The Magnolia Inn

by Carolyn Brown

  “We didn’t come here to argue and fight about religion or the Gator.” Flossie picked up a cookie. “And I doubt that Ezra made it past the Pearly Gates anyway, so I don’t know why you’re all up in religion, Lucy. That old scoundrel never went to church in his life. If he went to heaven, he’d be miserable up there.”

  Dotty reached for a cookie. “Flossie’s right. We didn’t come here to fight. We came to check on Jolene and tell her about the Easter Tour of Homes.”

  Jolene busied herself making coffee, but not a word of what they said escaped her. “Why is Tucker a tortured soul? And I’d love to be included in the tour.”

  Dotty lowered her voice. “I can still hear him upstairs. Come on over here so we can talk about him. He lost his wife, Melanie, a couple of years ago. She was from down in Marshall, but her daddy was raised here in Jefferson, so they came to church with Sugar and us.” She paused. “Anyway, she went away to college and made a teacher out of herself. She met Tucker once she went to work in Dallas. He was a cop there.”

  “She was his whole life,” Lucy whispered. “Then she died in a car wreck, and bless his heart, he’s never got over it.” She clucked like an old hen gathering in her baby chickens. “I just can’t believe he bought half interest in this place. It takes a people person to operate a B&B, and from what I hear, Tucker is almost a hermit.”

  “I guess we’ve all got our own emotional baggage,” Jolene said.

  “Wait until he hauls his damn sorry ass home drunk and you’ve got guests in the place,” Lucy declared.

  “She loves Jesus, but she still cusses a little,” Dotty said with a wicked grin.

  “He’s a fantastic carpenter. He’s got money to put into the inn. And I’ll cross the drinkin’ bridge when it happens. And . . .” She glanced over at Dotty, who shrugged and winked.

  “And just so y’all know.” Jolene took a deep breath. “I’ll be working at the Gator starting Friday night.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Lucy groaned. “Have you talked to Sugar about this?”

  “Visited with her last night and was going to tell her, but . . .” She went on to tell them how disappointed Jasper was with Reuben’s choice.

  “I was afraid that would hit him hard,” Dotty said.

  “Of course it did, but we’re not through talkin’ about this horrible idea of you working in a bar.” Lucy threw a hand over her forehead in a dramatic gesture and then shook a fist at Dotty. “You’re leading our sweet girl down the path of unrighteousness. Jolene, I’ll give you a job in my place of business. Full-time with benefits if you’ll quit the Gator right now.”

  “I know bartending, and I can only handle part-time work with the inn, but thank you,” Jolene said and tried to change the subject. “Do I have the recipe for these cookies in Aunt Sugar’s files?”

  “I’m sure you do, chère,” Dotty said. “But now let’s talk about this tour of homes. Surely Sugar mentioned it?”

  “Oh, that.” Jolene was glad Dotty had changed the subject. “She always wanted to be included in it but figured the Magnolia was too far out of town.”

  “It might be, but we want to add it this year,” Lucy said.

  Dotty went on. “The three of us are on the Chamber of Commerce committee together for the first time. We carry the majority, and we’ve decided to vote for the Magnolia Inn to be on the tour. It would be a big thing if you could have it all spruced up by then. The chamber puts lots of advertising and promotion into the tour. Folks come for miles and miles to get a peek inside the bed-and-breakfast places. It could really help you out.”

  “That’s, what, like three months from now?” Jolene asked.

  “The tour itself is the Saturday before Easter, so that makes it April 20,” Flossie answered. “That’ll give you a few months to get things up and running. And if you’ll come to work for me instead of”—she shot a dirty look toward Dotty—“working as a bartender, you can choose your hours.”

  “You’ll want to start booking rooms pretty soon for the summer and fall.” Dotty ignored Flossie’s comment. “The tour would be a wonderful opportunity for folks to see what you’ve done and get their reservations made. I always wanted to include the Magnolia, but I kept getting voted down since only Lucy and I were on the committee. But this year we’ve got Flossie, so we’ll see to it. Sugar will be so tickled. She always wanted to get to show it off.”

