by Kelly Lane
“Get up!” I heard a woman shout from the curb. “Get up! Get up!”
CHAPTER 10
He literally snatched me out from under the oversize bumper of the road tractor. I’d been just inches away from one of the truck’s huge, oncoming tires.
The crowd on the sidewalk cheered.
“Eva, are ye okay?”
His brogue was distinctly Scottish. With soft vowels. Hard consonants. Softened double letters. Gently rolled “R”s. It was my neighbor from Greatwoods Plantation, Ian Collier.
My gobsmackingly gorgeous knight in shining armor.
As always, Ian smelled divine. The fresh, clean smell of his starched shirt mingled with his usual seductive, manly woodsman cologne—a pungent, musky scent of earthy oakmoss, vetiver, and leather, set off with a faint smokiness. I inhaled deeply.
Heavenly.
“Eva?”
“Of course. Um. What?”
“We need to get ye to a doctor,” said Ian. He was still holding me in his strong arms, pressed securely against his muscular chest. “Ye smacked yer head pretty good on the pavement.”
The goggling crowd parted quickly as ruggedly handsome, forty-something Ian—several inches over six feet tall, with wavy, dark hair, broad shoulders, and a slender waist—cried out, “Make way, folks.”
He carried me through the throng and toward the movie theater. Someone threw open the theater door, and a woosh of icy cold air washed over us as Ian walked us into the majestic, air-conditioned lobby. Decorated floor to ceiling in red velvet and gold leaf, the place smelled like popcorn and sticky sweet candy. I felt instantly better. Maybe it was the cool air. Maybe it was the popcorn.
Maybe it was Ian Collier.
“Please, I’m fine,” I said.
The theater lobby was packed with noisy people lined up to buy movie tickets and snacks. Ian set me down on an old Victorian fainting couch in the corner. Like everything else, it was upholstered in plushy red velvet fabric.
“Sit,” he ordered. Ian was dressed casually but neatly, with tan slacks, a leather belt, and a bright white long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And he wore pricey, well-worn loafers. No socks.
“I was just comin’ from the surveyor’s office up the street when I saw ye fall,” he said. “What happened?” He brushed his dark, wavy hair from his smooth forehead.
“I must have slipped off the curb. Thank you for rescuing me.”
His eyes flashed bright with alert intelligence. They were the dreamiest deep green, set between long, thick lashes.
“Slipped off the curb?” He furrowed his brows, giving me a quizzical look.
I nodded. “Um-hmm.”
“I swear, girl, we’re going to have to wrap ye in Bubble Wrap. Good thing I was walking the road and not the sidewalk . . . I’d have never gotten to ye in time. Are ye sure yer okay? Do ye need a ride home?”
“I’m fine. Really. And no, I don’t need a ride. Thanks. I’m supposed to meet Precious at the hardware store in a few minutes.”
“Precious?”
“We split up . . . doing errands. We’ve got just one more place to go and then she’ll take me home. I know you need her back at Greatwoods by four thirty.”
“Aye.”
Ian raised a brawny arm and looked at his wristwatch. An old Patek Philippe. Simple but elegant. Probably mid-century.
“Which reminds me,” he said, “I’ve got to be getting back to Greatwoods myself. Are ye sure I can’t give ye a lift, now?”
“I’m sure.”
“And yer alright?”
“I’m fine. I just slipped, that’s all.”
“Yer head is feelin’ okay?”
“My head is okay. I’ll take some ibuprofen when I get home. Promise.”
“Okay, then. Yer on yer own. Tell Precious I’ll be looking for her when she gets back home. And I’ll be wanting a full report on how ye’ve fared. I don’t like leaving ye here like this.”
“I’ll tell her. Thank you again, for picking me up. Literally.” I giggled.
Idiot schoolgirl!
“Sure, Eva.”
Ian bent down, gently putting a big, soft hand on each of my shoulders. He moved in close, transfixing me with his seductive, intense, woodsman scent. Pressing his warm lips firmly onto my forehead, he let his kiss linger just . . . ever so much. Afterwards, I felt his day-old beard as it brushed against my cheek.
