“Guilty as charged,” Rachael sang out.
Jillian stepped forward. “With extenuating circumstances, Your Honor.”
Judge Pruitt steepled her fingers. “I’m listening, Ms. . . . ”
“Samuels. And I intend to show how the town of Valentine drove my client to her rash and unlawful actions.”
“Valentine made her do it?” Judge Pruitt arched a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s your defense?”
“In a manner of speaking. If Your Honor would just hear me out,” Jillian pressed.
Judge Pruitt waved a hand. “You may proceed.”
“By nature, my client, Miss Rachael Henderson, is prone to fanciful romantic ideations.”
“Meaning?” Judge Pruitt asked.
“She sees the world through rose-colored glasses, and she’s easily swayed by love.”
Gosh, when Jillian put it like that she sounded like a ditzy nutcase. Rachael sneaked a glance over at Brody to see how he was responding to this evaluation of her character, but the man was a rock, revealing nothing.
He must have been an exemplary soldier, to control his feelings so well. She tilted her head, studied his profile, but he gave away nothing. His eyes were focused on Judge Pruitt. He stood with a straight stance. She could see the preparedness in the way his hand rested on his hip just above his duty weapon. A hero. The other half of her romantic equation.
If she were in the market for another love —
You’re not! Jeez, what are you? A glutton for punishment?
“Is that true?” Judge Pruitt asked.
Chagrined, Rachael realized her mind had wandered as her gaze had slid to Brody’s rump and she hadn’t heard the question. “Ma’am?”
“If you’d quit staring at Sheriff Carlton’s butt long enough to discuss your fate, I’d appreciate it.”
At Judge Pruitt’s comment, Brody swung his gaze her way and their eyes met.
Rachael’s cheeks flamed and she ducked her head. How embarrassing to be caught ogling Brody’s backside. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I asked if your lawyer’s assertions were true. Did you learn that your parents were divorcing on the same day your fiancé jilted you at the altar?”
“Yes, Your Honor, that’s true.”
“Those are extenuating circumstances.”
“Objection!” Kelvin shouted. “She’s just trying to weasel out of what she did to our sign.”
“You don’t get to object.” Judge Pruitt scowled at the mayor. “Please control yourself or I’ll have you escorted from the courtroom.” The judge swung her gaze back to Rachael. “Miss Henderson, I’m a firm believer the punishment should fit the crime. You have pled guilty. Your lawyer has laid out the extenuating circumstances that led to your lapse in judgment and I have taken that into consideration. A lapse that I trust was temporary.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” As satisfying as painting those lips had been, it wasn’t worth this.
“Then I sentence you to clean the graffiti from Mr. Wentworth’s sign, to commit one hundred and sixty hours of community service to the town of Valentine, and to pay two thousand dollars in restitution.” Judge Pruitt banged her gavel.
“One hundred and sixty hours!” Jillian exclaimed. “Your Honor, that is excessive. My client lives in Houston. How can she be expected to spend a month out of her life working for Valentine?”
“She should have thought about that before she painted the sign,” Judge Pruitt said archly.
“She has a job, a —”
“She’s a kindergarten teacher. It’s summer. School’s out. Her parents live here in town. The sentence stands.” Judge Pruitt banged her gavel again for emphasis. “You can make arrangements to pay your fine with Becky, the county clerk. And see Sheriff Carlton about scheduling your community service hours.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rachael mumbled.
“Come on, let’s get the hell out of this kangaroo court.” Jillian hustled her out the heavy wooden doors. They stepped into the hot July morning. Rachael blinked against the blinding sunlight. Her eyes hadn’t even adjusted before someone shoved a microphone in her face.
“Leesie Stringer, KRTE News, Del Rio,” the woman said in a crisp, professional manner. Del Rio was the closest town with a television station. Beside the reporter, a cameraman was filming Rachael as she descended the court-house steps. “Are you the woman that the Chicago Bears’ new wide receiver, Trace Hoolihan, jilted at the altar?”
