by Sue Pethick
Two more pennies went into the pot as Ted equaled Wendell’s bet.
“Call.”
Wendell glanced at his cards again. Three fours wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful, either, and losing a hand or two might even be a good thing if it put the others in a sympathetic mood. If he was going to find out who Diehl was, he’d need to have them on his side. He picked up another penny and tossed it in.
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
The cards went down, and Wendell’s measly three of a kind prevailed. He pulled in his winnings, feeling out of sorts as Ted dealt another hand.
Maggie bustled over with a coffeepot and topped off Wendell’s cup.
“Can I get you something else, hon?”
“Nope,” he said, tossing in his opening ante.
She looked around. “How about the rest of you boys?”
“No thanks.”
“I’m good.”
“No thank you, ma’am.”
As she walked away, Wendell considered his next move. The first time he’d mentioned his find-Renee-a-husband scheme, the boys had taken to it with enthusiasm, eager to make inquiries among their friends and relatives as to who might be in the marriage market. Since Renee’s unfortunate date with Butch, however, their noses had been a little out of joint. Querying them about Travis Diehl might not be the same as soliciting the names of potential suitors, but it might be seen as covering familiar ground. Nevertheless, he was determined to find out who had set his little girl’s heart aflutter, and he wasn’t about to let a little resistance discourage him. He just needed an offhand way to introduce the subject.
The back room was quiet as the game progressed, the clink of pennies and murmured bids the only interruptions to Wendell’s train of thought. On the weekends, Clint’s did most of its business at mealtimes: before nine, when people stopped by for coffee and sweet rolls; around noon for a pre-made sandwich, a cup of soup, or a bowl of chili; and suppertime, for one of Maggie’s hot entrées or to pick up fixin’s for a meal at home. The rest of the time, the place was pretty much dead.
“Clemson’s looking good this year,” Bill said, raising the stakes by two cents.
“Yes, they do,” Jim agreed, matching his bet. “Be something if they went to the Orange Bowl again, wouldn’t it?”
“It would, indeed.”
There was a collective sigh from the others as the memory of the Tigers’ 2015 romp over Oklahoma was savored anew. As the only non-Clemson alumnus at the table, Wendell felt a prick of irritation that he was unable to bask in the team’s reflected glory, which only increased his determination to bring the conversation around to something more personally useful.
“Any of you know a fella named Travis Diehl?” he said.
Jim rolled his eyes.
“Uh-oh. Here we go again.”
Wendell drew back, offended that his intentions had been so quickly discovered.
“Can’t a man ask a simple question around here without getting the third degree?”
“Any man but you.”
The three of them chuckled.
“Well,” he said, taking another tack. “What’s wrong with asking a few questions about a man who’s been spending time with my daughter?”
“When are you going to let Renee run her own life?” Bill said. “She’s a grown woman. She doesn’t need you sticking your nose in.”
Wendell’s face folded itself into a stubborn mask.
“She’s not thinking straight,” he said. “This Diehl character’s got her head turned, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
The other men exchanged a look and shook their heads.
“It’s your turn, Wendell. You in or out?”
He grabbed two pennies without checking his cards and tossed them into the pot. Why had he even bothered to come down there? He’d have had more luck and less aggravation talking to a wall.
“Come on,” Ted told him. “Do us all a favor and give it a rest. Better yet, leave Renee alone and find someone for yourself.”
Wendell’s scowl deepened.
“I’ve already outlived one wife, and I don’t need another. I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re fine,” Bill drawled as the others nodded sagely.
“And even if I was looking,” Wendell said, “where am I going to find a woman that’d have me? My retirement checks only stretch so far, and I’m about as good-looking as a horse’s backside.”
“He’s got a point there,” Jim said with mock seriousness.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t find a lady friend,” Ted insisted.
“Oh, yeah, like who? Come on boys, let’s hear some names.”
Furtive glances ricocheted around the table.
