She avoided Catfish Corner where Fran used to take them to celebrate special occasions like birthdays or when Jed won musical awards. The Ferguson family who owned the restaurant had been frying fish there since before the town was named. Emmy preferred not to run into anyone who might recognize her. She was still too shaken by her trip down memory lane, so she chose instead the Caddo Kitchen, which used to be a favorite burger joint of local teens. Tips weren’t great and waitress turnover was high. High-schoolers worked there. Or they did, anyway. With luck, not a soul would know her.
The place was nearly empty. Two men sat at the Formica counter drinking coffee, and a woman with a baby and a boy of about five were seated in the first booth. The woman and boy shared a large chocolate sundae. The baby slept in his carrier. All were strangers. Relieved, Emmy slid across the vinyl bench seat of the last booth. Surveying the café’s interior, she noticed that the decor had changed dramatically. Mounted bass replaced posters of rock stars, and fishing rods and tackle hung on the walls. Netting fluttered under the breeze of overhead fans. The jukebox was gone. Obviously the clientele had changed, or aged. Bass fishing had always been a steady tourist industry for the otherwise sleepy town.
A gum-chewing waitress slapped a glass of water, napkin-wrapped silverware and a menu in front of Emmy “Homemade chicken noodle is the soup of the day. Hey . . .” the gum cracked twice. “Don’t I know you? My God, it’s Emmy Monday! I never forget a face. I’m Cassie. Cassie Ames, now Morris,” the woman said, plunking herself down on the bench opposite Emmy. “I look different. Got contacts and had my teeth straightened. Oh, and my hair used to be cow-pie brown, not red.” She giggled as she patted her hair. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that Emmy sat there frozen, the woman rattled on, “Look at you, girl. Haven’t changed a bit. That naturally blond hair was the envy of every girl in town. You’re still model-thin—except for the right amount of curves.” Pop went the gum again, and Cassie licked a pink bubble off her lower lip. “That’s why all the girls hated you—especially those in the ‘in’ crowd.”
Emmy blushed and murmured a protest, which didn’t stop Cassie. “You had the greenest green eyes. The rest of us were stuck with blah brown or boring blue. Course, those eyes are what got you the name Emerald, right?” Cassie propped her chin in one hand. “Personally, with a name like Emerald Monday, I always figured you’d end up a movie star.”
Emmy tried not to grimace as she finally stammered out a greeting. Most people thought her name was a result of her eye color. They couldn’t be more wrong. She had no intention of enlightening Cassie or even saying that she hadn’t landed in Hollywood. “The Caesar salad sounds good. I believe I’ll have that and iced tea.”
“Um, sure.” Cassie tucked her gum into the side of her cheek and called Emmy’s order in to the cook. With barely a pause, she babbled on. “Too bad you didn’t drop into town last month, Emmy. We held our first-ever high-school reunion. Of course, the girls who dreamed up the idea were the only ones who had time to diet down to the weight they used to be. Amanda Jennings, but you probably guessed that.” Cassie sucked in her cheeks and crossed her eyes. “She’s dumped three husbands. Other than that, she’s the same old Amanda.”
Amanda’s family owned the local bank. Even as a kid she’d used the power of the Jennings name to her own advantage. She’d lived in a pretentious house, one which Mom Fran cleaned. A fact that never stopped the status-conscious Amanda from shamelessly chasing Jed and Will. Emmy had heartily disliked her. Not solely because she’d let Emmy know she was socially inferior, but also because she’d made fools of her foster brothers. Even Riley had danced to Amanda’s tune. Emmy had never understood what the boys saw in such a phony.
“I wouldn’t have been invited to the reunion,” she admitted guardedly. “I never attended high school here.”
“I started to ask what brought you back,” Cassie interjected. “But I guess it’s because you heard Jed’s the prime suspect in Frannie Granger’s murder.”
“What? Jed? But—but,” Emmy stuttered. “That’s impossible.” She almost dropped the silverware she’d unwrapped. Emmy, who’d wanted the talkative woman to shut up, now waited impatiently for Cassie to elaborate. But the cook yelled, “Order up,” and Cassie went to retrieve it.
