Magnolia Market (9780310330585)

by Christie, Judy

  “And,” Bud said, “they can try to forget the circumstances of Cres’s death.”

  Chapter 23

  Humming after the Tuesday breakfast and lunch rushes—which had not been pitiful this week—Avery straightened the handmade Louisiana items she had ordered from a potter in New Iberia and smiled.

  “Good afternoon.” Camille’s eyes shone as she charged through the front door. “Cool! Whose work is that?”

  “One of my dad’s former church members.” She held up a magnolia bloom. “She does Louisiana shapes. This is my current favorite.”

  “Oh, I like the pelican. And the alligator.”

  Laughing, Avery picked up a red crawfish. “What about this guy?”

  Camille reached for it. “I see what you mean. We need that artist in our gallery.” She looked around. “I can’t believe how much you’ve improved the store.”

  “It’s nothing. This part was easy.”

  “Says the woman who practically lives at this place.” Kathleen walked from around the counter. “I’m Kathleen Manning, by the way. Avery’s charming assistant.”

  “I’m Camille Gardner.” She shook Kathleen’s hand. “She works hard all right. Avery’s car’s here day and night.”

  A strange look crossed Kathleen’s face.

  “It is not.” Heat flooded Avery’s face.

  “Not that I’m spying or anything,” Camille said. “But my apartment’s over the gallery, so I have a good view.” She made a dramatic sneer.

  Avery didn’t meet Kathleen’s eyes when the two laughed. “We’d be happy to display examples of your artists’ work,” she said in a rush. “And to put out flyers with your hours and special exhibits.”

  “That’d be fantastic. We can hand out your menus.”

  “Just like that.” Kathleen snapped her fingers. “Avery’s one of those rare people who comes up with good ideas and makes them happen.”

  “T. J.’s like that, don’t you think?” Camille cut her eyes at Avery. “I heard he took you over to the mission.”

  Avery smiled. “We’re going to carry as many of their products as possible. We’ve got their spice mixes, homemade pralines, even note cards.”

  Camille nodded. “It’s amazing what a few people have put together. They provide free medical help and meals and make those amazing crafts. T. J.’s been huge in making that happen.”

  Kathleen guffawed. “What a sales job. Are you matchmaking, Camille?”

  “Kathleen!” Avery tugged on her new green apron.

  “Bill’s had bread on the shelves longer than she’s known him.” Kathleen put her hands on her hips, a smile dancing in her eyes.

  “I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you.” Avery’s voice rose.

  “He’s a nice guy who’s turned his life around, from what Marsh says. T. J. could use more friends, though. I think he’s still finding his niche in Samford.” Camille ran her fingers through her short hair. “That’s his story to tell, not mine. I’d better get back to the gallery.”

  Camille headed to the door and stopped. “I almost forgot why I came in here in the first place. T. J. was raving about those fried pies, and Marsh asked me to order some for his parents. Doc will love those.”

  “I’ll write it up.” Avery looked over her shoulder. “Their name’s Cameron, right?”

  Camille gave a small laugh. “I forget that not everyone in Samford knows their weird story. Marsh’s last name is Cameron, but his mom and stepdad are Minnette and Roger Aillet. Roger is T. J.’s father, even though T. J. works with Bud.” She widened her eyes. “And Bud’s Marsh’s father.”

  “Could you run through that again?” Kathleen asked. “That makes Avery’s in-laws look ordinary.” She quirked her head. “Avery?”

  “Uh, did you say T. J. is an Aillet?” Had she actually gotten involved with another member of the country-club set?

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” Camille said. “Samford’s too big to know everyone, but small enough that everyone’s connected. He must have been living out in Seattle when you moved here.”

  Must have been. Maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed there.

  Chapter 24

  Kathleen stopped at the blinking light at Trumpet and Vine and looked over at the front of the market, shadowy in the midnight darkness. Everything looked as it should.

  But sure enough, Avery’s station wagon sat pulled up almost to the door. Just as Camille had mentioned earlier that day.

