Rest in Peach

by Susan Furlong

  “The large beige one with gold accents,” she inserted, her voice tinged with despair.

  Nate sighed. “Quite honestly, there’s so many other things I’m trying to sort through right now, but I’ll keep my eye out for it. If I find it, I’ll call you.” It was a brush-off, and Debra knew it.

  Desperately, she reached out and clutched his arm. “I can’t imagine it would take all that much time to just look through the house for it. It’s awfully important to me, Nate.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t look now. I’m on my way to the bank for a meeting.” He gently shook off her hand. “But like I said, I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

  I watched as Debra clenched and unclenched her fists, wrestling with the idea of ceding control over the situation. Finally, she gave up and walked away, shoulders slumped in defeat.

  As I waited for Nate to move on and the coast to clear, I thought back to what I’d heard Maggie say the night before when she was leaving Nate’s house. Something about checking back later to see if he’d found it. Whatever “it” was. Were both Maggie and Debra looking for the same thing, I wondered.

  “Strange finding you here, Nola Mae,” came a voice from behind. I turned my head and found Frances Simms hovering behind me. Her dark little eyes gleamed with smugness as she observed me stooped over in the middle of the lilac bushes. She leaned in and parted a couple branches, peering at Nate Crenshaw as he walked back across the lawn. “Eavesdropping, were you?”

  “Uh, no. I was just . . . uh . . .” Frances practically smacked her lips as she watched me struggle to explain. Finally, I gave up and moved past her, mumbling something about needing to get to work.

  She pursued me across the courthouse yard, nipping at my heels and spewing questions like a yappy little dog. “Was that Debra Bearden I saw walking away just a minute ago? Is that who Nate was talking to? And why were you spying on them?”

  Picking up my pace, I kept my gaze forward and headed straight for the closest bit of safety: my shop. Luckily, halfway across the lawn, a man called out to Frances, waving her down, and she reluctantly gave up on me—for the moment, anyway. Relieved, I wanted to head back up Orchard Lane to Cade’s house, but that would take me right past her again. I massaged my temples, trying to rub down the headache creeping up behind my eyes. I headed into the diner for another cup of coffee to give me some time to shake Frances.

  Most of the morning crowd had already moved on with their days, leaving only a few stragglers who still occupied the stools along the front counter. I spied Ginny weaving between tables with a large gray tub, piling in dirty dishes to take back to the kitchen. “Hey there, Nola Mae,” she said, spritzing a tabletop with green sanitizer and giving it a quick wipe before hoisting the tub to her hip and motioning for me follow her. On the way, she nodded to one of the coffeemakers behind the bar. “Grab that coffeepot, would ya? I could use another hit of caffeine.”

  Obliging, I followed her through the swinging door to the kitchen where she set the tub on the counter by the sink. Sam was there, rinsing dishes and placing them in a large divided tray that he would eventually slide into an industrial-sized sanitizing machine. Seeing me, he nodded and offered a quick smile before turning back to his work.

  “Come over this way,” Ginny said, moving toward the grill area where she could peek through the pass-through window and keep an eye on her customers while we visited. “Looks like there’s somethin’ on your mind. What gives, Nola Mae?” She filled a couple mugs with coffee, sliding one my way and snatching a sugar pack from her apron pocket. She tapped it a few times against her palm before tearing it open and pouring the contents into her coffee. “And it better be good news. ’Cuz I’ve had enough of the other to last a lifetime.”

  I went on to tell her about running into Maggie Jones at Nate’s house the night before. Then, about the conversation I’d just overheard between Nate and Debra Bearden. I explained how I thought the two might be connected. “Both women seemed adamant about getting something from him that Vivien had. Especially Debra. She was pleading for Nate to look around for some bag of Vivien’s. She said Vivien kept it—whatever “it” is—tucked in her purse.”

  “Can I get a refill out here?” a man yelled from the dining area.

  Ginny lifted her head and peeked through the window. “Be out in just a second,” she hollered, before turning her focus back to me and asking, “Something in her purse, huh? Do you think Vivien was holding something for them or owed them something?”