It was the ultimate humiliation. Ambushed by the media after being sentenced for something she’d done in reaction to being dumped on her wedding day. Rachael opened her mouth to respond but no words came out.
Jillian raised an arm to shield her face from the camera. “My client has no comment.”
“Miss, miss,” the reporter insisted, staying right at her elbow, keeping the microphone thrust in Rachael’s face. “How does it feel to be thrown over for a professional football team?”
Rachael was about to offer a smart-assed retort, something completely unsuitable for the noon news, when suddenly Brody was there, getting between her and the reporter.
“You heard the lawyer. Miss Henderson has no comment and if you don’t stop harassing her, I’ll be happy to show you the inside of the Jeff Davis County Jail, Ms. Stringer.”
The next thing she knew, Brody’s arm was around Rachael’s waist and he was escorting her to his patrol car.
“Miss Henderson, Miss Henderson,” the reporter called out as Brody opened the door and helped Rachael into the passenger seat. “Did you know Trace Hoolihan is giving an interview to Entertainment Weekly and he’s going to discuss why he jilted you at the altar?”
AFTER BRODY DROPPED Rachael off at Higgy’s Diner for lunch with her friends, he drove to Audie’s Hardware, which was just down the block. He parked in the alley and went in through the back entrance so he could get a look at the jimmied door.
He squatted to examine the pry marks. Big flat-head screwdriver, he surmised. The kind that was in every tool box in the county.
Audie must have heard him because he came to the back, winding his way past shelves of merchandise. “What do you think?”
Brody stood and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “I think you need to start setting your alarm.”
“You wanna see where they took the cans?”
“Sure.” Brody followed Audie over to the paint section where he kept the premixed colors. They stood staring at the shelf where two cans of paint used to sit.
“You gonna dust for prints?”
Audie had been watching too much CSI. “I’ll dust the back door for prints, but this is a public place. And I know the local builders come to your back door. Plus, these shelves are littered with fingerprints. There’ll be no way of knowing who was the thief and who was thumbing through the paint cans or coming through your back door.”
“I guess you got a point.” Audie stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, by the way, after I talked to you, I discovered something else was missing.”
“What’s that?”
“A pipe cutter.”
“Hmm,” Brody mused, stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger as he puzzled out what a thief would want with two gallons of black paint and a pipe cutter. Criminal mischief was clearly in the offing.
“You suppose this has got anything to do with Rachael Henderson vandalizing the billboard?”
“Maybe.” Brody was staying tight-lipped. He didn’t want any rumors getting started.
“You know that paint is for outdoor use. Oil-based. It don’t come off easy.”
“I’m sure that’s what your thief was angling for. If he or she wants to make a statement, they’ll want something that’s hard to remove.”
Audie sighed. “Thanks for coming by.”
“No problem. And remember to turn on the alarm.”
“Will do. Hey, I was just headed over to Higgy’s for the blue plate special. You wanna join me?”
Brody shook his head. “With Ze
ke out, Jamie is the only one at the station,” he said. “Enjoy your lunch.”
After he dusted the back door for prints and came up with more than two dozen possible suspects, he knew he didn’t have much chance of solving the break-in until the thief used the paint or he happened upon another clue. As Brody headed back to his office to file the police report, he couldn’t help thinking that Rachael’s little Valentine insurrection was already having unintended consequences.
And he had a sneaking suspicion things were just gearing up.
Chapter Six
Rachael and her friends were inside Higgy’s Diner, seated at a pink vinyl booth with heart-shaped seat backs and a matching pink Formica tabletop. The waitress, a bosomy woman named April Tritt who’d altered her uniform to show both more leg and cleavage, handed them heart-shaped menus.
Rachael didn’t need a menu. She knew Higgy’s food offerings by heart. She’d worked here for two summers when she was in high school. At the time, she’d thought it was the sweetest job in the world. It had been ten years since she’d schlepped meat loaf on thick blue glassware plates, but the menu hadn’t changed.
“Wow,” Tish said. “Is this place for real? I feel like I’ve stepped into a thirteen-year-old girl’s romantic fantasies.”