  Gliding through the intersection, she turned into the alley, turned off her headlights, cut the engine, and coasted to the back of the store.

  “I should have figured this out days ago,” she said to Howie, whose tail was thumping back and forth as he looked out the passenger window. “Come on, boy!” The alley was spooky, and she patted her dog to reassure herself.

  Kathleen slipped her key in the lock, then eased the door open, holding the dog’s mouth shut. She stepped into the gloomy hall. The dim light burned over the register, and through the front window she could see the traffic light blinking.

  The door to the small storage room was closed, and she took a deep breath, suddenly uncertain. Her husband’s face flashed through her memory, helping a neighbor who had fallen on hard times. “Go for it, girl!” he’d always said.

  She pushed the door open, her heart pounding louder than Wayne had snored. As she peeked around the corner, grief—mixed with a large measure of anger—rolled over her.

  Avery was curled into a ball on the bed, sound asleep.

  The doorknob slipped from Kathleen’s grasp and the door flew into the wall. Howie barked twice and ran over to the cot.

  Avery’s eyes flew open, and she sprang up, yelling and brandishing a small kitchen knife. Howie jumped behind Kathleen, whimpering as though his feelings were hurt.

  “Don’t shoot—or stab! It’s me!” Kathleen flipped on the overhead light.

  She and Avery stared at each other for a split second before Avery scrambled onto her feet. “The biscuits. I was resting my eyes. What time is it?” She rubbed her back with one hand and smoothed her hair with another. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  “Midnight.”

  “Midnight?” She started to head into the store. “I lay down for a—”

  Kathleen blocked the door, her gaze roaming around the small space.

  “I was just—” Avery began and then put her hand to her back again. “Did you have to sic the hound on me? I think I pulled my back when Howie jumped on me.”

  “My apologies.” Kathleen’s blend of rage and concern burned hotter than the oven when they took out the biscuits. “You could have been killed staying back here.”

  “It’s not that big a deal.” A look of trepidation ran through Avery’s eyes. “I was working on our new sign, and it got late. It seemed easier to sleep here.”

  “Give it up, Avery.”

  “I like to keep an eye on things.” Avery blinked, looking as though she might cry.

  “How long have you been living here?” To Kathleen’s dismay, her voice wobbled too. She expected this kind of betrayal from her daughter but not from Avery. “I can’t believe you kept this from me. And what’s wrong with your eyes, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Other than the fact that they were closed a minute ago, that it’s the middle of the night, and”—she looked up—“someone is shining a bright light in them?”

  Kathleen switched on the small lamp on the folding table and turned off the overhead light. “I’m not going to apologize.”

  Avery plopped down on the cot and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Her face was scrubbed clean, and her feet were bare. In a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt, she could have been a sorority girl.

  “I—”

  Kathleen held up her hand. “Don’t speak.”

  “But I—”

  “If you’re going to lie to me again, don’t even open that pretty mouth of yours.” Kathleen sank into the folding chair where she often ate lunch
. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends.” Avery looked down at the floor.

  Kathleen’s hand flew up again. “I mean it. No more lies.”

  “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” A big tear rolled down Avery’s face, and Howie jumped onto the cot and licked her hand. “And you’re the second-best, Howie.” She buried her face in his fur.

  Her voice was muffled, and she reminded Kathleen of the way Lindsey had looked before she got her nose pierced and ran away from home. And heaven knew that Kathleen had cried into Howie’s fur after Wayne died.

  “Enough with the tears already.”

  Avery sat up but kept her arm draped over Howie’s body. “My mother was a special woman. My dad’s fantastic.”

  That was unexpected.

  “They taught me better than this.” Avery took hold of Howie’s face and stared into his eyes. “I didn’t know how to ask for help.” She scrunched up her face. “You’re so smart and sure of yourself. It’s harder than you’d think.”

  “Oh, I see,” Kathleen said, a frog in her throat. She must be coming down with a cold. “You’re turning this into a pity party.” She stood and planted her hands on her hips. “It’s not going to work. Get your things.”

