by Tegan Maher
I tilted my head at her. "And the warning to be careful?"
"I don't know. I just had the urge to warn you. Some things are better left alone."
Addy sucked in a deep breath and released it. "Well, we appreciate it then."
Mel slapped the edge of the truck bed, breaking the serious tone. "I better get movin'. If I'm not back before too long, he'll send out a search party. You know how men get when you've got their toys. Heaven forbid I should scratch it."
She pulled herself into the driver's seat of the jacked-up truck that seemed so out of character and took off, tooting the horn as she pulled away.
Addy chewed on her lip as she watched her go. "I don't trust her."
"Yeah," I said, thinking back to the day her husband was at the shop. Sometimes I have to clean up messes and do other things I don't want to do because people are foolish. "I need to call Hunter."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN HANK DIED, WE'd found a black book that he'd used to keep track of folks he was blackmailing. It had been extensive, including everybody from poor people to judges, and the deeds he was holding over their heads ranged from embarrassing to deplorable.
My mind drifted back to that now. There'd been a huge region-wide shakeup when Hunter had turned it over to higher authorities, and many high-profile people went down in flames. This felt slimy like that to me, though I was having a hard time squeezing Mel into the role of mustache-twirling villain.
If I'd learned anything, though, it was that some folks would do whatever they had to do to survive, even it meant gettin' down in the muck. And she'd implied as much herself.
Erol, who'd been too busy looking for Norman, hadn't been around when the woman came. He was irritated at himself for missing the conversation but felt better once he'd found his pet, safe and sound.
I'd just put on my gloves to finish staining the wood on the washboard when the bell above the door announced somebody's arrival. Peeling them back off again, I stepped into the main room, smiling.
"Hey, Noelle," Mari Jo said, looking around. "We stopped by earlier but missed you."
"Yeah, sorry about that. I had to help my cousin Raeann at Brew4U this mornin' because of the fishing tournament."
Clara wrinkled her nose. "We'd forgotten about that and planned to go to the beach today, until we got there and saw how packed it was."
"Even our beach was busy," Mari Jo said, picking up a little five-by-seven picture frame I'd made from reclaimed wood. "This is awesome, by the way."
"Thanks! I made them in a few different sizes. That's the smallest. I found the wood down on the beach—I think it must have been from a sunken boat transom."
A couple of the pieces still had a little paint on them when I found them; one even had the traces of a piece of the name painted in faded, scripty letters. I'd left it there, thinking they gave the frames character, then added a rope edge to them.
After they looked around for a few minutes, Mari Jo returned to the frames and picked up two of the five-by-sevens.
"I'll take these," she said, and we agreed on a price. I loved deals like that because I had zero investment in them other than a little bit of time. I could cut good deals and still come out ahead.
While I was wrapping them in newspaper, Clara pointed at the picture of the drowned girl I had taped to the counter, her brows drawn together. "I still can't help but feel like I knew her.”
Mari Jo took a closer look, then a look of dawning crossed her face. "You know who she looks like?"
"Who?" I said, dying to put a name to the face.
"If I did," Clara said, frowning, "I wouldn't be standin' here wondering."
"She looks like Lucy Lane," Mari Jo, exclaimed.
"Goodness! You're right! That's not her, but they could pass for sisters, no problem." Clara leaned a little closer. "And she’s got dark-brown eyes instead of that pretty honey color of Lucy's." She sighed. "I wish my eyes were that color."
I did my best to keep from rolling my eyes. It seemed we all wanted what we couldn't have. If our eyes are blue, we want them to be hazel. If our hair's curly, we want it to be straight—speaking as a person with hair so wildly kinky I couldn't even get a comb through it except right after a shower, and even then, only with a ton of conditioner.
"Who's Lucy Lane?" I asked.
Taking a picture of the flyer with her phone, Mari Jo replied, “She's a girl we went to school with. They live way out in the country, so they don't come to town much. Her parents are a little out there. Old-school and super religious. Sweep your own porch and you don't have time to worry about others, and all that. The mom used to come to school stuff, but Lucy wasn't even allowed to dress up for Halloween."
