“A fry cook,” Miss Lana said, putting her hands on her hips.
“Uh-oh,” Dale said, stepping back.
“The Colonel is a chef, Rat Face,” I shouted. “With the skills of an attorney to fall back on.”
“Thank you, Soldier,” the Colonel said.
Rat Face’s beady eyes flickered over him. “Rat Face? You let your foundling call people names?”
Foundling?
The Colonel sprang toward her, his hands balled into fists, the planes of his face white with rage. “What did you say?”
Rat Face backed up. The Colonel stepped forward and lowered his face to her level. “You get your skinny little streak of mean out of here. Now. And don’t come back unless you have the deed in your hand. Rat Face.”
She scurried to the door—which creaked open for her. “November first,” she shouted.
She stomped out. A wind tumbled leaves across the porch and across the dining room floor as Flick backed away from the Colonel. He stopped to glare at Lavender. “If you know what’s good for you . . .”
“I do know. Get out,” Lavender said, his voice like a razor blade.
Flick marched across the dining room and out the door. It slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.
Lavender frowned at Miss Lana. “The wind?” he guessed as Rat Face’s silver BMW flashed by the window, her headlights playing against the cedars.
Grandmother Miss Lacy teetered to the window, panting like she’d run a relay. “What a terrible woman . . .” Her voice trailed away and her knees buckled.
“Catch her!” I shouted. Lavender got there just in time.
“Miss Thornton?” he said as a tide of frigid air swept across the room.
“The hospital,” the Colonel ordered. “Now.”
Grandmother Miss Lacy’s shoe clattered to the floor as Lavender rushed across the dining room. Overhead, the chandelier hissed and sputtered like an angry cat. “Stop it, Nellie,” Dale yelled, running behind the Colonel. “You’ll set the place on fire!”
Miss Lana and Dale bolted for the car. Harm and I skidded to a halt at the door, our breath clouding in the inn’s freezing air.
“It’s okay, Nellie,” I shouted. “We’ll help her.”
“We promise,” Harm said.
The chandelier crackled and one by one, every door in the inn slammed shut.
• •
It took forever for the ER doctor to come out. “She’ll be fine,” she said, and a million tight-wound springs inside me gave way.
“Thank you and amen,” Dale whispered.
The doctor looked at Miss Lana. “Are you Lacy Thornton’s daughter?”
Miss Lana didn’t bat an eye. “I am.”
“We’ll keep her overnight for a few tests,” the doctor said, leading her down the hall. “I need you to sign . . .”
Lavender stretched like a big cat. “Told you she’d be okay,” he said, but he’d looked as scared as the rest of us on that putrid green plastic couch. “Excuse me, Desperados. I owe the Colonel and Harm a call. Mama too.” He headed for the phone.
“Come on, Dale,” I whispered. “We got to work fast.”
We found Grandmother Miss Lacy dozing in a crank-up hospital bed. She looked fragile as a baby wren fallen from the nest. “Grandmother Miss Lacy?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Mo,” she said. “Oh. And Dale.” She squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll be good as new. What did the doctor say?”
“You’re spending the night for more tests.”
She yawned. “Don’t worry, dear, doctors always overreact so they can overcharge. Thank you for coming. Perhaps we could talk in the morning.”
I kissed her face. “I love you,” I said, nestling her navy pump by her side.
“Me too,” Dale said. He leaned over her, his lips hovering over her face.
She laughed. “The kiss is optional,” she told him, giving him a little push.
Dale gave her a shy smile. “Miss Thornton, emergency room sofas make you think. If I was you, I’d send out for pizzas every day before I’d spend fifty thousand dollars on a kitchen.”
She sat bolt upright. “What did you say?”
Dale turned to me. “Has she gone deaf?” he whispered.
Take-out! Dale’s brilliant, no matter how much evidence teachers stack up against him. “Dale’s right,” I said. “The café can cater the inn.”
She beamed at Dale. “You’re a genius.”
“Thank you,” he said, very modest.
