I nodded. I’m sure I looked hungry, too.
Chapter Four
Halfway through lunch my phone rang, and I glanced at the display and excused myself. By now we had moved the bouncy seat into the kitchen and put Carrie in it—up on the counter, away from Pearl—and Rafe was digging into a roast beef sandwich Mother had made for him. She was nibbling daintily on a smaller one herself, with a ruff of lettuce and a wafer-thin circle of red onion peeking out the side.
When I put down my own sandwich—also decorated with lettuce and onion—they both looked at me. “Alexandra Puckett,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
It’s rude to take a personal phone call in front of other people. Especially a personal phone call from someone one of the people present doesn’t know.
“The young pregnant girl?” Mother asked as I walked away.
Rafe nodded. And that was all I saw before I ducked into the hallway and put the phone to my ear. “What’s going on?”
“Jamal told me Rafe got fired,” Alexandra said, which was getting straight to the point. “Are you OK?”
“Oh.” If I’d thought about it, I should have realized that she’d hear the news. “Yes, we’re fine. In Sweetwater right now, actually. Having lunch with Mother.”
And since I didn’t know whether Rafe had told Jamal and the others about the job offer from Grimaldi before—or after—all this went down, I didn’t mention it. “What about you? Aren’t you in school?”
“Lunch,” Alexandra said. “And I gotta go back to class soon. Will you be back by Saturday? Can we meet for lunch?”
I supposed we could. Rafe and I weren’t doing anything else. Rafe would probably spend the day helping Clayton and José load up their belongings before waving them off in two different directions.
I had thought that maybe Jamal would have invited Alexandra to accompany him to our house Friday night, but it seemed not. And since he hadn’t, I wasn’t about to bring it up.
“Sure,” I said instead. “I can do lunch.”
“Wanna meet at the FinBar?” It was a sports bar just down the street from the real estate office where I’d been hanging my shingle for the past couple of years, and we’d met there before.
“That works.” We settled on a time—high noon—and I wandered back into the kitchen and put the phone on the island before picking up my sandwich again.
“Everything all right?” Mother asked.
I swallowed. “Of course. She’d heard about what happened. We’re having lunch together on Saturday.” I glanced at Rafe. “I figured you’d probably be spending the day getting Clayton and José ready to go.”
He nodded, his mouth full of roast beef.
“How long are you staying in Sweetwater?” Mother wanted to know, wiping the tips of her fingers on a napkin.
I told her we’d be here until tomorrow morning. “If that’s OK with you. We’re having dinner with Grimaldi tonight. Somewhere that isn’t the police department.” Somewhere it might be easier to talk more freely.
“Of course, darling,” Mother said, with a glance at Rafe. “You’re always welcome here.”
Good to know. Especially when, for a long time, that hadn’t been the case.
“You’re having dinner with the sheriff, I assume?”
Mother nodded. “Perhaps we’ll see you there.”
“Unlikely,” I said, since Mother’s go-to restaurant for dinner with the sheriff is the Wayside Inn. “We’re going to Beulah’s.” Where Mother wouldn’t want to be caught dead, amid all that fat and fryer grease. Not to mention the less than upscale clientele.
“Oh.” She gave a gentle shudder. I glanced at Rafe, whose eyes were lit with amusement.
“Beulah’s is more my speed,” he told her. “And it’s easier for Tammy to get to.”
Grimaldi’s rental was in Columbia, north of us, while the Wayside Inn—which really was a wayside inn some two hundred years ago—was south of Sweetwater, on the way to Pulaski.
Mother looked taken aback. Not by the fact that he preferred Beulah’s to the Wayside Inn. That probably didn’t come as a shock, even if she wasn’t predisposed to understanding it. “You call Detective Grimaldi—Chief Grimaldi—Tammy?”
“Not to her face,” I said, while Rafe smirked. “Even Dix… I mean, even her friends call her Tamara.” And I’ve always called her Detective, although now I supposed I’d have to stop doing that.
