by Molly Cannon
“You said there were provisions that concerned Donny Joe, Mr. Starling. I don’t understand.”
Mr. Starling cleared his throat again and picked up another file. This one was two inches thick. He opened it carefully and sighed. “As I said, your grandmother’s will was written over three years ago. Since then circumstances have changed.”
“In what way?” Belle asked, glancing up from her phone.
“Over the last few years your grandmother has struggled some to make ends meet, and to put it simply, the house is no longer hers alone to bequeath.”
Etta scooted forward to the edge of her chair again. “What do you mean? Of course it’s hers. And she would have told me if she was having problems.”
“Well, why don’t you explain, Donny Joe?”
She turned her head slowly, taking in the tall man sitting beside her.
He wasn’t smiling anymore, and he seemed all business now. “Your grandmother approached me about turning her house into a money-making venture to offset some of her expenses. A bed and breakfast, to be exact. You may have noticed some of the renovations that have already taken place.”
Actually she had noticed a few things, but thought her grandmother had gone off on one of her many remodeling kicks. She was always repainting the walls and changing the drapes. “A bed and breakfast? Was this her idea or yours, Mr. Ledbetter? I assume you have some financial interest in this project? That must be the reason you’re here this morning.” Etta jumped to her feet, outrage fueling her words. As far as she was concerned he was the lowest form of dirt—a dirty, low-down, sleazy, cheating scumbag who’d taken advantage of her sweet grandmother’s trust.
Mr. Starling stood up. “Ms. Green, let me assure you that this was your grandmother’s idea, but yes, at this point Donny Joe has made a substantial investment that can’t be recovered if the work isn’t completed. Your grandmother’s greatest fear was that she’d lose the family home altogether, and now with her untimely death everything is up in the air unless you two are willing to follow through with her wishes.”
Etta glanced at Belle, who seemed bored by the whole proceeding, and then turned back to the two men. “So,” she asked tightly, “what’s the bottom line here? Where does that leave us?”
“It means Donny Joe is already part owner of your grandmother’s house. And if any of the construction contracts currently in place aren’t honored by you and your sister, he will own it all.”
Chapter Two
I say, let him have it.” Belle flounced up the porch steps of their grandmother’s house and dropped into the old wooden porch swing.
“I say, over my dead body.” Etta kicked off her shoes and joined her sister on the swing. The chains creaked as they pushed back and forth in a slow rhythm. “We can’t just let Donny Joe have Grammy’s house. One of her last wishes was for us to keep it in the family. And what about Beulah? Where will she go if we can’t hang on to it?”
The family home was a white two-story sprawling house with a wide welcoming front porch and deep teal shutters. Although the neighbor’s house was set within walking distance, the property was several acres long, running out back behind the house and down to a creek. Etta had explored every inch of the place as a child, and even though she hadn’t spent much time here as an adult, the summers she’d spent here with Grammy Hazel held too many precious memories to count. She wasn’t going to stand idly by and do nothing to save it.
After the meeting at the lawyer’s office, Donny Joe said he had some immediate business to take care of but agreed to swing by their house after lunch so they could discuss all their options. Etta wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. Not in the least little bit. Too many things hadn’t been settled. And they weren’t likely to be settled by this afternoon.
Donny Joe Ledbetter?
Of all the people she didn’t want to be dealing with at a time like this. Good Gravy. What were you thinking, Grammy?
But Belle’s concerns, as usual, were all about Belle. “Well, I have zero interest in being an innkeeper in this backwater town. Can you see me decked out in a frilly apron, baking muffins, putting mints on pillows, and pointing the toilet paper? Not in this lifetime.”
Etta laughed at the horrified expression on Belle’s face. “I don’t know. You could probably make frilly aprons all the rage if you set your mind to it.” She stole another glance at her older sister and floated the idea she’d had earlier. “I thought it might be nice for Daphne if she could stay in one place long enough to finish the school year in the same city she started.”