However, she didn’t miss a beat after setting the salad and frosty tea glass in front of Emmy. “Yep, Jed’s number one on Sheriff Fielder’s list. Some folks think Logan ought to track down Hank Belmonte. He was the town drunk, remember, who did odd jobs? He did some carpentry work for Frannie and for Amanda’s dad, Ray, around the time Frannie disappeared. Hank never finished either project.”
“Then isn’t he the logical suspect?” Emmy stabbed a forkful of salad. She wanted to ask more about Jed. She didn’t have to; gossip flowed from Cassie. “I guess you know Jed inherited Beaumarais, his uncle’s estate. After college, Jed turned into a regular entrepreneur. His wife is real nice. And brave. I don’t know that I’d marry someone suspected of murder. But marry him she did, about a week ago. Still, she had to know what she was letting herself in for.”
Jed married and living at Beaumarais? Emmy swallowed hard. “The sheriff has questioned others besides Jed, I hope.”
“Sure. All the families Frannie cleaned houses for. Oh, and Riley Gray. But he had an iron-clad alibi.”
“Riley Gray Wolf?” Emmy’s heart stumbled and beat faster.
“He dropped the Wolf part of his name when he became a big-shot business attorney. Now, there’s a guy who looks the same, but who’s really changed. He got married. Has a daughter. A real cutie. She’s four or five—I forget which.”
Emmy felt a kick in her midriff. Riley and Jed both married. “Uh . . . did . . . Riley marry Amanda?” Emmy asked weakly. She didn’t think she could stand it if the answer was yes, and yet she had to know.
“Lord, no! And after her last divorce, Amanda took back her maiden name. Some people say it’s so her mom will still foot her bills. About Riley . . . he married an outsider he met in Oklahoma. Lani Sky. Shortly after you left town, Neva Gray Wolf took sick, couldn’t work and ended up losing the house. She went to live in Oklahoma with her brother. On a reservation, with the last of the Caddo tribe. Riley moved here about six years ago . . .” Cassie glanced away. “I, uh, don’t like talking about his wife. Something happened there, and he’s split with his whole family.”
“So his sister Josey’s still in Oklahoma? Neva’s okay? You don’t mean she died? Losing his dad in the Gulf War put such a hardship on the family, and especially on Riley. He suffered so much. I can’t bear to think how he’d handle losing his mom.”
“Oh, Neva recovered. And Josey moved back here, too, but I rarely see her. She’s a master potter at the factory over in Marshall.”
Emmy’s senses were on overload. She’d heard enough. Too much. Folding her napkin, she extracted money from her wallet to cover the bill and tip.
“No wonder you’re still skinny,” Cassie said, eyeing Emmy as she stood. “I can have that boxed to go, if you’d like.”
Emmy shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to stop at the bank and then find a place to stay tonight. It’s been great, though, Cassie,” she said politely.
“The Kit and Caboodle Cottages are clean and nice, and the owners will give you a break on monthly rates. They’re across from the St. Cloud Marina. Layla St. Cloud runs it now. Actually, she’s Layla Santiago. She married Rico. Too bad you don’t have more time—that’s another interesting story. I’m sure you remember them.”
“I do. And thanks for the info on the cottages. I have no idea how long I’ll be in town.”
“Then I’m glad you stopped here today. Although,” Cassie said ruefully, “next time you’ll have to tell me what y’all have been doing. Whatever, it’s agreed with you. You look like a million bucks.”
Emmy felt the heat rise to her cheeks again. “Um .
. . I’ve done a little of this and a little of that. I can’t claim any marriages, though.”
Cassie walked Emmy to the door. “Kevin and I have five kids. The oldest is in high school, would you believe? We’ve been married sixteen years this May.”
Emmy vaguely recalled Kevin Morris, a chubby boy who always had his nose in a book. Emmy couldn’t even imagine being a waitress while raising five kids. She’d waited tables and it was hard work. If she did eat here again, she’d be more generous with her tipping. If she stuck around, she’d have to find a job—but not in a restaurant. Main Street, tree-lined and sleepy, had revealed some new touristy businesses. With summer coming, someone might need extra help.
