“My dad wants to meet you,” Cal said that night while we were in his Jeep on our way to Bell’s Dinner Theater in Richardville for our double date with Vanessa and her fiancé.
On the radio, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill were singing “The Rest of Our Life.” Cal reached over and turned off the music.
A tiny flutter rippled through my stomach. Since Cal’s immediate family was from Ohio, I’d never met any of them. His dad had recently moved to Florida after Cal’s mother had divorced him. “Is he coming for Beverly’s funeral?”
“Yes. Can you make it for dinner at my place on Monday night?”
“Sure.” I ran my thumb over the seatbelt. “That’ll be fun.” Maybe if I said it out loud, I’d convince myself it was true.
Cal gave me a sideways glance, so apparently, I hadn’t quite managed the necessary enthusiasm.
Bad Georgia.
Time for a new subject. “When I talked to Earl Smith this morning, he told me Beverly planned to revise her will to include Clara. Her husband cut Clara out years ago.”
“Beverly told Earl?”
“No. He overheard Beverly telling Denise about it when they were eating lunch at Pizza Heaven. Denise wasn’t very happy, which gives her a possible motive since Beverly owned a little over two-hundred acres of land that brings in a decent amount in cash rent every year. Or if her daughters wanted to sell, the land would bring a nice chunk of change at auction.” I tried to read his expression to see if this information was new to him, but I couldn’t tell. “Anyway, Grandpa and I farmed the land for Beverly, so that’s how I know.”
“I see.” He kept his eyes on the road.
“Does Denise have an alibi for the night of Beverly’s murder?”
Cal glanced in his rearview mirror. “No comment.”
I should’ve known better than to try. “I’ve heard Denise’s husband Jack is trying to reconcile with her after his affair with Fiona Sylvan. What if he killed Beverly before she could change her will so Denise would inherit all the money and land? He’d definitely benefit from that. Or what if he was after Clara, so she wouldn’t tell Denise about his affair with Fiona? Or so Clara wouldn’t be around to contest the will?”
“Those are some plausible theories.” Cal kneaded the steering wheel. “Did you find out anything else from Earl?”
I stared out the car window into the darkness as we passed a house that still had Christmas lights lining the roof. I debated sharing my suspicions about Wanda. How would I explain how I’d gotten the information? I couldn’t go there, since I didn’t want to accuse my step-grandma-to-be.
“I talked to Fiona Sylvan at Sassy Salon because she volunteered with Wanda the day Brandi overheard the argument at the museum,” I said.
“You think Beverly was telling Fiona to come clean about the affair?”
“I did. Until she told me she was cutting and coloring Carol Powers’s hair starting at three-thirty.”
“Did you follow up with Carol?”
“No, but I’ll talk to her at Wanda’s bachelorette party.”
“Anything else?”
I wound a strand of hair around my finger. “Nope.”
Through the years, Bell’s Dinner Theater had been the venue for several of my birthday outings, girls’ nights, and even an awkward blind date or two. The most notable dating incident had occurred with a guy my cousin J.T. set me up with about five years ago. After South Pacific was over, I was putting on my coat, and when I looked around, my date had vanished. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I figured he needed the restroom, but when I made my way to the lobby, there he was by the door waiting and talking on the phone—with his ex-girlfriend.
Some enchanted evening that had turned out to be.
These memories washed over me as we entered the U-shaped theater and found our table on the right side of the second level. We’d have a great view of the stage that’d been designed to look like a giant juke box.
Vanessa stood and greeted us with a warm smile as Cal and I approached. She wore a creamy lace dress with a denim jacket, which complemented her auburn, shoulder-length hair. “I’m so glad you joined us. This is my fiancé, Curtis.”
Curtis got up and extended a beefy hand. I tried not to cringe when he squeezed my hand as if he had something to prove. His mop of curly hair gave his face a boyish look, even though he had to be in his early thirties.
