Magnolia Market (9780310330585)

by Christie, Judy

  “You have a lot of nerve.” Kathleen was a blur as she stormed into the room. “To think I nearly fell for that fragile southern belle act.” She paused and gave Avery a once-over. “Are you going or coming?”

  Avery looked down at her coat. “Neither. The power’s out.”

  Kathleen formed her mouth into an odd little O. “Not anymore. They got it back on around midnight.”

  “Midnight?” Avery gave her head a quick shake.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  Avery pushed aside a stack of magazines and sank onto the tapestry ottoman that went with the uncomfortable chair Cres had bought. “I don’t drink.” She looked at the tiny Waterford-crystal clock on an end table. “What day is this?”

  Kathleen peered at Avery. “Wednesday. The day after Tuesday when you rammed into my car.”

  Avery leaped up and bolted toward the door. “I have to talk to Evangeline.”

  Kathleen moved too, quick for her size. “Not so fast. After your insurance problem, you agreed to pay me for the damage you did to my car.”

  “I did pay you . . . that I remember. I wrote you a check on the ride to your office.” Avery still found it hard to believe she could whip out a checkbook for whatever she needed. She’d worked hard for that privilege.

  Reaching into the pocket of her wool jacket, Kathleen pulled out a slip of paper and waved it in front of Avery’s face. “It bounced.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  Kathleen made a dribbling motion with her hand. “Bounced. Insufficient funds. No money. Wrong account. Math error.” She looked around the room. “Not the most organized person, eh?”

  Rubbing her neck, Avery wanted to flee. The living room was separated from the dining area with a wide arched door. Piles of mail covered the surface of the sleek glass dining table, looking like an avalanche about to happen. A stack of files sat on the pass-through from the dining room to the kitchen.

  Kathleen’s gaze landed on a black lacquer curio cabinet filled with crystal. “You’d better have cash stuck in one of those fancy pieces.”

  Avery lifted her chin. “Or?”

  “Or I’m going to sue.” Kathleen headed toward the door. “In fact, I can see this was a waste of time. I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with you.”

  “You have a lawyer?”

  “I will have.” The redhead yanked open the door.

  “Stop. Please.” Avery drew another breath. “We’ll work this out.”

  Kathleen looked over her shoulder and eased the door shut. She strode to the sitting area and sank onto the leather sofa. “Nice.” She patted the cushion.

  “I hate it.” Avery’s face crinkled. “It’s always reminded me of an oversize baseball glove.”

  Kathleen leaned back. “At least it’s a comfortable baseball glove. And if you didn’t like it, why’d you buy it?”

  “My husband—and his mother—picked out all our furniture.”

  “As much as I’d love to sit and discuss your pushy in-laws, I’m due at work in an hour. Now, the cash?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  Kathleen scowled.

  “I don’t have it here, I mean. I need to contact the bank to clear up the error.”

  “Then call the bank, and I’ll try the check again on my way to work.”

  “Actually . . . my landline is dead, and I couldn’t charge my cell without power.”

  Kathleen stood. “Go to the bank, get the cash, and bring it to me.”

  “My car’s in the shop.” Her face flushed as she looked in Kathleen’s eyes. “I planned to get a rental when I woke up from my nap.”

  “Well, Sleeping Beauty, it seems you missed your deadline.”

  “There’s no need to be rude.”

  Kathleen quirked her head, looking like one of the chickens at Avery’s dad’s house in Haiti. “You call that rude?” She gave a short laugh. “You must lead a sheltered life.”

  “If only.” Avery squared her shoulders. “Give me a lift to the bank, and I’ll withdraw the cash.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Thirty minutes max. Let me wash my face and brush my hair, and I’ll be good to go.”

  Lowering herself back onto the sofa, Kathleen picked up a travel magazine. “Get a move on. I can’t afford to be late for work again.”

  Avery went back into the bedroom and flipped the light switch. The room stayed dark as night. Gulping a breath of cold air, she went to the row of windows and opened the curtains. The stream of morning sun steadied her, and she soaked up the hominess of the room, the only one she had changed.

  An iron bedstead, bought at an estate sale, anchored the space. Painted white, its fleur-de-lis pattern was woven with flowers. The quilt that covered it was a dogwood pattern in shades of green and pink, a wedding gift from her late grandmother. Cres had called it “girlie” and wanted to donate it to Goodwill. Avery had shoved it into the back of a closet and pulled it out after he left.

  She reached down to touch it, soft and warm.

  “Don’t take all day,” Kathleen called.

  “I’m almost ready.” She dashed into the bathroom, turned the faucet, and frowned. No water came out. She moved toward the fancy rain shower Cres had installed. No water there either.

  On top of everything else, the pipes must have frozen.

  The house sat on pier-and-beams, as did almost all of those in the River Bend neighborhood. The old southern design allowed air to flow better in summer but tended to make for drafty floors and the occasional frozen pipes in winter.

  A loaner from Evangeline and Creswell Sr., the cottage was supposed to be temporary, until Avery and Cres built a bigger place.

  But Avery had loved it and been reluctant to move, and as it turned out, Cres had other things on his to-do list.

