Barbecue and Bad News

by Nancy Naigle

  “We don’t want them to know I’m Van.”

  “Well, technically, you’re not anymore.”

  “I really don’t want to have to explain it to anyone. I just have a bad feeling about it, Evelyn.”

  “What’s gotten into you? You’ve never been a worrier. Maybe that country air is not what you needed after all. You can come on back if you want. I didn’t mean to bamboozle you into something that was going to make you crazy. I just thought it would be fun for you.”

  “The country air is perfect. It’s fine. Fun. Everything you wanted it to be. But some of those letters. Evelyn, we’ve had this conversation before. Half of what those nuts put in those letters should be against the law. It’s just bad, and it’s mean-spirited. You know they’re just going for the shock value.”

  “You’ve had no problem doing it for the past two years.”

  “Well, I’m over it now, and I really don’t want anyone else to know that’s how I’ve been spending my time.” She swallowed back the urge to cry. She had been living life in a way that was just like those people she had left behind in Belles Corner. She’d been speculative and judgmental, and made light of things of major importance to others. “It’s not who I want to be.”

  “Settle down, Van.”

  “I am not going to ruin these people’s lives, and I’ve got to get rid of these letters before someone finds out.” Outside her door she heard Connor talking down in the stairwell, and then Mike’s voice, just outside her door.

  Her heart filled her throat. “Evelyn, I’ve got to go.” She hung up the phone without a good-bye and ran to the door.

  Mike was standing at the rail on the landing right outside her door. Had he heard her on the phone with Evelyn? She should have been more careful.

  She didn’t have much time.

  If she was going to get that article rewritten and in to Evelyn by four o’clock, she couldn’t worry about Mike or what he may or may not have heard.

  There was no time for distractions. She grabbed the laptop from the table in front of the window and took it to the desk in the office.

  She pulled up the original article and stripped it down to the details. Only now as she typed, instead of getting even with the Sheriff in her mind, all she could picture was Daphne Calvin with her head slightly cocked to one side, saying, “He’s just doing his job, dear.”

  She’d just been doing hers, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

  The minutes ticked away, and all she could wrap her head around was that at the time he pulled her over on I-95, it had felt like such a huge deal, a huge injustice. But when you put the incident into perspective, it just was not news. It wasn’t even funny.

  Sensationalizing the small things had become an art. That’s the article she should be writing. But that wouldn’t fill the bill for what Evelyn was expecting in this slot . . . today . . . in just fourteen minutes!

  Hammering away at the keys, she pulled a story together that would meet Evelyn’s expectations, but wouldn’t offend Sheriff Calvin or the town of Adams Grove if anyone did happen to pick it up, or make Daphne Calvin think any less of her.

  She turned it into a generic view, rather than an exposé on a particular town or person.

  She hit Send with three minutes to spare. It may well have been equivalent to a 5K run in the park for the way she was feeling right now. Like she’d sprinted across the finish line . . . with a fire-breathing dragon on her heels.

  Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but still.

  She let out a breath and wondered how she’d get a second wind before Scott picked her up for dinner at seven.

  A short nap, a bubble bath in the biggest, deepest claw-foot tub ever, and two hours later she was feeling on top of the world, even a little anxious about her date with the cute sheriff. Or was it a date? She wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

  She put on jeans and a white blouse. She turned up the sleeves and then wondered if white was just asking for trouble when eating barbecue. She slipped her favorite bangle bracelets on her wrist and then tugged them back off. It was a cookout. She didn’t need jewelry. Satisfied that she looked nice but not like she was trying too hard, she plugged the charger into her phone and then texted Evelyn.

  Savannah: Thanks for replacing the article. On my way out to dinner.

  Evelyn: With the sheriff?

  Savannah: How’d you know? You always know everything.

  Evelyn: Had a feeling. Have fun. You deserve it.

  Not that she needed Evelyn’s blessing, but knowing Evelyn seemed to approve made it seem that much more right.

  Savannah hadn’t felt this excited about anything in a long time. She was probably setting herself up for a big fat letdown, something she never allowed herself to do. She was starting to get used to not working at breakneck speed all day every day, even on the weekends. And she was starting to like it.

  She paced around the apartment wishing the time would pass a little faster. At about quarter till seven she found herself hanging by the front window, watching for that blue Thunderbird to roll up. She was still looking out the window when a knock came from her door.

  The floor creaked beneath her feet as she crossed the room.

  It was probably her nosy neighbor again. At least with Scott on his way she wouldn’t have to talk to Mike for long. She might even be able to pick his brain a little and figure out whether he’d heard any of her conversation with Evelyn earlier.

  She pulled the door open without checking the peephole first, but to her surprise it wasn’t Mike, it was Scott. The wine-colored shirt he wore enhanced the gold embers in his eyes. Was that an invitation in those smoldering eyes? Or was she just hoping it was? And just how had he gotten past her vigilant watch from the window?

  “You look surprised. Did you forget I was coming?”

