by Ashton Lee
“Dig in, Mama. You won’t be sorry,” Maura Beth added. “Mr. Place is the best darn pastry chef from here to Memphis, and he’s been a wonderful addition to The Twinkle.”
It was then that Barry Bevins rushed out from the kitchen, heading straight for Periwinkle, who had just placed the last dessert plate in front of William Mayhew. “Miz Peri,” he began, slightly out of breath, “we just got us a real big takeout order way out in the boonies. Do ya want me to go ahead and deliver it as soon as possible, or do ya need me to hang around a little longer for this party?”
“We’re almost through here, Barry,” she told him. “We don’t ever wanna keep our customers waiting. You head on out as soon as the kitchen gets it fixed. We’ve got our reputation to uphold.”
“I must say I’m impressed. You do seem to be the only game in town, Miz Lattimore,” Cara Lynn observed as Barry scurried away.
Periwinkle was beaming. “Oh, please call me Periwinkle. But I will say we do try awful hard, especially with our new delivery service. Cherico’s never had anything quite like it—except for the pizza place, of course.”
Then Cara Lynn took her first bite of pie and everyone thought she would swoon. “Ohhh! This is insane!”
“Isn’t it scrumptious?” Connie added, her face lighting up as she leaned in. “I have no business eating it with my figure, of course. But I just can’t resist.”
Maura Beth continued to watch it all unfold with a satisfaction that had now morphed into outright smugness. Why, there wasn’t a thing to worry about the rest of the weekend! There was now no reason to believe that her parents, particularly her mother, would not see her side of things regarding the wedding. The potluck and review of The Robber Bridegroom at the library tomorrow would clinch the deal. There would be an informed, intelligent discussion of a literary classic and the iconic Mississippi woman who had written it. Her parents would clearly see that both The Cherry Cola Book Club and the new library she had inspired were proof positive of the good works she was doing in Cherico, and furthermore, of how neatly their daughter blended into the fabric of this quirky little community. They would finally understand that their universe and hers might be worlds apart, but that there was nothing wrong with that. The two could coexist because father, mother, and daughter were truly a family. At long last.
The sun was getting ready to slip beneath the Lake Cherico horizon just as everyone returned to the lodge from the catered dinner at The Twinkle.
“Oh, quick!” Cara Lynn shouted in front of one of the great room windows, pointing toward the water in the distance. “Let’s hurry out to the deck so I can see this for myself!” Then she grabbed Susan by the arm. “You come along with me, Miss Crafty Beads!”
The others followed, and soon everyone was outside, mesmerized by the gaudy, swollen display that could not decide which among the shades of orange, pink, and gold it preferred. At any rate, the brilliance of all the colors was short-lived as the sun finally blinked out, signaling the end of another late-summer’s day in Cherico.
“You certainly didn’t exaggerate,” Cara Lynn said, turning to Connie. “That was like a scene from a movie.”
Connie briefly gestured at the horizon. “Wasn’t it? And I never get tired of it. I feel I’m getting my money’s worth out of my retirement every time I see it.”
“Well, now that the show’s over, does anyone have room for a nightcap?” Douglas asked, turning around and pointing to the great room. “I’m your bartender, if you’re interested.”
Several people immediately took him up on his offer and headed back in, but Cara Lynn stayed behind, taking Susan aside at the last second. When everyone was well out of earshot, she said, “Please stay a moment with me. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Susan gave her a quizzical glance but remained at the railing. “Is it about my catalogue? I could go bring one down right now if you’d like. I’m sure you’ll find something that suits you.”
“Yes, we must look it over together—if not tonight, then tomorrow. I adored Connie’s pendant. You are obviously quite talented.” Cara Lynn was looking out over the water now, as if searching for the right words. Finally, she turned to Susan and lowered her voice. “I don’t know how you feel about this lodge wedding that my daughter has cooked up, but William and I are not very happy about it. Maura Beth is our only child, and we want to give her a big wedding with all the trimmings down in South Louisiana. It will be part of the New Orleans social scene. I just don’t think having a ceremony on the deck of a fishing lodge is very proper, even if we staged it at sunset. Tell me, do you think we’re being unreasonable?”