Rachael glanced around the diner, seeing it through her friends’ eyes. On the back wall was an elaborate mural of unicorns and rainbows along with the slogan all you need is love written in spindly neon pink script. The mural on the right side was a field of sunflowers, butterflies, and bumblebees. This slogan read: love blooms in valentine, texas. The tackiest mural was the one on the wall where they sat. It featured hearts painted with a 3-D optical illusion effect that made the hearts appear as if they were beating. The slogan: without love the heart doesn’t beat.
The remaining wall was filled with movie posters from such romantic classics as It Happened One Night, Tootsie, Dirty Dancing, The Big Easy, While You Were Sleeping, and When Harry Met Sally. And of course, Rachael’s all-time favorite, Sleepless in Seattle, was also featured.
Shelves running along the wall were chock-full of romance-oriented memorabilia: motion-sensitive, dancing flowers that twirled and played “I Can’t Help Myself” whenever anyone walked past; heart-shaped, rhinestone-studded, Elton John–style sunglasses circa 1974; velvet, heart-shaped ring boxes. Teddy bears embracing. Magnetic, lip-locking Raggedy Ann and Andy. Nesting white turtledoves. Scarlet, heart-shaped Mardi Gras beads. Pink feather boas. Heart-shaped candles in various sizes and colors. A figurine of a sloe-eyed girl with her arms stretched out as wide as she could open them and on the base were carved the words: I Love You This Much. Everything was manufactured by Wentworth Novelties.
For the first time, Rachael saw the truth. What she’d always thought of as kitschy, cute, and sweetly romantic was corny, cheesy, and incredibly tasteless.
What a load of hooey.
“Or,” Tish went on, “the die-hard romantic’s version of the Hard Rock Café. They should rename this place Hard-Core Romance Café.”
“Um, the ambience is certainly original,” said Delaney, always the diplomatic one.
“It looks like the creators of Hello Kitty dropped acid in here,” Jillian observed, shrugging out of her jacket.
“Girls, girls,” Delaney chided. “Rachael needs our support, not our criticism of her hometown.”
“Seriously, though.” Tish reached across the table to lay her hand on Rachael’s. “I see why you snapped and went after that lippy billboard.”
“You think this is bad?” Rachael waved a hand at their surroundings. “You should see the rest of the town.”
“It’s all like this?” Delaney sounded horrified in spite of herself.
“You didn’t notice the heart-shaped parking meters when we drove up?” Jillian asked. “Or the heart and arrow in the cement sidewalk outside with ‘Bill + Laurie 4 Ever’ carved into it when we came through the front door?”
“There are hearts and names of prominent local couples on every sidewalk square on Main Street,” Rachael explained. “Like the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Except they call it the Valentine Walk of Flames.”
“Seriously?” Tish arched an eyebrow.
“I saw the ‘Bill + Laurie’ one,” Delaney said. “But I didn’t realize it was a pattern.”
Rachael shrugged apologetically. “It’s for the tourists. Tourism is Valentine’s main industry.”
“I did you a grave disservice, Rachael,” Jillian said. “I should have argued more stringently with Judge Pruitt. I understand you so much better now. Clearly, you have been brainwashed from birth.”
“You think?” Tish said, but it wasn’t a question.
“One hundred and sixty community hours and two thousand dollars is too much to pay when you’ve been set up your whole life to take a fall.”
“Two thousand dollars.” Rachael moaned. “Where am I going to get two thousand dollars, much less the money to pay Jillian’s fee and court costs?”
“Don’t be silly,” Jillian said. “You’re not paying me a penny. We’re friends. And don’t worry about coming up with the money all at once. They’ll let you make arrangements to pay it off. Which, by the way, we need to go see the county clerk about after lunch.”
Rachael placed a hand against her stomach to soothe the twisting ache of anxiety. “I have six hundred and thirty-seven dollars in my savings account. How am I ever going to pay it all?”
“We’ll find a way,” Jillian said. “You interested in suing Trace for breach of contract?”
“Can I do that?” Rachael asked.
“Y’all ready to order?” April Tritt had wandered back over to their table with four glasses of ice water and set them down on the table.
