by Mary Campisi
He asked the question as if he already knew the answer. Nate shrugged. “About like you’d think.”
“Right, and you’re about as calm as one of those Buddhist monks compared to Cash. We got to get to the bottom of this woman and her child, Nate. It’s up to us to do it because Cash isn’t thinking straight and Tess is too broken-hearted to do anything about it. Lester Conroy seems like the kind of man who could snake out answers.” Pop patted the pocket of his sweatpants, reached inside, and pulled out a business card. “Here’s the information you’ll need to contact the man.” He hesitated, cleared his throat. “I think Christine should make the call. If the man has half a conscience, he’ll do it for her, but maybe not for you.”
“I really don’t want to put her in that position.”
“How about you let your wife decide? She’s a strong one, no doubt about that.”
Nate wanted to tell Pop that it was his job to protect his wife from hurt and pain, but he knew she wouldn’t be happy if he did that so he said the only thing he could. “I’ll tell Christine and let her decide what she wants to do.”
The smile that inched across Pop’s face said he already knew what Christine would do and seconds later, his words confirmed it. “Tell her to call me once she’s talked to Conroy and I’ll take it from there.”
“YOU LESTER CONROY?”
The man’s response slid through the line in a soft drawl. “Yes, sir.”
Pop’s curiosity snagged him, forced him to inquire about that drawl. “You from down South?”
“Born and bred in Texas. Lubbock, but I relocated to Chicago a while back.”
Hmm… “I figured you had a Chicago connection.” He wanted to say, aside from Gloria Blacksworth, but that would come up soon enough.
Lester Conroy cleared his throat. “That’d be correct. I certainly do.” Pause, an extra exchange of air and then, “Mr. Benito? I’m guessing you’re a straight shooter or you wouldn’t want to have this conversation, so why don’t we get right to it? Christine Desantro told me you’ve got a job for me.”
He had to give the man credit for not fancy-dancing around the issue. “I do. Could be a hunt that produces nothing, or it could turn up a bushel of information.”
“Either way, you want to know. I told Christine I’d do whatever she needed.” His breath filled the line, followed by quiet words that made Pop lean close to hear. “I owe that poor girl as well as the town. There’s no way to take back what I did, even though I never dreamed Mrs. Blacksworth would use it against ya’ll. At the time, I thought it was a job like all the others but I was dead wrong and I’ve got to try and make it right. Whatever you need, Mr. Benito. How about you give me as much information as you can and I’ll get started on it right away?”
Now if that didn’t beat all. A man who wanted to right a wrong when he wasn’t being forced to do it. “It’s a deal. I started a page of notes and a timeline that could help. The woman in question is still in Magdalena, and I plan to do a bit of investigative work myself. I’ll let you know what I find.” Tula Rae offered to help him with reconnaissance and he’d agreed because he’d rather have her working with him than conjuring up ways to pick his life apart.
“If it would help, I’ll make the trip to Magdalena and gather the information in person.”
Pop rubbed his jaw, considered the man’s offer. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. If the town finds out you’re the one who fed information to Gloria Blacksworth and almost ruined Nate and Christine Desantro’s marriage, they won’t take too kindly to you. Nope, not at all.”
9
The front door banged open and jerked Cash from his sleep. What the hell? The stomping came next, headed straight toward the bedroom. The voice that accompanied the stomping made him wish he’d rolled out of bed an hour ago instead of succumbing to this damn headache.
“Daniel Casherdon, what on earth have you done?”
Damn. Cash inched an eye open, spotted his aunt standing by the bed, fists clenched on her plump hips, dark eyes burning a hole into his brain, lips pulled into a scowl. He could tell her he had a killer headache but that wouldn’t stop Ramona Casherdon from laying into him about whatever had her ticked off right now. And whatever it was, must be big—huge—because his aunt had only been to his house twice: once when he first moved in to bring him a weeks’ worth of food in case he didn’t have time to eat, and two years ago, for his birthday. “Hello, Ramona. I’d say it’s nice to see you right now, but that would be a lie.” He dragged both hands over his face, yawned. “Can you come back in about an hour? I need coffee before I admit to whatever you think I’ve done.”
