“I tell you what, when we get a house of our own, we’ll see about getting a kitty.”
“And a puppy, too! The puppy’s name is Donkey, like Shrek.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Richard had had a no-pet policy. Well, when she had a house for Callie, they’d have a dog and a cat.
“And a pony!”
“Now you’re pushing it, Callie Rose.” But she scooped her up, spun her around. “Is Mama really pretty today? I want to look my best today.”
“Mama’s beautiful.”
She pressed her cheek to her daughter’s. “Callie, you’re my best thing in the world.”
“Is it time to go to Chelsea’s house?”
“Just about. You dress those dolls, then we can put them in the Callie bag and take them to Chelsea’s house.”
Once she’d dropped Callie off, chatted with Tracey, she headed straight into town.
She was capable, she told herself. She was smart enough to learn. She even knew a little about art, and she knew—or had known—some of the local artists and craftspeople. It made perfect sense to try to wrangle a part-time job at The Artful Ridge.
After she parked, she sat for a moment, gathering herself.
Don’t act desperate. If worse comes to worst, buy something. She could do this.
Fixing a smile on her face, ignoring the churning in her belly, she got out of the car, strolled down the sidewalk, and into The Artful Ridge.
Oh, it was pretty—she’d love to spend time here. It smelled of scented candles and glowed with natural light. She saw half a dozen things at a glance she’d be happy to have in her own home, once she got one.
Wrought-iron candlesticks, pale blue blown-glass wineglasses, a painting of a mountain stream on a misty morning, a long, sinuous jar the color of top cream polished like glass.
Tracey’s pottery, too—and she loved the tulip-shaped stacking bowls.
Glass shelves sparkled, and while the old wood floor creaked a little, it held a subtle gleam.
The girl who came around the counter couldn’t have been more than twenty and wore a half dozen colorful studs around the curve of her ear.
Not in charge, Shelby thought, but maybe a gateway.
“Good morning. Anything I can help you with today?”
“It’s just beautiful in here.”
“Thank you! We carry local artists and artisans. There are so many talented people in the area.”
“I know it. Oh, that’s one of my cousin’s paintings. A set of them.” She stepped over to a grouping of four small watercolors.
“You’re a cousin to Jesslyn Pomeroy?”
“I am, on my daddy’s side. I’m Shelby Pomeroy. Foxworth now.”
Who your people were mattered, Shelby knew, and could be another gateway. “She’s my uncle Bartlet’s middle daughter. We’re all so proud of her.”
“We sold one of her paintings just last Saturday to a man from Washington, D.C.”
“Isn’t that wonderful? Cousin Jessie’s art on somebody’s wall in Washington, D.C.”
“Are you visiting the Ridge?”
“I was born and raised here, and while I’ve been away a few years, I’ve moved back home. Just a few days ago, actually. I’ve been settling in. The fact is, I’d like to find some part-time work. It would be just lovely to work in a shop like this, with my cousin’s art right there.
“And Tracey Lee’s,” she added, as it never hurt to know people. “Her little girl and mine have become best friends already.”
“We can’t keep Tracey’s coffee mugs on the shelf. They just fly out of here. My sister Tate’s married to Robbie’s—that’s Tracey’s husband—to Robbie’s cousin Woody. They’re living up in Knoxville.”
“Would that be Tate Brown?”
“That’s right. It’s Bradshaw now, but that’s my sister. You know Tate?”
“I do. She dated my brother Clay for a time when they were in high school. So she’s married and living in Knoxville?”
Gateways, Shelby thought, as they chatted about family connections.
“We’re just starting to look for some extra help, for the season. Would you like to talk to the manager about it?”
“I would, thank you.”
“Just give me a minute. Browse around if you like.”
“I will.” In fact, as soon as the girl was out of sight, Shelby checked the price on the tall jar. Winced a little. A fair price, she imagined, but a little out of her reach right now.
She’d make it a goal.
When the girl came back moments later, the friendly had drained out of her eyes, and her tone was cool.
“You can go on up to the office. I’ll show you.”
“Thank you. It must be nice,” Shelby continued as they walked to the back of the shop. Here rustic wooden cases and shelves held pottery and textiles. “Working around all these pretty things.”
“You go right up the stairs here, it’s the first door you come to. It’s open.”
“Thanks again.”
She went up the sturdy stairs, turned into a room backed with three narrow windows that opened up to a view of the Ridge and the rise of the hills.
Here was art and pretty things as well, a sweet chair with curvy legs done in deep blue, and a wonderful old desk refinished so the oak shone gold. A vase of red roses and baby’s breath stood on it, along with a computer and a phone.
It took her only a moment to focus in on the woman behind the desk—and understand the abrupt change in the clerk’s demeanor.
“Why, hello, Melody. I had no idea you worked here.”
“I manage the gallery. My grandmama bought it just about a year ago and asked me to get it in shape for her.”
“Well, from what I see, you’ve done a wonderful job of it.”
“Thank you. You have to do what you can for family, don’t you? And look at you.” She rose then, a curvy woman in a fitted dress of rosy pink. Her blond hair fell in a long, soft wave to her shoulders, sweeping around a heart-shaped face with poreless skin glowing from an expert hand with bronzer or a good self-tanner.