  Avery looked up from the dog and met Kathleen’s eyes. “I don’t have anywhere to go. There. I’ve said it. Are you happy?”

  “You’re going to my house, you dolt, and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you sleep inside.”

  Avery watched Kathleen pull out a saucepan and fill it with milk. “I always made hot chocolate for Lindsey when she couldn’t sleep.” Kathleen adjusted the burner.

  “That’s sweet, but I was sleeping, if you’ll recall.” She rubbed her back for good measure.

  “In the back of a grocery store!” Kathleen half turned. “You have to stir this constantly or it scorches.”

  “I’ve made hot chocolate before.”

  “Not like this you haven’t.” Kathleen pulled out another square of unsweetened chocolate and stuck it in a double boiler. “Are you good with real sugar?”

  Avery clasped her heart. “After knowing me for three weeks, you have to ask? I’m wounded.”

  “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  “It takes me a while to get my wits about me, you know, when I’m awakened from a dead sleep.”

  Kathleen faced the stove, measuring, stirring, pulling out mugs. She looked like an orchestra conductor. After pouring the cocoa into mugs, she pulled a can of whipping cream out of the refrigerator. Howie jumped up and ran toward her.

  Squirting two perfect blobs on top of the cups, Kathleen added a taste to her finger and held her hand down. Howie licked it clean and whined. “You are such a beggar.” She gave him one more small squirt before handing Avery her mug.

  “This is a work of art.” Avery sipped with her eyes closed. “Oh, my.”

  “Good, huh? My mother-in-law taught me to make this right after I got married.”

  “We should sell it at the store.”

  Kathleen snorted. “As you can see, it’s labor-intensive.”

  “But worth it. Maybe we could hire someone to help out.” Avery’s face fell. “Although I guess we won’t have time for that sort of thing.”

  “Is that why you went to bed crying tonight?”

  “No!” Her hand went to her eyes.

  “This is about T. J. being an Aillet, isn’t it?” Kathleen narrowed her eyes. “You went all stoic on me after Camille’s visit.”

  “It doesn’t matter what his last name is.”

  “But?”

  “Butt out?”

  “So now you’re a clown?” Kathleen blew on the hot chocolate, then took a sip. “You could talk to me instead of hiding out and crying.”

  “Are you pretending to be Dr. Phil?” Avery snapped her fingers. “No, it’s Oprah, isn’t it?”

  “This is what friends do.” Kathleen shook her head. “You sure don’t make it easy.”

  Avery warmed her hands on the mug. “Yes, it hurt that T. J. misled me. He’s no better than Cres. Another lying rich guy.”

  “Did you ask his last name? Or did it not matter because he was a carpenter?”

  “That’s insulting.”

  Kathleen arched an eyebrow.

  “All right.” Avery shrugged. “I’ve only known him a couple of weeks, and things have been chaotic. I’ll admit I kind of liked the first-name thing.”

  “It was kind of cute, huh, until you found out his last name.”

  Heat crept up her face. “I didn’t want him to focus on my being a Broussard, so I . . . just didn’t go there.”

  “My point precisely. What does it matter who his parents are?”

  “They’re part of the Samford Bubble. His mother has been Evangeline’s best friend since Ole Miss. They spent half of the last year together at the beach—talking about how I wrecked Cres’s life, no doubt.”

  “I must be too blue-collar to figure out what you’re talking about.”

  Avery leaned forward. “T. J.’s part of Cres’s world. All I could think tonight was that they knew each other. T. J. never said a word.” She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Why didn’t I realize?”

  “Welcome to my world. At least his best friend hasn’t been sleeping in a storage closet. Imagine what that feels like.”

  “T. J. dropped all those clues—friendship with Ross, prep school, fancy leftovers from his mother’s. I knew that bread pudding tasted familiar.”

  Kathleen smiled.

  “I won’t get involved in that world again.” Avery squeezed her eyes shut. “T. J. seemed different.”

