by Molly Cannon
“If you need anything at all, you just whistle. Okay, sugar?”
She smiled, and her eyes twinkled like he’d asked her to go skinny-dipping. “Darn tootin’. You know I’ll do it.” She held out a hand to Daphne. “Come along, darlin’. Let’s leave the adults to talk about boring old business stuff while we go have some of that chocolate cake Mrs. Burris sent over, okay?”
Daphne took Beulah’s hand but stopped in front of Donny Joe. “I hope I’ll see you again before we leave.” She held out her hand once more.
Donny Joe squatted down to her level and shook her hand. “I’d like that, too, Daphne. It was great meeting you.”
They were all silent until Daphne and Beulah disappeared into the kitchen. “Is she always so serious?” he asked.
Belle sat down in a side chair and crossed her legs. “Not always. Just around strangers.”
He noticed that Etta raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. She sat down on one end of the couch and Donny Joe sat on the other. He picked up the briefcase and pulled out several folders. “I guess we should get down to it. These are the plans your grandmother had for this place. She designed every detail, and she spent hours laying it all out just the way she wanted it. Most of the work on the bedrooms upstairs has been completed, though eventually her dream was to add Jacuzzi tubs to every bathroom, but that’s way down the road.”
“That seems unnecessarily extravagant,” Etta muttered.
Donny ignored her and kept going. “The new appliances, cabinets, countertops for the kitchen are being installed this week, and then there is the outdoor pool and hot tub area. The plan was to have the hot tub installed next month and have the pool operational by this summer.”
“A pool? As in a swimming pool? Let me guess. That was your idea.”
He ignored her and kept talking. “Miz Hazel also had ideas for other outdoor spaces with the idea of attracting weddings and large group events. Construction on the wedding pavilion starts in a couple of weeks. The targeted opening date for the first phase is Valentine’s Day.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute. This coming Valentine’s Day? That’s only a few weeks away.” Etta stood up from the sofa and started pacing. “And you’re talking as if the Bed and Breakfast is a done deal. We haven’t discussed any of our other options yet.”
Belle smiled at him as if he should excuse her younger sister for her rudeness. “Etta is worried about Beulah.”
Etta turned on her sister. “Aren’t you worried about Beulah? You expect her to live in that old Volkswagen bus that Grammy left her?”
Donny Joe jumped into the conversation before it could get too heated. “Unless I have to put the house on the market, which is what we are trying to avoid, she’s welcome to stay here as long as she likes.”
“But she’s eighty-two years old. Without Grammy around, how long will she be able to take care of herself? And what do you mean, if you have to put the house on the market? Are you saying if we don’t agree to the B&B you’ll just sell it out from under us?”
“Look, I didn’t bargain for any of this, either, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but I already have a business to run. Backyard Oasis requires a lot of my time. Your grandmother had grand plans for this place, and for her sake I would have loved to see it up and running. But unless someone is going to step up and see them through then I have to pay the contractors and cut my losses.” Etta tried staring him down, but he stared right back. He wasn’t about to be intimidated by a mule-headed, five-foot-nothing shrimp of a female.
Finally she said, “I live in Chicago. Belle lives in Houston. Surely you don’t expect us to pick up and move here.”
“I don’t expect anything. That ball is entirely in your court. Of course you might want to consider that once we have a workable plan in place going forward, I don’t see why a long distance partnership couldn’t work—for the time being, anyway. Technology makes all kinds of communication possible—even from Paris. Right, Belle?”
Etta looked at him curiously. He shrugged. “Daphne was telling me her mother wanted to go to Paris.”
Belle smiled. “That’s true. We could telecommute, Etta. It would give us time to work out the details.”
“And leave you basically in charge to do whatever you like?” Etta asked Donny Joe.
He held up his hand. “There you go again, acting all suspicious, and to tell you the truth, it’s getting a little old.” He was through being treated like the bad guy in this situation. “Like I said before, that’s your call.”
Etta bit her lip while she stewed and mulled and pondered. He almost heard the gears grinding in her head before she turned to him and let loose. “Before I even think about agreeing to anything, I want time to study every last detail of Grammy’s plans. I want to see all the contracts that she signed or planned to sign, I want receipts of the work that’s been completed, and I want to talk to a lawyer about changes in zoning and property taxes. And I want it in writing that Beulah has a home here as long as she lives.”
He nodded agreeably and said, “That won’t be a problem. In fact it sounds like a sensible place to start.”
Belle’s phone rang and she looked at the screen. Frowning, she stood and walked to the doorway. “Damn, I need to take this. It sounds like you two have everything handled anyway, so good-bye, Donny Joe.”
“Bye.” Donny looked at Etta, not trying to hide his surprise at Belle’s sudden departure. “She’s not coming back?”
Etta sat back down on the couch. “Get used to it, Donny Joe. That’s probably the last bit of help we get from Belle.”
He put his hands on his hips. “And you’re okay with that?”
“It’s what I’ve come to expect, but I have another question.”
He braced himself for another onslaught. “Fire away.”
“All this long distance stuff is great while the renovations are going on, but who’s going to run the place when it’s open? And don’t say Beulah. She’s not strong enough to take on that much work.”