"Yeah," Clara agreed with a nod. "She's absolutely gorgeous, but I don't think I've ever seen her with a lick of makeup on. She's smart, too. We were all surprised when she turned down a free ride to UGA."
I furrowed my brow. That was just weird. "So where did she go, then?"
"Nowhere," Mari Jo said. "She skipped college altogether. Far as I know, she still lives at home with her folks." She shook her head. "I'da given my eye teeth for that chance."
"So would most of us," I said, thinking of the student loans I'd be paying on until I was dead.
Mary Jo slid her hand through the loops on the bag so it was dangling from her wrist, then turned toward the door.
"Thanks!" she said, and they waved as they left.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, I was on the phone with Hunter, telling him what I'd just found out.
He called a few minutes later just to tell me there was no phone number on record for them, but Peggy Sue'd dug up their address and he was headed out there.
I stepped over to Coralee's after the girls left to bring her up to date on the latest development.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROBERTA, THE HEAD OF the ladies auxiliary who had more money than God himself, was there getting her hair cut. She was part of the inner circle, so I was okay to speak freely in front of her, at least in this case. She had a tendency to take things to the mean side if it was light on facts, so you had to be careful what information she had.
"So who do you think she is, then?" Belle asked, in her element. She had just enough facts to really start speculating.
"No idea," I said. "The girls didn't say anything about any cousins or older sisters, so it's hard to tell."
Coralee paused from cutting Roberta's hair to wave her scissors at me. "You mark my words—this is gonna blow up in somebody's face. I ain't sure whose yet, but somebody's. Dirty politicians, religious zealots—"
I held up my hand. "Just wait a minute. We don't know either of those is involved. All we have are a few possibly unrelated facts. The only thing we know for sure is Mari Jo and Clara said she looks like this Lucy chick."
Alyse huffed out a breath in true Coralee fashion. She was learning fast. "Noelle, you know as well as I do, there ain't no such thing as coincidence, sugar." She held up a hand when I started to speak. "I'll give it to you that the whole judge thing is speculation, but the fact is, somebody warned Hunter and threatened you. Far as the girl goes, we don't have many doppelgangers walkin' around."
Belle gave an emphatic nod. "Damned skippy. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's at least related to a duck."
I shot her a disbelieving look. "C'mon, Belle. Be serious."
"I am being serious," she said, crossing her arms. "You know as well as I do—round here, blood tells. You don't see Flynns wanderin' around lookin' like Bakers, or vice versa. I ain't sayin' all families look alike, but I'm sayin' if they look close enough alike for somebody to mistake 'em for sisters, chances are, they aren't far off."
She wasn't wrong. But as much as I was discouraging the idea that the judge was somehow related, I wasn't drinkin' the Kool Aid myself. Alyse was right—I didn't believe in coincidences.
"So," I said, changing the subject. "How's it goin' with the mystery ghost? An
y progress?"
Belle shook her head. "None. I feel so bad for the poor soul, pardon the pun. She's such a sweet thing, and not a memory one."
Coralee'd put the last roller in Roberta's hair and moved her to the dryer chair.
"Y'all are gonna have to speak up so I don't miss anything," she said loudly as Coralee pulled it down over her head and turned it on.
"Don't let her fool you," Alyse said. "She's got ears like a bat."
Roberta glared at her and called over the noise if the dryer, "Don't call me an old bat!"
Alyse cringed. "Okay, maybe even bats can't hear under that."
"Anyway," Belle continued, "we still don't know where she came from. All she remembers is wakin' up and wanderin' into the theater."
"Theodore who?" Roberta hollered.
Belle scowled at her. "Not Theordore—theater. Pick your ears!"
With a huff, she floated closer to the dryer chair and motioned us over. "May as well move over here. I don't wanna keep repeatin' myself."
We followed, and she continued. "She doesn't even know how long she was there. The theater's looked the same since the seventies, so that's no help, and it shows old black-and-whites mostly, so we can't even see if she remembers what was playin'."