  “No. Um. You’re a couple minutes early. I just assumed it was the guy next door.” She tripped over her own feet trying to step back. “Sorry. Come in.” She’d been anticipating his arrival and now she was acting like an idiot.

  “You already know your neighbor. That’s good.”

  “I do. Well, not like borrow-a-cup-of-sugar know him, but we’ve met and chatted a few times. Which is kind of funny, since I’ve lived in my place for over five years and I still don’t know any of my neighbors there. One week and I know more neighbors in this town than I do in my own.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he said.

  No sense telling him that not making friends had been by her own design.

  “You ready to go?”

  She flattened her palms against her pants. “I think so.” She took her phone off the charger and slipped it into the front pocket on her purse. “Let’s go.”

  Scott turned the lock before he pulled the door closed behind them. “After you.”

  She took the lead down the stairs, suddenly very aware of her backside as he followed behind all the way to the bottom. “Are you parked out front or back?”

  “Out front.”

  She pushed through the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, then turned and gave him a puzzled look. “Did you walk?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Right there.” He pointed to a blue Mustang with a black ragtop.

  No wonder she hadn’t spotted him. She’d expected him to be driving the Thunderbird, or his sheriff’s car.

  “Just how many cars do you have?”

  “A few. My dad and I worked on them as projects when I was a kid. I guess I never grew out of it.” He held the door open for her and she slid into the soft leather seat.

  “Are they all blue?”

  “This isn’t just blue. It’s Acapulco blue.”

  “What was I thinking?” Obviously he wasn’t a ROY G BIV kind of guy. “So are they all shades of blue?�
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  “It’s my favorite color.”

  Visualizing a line of cars a mile long, fender to bumper, in varying shades of blue, she reached for the shoulder belt, but there wasn’t anything there.

  Scott must’ve seen her searching as he slid behind the wheel, because he reached across her waist and lifted a shiny buckle with a pony on it. “Lap belts.”

  “Oh. Gotcha. Like on an airplane. This is a real classic.”

  “Love the old classic cars.” They pulled away from the curb and out onto Main Street. “The new ones are nice, but these old rides are fun to work on and they have style. She’s a ’67.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. How many cars do you have?”

  “More than I need.”

  So he wasn’t ready to share everything. Fine. She had always thought cops didn’t make much money. Maybe his expensive car hobby was subsidized by all those tickets he gave out. Like a sales bonus. But then that was just silly, and he hardly seemed the type to do anything crooked. “Fair enough. How far do you live from town?”

  “Not far. Less than a ten-minute drive.”

  “Not a bad commute. I usually walk to work because it takes longer to drive than to walk it.”

  He shook his head. “I’d hate to spend so much of my day just waiting in traffic.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “It would take a long time to walk anywhere around here.”

  “It’s nice to have everything in walking distance. I mean, I do have to jump on the train once in a while, but it’s convenient. A lot of people don’t even have their own cars.”

  “I guess that’s perfect for a girl like you.”

  “Yeah. A girl like me. Not sure what that means, but I’m going to pretend it’s a compliment. You might like the city if you gave it a try.”

  “No. All that sitting in traffic. Waiting in line. And the noise. How do you sleep? Besides, it would cut into my playtime. I work hard, but I play hard too.”

  “Really? And just how does a sheriff play?” She tapped the gleaming dashboard. “I mean aside from collecting cool old cars.”

  “She was a hot mess when I got her. Took me a few years to get her in this shape. You like the Mustang?”

  “Like it?” She pulled her lips together. “No.”

  He looked surprised.

  “Are you kidding? I love this car.” She ran her hand along the console, then twisted the old knobs on the AM radio. “It’s got character. You did a nice job restoring her.”

  “Thanks. What do you do for fun when you’re home in the big city?”

  She started to answer, then drew a blank. “Ya know, I work a lot. I don’t do a whole lot else anymore.”

  “Then why bother living in the city? Do you just like to be around that many people, or is it the noise? Wait. I bet it’s the shopping.”

  “No. Actually, I do most of my shopping online. It’s like coming home to a Christmas present when there’s a package at my door. I like that. I do go to the Nats games once in a while, but no one I know really goes to watch the game, and it’s no fun without someone who really loves baseball. The people I know are more interested in sitting in the box seats and gabbing . . . so I really don’t do that much either.”

  “Box seats?”

  “A fringe benefit from work.” She regretted saying it as soon as she did. She hoped he’d miss the comment and not start digging. “But the shopping online is way more fun anyway.”

  “Guess you can get just about anything you want online these days.”

  “I’m keeping the UPS guy in a job. Everything I’m wearing right now, right down to my Victoria’s Secrets and the charm on my necklace, came via mail.”

  “Then why does it matter where you live?”

  That made her stop and think. “Well, I never really thought about it like that.”

  He looked pleased with himself. “Sometimes you have to ask yourself the tough questions.”

  “Have you seen the architecture in DC? That’s pretty awesome to be surrounded by.”