“If you break that girl’s heart, I will never forgive you.” Those dark eyes turned to soot. “I will haunt you to your last breath, even when I’m no longer walking this earth.” She moved closer, her thighs hitting the bed. “You are going to fix this, and you are going to fix this now.”
“Fix what?” There was no way she knew he and Tess had a blowout last night and there was no way he was admitting that…not when he didn’t want to think about the whole mess himself. His wife was being oversensitive and it all came back to babies. He’d let her cool off and then he’d reason with her and she’d be fine—maybe.
His aunt leaned toward him, spat out, “Don’t pretend with me. I want to know why a woman you haven’t seen in almost ten years shows up out of nowhere with a child she claims is yours and this is the first time you’re hearing about it.”
Ramona had always been a no-nonsense, in-your-face “parent,” the only real one he’d ever had. He liked her in-your-face approach as long as it wasn’t directed at him, which at the moment it was. Cash sat up, pulled the covers around his waist before his aunt saw more than she wanted to, and sighed. “I’ve got a headache. Can I at least get a cup of coffee before you start the interrogation?”
Her lips pinched, flattened, and the answer slipped out. “No.”
No getting out of this conversation so he might as well get it started so it could finish. “This damn town is something else. A person can’t show a simple kindness to anybody without the rumors starting.”
She actually snorted, shook a finger at him. “Was the boy the result of ‘simple kindness’?”
Oh, that was low. “You’re the last person to judge, so who filled your head? Was it Pop? Mimi?” Pop and Mimi knew pretty much everything in this town, but they were close-lipped about it unless they wanted the tale to spread. They were great at helping words travel—like kerosene on an open fire.
Ramona eyed him with more disgust than she showed the time she found a pack of cigarettes in his jacket. He’d been thirteen at the time and that look ended his “habit.” “Tess came to see me.”
“Tess?” They didn’t even like each other and the only reason they remained civil was because of him. His aunt had never quite forgiven her for what she called forcing him from town and neglecting to tell him about their baby. Of course, Tess was no fool. She could tell how Ramona felt, and his aunt didn’t do much to hide her feelings. But Tess visiting Ramona of her own free will? That seemed implausible on every level of possible. “Why would she do that?” he asked, avoiding the eyes that knew how to dig deep and ferret out truths.
She crossed her arms over her middle, shook her head until the gold hoop earrings she always wore swayed. “Maybe because you’re breaking her heart. Huh? Maybe because she doesn’t trust the woman or her story.” She let out a sound that could have been a laugh if not for the harshness of it. “And you know what, Daniel? Maybe she’s right.”
He was not going to discuss Tess and her fragile state with his aunt because when this blew over, Ramona would remember his words and use the information he shared against Tess. That’s how Ramona attacked people she didn’t like, and he’d be damned if he’d give her ammunition to harm his wife. “I need a cup of coffee.” He reached for the covers, pulled them down to reveal his naked belly. “And unless you want to see me buck naked, you’ll g
ive me minute to pull on a pair of jeans.”
That should have ended the conversation or at least postponed it, but Ramona had come to have her say and it looked like she wasn’t leaving his bedroom until she’d done just that. “If you don’t wake up and open your eyes, you’re going to lose the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Cash stared at his aunt, trying to figure out her game. “You don’t even like Tess. Why the concern?”
She straightened her shoulders, her expression shadowed with anger and disappointment. “I don’t like what she did to you and how it hurt you.” Her expression softened. “But that woman loves you deep, strong. The kind of love that doesn’t die. Unless it’s betrayed. Do not betray her, Daniel. Do not do that or I will never forgive you.”
And then she was gone, black braid flopping against her back, feet moving with purposeful strides. This time when the door opened, there was no slamming, no hinges scraping, there was nothing but silence and the memory of her warning saturating his brain.