  She shook off the memories, and with light from a row of glass bricks dabbed on mascara and concealed the bruise from yesterday’s wreck. Grabbing a ponytail holder, she twisted her hair into a knot and stepped back. Her skinny jeans were faded, a small hole in the knee, but her coat covered most of the outfit anyway.

  She would come home and change before she went to the store to talk sense into Evangeline, who knew, whether she admitted it or not, that Avery kept Evangeline’s Boutique running.

  Adjusting the Haitian shawl that had come from her father in Monday’s mail, she buttoned her coat and assembled a smile as she entered the living room. “My pipes are frozen. I’ve hit the trifecta—water, electricity, and phone.”

  “Are you sure? It warmed up quite a bit overnight.”

  “Not in here.” Avery rubbed her hands together. “I don’t have any water.”

  A wrinkle popped up on Kathleen’s face. “No car insurance. No power. No phone. No money in your account. And now no water.” She blew out a breath, causing her red bangs to flutter in the air. “I don’t have a good feeling about getting the money for my car.”

  Avery watched as she placed the magazine next to one on jogging, one for CPAs, and one about boating. Cres had an array of interests, one of the first things to attract Avery, who had grown up in a less sophisticated world. The magazine arrivals, decreasing as months passed, were like a scolding about the failure of her marriage.

  “Take all of those if you’d like,” Avery said. “I don’t read them.”

  “My nephew might want them.” Kathleen shrugged. “Thanks.”

  “Let’s go. I can pay what I owe you.”

  “Right,” Kathleen said.

  The teller referred to a computer monitor. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Broussard, but that account has been closed.”

  “That’s a mistake. I’ve banked with you for nearly six years.”

  He swiveled the monitor a quarter inch toward her and tapped the screen, even though she couldn’t see its content. His expression was part pity, part disdain. “It was closed yesterday afternoon.”

  “That’s my account. I think I would know if I closed it.”

  “
Is there a problem, Avery?” A man’s voice at her shoulder drawled out her name, and she turned to see Scooter Broussard, her banker and her father-in-law’s brother, standing behind her. He wore a purple-and-gold sweater-vest and purple tie, his gray hair slicked back. He had gained his nickname while a fullback at LSU thirty years ago and kept it, a big man gone soft around the middle.

  “Thank goodness, Scooter. There’s a mix-up with my account.”

  “Mrs. Broussard didn’t realize her account had been closed,” the teller said.

  “Why don’t we discuss this in my office?”

  Avery’s heart lurched with the velocity of yesterday’s wreck, but she followed Scooter onto the elevator. “I see you have your power back on,” she said as the door eased shut.

  Scooter threw her a peculiar look and steered her into his office, touching the back of a leather chair facing his desk. “Take a seat. Could I get you anything? A cup of coffee, some water?”

  “Just the money in my account.” She forced a chuckle as she sank into the chair. “Someone’s waiting for me in the car, and I need to get this taken care of.”

  Scooter frowned as he reached for a file. “Evangeline said she was going to speak to you.”

  “She did.” Avery grimaced. “We’ll have to postpone the loan closing until we work out details with her.”

  He rubbed his neck. “So she told you about her plans?”

  Avery nodded. “She came back from the beach house in one of her moods, but we’ll work it out. We made an agreement months ago.”

  He clicked his ink pen with the bank’s logo on the side. “My sister-in-law can be hard to read at times.”

  “It’s been a rough time for everyone. The loss of a son . . .” Avery glanced down at her hands, her voice soft. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for her.”

  Scooter shook his head. “That boy was a handful, but she never lost her patience with him.” He reached under his vest and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. “We were all hopeful when Cres settled down with you.”

  Except, of course, Cres hadn’t settled down. A platinum topic of gossip around Samford. Failure and heartbreak for Avery.

  She leaned forward, her elbows on Scooter’s desk. “That’s in the past. Once I get this checking account problem resolved, we need to meet about the shop loan.”

  He wiped his brow again. “You’d better talk to Evangeline.”

  “I intend to. I’m ready to run the business on my own. My credit is excellent.”

  He put his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs. “Avery, have you considered going back to Lafayette? You could start over on your home turf.”

  She focused on the picture of a football game at LSU’s stadium, Death Valley, hanging behind him. “Buying the boutique is my fresh start. If you’ll get my checking account squared away, I’ll be on my way.”

  Scooter looked over her shoulder, then down at the file, his gaze settling on his hands. He acted like a customer at the boutique about to ask for a larger size. “Do you want to open a new account?”

  Wrinkling her nose, she blew out a puff of air. “I want you to figure out why your teller thinks my checking account’s closed.”

  “Your checking account has been closed. Your savings account too.”

  Avery felt colder than she had in the middle of the night. “Then clear up the mistake. Because I did not close my accounts.”

  Scooter’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and another bead of sweat popped out on his forehead, but he did not wipe it away. “You’ll have to take this up with Evangeline and my brother.”

  “You’re my banker.”

  “Perhaps it’d be best if you found a new banking partner.”

  Avery inhaled. “I’m not looking for a partner. I’m looking for the money in my checking account.”