Mother nodded, but not without a worried little wrinkle between her brows. Maybe it was the mention of my brother. Although with Grimaldi here in Maury County now, I had no idea how long Mother could turn a blind eye to what was going on.
Not that I had much knowledge about what was going on. Grimaldi and Dix had become friendly after my sister-in-law was murdered a year and some months ago. It happened in Nashville, so Grimaldi caught the case. Or grabbed it, once she realized that Sheila was related to me.
But of course Dix wasn’t in any kind of position to jump into another relationship then, so while I started to see them together occasionally, I had no real clear idea of what their relationship was. Furthermore, I had absolutely no idea how much Mother knew, or suspected, about any of it. She knew Grimaldi and I were friends. She knew Grimaldi and Rafe were friendly. But I had no clue whether she knew that Grimaldi and Dix were involved.
If she didn’t, I guessed she was in for a rude awakening.
All the more reason to stick around, or to move here, to be on hand for the big reveal. It had the potential to be almost as entertaining as when Mother realized I was serious about Rafe.
Which hadn’t been all that entertaining at the time, admittedly. Not from my perspective. Although, since he and I had laid a lot of the groundwork, hopefully Dix would have an easier time introducing Grimaldi to the family than I had, when I fell in love with Rafe.
And that was if I hadn’t totally misconstrued their relationship, of course. But seeing that Grimaldi had given up what seemed to have been a good job that she enjoyed in Nashville, so she could come to Columbia and be closer to Dix, I didn’t think I had.
“You’ve known her a while,” Mother said, which sounded like the beginning of a fishing expedition.
I nodded. “Since the day we found Brenda Puckett’s body in Mrs. Jenkins’s house. A year and a half ago now.”
“She thought I did it,” Rafe added, with a smirk.
“Only until she figured out who you were, and what you were up to.” And it hadn’t taken her long. “I was the one who spent several months worrying about having fallen in love with a criminal.”
Mother clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Savannah, dear…”
“He knows,” I said. “Anyway, yes. We’ve known Grimaldi a while.”
Mother pleated a corner of her napkin. “Bob seems quite impressed with her abilities.”
He must be, to recommend her for the job. And at her age, too.
“She was a very good detective,” I said. At least I’d always thought so. “And the city council must have been impressed, too, since they agreed to hire her.”
Mother nodded. “I suppose she realizes that she’ll have some challenges down here, that maybe she isn’t used to from being in Nashville?”
Challenges? Such as there being no 24-hour drugstore, or the wine merchant was closed on Sundays? Or the fact that the murder rate dropped by roughly 98% as soon as she crossed the county line from Davidson to Maury?
And yes, I know there’s a county between Davidson and Maury, too. Williamson County. The crime rate isn’t high there either.
And then I realized what Mother was referring to. I have no idea how, with the way she was talking around the issue, but I got it.
“Oh. Yes, I’m sure she realizes that she’ll have to deal with people like Sergeant Tucker.” People who thought they knew more than they did. Or at least more than she did.
Mother’s brows rose. They’re very elegant brows. Everything about my mother is elegant. “Sergeant Tucker?”
“He was waiting for Grimaldi when we came out of her office,” I said. “He recognized Rafe. Turns out he arrested him once. I’m sure he’s told Grimaldi all about it.”
“Prob’ly still talking,” Rafe murmured, with a look at the kitchen clock.
I glanced over at him, and felt a corner of my mouth twitch. “I’m sure he has plenty to say.”
Mother looked from me to him and back. “Is this man going to be a problem for you, Rafael?”
“Not as far as Grimaldi’s concerned,” I said. “She knows all about Rafe already.”
“Or at least whatever Tucker’s likely to be able to tell her,” my husband added. It was probably less than Grimaldi already knew. Certainly less than I knew.
“Well, that’s what I’m talking about,” Mother said. “Not this man Tucker specifically, but people like him. People—older men—who think they know more because they’ve lived their lives in this little town, and she’s an outsider, and a woman, and younger, and they think they can push her around.”