“What about Maggie?” Bill said, sotto voce.
Wendell was nonplussed.
“Maggie who?”
“The gal who just poured your coffee, dummy. Haven’t you seen the way she looks at you?”
“And she doesn’t need your money, either,” Jim added. “She owns this place.”
Wendell glanced back at the counter and shook his head.
“She’s too old.”
“Not that old, and you’re no spring chicken yourself.”
Ted chuckled. “Wendell probably didn’t even know she was a woman.”
Maggie lifted her head and glared at them from across the room.
“I heard that, Ted Coburn!”
“All I’m saying,” Bill continued, “is that you’d be doing the both of you a favor if you’d stop trying to help and let Renee find someone on her own.”
Wendell hunkered down and studied his cards. These old farts were no help at all. They didn’t see how times had changed. Men didn’t go courting these days; they expected a woman to pay for half of everything and still put out on the first date. The thought of his baby girl being taken advantage of by a scoundrel like that made his blood boil. That’s why she needed him to weed out the bad actors. Travis Diehl might be a good guy, but until Wendell had verified that fact, the man remained on probation.
When the hand was over, everyone laid down his cards. Wendell had won again. He’d been sitting there for twenty minutes and had nothing to show for it but a handful of pennies. It was time, he decided, to strike out in a different direction. He scraped his winnings off the table and bid the boys adieu.
* * *
A string of jingle bells tinkled merrily as Wendell pushed his way through the front door at Joe’s. Joe’s Barbershop was a serious place where men went for their grooming needs, not a girly, gossipy, home-away-from-home like Winona’s. The walls were clad in wood paneling, and three red leather barber chairs stood like sentries along the left-hand side of the narrow room. Four mismatched chairs huddled in a corner on the right and well-thumbed copies of Carolina Sportsman, Sports Illustrated, and that day’s Charlotte Observer were stacked in a haphazard pile atop a wooden crate with Pepsi Cola stenciled in blue and red on its side. After a quick look around, Wendell took a seat, relieved that none of the boys from Clint’s was there. He needed an informed source with an open mind, not some damn naysayers.
When it was Wendell’s turn, Joe tucked a strip of tissue paper around his neck and put a drape around his shoulders.
“What’ll it be today, Mr. Evans?”
“How about thick on top and long on the sides?”
Joe chuckled.
“Same as always,” he said, running a comb through Wendell’s wet and dwindling mane. “How’s the family?”
“Good,” Wendell said. “It looks like Clemson’s going to offer Dylan a full-ride for next year.”
The barber nodded his approval.
“Can’t do better than that.”
“The younger ones are doing well, too. McKenna’s the spitting image of her mother at that age.”
“Mmm-hmm. Probably best not to tell her that.”
Wendell laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”
As s
nippets of hair began to fly from Joe’s scissors, Wendell realized that he didn’t have the luxury of time. If he was going to ask about Travis Diehl, he’d have to do it soon.
“I was hoping you might be able to help me with something,” he said.
Joe smiled. “I will if I can. What is it?”
He heard a crash, and the clang of jingle bells made both men flinch. Wendell looked over and saw Maggie McRay trying to push the barbershop door open with a box of supplies in her arms.
As Joe put his shears down and ran over to help, Wendell scowled. He’d spent the entire drive over there trying to figure out how to broach the subject of Travis Diehl without having Joe accuse him of meddling, and now Maggie had spoiled the whole thing.
“Miz McRay!” Joe said, taking the box from her arms and setting it on the counter. “What are you doing carrying that heavy load?”
Maggie shook out her arms and wiped a sleeve across her forehead. In an oversized corduroy jacket, with her grey hair tucked up under a bucket hat, she looked as drab and shapeless as a burlap sack.
“Thank you, Joe,” she said. “My delivery boy is out sick today.”
She looked around and smiled warmly at Wendell.
“Oh, hello again.”