Susan looked decidedly uncomfortable, forcing a smile. “I can understand your position, Cara Lynn, but shouldn’t this be between you and your daughter? For what it’s worth, I can tell you that Jeremy is fine with whatever Maura Beth wants to do. I think most grooms are a bit intimidated by weddings. I know my Paul was. My mother and I just told him what to do, and he did it.”
“That may be, but I was hoping to talk her out of this idea of hers,” Cara Lynn continued. “Wouldn’t you and Paul like coming down to New Orleans for a traditional wedding? St. Andrew’s is such a beautiful old high church, and there’s nothing like a reception at The Three-Hundred Club. It’s just the grandest stage you could ever imagine—just dripping with tradition. I’ve been looking forward to this all my life, and I just don’t understand what Maura Beth can be thinking of with this fishing lodge idea of hers. She’s always been so stubborn, of course, but maybe you could talk to Jeremy about it?”
“What do you mean?” Susan said, a subtle edge to her voice.
“If you could impress upon him how much a hometown wedding would mean to me—have him put in a good word for our position with Maura Beth. Maybe she’d listen to him. Maybe he could turn this thing around for us.”
Susan’s nervousness took the form of an extended sigh. “Cara Lynn, I think this is all very awkward for me. Paul and I have never been able to tell Jeremy what to do, either. We warned him that he wouldn’t be making much money teaching English, and that some of the principals, headmasters, and superintendents he’d be dealing with might be nightmares. That’s turned out to be the case, as a matter of fact. But he has this great passion for literature—he says he wants to improve the culture. He firmly believes it’s taken a swan dive. And frankly, I think he’s nailed it. Every time I see what’s on television and what’s playing at the movies I realize how low the bar has been set these days. And as for the wedding, I think we just have to let our children set their own agendas.”
Cara Lynn’s tone of voice took on a slight chill. “I see. Then you won’t try to help me with this?”
“I don’t think it’s my place,” Susan began. “And I have to tell you—I’m a bit surprised by all this. I thought the four of us were getting along just fine up to now. The men seem to be hitting it off in there with their after-dinner drinks, and I would imagine that Connie and your daughter are both starting to wonder what deep philosophical discussion we’re having out here without them. So why don’t we hurry on in and join the others, okay?”
Cara Lynn flashed a smile that was anything but sincere. “Yes, of course. And I trust this little chat we’ve had won’t be repeated. I guess I went out on a limb expressing my opinions here so openly to you.”
“You’re the mother of the bride. You have every right to. But if you don’t mind, Cara Lynn, I think I’ll stay out of this.”
Was it the B & B Maura Beth was sipping in a corner of the great room, or was it the sight of her mother and Susan McShay chatting so intensely out on the deck that was giving her such a warm, fuzzy feeling? It was obvious that these two Southern divas had become fast friends. Could it get any better than that? They were no doubt outside thinking up ways to make her wedding even more spectacular now that it was clear her mother had shown up planning to cooperate and get with the program. Perhaps Susan would be adding something artsy-craftsy to t
he wedding bouquet, and they were discussing other unique and colorful favors for the ceremony. What a revelation it was all turning out to be!
“What are you grinning about?” Jeremy asked, sitting in an adjoining chair and brushing up against her leg.
She pointed to their mothers out on the deck, then to the men whooping it up across the room. “The truth is, I’d give anything to be a fly on the railing out there. Not to mention that Daddy is over there by the fireplace telling his god-awful bawdy jokes, and your father and uncle seem to be birds of a feather with it all. What’s not to like about that?”
He swirled his snifter of Courvoisier and tilted his head. “Yep, I’d say it’s going pretty smoothly. And you’re right—I can hear those punch lines from here. They’re pretty stale.”
“Never mind that. I think The Robber Bridegroom review tomorrow will be the capper for your new in-laws. They’ll see that The Cherry Cola Book Club is my greatest achievement to date.”
“But it’ll soon take a backseat to the new library,” Jeremy added, hoisting his snifter.