“No, in fact your grandmother handpicked someone for the job.” He opened one of the folders and turned to the last page and pointed to a paragraph half way down. “It’s right here.” He turned the folder around so she could see it. The name Etta Green was printed big as life in the middle of the page. “As you can see, she picked you.”
Chapter Three
That is not even remotely funny. And I can tell you right now, that’s never going to happen. Not in a million years.” Etta slapped at the offending folder, causing pages to flutter to the floor. According to these papers her grandmother had picked her to help her run this place. The heavy boulder that had taken up permanent residence in her chest since her grandmother’s death threatened to crush her. But she didn’t believe this was a call from the grave. Grammy Hazel knew about her break-up with Diego. She knew they’d been struggling to keep their business partnership afloat, and knowing her grandmother she was providing a safety net in case it all fell apart. It had been an offer for them to work together. But Grammy was gone.
Donny Joe grinned. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t like that part, but hey, I’m just telling you what your grandmother wanted. It was her dream all along that you would come back and help her run this place someday. Why do you think she’s putting so much money into redoing the kitchen? Because you’re a fancy chef she thought it might lure you back home eventually.”
She wanted to shout that he had no idea what he was talking about. “Just because I spent summers here when I was younger doesn’t make Everson my home, especially now that Grammy is gone. And preparing fine cuisine at a top restaurant is not the same as churning out grub for a Bed and Breakfast.” Even she winced at how condescending she sounded, but she wasn’t about to apologize now. She grabbed the paper from his hand and pointed to the next paragraph. “And what’s this? ‘Etta’s Place’?”
“Yep. That’s the name she picked. Pretty clever, huh?”
“It’s not clever. It�
�s a really lousy joke.” The headache she’d been battling all day bloomed into a full-blown migraine. He was still smiling that cheesy smile, the smile that he’d probably used from the day he was born to smooth his path in life. He used it like a weapon designed to melt opposition, wear down defenses, and defuse disagreements before they could even get started. Especially if the opposition happened to be female.
She’d finally had enough. She stepped right up close, so close he had to look down to meet her gaze, and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Let’s get one thing straight, you-you glorified pool boy. I don’t like you, and I certainly don’t trust you. And ‘Etta’s Place’? If it’s an attempt to butter me up, it won’t work.”
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” He held up both hands like he was innocent of all charges.
“I think you somehow bamboozled my grandmother into agreeing to this crazy scheme of yours, and now you think you can bamboozle me, too. You come in here flashing that ridiculous smile of yours and pouring on the boyish charm. Well, let’s get one thing straight, mister. I’m not my grandmother, and I can’t be bamboozled.”
He stepped back and gently set the folder on the coffee table. His voice was soft and oddly wistful. “At least we agree on one thing. You’re not your grandmother.”
They glared at each other for a full minute, and she was the one who finally broke eye contact. When he spoke again his voice was cold as stone and the ever-present humorous glint in his eye had been replaced with something closer to anger. “I encourage you to go over everything with a fine-toothed comb, talk to a lawyer—talk to twelve lawyers, whatever you need to do to put your mind at ease. In fact I insist on it before we even think about drawing up new partnership papers.” He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. Being more than relieved to see him go, she trailed after him, but didn’t say a word to stop him from leaving. Things were far from settled, but Grammy’s death had thrown a Texas-sized cow patty into the middle of her orderly life, and she needed some alone time to process it all.
Donny Joe was out on the porch before he turned back to look at her through the screen door. “By the way, Miss Green, I don’t take kindly to having my integrity questioned, but out of respect for your grandmother I’ve tried to cut you some slack. Let’s be very clear. Everything in those plans came directly from her. So if you decide to pull the plug just remember it will be Miz Hazel’s dream that dies, not mine.” He loped off the porch, jumped into his silver truck and took off without looking back. His words rang in her ears long after the sound of his tires on the gravel drive died away.
Donny Joe sat on a barstool nursing a beer, trying to figure out where he’d put his usual good mood. When Irene Cornwell asked him to dance he could barely conjure up a smile to go along with his “Maybe later, sugar.” He could feel the regular patrons of Lu Lu’s cutting concerned eyeballs his way and giving him a wide berth. Now was as good a time as any to snap out of it.
Sure, he was sad about Miz Hazel’s passing, and it was going to take a good long while to accept that she was really gone. But the last thing she would want was for everyone to sit around like a bunch of goddamned sourpusses. He held up his beer in a silent toast to Miz Hazel and took a long pull in her honor.
Speaking of sourpusses, it was hard to believe Etta Green was related to Miz Hazel. That woman couldn’t be more different if she tried. She must have sprouted from a spliced-on branch of their family tree. One covered in barbed thorns and prickly sticks. That tart tongue of hers would send a sane man running in the opposite direction as fast as his feet could carry him. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t blame her for being upset about the B&B situation. It was unexpected and inconvenient and sad.
For everyone.
But her suspicious nature made it hard for him to feel any sympathy at all. She wasn’t the only person firmly wedged between a rock and a hard place because of Miz H’s death. There was no easy way out that he could see. And while plenty of people might question his maturity from time to time, he made darn sure no one ever had a reason to question his honesty.