“Hello,” he said stiffly.
Wendell folded his arms under the drape and turned away. He refused to be civil to this interloper. The sooner she left, the sooner he could get back to work.
Maggie stood there awkwardly, glancing from Wendell to Joe and back.
“Uh, can I pay you for those supplies now?” Joe said. “I know we ordered some extra this time.”
“Oh, no need,” she said. “We can settle up at the end of the month like always.”
She gave Wendell another glance.
“Well, I guess I’d better let you gentlemen get back to work.”
“Thanks for bringing those things by,” Joe said as he walked her to the door. “We’ll see y’all later.”
Joe was strangely quiet as he returned to the chair, deftly turning away Wendell’s attempts to restart their conversation. As a result, the haircut was almost finished before Wendell was able to bring things back around to where he’d left off. With only a few stray hairs to go, he decided to skip the nuance and blurt out the question he’d come there to have answered.
“Ever heard of a fella named Travis Diehl?”
The name, at least, had finally caught Joe’s attention.
“Diehl. He the one who owns Precision Industrial?”
“I don’t know,” Wendell said. “Could be.”
Joe turned toward his partner, Mack, who was busy sweeping up around the next chair.
“Didn’t the Diehls have two sons?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“The younger one is Hugh,” Mack said. “I used to see him around town with his daddy. Was the other one called Travis? Might have been. He moved away a long time ago.”
“Seems to me he came back, though, didn’t he?”
Mack’s brow creased. “I believe I heard both boys were at their mother’s funeral. I don’t know if he’s moved back here permanent.”
Wendell looked at him.
“And you don’t know for sure if the older one was called Travis?”
“’Fraid not,” Mack said.
“Are there any other Diehls here in town?”
The man shrugged and shook his head.
“You know who could tell you? That gal who just left here. She knows pretty near everybody in town.”
Wendell glanced toward the front door.
“Mack’s right,” Joe said.
He removed the drape from Wendell’s shoulders and brushed away a few errant hairs.
“If anyone could have given you the lowdown on Travis Diehl, it’s Maggie McRay.”
He handed Wendell a mirror and gave him a stern look.
“Too bad you just chased her off.”
CHAPTER 19
Savannah hung up the phone and threw herself down on the bed, pummeling the mattress until her arms ached. She’d tried, she’d really tried to give Renee a chance, to let her bow out gracefully without having to resort to any ugliness, but the woman refused to listen. When Sissy warned her not to mess with Travis, Renee had not only refused to be told “who she could and couldn’t see,” she’d announced that she was going out with him that night! Clearly, subtlety was not going to work.
She snatched up the phone and dialed Marissa’s number. Sissy had told her that Renee and Travis would be attending a formal dinner that night—the kind the mayor and his wife would surely be going to, as well. Savannah pursed her lips. Why hadn’t Marissa mentioned that to her on Monday? Surely, she could have taken her along as a guest. The phone rang five times before Marissa answered.
“Hey. Have you got a minute?”
“Well, I do, dear, but only just. Trey and I are going out, and I still haven’t taken a shower. What’s this about?”
“Are the two of you going to an awards banquet, by any chance?”
There was a lengthy pause.
“Why do you ask?”
“Will Travis be attending?”
“I certainly hope so,” Marissa tittered. “He’s receiving one of the awards.”
Savannah closed her eyes and pictured her hands around Marissa’s neck. Was the woman actually that clueless? Had it really not occurred to her that taking Savannah along to confront Travis in person might just have resolved the problem she claimed to be so concerned about?
“I take it your ‘inside connection’ let you down.”
Savannah nodded, feeling tears starting to well again. Everyone had let her down: Renee, Winona, Sissy—even Marissa. If she lost Travis, too, there’d be no one left.
“She told me she delivered the message but that Renee didn’t care.”
“Did she also mention that Renee and Travis were seen shopping at the mall together yesterday?”