She settled against her pillow as Miss Lana walked in. “Good news,” Miss Lana said. “You’ll go home tomorrow if the tests go well and you promise not to get stressed.”
Grandmother Miss Lacy nodded. “And Lana, Dale’s come up with a brilliant plan: The café can cater meals until the inn’s on its feet. You don’t need a kitchen.”
Miss Lana tousled Dale’s hair. “My little businessman,” she said, and he blushed.
“As for my bad news . . .” Grandmother Miss Lacy took a deep breath. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do the best you can until I get back.”
“What bad news?” I asked. “You’ll be fine.”
She lay back on her pillow. “I’m broke, Mo. By now, the news is all over town.”
Chapter 29
Harder Than if the Sky Lost Its Blue
Grandmother Miss Lacy nailed it: The next morning her financial disaster was the topic du jour. Nobody could remember Grandmother Miss Lacy not having money. People took it harder than if the sky lost its blue.
Even Miss Rose came to town seeking comfort. She sat at the counter, her back straight. “Hey Miss Rose,” I said, sliding biscuits her way. Worry had lined her eyes. Grandmother Miss Lacy is her partner too. “Nice posture. I’m more of a slumpist myself. What can I get you?”
“The special, please,” she said. “Has Miss Thornton called this morning?” She twisted her wedding band—a nervous habit. Old habits die hard, Miss Lana says, and Mr. Macon’s a very old habit.
Miss Lana stopped beside me. “Not yet, but we’re fine, Rose,” she said in her “this-better-be-true” voice. She splashed coffee into Miss Rose’s cup. “Pass the biscuits around, sugar,” she told me. “Nothing comforts people like hot biscuits.”
I darted through the crowd, delivering biscuits and taking in news. Grandmother Miss Lacy’s woes had spread across town like ripples across a pond. She’d helped so many people, she owned a quiet slice of near every business in town.
Mayor Little, at the counter, poked a hole in his biscuit and filled it with molasses. “If Lacy Thornton goes under, Tupelo Landing goes under,” he said, sending a tidal wave of worry cascading across the café. He stared longingly at the biscuits. “Are you offering seconds?”
I looked at his round belly. “I’d hate to see you lose your figure, but I’ll see what I can do,” I said as Miss Lana stepped to the counter and clapped her hands. Her Ava Gardner wig shimmered as the café clattered to silence.
“As most of you know, Miss Lacy’s coming home today. As you may not know, she’s worried about us,” she said. Miss Rose and Sal’s mother looked up. So did Skeeter’s mom. And Hannah’s father, who owns the service station at the edge of town. “She’ll talk to each of us when she’s ready. Until we have more details, I suggest we do what we’ve always done in difficult times: our best.”
The café murmured like pigeons.
“If we lose the inn, we’ll go out with style. I’m sure you all know what that means.” She gave me a regal nod. “Mo?”
I stepped up on my Pepsi crate and waited for all eyes to find me. “Party,” I said.
The café cheered.
“We’ll throw the best bash ever,” she said. “We’ll set the scene. We’ll laugh and dance and eat old-fashioned treats. Mo and I will don authentic 1938 costu
mes. . . .”
“What?” I cried, staggering.
Dale gasped. “Costumes?” He shoved Harm behind the jukebox and dove after him, out of the line of fire.
Attila stood up. “Costumes suit Mo and Dale,” she said, her eyes glinting. “But Mother and I draw the line at costuming. So will our friends.”
I hate Attila Celeste Simpson.
Buddha Jackson put his fork down. “I’ll MC the event,” he offered.
Miss Lana blanched. I knew she was picturing him prancing across the stage like a tubby Mick Jagger. “Thank you,” she said, glancing toward the kitchen. “But the Colonel has already volunteered.”
A pan hit the kitchen floor. Poor Colonel.
I waited for the crowd to settle. “Plus I got a bonus announcement,” I said. “We’ve signed the hottest musical group this side of Raleigh for The Bash.”
“Excellent! Who?” the mayor asked, jumping to his feet.
Crud.
