I knew someone would ask me sooner or later about the festival. I needed to make up my mind if I was going or not. It wasn’t that I didn’t love our annual tradition, because I did. I had tons of fond festival memories. There was always a kids’ carnival, booths with folk art displays, great music and plenty of peachy food. My mouth watered just thinking about Harley Corbin’s famous funnel cakes topped with homemade peach sauce. Or the veterans’ local booth where they scooped hand-cranked peach ice cream. The festival was the biggest thing happening around these parts. That was the problem. Everyone would be there. Maybe even . . . Oh well, if I decided not to go, I could always fake some sort of illness. I put on my best smile. “Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He exhaled and grinned. “Good. Then I guess we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks.”
I met his eyes again. Whatever attitude he’d had earlier was gone. He seemed back to normal, almost like the old Cade I used to know. “I’ll be looking forward to that,” I said, thinking that the idea of seeing more of Cade McKenna might be fun after all.
• • •
“You’ve done a great job with this party. It’s unbelievable,” I told Ida after we’d settled around the table with our food. I glanced at the couple dozen tables covered in white linen and set with simple but exquisite place settings. Ida had designed the centerpieces with low arrangements of flowers in striking shades of peach: dark peach gerbera and pink-tinged carnations alternated with spiky peach-colored delphinium. She’d even used cotton bolls and bits of fig branches from the farm as fill-in. Next to each arrangement she’d placed framed photos of our parents’ wedding day, the old black-and-white images sharply contrasting with the colorful flowers. Above us, yellow paper lanterns cast a warm hue over the guests. I watched as Mama and Daddy mingled from table to table, practically glowing themselves as they worked the room and visited with their friends.
“Well, it was a lot of work,” she replied.
I was feeling entirely plagued with guilt. “I’m sure it was. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to be more of a help. I arranged to come back as soon as I could get away.”
“I understand. I really do.” She sighed. “It’s just that things have been stressful around here.” She pushed at her food, moving it from one side of her plate to the other, seemingly preoccupied.
I studied her more closely, my eyes sliding down to her pregnant belly. “Is it the baby? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes. The baby’s fine.” She leaned in closer. “It’s a boy,” she whispered. “But don’t tell anyone. Hollis wants to keep it a secret.”
I grinned, happy for her. With twin girls already, a boy would be a great addition. I glanced around. “Where is Hollis? I haven’t seen him.” Not that I had actually been looking.
She looked about nervously and tugged at the colorful scarf around her neck. I’d always admired my sister’s ability to pull together an outfit. Even seven months pregnant she looked great in a simple black dress paired with a hand-painted silk scarf. She must have been to the Clip & Curl recently, too; her hair was tinged with honey-colored highlights. “It’s hard telling,” she said, her face falling. “He’s been preoccupied with a big bank deal lately.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, understanding where the stress was coming from. No wonder my sister had come on so cold earlier. This party, her twins, the pregnancy . . . All that and Hollis had been busy with work and unable to help. Of course, the same thing could be said about me. I placed my hand on hers. “I’m sorry again. I should have come home earlier. It’s not fair that you’ve had to take on all this on your own.”
She looked up from her plate and squinted toward our parents, who were engaged in a lively discussion with Reverend Jones and his wife. “No, it’s more than that,” she started, but was interrupted by Hollis’s arrival.
He plunked down next to her and slid his plate onto the table. “Good food, honey,” he commented, placing a half-empty glass next to his heaping plate. He was probably drinking Peach Jack, a well-loved peach-flavored whiskey distilled right in our own county. I never really liked the stuff, but Daddy and Hollis seemed to have a taste for it. We seldom had a party without a bottle or two.
“Good to see you again, Nola,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. Hollis and I had never been on friendly terms—not since he made a pass at me the night before he married my sister.
“Hello, Hollis,” I replied, trying to inject a bit of friendliness into my tone. I searched the room for Ray, wishing he’d hurry up and join us. It was going to be awkward with just Ida, Hollis and me.