He slapped my shoulder and beamed. “Good to meet you.” He turned to Cal and immediately started talking about the Pacers as I sat across from Vanessa.
“Thanks for inviting us.” I glanced at the menu that’d been attached to the middle of a vinyl record.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. Curtis doesn’t love musicals, but he tolerates them for my sake. I think he’s half hoping I’ll find a fellow theater lover to see plays and musicals with, so he doesn’t have to go all the time.”
“Cal would probably say the same thing,” I whispered.
She giggled. Our two men still hadn’t taken a seat and were now busy talking about landscaping.
“How’d you and Curtis meet?” I ran my hand over the black-checkered tablecloth.
“My brother fixed us up.” She flicked an adoring gaze at her fiancé. “Curtis runs a landscaping business, and my brother hired him in September to do some work at his house. When he found out Curtis was single, he asked if he’d be willing to meet me. He was, and the rest is history.”
“You owe your brother extra-nice Christmas gifts for the rest of your life.”
She laughed. “I know, right?”
“When are you getting married?”
“April.” She opened her purse. “Want to see a picture of my dress? I bought it last weekend.”
“Absolutely.” They’d met in September. Cal and I had met in October. I told myself to knock off the comparisons—immediately.
She held out her phone, and I surveyed the mermaid style, strapless gown that looked great on her slim figure.
“I love it so much,” she said.
“It’s gorgeous.” I took a drink of water. “You and Curtis had quite the whirlwind romance.”
She blushed. “When you know, you know. We’re both in our thirties, so there’s no point in waiting around.”
“Right.” I forced a smile. I was thirty-one, and Cal was almost thirty-five.
A waitress in a poodle skirt came to my rescue and took our drink orders before inviting us to the buffet. As we walked to the stations that were arranged on the stage, I vowed to relax and enjoy the evening. Just because Vanessa and Curtis were on the fast track didn’t mean that was right for Cal and me.
But was that what was really bothering me? Maybe it had more to do with Vanessa’s other statement.
When you know, you know.
Did I know? Was I sure Cal was the man I wanted to marry? Did I need to be certain after a few months of dating? What if I was scared because this was my first serious relationship?
I took a plate from the table and pressed it to my chest as I waited in the pasta line.
I didn’t have to decide right now. I just hoped I’d figure it out soon.
Chapter Nine
Sunday morning, I couldn’t bring myself to go to Wildcat Springs Community Church. Knowing I wouldn’t see Beverly making rounds talking to her friends between services knifed my heart. Not to mention Cal hadn’t made my church his home and opted to attend the smaller Liberty Christian Church.
I’d attended a service with him once but didn’t feel like being scrutinized by showing up again, so I drove into Richardville to Mom and Dan’s church. Even though they were tired from their vacation, they made it, and after the service, we ate lunch at Salvador’s Italian Restaurant while they gushed about how wonderful Hawaii had been.
I considered it a major victory that I only wanted to gag one time.
I surprised my mom when I asked to come back to their house after eating. They lived in a massive Tudor in Richardville’s most exclusive subdivision. Dan retr
eated to their basement to watch college basketball and nap, while Mom and I made ourselves comfortable in the living room on opposite ends of her sofa.
“What have you got there?” Mom tucked her slim legs under her the skirt of her black shirt dress and motioned toward Beverly’s manila envelope that I placed on the coffee table.
I picked it up. “Beverly gave me some photos before she died. There are quite a few of Dad.”
Mom smoothed her honey-colored hair that she was growing out after a recent short haircut. Then, she withdrew the pictures and showed the one of Daddy and me in the combine cab. “We should’ve known then that you’d be the one who’d be the farmer.”
I curled my feet under me and clutched a pillow to my chest. “Did Daddy ever mention the possibility of me joining him?”
Mom smiled ruefully. “No.”
For some reason that was a kick in the gut.
“Ray was sure that Dakota would change his mind and want to farm.” She shuffled through the stack of pictures. “Even though he tagged along with your daddy when he was little, Dakota resented the assumption that his future was already decided.”