“Daphne is fine. Moving around has made her adaptable.” Belle nudged Etta with her elbow. “Just like us.”
Etta stared at Belle as if she had two heads. She found Belle’s casual attitude appalling and without thinking exclaimed, “Not to mention neurotic and insecure. Just like us. You know I love Daphne like she was my own, but she doesn’t act like an eight-year-old kid. She acts like an uptight matron.” Etta winced, giving herself a mental kick in the shins. She had to learn to keep her opinions on Daphne’s behavior to herself.
Belle didn’t seem to be offended, though. “You worry too much. She’s an only child, and only children always act too grown-up for their age. Now if you’re through insulting my parenting skills can we get back to discussing Grammy’s house? Why don’t we just sell our share of the house to Donny Joe, and he can do whatever he wants with it. I could really use the money.”
“If you’d been paying attention this morning, I think the whole point was there is no money. Not unless we want to devote a big chunk of time and energy into Grammy’s B&B plan. And even then, there’s no guarantee we’ll see a profit.”
“So, we’re supposed to drop everything and move here because Grammy Hazel got a wild hair in her bonnet before she died? No thanks. I have a scrumptious new boyfriend waiting for me in Houston. I think he might be ready to pop the question. And what about your precious job at your precious restaurant in Chicago? I can’t believe Diego isn’t flipping out by now.”
Etta scowled at the mention of her friend–slash–partner–slash–ex-lover. As of nine months ago they had called it quits. As lovers, that is. But they were still bound together by their partnership in Finale’s. So, since then they’d been struggling to find an amicable way to work together at the restaurant. The tension between them had been building for a while and leaving suddenly for Grammy Hazel’s funeral hadn’t helped.
“He wasn’t exactly thrilled when I left.” Since then he’d been suspiciously and uncharacteristically silent. Etta nudged that uncomfortable thought from her head. Since their break-up, even though it had been a mutual decision, he’d been moodier, more of a bully to the staff than usual. Something she’d known she’d have to deal with somewhere down the road. The best she could do now was call Diego later and try for a temporary truce. “And you always have a scrumptious new boyfriend. What makes this one different from the last two or three?”
Belle sighed, the dreamy kind of sigh that always spelled trouble. “Roger Fisher. Oh, he’s nice looking, rich and he keeps hinting that he wants to take me to Paris for a long holiday. Of course, I told him I couldn’t go. Who would watch Daphne?”
“I thought rich was a given with all your boyfriends.”
Belle smiled. “True, but Roger has something else going for him. He isn’t married.”
“Well now, there’s an improvement.”
“Be sarcastic all you want, Etta. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to do anything to discourage Roger. If I marry him Daphne will have all the security she needs.”
“That’s all well and good, but it still leaves the problem of cousin Beulah. Grammy Hazel would expect us to take care of her and you know it.”
Belle stood up. “Until we talk to Donny Joe there’s no point in trying to make any decisions, okay? I’m going to go find Daphne and see what she wants for lunch.”
Etta listened to the wooden screen door slap closed behind her
sister and then stood up as well. She slipped her shoes back on and wandered inside, stopping in the foyer to admire the dozens of plants and flowers sent by Grammy’s friends and neighbors. She began gathering the attached sender’s cards, glancing at them as she went, thinking she should get busy writing thank you cards. It would be a good way to fill the time while she waited for Donny Joe to show up for their meeting. The outpouring of love for her grandmother hadn’t been surprising. The evidence was all around her. Everyone loved Miz Hazel.
She retrieved the note cards provided by the funeral home and sat down at her grandmother’s rolltop desk in the formal living room. She knew a lot of these names from the summers she’d spent in Everson, so it was easy to write sincere notes thanking them for their thoughtfulness. She sifted through the cards reading names. Bertie Harcourt. She owned the Rise-N-Shine Diner. The choice of most of Everson’s fine folks for breakfast with a side of gossip. Milton and Bitsy Jones. He used to own the barber shop, and Bitsy had served on the Garden Club board with Grammy for as long as she could remember. Hoot and Maude Ferguson. Dooley and Linda Parker. Etta’s eyes burned and her throat tightened reading the nice things people had to say about her grandmother.
