Playing Dead in Dixie

by Paula Graves

  But she wasn't going to be there much longer, right? Just long enough to add back a little money to her dwindling stash of cash and figure out where to go next. She'd be out of their hair soon.

  "The place looks pretty busy to me," she commented, noting multiple customers in all four of the store's narrow, well-stocked aisles. It was two p.m. on a Wednesday, not exactly what she'd call a high traffic period for small town retail, but the store was buzzing with activity.

  "Maybe folks just aren't buying as much while they're here. Tough economy around these parts." Floyd shrugged and finished punching her name into a plastic label.

  Odd, Carly thought. She hadn't noticed many signs of a tough economy around town as they drove through on the way to the store. "Do you keep your own books?"

  "No, I'm no good with numbers. Wes's daddy used to do the books for me, until his stroke. Now Sherry handles that kind of stuff." He stuck the label on a plastic nametag and handed it to her. "There you go, all official."

  Carly pinned the tag to her last clean blouse and managed a smile. "Who's Sherry?"

  "Sherry Clayton." Floyd pointed toward aisle three, where a woman was stocking boxes. She was in her mid-thirties, well-preserved, although her hair was a bit over-teased and the wrong shade of blond for her skin tone. Aging beauty queen, Carly pegged her. Probably Miss Bangor about fifteen years back.

  She stifled a laugh. Miss Bangor—not a name you wanted plastered on your torso during the swimsuit competition. "Does she know much about keeping books?"

  "Well, she's pretty good at math. She's been keeping my books, taking care of invoices, that sort of thing, for almost a year now."

  "I bet I'm better," Carly said without thinking.

  Floyd gave her an odd look. "At math?"

  "I have a degree in accounting," she admitted, half-hoping he'd offer her a bookkeeping job. Anything to get out of this extremely unattractive red uniform vest.

  He laughed, until he realized she was serious. "You do?"

  "I do. Richard Stockton College of New Jersey, class of—" She stopped, not willing to give out too many details. "Class of a lot farther back than I like to admit."

  "You sure don't look like any accountant I ever knew."

  Carly sighed. She got that a lot. "I could take a look at your books, see if there's anything out of place. Maybe business is better than you think."

  For the first time since they'd met, Floyd looked wary. "Let's see how you do selling hammers first."

  Carly knew not to push it. She was already living on borrowed time with the Stricklands. All that was keeping them from asking hard questions was Bonnie's pathological hospitality and their need to have a little piece of their dead son around, in whatever form. But the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to dodge the truth.

  And the hard questions sexy Chief Wes was already asking.

  The bell on the front door jangled. Floyd looked up and grinned. "There's your first customer. Go sell him a power tool."

  Carly turned around to find Wes Hollingsworth striding up the aisle toward her, dressed in a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows to accommodate the heat, and a pair of muscle-hugging charcoal trousers. Not quite the jeans he'd filled out so nicely last night on the front porch. But not bad.

  His dark gaze swept over her bright red vest and crisp blue nametag and he grinned.

  She took a deep breath and plunged in. "Welcome to Strickland Hardware. May I interest you in a band saw?"

  "That's okay. I have one at home." Wes lowered his voice. "I see you suckered Floyd into giving you a job."

  "If you saw my salary, you wouldn't call him the sucker."

  "Well, you do get free room and board. It's a trade-off."

  Carly lifted her chin. "Did you come here to make a purchase or to give me a hard time?"

  "I like to think I'm still man enough to manage both."

  Oh, he was man enough for just about anything, she suspected.

  "Hey, Wes." Sherry stopped stocking whatever it was she was stocking on aisle three and walked toward them, gazing at Wes with a hunger Carly had seen only a few times before. In starving dogs a few days past their last meal.

  Well, well. Miss Bangor had herself a jones for the chief.

  "Hi, Sherry." Wes gave a polite nod. "How's your mama?"

  "Doin' fine. She's over in Savannah visitin' her sister."

  Thrust your boobs out any more, Carly thought, and you'll topple over. She glanced at Wes to see if Miss Bangor's contortions were having an effect. But he was looking at Carly instead, eyes narrowed as if trying to figure her out.

