by Nancy Naigle
There was that small-town kudzu message-delivery service in full swing. Every town had one, but Connor worked fast! “Yes. Yes I am,” Savannah said, but didn’t offer anything further. The silence was awkward, but what could she say? She couldn’t divulge that she was the person behind that infamous Advice from Van column making light of pretty serious issues. That probably wouldn’t go over so well here, where people had each other’s backs, and she sure couldn’t say she’d just submitted a story about one of their local heroes that was probably less than flattering. Okay, no probably about it. It was totally less than flattering.
“Are you writing a book? I’ve always thought it would be so interesting to meet a real novelist.”
What could she say? “No, I answer questions from readers online in so cynical a way that I hide behind a pseudonym?” One little white lie wouldn’t hurt. “More like freelance work. About all kinds of topics.” Daphne looked disappointed, and the storyteller in Savannah just sprang into action before she had a chance to think about it. “Don’t let it get around, but I am working on a novel now. It’s kind of a hush-hush project.” She held her finger to her lips.
Daphne’s eyes lit up. “Like a ghost writer. How exciting.” She pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. “Your secret is safe with me. I bet you’re here getting some ideas. I’d love to sit and talk to you. I could probably even help you. Why don’t you come join me for tea on Tuesday?”
Savannah looked to Jill for help, but clearly Jill misread the look. “Oh, Savannah. You’ll love chatting with Miss Daphne. She’s got a million stories. Tea with her is always amazing. Make her break out the butterfly tea set.”
Daphne blushed. “It’s my favorite too.”
Jill leaned in. “Miss Daphne has the most amazing collection of teapots. She has at least fifty. Probably way more than that. One of these days we’re going to talk her into opening that tearoom that she’s always dreamed of.”
“That would have been so neat.” Daphne’s wistful look told that this was still a dream with a glimmer of hope. “I had so many ideas perking about that, but I’m too old to do it now.”
“You’re never too old to follow your dreams,” Savannah said. “A tearoom would be so fun to run. All those cute little sandwiches and pastries. I used to love spending time in the kitchen with my momma baking. She’d have loved the idea of opening a tearoom.” She missed Momma like crazy, not that she allowed herself to think of her often. She prayed that the tears that usually came with those memories wouldn’t show up now. She quickly focused on the tearoom. “You could serve tasty bites, and tea never goes out of style.”
“You really think so?” Daphne’s voice softened. “You’re such a delightful young lady, Savannah. I’m so glad to meet you. Is your husband traveling with you?”
“Oh, no. I’m not married.”
Daphne tsked. “No worries, sweet girl. The right one will come along. Your one true love will always find his way to you.”
How did you even know if he was the right one? Maybe Tripp had been it. She had more baggage than the Dulles airport. Who would want that? “I’m really not looking.”
“That’s what they all say. Until they find him.” Daphne cast her glance to Carolanne. “Am I telling the truth?”
Carolanne nodded in agreement. “That was certainly true in my case.”
Daphne turned her attention back to Savannah. “Will you come and visit while you’re in town? I’d love to show you my collection, and I do serve a delightful afternoon tea, if I do say so myself.”
Savannah couldn’t deny how much Daphne reminded her of her mother, and that was hard to say no to. Besides, a little small-town tea and gossip couldn’t hurt if she had stories to write, even if they weren’t exactly for a novel. Why not? “I’d love to join you for tea on Tuesday.”
Daphne squeezed Savannah’s hand. “I’m so delighted. Could you come at one? One o’clock would work perfectly.”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Savannah said.
“Terrific, dear.” Daphne pulled a slip of paper from her apron and scribbled down her address and phone number, then handed it to Savannah. “Carolanne can give you directions.”
“Sure thing.” Carolanne turned to Savannah. “It’s really easy to find. Just two turns from our building.”
“Well, I have to go help the kids sell their goods. I haven’t missed an event with the 4-H kids since my boy was one.” Miss Daphne hurried off back to the 4-H tent, waving over her shoulder as she did.
“She seems sweet,” Savannah admitted.
“You’ll love her. We all do.”
After two hours Savannah had had enough of the picnic. She was getting antsy and was ready to get back and do some writing. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for relaxing. It always felt so awkward to her. So she excused herself and promised to catch up with Carolanne the next day to get directions to Daphne’s for tea on Tuesday if the address didn’t come up on her GPS.
Just as she pulled out of the parking lot and sat at the intersection to turn onto Route 58, a guy in a baby-blue convertible classic Thunderbird turned in. With the top down, it was easy to see who was driving. It was Scott Calvin.
She pretended not to notice him, but his gaze drilled a hole in her direction. She flipped on her blinker and prayed he was going to the picnic and not about to hunt her down and make sure she didn’t leave town without a ticket as a souvenir.
Scott Calvin parked his 1957 Thunderbird next to the 4-H tent so he could unload the coolers his mom had asked him to bring for her. He was late, but duty had called and there was nothing he could do about that. Not only would his mom probably be pacing like a penned-up panther, but apparently he’d missed a chance encounter with Savannah.