She couldn’t believe she was gone. It was the little things she’d miss most. Sitting on the front porch listening to her tell stories about the family, cooking with her in the kitchen, and her hugs. Grammy gave the best hugs in the world. Troubles and worries disappeared when wrapped in her loving arms, and Etta would never have the comfort of that again. Closing her eyes she took a moment to collect herself. She had to keep it together if she was going to deal with the house and the problem of Donny Joe.
She set back to work, writing thank you notes, but she’d barely made a dent in the stack of cards when she came to one that made her stop and catch her breath. It was addressed to her.
Dear Etta,
Sending all my love and sympathy on the loss of your dear grandmother.
Love,
Diego
She smiled. That was as much of an apology as she was likely to get from him, but in Diego-speak it meant everything was forgiven. Please come home soon. It also meant nobody worked as hard as she did, so please, please come home soon, because the restaurant wasn’t so easy to manage while she was away. These days instead of preparing food she’d been pushed farther into the management side of running the restaurant. Ordering supplies, making schedules for work staff, paying vendors, all of the necessary nuts and bolts chores that had to be handled day to day.
Meanwhile, Diego got to concentrate on cooking. She’d been unhappy with the arrangement for a while, and maybe this would make Diego appreciate her a bit more. When she talked to him later, she’d fill him in on all the drama surrounding her grandmother’s will. He’d fill her in on things at the restaurant and tell her how things went with the oh-so-important Mann party. And then they’d laugh about the soup-dumping incident. Or maybe not. It might be too soon to mention the soup.
She checked the front window at the sound of a truck’s tires scattering gravel as it drove up the long driveway. Etta stayed at the desk watching Donny Joe park his shiny silver pickup truck and climb out of the cab. He glanced up at the house and then reached back inside the truck to grab a battered leather briefcase.
Donny Joe Ledbetter.
Even his name brought back memories of summers in Everson. And not the good kind. It reminded her of those awkward teenage years when every young girl starts trying to figure out what kind of woman she wants to become. A time when out of the blue flirting and teasing suddenly seem like worthwhile pastimes.
She’d never been very good at boy-girl stuff. The way boys and girls talked about one thing with their words and something else with their eyes. It didn’t come naturally to her. In the end it was a waste of time for her to try. Just as soon as any boy started talking to her, Belle would arrive on the scene, and Etta would become invisible. Belle after all was the prize, the blonde dream girl, the shiny object that set all young men’s hearts and loins on fire. Etta knew she couldn’t compete with that and eventually stopped trying.
And a boy like Donny Joe? Even in those days he was risky business, sure of himself, and oozing testosterone. Completely out of her league. Oh yes, she remembered him very well. He’d been one of many who circled around the edge of Belle’s world hoping to find a way to impress her. And since Etta was Belle’s younger sister he’d actually paid a bit of attention to her, too, hoping he was sure to earn some extra points with Belle. He teased her for being so short, poked fun at her for always having her nose in a book, ragged on her for being too serious. She’d blushed and smiled like a goose every time he took notice of her, and of course, developed a pathetic crush on him that was destined to go nowhere. She wasn’t the first teenage girl to long for an unattainable boy, but still, it was a little embarrassing looking back on it. That crush ended abruptly a few months later when she heard that he had gone joyriding in Grammy Hazel’s cherry red 55 Chevy Bel Air convertible and wrecked it. She’d loved that car. Apparently, Grammy forgave him at some point. Etta didn’t feel so generous.