When Lavender showed up at Miss Rose’s for his Mother-Son-Appliance Portrait, we’d been on the verge of choosing a name for Dale and Harm’s group.
I grinned. That’s it.
“On the Verge!” I cried. “Live at The Bash! A big round of applause!”
Sal’s applause spattered lonely and uncertain in the silence. The mayor stared blankly, his jaw sagging.
Dale peeped over the jukebox. “Who?” Harm pulled him back down.
“On the Verge!” I shouted. “Don’t miss it!”
I hopped down and wound my way through murmuring Tupelites. Dale beamed up at me from behind the jukebox. “On the Verge. It’s us, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes glistening.
“It’s you, Desperado,” I said. “Break a leg.”
“Figure of speech,” Harm told him, and he nodded.
• •
“We’re going ahead with the party? Impossible,” Lavender said later that morning as Miss Lana poured his coffee. “I can’t get ready in time.”
Miss Lana settled beside Lavender. Without the excitement of the café crowd to sustain her, she looked as tired and worried as Miss Rose had. “Everything takes as long as you’ve got, Lavender. We have two weeks. The show must go on, even if Rat Face rolls up the stage at the end of it.”
I looked around the café. The crowd had bolted, chatting about party clothes and financial ruin. The Colonel had rumbled off in the Underbird to collect Grandmother Miss Lacy. Dale and Harm had caught a ride with Miss Rose. Only Thes sat at the counter, polishing off his special.
“I’m sorry,” Lavender said, his voice firm. “I can’t do it.”
Miss Lana heaved her Report Card Sigh.
“What about the pavilion?” I asked. “We can have The Bash there.”
“Outside?” Lavender said. He tilted his head, which means he’s thinking, and opened his egg sandwich, which means he needs pepper. “In October?”
Good point. Autumn here’s like the water in my flat: It runs hot and cold.
Thes spun on his stool. “My forecast is trending warmer,” he said as I nudged the pepper to Lavender. “I’ll check the specifics for you, Miss Lana.” Like me, he’d taken a Personal Day from school.
“Thank you, Thes,” she said. “With good weather, all we need’s a dance floor and a stage. The river and the stars will do the rest.”
Lavender peppered his sandwich. Three sharp shakes. “We’ve already got the pavilion shored up,” he said. “That may be doable.”
Lavender loves doable. He’s like the Colonel that way.
He peeked at Thes and lowered his voice. “Miss Lana, I checked the electric lines after . . . what happened last night. The sparks, I mean. I can’t find an explanation.”
Miss Lana shrugged. “Apparently the contract’s right. We’re ghosty,” she said, easy as if she’d said “we’re toasty.” Lavender choked. Miss Lana grew up in Charleston, where they take ghosts in stride. Lavender grew up at Miss Rose’s place.
“C’est la vie,” she added. “Live and let . . . whatever.”
“Let whatever?” he said.
“So,” she said. “Let’s pick a theme for our dance.”
My stomach lurched. “Dance? Do you mean with boys?”
She laughed a laugh full and sweet as a stolen pear. “A party then, sugar. People can dance or not.”
“Great,” I said. “Because Dale and me got a strict non-dance policy.”
“Are you sure, Miss LoBeau?” Lavender asked, giving me a wicked grin. “Because all the Johnson men dance, including Dale. Mama sees to it. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll do me the honor.”
Me? Dance with Lavender?
I waited a beat for dramatic effect, like Miss Lana taught me. “You’re on.”
Chapter 30
The Horror Unfolds
As the week rolled on and Grandmother Miss Lacy slowly picked up strength, the horror of Miss Retzyl’s academic scheme continued to unfold. “It’s time to wrap up your interviews and get your rough drafts together,” she said on Friday afternoon.
Attila raised her hand. “The full moon’s Wednesday night,” she said, turning to look at me. The Exums grinned and rubbed their hands together. Traitors.
“I’ll expect to see everyone’s rough draft a week from today, for Fishbowl Friday,” Miss Retzyl continued.
“Fishbowl Friday?” Dale said, looking blank.
