
Dozens of diners looked up from their meal, including the lone man at the table near the door. Shattering the quiet murmur of the upscale eatery, Granny Bert continued, “Yoo-hoo, maître d. Hello. Can we get some dessert over here?”
Madison wanted to sink beneath the white tablecloth, but her grandmother’s antics worked, yet again.
“Yep, that’s the guy,” Granny Bert chirped to her companions. “Same bulb nose and beady eyes.”
“That’s why that description sounded so familiar,” Madison realized. “I saw that man on the plane. He wasn’t at all happy about the delay we caused.”
“He doesn’t look too happy right now, either,” Genny said. She was the only one with a direct line of sight to his table. “Why would he be following you, though?”
“He was seated near the bin where the attendant put my bag,” Madison recalled.
“So, do you think he’s the one who took your suitcase, and you have his?”
A flash of hope soared within her chest. It crashed just as quickly. “Maybe. But why wouldn’t he approach me, instead of just following us around? He deliberately avoided my eyes just now.”
“And he’s leaving,” her friend reported.
“Leaving?”
“Yep. Didn’t even wait for the ticket. Just threw a wad of bills onto the table and is walking out right now.”
“I don’t like this,” Madison admitted. “Something doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he’s embarrassed.” Genny rolled her hands as she talked out a scenario. “He took the wrong luggage, now he’s shy about approaching an attractive woman. He’s afraid of looking foolish. He knows you have the suitcase with his dirty underwear, he—”
“You can stop right there. First, there isn’t a shy bone in this man’s body. He has that take-charge attitude about him. Second, there weren’t any dirty underwear. In fact, there weren’t any clothes at all, just a bunch of junk. It looked like the bottom of someone’s work locker.” She shared with them her theory of someone’s last day on the job.
“That’s it, then. He lost his job and he’s in a fowl and antsy mood. Now he has to go home and tell his wife why he has some other woman’s unmentionables and how he lost not only his job, but his personal effects.”
Madison rolled the theory around in her head before promptly discarding it.
“Nah, I didn’t believe it, either,” Genny admitted. “But there has to be an explanation.”
“There is,” Granny Bert said in her matter of fact manner. “He was doctoring the books, and you have his second ledger. He didn’t report it to lost baggage because it could get him in trouble.”
She hated to admit it, but her grandmother had a point. “Actually, that makes sense.”
“If he knows you found the ledger, it could put you in a dangerous spot,” Genny reasoned. “So how do you approach him with a switch, without letting him know you saw it?”
“I could say I recognize him from the plane and act like I’m terribly embarrassed, but does he happen to have my bag? I have someone else’s bag full of folders. I don’t have to mention the ledger or the light or the—” she stopped mid-sentence as another realization hit her “—pens.” She twisted toward her grandmother. “Granny Bert, how much do you know about your poker pals back at the hotel?”
She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Not much. They’re from Chicago and are in town to close a business deal. Maury is a widower and lives across the street from his daughter, who was a big fan of Home Again. She’s the one he wanted the autograph for. Barton is divorced and doesn’t have any kids. I’m not sure if that’s his first name or his last, but he sure knows how to deal cards. Back in the day, he was a dealer in Atlantic City. He has a tiny hint of an accent, too, but I can’t quite place it… And he has a thing for that Jamaican music. You know, the kind that makes you want to get up and dance.”
“Calypso music?” Genny guessed.
“Yeah, that’s it. He kept on about it, asking me if I liked it and watching me real close to see my answer. Oh, and he’s allergic to latex. The kind they use in personal protection.”
Madison’s mouth fell agape. “Really?” Sometimes, her grandmother was unbelievable. “How did you… oh, never mind. I don’t even want to know. But did you happen to notice the pen he had in his pocket, the one he gave me to sign the autograph?”
“Yeah, he kept fiddling with it. It was one of his tells. Every time he bluffed, he’d click the top of it.”
“Did you notice how it was a vibrant shade of orange? And quite expensive?”
“I didn’t exactly see a price tag hanging from it like on old Minnie Pearl’s hat, if that’s what you mean.”
“It was hand carved from wood, and the metal was gold plated. That translates to pricey.”
“Which is why I buy those stick pens from the dollar store. When they run out of ink, you just toss them away.”
Genny tried to speed the conversation along. “Why do you ask, Maddy?”
“Because I saw those same type of pens, or at least their wooden cases, inside that rolling bag. Both men having an expensive pen like that, in that color, can’t be a coincident.”
“Unless that’s the company Maury and Barton are closing the d
eal with. Did you ever think of that?” her grandmother asked smartly.
“Actually, no. I didn’t.”
The waiter appeared at their table. “Your rice pudding, Madame.”
“Could you wrap that up to go?” Granny Bert asked with a wave of her hand. “Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”
Maintaining his composure, the waiter forced a tight smile. “Certainly, Madame. As you wish.”
Genny looked worried. “What if that guy is outside waiting on us? What do we say if he approaches us?”
“Don’t worry,” Granny Bert said. “I got this.”
Maddy was almost afraid to ask. “What now?”
“Leave it to your old granny. I’ll see that we get to our car safely. It’ll be up to you to see that we get back to the hotel.”
The waiter returned with her takeout bag and the bill. After leaving him a generous tip, Granny Bert led the way to the front, where she asked to speak to the owner. Despite having made quite the scene earlier, the sly older woman was nothing but charming as she profusely complimented the man for the fine meal and the wonderful introduction to his native cuisine. They chatted for several minutes and to Madison’s surprise, it was the gentleman himself who suggested walking the ladies to their car.
Madison scanned the parking lot but didn’t see their stalker. She wasn’t taking any chances, however. After engaging the locks on the car, she deliberately turned in the opposite direction of their hotel. Genny’s GPS could guide them with a different route to Peralynna.
“Granny, that was quite a performance back there,” she said as she took a side street, her voice filled with a touch of awe. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Finesse, my dear. Finesse.” She patted her granddaughter’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. Another thirty or so years, and you’ll have it down, too.”
“You do realize my grandfather was a saint, putting up with your shenanigans for over fifty years.”
Granny Bert smiled at that. “Maybe Willie Nelson will write another song about me. He could call it The Angel and her Saint.”
“I’m thinking more along the lines of The Swindler and the Saint.”