Did everybody think he was an idiot who couldn’t tell when he was being played? Cash hopped out of bed, snagged his athletic shorts, and stepped into them. He wouldn’t have bothered with the shorts, but Lily Desantro had been visiting the workshop lately, and she’d taken to stopping by the house for a chat—or a cookie. He padded into the kitchen, pulled out the canister of coffee, and added a few extra tablespoons to the usual measurement. Right now he needed the jolt and then he needed a shower. As he waited for the coffee to brew, Cash glanced out the kitchen sink window, zeroed in on the workshop door. Nate was probably wondering where he was, but typical Nate, he wouldn’t ask, especially if he thought it had to do with relationship issues. That was way out of the guy’s comfort zone. Don’t ask and don’t offer was his motto, but he hadn’t minded asking about the friggin’ DNA test, had he? Nope, his buddy had been all over that one. Cash rubbed his temples, cursed the blasted headache, and reached for a coffee mug.
Had Tess actually thought she could bribe him to take the damn test with a promise to go to Ohio if he did? Screw that. Nobody was going to force him to do anything, not even his wife. What about trust and valuing the other person’s decisions? Huh, what about that? If she didn’t want to go with him, he’d go without her. Damn straight he would. She didn’t want to lend her support and help them all get through a tough situation? Fine, he’d do it all by himself. His stomach lurched and he blamed it on the extra dose of caffeine. Tess was probably flitting around town right now, dropping seeds of doubt and discontent, crying about how he’d done her wrong. All he wanted was a little peace and a scrap of understanding from his wife, but the way life had been going these past few weeks, it wasn’t going to happen, not even close.
He sighed, poured his coffee. Who was next in line to pay him a visit? Pop Benito? Bree Kinkaid? How about Ben? Hadn’t heard from him other than one phone call and he’d known Lewis and Stephanie. So, why hadn’t he weighed in yet and delivered his opinion? At least that might have been interesting, seeing as he’d actually spent time with the Richmonds. Cash bet it had to do with Gina. Maybe she’d warned him to stay out of it and not take sides, or maybe he’d taken a side and it hadn’t been Cash.
WHEN A SMALL TOWN sets its mind to helping one of its own, nothing short of divine intervention can stop it. Word of the newcomers’ activities in Magdalena spread faster than a pat of butter on an ear of corn fresh out of the pot. People were curious about the gray-braided, wiry woman in exercise shorts and a colored tank top that accentuated her potbelly. They wondered if the wrinkles on her raisin-brown face were the result of too much sun, too much living, too many smiles, or a combination of all three. And everybody wanted to know why the woman referred to herself in third person as though the real Tula Rae were another person altogether. Talk shot through town about the dead husbands, numbering four, or was it five, all named after food or the like, and the current one, Earl Gray, several years younger, who might or might not show up in Magdalena one day soon. Tula Rae told the tales and word also had it she’d been friends with Lucy Benito back in the day, but that wasn’t common knowledge and it didn’t seem like something Pop wanted passed around any more than he wanted to divulge his secret for growing basil.
Tula Rae held their interest with her third-person commentary, attire that knew no age or shape limits, and curious association with the late Lucy Benito, but it was the other two newcomers who made the town stop and do a double stare. The petite woman with the dark hair and sun-kissed skin was a looker in a wholesome, get-to-know-you sort of way. Her laugh pulled you in, her smile brought out the dimples in her cheeks and made you relax, but it was the eyes—brown, almond-shaped, intense—that gave a person the feeling that he was the only one that mattered. Her name suited her: Stephanie Richmond, a perfect name for a stunning woman.
But as much as the woman intrigued the town, it was her son who raised eyebrows as fast as he raised questions, made people wonder just what the heck was going on and, moreover, what the heck had gone on before—say ten years or so, judging by the age of the boy. Mason, that was his name. A fine name for a fine boy with wavy, sun-streaked brown hair and dark brown eyes, lean and lanky, and a smile that would do damage to many a girl’s heart in a few years. That hair, those eyes, the build, the smile, all of it looked familiar and there was no need to guess why.
Daniel Casherdon was the reason.
Was he the boy’s father?
Could he be?
What about Tess?
Good Lord, what about Tess?
