“I minored in marketing.”
She smiled. “I was a marketing major at LSU.”
He grinned, shaking his head. “I did my first two years at the community college in Bossier and finished up at Louisiana Tech. I’ll try not to hold that LSU business against you.”
“Geaux, Tigers.”
“Dawgs.”
She laughed, relieved at the shift of mood. “I’ve always loved businesses that do nice things for customers.”
“Getting your car fixed ranks right up there with going to the dentist, so we try to make it easier.”
“I’m impressed. Since I’m helping out at Magnolia Market for a few days, maybe I could get a few pointers for the owner.”
“Good luck with that. Bill’s a pretty change-averse guy.”
She peered at him. “You know Bill?”
“I stop by the store occasionally, but I’m a single dad, so mornings are crazy.” His smile grew. “But if I’d known you were there . . .”
Avery clutched her purse. Is he flirting?
“I’d better check out the car and get going.” Her words sounded sharper than intended, so she added a smile. “But if this clunker is a classic, the biscuits will be on me next time you come by.”
He extended his arm with a flourish. “Judge for yourself.”
A gargantuan wood-paneled station wagon sat before her. The back fender was scraped, but the car shone as though recently waxed and polished.
“A Buick Roadmaster,” Davis said as though she had won the grand prize in a contest. “And you’re not going to believe this—it has a Corvette engine.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s huge.”
His face fell. “I knew it was an acquired taste.”
“I appreciate the effort, but I had something . . . I was expecting something smaller.” And more colorful.
“Smaller cars cost more. This one you can get for a steal.”
Her wallet didn’t contain much to bargain with. “A Corvette engine, you say? That car’s looking better all the time.”
The Tahoe had been big, but Avery’s new station wagon made the SUV seem like a MINI Cooper. The car drove like an 18-wheeler, with about the same turning radius.
But she was mobile again.
With a sense of freedom, and feeling certain Davis had given her a feel-sorry-for-you discount, she drove up Trumpet and back down and across Vine, like a college student checking out her old haunts. She shook her hair out of its ponytail and let the window down, despite the chilly weather.
Using the stainless-steel buttons, she found a classic rock-and-roll station and cranked it up loud enough to draw a stare from an old man walking a dog. Or was he admiring her new car? She inhaled, giddy, the car replete with the smell of old leather, pine air-freshener—and a hint of dog. This was definitely a car for a dog and a couple of . . .
The giddiness slid away. How she longed for a child. Davis had been so proud showing her a picture of his son, Jake, his face beaming.
She let off the accelerator and coasted back down Trumpet, the weight of memories exhausting. How did I let myself be drawn into Cres’s world?
Praying for guidance, she wandered through the neighborhood that should have been a wonderful place to call home. Ancient live oaks, squat and sprawling, and tall, skinny pines boasting green leaves and needles despite the winter weather. Purple pansies and yellow snapdragons filled flower beds, and the occasional bike and wagon sat in front yards, as though left during play.
She could almost see the neighbor’s preschool son dashing in from a hard morning of pedaling or the babysitting grandmother pulling the petite twins in the wagon. Although the grandmother had taken to looking the other way after the rumors swirled about Avery. Those small, unexpected slights hurt more than the big cuts.
Avery turned onto Division and drove by the house she had shared with Cres. A Contract Pending sign had been added to the realtor’s sign in the front yard, and she pulled up, tires scraping against the curb. She shoved the door, heavier than a piece of furniture, then stepped into the yard—and stopped.
What good would it do to look around?
The place had little of her and Cres left within its four walls. Even before his defection, he had badgered his parents to make a down payment on a new house, disparaging the cottage as too old and shabby for their lifestyle. House plans had been delivered from the architect the week of his death, a two-story McMansion in a gated community north of town.
When they first married, the house had brought Avery a sense of peace each time she walked through the door. But as the months passed, it stood as a symbol of how different she was from her husband, how she had let loneliness and fear draw her to the wrong man.
She shook her head. There was nothing here for her. She had started over.
Avery wished she could tell the people who whispered about her perfect life that nice houses, designer clothes, and extravagant vacations didn’t make anyone happy. None of those meant as much as being available to others. Dropping in for a chat. Calling to check on a friend, offering a prayer. Her father’s love for those who couldn’t help themselves. Kathleen’s and T. J.’s help with her problems. Those mattered.
She returned to the car, turned up the radio with a determined twist of the dial, and pulled away, almost but not quite ready to sing along.
She wound past T. J.’s duplex, admiring the neat gray-green paint and the front doors flanked by two large camellia bushes loaded with pink blooms. Incongruous cabbage palms stood nearby almost like Florida tourists.
She couldn’t hold back her smile at the inviting home, wondering who owned the place and who lived in the other side. She would need an apartment. The driveway was empty, and she was both thankful and disappointed, unsure of what she would say to T. J.
A flood of longing washed over her. Maybe they could become friends.
Avery pulled out onto Vine and turned toward Cres’s childhood home, a brick mansion that looked like a community center. Evangeline’s car, the small Mercedes, sat under the porte cochere. The new road warrior wouldn’t even fit between the columns.