I never would have suspected my mother of such feminist views. Even if, in this case, they were misplaced. Kind, but misplaced. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I told her.
“Tammy don’t intimidate easy,” Rafe added. “And she don’t take crap from nobody. As I’m sure Tucker’s finding out.”
“Will he make trouble for you?” After a second, Mother added, “If you go to work there?”
“He can try.” The corners of Rafe’s mouth lifted. “I don’t intimidate easy, neither.”
No, he didn’t. Although it occurred to me, as probably it should have occurred to me before, that maybe Grimaldi wanted Rafe here not only because she likes him—and me—and was sorry to leave us behind in Nashville, but because going into a new department full of people like Tucker, she might have anticipated the problem Mother was worried about, and had thought that Rafe would be a good someone to have her back should she need it.
Her staff would come to respect her whether they wanted to or not—or I suspected they’d find themselves taking early retirement—but while she got situated, and dealt with what might be a lot of pushback, she might want to have someone on her side she could rely on to do the job the way she wanted it done, without any backtalk.
I didn’t mention it, since I didn’t want it to influence Rafe’s decision. If he wanted to come to work here, it would have to be because he wanted to, and not because Grimaldi could use the support. But it was something for me to keep in mind, if nothing else.
“What are the two of you planning to do this afternoon?” Mother asked, as she got to her feet and started to clean up after lunch. Rafe made to get to his feet, too, to help her, and she put her hand on his shoulder to keep him there. “No, stay. I’ve got this.”
Yet another reminder of how much things had changed.
“I should prob’ly go see my grandma,” Rafe said, with a look at me.
I nodded. “We can’t come down here and not do that. And if we’re going into town anyway, we should probably stop by the law office and see Dix and Darcy and Jonathan, too. And Catherine, if she’s there.”
“Charlotte’s back,” Mother told me, in the process of loading roast beef and horseradish and ruffled lettuce back into the refrigerator.
“Charlotte?” My best friend during high school. She had moved to, of all places, Charlotte, and had married a cosmetic surgeon, and had a couple of kids. “You mean she’s home for the holidays, right?”
The holidays were over, granted. But Charlotte’s parents, the Albertsons, still lived in town. And Charlotte’s kids weren’t old enough to be in school yet, I thought, so getting them back for that wouldn’t be an issue.
Mother shook her head. “I got the impression she’s back to stay.”
“What about Richard?”
“I didn’t get the impression Richard was with her,” Mother said primly.
My eyes widened. More. “Charlotte left Richard?”
The last time I’d seen her had been at my wedding. We hadn’t had a lot of time to talk. The time before that had been during our ten year high school reunion in May, when we’d talked a lot, but mostly about the fact that I was living in sin with Rafe and had gotten myself knocked up by him. Charlotte couldn’t understand how the girl I’d been could have done such a thing, and I’d had an impossible time explaining to her that I wasn’t the girl I’d been anymore.
While there might have been subtle indications that the honeymoon was over—theirs, after four or five years of marriage—I’d gotten absolutely no impression that Charlotte was thinking of leaving Richard. “Are you sure it isn’t just an extended visit? Maybe one of her parents is ill.”
“If so, I haven’t heard about it,” Mother said, and closed the fridge door with a decisive flick of the wrist. “Although it’s certainly possible. If you go and see her, you’ll find out.”
I would, and then I could tell Mother. Which was the implication here. While Mother would strenuously object if I called it gossiping, she’s just as interested in what the neighbors are doing as any small town housewife.
“Fine by me,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Less’n you think she’d be more likely to spill if I wasn’t there.”
That was also possible. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. But you may have to make an excuse to give us thirty minutes alone, if she doesn’t seem inclined to talk while you’re there.”
Rafe nodded, scooting off the chair at the island. “Ready?”
I guess I was.
“You can leave the baby with me,” Mother offered, “unless you think your grandmother or Charlotte would like to see her.”
That actually sounded nice, and it was also nice that Mother wanted to spend time with her granddaughter. However— “I’m sure Audrey and Mrs. J would like to see her. Charlotte may not care.”