My insides flipped. My cheeks flushed hot.
“Ye know I’m always here, looking out for ye,” he whispered hoarsely. Then he chuckled before mumbling, “Goodness knows, ye need it, darling.” His green eyes twinkled and he gave me a wink.
Then Ian stood and turned, before walking briskly through the crowd and out of the theater.
I could still smell his seductive, earthy scent all around me. The kiss on my forehead lingered, feeling just slightly warm and damp. I didn’t dare move, for fear I’d melt it away.
CHAPTER 11
The Peeps Week parade turned out to be one of those blink-and-you-miss-it events. There was the high school band and color guard followed by the octogenarian wheelchair band. Then came the big landscaping road tractor that almost crushed me. It was towing a big forest-themed float. There were a bunch of landscape trees set up on the trailer to make a “forest” that “hid” the owners’ kids dressed to look like woodland animals. Then came some scouting troops—the girls dressed like birds; the boys marched as trees. A float sponsored by the local chapter of the National Audubon Society featured folks dressed to look like wildlife. Loudspeakers broadcast various birdcalls to the crowd. The Abundance Naturalist Society passed out flyers and candy; members of the Abundance Swamp Huggers pulled wagons decorated to look like big alligators—one was supposedly a male alligator called “Suitcase”; the other was a female alligator called “Handbag.” Suitcase and Handbag were two iconic legends supposedly inhabiting our Big Swamp. And there were smaller wagons decorated as baby alligators named “Wallet” and “Belt.”
A few folks from the Georgia Wilderness Society marched and carried signs about saving the trees, and members of the Georgia Nature Photographers’ Society walked the boulevard behind a giant banner depicting a wide-angle photo of our Big Swamp. Georgia Power had a small, well-decorated nature-themed float featuring giant papier-mâché butterflies, frogs, and birds. There was a person dressed like the Georgia state bird, the brown thrasher. A couple of clowns juggled and squirted water, and some kids on horseback rode the parade route as well—everyone cheered when the ponies pooped in the road.
Also, a couple of representatives from the Georgia Ornithological Society marched along, giving out pamphlets; there was a random park ranger from somewhere; and standing on a large trailer pulled behind another big truck, members of the Abundance Bird Club dressed themselves as various bird species, whistling and making birdcalls while throwing little packets of birdseed to the crowd.
Swamp tour owner Skeets Diggs drove down the boulevard in his pickup, towing a huge, flat-bottomed airboat, with a humongous fan spinning in the wind. His boat was covered with hand-painted signs advertising his tour service. Folks cheered when the giant fan in the stern got caught up in some low-hanging branches, causing Spanish moss to rain down on the boulevard. After that, Abundance Fire and Rescue made a showing with several emergency vehicles and blazing red fire trucks, blowing their horns to indicate that the parade was over.
Like I said, the parade was short. Describing it as I just did probably took longer than it’d taken to watch it pass by.
After Ian’d left me at the theater, and I’d watched the tail end of the parade, I figured it was just about time to meet Precious, so I headed toward Abundance Hardware. I’d have to give my apologies to store owner Merle Tritt for forgetting the corks that Daphne’d promised him.
Just a couple of doors up the street, dread
ing another confrontation with Debi Dicer, I ducked my head and fast-walked through the crowd past Dicer Realty, which was right next door to Abundance Hardware. Dickey and the Bostoners were nowhere to be seen. Even so, just outside the hardware shop, I ran into a different kind of trouble.
Beauty shop owner Tammy Fae Tanner put on a big smiley-smile when she stepped onto the sidewalk from inside the hardware store.
“My heavenly days! Eva Knox. Aren’t y’all a sight . . . as usual, tsk tsk.” She shook her head as she gave me a once-over. “Really, dear, I’d be happy to work you in for a beauty consult. A gal like you shouldn’t be too embarrassed to ask.”
A former beauty queen and sitting president of the local ladies club, Buck’s mother was pretty and petite with big, brown cocker spaniel eyes, a turned-up nose, and curled, shoulder-length, whiskey-colored hair. Carrying a little paper bag from the hardware shop, she wore a simple sleeveless cotton blouse over a fitted black skirt. Her thong sandals were faux alligator, and her toenails were painted cherry red, to match her fingernails and lip color. Tammy Fae put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a too-tight squeeze.