Driving on, she couldn’t resist going to the boutique. For the past six years, she had been here almost every day, often late into the evening. During Cres’s increased absences from home and after his death, she migrated more and more to the shop, distancing herself from those who wanted to help, friends and family who bemoaned the passing of her husband.
She shook her head. The wound from the lost boutique was not as bad as she had expected. And despite another call from Ross, she had lost interest in fighting The Fashion Group.
Another plus for a fresh start.
Manuevering the station wagon behind the shop, she gazed at the row of unfamiliar cars where she and Evangeline once parked. Had the sale already gone through? Evangeline relished the cotillion and debutante seasons, when her friends flocked to the store for long visits and expensive purchases. But maybe The Fashion Group deal had been too good to wait on.
The shop looked classy, the front window intact and freshened with the bold colors Samford women adored for winter. Yet another contrast to the market, whose color of the day was gray. The moldy market had the personality of grumpy Bill. Surely she could do better. Prepare it for a buyer perhaps. Couldn’t she?
As Avery left the discount craft store, her arms were loaded and excitement danced through her blood for the first time in months. With a trio of cardboard display boards, glue sticks, a stack of magazines, and a rainbow of markers, she opened the hatch of her car and bit back a grin.
Maybe she would add a page to her new notebook listing the positives of owning a plus-size vehicle. The tanker might not steer easily, but she could move a household. In fact, if her bedroom at the store went away, she could live back here. It was almost bigger than the room she inhabited.
Debating where to park the beast at the market, she inched toward the far side of the front, riding the brake. If this baby went throug
h the wall, the entire building might fall. She bit back a giggle.
Her mishap had set so many things in motion, but the memory of the wreck, just as the boutique drive-by had been, was not as painful as expected. Before pulling her materials from the car, she walked out to the street and surveyed the building.
The Magnolia Market sign was peeling, its post rusted. Its redeeming quality was the faded magnolia on the logo, a nice piece of advertising art.
Beyond that, things went downhill. A neglected planter underneath had been knocked loose, bricks sitting where flowers should be. Weeds grew in cracks in the asphalt, with a pothole or two big enough to knock a hubcap off.
Litter collected at the corner, due in part to the lack of a receptacle out front. A pile of railroad ties were stacked at one end of the building, with the look of a project gone awry. She sniffed, hating the creosote smell, and as she kicked at the stack, a rat ran out and skittered to the back of the building.
No wonder Bill’s business was sliding.
Grasping for the happiness she had experienced when driving off Davis’s lot, she retrieved her materials from the car, a lot of stuff for a little cash, and let herself in the front door.
At least the store smelled fresher.
Kathleen had picked up a bag of lemons, and Avery put them in baskets near the register. Their citrus scent mixed with the lingering smell of coffee, which was better than the stale smell of cardboard and sour milk the store had when Avery took over.
Stashing her purchases in the back room, she grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and put a dollar in the cash drawer. Taking a long swig, she focused on what to tackle next.
You must not begin to think of Magnolia Market as your own.
She glared at the shelves and went back to work.
Chapter 17
Kathleen drove into the parking lot before daylight Thursday, humming at the idea of surprising Avery with her early arrival. Something about having a copy of Bill’s store key made her lighthearted.
But she frowned when she saw the big, old station wagon out front. Had someone abandoned his car in the lot—or worse, broken in?
She skidded to a stop, reached into her purse for her pepper spray, and jumped out of the car. She pounded on the door as she turned the key. “Avery! Avery!”
With her hand quivering, she held the spray up as she barged in. “Show yourself! I’m armed. I’ll shoot. I swear I will.”
Something—or was it someone?—rustled near the cooler, and she hunkered down, ready to fire. A large water bug ran across the floor in front of her, and she stifled a squeal. So much for heroics.
She needed to call the police.
A light flickered in the back, and a figure stepped into the kitchen area. “Kathleen?” Avery’s sleepy voice said. “What time is it?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Kathleen’s knees went weak, and she grabbed the candy display to steady herself. “Are you all right?”
Avery rubbed her eyes, which suddenly widened. After tugging on the hem of her T-shirt, she pulled her messy hair into a ponytail. Her gaze shifted to the clock behind the counter. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” Kathleen’s anxiety turned the words strident. “I was going to surprise you.”
“You surprised me all right.” Avery hurried over to the coffeepot. “I . . . I got here early too.”
“You look like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Thanks a lot,” Avery said, but her voice lacked sarcasm. “I’ll get things underway and then get dressed.”
“You’re going back home?”
“I . . . I brought some things.”
Kathleen wrinkled her nose. “What’s with the boat out in the parking lot?”
Avery’s eyes shifted from side to side.
“That car.” Kathleen pointed to the station wagon.
“That, my friend, is a classic clunker.”
Kathleen laughed, the adrenaline of a few minutes ago giving way to relief. “I’d have guessed aircraft carrier.”
“It’s nice not to feel like a teenager who has to beg Mom and Dad for a lift. And your nephew is a super nice guy.” She halted and started toward the back of the store. “Can you finish the coffee? I need to . . . I’ll preheat the oven.”