Mother nodded.
“If we move here, you’ll get plenty of opportunities to babysit, though.”
“I’ll get her,” Rafe said, and headed in the direction of the baby and bouncy seat, but not before he’d stopped next to Mother and bent to drop a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for lunch.”
He moved on. Mother just stood there for a second before she caught me looking and flushed delicately. I smiled. After a moment, she smiled back.
“We’ll be back later,” I said, as Rafe came toward me with Carrie cradled against his chest and the bouncy seat dangling from one hand.
He passed the baby to me. “I’ll carry the stuff upstairs before we go.”
I nodded. It would give me a chance to use the restroom. “Here.” I handed the baby on to Mother. “Hold her for a minute.”
I followed Rafe down the hallway and up the stairs. “I’m just going to stop in across the hall.”
“You can call it the bathroom,” he told me over his shoulder. “I don’t mind.”
Of course not. Being in my mother’s house tended to bring out old habits. “You need to go before we leave?”
“It couldn’t hurt.” He passed into our bedroom, the room I’d slept in growing up, with our stuff, while I walked through the door across the hallway.
When I came out, he was waiting. “I’ll be right down.”
Mother was waiting in the foyer, and I plucked Carrie out of her arms and turned to the car seat. “She’s beautiful,” Mother said.
I might be a touch biased, but I think so, too. She has Rafe’s coloring—the golden skin and dark curls, with thick, sooty lashes and perfect little brows—but her eyes are blue, and showing no inclination to turn. I was told at the hospital that they might, that a lot of babies are born with blue eyes that turn brown later, and given her coloring, I shouldn’t be surprised if they did… but so far, they’ve stayed blue. I’m hoping they’ll continue to do so, since it would be nice to see a little of myself in my daughter, too. Otherwise, she’s all Rafe.
“Thank you.” I got her settled and strapped in. She blinked up at me with those long, thick lashes. “She looks
like Rafe.”
“She has your eyes,” Mother said, and looked up as the man in question came down the stairs. “All ready?”
He nodded. “We’ll be back later. We don’t have to be at Beulah’s till six-thirty.” He stuck one arm and then the other through the sleeves of the leather jacket I held out, and grabbed the car seat with the baby.
“Have a good time,” Mother told us, and shut the door against the cold when we were through and out. We clicked the baby carrier into the back seat of the car, and with Rafe behind the wheel, headed down the driveway and south.
* * *
The Martin Mansion sits on a little knoll north of town, outside Sweetwater proper. After you pass some more recent houses—recent as in nineteen-fifties and -sixties—you get to the city limits, and once you’re past the Oak Street Cemetery, the older neighborhoods start to crop up, full of Victorian houses and Craftsman bungalows and little cottages, all built in the first half of the twentieth century.
Audrey lives there, in a little Folk Victorian she inherited from her parents. These days, Mrs. Jenkins occupies the second bedroom. My Aunt Regina and Uncle Sid live nearby. And the Albertsons have a house on the next street over, where Charlotte grew up.
“Where d’you wanna go first?” Rafe wanted to know, as we approached town. “Audrey’s at the store, prob’ly.”
Probably. She runs Audrey’s on the Square, the only designer boutique in the county, and maybe all of Middle Tennessee, outside of Nashville and Franklin. Mother does all her shopping there. And it was a weekday, so chances were the store would be open. Mrs. J might be there too, or she might be home by herself.
“How’s your grandmother doing these days? Is she well enough to be home by herself, or does Audrey have to take her to work with her?”
Mrs. Jenkins has dementia, or something of that nature. Half the time, she has no idea who Rafe is. Or rather, she doesn’t know that he’s Rafe, and thinks he’s his father Tyrell instead. During those times, she thinks I’m LaDonna, Rafe’s mother. It’s all very convoluted. Since Rafe added his son David to the mix—David is almost fourteen—things have gotten even more confusing.
Wrongful Termination: A Savannah Martin Novel (Savannah Martin Mystery Book 16) Page 5