She gasped. “Why, that little bee!”
“I didn’t see them myself,” Marissa said, “but apparently things were very cozy.”
Savannah patted her chest, feeling dizzy and breathless. How could she? How could they?
“I hadn’t heard about that. She just said that they were attending some sort of soirée tonight, which is why I called. I thought you and Trey might be going.”
Without me.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Marissa said. “I wonder if I might be able to help Renee see how ill-suited the two of them are. I mean, the owner of Precision Industries and a hairdresser? Please.”
Savannah nodded, somewhat mollified. She knew Renee was still feeling her way around the social circles in Bolingbroke. Perhaps a little instruction from the mayor’s wife would show her where in the hierarchy she belonged.
“By the way,” Marissa said, “did you ever find out if Renee had a son at Cody’s school?”
Savannah frowned. What did this have to do with anything?
“I did,” she said. “You’re right, he’s very strange. But—”
“Hold on a minute and listen to me. Travis’s award is in recognition of his foundation’s donation to the elementary school—money earmarked for children like his brother, Hugh . . . and Renee’s boy. Trey thinks it’s just awful, of course, but the Jaycees saw it differently.”
“Oh.”
“It’s ironic, don’t you think? I wonder if Renee knows.”
“That Travis gave the money for the program?” Savannah said. “I doubt it. I spoke to Hank’s secretary yesterday, and she told me that at this point, the whole thing is very hush-hush.”
“So, you don’t know for sure if her son is in the program?”
“Well, of course I do, dear. The list was sitting right there on her desk. All I had to do was ask for a glass of water and take a picture when she walked out.”
Marissa laughed. “Why you imp! What are you planning to do?”
“Never yo
u mind,” Savannah said sweetly. “You just make sure that Renee knows she’s not wanted at that party, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’d be my pleasure. The sooner she and that strange little boy of hers leave town, the happier we’ll all be.”
Savannah ended the call, feeling at least somewhat better than she had when she rang Marissa. She would have preferred, of course, to get an invitation to the ceremony. If she’d been able to go, she could have confronted Renee directly and put a stop to her meddling. Instead, she was being forced, once again, to work through intermediaries. This time, however, she wasn’t going to just sit back and hope they did their jobs. If there was ever a time for her to take action, it was now.
She walked over to her desk and picked up the list she’d printed from the picture she took at school. It was still hard to believe how gullible Debbie had been. After going on about how important it was to keep the names of the kids and their families a secret, she’d left the list sitting right there on her desk while she toddled off to the water cooler. It was almost as if she’d been daring Savannah to take a look. Thank God for smartphones, she thought. If she’d had to write down all those names and phone numbers, she’d have been caught for sure.
She read down the list until she found a name she didn’t recognize. Renee had told her once how few of the parents she’d spoken to at Kieran’s school, but it would have been awkward if Savannah called someone that she knew. Chances were, they wouldn’t recognize her voice on the phone even if she had, but it was safer just to put the odds in her favor.
Savannah dialed the number and got into character as she waited for someone to pick up. For her plan to work, she’d need to make sure her voice held the right note of concern. After all, she thought, she was doing this for the kids.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Patel. My name is Renee Richardson. We haven’t met, but our sons go to school together, and I have some concerns I was hoping to share with you. Have you got a minute?”
CHAPTER 20
Travis Diehl wasn’t the kind of guy who got nervous speaking to crowds. As captain of his high school debate team, and later, as community liaison for a major oil company, he’d spoken in front of audiences both hostile and partisan without breaking a sweat. Nevertheless, as he watched the crowd file into the hall that night, he was as jumpy as a cat. Maybe it was the surprise—he hadn’t thought his gift to the elementary school was that big a deal—or maybe it was a delayed reaction to the loss of his parents, whose dream it had been to help kids like Hugh, but whatever the reason, the thought of getting up onstage in front of people he’d known since childhood had him sweating bullets.