  “Yes,” Tucker said from the doorway. “We’ll have it ready by then.”

  Jolene felt heat rising from her neck to her cheeks. How much had he heard? She motioned to the coffeepot and then to the cookies. “Come on in and meet my friends.”

  “Always ready for cookies and coffee. I’m Tucker Malone.” He stuck his hand out toward Lucy.

  Her expression said that she’d rather be sticking her hand in a rattlesnake pit, but she put her frail hand in his. “You probably don’t remember us, but we remember you from when you used to come to church with your wife. I’m Lucy Rogers. I own Attic Treasures, an antique store in Jefferson.”

  “Jolene told me that a couple of you ladies own antique shops. That’s wonderful.” Tucker brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’m right glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am. I hope to do some business with y’all as we work on this place. We’d like to keep the antique ambience but use modern things like tubs and showers to make things nice for our guests.”

  From Lucy’s expression, Jolene could’ve sworn she’d rather have been shaking hands with the devil. “Well, I’ll be sure to give you a real good price on anything that you can use.”

  He turned to settle his crystal-clear blue eyes on Flossie.

  “I’m Flossie Simmons, and I own Mama’s Place in Jefferson. My antiques are better than Lucy’s.” She winked. “And since Jolene is like a daughter to all of us, I can beat any deal Lucy would give you.”

  “And I’m Dotty Beauchamp.” Dotty’s southern accent thickened. “I’m a Louisiana girl from the other side of the Big Cypress Bayou, and I own the Tipsy Gator. I’ve seen you a few times in my bar. You always sit on the last stool in the shadows, right, chère?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure do,” Tucker said.

  Jolene was totally blown away. One minute they were ready to crucify her for letting Tucker live there, and the next they were flirting with him. Good glory! They had to be seventy or older, and he wasn’t a day over thirty-seven.

  “We should let you two get back to work,” Dotty said with a broad wink toward Jolene. “And since you’re going to be out of pocket on Friday night, then Sunday afternoon will be our meetin’ time.”

  They pushed their chairs back and paraded toward the foyer. Lucy stopped at the hall tree for her coat, and Tucker hurried over to help her into it. She frowned up at him and shook her finger under his nose.

  “Get thee behind me, Satan. You almost got me with your slick ways, but I know the devil when I see him, and you won’t entice me with your slyness. Jolene, when you realize that you are doing wrong, you pack your bags and come live with me. I will lead you to Jesus and salvation,” Lucy declared.

  Tucker chuckled as he stepped back and helped Flossie into her bright-red coat. “Thank you for the cookies.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck with all this remodeling.” Flossie gave Jolene a quick hug and whispered, “I hope you know what you’re doin’.”

  “Y’all come back anytime,” Jolene said. “If you’ll give me an hour’s notice, I’ll even have the cookies made.”

  Tucker picked up the last coat from the hall tree and held it out to Dotty. “It’s been a real pleasure to meet you ladies.”

  Dotty nudged him on the arm. “Honey, don’t you pay any attention to Lucy. She’ll find a new boyfriend in a couple of weeks and fall off the religion wagon.”

  Jolene sank down on the bottom step of the stairs and sighed when Tucker shut the door behind the ladies. One bedroom was torn up. The upstairs hallway was a mess. She’d never get even that much put back together i
f he changed his mind and didn’t buy half the inn.

  Tucker sat down beside her and propped his forearms on his knees. “So you work in a bar?”

  “Ever since I was twenty-one. Until then I did waitress work,” she answered. “How much did you hear?”

  “I got there when Lucy was offering you a job to quit working in a bar,” he answered.

  “Sounds like you heard most of it, then. I’ll be working at a bar on Friday and Saturday nights. I understand that you drink a little on weekends.”

  He got to his feet. “I’m going to get a couple more cookies and another cup of coffee to take upstairs with me. And, honey, I drink a lot on Saturday nights.”

  “Just so long as we understand each other.” Jolene stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “Right now we could take fifteen minutes off and call it a midmorning snack.”