  Scooter swallowed hard again. “My brother came in late yesterday and reorganized their family accounts. The ones you and your late husband shared were among those.” His voice softened when he said the words late husband, in the way people did all over Samford.

  “That account was in my name!”

  He picked up the file and flipped through. “You had access to it, but it was opened by your father-in-law.”

  “That has been my checking account since the day Cres and I got engaged.”

  “Creswell and Evangeline always backed Cres’s financial needs.” Scooter swallowed for the third time. “You’ve been taken off all the Broussard accounts, as of the anniversary of Cres’s death.”

  “But those accounts have my money in them, money I earned!”

  Standing, he bumped against his burgundy leather desk chair, sending it back against the wall with a thud. “I’m sorry things worked out this way.”

  “I’ll file suit—and report you to regulatory authorities.”

  “With Broussard resources, we’re used to frivolous suits. We’ll outlast you.”

  Scooter was right. Her fresh start did not include another round of sordid stories, and the Broussards had lawyers for their lawyers. The couple of thousand dollars hidden at the house would last about ten minutes.

  With her back as straight as a rod and her chin in the air, she moved toward the door.

  “Um, Avery, there is another way around your financial problems.” Scooter extended an envelope. “Evangeline and Creswell are as eager to get this taken care of as you claim to be. Here’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a start.” She took the envelope. “But I saved more than that from my paychecks.” She had scrimped every week to accumulate a down payment for the store.

  “Let me be clear. The check requires action on your part.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of action?”

  “You have less than a month to cash it. By the end of January.”

  “No problem.” The pressure on her chest lightened. “I can handle that on my way to the car.”

  Scooter cleared his throat. “By cashing it, you agree to leave town by the first week in February.”

  Her head felt as if she’d gotten water in her ears. “That’s my money.”

  “Creswell and Evangeline do not see it that way.”

  She looked down at the short commercial carpet, back at the Death Valley poster, at the Rotary Club plaque with a gold hammer on it. Kathleen was waiting in the car.

  “Ten thousand dollars?” A burst of laughter flew out of her mouth. “They want to buy me off with ten thousand dollars of my own money?” Her pulse sped up. “What are they going to do if I don’t cash it? Dump my body in the river?”

  “They want you out of that house. Cutting off the utilities was just a start.”

  She gasped.

  “Creswell made it clear a year ago that you would need to move on.”

  “I’ll find another place to live.”

  “Find one away from Samford.” His mouth twisted. “This can get uglier in a hurry.”

  She didn’t doubt that. She’d been a Broussard long enough to know what ugly was.

  Avery could make Creswell change his mind, but there had to be another way. She threw the envelope, aiming for the small copper trash can sitting near the door.

  Scooter dove and snatched it in midair. He was breathing hard. “Use it to make a new life for yourself.” He hesitated. “You deserve it.”

  “That’s just another way for the Broussards to control my life.”

  He folded the envelope and slipped it into the pocket on the outside of her purse. “Just in case you change your mind.”

  “Let me guess,” Kathleen said when Avery slid into the rental car. “It was all one big misunderstanding, and you have wads of cash under your coat.”

  “I can get your money.”

  “Oh, good, because for a second there, I thought you were going to tell me you were overdrawn.”

  “It’s a mistake.”

  Kathleen held up her cell phone. “I’m sure old Bill at Magnolia Market will b
e glad to hear that. He’s called three times since you went in the bank, wanting to know when our insurance adjustors will contact him.”

  Avery clutched her coat. “Our adjustors?”

  “Looks like we’re a team.” Kathleen’s voice oozed irritation. “When you threw my car into the building with yours, I became part of this disaster.”

  “Your car was parked.”

  “I left the motor running because it was so cold. Bill’s insurance company has roped me into this.”

  “That’s a technicality,” Avery said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Kathleen rolled her eyes.

  “I give you my word.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Let’s say you haven’t shown yourself to be all that helpful these past couple of days. After you hit me, you disappear and don’t answer your phone. I have to come—”

  “I told you—”

  Kathleen held up her hand. “I know. Your phone went dead. You laid down for a long winter’s nap and somehow—uh-oh—it’s the next day. Do you ever take responsibility?”

  Avery drew back. “I’m the most responsible person you’ll ever meet.”

  “Whew. I’d hate to see your life if you let things go.”

  Chapter 6

  Every light was on in the boutique when Avery exited the taxi, one of three in the entire town of Samford. “Will you wait for me?” she asked. “I won’t be long.”

  “Can’t do,” the driver said in a heavy Spanish accent. “Bad weather. Lots of business.”

  “Then please come back for me in twenty minutes.” Her voice was steady, despite her nerves.

  “My shift ends at five.” He handed her a business card. “Call when you’re ready. We’ll do our best to send someone.”

  “Please, sir.” She fished in her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, part of a supply of cash that had more uses than she could list.

  He ignored the bill and shooed her from the cab as the dispatch radio squawked. “I’ll come back if I can.”

  Avery straightened her skirt as she stepped out. She looked her best, wearing a skirt and suede blazer by Evangeline’s favorite designer, with three-inch heels in the same deep shade of purple. She had forgone an overcoat.