  “Actually, I think it’s much more deviant than that.” Since overhearing the conversation, I’d begun putting two and two together and come up with a pretty good reason why Debra might have been so desperate. “Think about it. Even though her husband has a well-paying job, Debra took a job in a place she didn’t really want to work. Then, just days after Vivien was murdered, she quit. Now we know she’s desperate for whatever was inside that purse.”

  “Blackmail!” Ginny concluded. “Vivien was blackmailing her, and Debra needed the extra money to pay her off. And the blackmail evidence was in her purse!”

  “Exactly.” I took a long, satisfying drag of coffee and smiled.

  Ginny whipped the list out of her apron and plucked the pen from behind her ear. She started furiously scribbling notes along the side of her chart, then paused and looked up, pen still hovering over the paper. “Wait a minute. You said Maggie was at the Crenshaws’ last night and she was also looking for something.”

  I nodded.

  “You think she was being blackmailed, too? Honestly, what would anyone have on her? She’s a preacher’s wife, for heaven’s sake.”

  I didn’t have an answer yet, but a mental image of a barely kilted Scotsman popped to mind along with a racy book cover. Whatever it was Maggie was hiding, Vivien had figured it out and was using it for extortion.

  “For cryin’ out loud, Ginny! Where’s my coffee?” the customer complained again. “Do I have to get it myself?”

  Ginny tossed the pen aside and slapped her hands up on the counter. Sticking her head through the window, she yelled, “Would you hold your horses, Randy! I said I’d get you some coffee and I will. Just give me a minute.” Turning back to me, she lowered her voice. “Now that I’m thinking about it all, it does sort of make sense that Vivien might resort to extortion. Everyone’s been saying her husband’s business is in trouble. He owns a few of those quick oil change places, you know? I think he’s taken a hit with the economy being the way it is right now.”

  My mind flashed back to something I’d just heard Nate say about a bank meeting. I made a mental note to get ahold of Hollis. As bank president of Cays Mills’s only local bank, he’d more than likely know more about Nate Crenshaw’s business than anyone else.

  Ginny was still going on, pointing excitedly at her suspect list as she spoke. “If we’re right about this, then it’s just a matter of figuring out what Vivien had on these ladies.”

  “And which one had the most to lose,” I added, tipping back the rest of my coffee and setting the empty mug on the counter. “For now, though, you’d better get back to work. I think I’ll head down the street and see if the sheriff’s in her office. We’d better tell her about this latest twist in events. If we’re right, she needs to know.”

  “If we’re right?” Ginny said with a set jaw. “Of course we’re right. We’re close to solving this thing, Nola. I can just feel it.” She refolded the paper and crammed it back into her apron. “And don’t worry, I’ll call Ray this afternoon and fill him in on everything.” She snatched up the coffeepot and started back out to the dining area with a little extra bounce in her step, bumping open the door with a swing of her hips.

  • • •

  Neither Maudy nor Travis was at the sheriff’s office. Deciding to try to reach them later, I headed back to Peachy Keen to get some work done. Only this time, I found the door unlocked and Cade inside on t
he ladder, working on putting up the pressed metal ceiling.

  “You’re here,” I said, noticing how his T-shirt stretched tautly over his torso as he reached overhead to place the ceiling panels. Unable to help myself, my eyes lingered a bit, working their way up his muscular arms to the profile of his angular face, which was covered with two-day stubble. His hair was mussed, giving him that just-woke-up look. For some reason, this scruffy look of his was incredibly attractive to me. I imagined how rough his whiskers would feel against my lips.

  Flustered by my thoughts, I averted my gaze and cleared my throat. “I didn’t think you’d be back today,” I added.

  He squinted down at me. “Don’t you want me here?”

  “Of course I do! It’s just that it looks like you worked all night. And you got so much done. It’s wonderful, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He motioned toward a stack of ceiling panels, asking me to hand one to him. “Everything should be wrapped up by the first of next week. That’ll give you plenty of time to stock the shelves and put on the finishing touches.”