Emmy needed to find a quiet place to digest all of Cassie’s gossip. But the afternoon was slipping away. She had to deposit the check Richard had given her and find out how to transfer her funds from Shreveport—if she decided to stay more than a few weeks. After that, she’d call and inquire how much Fran’s house would cost to rent.
The lobby of Cypress Bank and Trust smelled old and musty. Emmy had been there a few times with Mom Fran. If memory served, it hadn’t changed. The bank and the building itself had all belonged to Amanda’s maternal grandfather. Emmy recalled hearing stories that Ray Jennings had married Catherine for her money. Surely her good looks had played a part. Ray’s wife had been an older, classier version of Amanda, who overdid makeup and bleach. At least she used to.
As Emmy waited to be helped by a teller, Ray Jennings exited his office with an elderly man, a rancher. Ray studied Emmy in passing. His eyes remained on her even after they’d reached the door. Amanda’s dad hadn’t changed at all. He still acted pompous, and he still had a roving eye. The old goat.
Emmy attended to her business, which took longer than she’d expected. In her rush to leave and find a place to spend the night, she dashed from the bank and nearly bowled over a man headed in.
“Whoa! Sorry. I didn’t look where I was going.” The man adjusted his tie as he stepped back and flashed Emmy a dazzling grin. In addition to the knock-out smile, he had liquid black eyes that cruised over her with interest as he gazed down from a lean, six-foot height. The sun blinded Emmy before she had time to assess much more—or to put on her sunglasses.
“Emmy? Holy smokes! Where . . . when . . . ?” The masculine voice rose excitedly.
Finding herself snatched close to a broad chest and whirled completely off her feet, Emmy finally managed to identify a once-familiar face. Riley! Lord in heaven, it was Riley. Emmy was quite sure her tongue was glued to her teeth. She barely managed a garbled greeting. She’d known, of course, given the size of Uncertain, that there was a likelihood of their paths crossing if she planned to stay in town. She’d thought she’d have more time to prepare.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he said, still hugging her tight. Before reluctantly setting her away, he repeated several times how great it was to see her. Even then, his eyes lingered on her face. “Where have you been? How have you been?”
“I’m, uh, okay.” Except it was a lie, because right now, okay was the last thing she felt. Overwhelmed was more like it. Breathless, she could do nothing but stare up at a face she’d imagined in her dreams for nineteen years. She recognized the lock of straight black hair that fell across his forehead and caught on his impossibly long eyelashes. That hadn’t changed. Lord, the man fulfilled every fantasy she’d ever had of what Riley Gray Wolf would look like as an adult. But, according to Cassie, he’d shortened his name to Gray—and he was no longer Emmy Monday’s best pal. Riley was married and had a child. A coldness she couldn’t explain seized her, and Emmy moved out of his reach.
Riley, who still wore a stunned grin, checked his watch. “I was going to make a deposit, but that can wait. We have half a lifetime to catch up on. God, Emmy, just give me a minute to get my breath. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Listen, why don’t you join me for a cup of coffee? We’ll stretch it to include dinner if you’re free.”
In this town of rumormongers? With no mention of his wife joining them?
Emmy dragged down the sunglasses she’d shoved up into her hair when she’d entered the bank. She had to cover her eyes before they revealed too much pain. “I’m sorry, Riley,” she said coolly, sidling past him. “I’ve got a list of things to do. Maybe some other time.” Then—to ensure that she wouldn’t break down and say to hell with caution—Emmy all but ran to her vehicle.
With jaw slack and hands in his pockets, Riley watched the woman who had haunted his dreams for years vault into a beat-up yellow Ford pickup. The tailgate was caved in on a row of boxes that lined the metal bed. At least the old vehicle had a roll bar, he thought. Damn, but Emmy looked great. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, as he’d always known she would. Riley shaded his eyes against the blinding shaft of sunlight. She was real, wasn’t she? She hadn’t been a mirage?
A heavy hand clamped his shoulder, breaking into Riley’s confusion.
“Appears you’ve lost your touch with the ladies, Gray.” The bank president’s narrow salt-and-pepper mustache twitched with humor. Ray Jennings followed Riley’s gaze as the battered Ford pulled away from the curb. “I saw her inside the bank. She looked familiar, but I’ll be damned if I can place her.”