  “We’ve got some nice architecture here. Not as much of it. Not as close together, but nice. The building you’re staying in was an old bank.”

  “I know. Connor took me on the tour. That vault is so cool. I’ll admit, my first impression of Adams Grove was a good one because I loved the buildings on Main Street. They really grabbed my attention. I loved the way the old is mixed with the new and colorful stuff.”

  “The people are as colorful as the shops.”

  Yeah, she knew all about small-town people. “All up in your business, you mean.”

  “They mean well.”

  She pushed her hands into her pockets. “Right,” she said with a snicker. He could preach that one all day; she knew better.

  “No, really. They just want to help.”

  She cut her eyes toward him.

  “Okay. I’ll admit. It’s annoying sometimes.”

  She challenged him with a look. “Sometimes?”

  “Fine. A lot of the time, but if you keep it in perspective, it’s a pretty damn good gift to know you have a whole community of people raising prayers in your favor. And if something happened, they’d all be right there to help pick you back up.”

  Or pull you down, she thought. When had she become so cynical?

  Scott turned into a neighborhood. The mature trees canopied the road. “We have the oldest recorded cypress in Virginia here. Bet you can’t say that about your town.”

  “Can’t say that I can.”

  “She’s got a name.”

  “Who?”

  “The tree,” Scott said.

  “The oldest tree in Virginia has a name? No way.”

  “Big Mama.”

  “Now I know that you’re just making that up,” Savannah said, shaking her head.

  “I am not. I’m willing to bet she’s proud of that name.”

  “Somehow I doubt any woman, even a tree, wants to be called big.”

  “She’s reported to be over fifteen hundred years old. She’s a hundred and twenty-three feet tall.”

  “Okay, that is big.”

  “Over twelve feet around. Google it. I’m telling you, it’s true.”

  She whipped out her phone and started thumbing in words. “Holy cow. Can you take me to see her?”

  “I can.”

  “Is that water behind those houses?” she asked.

  “The river.”

  “Do you have a boat?”

  “I do. A pontoon boat and a fishing boat. Do you like the water?”

  “Grew up on it.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the outdoorsy type. If you don’t mind the swamp, I can take you to meet Big Mama. She’s in a pretty remote area.”

  “There’s probably a lot about me that you wouldn’t guess. I’m not afraid of the swamp either.” It was easy to feel unafraid with him. It had been a long time since she’d done things like hiking and camping, all those outdoorsy things she used to enjoy with her dad. She’d never actually been in a swamp, but she’d done her share of fly fishing with her daddy. A trek through the swamp in hip waders with Scott Calvin actually had a certain appeal.

  “I’m intrigued.” He pulled into the driveway. “We’re here.”

  “Nice place.” The yard was beautifully manicured, and although the house wasn’t fancy, it looked very comfortable, and large for a single guy.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Not this.” This was the kind of house you raised a family in. She really wasn’t sure how to explain what she’d expected without sounding like a jerk, and for once, her filter seemed to work.

  He led her to the side door, unlocked it, and gestured her inside. “After you,” he said as he turned on the lights.


  “I like the open floor plan,” she said.

  He laid his keys on the bar.

  “I bet that fireplace is nice in the winter. We’re not allowed to have a fireplace in my condo. I miss that.”

  “I sure cuss it while I’m chopping wood in the heat of the summer to get ready for it, but you’re right, it sure is great on a cold winter’s night.”

  “Are you a romantic, Scott Calvin?”

  He stepped into the kitchen. “Maybe.”

  “Well, that fireplace is nice, but this kitchen is to die for. Two ovens. Man, you are serious about your cooking. Look at this spread. Is all of this food for just the two of us?” She hoped he wasn’t about to surprise her with company. If his mom showed up now, invited, that could bring his appeal score down a notch or two.

  “Yep.”

  “How much do you think I can eat?”

  “Trust me, when I barbecue, everyone overeats. And I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I may have gone a little overboard.”

  “This could be bad news for my waistline.” And where was that filter when she needed it? Why did she have to be a smarty-pants when he was trying to be nice? Wouldn’t a simple thank-you have been better? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It was really sweet of you to go to all of this trouble.”

  “If you enjoy it, it’ll be worth it.”

  “What can I help with?”

  He picked up a large pan covered in foil and handed it to her. Then he picked up another and led the way. “Follow me.”

  She followed him through the kitchen and then out the door that led to the patio.

  He’d grabbed an apron off a hook by the door as he pushed it open and held it for her. “You can just put that on the table there.”

  “Your outdoor kitchen is even bigger than my indoor kitchen.”

  “I just like having the right tools. Mechanic tools, cop tools, fishing tools, cooking tools. Everything in its place.”

  A man’s man. Nothing wrong with that. He made cooking look like man’s work. Not a bad idea in her book.

  He pulled a black apron over his head. On the front was a caricature that was clearly Scott with an oversized chef’s hat on, chasing a cow with a grill fork and his sheriff’s badge.