The whispering circulated like fireflies in the dark, lighting people’s imagination, sparking their need to know the truth along with their desire to protect one of the town’s favorite couples. But how could they protect them if they didn’t know the truth? And so, they set out to inquire, comment, gather, and observe, all in the name of Daniel and Tess Casherdon.
Their efforts were not all well received or fruitful. However, there were a certain few with experience in the art of extracting truths from questionable situations who had more success than others. Tula Rae and Pop Benito were two such people, and they secured Mimi Pendergrass’s bed and breakfast as the meeting ground…or the battle zone, depending on whether you were talking to Tula Rae or Pop. Tula Rae began the reconnaissance with an invitation for Stephanie and Mason to share the banana-nut muffins she and Mimi made that morning and a batch of pizzelles from the patriarch of the town, Pop Benito. Who could refuse banana-nut muffins and pizzelles?
And now here they sat, Tula Rae, Pop, and Stephanie, sipping hibiscus tea in the kitchen while Mimi fixed a tray of muffins and pizzelles.
“I’m sure sorry your boy couldn’t be here,” Pop said, fixing his gaze on the woman who’d started such a ruckus between Cash and Tess. “But who could turn down a trip to Boone’s Peak? Bet he comes back with at least three trout.” He almost said, And what boy wouldn’t want to spend time with the father he hadn’t known existed, but held off. Slow and steady was the name of this particular game, and Pop knew just how to play it. If he took his time, he’d find out the who, why, and where behind Stephanie Richmond’s visit to Magdalena.
“Mason is hero-struck.” The woman gave him a smile that Pop categorized as “winning” and “trying very hard to be liked” and continued. “He’s started to quote Cash, and the first time he called him Dad?” Those dark eyes teared up, that silky voice spun its web. “I cried.”
Pop cleared his throat, fidgeted in his chair, and fixed his gaze on Mimi’s back. How long was she going to fiddle with the muffins and pizzelles? No need to do more than toss them on a plate and slide them on the table, but Mimi always did have a flare for the decorative and the presentation. Maybe that’s why she took pictures of seeds and dirt that looked like real artwork, but maybe she could hurry it up so Pop could gnaw on a pizzelle and continue his discovery.
“Ain’t that just the sweetest thing I ever heard?” Tula Rae placed both elbows on the table, leaned toward Stephanie. “There
’s nothing like finding a treasure you didn’t know existed, or worse, thought you lost. That’s what I think about your boy finding his father.” Her beady gaze shifted from the woman to Pop, back to the woman. “Doesn’t happen half as much as it should and most times when it does, the outcome’s not one to have a party over.” She nodded her head and the gray frizzies escaping her braid danced back and forth. “But from what I hear, the boy’s father is a real gem: honorable, self-respecting.” She grinned. “Pretty darn nice to look at, too.”
That comment turned Stephanie the color of his dear Lucy’s knockout rosebush, the one Sal Ventori brought and planted three weeks before she died. A pale pink, so pure and delicate, planted along the backyard property so Pop could keep watch on it. “Cash always did have a way of turning a girl’s head,” he said. “Not that he cared much about any of that.”
“And that’s what made him all the more desirable.” Mimi slid the tray of goodies on the table, gestured to the plates and napkins. “He still gets looks from most of the female population in this town. Not an ownership or let-me-see-if-I-can-take-you-from-your-wife look, though a few have been known to try that. It’s more appreciation of a fine specimen, like a vibrant flower or the perfect pizzelle.” She lifted a pizzelle from the plate, held it up.
Tula Rae let out a laugh that bordered on a cackle. “I’m sure he’d like being compared to a flower or a fancy Italian cookie.”
Mimi smiled at Pop and said, “I’m not so sure about the flower, but comparing a man or woman to Pop’s pizzelles is a high honor. I’d take that compliment any day.” She chuckled, lifted a pizzelle from the tray. “Even Lily Desantro has her eye on Cash and can’t help but comment when she sees him. ‘Cash is so handsome’ and ‘Don’t you think he’s cute’. And, ‘He and Tess will make beautiful babies.’” The second that last comment hit air, Mimi turned as white as a cup of flour. “Oh, my…that’s not what I meant…”