by R. J. Lee
“Absolutely not. You have every right to want a different image for the RCC. It’s supposed to be for getting exercise, playing games, and having fun. A drowning in the hot tub is not something you want to advertise.”
Wendy recalled how she had felt about the mere sight of the thing during her interview with her stalker, Gerald Mansfield, in those rocking chairs. She had even chosen to walk the long way around the deck after it was over just to avoid passing close by to it again. “I completely agree with your decision. Keeping the hot tub would be a creepy thing to do. But I do have a legit question. I understand that some of the members did like to relax in those swirling waters after a long game of tennis or golf. Won’t that be a bummer for them?”
Wendy could almost picture Deedah’s face lighting up as she answered immediately. “I’ve already thought of that, too. We’ll use some of the money that Crystal Forrest donates to us to buy two serviceable Jacuzzis, nothing as fancy as that hot tub, mind you, and we’ll put one in each of the locker rooms. That way, the members can still get their sore muscles massaged, and maybe the memory of Brent Ogle’s murder will start to fade in time. We can’t let that keep us from attracting more members and fulfilling our mission. At least, that’s my fond hope.”
“You are brilliant, utterly brilliant. A couple of plain old Jacuzzis it is, then.”
After their call had ended, Wendy found herself smiling and humming a few random notes that came out of nowhere. Deedah Hornesby really was a capable and forward-thinking director, and the RCC was all the better for it. It might take a little time for everyone to heal from it, but the Brent Ogle era of negative energy that he had brought to everything he said and did out there was over and done with at last. The Baddest Devil of Them All would be playing his game no more, and no one would be forced to play him on his terms ever again.
Back at the kitchen table a minute or so later, Wendy tried to remain philosophical about the decision she and Deedah had just made together. “I mean, how bad can Miz Crystal possibly be? You know very well that I’m a gracious and tolerant person, Merleece.”
“I heard that,” Merleece said. But then she leaned forward and pointed her finger with a wary look on her face. “Just lemme say that you ’bout to be tested to the limit, and I wish all y’all some good luck. Me, I finally bought some earplugs, and when Miz Crystal get to rantin’ and ravin’ too much ’bout somethin’ so ridiculous it make me roll my eyes, I just put ’em in when she not lookin’ and nod erry now and then to make her think I agree with her. She don’t even know the difference, Strawberry.”
Both women enjoyed a hearty laugh, and Wendy said, “Well, I went and let my coffee get cold chatting with Deedah, but I thank you for your genuine concern for us. Maybe I’ll finally get to play some decent bridge and nothing horrendous will happen to anyone around me. Fingers crossed.”
CHAPTER 19
It came to Wendy suddenly that in the relatively short time she and Ross had been dating, he had never set foot inside the house of her childhood, where Bax still lived by himself. It seemed that either Ross had gone to her bungalow or she had gone to his place for their dates, dinners, or other social events. It didn’t seem possible that she, herself, had never welcomed him as a guest to the charms of 201 Dulcimer. After that realization, she had even called up Bax to see if he had ever invited Ross over for anything.
“No, I don’t socialize that way with my officers,” he had told her. “A meal at a restaurant for somebody’s birthday party or a drink at a bar after hours, yes. I’ll do that occasionally. But getting too close can sometimes cause great pain when certain things happen. My home is my fortress and my retreat.”
Wendy had read between the lines and not pressed further. But she had her answer: Ross had never seen anything of where she’d grown up.
The cozy little brick home of Wendy’s childhood was painted an eggshell color and set back off the street atop a small hill with two towering pecan trees on either side of it. Every year, those trees had produced enough pecans for Valerie Winchester to bake plenty of pecan pies throughout the fall. That had long been one of Wendy’s favorite memories of both the months of October and November and her dear late mother’s prowess in the kitchen.
As for the house itself, it wasn’t particularly historic and would likely never qualify for a spot on the Spring Tours. Wendy remembered that her father had once said it had been built around 1920, but there had never been any documentation of it. None of that had ever mattered to Wendy, though. Forget architecture, historical significance, or how many antiques it contained: it was a cocoon of love to her, wrapping her up in warm memories that sustained her every day of her life.
And now, at last, she wanted to share it with Ross.
“I want to invite him to a cozy little lunch in our cozy little kitchen. I assume that’s okay with you,” she had said to her father over the phone. “Just the two of us now.”
Bax was more than delighted to hear about her plans. Was his long-awaited wish for a marriage between his beloved daughter and the officer he had always thought of as a son going to come true at last?
“You didn’t even have to ask,” he had told her. “Are you gonna use your mother’s pecan pie recipe on him?”
“Thinking about it.”
“That oughta do it.”
That last sentiment from her father had given her pause. “Do what?”
“Uh, well . . . you know. Bring him around.”
Wendy could not help but snicker. “News flash, Daddy. Ross doesn’t have to be brought around. But I’m not doing this for any other reason than I want to give him some inkling of what life was like for me growing up.”
“Uh-huh,” Bax had said in a tone just dripping with innuendo. “An inkling. Of course that’s why you’re doing it.”