  “That’s amazing,” I replied, stretching to hand him a panel of tiles. Only, it didn’t feel all that amazing. Sure, it was good that things were progressing so quickly; just a few days ago, I was stressed we wouldn’t finish in time. But the way things were going, I knew I wouldn’t see Cade much after the job was finished.

  We continued to work in silence, the clicking rhythm of the automatic nail gun piercing the unnerving stillness in regular intervals. Finally, I couldn’t take it another minute. I put my hands on my hips, set my jaw and waited.

  Finally, he glanced down the ladder. “The next tile panel?” he asked, hand outstretched.

  I shook my head. “Cade, I think it’s time we talked this through.”

  “Talked what through?”

  “I don’t know what. That’s the problem.” My voice sounded shrill, even though I was trying to stay calm. “Ever since you came back from Macon, you’ve been acting differently.”

  His expression tightened, and I noticed a little tick along the line of his jaw. He hesitated a second, then suddenly he was down the ladder and towering in front me. “Why do you care?”

  I swallowed hard. Not because I was scared. Although maybe I should have been; anger was evident in his eyes, which were flashing dangerously as he gazed down at me. No, it wasn’t fear I was swallowing back but the rush of desire I felt from his closeness. “I . . . I do care.”

  “Doesn’t seem like it. Right after you came back last summer, I thought maybe something might work out with us. We had a couple fun dates, or at least I thought they were fun, then all of a sudden you were busy. Every time I asked you out, there was some new excuse.”

  He was right. Sort of. I’m sure it did seem that way from his point of view. Really, it was just a matter of poor timing and even poorer communication. Still, I was busy at the time. Busy trying to figure out my own life. I’d just made a career change, moved back home after years of independence, took on the task of trying to save my family’s business and became entangled in a murder case. That was a whole lot of busy. Still, instead of being honest about my feelings, or asking him to wait, I’d simply put him off.

  “I couldn’t figure out what your problem was,” he was saying, his tone eerily controlled. “Then, I was at this bar one night, up in Macon, and I ran into a friend of yours.”

  “A friend?”

  He tipped his head lower, his eyes searching mine. “That detective guy, Dane Hawkins.”

  My heart stopped.

  “We had a few beers. Yakked it up a bit. He’s a nice guy actually.”

  I nodded, swallowing down a lump in my throat.

  “We got to talking about growing up in this area, things we did as kids, people we knew and . . . and then he said something that really surprised me.”

  “I should have told you. I’m sorry. It’s just that we were so young at the time. I just wanted to forget about him and the whole—”

  “But you couldn’t, could you?” he said, his tone changing from anger to resignation. “It all makes sense to me now. The strange way you started acting when he came into town last summer. The way you always seem flustered when he’s around. He’s the reason you’ve been on the run all these years, isn’t he?”

  I nodded. Yes, he was the reason. I hated the hurt it caused Cade, but at least we were getting it all out in the open now. This was the chance I needed to tell him about my youthful indiscretion, a lost pregnancy, the guilt and shame. . . . I started to feel a huge sense of relief. It was going to be good to come clean and move past all this, finally.

  “Does he know?”

  “No. I’ve never told him. Never will.”

  He shook his head and let out a long sigh. “It’s obvious you’ve been in love with him all these years.”

  My eyes grew wide. “In love with him? No, that’s not true.” Where did he get that idea? Nothing could be further from the truth.

  He turned his shoulder away, holding up one hand. “Come on, Nola. I’m tired of the lies. I saw you two yesterday.” He pointed to the front of the store, where he’d seen Hawk removing my splinter. “Right out there.”

  “That wasn’t what it looked like,” I started, but Cade shrugged away my explanation and was walking toward the door, his body moving stiffly and his gaze fixed straight ahead. That’s when I realized this could be my last chance.

  “No!” I reached out and grabbed his arm, turning him to face me. He stared at me, shocked by my outburst, but no more shocked than I was at finally facing him, or was it at openly facing my own past? I swallowed, tried to speak, my mouth suddenly dry . . .