Not seeing him, I turned my attention back to my own plate. Ida really had gone all out with the food. With help from Ginny at Red’s Diner, she’d put together a scrumptious buffet: fresh greens with grilled peaches and a tangy peach vinaigrette, slow-roasted pork with the famous Harper Farm peach chutney on the side, and a yummy vegetable Napoleon made with fresh picks from Snyder’s farm down the road. Even Ezra, the owner of the local bakery, had risen to the occasion. He’d donated the most delicately decorated peach ruffle cake with tiny white sugar blossoms. It was almost too beautiful to cut.
That was how it was in small communities. Everyone came together for happy events, just like one big family. I’d seen that in villages in Africa too, and had admired it in places where sharing water became a life-sustaining gift. Guess I’d never really appreciated that same principle in my own hometown.
I’d just started on my salad, when a series of high-pitched giggles made me look up from my plate. Hollis was playing with Ida’s scarf, wrapping it around his hands suggestively while she tried to wrestle it back from him. “I think I’ll just hang on to this for later tonight,” he teased, sliding it into his pocket and shooting me a wink. I about gagged.
Thank goodness Ray showed up. “Hey, Hollis. Ben Wakefield is looking for you.” He sat down, digging into his plate of food like he hadn’t eaten for a month.
Ida groaned. “More business, Hollis? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
He gave her a quick kiss, grabbed his glass and stood. “Not if the bank wants to keep Wakefield’s newest deal. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
No hurry, I thought, watching him disappear into the crowd.
Ida absently moved her hand to her bare neck. “Oh shoot, he still has my scarf,” she said, realizing her perfect outfit had been jeopardized.
Ray and I exchanged a half smile; Ida had always prided herself on being properly “put together.” Ray said, “Don’t worry, sis; he said he’d be right back. What type of deal is he working with Ben Wakefield, anyway?”
“Some sort of lumber deal,” Ida explained. “Ben Wakefield’s company has contracted with a developer in Atlanta and he’s trying to strike a bargain with a few local landowners to purchase their properties’ timber rights. Wakefield Lumber is using his bank to finance the deal. Hollis is expecting to be able to get a huge rate of return on the loan, plus a share in the whole thing.”
“You mean, like a profit share?” Ray asked between bites.
Ida shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t really understand all that’s involved. Only that it’s taking all of Hollis’s time these days. I’m sick of it. Actually, I’m sick of everything.” She stabbed at her pork, sending splatters of peach chutney in every direction. “Especially peaches!” she cried, then covered her mouth in shock. I could see tears threatening at the edges of her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
She stood abruptly, almost knocking over her chair. I also stood, meaning to go after her.
“Don’t,” Ray said, stopping me. “Let her have a little time alone. She’s upset, but she’ll get over it.”
I sat back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mama and Daddy winding their way toward us
. “I don’t get it, Ray. What’s going on around here?”
Upon seeing our parents, he plastered a smile on his face. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Now’s not the time.”
His words not only piqued my curiosity, but gave me a little shiver of dread. Although both feelings faded as the evening wore on and the party picked up with lively tunes from a local bluegrass band. Couples zigzagged their way toward a portable dance floor set up at the back of the tent. Ray joined in the parade, asking a family friend for a dance. I kicked back and watched them, breathing in the cool night breeze blowing through the open-walled tent. I saw my parents take center stage on the dance floor, starting things off with “Kentucky Waltz.” After a few refrains, other couples joined in the fun.
“How romantic.” Hattie sighed, taking over Ray’s abandoned seat. She was sipping on sweet peach tea, but knowing Hattie, it was probably laced with something a bit stronger.
“I know. I’m so happy for them,” I agreed. “And to think, in another hour or so they’ll be leaving for their cruise.” The plan was that Ray would drive them to Macon, where they’d catch the red-eye for Miami. From there, they were off for three weeks in the Caribbean.