There’d been several arguments between Dakota and Daddy over that very subject. Daddy couldn’t understand why Dakota wanted a career where he’d be cooped up in an office all day.
For a few minutes, Mom browsed the stack of pictures, and when she came upon the prom picture of Daddy and Clara, I knew it was now or never. “I met Clara Alspaugh earlier this week.”
“She finally came home after all this time.” Mom set the pictures on the coffee table.
I fingered the lace on the hem of my cobalt-colored sweater and filled Mom in on my initial encounter with Clara and her apology the next day. “Clara said her break-up with Daddy was her fault, but she let her family and friends think he was the reason she left.”
Mom nodded. “That’s true. It took a few years before Beverly and Bill were friendly to your daddy. Ray never knew exactly what happened that made Clara leave. He told me they had a big fight on prom night about an after-party she wanted to go to. He didn’t think it was a good idea, because he’d heard there’d be drugs and alcohol. He took her home, and she went without him. The next day, Clara wouldn’t talk to him, and after graduation a week later, she left. He always said he thought something bad had happened—like she’d been assaulted at the party—and he felt guilty for not going and protecting her. But he didn’t have any proof, and she never made any accusations.”
“When I talked to Wanda, she implied there was secret drama between Daddy and Clara that I should ask you about.”
She scowled. “That ugly old rumor raises its head again,” she muttered and shook her head. “The story was that Clara left town because she was pregnant, and your daddy didn’t want to take responsibility for his child.”
I drew a sharp breath.
Mom examined her French-tipped nails. “He assured me that wasn’t even possible—and he was always a perfect gentleman with me. I never had any reason not to take him at his word, so if she was pregnant, it wasn’t your dad’s. But you know how some folks can be. Always wanting to think the worst about others.” She crossed her arms. “It irritates me Wanda believes those rumors, or she would’ve set you straight right then instead of letting you stew about it. You’d think your grandpa would’ve told her the real story.”
“How’d Daddy handle the rumors?”
“It bothered him, knowing people thought the worst of him. He told me it helped him learn to focus on what God thought of him and not to worry about what other people believed.”
That sounded like Daddy.
“He always felt as if he’d somehow run Clara out of town, and we prayed for years that she’d return for Beverly and Bill’s sake.”
A lump formed in my throat. “He would’ve been thrilled to finally see the answer.”
“You’re right.” She smiled sadly.
Later that night, I rolled into Wildcat Springs for Bible study at Ashley’s place. I would’ve loved for Cal to join us, but I hadn’t been able to convince him to come to our meetings. I respected his decision, but his reluctance bothered me more and more.
I parked and hurried across the street to her house. A few small mounds of melting snow remained on either side of Ashley’s driveway.
Her front door was unlocked, so I went into the living room and came face-to-face with Hamlet. I froze and tried to keep the shock from my face. “Hey.”
“Good evening, Georgia Rae. Evan invited me to join you all.” Hamlet pointed to Evan Beckworth, who sat on a sofa engrossed in a discussion with Brandi. I’d had a crush on Evan for years—until Cal had come into my life.
“Welcome.” I contorted my facial muscles into something I hoped passed for a smile. “I didn’t know you and Evan were friends.”
“I’ve been subbing at the high school to help fund my house flip, and we got acquainted at lunch.”
“Well, I’m glad you could join us. Ashley’s a great cook, so you’re in for a good meal.” I hoped my very polite and proper words sounded sincere as I turned my focus to Brandi and Evan’s conversation.
“…Dr. Burke had to back out, and since it’s pretty much impossible to get a dentist to come in at the last minute, we’ll have to go with another career instead…” Brandi glanced at me before exchanging a mischievous look with Evan, the school guidance counselor.
“What did I walk in on?” I looked back and forth between them.
“We couldn’t convince you to give a presentation on farming for eighth-grade career day tomorrow, could we?” Brandi asked.