Of course, knowing Mom, she probably had her portable police scanner with her, even here, and knew exactly why he was late. She loved knowing his whereabouts, and had become rather obsessive about it since Dad had died. Sometimes it made him crazy, but she was a good ol’ gal and he wouldn’t do anything to disappoint her. All the attention she used to give Dad was just redirected to him; things could be worse.
As soon as he stepped out of the car, she ran out of the tent carrying two hot dogs with mustard and a deviled egg on a plate.
“Hey, Scott. You’ve got to be starving. You get those bicycle thieves all squared away?”
Just as he’d suspected. “Yes, ma’am.” Her shirt was as bright yellow as the mustard on those dogs. Good thing he was still wearing his sunglasses.
“Kids?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Whose were they?”
“Not tellin’, Mom.”
“Someone we know?”
He lowered his head, giving her the “really” look over the top of his sunglasses.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Got to nip those troublemakers in the bud early so they don’t grow up to be problem adults.”
Her selective memory made him laugh. It wasn’t all that many years ago that he’d been the kid in trouble for much the same thing. “They were stealing back the bikes that had been stolen from them last month. Same kids, different day. They’re good kids.”
He picked up the deviled egg between two fingers and handed it back to her. “You know I’m not going to eat that.”
“Oh, Scott. One of these days you will eat them again. You used to love them. Everyone else in town does.”
“Not going to happen.” The last time he’d eaten an egg he was dating Ruth. They had laying hens in the backyard then. She’d thought that would be fun, so he’d set up a little chicken coop for her. Only she wasn’t really good about pulling the eggs every day. Evidently one morning she’d found some that one of the hens had been sitting on for a while, because he could hear her bloodcurdling scream coming from the kitchen. He’d been in the backyard working on the weed whacker that Saturday morning. He�
�d dropped it so fast, it cracked the casing. When he got to the back door of the kitchen, she was screaming, “Save them. Save them!”
He had no idea what he was going to find when he made it inside, but it sure wasn’t what he did find. Two half-formed chicks in a frying pan.
He’d turned off the burner and scooped them out with a spatula, then carried them out and given them a proper burial. He still to this day had no idea what exactly she thought he could do to save them, or why the heck she’d cracked the second egg without noticing the first one, but that memory had ruined him for eggs ever again. Hidden in a cake mix was fine, but anything that looked like an egg was an absolute no. Even chicken wings made him a bit queasy.
He bit into one of the hot dogs. “Thanks. This is good.” He placed the plate on the hood of his car and lifted a cooler out of the back. As he toted it into the tent, he asked, “Where do y’all want this?”
Mom cleared a spot for it. “Right here, son. You got here just at the perfect time.”
He slid the new tray into place, and his mom took the half a dozen or so remaining deviled eggs and nestled them in with the new batch. “I was afraid we were going to run out.”
Scott held back a snicker. “I’d have probably gotten a 911 call if that had happened.”
“I would never do that, but it could have darn near been a social emergency if we had,” she mumbled.
Scott chatted with the 4-H’ers and even helped keep the line moving while his mom fussed with her eggs.
Once she had everything set up just the way she wanted, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked back over to him. “Are you going to be able to relax this afternoon?”
“At least for a little while.”
“Good. You need a break. There’s a good turnout too, especially for this early in the day.”
“Looks like it.” Truth was, now that they were holding a lot of these events at the artisan center, they pulled in some passersby, and frequent visitors of the center got mailings about them in the monthly newsletter. A plus for the town’s revenue too.
“It’ll be good for you to catch up with old friends. You work too hard.”
He bit into the second hot dog. “I’m not complaining. So why should you?”
“Because I’m your mother and I want what’s best for you.”
He wasn’t about to go down that path again. The two of them had gone round and round about him being an adult and her needing a hobby besides him.
She snapped her fingers. “Scott, I almost forgot, are you still going to take me to my eye appointment on Tuesday?”
“Yep. It’s on my calendar and I’ve already got Deputy Taylor covering for me so I can pick you up at two o’clock.”
“Two o’clock. Yes, just as we’d planned. That will be perfect. Thank you.”
Her eyes danced when she smiled like that. The problem was, that usually meant she was up to something.
“Is everything okay, Mom?”
“Of course. It’s a gorgeous day. Couldn’t be better.”
The way she sang it, he wondered if the 4-H’ers might start jumping off the tables and doing a dance like those kids on Glee. Hopefully, he was just reading too much into her good mood.
CHAPTER FOUR
Savannah quickly realized that Monday mornings were Monday mornings whether you were in an office or not, but she sure as heck didn’t need to be awake at six o’clock today. This whole relax-and-vacation thing might kill her. She just wasn’t cut out for sitting still.
She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head to try to sleep in. Isn’t that what you were supposed to do on vacation?
But her mind was already chugging like a steam engine with a fresh load of fuel. She had those other articles to write, and she was supposed to meet Jack over at the County Gazette to get the details on her assignment this morning.