“Well said. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for my parents to appreciate why I’ve always wanted to be a librarian. It’s ridiculous that they’ve made me feel defensive about it.”
Maura Beth’s smile grew even wider as her mother and Susan McShay finally came in from the deck and joined Connie for what looked like more girl talk. “I think we’re going to be just fine,” she told Jeremy, observing their body language from afar. “And that’s not my cordial talking.”
7
Trouble in Takeoutland
Barry Bevins was beginning to worry. He thought he knew all the back roads in and around Greater Cherico, but now he had to admit it. He was lost. He’d been driving around in the fading light for over fifteen minutes, trying to locate the takeout order address. He’d even called The Twinkle on his cell phone to reconfirm it.
“Yes, Barry,” Periwinkle had told him. “You don’t have it written down wrong. 305 Littlejohn Lane is what I’m showing here. You’re on the right road. I’m sure you’ll find it soon. But give me another shout if you need help.”
Barry ended the call and then focused on the folly of it all. This was what came of Miz Peri buying a used panel van instead of something new that had a GPS system. And his mother had refused to let him get a fancy cell phone with that particular app. Too expensive, she had told him. But perhaps this latest incident would persuade her to let him upgrade.
Nonetheless, he was becoming so rattled that he turned off the Hunter Hayes CD he’d been listening to right in the middle of his favorite country music cut—“I Want Crazy.” Well, he certainly seemed to have gotten his wish. The dilapidated houses out this way were getting fewer and farther between with each minute of travel. The last mailbox he’d been able to make out as he passed it in the fading light had read: 212 Littlejohn Lane. But this was no city street filled with next-door neighbors who were always ready to lend a hand. It was one of those winding country roads—the kind with no line of sight and the sort of dangerous curves that could cause careless or drunk drivers to have wrecks. But when it changed from smooth asphalt to bumpy, noisy gravel, Barry knew it was time to turn around and ask directions. He’d remembered his mother’s comments on that particular subject once. “Men never stop and get help. I know that shiftless father of yours never did!” she’d declared.
So it was with no small degree of apprehension that he pulled over to the side of the road and slid out of the front seat of the van as he approached the little shack at 212 Littlejohn Lane. There were lights on inside, but the place had seen better days—if it had ever had any at all. The flimsy columns seemed to be struggling to hold up the roof, and there was clutter everywhere along the sagging front porch: an old tire leaning against the wall, a couple of rusty folding chairs, a watering can, stacks of magazines weighted down by bricks, and several terra cotta flower pots filled with dirt but with nothing growing in them. There was also a faded sign staked in the middle of the weedy yard that read: BEWARE OF DOG. Thankfully, there was no barking to be heard, and it even flashed into Barry’s head that the dog had either died or wised up and wandered off for greener pastures.
He had not even reached the porch steps when a tall, slim man opened the front door and stepped out. Backlit the way he was with Barry looking up at him, he was just a dark figure with vague features, and therefore somewhat disturbing to behold. Echoes of slasher movies filled his head.
“Kin I hep ye?” the man said, his voice thin and high-pitched.
Barry froze in his tracks, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath to steady himself. “Yessir, I think I’m lost. Can you tell me where 305 Littlejohn Lane is? I have to deliver some food to a Mr. Donny Derbin, and it’s gettin’ cold. The food, I mean. Not the weather.”
The man cackled. “Ain’t no sich address, son. Ain’t no Mr. Derbin out here, neither. Road turns to gravel about a half mile farther down. After that, it’s just yer piney woods and whatnot roamin’ around in ’em.”
“You sure?”
“About the whatnot?”
“No, sir. About the address.”
“Son, I’ve lived out here all my life. Even after my wife died, I stayed put outta respect to her memory. Believe me, I’d know if anyone new come out this-a-way.” The man cackled again, turning up the volume this time. “I hate to be the one t’tell ya, but I think somebody’s played a joke on ye, son. Somebody’s done got the best of ye.”
Instantly, Barry knew the man was right. He had that same queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he got every time his math teacher, Miss Yeomans, was about to hand out one of her famous pop quizzes—which he had yet to pass.
“Ye know how to git back to Cherico from here?” the man continued.