Hattie started picking at a piece of untouched cake Ray had left behind. “Mmm . . . yummy.”
“Hey, there, Nola Mae.” We both looked up to see a few of the local gals. They passed by in a breeze of flowery cologne, dramatically flipping their well-worked tresses over their shoulders and looking down their noses at me.
Hattie wiggled her fingers and plastered a toothy smile on her face. “Hey, all!” Then to me she whispered, “Lawd, if that Laney Burns keeps teasing her hair like that, it’s gonna get pissed.”
I laughed, then sobered as I touched my own short crop. “I don’t quite fit in around here anymore, do I?”
“Like fitting in around here is all it’s cracked up to be. Don’t pay attention to those girls. They’re jealous because you’ve been somewhere. I had the same thing when I got back from the city.”
I nodded, still feeling a little deflated.
She patted my shoulder and changed the subject. “So, are your parents all packed and ready to go?”
I nodded. “I think they’ve had their bags packed for a week. Mama’s so excited. She’s always wanted to go on a cruise. They never had an official honeymoon, so I think this is her way of making up for lost time.” I looked around. “Where’s Cade?” I was secretly hoping he’d ask me to dance.
Hattie scanned the crowd. “There he is.”
I glanced to where she was pointing and saw Cade deep in conversation with another man. “Hey, who’s that guy he’s talking to?”
Hattie’s voice took on an annoyed tone. “That’s Ben Wakefield. He owns Wakefield Lumber Mill.”
I watched as Cade waved his fist in Wakefield’s face. Behind him, Hollis was watching the argument with furrowed brows. “Cade seems angry about something.”
Hattie pulled out a pink monogrammed hanky out of her bag, dabbed at her décolletage and sighed. “Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later; now’s not really a good time.”
That was the second time that night I’d heard those words. First from Ray and now from Hattie. Something was definitely going on and I was eager to find out what. But before I could ask any more questions, a Hispanic-looking man swooped in and grabbed ahold of Hattie’s arm.
“Come dance with me,” he said, speaking with a slight accent.
Hattie popped up, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a playful kiss on his cheek. “Nola, this is Pete Sanchez. Pete, Nola Mae Harper.”
Pete smiled down at me. “My pleasure, Nola.”
I simply stared, entranced by his devastatingly dark good looks, or maybe just taken aback by the way Hattie seemed to light up in his presence. She shoved him ahead and leaned down toward me, her eyes dancing wickedly as she mockingly fanned herself. “Oh my, I feel some serious sin comin’ on tonight.”
“I won’t wait around for you,” I said, laughing as I watched her catch up to Pete. The band was kicking things up a notch with a lively Hank Williams Jr. tune and couples were spinning crazy-like on the floor—most of them half-snookered by now. I looked back to where I’d seen Cade, but he was already gone. I sighed. Guess I wasn’t going to get that dance after all.
• • •
Before I knew it, the evening was nothing more than a fuzzy memory Ray and I were rehashing over our Monday morning coffee. “So, Mama and Daddy got on their flight okay?” I asked. We were standing in the kitchen, a plate of spiced peach muffins on the counter between us. Mama had cooked up a storm before she left. There was enough food stored in the freezer to feed me and probably half the county for the next three weeks.
Ray blew steam off the top of his mug. “You bet. You should have seen them when I dropped them off. They were acting like newlyweds.”
“Good for them. Have you talked to Ida yet this morning?” Ida and Hollis had taken the girls home early the night before. We’d made plans to start cleanup first thing this morning. The rental company was coming at nine to pick up the tent.
“No. I bet she’s exhausted, though.” He reached for a muffin.
Especially if she and Hollis played around with the scarf after the party. My stomach practically rolled at the thought. I pushed the muffins closer to Ray. Suddenly they didn’t look so appetizing. “I’m sure she is tired,” I agreed, rinsing my mug and putting it in the sink. “Hey, I’m going to get started on things outside. Maybe we can get a good bit finished before she gets here. I feel like I owe her for all the work she’s done.”