That really stuck in his craw.
Sure, he was easygoing, and he liked to have a good time. He wasn’t going to apologize for that. But when it came to business, he took things very seriously these days. He might have grown up on the wrong side of Everson’s Old Town Creek, and the folks around these parts might have once written him off as lazy and no-account like the rest of what passed for his family.
But that only made him more determined to prove them all wrong.
Eventually his hard work had paid off, and he’d found unexpected pleasure and pride at the place he’d managed to carve out for himself in his hometown. As owner of The Backyard Oasis he’d gained the respect of the other business owners in Everson. For the last six years he’d had steady sales, especially with high-end hot tubs and outdoor furniture. Fire pits were another big seller, but recently with the downturn in the economy the number of customers wanting new pools was down, and that was where the big money was made. He’d be scrambling for work like everyone else if things didn’t pick up soon. That meant he’d need to see a return on the money he’d sunk into the B&B. There was no getting around it.
But in the meantime, there was no way he was going to let Ms. Etta Green fly into town on her broomstick and sweep all of his hard work away like it didn’t matter. Just because she was mad at the world didn’t mean she got to take it out on him.
What was wrong with those two sisters, anyway? Their grandmother just left them the family home, for Pete’s sake, and they acted like it was some kind of god-awful burden. Some people didn’t know how to appreciate what they had. Nobody was ever likely to leave him a family home, unless he counted the falling down shack across the creek. Now there was a mighty fine legacy he could be proud of.
But to hell with Etta Green. He didn’t have a clue what she was going to decide to do about the house, and at this point he wasn’t certain he cared. The only thing he knew for sure was he was fed up with letting her ruin a perfectly good Friday night at Lu Lu’s.
Donny Joe turned around on his barstool and surveyed the bar thinking it was time to take Irene up on her offer to dance. He spotted her across the crowded room looking like a million dollars. She wore a flirty pink mini skirt with white cowboy boots and a white ruffled blouse. Like a sweet, frothy cupcake, she made a man want to dive right in and take a bite.
Bennie Martin had her cornered and looked to be droning on about one of his many scintillating subjects. His mother’s arthritis was a favorite, the difference between real mayonnaise and Miracle Whip could take up the better part of an afternoon, and he could go on indefinitely about the transmission he planned to replace in his ancient Buick. Whatever it was, Irene hung on his every word, seemingly captivated. She smiled, she nodded, but Donny Joe wasn’t fooled. Her toes were tapping and her shoulders twitched with the slightest hint of a shimmy shake. That woman wanted to dance with every fiber of her being. Donny Joe shoved off the barstool and headed in her direction. He knew how to make at least one of her dreams come true. It was past time to get this party started.
Papers were spread across the four-poster bed in the room Etta had claimed as her own since she’d started spending her summers in Everson all those years ago. It had been redecorated since her last stay. The bed was covered in a sage washed silk comforter and matching drapes hung from the tall windows. The window seat was lined with cushions and a new flower-laced throw rug covered the floor. But one thing hadn’t changed. The big comfy side chair still sat in the corner, begging someone to curl up in it and read a good book. The room was lovely. Now that she took the time to look, she could see all the work her grandmother had been pouring into the old house.
But this paperwork. Good Gravy. Her eyes were about to cross. She’d read the fine print on contracts, and she’d read the bold ideas her grandmother scribbled down. Page after page of thoughts and plans and ideas for her B&B. And that didn’t even include the work that had
already started. Construction on the kitchen was scheduled to start right away. But on top of all that, Grammy had advertised in several B&B journals, and three couples had already made reservations. She’d also set up a basic website complete with pictures of the house and an announcement featuring the Valentine’s Day Grand Opening dinner.
Etta made a note to tell Donny Joe that the name on the brochures was the Everson Inn on Old Town Creek. Not too catchy, but it was better than Etta’s Place for sure. Old Town Creek ran across the back of the property and she guessed adding it to the name of the inn lent a romantic feel to things.
She sighed and buried her face in a pillow. A decision about how to proceed needed to be made soon. It was obvious her grandmother had been fully engaged in this endeavor, no matter whose idea it had been originally. Donny Joe’s name came up regularly in her notes. Donny Joe advises this. Donny Joe advises that. Donny Joe, Donny Joe, Donny Joe. His fingerprints were all over every phase of the plans. It might have been her grandmother’s idea, but she wasn’t ready to discount the idea that he’d taken advantage of her lack of business savvy for his own profit. She sat up, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the headboard.
“Hey, Etta, wake up. I need to get out of this house, and you, little sister, are coming with me.” Belle bounced around at the end of the bed, wearing a yellow man-trap of a dress. She was made up, decked out, and ready to paint the town. “Put on something sexy and let’s go dancing.”
Etta groaned. “It’s been a long day. I don’t have the energy to do sexy.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Etta. Will you stop acting like an old lady? It’s eight o’clock on a Friday night.”
“What about Daphne?”
“She’s sound asleep, and Beulah gave us her blessing, so get your butt off that bed and get ready. I’m not taking no for an answer.”