Most people hated Mondays, but she looked forward to them. In fact, she was thankful she had this appointment. Doing nothing just didn’t suit her well. They hadn’t set a specific time to meet down at the paper, but she’d rather show up early and make a good impression, even if she was the one doing the favor.
Why she even cared what he’d think of her was a mystery. Just part of her DNA or something, because no matter how much she’d rather snuggle under the crisp sheets, she knew she would get up.
And she did.
She pondered how to make a decent outfit from the slim pickings packed for that wedding. The dress wasn’t all that fancy, but it was black, and even with a scarf instead of jewelry it was too dressy for around here.
She pulled on her jeans and made do with the camisole of her nightie and the shrug she’d planned to wear with her dress to the wedding. It made for an eclectic but nice dressed-down look. It would just have to do.
Out on the street, the morning was already warm and sticky. Summer was bearing down on them, and if the weatherman was right, it would be a hot one. It was only a short walk to the newspaper, but the humidity had her wishing she’d driven.
Her hands slipped against the metal doorknob to the County Gazette office. She struggled to get a grip, then slung the door open. The metal blinds slapped against the door behind her.
A short gray-haired man popped to attention behind the counter. His eyebrows danced over his eyes like cotton balls after a hard rain. “You must be Savannah. Connor said you’d be by this morning. I’m Jack.”
She stepped toward the counter and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“So glad you can help us out. There’s not much to it, really, but my sister and I have done it all forever and so there really isn’t anyone else to help out when something happens. I’m so thankful for your help.” He shuffled through papers and manila folders stacked at least seven inches high that teetered on the corner of the yellowed Formica counter. He plucked one out of the stack and passed it over. “Here are the last four issues of the police blotter. You can get an idea of the format from those.”
Inside the folder were clippings of the blotter she’d already taken a look at in the diner as well as three others that looked like just a copy-and-paste job. Straightforward. Just a table and some bullet points. Piece of cake.
“My sister is the one who usually does this part. If you have any questions, we can call her. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
Savannah shrugged. Jack had to be every bit of seventy, so she wondered just how old his sister was. She sure hoped she’d be retired by the time she was their age. “I think I can handle this just fine. It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Connor says you’re from up DC way.”
“I am.”
“Haven’t been there in years. Too much traffic for me. Loved the Smithsonian, though. That place was huge. You been there?”
“The Smithsonian? Yes. Several times.”
“How you like livin’ in the city?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” It was none of his business that there was a time in her life when she lived in a town about the size of this one. Some things were better left where they were . . . in the past. The distant past.
“Y’all probably don’t run a police blotter up there. Heck, it’d probably take all the pages in the paper to get all that crime in.”
“It’s not that bad, but now that you mention it . . . you might have a good point.”
“Here, we summarize the traffic stuff.”
No doubt, or it would take pages to cover that!
“And we use our judgment on the sensitive stuff like domestic abuse. If in doubt, come ask me and we can talk about it. My sister, Bee, has been doing this since she was a little girl helping Daddy out. She knows this town and the people like the back of her hand. She knows what’s best left out. Or you could probably talk to the sheriff.”
“Your dad used to own the paper?”
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“Yes, and his dad, and his dad’s dad. It’s been in our family since its inception. My sister and I are the end of the line.”
“That’s too bad. It’s quite a legacy to pass on.”
“You’re just being nice. We know that papers are struggling everywhere. It’s a dying concept unless you put it all online. We were only putting the paper out twice a month until recently. We’d just restructured for twice a week when all of this happened and Bee had to leave. Probably not a great idea, but we had to try something. Once we go, that will probably be it, but we love keeping our town informed. The online stuff is the big buzz now, but Bee and I are just way too old to learn those new tricks.”
“It’s not as hard as it looks. The online stuff, I mean.”
“I’ll just take your word for that. We’ve been thinking about selling here recently. Anyway, if you need any help, just ask me . . . or Scott.”
“I’m sure you can keep me on track.”
“I’ll do my best. Do you have a computer?”
“I do.”
“Good. You can just e-mail me your write-up, when you’re done, to this address.” He took a card from a small metal holder and handed it to her. “If you don’t have Word, then save it in RTF format.”
“Will you e-mail me the police notes so I can pull them together for the next issue?”
“They’re right here.” He pulled a stack of papers from a mail sorter next to the front desk. “You can just stop by as you get caught up and pick up more. Bee always just typed them up each day. She said it was easier that way, but anything we can keep up while she’s gone is appreciated.” He handed her the stack. “Here you go. This will get you started.”
Savannah stared at the handwritten pages from the log. Seriously? “Alrighty then. I’ll get right on it.” Lord have mercy, she’d be typing for an hour.
“I need the content by Wednesday at ten.”
“No problem.” This little favor was turning out to be less writing and more transcribing, but the sweet old guy needed her help. She knew she’d better turn around and skedaddle before he saw her snicker. It wouldn’t do to hurt the poor guy’s feelings. She waved the pages in the air and headed for the door. “You got it.”