"What's she wearing?" I asked. "Maybe we could date her by her outfit." When Trouble had first shown herself, she was in a seventies-style bathing suit once, then dressed as a flower child the next.
"Just a house dress," Belle said.
I groaned. Housedresses hadn't changed since the forties.
"In other words, she may as well be nekkid for as much help as that is," Alyse said, voicing my thoughts.
Belle squeezed her eyes shut and held up a hand. "Please, girl! I do not need that image burned into my brain."
Laughing, I agreed. "I don't even know her, but let's leave the poor gal's clothes on. We've got bigger worries without shovin' aside that vision while we're trying to help her."
Coralee looked thoughtful. "Noelle's on to somethin' there. Have you tried askin' her about current events? Maybe she'll remember presidential elections, or TV shows, or somethin'."
Belle pressed her lips together and bounced her head in a nod. "That's a good idea. I'll be back in a bit." Then she popped out.
"Well," Corelee called to thin air, "glad we could help. Let us know how it works out."
"If I want any sass from you, I'll ask for it," Belle's voice echoed back.
Alyse snorted. "Says the queen of sass."
"I heard that."
The poor girl's cheeks pinked, but Coralee piped up, "She meant for you too, you old windbag!"
Frustrated, Roberta yelled, "Who got a new hand bag?"
Coralee rolled her eyes and handed her a ten-year-old Cosmo. "Read that, then you tell us."
She turned back to me. "Were y'all busy at Brew this mornin'?"
I huffed out a breath. "Slammed. And everything went smooth as silk 'til this old battle ax came in." I explained what had happened, and Alyse shook her head in disgust.
"Some people just don't have any raisin'. Who goes around doin' stuff like that? And she drank the coffee and ate the muffin."
"Blame the courts," Coralee said. "Frivolous lawsuits have ruined this country. Why, if those judges would just laugh at folks who try to sue because their coffee's too hot or because they trip over a package left on their doorstep, then maybe people'd stop thinkin' it was acceptable to act that way to a business."
"Yeah," Alyse said, bobbing her head. "And you know they'd piss and moan just as much if the coffee was cold or the package didn't show up at all. Ain't no winnin' with that sort."
"I won," I said. "You shoulda seen the look on her face when Emory told her to not to let the door hit her in the hiney. Priceless!"
“Emory's a good guy," Coralee said.
Hunter's text notification sounded, and I picked up my phone.
"Well," Coralee said, brows raised. "What's he say?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. Nobody's there. He left a note."
My phone chimed again, and I glanced down, a feeling of dread settling into the pit of my stomach when I read it.
H: Peggy Sue just called - there was a J. Schrader in Hank's little black book. Go to Bobbie Sue's, and I'll pick you up there. I mean it.
"Man," Coralee said, reading over my shoulder. "Hank Doolittle's worse than the herpes and cockroaches combined. The gift that just keeps givin'."
She had that right, for sure.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"I'M NOT SKIPPING GIRLS’ night!" I said, arms crossed later that afternoon.
"I haven't seen Camille in over a month, and Cheri Lynn's coming back from Hawaii just so she doesn't miss it."
He cocked a brow at me across my kitchen table. "And having a few beers with the girls is worth potentially dying for?"
I huffed out a breath and ran my fingers through my hair. "I doubt anybody's gonna attack me smack-dab in the middle of Fancy's. If the shotgun Marybeth keeps behind the bar's not scary enough, I'll also be with five other witches, two or three ghosts, and two more chicks whose superpowers are badassedness."
He sighed, knowing I was right but not willing to let it go.
"Look, I get it. You're worried about me, and if the shoe were on the other foot, which it sorta is if you think about it, I'd be the same way. But I'm not gonna quit livin' my life just because of some what-ifs. I'm not gonna be stupid, but if you think about it, I can't really get much safer than I'll be while I'm there."
"You're right," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me over onto his lap. "It's just that trouble seems to find you."