“On Fishbowl Friday, everyone’s name goes in the bowl,” she said with a normal smile. “I’ll draw three lucky students to present oral reports.”
Hannah raised her hand. “How can oral reports be lucky? In this universe, I mean.” Hannah reads science fiction.
“Lucky because they receive extra credit,” Miss Retzyl replied, and the Exums whipped around to stare at each other.
“Excuse me, Miss Retzyl,” I said, “but the entire town’s trembling from financial stress. Oral reports could tip us over the edge, which could mean not only personal heartbreak, but a class action lawsuit. I’d hate to see you embroiled.”
She smiled. I adore Miss Retzyl. “I’ll risk it, Mo. Any questions about the assignment? Wonderful,” she said as the bell rang. “Have a lovely evening.”
“A lovely evening of homework,” Harm droned as he headed for the door.
“Maybe not,” I said. “I feel a plan coming on.”
• •
After two glasses of Miss Rose’s iced tea and three Oreos, my plan pulled itself together. I looked up from my notebook. Dale, who’d slung his guitar over his shoulder, was practicing moonwalking across the room. Harm, who’d staked out the ladder-back chair, sat with his feet propped up on the bed.
The Colonel says being a leader means risking an occasional plunge in popularity. I strapped on my emotional parachute. “You know what Wednesday night is, don’t you?”
“Full moon,” Dale said, backing into his dresser and setting a photo wobbling—the photo of him and his parents, from Miss Rose’s piano. Interesting.
Harm looked up from his library book, Moonshiners I Have Known. He’d given up on interviewing Mr. Red and gone generic. “You guys don’t really need me,” he said.
“Yes we do,” I said. “You’re Ghost Bait.”
“Isn’t there a better way to say that?” he asked. “One where it sounds like I’m human and I survive?”
“The Exum boys are giving odds we don’t show on the full moon,” I announced, and waited for their outrage. Harm went back to his book. Dale moonwalked into his beanbag chair. “Sal told me,” I added. “A reliable source.”
Dale twirled. “We know,” he said. “Harm bet against us. So did I.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “If we cave on the full-moon interview, we’ll use our winnings to go to a movie in Greenville. You like movies.” He looked at me. “We might as well forget it, Mo. The
Exums will try to scare us out to cover their bets. And if the Exums show, Nellie probably won’t. She doesn’t like strangers. So, no interview.”
I tapped my pencil against my notebook. Newton rolled his warty head toward me and blinked. “Fine,” I said. “We’ll do the interview tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“If we don’t show on the full moon, you two collect on your bet, we go to the movies, and we still get our interview and pass history.”
Harm looked up and grinned. “I’m glad you use your mind for good, Ghost Girl, because if you ever go bad, you’ll be diabolical.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Dale, don’t forget your questions. Harm, please wear a clean shirt. Nellie will like that. Queen Elizabeth, I hope you can make it. Your howls really help.
“You all bring flashlights and your notebooks. I got the tape recorder and the camera. And don’t tell a soul. Especially not an Exum. I’ll drop off a note for Nellie on the way home, advising her of our change in plans.
“Meet me at moonrise,” I added, and headed for the door.
On my way home, I swung by the inn and dropped my note on the piano.
• •
That evening, I squinted at my glow-in-the-dark Elvis watch. 7:45 p.m. “Nellie’s late,” I said. “It’s at least half past moonrise.”
“She’s not coming,” Harm said. “Let’s go home.”
“And get laughed out of sixth grade? And flunk history? You’re just nervous,” I told him. “Relax, Nellie likes you.”
He sighed. “That’s what worries me.”
I popped a tape into Miss Lana’s old tape recorder. “We’ll give her an hour,” I told them. “Eternity could be in a different time zone.”
The wind’s bony fingers rattled the shutters as I leaned over the recorder. “Testing, one two three. Paranormal History Interview, Extra Credit Edition. Mo and Dale presiding. Harm Crenshaw, Ghost Bait.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Harm muttered.
The Ghosts of Tupelo Landing Page 16