  He shook his head, started to turn back, but I held his arm fast and found myself now pleading: “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

  He scowled. “Listen? To what? You don’t talk to anyone, Nola! You think we can read your mind or what? You are standoffish and don’t like anything about our community, turning us down or tuning us out time and again, and you expect what in return?”

  “It’s just . . . nothing ended up the way I meant it to.”

  He sighed, as if resigned or maybe defeated, and pulled his arm from me. “Yeah, you fell in love with Dane, and he didn’t fall in love with you. Well, welcome to the club.”

  “No!” How could Cade be so wrong? Then a shiver shook me as his words penetrated. He was dead right. How could Cade—or anyone—know what I felt? I never talked, not really talked, to anyone. I kept my feelings locked inside a shell of guilt, tangled in years of self-condemnation for a sin I never intended, mixed with resentment that everyone would denounce me or maybe that no one cared enough to ask what was wrong. But would I have told them if they had asked? Could I tell Cade even now, on the brink of losing him forever? Losing him . . . I couldn’t lose him. . . .

  “I lost the baby.” The words slipped out, like a frosty breath, prickling my skin. Instantly tears flooded my eyes. I squeezed them shut, stepping back, ashamed and shaking, hands clasped over my mouth to hold in the sob swelling in my chest.

  I sensed Cade step closer, felt his hands take my shoulders, and at his touch the sobbing began as wave after wave of words tumbled out of my mouth in no coherent order: my indiscretion with Dane; an unplanned pregnancy; the overwhelming shame and how I prayed and prayed for the baby to just go away, and then when it did . . . the shock and guilt. Guilt that set me on a course of compensation and atonement for the next fifteen years. Guilt that still lingered and pricked at my soul every time I caught a whiff of my nephew’s fresh baby scent, or heard the delight in my twin nieces’ surreptitious giggles. I told him everything but never looked him in the eye, never raised my head. Finally, spent of emotions and my tear ducts empty, I looked up at him.

  I saw a glisten in the corners of his eyes as he said, “I’d have been there for you,” and I knew he wa
s right. All I could do was nod. Then he pulled me close, and finally, a sense of peace that had eluded me all these years washed over me, but all I could say was, “Thank you.”

  Chapter 10

  Debutante Rule #023: To be a successful debutante you have to always look like a lady, even if it means you have to work like a dog to do so.

  “I just can’t believe the nerve of that Stephanie Wheeler,” Mama said in lieu of a greeting as I walked into the kitchen Saturday morning. She was facing the stove, flipping bacon in her cast-iron skillet.

  “The congressman’s wife? What’d she do?” I let out a sigh and made a beeline for the coffeepot. I’d hardly slept the night before. One minute I was having the most pleasant dreams about Cade’s strong arms wrapped around me, and the next I was lying awake, tossing around blackmailing schemes in my mind. It’s like I was trying to sleep on an emotional roller coaster, with breathtaking highs and stomach-wrenching lows.

  “What didn’t she do, you mean?” Mama hissed, giving the bacon strips a hard turn. Obviously Mama had been awake for a while. She was already charged up and ready to take on the world. Not me. My caffeine-depleted brain could hardly make sense of what she was saying, let alone figure out why she was so upset with the congressman’s wife. So, I got busy filling my coffee mug as she continued, “We had a cotillion committee meeting yesterday afternoon at the diner. You know, just to make sure all the kinks were ironed out, since the ball is just a week away now.” She turned and shook the spatula my way, little spittles of grease hitting the floor. Roscoe scrambled to lap them up.

  “No, Roscoe!” I corrected him.

  “Don’t you dare yell at that sweet thing,” Mama admonished before turning a sugary smile toward Roscoe. “You love my cookin’, don’t ya, boy?”

  Oh brother. I opened my mouth to remind her of what happened the last time someone spoiled Roscoe with people food, but I decided against it. There was no reasoning with Mama once she set her mind on something, and she’d gone gaga over the long-eared ball of brown and white fur. Something I could completely understand, I thought, sipping my coffee and staring down at Roscoe with my own fond smile.