  “Different from what?”

  “Not what. Whom. T. J., the good old handyman, mission volunteer. Cheap watch. About as different from Cres as they come.”

  Kathleen winced. “Why don’t you hear T. J.’s side of it?”

  She put her head in her hands, her voice muffled. “I’ll think about it.”

  Avery burned the biscuits the next morning, scorched the eggs, and broke a carafe full of coffee.

  “It’ll get better,” Kathleen said.

  “Thanks for last night.” Avery swept up the rest of the glass. “And for letting Howie come to work today.”

  “You are such a sucker for a sad face.”

  “He looked lonely out in the yard.”

  Kathleen blew out a breath. “As long as Bill—and the Health Department—don’t find out.”

  “He’s in the storeroom, for goodness’ sake.” Avery smiled. “He makes me happy.”

  “He can come with us every day if you’ll take me up on my offer. Move in, share the rent. I have plenty of space.”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get tired of me?” Avery balanced against the broom, shifting the dustpan in her other hand.

  “I’m like Howie. I like your company. Have I mentioned how mad I am that you stayed in the store when you could have been living with me?”

  “Only about a dozen times . . . since daybreak.”

  “I’ll even give you Lindsey’s old room.”

  “She’s coming home one of these days.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Kathleen’s face softened. “But there’s plenty of room for both of you.”

  “You’re going to get a real job, and I’m . . . well, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “What’s your father say?”

  Avery looked at her hands. “He doesn’t know all the details. I don’t want to use our phone visits to unload my troubles.”

  “He’s your father. Parents expect to be troubled.”

  “I’d rather trouble you.”

  Kathleen let loose her bold laugh. “You’re doing a good job. Now, say you’ll stay with me. It’ll be like summer camp. You can leave when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks. You can even give me some job-hunting pointers.”

  “Great. I can tell you about all the jobs you want if you’ll bus tables or delive
r pizza.” Kathleen made a face. “Who knew that highly experienced middle-aged women were a dime a dozen? Looks like I learned Excel for nothing.”

  “Your spreadsheets helped our inventory control.” Avery straightened, balancing the dustpan full of glass shards. “We might be in the black by the end of the month.” Although if the Broussards had their way, she might not be there to see it. The days were moving much too quickly.

  “You like this stuff, don’t you? You like business.”

  Avery pursed her lips. “Only the creative parts. Did you see what I did with the chalkboard today? Those markers work great.”

  “You’re good at all of it.” Kathleen turned the Open sign over. “Not just the creative part.”

  Avery smiled slyly. “And starting tomorrow we’re serving custom-made hot chocolate.”

  “I noticed.”

  The door buzzed, and Avery pulled out the notebook. New bell, she wrote while looking up with a smile. “May I help—? Oh, it’s you.”

  Nephew Greg crossed the threshold, a scowl on his face. “What’s that smell?”

  “Um . . .” Avery pretended to consider. “Our new specialty—blackened biscuits. Want to try one? They’re a big hit with the pigeons out back.”

  “Aren’t you a comedian?” He walked to the cooler and pulled out a soft drink. “Like I told Uncle Bill, if he doesn’t sell soon, you’ll have this place run into the ground.”

  She walked to the cash register and opened the drawer with a flourish. “Cash or charge?”

  He frowned.

  “Nobody gets free food or drink. Inventory is money. Don’t you have an accountant?”

  “My CPA and I talk about bigger fish than a Coke. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh?” She pretended disinterest, adding apples to the dwindling basket.

  “I’ve got a bidding war between a downtown businessman and a U-Store-It guy who wants to put a big unit on this lot.” He poked at the counter as he spoke.

  Avery drew a breath.

  “A storage warehouse? Here?” Kathleen came in from the back.

  “Oh, good,” Greg said. “I hate repeating myself.”

  “I can’t believe Bill would ever agree to that,” Kathleen said, hands flying to her hips. “This store has been here since I was a kid. It has history.”