“Mr. Slithers. I should have known,” Jenna said under her breath.
“Look. I know Charlton can be tactless, but I think he’s really trying to help.”
“Um. I don’t think so. He and Dudley looked as thick as thieves tonight. Oh, and of course, Scarlet was there.” She exaggerated the name Scarlet in her best Southern aristocratic accent.
“I just worry about you, sweetheart. You won’t have the carriage house…or even any allowance from the trust. I walk the floors at night worrying about how you’ll afford clothes, buy your next car, continue with Dr. Hacker…your entire life.”
Jenna felt so detached from the image she’d unwittingly manufactured. In fact, she didn’t really care deeply about the Louboutins. They were a part of her façade. What people outside the gates of the plantation expected of her.
But she did need a roof over her head. So did her parents. And Jasper and Amberlee. They’d all lose the plantation to Dudley if the terms of the family trust were not met soon. She had to think of something.
“Momma, I stopped by Jasper’s cottage earlier. He and Amberlee told me some farfetched story about a second will from Grandfather Henri…and some other stuff, too. You ever heard of anything like that?”
Her mother said, “Sure,” and took of sip of the water she’d pulled out the refrigerator earlier. “Years ago, however, it was determined that it was all just…imaginary thinking on the parts of the workers who’d been given their freedom. No one had ever seen such a paper. Your oh-so-Great Grandfather Henri disappeared in that horrible hurricane that struck after the Revolutionary War, and no one had ever come across that…fictitious will…or any of the considerable fortune they’d said he’d amassed during the war.”
“So, you’d heard about that, too?”
“Of course. It’s a part of our family’s lore. I call it a fairytale, though. He only left the money that was secured in the house.” She sipped from her water bottle. “He left this family in fine shape for over two hundred years. That was probably all there was to the fortune.”
“Jasper and Amberlee think the story is true.”
“Well, if it were true, then proof of it would be at the bottom of the Atlantic where your seven times great Grandfather Henri sailed the Amberjack to escape the hurricane.”
“Amberjack?”
“Yes. That was the name of the ship that your Grandfather Henri was on. None of his fleet survived. He died trying to protect the future for his family. ”
But he’d failed. She’d suddenly felt more of a connection to Grandfather Henri than ever before. Before tonight, he was merely a story. Now he was a flesh and blood man who’d do anything for his people, and this plantation was a part of his legacy. To her mom. To Jasper and Amberlee. To her.
At least he’d protected and preserved the land with his hard work and efforts for over two hundred years. She was about to lose it for them all in way less than two years.
⸙
Though Jenna stayed busy all week, she couldn’t stop thinking about the plantation and all she had learned about it the night of the charity auction at the Oaks Country Club. Every day she worked at Enjoliver; every week she visited her therapist; every day she called April. It was incredible that she hadn’t actually spoken to her best friend since the Oaks. But she was going to remedy that today by knocking on April’s door. In person. Something was going on, and Jenna was tired of calling April’s work and hearing that she was tied up from the receptionist.
She stopped by the Piggly Wiggly to pick up some milk and bread and things for Miss Adree and ran the bag of groceries by the old building that had been turned into condos—four to be exact, and one of them was April’s. But April’s car was not parked out front.
As Jenna got out of her BMW, Charlene Timmons, another of her friends from her high school days, was exiting the building.
“Hey, Charlene. You got a minute?” Jenna asked.
She looked at her cell phone and put it in her back pocket. “Sure. What’s up, girl?”
Jenna didn’t want to sound too nosy, but she was getting extremely worried about her best friend. “April. Have you seen her around? I’ve been calling every day this week, and still she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“Hanna tells me she’s been really busy at work.” Charlene looked around. Like she may have had a secret to tell and wanted to make sure no one was around to hear. “Well, I don’t want to get her in trouble with you. After all the two of you have been through, but…she’s been hanging out with that motorcycle guy.” She pulled out her cell and checked it again. “Yeah. She gets home and then five minutes later, she’s gone again. In fact…this guy I know said he saw her hanging out in Marvin’s Bait and Tackle Shop with the dude and a bunch of other bikers.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jenna’s head almost felt light. Maybe Charlene was kidding. There had to be a logical explanation.