  Floyd came around the counter, carrying a large cardboard box labeled "One-inch Nails." As he passed Sherry, he said, "A new stack of invoices came in the mail. Get Josh to stock those new hose attachments for you and head on back to the office."

  "Right on it." Sherry turned—rather reluctantly, Carly thought—and headed in search of whoever Josh was. Carly hadn't met all of her co-workers yet.

  Wes leaned in toward Carly. "So, how're you going to work here without any I.D.? Or do you plan to dodge the I.R.S.?"

  She looked up sharply. "What makes you think I don't have I.D.?" Most people wouldn't have noticed the little flicker of guilt that flashed across Wes's face. But Carly wasn't most people. Reading people happened to be one of her better life skills. "What did you do, search my bag?"

  Wes looked away, pretending interest in an electric drill on a nearby display table. "I just figured maybe with the bus crash, you'd lost a few things."

  "You did search my bag. You sneak." She gave his arm a push. "I don't remember seeing a search warrant."

  His dark gaze swung around to her again. "Calm down, Perry Mason. You're not under arrest or anything. Yet."

  She grimaced. "I can't figure you out, Chief Wes." She hid a smile as he reacted to her sarcastic use of his job title, making a note to use it often. "You tell me to ask your uncle for a job, then you hurry down here to make sure I stink at it."

  "I just came here to buy some batteries. For my flashlight." He smiled at her, an odd sparkle in his dark eyes. "Don't want it to give out on a fellow in the dark."

  Was there a sexual innuendo in there somewhere? His tone of voice and the laughter in his eyes suggested yes. She arched one eyebrow and returned the smile with a knowing one of her own. "But in a little town like this, does your flashlight really get that much of a workout?"

  Grinning, Wes opened his mouth to reply, but Floyd walked up, carrying a carton of nails, and stopped beside them. "You buyin' something, boy, or are you just here to hog my new salesgirl's time?"

  "He's looking for batteries for his flashlight," Carly supplied helpfully, cutting her eyes at Wes.

  Floyd gave Wes an odd look. "Aisle two, same as always, boy. Do I have to load them into your flashlight myself?"

  A look of horror flashed across Wes's face. Carly bit back a delighted snort of laughter.

  "No sir, I've got it covered." Wes gave Carly a warning look and retreated to aisle two.

  Floyd shifted the carton of nails in his arms and leaned toward Carly. "He don't usually come 'round here during the week. And I know he don't need batteries. He just bought a box last week. Why do you reckon he's really here?" Floyd winked at her and headed down aisle four with the carton of nails.

  Floyd, you matchmaking devil, you. Carly shook her head, amused. Of course, she knew better. Wes Hollingsworth's interest in her wasn't at all romantic. He might sugar-coat his questions with a dash of flirtation, but Carly knew an interrogation when she met one.

  She couldn't afford to be suckered in by his charms, no matter how good he looked in a pair of jeans.

  "YOU OUGHT TO PACK UP a couple of plates for you and your daddy," Bonnie suggested as she pulled covered dishes from the refrigerator. "We're never going to be able to eat it all, and I hate to see it go to waste."

  Wes leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to ignore his growling stomach. He'd skipped lunch just to ca
tch up on the backlog of paper work that had piled up during the time he'd taken off to deal with Steve's death. Not to mention the time he'd spent trying to figure out what Carly Devlin was really up to.

  "I took J.B. enough food last night to keep him fed for a week. But if you want, I could carry some of the extra food over to Shannon Burgess. She had to go on maternity leave from the fabric store last week, and I doubt Jimmy Wayne left her much in the way of life insurance or a pension."

  Bonnie's eyes welled up. "Young folks shouldn't go before their mamas and daddies. It's just not right."

  Wes put his arm around his aunt's shoulders. "No, it's not." He kissed her cheek.

  Bonnie dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "Well, I think giving the extra food to Shannon is a fine idea. I don't imagine her folks or Jimmy's have much to spare to help her out. I'll pack up a big basket before you head out." She reached into the refrigerator for another dish. "You gonna stay for supper? Floyd and Carly will be home in a few minutes."