Shelby knew Melody would never expose her face to the sun and risk lines and spots.
Her eyes, a chilly blue, flicked over Shelby as she walked over, moved in for a cheek bump.
“You haven’t changed a bit, have you! My goodness, this humidity that’s moving in must play havoc with your hair.”
“It helps to have easy access to good salon products.” Yours could use a root touch-up, she thought, as no one made her hackles prickle faster than Melody Bunker.
“I’m sure it does. I heard you were back. It’s just tragic about your husband, Shelby. Just tragic. You have all my sympathy.”
“Thank you, Melody.”
“And back where you started now, aren’t you? Living back with your mama, aren’t you? Oh, please, have a seat.” Melody leaned a hip back on the desk, holding the higher ground, the position of power. “And how are you, Shelby?”
“I’m fine. I’m happy to be home again. How’s your mama, Melody?”
“Oh, she’s doing fine. We’re going to Memphis in a couple weeks, having a few days, doing some shopping, staying at the Peabody, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You know how hard it is to find decent clothes around here, so we try to get into Memphis every season. I have to admit, I never thought to see you back in the Ridge, but being a widow, you must need the comfort of family.”
“They are a comfort.”
“But I sure was surprised when Kelly came up and said you were downstairs and asking about work, what with all the talk about how well off you were, landing yourself a rich husband. And you have a daughter, don’t you?”
Those blue eyes sparkled now, but it wasn’t with friendship
or camaraderie. “Some say that helped with the landing.”
“I’m sure they do, as some will say all manner of unattractive things just to hear their own voice. I’d like to work,” Shelby said simply.
“I’d sure like to help you out, Shelby, but working here at The Artful Ridge takes certain requirements. I don’t suppose you’ve ever worked a cash register in your life.”
Melody knew very well she had, at the salon.
“I ran one since I was fourteen, weekends and summers at my grandmother’s salon. I was assistant manager of the bookstore in college—University of Memphis, if you can’t recall. That was a few years ago, but I’m sure I could get references if you need them. I know how to work a register, a computer, I know most of the basic softwares.”
“A family beauty parlor and a college bookstore don’t give you much of a foundation for an upscale showplace of arts and crafts. And do you know how to sell? Working a bookstore in college? Why, that sort of thing sells itself, doesn’t it? We carry a superior range of art, a lot of it exclusive to us. We’re a landmark in this town now. In the county, come to that. And we’ve got a reputation.”
“I’m sure the reputation’s earned, considering what you showcase here, and how you display it. Though I’d have taken those cane-back chairs from the front and put them at that burl wood table in the back, done something interesting on the table with the pottery dishes and some wineglasses, some of the textiles.”
“Oh, would you?”
She only smiled at the frigid tone. “I would, but that’s me. And I can say so because you don’t have any intention of giving me a job.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
With a nod, Shelby rose. “That’s your loss, Melody, because I’d have been an asset to your grandmother’s business here. I appreciate the time.”
“Why don’t you go over to Vi’s? I’m sure your grandmother could find you work there, suited to your skills and experience. She has to need someone sweeping up and washing out the sinks.”
“You think that’s beneath me?” Shelby angled her head. “I’m not surprised, Melody, not at all surprised. You haven’t changed since high school, and still holding a grudge because they put that Homecoming crown on my head instead of yours. That’s awful sad. It’s just awful sad your life hasn’t gotten any richer or more satisfying since high school.”
She walked out, head up, started down.
“I was second-runner-up Miss Tennessee!”
Shelby glanced back, smiled at Melody, who stood, hands on hips, at the top of the stairs. “Bless your heart,” she said, and continued down, and straight out.
She wanted to shake. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or humiliation, but she wanted to shake. Walk it off, she ordered herself, and crossed the street.
Her first instinct was to go to the salon, vent it all out, but she turned sharply, headed for the bar and grill.
Maybe Tansy could use another waitress at Bootlegger’s.
Running on that anger and humiliation, she banged on the door. Maybe they didn’t open for another half hour, but somebody, by God, was in there.
On her second series of bangings, the door opened. The tough-looking guy in a T-shirt with cut-off sleeves that showed off arms with muscles carved like a mountain range gave her one hard look out of eyes black as onyx.
“We’re not open until eleven-thirty.”
“I know that. It says so clear enough. I’m looking for Tansy.”
“Why would that be?”
“That would be my business, so . . .” She broke off, bore down on herself. “I’m sorry—I apologize. I’m upset and I’m being rude. I’m Shelby, a friend of Tansy’s. I’d like to talk to her a minute if she’s around.”
“Shelby. I’m Derrick.”
“Oh, Tansy’s husband. It’s nice to meet you, Derrick, and I really am sorry for being rude. I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“Bygones. It’s clear you’re upset. Come on in.”
A couple of waitstaff did setups on the tables. In the relative quiet Shelby heard kitchen noises, raised voices.
“Why don’t you have a seat at the bar? I’ll get Tansy.”
“Thank you. I won’t take much time.”