“I mean…I think it’s harmless, but it’s not like April. I know because before she started hanging out with that motorcycle guy, she went to work, came home. And helped out with Miss Adree like you.”
“I don’t know what to do about her. I am so worried she’s going to have another panic attack. This is just not like her,” Jenna said. “She’s always been so careful.”
“I know. Well, that couldn’t happen to me because I’m too busy at work and taking care of my grandmother to even get involved with a man,” said Charlene.
“Men haven’t been at the top of my list of things to do either,” said Jenna. But that had contributed to her problems.
Just then Miss Adree came through the main door of the historic white clapboard building. She tottered and grabbed the porch rail. The wisteria that ran up the lacy iron posts beside her framed the old woman. “Jenna, Charlene, is something wrong?”
Jenna hugged Miss Adree and handed her the bag. “No, no. We’re just talking about April.”
Miss Adree gave them both a look.
Jenna and Charlene glanced at one another.
“It’s not like we’re talking bad about her or anything,” Jenna said. She would never do that. April was the sister of her heart.
Miss Adree grabbed her by the arm. “The two of you are coming in for some sweet tea so we can talk.”
Charlene checked her phone again. “Oh, there’s that text I was expecting. I’ve gotta go.”
Sadness covered the old woman’s face. “But Charlene, just one glass of sweet tea and then you can go to your new boyfriend,” Miss Adree said.
“Oh, Miss Adree, I don’t have a new boyfriend.” Charlene’s face contorted.
Jenna thought otherwise at that point. Maybe Charlene did have time for men. And hadn’t realized it yet.
That would never happen to Jenna. If someone as attractive as Hogan who also had the right background ever tried to hook up with her, she’d realize it all right. Wouldn’t she? Of course, she would, but a suitable man was not in her foreseeable future.
“That’s fine, dear. If you say so. What about the tea? Five minutes.”
Charlene checked her watch again. “Oh, all right. But you’d better not tell my grandmother I was drinking your sweet tea when I’ve been hassling her about hers.”
Miss Adree giggled. “Yep. Ethel’s got the sweetest tea in all of Summerbrook. Hard for me to drink it, too. It’s no wonder she’s got the diabetes.”
The two girls followed the old woman into the building and then into her apartment. A sweet aroma hung in the air. The walls, tables and bookshelves were covered in bric-a-brac and memorabilia that had been collected for years—trinkets, old photos, books, framed newspaper articles—things that meant something to the sweet woman.
“So, you girls are worried about our April?” Miss Adree asked as she poured iced tea in three delicately etched glasses.
“I’m worried sick.” Jenna took the drink from the old woman. “But it’s not helping.”
“Well, bless your heart,” Miss Adree said as she
handed Charlene her glass.
Miss Adree sat across from Jenna and Charlene in the living room. She took a long sip of her tea and set it down on the cut work linen scarf on the coffee table. “April can take care of herself. You don’t need to be worried about her. It’s just that her life is taking a bit of a turn right now.” She paused. “Just like I see with the two of you.”
Charlene nearly spit her mouthful of tea back in her glass. “My life’s not taking a turn. I’m just trying to handle a problem that sprang up in my life. And I’m trying to take care of my grandmother, but that’s nearly a full-time job these days.”
Miss Adree nodded, eyebrows raised. “Well, you sure did look nice in that dress you were wearing the other day.” She took another sip of her tea. “Don’t recall ever seeing you even wear a dress before, Charlene.”
“I know I haven’t.” Jenna thought for a moment. “I only wish there was a turn in my path. Downhill spiral, maybe. But no turns,” she said.
The old lady laughed. “Sometimes we can’t see the turns for the bends in the road.”
Jenna and Charlene looked at one another. What did that mean, really?