“There’s a free lunch from Velda’s Café.” Evan winked. His handsome face and kind hazel eyes had been a major reason for my crush.
I took off my coat, tossed it on the chair with the others, and sat on the floor. “I love how you’re bribing me with food.” To Evan’s credit, this was often a winning strategy with me.
“So you’ll do it?” Brandi leaned forward. “It’s a fifteen-minute segment, and you’ll probably have a lot of questions.”
I hitched my thumb toward Hamlet. “Why not have Hamlet talk about acting—or construction?”
He shook his head. “I’ve already committed to running the coffee shop tomorrow, or I’d be happy to step in.”
“You’ll be great, Georgia,” Evan said.
I smothered a sigh. “Okay. I’ll do it.” I’d have to get over my phobia of middle school students.
J.T. sauntered in the front door, followed by engaged couple Heather and Dave.
When Ashley came out of the kitchen, she stared at J.T., and her cheeks tinged pink as she fluffed the bow on her cupcake-print apron. “The ziti and garlic bread are ready. I made chocolate silk and cherry crumb pies too.”
“Sounds great!” J.T. said with more enthusiasm than I’d ever seen him muster. Well, except for when he was talking about tractors. He was a top salesman at Wildcat Springs Implement. He yanked off his Broncos sock cap, and everyone stared at him.
“Your man bun’s gone.” Thank goodness. He’d trimmed his honey-blond hair into a typical male haircut.
“It was time.” He smoothed his hair and tossed the cap on the coat pile.
No kidding. Ashley had never commented positively or negatively about his long hair, but I wondered if she was the inspiration for his new do.
“It was freaking some of our older customers out, and there’s no way I’m sacrificing my bottom line over my hair.”
Well, there was my answer. So much for romantic motivation.
“It’s getting cold, y’all.” Ashley waved us into her kitchen.
“What’s up with you and J.T.?” Brandi finished drying Ashley’s baking dish and placed it on the marble counter after everyone else had left. “I’ve seen middle school kids with more game than the two of you.”
I snorted as I tucked foil around the leftover cherry pie.
Norman, Ashley’s tiger-striped cat that she’d rescued after Christ
mas, darted out of her bedroom. When people descended on Ashley’s house, Norman’s favorite hideout was underneath her bed, but he always made an appearance for Brandi and me. Norman stopped next to me, and I stooped to pet his head.
Ashley pulled her hands out of the soapy water and dried them on her apron. “I haven’t answered him about going out.”
“Why not?” Brandi put her hands on her hips.
“Don’t you dare tell us it’s because you’re sad about him lopping off that man bun.” I snickered. Out of habit, I slid the pie back from the counter’s edge—though it wasn’t necessary since Ashley didn’t have a small horse of a dog that would gobble up whatever he could reach.
Ashley giggled. “He does look better, doesn’t he?” She chewed her lip. “The timing’s not right.”
“Why not?” Brandi arched an eyebrow.
“Okay. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” She untied her apron and tossed it on the counter. “I’m quitting my job and opening an art studio in Wildcat Springs.”
I blinked at her. “What now?”
“Are you serious?” Brandi’s normally mellow voice sounded downright squeaky.
“Of course, hon. I’m tired of engineering. It’s not my passion. I never should’ve switched my major from art.”
I had no idea she’d majored in art, although, the elaborate sketches she was always drawing on the chalkboard in my dining room should’ve given me a clue.
“Will your passion pay the bills?” Brandi-the-Practical asked.
“I have plenty of savings.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve made good money the last six years.”
“What’d your parents say?” Brandi folded the dishtowel and then picked up Ashley’s apron and folded it too.
“I haven’t told them.”
“I see.” Brandi set the apron on the counter and patted it.
I could tell the motherly part of her was having trouble holding back her opinions. “Well, what’re they going to say?” I shrugged. “You’re an adult.”
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