He shoved in his last bite and answered with a full mouth. “Sure. I’ll be out in a bit. I’ve got a few business calls to make.”
Ray was an attorney. A while back, he’d left a large firm in Atlanta and hung his own shingle in Perry, a town not far from Cays Mill. “Fine with me. Take your time, but later I want to talk to you about something you mentioned last night.”
He nodded, his shoulders slumping and a dark look crossing his face. Noticing his reaction, another sense of dread settled over me. I pushed it to the back of my mind as I headed out to the yard to get started on my to-do list.
I glanced around. What had looked so pretty the night before was simply an ugly mess this morning: dirty dishes, turned-over chairs, empty beer bottles . . . Worst of all, a strong breeze had blown in overnight, scattering debris throughout the orchards, and half of the oversized peach balloons had deflated into dehydrated versions of themselves. The wind must have caught the pile of paper napkins off the cake table. Branches, as far as I could see, were covered with bits of peach-colored paper. It looked like a group of errant teens had TP’d us with off-colored toilet tissue.
I groaned and headed back into the house, coming out a few seconds later with a handful of garbage bags and heading straight for the orchard. I figured I better get the litter that was the farthest out first before it wandered any more. The morning haze was just burning off as I started down the hill. Since peaches grew best in well-drained soil, our house sat on the highest point of our acreage, with the peach trees running in straight lines from every side of the house.
When I was young, I once tried to draw a picture of our house. I was disgusted when Ray teased me, saying it looked like a scared, pink-haired witch. Although, looking back on it now, that was exactly what it looked like. I’d drawn the house in the middle of the paper, with its high-peaked roof, which must have resembled a witch’s hat, and black windows—her menacing eyes, and the rows of pink-blossoming trees emitting from every angle like hair standing on end. I laughed, wondering if Mama had hung on to my artwork. If I got some time, I’d look through the boxes in the attic.
I kept on reminiscing as I snatched napkins off the branches and filled my bag. I was working my way through a row of late-harvest trees, mostly freestones, meaning th
ey peeled away from the pit easily. My favorite was the O’Henry peach. As a kid, I used to climb the branches and eat them until my stomach hurt. I thought of how good a sweet, sun-warmed peach would taste about now, especially since I’d passed on the muffins earlier.
My stomach grumbled as I finished one row and cut through to the next. I reached up and plucked another napkin from a branch and surveyed the rest of the row. Down a ways, I spied someone sitting on the ground, propped against one of the trees. Obviously one of last night’s guests had had too much to drink and was sleeping it off. Well, of all things!
“Hey,” I called out, ducking under a couple more branches and heading toward the lazy drunkard. I had a thing or two to tell this guy. Only, halfway there, I stopped in my tracks. I recognized the man from the party. It was Ben Wakefield. But he wasn’t sleeping it off. His blue-tinged, open-eyed face was slumped to one side with my sister’s brightly colored scarf cinched around his neck.
Chapter 3
Georgia Belle Fact #048: Down here, we can tell how classy a woman is by the height of her hair and the thinness of her brow.
Twenty minutes later, Sheriff Maudeen Payne’s cruiser came rumbling down our drive, gravel flying out behind her back fender like buckshot out of Daddy’s twelve-gauge shotgun. Ray and I were standing on the front porch, warily awaiting her arrival. “Just keep your cool,” he told me as she came to a screeching halt in front of our house.
I swallowed hard, watching Maudy throw open the cruiser’s door and step out with an air of pundit authority that practically made my toes shrivel. “Should we tell her about the scarf?”
Ray grabbed my elbow and leaned in toward my ear. “If she asks you, tell her the truth. Don’t try to distort anything in order to protect Hollis or Ida—do you understand?”
I nodded. He was right, of course. Still, I couldn’t imagine throwing Ida’s husband under the bus. As much as I disliked Hollis, I couldn’t see the man strangling someone to death with a scarf. There just had to be some other explanation.
Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) Page 3