Charlene gulped down the rest of the tea. “This was really good, Miss Adree, but I’ve got to go.” She stood and walked toward the door.
“Say “hello” to your grandmother for me.” She paused “And to Aiken.”
Charlene turned abruptly and pushed a strand of her short hair behind her ear. “How’d you know his name?”
“Bless your heart. This town’s a growin’, but it ain’t got that big yet, honey.”
The three pals hugged, and Charlene left.
Jenna took another swig of her tea, shook her head, and smiled. The old woman seemed to have Jenna’s two friends pegged. Or at least their love lives. Wonder what Miss Adree had heard about her?
Jenna put her empty glass in the kitchen sink. “I’ve got to head out, too.”
The old woman took her by the shoulders at the door. “Don’t forget, dear. Sometimes it’s okay to close your eyes and just enjoy the turns.”
That would not be so easy to do from where she was. Shoot. She could end up on a dead-end dirt road. Surrounded by Spanish moss and fireflies. Or deep in a Lowcountry swamp, like her friend, Hanna. With just the alligators and water moccasins lurking under the green algae on top. Or in a black water river. Pinned under a submerged cypress log and nibbled on by fiddler crabs. Nope. She couldn’t keep her eyes closed. Especially now when so much was at stake.
⸙
Hogan opened the door to Thorpe’s Custom Cycles and breathed in the scent of leather and motor oil. Not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, but it was his passion. He was one of the lucky ones. He’d been able to turn the hobby he’d had as a young boy into a thriving—rather successful—business. It was now his escape from the farm, from home.
But as soon as he’d set foot on the tile floor, he was assailed.
Hickey said, “That lady’s been calling about doing that stupid event again. And I don’t know what to tell her.” He took the cap off his head and threw it on the floor. “I’m tellin’ you now. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ in no stupid fashion show.”
Hogan was halfway through the showroom. “Hickey, I’ll handle it. Nobody’s gonna make you put on a tutu or anything,” he said. “I don’t know a thing about dresses and heels, so unless I kidnap a supermodel, you have nothing to worry about. Now go sell me some Harleys.” Well, he knew a little about heels. The kind Jenna had been wearing the other night. The kind that Bentley, his ex, used to wear. And he bet Jenna knew a little about fashion shows. Heck. She worked in a dress shop. And she’d said she’d modeled. Hickey could be in trouble, after all. If Hogan could get her to help. But did he even want to?
Hickey peeled off, mad as a hornet in a Raid factory. The reasons Hogan had opened his Harley shop—at first as a way to relieve some of the stress from home—sort of backfired occasionally because sometimes the guys who worked there acted like a bunch of middle schoolers at summer camp—all drama and attitude. Work was their lives. It wasn’t his.
Hogan continued walking. Sam came out of his office. “Hey, Hog. I’ve been running the numbers for the mullet challenge. You and the mayor have the most number of pledges, but if we don’t get some more attention, we won’t come close to our goal.”
Hogan stopped and rubbed the back of his neck again. More tension. “Well, show me what we’re talking about.”
Sam handed him the papers he’d been carrying.
Great. No way were they going to make the goal. He continued walking, Sam trailing behind.
“Now, I was thinking. The mayor’s wife’s been calling, and she has this idea—”
“That’s a no go as of right now. Hickey’s already told me about it.” Unless he could get someone to handle the whole thing for him. Like Jenna. “Lydia Stroble has already said she’s too busy in her role as mayor’s wife to handle it. She’s just trying to shove her weight around and push the whole thing off on someone else. Cause she’s used to having her way with everything in Summerbrook.”
Sam stopped. “It is for that sick little boy, you know,” Sam said.
That hit him in the gut. He paused and turned. “I know. I know. If I had someone to head it up, I’d go for it.” He rubbed his neck once again. “Heck, we could have it here in the showroom.” He looked around at all the space and his inventory of motorcycles. “It would be great publicity. For free.”