"No kidding," I snorted, throwing my arm around his neck to keep from sliding off. "Trust me—I've had enough close scrapes that I have zero interest in landing in another one. But if you could hand-pick my bodyguards, could you really choose any better than the ones I'll have tonight?"
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "No, now that you put it that way, I really couldn't."
I kissed him on the nose, then put my forehead against his. "I'll be careful. I promise."
"You better," he said, "or I'll kill you myself, once I rescue you, of course."
"Oh, of course, mighty warrior."
He tickled me, and I jumped up, laughing.
"Now, fix me my supper, woman."
"I got your supper," I said as he locked his fingers behind his head and grinned at me.
Right on cue, my truck rumbled up the driveway, followed by a motorcycle. Shelby jumped out, then pulled a couple of pizza boxes out before she pushed the door shut with her butt.
"There's your supper," I said as she bounded through the door and slid the boxes onto the table. Cody strolled in behind her, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the coatrack.
"Hey, y'all," Shelby said, plopping down at the table.
"Hey Noe, Hunter." Cody smiled as he sat down, too.
I pulled paper plates out of the cabinet, then poured us each a glass of tea. By the time I made it to the table, half of one of the pizzas had already been divvied up. Hunter'd pulled a couple slices of my favorite ham, mushroom, and pineapple onto a plate for me, and I sighed in pleasure as I sank my teeth into it. There was just nothing like a pizza from Duck's.
"What are y'all's big plans for the night?" I asked between bites.
"Emma and Becki and a couple of Cody's friends are meetin' us here for a couple games of cornhole, then we're goin' to the movies," she said. "Our goal is to avoid tourists altogether, if possible."
"Good plan," Hunter said. "I've been dealing with them all day today. I felt bad for Smitty—he pulled the short straw and had to patrol the lake today. I think he earned a paid weekend off after some of the stuff he dealt with."
Sensing a good story, I perked up. "Tell us! Was it anything good or just messed up?"
"Depends, I guess," he said. "If you're Smitty, it was just messed up. But since you’re not, he had to deal with one little old drunk lady
who was obviously a hippy sixty years ago. He busted her smoking a joint topless, right on her towel on the beach. Obviously, that one was called in."
Shelby snortled. "That's awesome! I would have paid to see that."
Smitty's an old-school country boy, raised by a good mama and daddy. It took absolutely nothing to make him blush, so I felt bad for him. Not bad enough not to laugh at the idea, but almost.
"What else?" Cody asked.
"He also had to write Mrs. Dobbson a ticket for letting a vicious dog off-leash."
I tilted my head. "Mrs. Dobbson has an eight-pound chihuahua."
"That attacked Mr. Crosby's eighty-pound rottie and made his lip bleed," he said.
"Aww, poor Elvis!" Shelby said. "He's such a big baby."
"Apparently. But Mrs. Dobbson also thinks the same about her dog."
Cody shook his head. "Nope. That little dog is evil. You can't even pet it. We have to muzzle her just to trim her nails. I cringe every time I see her name on the calendar, 'cause Will always makes me do it." Cody worked with his Uncle Will at his vet hospital.
That reminded me. "We're a little worried about Norman. He's been acting a little weird lately, disappearing for long periods of time, and Erol's afraid he's sick."
"Bring him by the clinic tomorrow and we'll take a look at him," Cody said, polishing off a piece of pizza. "I wouldn't worry too much though. That's one tough little rat."
"I know, but Erol worries. Speaking of, did you turn the TV on for him when you picked up my truck?"
"Of course," she said. "I guess there's a Chopped Champions thing going on right now, and he was all in a tizzy about not missing it."
"And was Norman there?"
She shook her head. "I didn't see him, but I put some food in his bowl and filled up his water bottle."
"Thanks." I finished off my pizza and chased it down with a swig of tea, then got up and refilled my glass, topping off everybody else's, too.
I polished off another slice, then we chatted for a few minutes before everybody went their own ways.
Hunter still looked worried.