“Yeah,” Barry answered, shaking his head in disgust at his predicament. “But thanks for your help.” Then he started walking back to the van but turned just as he passed the yard sign. “By the way, mister, if you don’t mind my askin’—what happened to your dog?”
“Heh?” the man called out.
“Your dog? The ‘Beware the dog’ sign you got here?”
There was more cackling. “Oh! Never had me one. Just figgered the sign’d be enough to keep people from stealin’ my stuff!”
“Gotcha,” Barry said, cracking a smile as he wondered who in hell would be remotely interested in anything he’d seen on the front porch or that might be hidden or hoarded inside. “You have a good night now.”
The man’s cackling rose to a crescendo. “Come out this-a-way and visit me anytime, y’hear?”
“Umm-hmm,” Barry answered, still smiling.
So now there was nothing left to do but give The Twinkle another call, let them know what had happened, and then head on back.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Periwinkle exclaimed when he gave her the rundown. “We’ve never had that happen before!”
Barry was sitting on the front seat, shaking his head with the cell phone held to his ear. “No, ma’am, we haven’t. Whaddaya make of it?”
Periwinkle hesitated briefly, but then came out swinging. “I’m thinkin’ I have a real good idea what’s going on, son. But you let me handle it in my own way. You just get back here safely now!”
Barry told her he would, put the phone down on the passenger seat, and then started the engine. He was totally preoccupied with what his employer had said as he drove along, slowly retracing his journey out from town. But not so much that he failed to notice the vehicle that came up fast behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. Had it been lying in wait for him somewhere on some side road, just waiting for him to pass by? That was definitely a creepy thought. Whoever was driving it had their high beams on, and it was nearly blinding him. He put his hand in front of the rearview mirror, trying to block the light and instinctively slowing down. Then he took a chance and braked quickly a couple of times, hoping to get his pursuer off his tail. That only brought an angry-sounding flurry of ho
nks from behind. The driver flashed his headlights several times in a row before settling on the high beams once again. More images of slasher movies flashed into Barry’s head.
He was beginning to panic as more adrenaline coursed through his veins. He realized with a growing sense of alarm that he was out in the middle of nowhere, driving in the dark with someone following him who might be drunk or maybe drugged out or something even worse than that. If he pulled over to the side, would the other car do the same? Who knew what could happen then? It would probably be useless as well as dangerous to try and outrun him. But at least he had his cell phone and could call for help. He picked it up and punched in The Twinkle’s number on speed dial while carefully steering with one hand.
“Miz Periwinkle,” he began, with the vehicle still tailgating him, “I think I’m in big trouble!” Then he gave her all the harrowing details, breathing hard in between sentences.
“Damn him!” Periwinkle cried out without even thinking about what she was saying. “I can’t believe he’s gone this far! Listen, Barry, whatever you do, don’t stop. I’ll call the sheriff’s department for you when we hang up. Lon Dreyfus’ll send someone out your way pronto. One of his deputies’ll put a stop to all that. Are you still on Littlejohn Lane?”
“Yes’m. It goes on for miles out here. I’ll be on it a while longer,” he told her, squinting in an attempt to lessen the effect of the glare behind him. He might as well have had a comet on his tail.
“All right, then. You hang up and concentrate real hard on your driving. I promise you, I’m gonna get him off our backs if it’s the last thing I do. This is probably all my fault. I should’ve just gone on ahead and gotten that restraining order when I had half a mind to.”
“Get who off our backs, Miz Periwinkle? Who you gonna restrain?”
“Never you mind. Just you hang up and pay attention, son!”
Barry tossed the cell phone on the seat again and took another deep breath to try and calm himself. This was a nightmare, and he was even starting to fear for his life. The car behind could have passed him many miles back. They were the only two vehicles on this little-used road. So at the very least, harassing him was clearly the objective here. If this sort of thing came with the job, no amount of money was worth it. If he made it back to The Twinkle in one piece, he was seriously considering quitting right then and there. He even started practicing his resignation speech out loud as he tensely gripped the steering wheel. If nothing else, it kept him from contemplating a world of worst-case scenarios.