  "About Carly—" Wes rescued the foil-covered roasting pan that was about to slide from Bonnie's grip and laid it on the counter by the stove. "Are you sure it's a good idea, letting her stay here with y'all? You don't really know much about her, do you?"

  "I like her. She's a real sweet girl. It's a comfort to have someone so young and pretty around. Helps me keep my mind off everything." Bonnie's eyes filled again, making Wes feel like a heel.

  "I don't like how she just showed up at the funeral without even calling ahead to let anybody know she was coming." Not to mention letting everybody think she was closer to Steve than she was, but Wes hesitated to tell Bonnie about that.

  "Well, heavens, Wes, why don't you shoot the girl for not mindin' her manners?" Bonnie lifted sheets of foil from each of the covered dishes, picking out the items she wanted to reheat for supper. "And if you're tryin' to figure out how to tell me Carly didn't know Stevie as well as we thought she did, you can just relax. She corrected me about that this morning."

  Now that was unexpected. "What did she say?"

  "Just that she hadn't met him before she got on the bus in Atlantic City." Bonnie smiled. "But you know how Steve was, always makin' friends wherever he went."

  Wes couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, Steve had a way about him."

  Bonnie plucked at a piece of aluminum foil. "Do you think Carly could be right, that Stevie was wantin' to come back home at the last?"

  Wes thought about the last few letters his cousin had sent. Steve had sounded more and more homesick in the past few months, talking more about the family, about the goings on in Bangor, about his own growing dissatisfaction with life in Richmond. "I think maybe so," he admitted.

  Bonnie was silent for a long moment, her back to Wes, hiding her struggle with emotion. Then she picked up a serving spoon and stuck it in a pan of chicken and dressing. When she spoke, her voice was a little watery but strong. "Do me a favor and grab me some plates out of the cabinet. I think we'll just set up a buffet for dinner tonight, let everybody serve themselves. Sure you don't want to eat supper with us?"

  Wes opened the cabinet and pulled down four plates. "Somebody needs to make sure J.B.'s eating."

  "J.B. needs to make sure J.B.'s eatin', Wes. Stop babyin' him so much! You know he hates it." Bonnie reached around him and pulled down another plate. "Stay. Eat. Then you can take that box of food to Shannon Burgess after supper."

  His aunt was a hard woman to say no to. "I'll do it if you promise me to keep an eye on Carly," he said. "I just don't think she's what she seems."

  Bonnie looked at him. "Who ever is, sugar?"

  "I'm serious, Aunt Bonnie. She came all the way here just to give you an envelope of money? What kind of story is that?"

  "If she was up to no good, why would she have given us the ten thousand dollars in the first place?" Bonnie wiped her hands on a dish rag. "If she was trying to con us out of money, she wouldn't get anything near that much out of us, not with how slow business has been at the store."

  Wes frowned. "What's wrong with business? I was there this afternoon and there were customers all over the place."

  "You were at the store this afternoon?" A smile lurked at the corners of Bonnie's mouth. "What could have lured you there in the middle of the day, I wonder?"

  "I needed batteries. For my flashlight." Heat crawled up his neck as he remembered how Carly had picked up on his edgy banter with such playful ease. He could hardly blame his aunt for wanting to give the woman the benefit of the doubt when he had such a hard time resisting her charms himself. "How long has business at the store been bad?"

  "A few months, I guess. You know how the economy's been lately, up and down and all over the place. I suppose it'll bounce back up again sooner or later."

  Except that the economy in Bangor hadn't been down much lately, Wes knew. A new set of business tax cuts had gone into effect just a few months ago, and most of the other stores and businesses around Bangor were having a surprisingly good summer. "Why didn't Floyd tell me that? He shouldn't have taken on another worker."

  "It's only a part time job, and you know Tommy Millwood quit a few weeks ago to join the Army—" Bonnie paused in mid-sentence, distracted by the sound of the back door opening. A moment later, Floyd and Carly came in through the mudroom door.

  "Perfect timing!" Bonnie exclaimed, raising her cheek for Floyd's kiss. "I thought we could all fix a plate from the leftovers and heat them up in the microwave as we go."