  “Got chocolate syrup?” He followed her into the kitchen.

  “For the cookies, the coffee, or the milk?”

  “Milk, and then I dip my cookies in it,” he answered.

  The ladies had called him a tortured soul. Jolene stole glances at him as she got out the chocolate syrup. It was a shame that he’d lost his wife so suddenly. He might never get over it, but she sure wasn’t looking forward to dealing with another weekend drunk—like her mother or that last worthless boyfriend.

  Tucker never would’ve figured Jolene for a bartender. Maybe an elementary school teacher or even a bank teller. She wasn’t big enough to be a bartender, for one thing, and she was way too cute. The drunks would have her in tears in minutes.

  Surely she worked somewhere like the Southern Comfort, a bar at the country club over in Tyler. He could visualize her in a place like that. Melanie’s dad had a membership there, and Tucker had gone with him to that place one time after a game of golf. That night a tall redhead had been working the bar, and she’d been flirting with a man in a three-piece suit. He remembered it well because the man had taken off his wedding ring and shoved it into his pocket.

  He looked down at his own ring and felt yet another wave of guilt. Every time he and Jolene were in the same room, something warmed his cold heart. He wouldn’t betray Melanie by letting another woman take her place. Melanie had always told him to remove his own ring when he was working with tools, but he just couldn’t do it. He looked down at his ring now and felt another wave of guilt.

  “You sure are quiet,” Jolene said.

  “Thinkin’.” He finished his milk and carried the glass to the dishwasher. “That was a crazy bunch of old ladies. One’s religious. One’s kind of fussy, and the other one owns the local bar.”

  “They were Aunt Sugar’s best friends from the time she was a little girl, way back before they bought antique stores and inherited a bar.” Jolene poured two cups of coffee and handed one to him. “Dotty’s husband, Bruce, died years ago. None of the four, including Aunt Sugar, ever had children. I think that’s why they were so close, and why Aunt Sugar’s going off on this long, extended trip has left a hole in their lives. She kind of held the group together, especially after Dotty kept running the bar even after her husband died. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy isn’t on her religion kick from missing Aunt Sugar as much as the fact her latest boyfriend died not long ago.”

  Tucker’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “She’s still dating at her age?”

  “Lucy likes men”—Jolene’s shoulders raised in a shrug—“but Aunt Sugar going away can’t be easy. They are all in their late sixties, so this is a drastic life change.”

  “Did your aunt live right here her whole married life?” he asked.

  “Not just her married life. Her whole life—period. Her grandparents owned this property. When they passed on, they left it to her father. He’d just gotten married, and he and his wife had Aunt Sugar that next year. They opened the inn up for business right after she was born. Grandpa nicknamed her Sugar when she was a baby, and it stuck. When he died he gave this place to Sugar and the equivalent of its worth to my mother.”

  Jolene’s soft, lilting voice soothed Tucker, so he kept asking questions. He wasn’t really interested so much in her past. For all he cared, she could read the Bible or even the phone book to him. “How’d your mama feel about that?”

  “She never liked this place, so it didn’t bother her one bit. She and Aunt Sugar had always kept in touch even if they weren’t good friends, mainly because of me—or at least that’s what Mama said,” Jolene answered. “You ready to go back to work? I’ve got enough energy to help you get that last piece of furniture out of the room and then we can pull up the carpet.”

  He put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “You got brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, and my folks are both gone. All that’s left of my family is me and Aunt Sugar. Daddy went with a heart attack when I was sixteen, and Mama . . .” She hesitated for several seconds. “Mama got addicted to pills and alcohol. She overdosed when I was twenty.” She headed out of the kitchen.

  The pain in her voice mirrored what he felt when he thought about his precious Melanie. He could hear the hurt and pain in Jolene’s tone, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him, but at least he wasn’t hurting anyone by his weekend binges.

  “By blood, this place should be all yours.” Tucker followed her as they climbed the stairs.

  “But by hard work and working as a fishing guide on the bayou in the lean years, Uncle Jasper should have the right to give half of it to his kin—even if I never did like Reuben and I’d still like to shoot him, it’s only fair.”