“Stop that, Daddy. I’m serious, or I mean, you’re being too serious.”
“Whatever you say, daughter a’ mine. You know you’re always gonna be golden with me.”
So finally the day had arrived, and it was with a great deal of pride and excitement that Wendy gave Ross the grand tour, crammed with details of the incidents that had happened only to her. In the living room, which was centered around a sofa set made of a beige fabric, for instance, there was the tale of finding her father’s wedding ring behind the cushions when she was on one of her “digging for dimes” expeditions.
“What was it doing back there?” Ross said.
“The one and only time I asked him that same question, Daddy got all red in the face and said, ‘Something your mother and I will tell you about when you get a little older. You’re too young to understand the concept of spontaneous horseplay.’ ”
“That’s a good one,” Ross said, laughing out loud.
“I was pretty smart at the age of eleven. I got the picture even then.”
“I bet you did.”
In the small, utilitarian kitchen with an outdated stove and a refrigerator covered with magnets and messages that kept making noises like a turkey gobbling with a bad cold, there was this from Wendy:
“I don’t actually know how old that fridge is, but it’s always made that noise you hear. I remember asking Daddy why he didn’t trade it in for a newer model, and he said that the fridge made him laugh and that it was like having a pet in the house that didn’t eat anything and never had to be walked. Not only that, it still kept things cold or frozen, so why give it the heave-ho because it couldn’t keep quiet?”
“I’ll have to remember that one,” Ross said, laughing again.
“Yes, Daddy and his sentimentality for appliances.”
Finally, Wendy allowed Ross to have a glimpse of her bedroom where she had gone through all the transformations—from toddler to teen to young adult woman. It was not a particularly “girly” room, though the color scheme consisted of pastel blues and yellows. There was a small brass bed covered with a busy pastoral quilt, but there were no frilly ribbons or dolls anywhere to be seen around the room. Wha
t pictures there were on the walls were of her parents or herself at various stages of growth, and the ambience overall leaned toward the sensible.
“I like it,” Ross said. “It’s you.”
“It was me at one time,” she said. “Daddy’s turned it into a guest room and removed some of the things that don’t fit in anymore. I took my four-poster to my bungalow, and of course all of my mother’s paintings that I worship are now on my living room wall. But I think I outgrew this room even before I got out of high school. I never got to have the slumber parties with girlfriends here or anything like that associated with growing up. My mother’s death when I was a sophomore shut down any carefree intentions I might have had. Believe me, that put me on the fast track to adulthood, and I’ve always felt that I lost part of my youth for good.”
Ross put his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her toward him. “You don’t talk about that much, so I figured it was a topic that was off-limits for you. It must have been rough.”
“I got through it, thanks to Daddy, and he did it while he was going through his own pain. I can’t imagine what it was like for him.”
“He’s one of a kind to lots of people. Everybody at the station idolizes him, you know.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Then it was time for lunch at the kitchen table, and Wendy had created what she was sure would be a man-pleasing menu. She had brought everything she’d prepared in her bungalow in an old-fashioned picnic basket covered with a bright floral-patterned cloth, and Ross’s eyes kept getting bigger and bigger as she pulled each item out with great fanfare.
“Ta-da!” she announced, moving her hands about like a magician getting ready to pull the standard rabbit out of the hat. “Corned beef sandwiches on rye with Dijon mustard.” Ross applauded as she laid them down.
“And now for my next trick—I offer my chunky German potato salad from scratch.” She put the Tupperware container next to the foil-wrapped sandwiches and gave them all a self-satisfied nod.
“And last but not least—a homemade pecan pie made from my mother’s treasured, Southern recipe. And every pecan came from the trees out in the yard. It’s become my fall ritual to come over and pick them up like my mother used to do. Of course, Daddy lends a hand, so we always make quite a haul together.”
After she had gently positioned the pie and pointed to it like a game show spokesmodel, Ross said, “I am totally impressed by the show, and I can’t wait to man up and dig in.”
“Daddy said he’d have various options for us to drink in the turkey-gobbling fridge, so let me take a peek and see what he stocked.” She opened the refrigerator door, peered in, and said, “Aha! It looks like we have some lime-flavored Perrier, a couple of beers, and some sports drinks. What a combination, but that’s Daddy for you. You’d think he could manage to—”
“Don’t worry about it. No beer for me,” Ross interrupted. “I’ve gotta go back to work. If I have a beer in the middle of the day, I’ll get sleepy at my desk or at the wheel. So I’ll take the sports drink, please.”
“And I’ll take the Perrier,” she said, bringing both to the table. “I have a lot of work to do at the paper, too. At least Daddy remembered that I like sparkling water.”
After they’d enjoyed a few bites and sips of everything, the conversation turned once again to Brent Ogle’s murder, and it was Ross who surprised Wendy with his comment. “I have to tell you that you are the hero of heroes down at the station. Your father has made sure everybody knew that you were the one that made the real headway in the case, figuring out who Mitzy actually was and how Carly had fallen apart and given in to her demons—not once, but twice. Ronald Pike keeps elbowing me and saying things like, ‘Why doesn’t she just join the force and be done with it? ’ ”
Wendy swallowed another bite of her sandwich and gave him a knowing grin. “I hope you told him that I am very happy doing what I’m doing. Because that’s the truth of the matter.”