Jillian frowned at the menu. “You have anything that isn’t too heavy or deep-fried?”
“Nope,” April said cheerfully. “We specialize in home-style country cooking.”
“Take my advice,” Rachael said. “At Higgy’s, stick with the blue plate special.”
“I don’t like meat loaf,” Jillian said.
“Menu surf at your own risk,” Rachael warned.
“Blue plate,” Tish ordered quickly.
“Me as well,” Delaney said. “Meat loaf sounds like a nice comfort food.”
“This fish you have on the menu . . . ” Jillian pointed.
“The fried catfish fillets?”
“Could you ask the cook to blacken it?”
“Sure.” April took their menus and sashayed off, rolling her generous hips for the benefit of the men in the diner.
“I hope,” Rachael said, “the cook knows to prepare your fish with blackened seasoning at a high heat and doesn’t literally blacken it in the deep fryer.”
Jillian looked alarmed. “Is that a possibility?”
Rachael shrugged. “Look around. This is Valentine.”
“Excuse me, miss.” Jillian hopped up and scurried after the waitress. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have the blue plate special.”
Tish giggled. “You were yanking her chain, right?”
Rachael smiled. “Sometimes Jillian needs to come down off her high horse a little.”
TEN MILES OUTSIDE of Valentine, Selina had to pull over to have a good long cry. Early that morning Jillian had called to tell her Rachael had been arrested for vandalizing the Valentine billboard. On top of everything else, it was almost more than Selina could bear.
But she was first and foremost a mom. Rachael needed her — even if she might believe she didn’t want to see her — and Selina was determined to be there for her. She’d lost her marriage; she’d be damned if she was going to lose her daughter as well.
She’d driven fifteen miles over the speed limit to make the drive from Houston to Valentine, at a personal record of four hours and forty-seven minutes. Rachael was supposed to have been arraigned at ten this morning, so she knew she was too late for that, but she wasn’t too late to help her pick up the pieces of her life.
>
However, now that she was within hugging range of her eldest daughter, her composure flew out the window. After a hard, five-minute cry, she wiped her face, blew her nose on a Kleenex, and reapplied her makeup.
“Stiff upper lip,” she told herself and got back on the highway.
A few minutes later, she rolled past the welcome to valentine, texas, romance capital of the usa billboard.
Seeing the lips painted startlingly black and knowing her daughter was responsible caused her to feel both shocked and irreverently amused. The child had more spunk than Selina had given her credit for.
More spunk than me.
Good. It was wonderful that Rachael was fighting back. If Selina had stood up for herself twenty-seven years ago, she wouldn’t be in this mess now.
She took a deep breath. Okay, maybe she was twenty-seven years too late, but she’d finally worked up her gumption. She was filing for divorce, moving out of Michael’s ancestral family home. She’d already rented a furnished house in town and her friend Giada Vito had already promised her a job as a teacher’s aide.
But now that she was here, where was she supposed to go? What should she do first?
Find Rachael.
She thought about calling her daughter’s cell phone, but she’d been doing that for two days. Rachael wasn’t taking her calls or returning her messages. It was eleven-thirty and she seriously doubted Rachael would still be at the courthouse, especially since her friends were in town. Selina didn’t want to go home and deal with Michael, although he was probably at the country club playing golf.
Home.
The second-biggest house in town — Mayor Kelvin Wentworth owned the biggest — was no longer her home. Selina was going to have to get used to the idea. It shouldn’t be too hard. Not when she was feeling so betrayed. Not when she’d already rented a house in town.
Honestly, it had never really seemed like her home.
She remembered arriving there as a new bride, filled with silly ideas of happily-ever-after, awed by her wealthy young husband, slavishly in love with him, but terrified he’d married her only because of the new life growing in her womb. It had been tough, living there with his parents. After the girls were born she’d convinced him to buy a quiet modest house in the middle of town. They’d lived there ten years before Michael’s father had a stroke and they’d been forced to move back into the mansion. She couldn’t help thinking those ten years had been the best of her life.
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