Kathleen stepped behind the counter. “You’re working too hard.”
“No! I’m good,” she said in a more normal tone. “I have a routine.”
“Is that why you’re acting so weird? I’m not trying to take over.”
Avery fingered her bracelet. “I’m happy to have your help, but I’ve already gotten set in my ways. I took lessons from the grouch himself.”
“Come to think of it, you’re acting a lot like Bill this morning.”
Rushing toward the storeroom, Avery paused to preheat the oven. “I get a little anxious every morning. I’ll feel better once the biscuits are made.”
Kathleen grinned and called after her. “Isn’t Davis a cutie?”
Avery straightened from behind the shelves of canned goods when the buzzer on the front door sounded. And then she squatted back down so fast, she snagged her gray wool slacks, already mended once.
Cres’s father, who ordered coffee beans from the Pacific Northwest and had the housekeeper run his errands, strode to the counter. In a suit and tie, which he wore every day except Saturday, he looked as out of place as Cres the time they visited the orphanage.
She had scarcely recovered from the shock of Kathleen’s arrival that morning. Now this?
Kathleen, scrubbing years of grease from pots and pans, had her back to the counter, making more noise than the cymbals in a patriotic hymn.
Creswell Sr. cleared his throat, then tapped on the biscuit case.
Avery waddled backward a step or two. Please turn around, Kathleen. Please don’t turn around, Creswell.
“Excuse me!” He clearly didn’t think he was the one who needed excusing. “Ma’am!”
Avery added a bell for the counter to her mental shopping list.
Creswell turned, scowling, to scan the store.
Avery tucked her head down, studying a can of pork and beans as though it held the secrets to the universe.
“Ma’am!” Creswell barked again.
“Oh, sorry! May I help you, sir?” Kathleen’s eyes widened when she noticed Avery, who gave her head a quick shake.
Tapping on the biscuit case again, Creswell held up two fingers. “With grape jelly and a side of bacon.”
Avery’s jaw dropped. Her father-in-law, avid jogger and health-food evangelist, was a two-biscuit person? The things you learned when you ran a corner store.
With his back to her, she scooted to the end of the aisle and eyed the distance to the door. While Evangeline could be haughty and cold, Creswell reminded Avery of a school friend’s pet ferret—all friendly until he took a disliking to you and went for a vein. She rubbed the scar on her index finger from the time he smashed a wine glass on the coffee table and demanded she clean up the mess.
He liked to be in control and knew Avery could hurt him.
If she chose.
Which she didn’t.
The antique cash register dinged, and Kathleen thanked him for his business. Avery remained still until she heard the buzz of the door, and she peered around the end of the counter, her knees popping as she stood. Kathleen gave her a thumbs-up, her brow cocked, and then shook her head wildly.
“Hello, again,” Kathleen said, overly loud. “Will there be something else, sir?”
Avery plopped back down so fast she landed on her rear end.
“Maybe you can help me. I’m trying to get in touch with Avery Broussard.” Creswell’s voice had switched to pure southern charm and reminded Avery of Cres’s two-faced mannerisms. “Someone mentioned that she was”—he cleared his throat—“helping out here?”
“Uh, um, A-Avery?” Kathleen stammered. “She’s working some, I believe. Yes, she works here.”
Creswell moved closer. “Do you know how I can reach her?”
“Avery?” Kathleen asked in that loud voice.
She rolled into a tighter ball.
“Avery Broussard. Might I leave a message with you?” He clearly didn’t think much of Kathleen’s reliability.
“A message?”
“A note!”
Avery peeked around the corner, Kathleen’s gaze flitting to her and back to Creswell.
He pulled a business card out of his suit-coat pocket, reached for the pen chained to the counter, and scratched a word or two before letting it fall with a clatter. Out of ink. She had intended to change that and could picture the disdain on his face as he withdrew his expensive pen from his shirt pocket.
Avery knew it was expensive because she had picked it out as a birthday gift. Cres had taken credit for it when his father had fawned over it.
Creswell remained at the counter a moment longer. “Do you have an envelope?”
“An envelope?”
“Oh, never mind.” He laid the card on the counter and pushed it toward her. “It’s important that you get this to her.”
Kathleen picked it up, her brow furrowed. “She can be a hard one to track down.” She threw her eyes toward Avery and back. “Her life’s been pretty tough.”
Avery stifled a groan.
Creswell straightened. “So you know her?”
“She’s a friend.”
He leaned closer, his voice almost too low to hear. “Is she in trouble?”
Avery held her breath in the heartbeat of silence that followed. “She’s doing great. I’m teaching her everything I know about business.”
Almost laughing out loud, Avery willed Kathleen to quit joking and send Creswell on his way.
“Tell her I don’t appreciate this game she’s playing.”
“I’ll do that.” Kathleen’s gaze darted toward the door. “Have a good day.” The sound of the screen door squeaking ended the conversation.
“Whew.” Kathleen peered at the business card as Avery popped up. “Creswell Broussard Sr., Certified Public Accountant and Wealth Advisor.” She turned the card over. “What was that all about?”
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