She sat, tried to fall back on the yoga breathing she’d practiced when she’d taken classes in Atlanta. It didn’t help.
Tansy came in, all smiles. “I’m so glad you came by. We didn’t really have time to talk last night.”
“I was rude to your Derrick.”
“She wasn’t that rude, and she’s already apologized twice. Want a drink?” he asked her.
“I—”
“How about a Coke?” Tansy said.
“God, yes. Thanks. I’m repeating myself, but I’m sorry. I just had a little altercation with Melody Bunker.”
Tansy slid onto a stool. “Want something stronger than a Coke?”
“I’m tempted, but no thanks. I went over there to see if I could get a part-time job. I wish I didn’t like the place so much. It’s just wonderful, and has such a good feel about it. Until I went upstairs and talked to Melody. She was as biting as a nest of rattlers, I swear. Wouldn’t you think she’d let go of high school?”
“Her type never lets go of anything. I’m the one who’s sorry. I sent you over there. I didn’t think about Melody—I try not to.”
Tansy sent Derrick a smile when he put a ginger ale in front of her. “Thanks, baby. Melody’s only in there two or three hours a day, and only a few days out of the week. Otherwise she’s off to some club meeting or getting her nails done, or having lunch up at the big restaurant. It’s Roseanne, the assistant manager, who really runs the place.”
“Whoever runs it, Melody would burn it to the ground before she hired me on. Thank you,” she said to Derrick when he set the Coke in front of her. “I’m sure I’m going to like you because you have such good taste in wives. And I love your place. I had the best time here last night. Oh, and congratulations on the baby.”
“That about covers it. I already like you.” He poured himself a fizzy water. “Tansy’s told me about you, and how you’d take up for her when somebody like that bitch across the street picked on her.”
“Derrick, you shouldn’t call her that.”
“She is a bitch,” Shelby said, and drank. “At least I gave her some of her own back. It’s been a while since I’ve given anybody some of their own back. And it felt damn good. Maybe a little too good.”
“You were always good at it.”
“Was I?” Calmer, Shelby smiled, sipped. “It sure came back to me. Smoke was spiraling out of her ears when I left, so that’s something. So, I won’t be working there in the foreseeable future. I wonder if you need any help here. Another waitress, maybe?”
“You want to wait tables?”
“I want a job. No, I need a job,” Shelby amended. “That’s the truth. I need a job. I’m making the rounds today while Tracey Lee’s got my Callie with her Chelsea. If you’re not hiring, that’s all right. I’ve got a list I’m going down.”
“Have you ever done any waitressing?” Derrick asked her.
“I’ve cleared plenty of tables, served plenty of food. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m only looking for part-time now, but—”
“Waitressing isn’t for you, Shelby,” Tansy began.
“All right. Thanks for listening, and for the Coke.”
“I’m not done. Derrick and I, we’ve been talking about adding some entertainment on Friday nights. We have,” she insisted when Derrick frowned.
“Talked about it, some.”
“Two Saturdays a month we have a live band, and we do good, strong business. We’d add to Friday night’s till with some entertainment. I’ll hire you right now, Shelby, to sing on Friday nights, eight to midnight.”
“Tansy, I appreciate yo
ur offering, but I haven’t done anything like that in years.”
“Do you still have your voice?”
“It’s not that . . .”
“We couldn’t pay a lot, at least until we see how it goes. Forty-minute sets, and ten of the twenty between you’d work the crowd some. Go around the tables. What I want is to try a kind of weekly theme.”
“She’s got ideas,” Derrick muttered, but with a spark of pride.
“I have good ideas.” With the ginger ale in one hand, Tansy tapped a finger on the bar. “And this good idea is we’d start off with the forties. Songs from the forties, specialty drinks from then. What did they drink back then? Martinis or boilermakers. I’ll figure that out,” she said, waving it aside.
“Next week it’s the fifties, and we work our way up. It’s all nostalgia. We’ll draw in a lot of people. I’ll get it set up. We’ll use a karaoke machine for now. Maybe if we do the expansion, we can get a piano, or we can hire a couple of musicians. For right now, to start, we’ll get that karaoke machine, Derrick, because we’re going to start doing Karaoke Mondays, too.”
“She’s got ideas,” he said again.
“I got one says people just love hearing themselves sing whether they can’t pipe out a single true note. They’ll be flocking in here Monday nights. And now Fridays, too. That’s what we’ll call it—just ‘Friday Nights.’ I know it’s only one night a week, Shelby, but that’ll give you room to find some day work if you need it.”
“Are you all right with all this?” Shelby asked Derrick.
“She manages the place. I just own it.”
“Not this Friday,” Tansy continued, steamrolling over them both. “It’s too soon, and I have things to put together. Next Friday. You’ll want to come in a couple times, rehearse, once I get it set up. We’re going to need that expansion, Derrick, once we get this going. You’d better talk to Matt and Griff, get that nailed right soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So. Shelby?”
Shelby blew out a breath, drew in another. “All right. I’m in—and if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. But I’m in, and grateful. I’ll be your Friday Nights.”
The Liar Page 15