  “Why didn’t you like Reuben?” Tucker picked up one end of the washstand.

  “He always was arrogant, and he’s a sissy. He wouldn’t even bait his own hook when we went fishing. Besides, he pulled my ponytail every chance he got, blamed me if something got broken”—she hesitated—“and when I was twelve, he cornered me in the utility room and shoved his hand up under my skirt.”

  “You didn’t kill him?” Tucker asked.

  “Aunt Sugar took care of it, and we came to visit at different times from then on. Look, I think he’s insecure and angry because he can’t find his place in the world, but I still don’t like him.”

  Should’ve offered him ten thousand less than I did, Tucker thought.

  Chapter Six

  Tucker arrived ten minutes early for the appointment that Friday, and Belinda motioned him on inside her office. She sat behind her desk with a stack of papers in front of her and nodded toward a guy who was already seated. “Tucker Malone, this is Reuben McKay. Reuben, this is Tucker. Are you both ready to get this deal finalized? Either one of you decide to back out?”

  Reuben stood to his feet and stuck out his hand. “I’m ready to close this.”

  “Same here.” Tucker had shaken hands with six-year-old boys who had a firmer grip.

  Reuben sat back down, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a fancy cloth he pulled out of his pocket. His eyes shifted all around the office as if he was afraid to look right at anyone. Tucker’s cop training kicked in, and he’d bet dollars to stale doughnuts that Reuben had been bullied when he was a kid. That would explain why he was so mean to Jolene—he’d been looking for someone that he could bully so he’d feel strong.

  Tucker wanted to kick Reuben’s chair out from under him for being mean to Jolene. No one deserved to be bullied, but especially not Jolene. Tucker was a good judge of character, and that woman was kind, sweet, hardworking, easy to get along with, and a whole list of other accolades, including cute, kissable—

  Whoa! Melanie’s my wife. Jolene’s a partner.

  Belinda flipped open a folder and scanned through the pages. Tucker eased into a chair at the end of her desk where he could study Reuben to get his mind off Jolene. The man crossed his legs and kept a constant foot movement going. He was so nervous that he looked like he might bolt at any minute. Tucker had dealt with lots of men like that in interrogation, and the majority of the time, they were guilty of s
omething—usually more than pestering a girl.

  “Everything is in order,” Belinda said. “Reuben can go first. Sign beside the yellow tabs.” She shoved the set of papers over to him and turned to face Tucker. “I understand that you’ve moved your trailer out to the property, and you and Jolene have started some remodeling.”

  Reuben chuckled and gave each of them a smug look.

  Tucker’s hands knotted into fists. “What’s so funny?”

  “Be careful of starting anything with that woman,” Reuben said.

  Tucker’s hands relaxed. He leaned back in the chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Oh, really? Why?”

  “She never has amounted to anything. Went to work in a bar soon as she was old enough, and her mama was a junkie with an alcohol problem, don’t you know?” Reuben spit out the words like they tasted nasty in his mouth. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”

  It was Tucker’s turn to laugh.

  Reuben stopped writing and glared at him. “That funny to you?”

  “It don’t take much in the way of detective work to see what kind of tree you fell out of,” Tucker answered.

  “Okay, boys”—Belinda raised her voice a little—“you can have a pissin’ contest if you want, but not in my office. You’re here to sign papers, transfer deeds and money, and then leave. After that, if you want to bloody the streets with your fightin’, then that’s your business.”

  Reuben set his jaw, finished signing the papers, and shoved them across the desk to Belinda.

  “Tucker, you sign where the red tabs are located while I tally up my commission so Reuben can write me a check,” she said.

  Tucker hoped that she tacked on a few extra dollars for stupidity. He signed all the places and then handed her the check he’d brought—already filled out with the amount they had agreed on. He stood up and settled his cowboy hat on his head. “Am I done?”

  “Yes, you are. I’ll take it all to the courthouse and file it for you. You can pick up copies of everything next week,” she answered.