“Just what are you doing? It appears to me that you’re trying to do two jobs at once. But don’t get me wrong now—I have to admit that you’re exceeding all expectations and doing both of them very well.”
Wendy bowed her head graciously. “Thank you for that. I just can’t help it, Ross. It’s not like I’ve asked for these horrible murders to happen the past couple of years. But when they did, I just kicked into another gear without even thinking about it—that sleuthing gear of mine. I assure you, I’d be happy doing investigative reports that didn’t involve homicide for once and also playing a decent game of bridge every now and then for the rest of my life. Would that be too much to ask? I don’t think so.”
Ross gathered up a forkful of his potato salad and said, “Anything else on your docket, possibly?”
She looked up from her plate and pursed her lips. There was a provocative aspect to the gesture. She knew exactly what he meant and where he was going. The question was: did she want to pursue it at this time? Had she settled in enough to her position as investigative reporter to feel confident that she could play another role that demanded even more commitment?
Ross waited out the silence and said, “Nothing, then?”
“You had something in mind, I take it?”
He took his hand and slapped his leg a couple of times. “It’s happens to be right here in my pocket. Something told me that I should bring it along just in case. We’ve been through this once, and you thought it would be best to postpone any decision back then. Do you still feel that way?”
She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Make me a proposal, and let’s just see.”
“Really? ”
“Yes, really.”
“Okay, then. Here goes.”
He rose, moved to her quickly, and took the little black box out, placing it in the palm of his hand. Then he got down on one knee in the approved, conventional fashion and opened it.
Wendy gasped as the ring caught the overhead light at just the right angle and shot sparkles straight up to her wide-open eyes. It had the same effect that someone watching a shooting star on a clear and dark night would enjoy, and Wendy could only manage a breathless, “Oh, my,” at first.
“Go right ahead, sweetie. Please. Put it on,” Ross said, moving the box even closer to her.
She lifted the ring out very gently, as if it would break into a thousand pieces if she didn’t, and then gingerly worked it down her finger with a gleam in her eyes. The delicious surprise was that it was not the traditional solitary diamond. Ross had ordered up a circle of diamonds in the shape of small stars, gracing a delicate gold band. He had figured rightly that no woman alive on the planet could possibly resist such a dazzling and unique creation.
“So, Wendy Winchester, will you marry me?” he said, with every ounce of his attention directed her way.
She didn’t even have to think about it as she rose from her chair. “Yes, I will. Let’s finally do this.”
He got up quickly and embraced her with a lingering kiss, even if it was ever so slightly flavored with corned beef and lemon-flavored sports drink. But from Wendy’s point of view it was the taste and promise of love. What could possibly be more delicious than that?
“I’ve just got to know. How did you think of these beautiful stars?” she said, pulling back a bit and still in awe of his thoughtfulness. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this.”
Ross looked extremely proud of himself, almost like a new father seeing his baby for the first time through the nursery window. “I figured, why not stars for a star? Listen, once again, you really do have no idea what a celebrity you are down at the station now. When everybody heard about that open field tackle you made of Miz Carly which saved her life, they were all asking things like, ‘Where’s the video, Ross? Maybe we could use it for training at the academy.’ Or even, ‘Let’s put it on the internet and see how many views it gets.’ ”
She snickered and waved him off. “It was just spur-of-the-moment. I prom
ise you, I didn’t even think about what I was doing for a second. I probably couldn’t pull it off again if I tried.”
“You’re too modest, and you’re fearless. But also too reckless at times. But thankfully, it turned out well this time and you’re safely here with me now. So, do you want to set a date right this second or what?”
She did not take long to answer him. “I’ve always wanted a June wedding. My parents were married in June. So why don’t we take six or seven months to do this thing up right? There’s so much to decide. Like who will be my maid of honor? Oh, I know. I’ll ask Lyndell, because we’ve gotten so close. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. And then there’s the wedding cake. Do you know how much those things cost these days? You would think they were made out of silver and gold with what they charge now, and we haven’t even gotten around to the subject of the groom’s cake. I mean, will it be one of those chocolate creations or—”
Ross raised and waved his hand quickly as he tried to get a word in. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t have to decide everything right this minute, you know. I think it’s a good idea not to rush it, too. I mean, we don’t have our mothers to help us plan, unfortunately, but I know there are a couple of perfectly capable wedding planners in Rosalie who can do the job.”
“I guess I was getting carried away.”
Then, his face lit up. “I can just see your father now when we tell him about this. You know as well as I do how he’s been playing the matchmaker for quite a while. Seems like he’s mentioned me getting together with you . . . oh, every five seconds down at the station, and I really like the way he’s always called me ‘son.’ I don’t miss my own father so much when he does that. So now he can relax and put that to bed, and I’ll be going from son to son-in-law.”