Now watching him walk up the front walkway, she allowed herself an unhurried moment to admire the man. After all, he was a good-looking guy. Tall and muscular. A wide chest and strong arms. Personally, these days she preferred men with more sophistication, more polish. But still she’d have to be dead not to notice him. Worn soft-looking blue jeans molded to his thighs and a plaid flannel shirt over a clean white T-shirt covered his chest. Simple work clothes, but somehow on Donny Joe they didn’t look so simple. He looked like an ad for a magazine that screamed “Here he is, ladies. Come and get your dose of sexy, rough and tumble working man.” This afternoon he wasn’t wearing his usual cowboy hat, so she got a good look at his tawny head of hair. It reminded her of a lion’s mane. Wavy and thick. And the way he moved reminded her of a big lazy cat. Playful, but dangerous. Always ready to pounce.
Right now he was ready to sink his claws into her family’s home. She would do well not to get distracted by his surface animal charm and remember the true nature of the man lurking underneath. She jumped up when his boots hit the wooden planks on the porch and met him at the front door before he had the chance to knock. She pushed open the screen door and forced herself to greet him civilly. “Come on in, Donny Joe.” She guided him to the living room. “Why don’t you have a seat while I tell Belle you’re here?”
Donny Joe noted Etta’s brittle smile, nearly laughing at her forced politeness. It was pretty obvious that she didn’t like him. That was fine. Dealing with her wasn’t his idea of a lazy day at the fishing hole, either. But she was a woman, so he did what he always did with women. He smiled back and said, “Sure thing, Etta. Take your time.”
He watched her lips purse slightly as if his effort to charm left a sour taste in her mouth. She was gonna be a hard nut to crack. That was for sure. Etta was short like her grandmother, not much over five-two, and they both had brown eyes that sparkled with fire when they were excited. She was a feisty one, all right. Cute and sassy. Normally, he liked that, but he had a lot on his plate right now, and Etta Green’s suspicious attitude was going to be a real headache.
Donny Joe waited for her to leave the room and then took a seat on Miz Hazel’s burgundy velveteen sofa. It always reminded him of the upholstery on the pews at church when he was a kid. Brushing his fingers over the arm rest, he watched the shade of the nap lighten and darken with every stroke. He ignored the tight place in his gut that kept expecting Miz Hazel to come bounding into the room bearing a big piece of pie, her eyes blazing with excitement over her newest proposal for the bed and breakfast venture. Wanting his opinion and making even her more outrageous ideas sound like the best thing since sliced bread. Most of his enthusiasm for the project had died with her, but he would do his best to follow through with the old girl’s wishes. To do that, he needed her granddaughters to agree.
He heard footsteps, and when he looked
up Miz Hazel’s eight-year-old great-granddaughter was standing in the doorway staring at him with those serious green eyes. She wore jeans and a green T-shirt emblazoned with a purple dragon. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat pony tail.
“Hello,” he said, adding a grin that usually dissolved the reserve of most females young and old.
Her only reaction was to move closer. She held out her hand. “How do you do? My name is Daphne.”
She remained solemn, so he reverted to a more sober expression. He took her small hand in his and shook. “It’s nice to meet you, Daphne. I’m Donny Joe.”
“Do you know my mother?” She was studying him intently as she asked.
“Well now, I knew your mother when she was younger. She used to visit your Great Grammy Hazel every summer, so it’s been a while, but yes, I know her.”
“I don’t think we are going to stay here very long. I heard Mama talking to Roger on the phone. He wants her to go to Paris with him.”
Donny didn’t know what to think about this bit of information, but Daphne seemed to be gauging his interest. “Paris, huh? That’s quite a trip.” He was saved from having to make a more elaborate reply when Etta and Belle came into the room. Beulah Cross, Miz Hazel’s elderly cousin, trailed behind them. He stood up and walked over to greet Beulah first. He wrapped her in a big hug. “How are you holding up, Beulah?”
“I’m doing okay, Donny Joe. I miss her, that’s for sure, but I’m okay.” Beulah Cross was barely five feet tall and had to crane her head back to talk to Donny Joe. At eighty-two years of age she dressed strictly for comfort, and today’s outfit was some kind of purple leggings under a wild animal print Mumu. Red sneakers completed the ensemble. Donny thought it was one of her more conservative outfits.