  Carly looked up at Wes, her expression wary. "Are you staying for dinner?"

  "He's going to take a box of leftovers out to the Burgess place after supper. You knew Jimmy Wayne Burgess, didn't you, Floyd? Married little Shannon Hake a few years ago? Shannon's expecting their second baby in a few weeks—" Bonnie cut off, her eyes widening. "Oh, Wes, you should take Carly with you! Carly, Shannon Burgess makes the prettiest dresses you've ever seen—she creates her own patterns and sews them herself. You're not going to find nicer clothes in any of the stores around here, and Shannon could use the extra money."

  Wes shot Carly a questioning look.

  "I was telling Bonnie I had to leave most of my clothes behind when I came down. We were talking about where I could pick up some new stuff," Carly explained.

  Remembering the feel of her silk underwear sliding over his fingers when he'd searched her bag the day before, Wes wasn't sure Carly Devlin would find Shannon's homemade fashions quite her thing. But Shannon could certainly use the extra income. "I'm sure Shannon can come up with something you'd like."

  "Okay. I'll go with you." Carly glanced up at Wes again, as if to gauge his reaction.

  He kept his expression carefully neutral, not willing to reveal what he was thinking. Especially when he was thinking that the drive to Shannon Burgess's house was fifteen minutes there and fifteen back, and every one of those minutes was going to be spent alone with Carly Devlin.

  CARLY HAD THOUGHT THAT Bangor was about as small and rural as a place could get, until halfway down Culpepper Road, Wes turned the wheel of his Chevy pick-up truck and drove straight into the woods.

  At least, it seemed that way, although the pick-up's headlights made out a narrow, rutted dirt road winding ahead of them under a towering canopy of long-leaf pines and oaks. Despite wearing a seat belt, Carly had to grip the dashboard to stay upright as the truck bucked and shimmied over the rough terrain, taking a particularly hard drop that tilted the cab sideways. Even the seat belt's shoulder strap couldn't keep Carly's upper body from slamming hard against Wes's shoulder.

  He put his hand across her midsection to steady her. "Sorry about that."

  It had been so long since he'd spoken, the sound of his voice made her jump. "Is this some kind of short cut?"

  He shook his head. "I guess you could call this Shannon's driveway."

  Her eyes widened. "You mean people live in here?"

  He nodded. "There've been Hakes and Burgesses in Hickory Woods since before the War."

  "Which war?" />
  The blue glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his slow smile. "Around here, sugar, there's only one war you don't have to call by its name. Here's a hint: y'all won it."

  "Ah." Her own lips curved with amusement.

  "Of course, y'all probably cheated." He kept his arm stretched out across her lap as they hit another hard bump. His hand settled briefly against her hip bone, heat seeping through the cotton twill of her slacks and branding the skin beneath. The air in her lungs grew thick, making it hard to breathe.

  "I don't know if you're going to find anything you like at Shannon's, but do me a favor and have her make you something anyway. I'll give you the money to pay for it."

  "Is she poor?"

  "She sure ain't rich. And she's proud folk. Doesn't like to take charity." He motioned his head toward the food boxed up in the bed of the truck. "I can't say for sure she's even going to take that food without a fuss."

  "Tell her you brought it so she could be in charge of giving it out to whoever needed it." Carly suggested. "Keep what she can use and share the rest with her neighbors. That way she's contributing instead of just taking charity."

  Wes turned his head and gave her a long, considering look. "You've done charity work before?"

  "Something like that." She thought about the tiny apartment in Vineland, the postage stamp-sized room she'd shared with her sisters Lorna and Teresa. Most Christmases, toys and treats had come not from her parents or Santa Claus but from a good-hearted group of anonymous office workers who'd taken up a fund to play Santa for a poor family in the community.

  The truck's headlights flashed across a wood structure ahead. A house, Carly saw as they rounded a gentle bend in the road and the headlights illuminated the face of the building. It was small, made entirely of weathered gray clapboard, with a low porch spanning the width of the front. A bloodhound lying on the porch pushed himself up to a sitting position and gave a low, half-hearted bark.