“After all,” she said in mock earnest, “that’s what friends are for!”
“I’ll pass. Thank you, Missus Tanner.”
“Well, hon, if I may, here’s a piece of friendly advice . . . Y’all will never land yourself a fella looking like this!”
She stepped back and gave me another once-over.
“A single woman your age must put in a little effort, don’t y’all know it? After all, look at Debi Dicer . . . She takes care of herself and she got her man. And, I daresay, my son is the biggest catch in the county.”
“By hook or by crook.”
I smiled.
Tammy Fae leaned in and whispered loudly into my ear. “Bless your heart.” She smelled like beauty salon chemicals. “Don’t y’all know it, Buck just thinks Debi’s the cat’s pajamas! I’ve seen how my handsome son can’t keep his paws off her. Mark my words, they’ll be makin’ babies, just quick as a bunny. I just know it.”
Obviously, Debi and her hopefully-future-mother-in-law had discussed Debi’s baby-making scenario.
“Does your handsome son know about his role in this imminent baby-making scheme?”
“Sugar pie, men never do.”
Tammy Fae gave me a fat-cat grin.
A voice boomed from behind me. “Miss Eva, you ready to head outta here?” It was Precious.
“Precious!” I turned to smile at my friend. “It’s so nice to see a friendly face.” I turned back to address Tammy Fae. “I’m so sorry, Missus Tanner, no time to chitchat today. Perhaps another time.”
I gave her the same sort of insincere smile that she’d given me earlier.
“No problem,” said Tammy Fae with a little wave. “Have a lovely day, ladies. Oh, and Miss Precious . . . I’ll see you next week, for your regular appointment!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Precious. “See ya.”
I opened my mouth to chastise Precious for going to Tammy Fae’s place. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.
“C’mon. Let’s scram. I got the car parked in the lot behind Duke’s Donuts. Got a box of donuts, too. Oh, hey. And I got news!”
“News? What kind of news?”
“Tilly Beekerspat called me. You know, she’s my friend who works in dispatch. Anyway, she told me that our dweeby detective was jumpin’ the gun again. He’s looking to get a search warrant for all y’all’s place. I figure that can’t be good news, ’cause we all know his little brain rattles around like a BB in a boxcar!”
CHAPTER 12
The massive Diggs homestead wasn’t hard to find. Tucked down a side street, not far from the village center, the rambling, asymmetrical High Victorian was painted gray with white gingerbread trim. There was no grass out front. Instead, the small yard was a tangle of overgrown trees, shrubs, and perennials. Curbside, there was a black post with a tasteful hand-painted sign that read, THE NATURIST B&B.
Riding in her red Corvette convertible, Precious and I hadn’t said much since our discussion about Detective Gibbit’s search warrant, which hadn’t been much of a discussion, really, since that’d been all the insider news that Tilly Beekerspat had known before calling. Precious and I’d speculated a bit about what the detective was thinking. Then, as Precious careened down one narrow street after another, I’d sat brooding in the bucket seat until our arrival at the Diggses’ place. Precious passed the drive that went up the side of the property. Instead, she parked on the street, in front of the long walk to the front porch.
“Gosh, this place sure could use a face-lift,” said Precious. “It’s pretty desperate for some paint.”
“And a new roof,” I said, noting the missing shingles on the red roof as I stepped out of the car.
“And a weed whacker. If ever there were a time to use a machete, it’d be now!”
Precious laughed and hustled around the Corvette to catch up with me as I hefted Daphne’s basket of olive oil goodies up the front walk.
“Looks like someone had a green thumb . . . a long time ago.”
Actually, I was thinking that the place looked a lot like every place in Abundance had looked, before the Internet had come to the community’s rescue. It was tired, run-down, and in need of restoration. Or a wrecking ball.
No wonder Dex and his friends left this place for Knox Plantation, I thought.