“That lady’s already got the name for it. Leather and Lace. And it would bring people in here to see our merchandise, too.”
Hogan started for his office again. Today, the business didn’t feel at all like a hobby. “Again. It’s a no go unless I can find someone to head it up. I’ll work on it. Okay?”
“All right. But if we don’t meet our goal for the pledge, our bottom line will take a hit—and you’ll end up making up the difference out of your pocket.” Sam held the papers in the air and headed back to his cubicle.
Hogan would speak to Jenna. She could really help him out. If she’d even consider it.
The intercom crackled. “Mr. Thorpe, call on line two.”
There was a pause. If Dickey didn’t obey him—
“Hog call on line two.”
Nope. Dickey did not obey him. How many times did he have to tell him not to say “hog call”? He had to know what people thought of when they heard the term “hog call.” Maybe Dickey was doing it on purpose. Yep. He was doing it on purpose.
He pressed line two. “Yeah?”
“Bro.”
It was Colton, his brother. He stood straight.
“What’s wrong?”
“Another one’s bit the dust. I need some help here.”
Hogan’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch as he ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. Savannah. Another special education teacher had abandoned her. He was doing all he could. Wasn’t he? But there seemed no place in this world for his broken little girl. No educational facility would accommodate her special issues. No home-schooling teacher would commit to the enormous amount of work she posed amid the isolation of the farm. “Be right there.”
He grabbed his helmet off the shelf. He was going to leave his car and ride his Harley back to the farm in order to get some air and clear his head.
Today was not his day.
But he had an idea about how to fix everything. Well, almost everything.
Jenna.
But how on earth was he going to get the pretty woman to go along—to help him with the fundraising fashion show…and perhaps even Savannah. Hog tie her?
That might work temporarily, but when she found out all about everything that awaited her at his house, she’d most probably bolt.
And he wouldn’t blame her.
Chapter Six
“I think nobody owns the land until their dead are in it.”
~ Joan Didion
There. All the spring floral frocks were now accented with Fren
ch silk jacquard scarves. They looked lovely on the headless mannequins. Perfectly lovely. Ooops. Except one. She climbed back into the window and turned the headless form slightly to the left and adjusted the beret in the metal-esque hand. Really perfect now.
“I’m heading out, Mrs. Legare. Let me know when the new shipment of hats comes in, and I’ll drive in and display them for you,” she said. “Oh, and I checked the POs earlier. You ordered something from an American company? Let Her Up or something? I had a hard time reading the hand-written invoice.”
Mrs. Legare let out a huge laugh. “That’s funny, Jenna,” she said in a slight French accent. “But I’m glad you couldn’t read it. It’s a surprise. A little change in direction for the store. You’ll see.”
She shook her head. Enjoliver had never veered off the Champs-Elysées when it came to ordering stock for the fancy little dress shop. Wonder what Mrs. Legare had in mind?
Not that it mattered. Maybe everybody needed a little turn in the road to keep things interesting—just like Miss Adree had suggested. As long as the side trip didn’t involve anything too risqué—like a Bull or a Hog.
“Bonjour, Mrs. Legare,” she said as she opened the door to leave. The bell sounded as she let it go.
The azaleas and dogwoods were blooming on the picture-perfect town square in front of the shop. People were walking their dogs on the green grassy areas between the flower beds that surrounded the shrubs and trees. Others were casually window shopping as they made their ways down the wide sidewalk that bordered the storefronts. She’d have to remember to make the time to take a stroll later. Right now her schedule was quite full.
She cranked her car and drove to the Children’s Hospital to drop off some homework for Ben. When she opened the door to his room, he was sleeping. She put the papers on his tray, sat, and brushed the hair from his small forehead. She’d never seen him so pale. And thin. Tears glazed her eyes, and she fought to keep them from spilling. She wouldn’t know how to explain them if he woke up. She looked toward the industrial ceiling and blinked them away. What more could she do to help her tiny friend? She felt an urgency that hadn’t been there before. She had to do more.
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