“Emmy Monday,” Riley murmured, still shocked by their chance encounter. “She was one of Fran Granger’s foster children. I suppose she’s come to help Jed.”
Ray dropped his hand and turned to peer at the truck until it disappeared around a corner. “Do you reckon Logan tracked her down and brought her back for questioning? Is he also looking for Frannie’s other riffraff foster kid? What was his name?”
“Will. Will McClain. He’d had some bad breaks, but he wasn’t riffraff.”
“Says who? Doesn’t matter. I figure he’s in prison by now. If we’re lucky,” Ray said around a snort. “Jed’s the best of the lot. He’d do well to forget he ever knew those other two. Same goes for you, Gray. A man in your position has to think twice before getting too friendly with a little blond nobody.” As abruptly as he’d appeared, Ray stomped back into the bank.
Riley mulled over his parting shot. Jennings had never had much use for the Native American blood that ran in the Gray Wolf veins. Riley found it almost comical that after all these years, Ray would overlook his origins—now that he didn’t give a damn what Jennings or anyone else in Uncertain thought.
He shouldn’t give a damn that Emmy Monday had given him the brush-off, either. But it was hard to forget those weeks nineteen years ago when he’d gone crazy trying to locate her after Social Services had taken her away. Riley recalled creating such a commotion in the Family Counseling offices, they’d called the police and had him arrested for disturbing the peace. His poor mother had to borrow money to bail him out. If it hadn’t been for old Hamish Abrams, the lawyer who’d been his mentor and whose practice he’d later bought, Riley would have ended up with a juvenile record.
Though he wanted to go after Emmy and demand to know why she’d dropped completely out of sight, Ray might have a valid point. What did anyone know about Emmy Monday? Why had she never tried to contact him or Jed? Granted, they’d both gone off to college within the year, but neither would have been terribly difficult to find. Anyone in town could have pointed her in the right direction.
No, he didn’t know squat about the woman who’d dismissed his offer of coffee and catch-up so easily. And he had a daughter to think about now. To say nothing of a solid, hard-won law practice. One look at Emmy, and he’d apparently forgotten both. Scowling, Riley stalked into the bank to make the deposit he’d been so willing to delay for a woman who obviously didn’t care to renew their friendship.
Hell, it’d been more than mere friendship for Riley. He might’ve been only sixteen, but he’d been head-over-heels in love with Emmy Monday. If she could so easily cast off all they’d me
ant to each other, then she hadn’t turned into the woman he’d imagined she’d be. Lucky for him that she hadn’t taken him up on his offer.
Chapter Two
On the drive through Uncertain, Riley consumed Emmy’s thoughts. How good he looked. How successful. How difficult it would be to see him around town. Living in a small town increased the odds of future meetings. Darn, why hadn’t she asked him for Josey’s address? At one time, Riley’s sister had been Emmy’s best girlfriend. Josey threw pots and wove wool and baskets. She and Emmy had spent hours on crafts. The girls had been friends before Emmy took notice of boys. Of Riley in particular.
Angling into a parking spot on the street adjacent to the cottage, Emmy calmed her nerves, took out her phone again and deliberately thrust Riley Gray Wolf, or Gray as he called himself now, firmly into the past where he belonged.
The number she punched in rang three times at the other end before a woman’s lilting voice sang out, “Hello.”
“I’m calling about a house you have for rent. A small place off Moss Road. Is it available? It appears to be vacant.”
“It is, although there are still boxes in a bedroom that need moving. The home belongs to my husband. He’s away on business, but I expect him back by dinnertime. Say, seven-thirty, if you’d care to call then.”
Emmy bit her lip. “Oh. Perhaps I’ll just go ahead and rent one of the Kit and Caboodle cottages then.”
The owner’s wife sounded curious. “You’d rent a house based on a drive-by?”
“I—uh,” Emmy stammered, “—know the place. I used to live there. Although it looks nicer now than it did then.”
“Are you sure you have the correct house in mind? Jed, my husband, has owned the place for some time. He grew up there himself.”
Uncertain Past Page 2