Birds and bugs in the great trees in the yard squawked and sang in the shade. Leaves and weeds tickled our ankles as we picked our way up the overrun front path, headed toward the front door that was set under a three-story tower that protruded from the front façade. The entry porch underneath the tower was connected to an enormous wraparound porch—at least ten feet wide—that featured beautiful, intricately designed gingerbread trim. Or rather, it would’ve been beautiful, had it not been in disrepair.
“Looks a lot like our place before Daphne rescued it,” I said. “Only, this place is bigger, and Daddy never stopped taking care of the plantings. He’d have died if the weeds had ever taken over like this!”
It was a reminder that there were Abundance folks still struggling to make ends meet. Turning the Diggs home into a hospitality business had been more about survival than it’d been about getting ahead.
The old wooden floorboards creaked as we stepped up the front porch stairs.
“Watch out,” Precious warned from behind me. “This rickety stair railing ain’t attached real good.”
Still, someone cared. There was a pretty floral wreath on a freshly painted black door, and a hand-painted sign over the doorbell read, WELCOME GUESTS. Followed by, COME AS YOU ARE. We could hear classical violin music coming from inside the place.
Precious reached around me and pushed the doorbell. We waited thirty seconds or so before she pushed the bell again.
“Precious!”
“What? I ain’t got all day to stand here. I might fall through this old floor . . .”
Suddenly, the front door flew open. I nearly dropped Daphne’s basket.
“Lord have mercy,” Precious whispered.
“Hi, folks! Welcome to the Naturist B&B. Whatcha know good today?”
Standing before us, a rotund woman with a too-tight perm and home-dyed brown hair with gray roots smiled and raised her arm, swishing it gallantly through the air, as she motioned us to step inside.
She was naked as a jaybird.
CHAPTER 13
“Come in, come in! May I offer y’all some sweet tea? It’s hot enough to roast a lizard today.”
Pottie Moss Diggs was just as gracious as she could be.
Even in her birthday suit.
“Please, y’all just call me by my first name,” she’d said, scuttling away from the entrance as she welcomed us into the great Victorian foyer. Mingled with furniture polish,
there was a musty smell to the place. “All my guests call me Pottie Moss,” she continued. “Miss Diggs is too formal for my taste.”
“How about Miss Pottie?” asked Precious.
She’d said it with a straight face.
“No. I’m afraid that won’t do,” said our hostess, smiling. “That’d be like calling Mary Ann, Mary. Or Betty Sue, Betty. It’s Pottie Moss.”
“Of course,” I said.
I gave Precious a warning look.
I forced myself to look discreetly around us, mostly so as not to gape at the portly, sagging, naked woman. On either side of the wallpapered foyer were wide casements leading to giant sitting rooms crowded with Victorian furnishings, most likely all original to the house. The furnishings looked worn but well-kept.
In front of us, opposite the front door, was a double-wide curved staircase, anchored with a dark wooden newel post. Next to the grand stair, a wide archway led to a room in the back of the house where a pair of French doors opened to reveal a sunny patio with a gurgling pedestal fountain. Also on the patio, I could see lounge chairs and a dining table with chairs and an open umbrella for shade.
Apparently, I’d stood gawking too long. Precious stepped up and grabbed Daphne’s gift basket from my arms.
“Um, ma’am, we can come back at another time, if ya need to . . . uh . . . finish what y’all were doin’ . . .”
“No, noooo! No need. No need at all.” Pottie Moss smiled. “I see that I’ve caught you off guard with my . . . appearance.” She giggled. “No matter. I’m used to it. I catch folks off guard all the time.”
“Really?” I said.
I figured that I had to say something . . . Still, I couldn’t find words.
“Yes. You see, like the sign says out front, we’re the Naturist B&B. And don’t y’all know it, a ‘naturist’ is a nudist, not a nature person. That’d be a ‘naturalist.’ Folks make the mistake all the time, thinkin’ we’re a ‘naturalist’ place for nature-lovers, ’cept, we’re naturists, not naturalists. Get it? We love nature here, but in a healthy, fun way . . . the way we were born into this world . . . without our clothes.”