She turned to look at me, eyebrows raised, and I added, “It was convenient. We went to Audrey’s on the Square yesterday, to look for a dress for Mrs. Jenkins to wear today—we left Nashville in a bit of a hurry; long story—but before we could find anything,” or even look at any dresses, really, “we discovered that Audrey’s mother was Mrs. Jenkins’s sister.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped.
“So we forgot about the dress. And we had to borrow yours instead. Sorry.”
Catherine hiked her jaw up. “Audrey’s mother was Rafe’s grandmother’s sister?”
I nodded.
“That’s a small world,” Catherine said.
“But it explains what Tyrell Jenkins was doing in Sweetwater when he met LaDonna Collier. I always wondered.”
Catherine glanced toward the parlor. “How does Rafe feel?”
I glanced in that direction, too. “He seems to feel fine. No reason why he wouldn’t. Audrey and Darcy are both nice.”
Catherine nodded. “But Audrey must have known all along that he’s her... whatever he is.”
“Some sort of cousin. First cousin twice removed, or something like that.” And I hadn’t thought about that part of it. But I could see where that might be upsetting. If Audrey had known all along that he was her... let’s just call it nephew, to make it simple, and she hadn’t acknowledged the relationship—or him—in over thirty-one years, it might make him feel slightly unwanted.
Unless she hadn’t known until yesterday. I didn’t think Tyrell’s name was common knowledge in Sweetwater. Rafe hadn’t known who his father was until after LaDonna died a year and a half ago. So Audrey might not have connected Tyrell’s visit to LaDonna’s pregnancy or to Rafe until Mrs. Jenkins called her by her mother’s name yesterday.
But no. She would have figured it out earlier than that. But only about a year ago. When Rafe figured it out and told me and I broadcast the news to my family and friends. So she’d probably only known for a year or so. And had kept that, like her relationship with my father, to herself.
My stomach tightened again, and I put my hands on it and breathed.
“How much longer?” Catherine asked.
I gave her the same numbers I’d given our mother this morning.
“Braxton-Hicks?”
I nodded. “It’ll stop in a few seconds. Mother says the baby’s dropped.”
Catherine took a step back and examined me critically. “Looks that way. Are you excited?”
“Terrified,” I said.
She smiled. “You’ll be all right. You can ask me and Dix for advice when you need it. Between us, we’ve been through this a few times.”
More than a few. And don’t think I wouldn’t. I’d be calling her all the time, until she got sick of me, most likely.
The contraction did stop, and we headed back into the parlor. My husband got to his feet, politely, to greet my sister, and waved her into his place on the loveseat. “I’ll go change.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
My sister muttered something. I didn’t ask her to repeat it, although I flushed. Rafe chuckled and put an arm around my shoulders. “We won’t be long.”
We’d be longer than he thought, since we had a couple of things to discuss. Although it wouldn’t be for the reason Catherine imagined. I wouldn’t engage in that sort of behavior in the middle of the day on Thanksgiving, with the house full of people. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy watching my husband change his clothes.
And a very enjoyable minute or two it was, too. I sat on the bed while he skimmed out of faded jeans and pulled the snug Henley up over his head. At that point, he stopped for a second and gave me a grin. “What’s that you were saying?”
I swallowed. “We need to talk about your grandmother. Last night she made a break for it in the middle of the night. I’m not sure whether she was awake or not, but she was on her way out of the house, and we can’t let that happen.”
Rafe nodded, as he pulled a pair of dark gray slacks up over his hips and zipped them. Slowly.
“I don’t want to lock her up. You know? And I hate the idea of doping her to the gills. But we can’t have her wandering off. She gets herself in trouble.”
“She’s damned lucky she didn’t end up dead in that water,” Rafe agreed. He turned to the backpack he’d carried upstairs, and rummaged for a shirt. I watched his muscles move smoothly under the skin, and had to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth.
He pulled out a pale blue shirt and shook it, eyeing it critically.
“You’ll look great,” I told him. Who cared if the shirt was wrinkled? The color would look amazing against his skin.
He shrugged into it, and then took his time buttoning the buttons. I imagined my eyes must have gone glassy, because he grinned wickedly. “Hold that thought, darlin’.”
I told him I intended to. “We really do need to figure out something, though. I can’t guarantee that I’ll always wake up. Earlier this week I didn’t. She made it out of the house before I woke up in the morning, and got all the way down to the Milton House before I caught up. And I was lucky I found her at all. She could have gone in the other direction. Or someone could have snatched her.”
“With Fesmire dead,” Rafe said, tucking the shirt into his slacks, “hopefully we don’t have to worry about that no more.”
Hopefully not. If I’d been right about Fesmire and Julia and everything else. “I don’t suppose you ever figured out who made the phone call from the payphone on Tuesday afternoon? It was a woman, so it wasn’t Fesmire himself. Did you ask his wife?”
“She was in Franklin,” Rafe said. “I had the boys sitting on Fesmire’s house and business, remember?”
Right. And José would have noticed if Mrs. Fesmire had left for any reason.
And if Fesmire had been sleeping with Julia, chances were he didn’t have another girlfriend he could tap to do it. And since it had been made on-site, it wasn’t like anyone could have done it, from anywhere. Whoever did it, had to actually be there.
So who had made the phone call?
“He coulda paid a stranger to do it,” Rafe said, “for all we know. Plenty of people in that neighborhood would be happy to make a phone call for twenty bucks, no questions asked. And Fesmire had money to spare.”
Maybe so. It wasn’t anything to get hung up on, anyway. Especially if Rafe and Tamara Grimaldi weren’t worried about it.
“Grimaldi’s working today?”
“That’s what she said,” Rafe answered. “She’s on call, and tying up loose ends on the Poole investigation. Did you need her?”
I didn’t. I just wished she was here instead of there. But someone had to hold down the fort, even on Thanksgiving, and if she was willing, more power to her.
“I don’t suppose she’s said anything about Dix?”
“Not to me,” Rafe said. “But if you want, I can talk to him. And ask his intentions.” He grinned.
“Would you?” Dix might be more forthcoming with Rafe. We were close, my brother and I, but Rafe was another man. Dix might be more comfortable talking to him about Tamara Grimaldi.
“Sure,” Rafe said.
“Thank you.” I pushed to my feet, and stood swaying for a second, trying to find my equilibrium. Rafe put a hand under my elbow to steady me.
“You all right?”
“My center of gravity changes from day to day. It takes me a minute to find it.” I smiled up at him. He smiled back, and put his palm against my stomach.
And frowned. “It’s hard.”
“Braxton-Hicks contractions. Nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
“We still have almost three weeks to go. This is normal.”
He nodded. “Ready to head back downstairs?”
I guess I was. The show was over up here, and I wanted him to talk to Dix. While we’d been up here, I’d heard the front door open and close several times, so I figured
the rest of the family had probably arrived by now. And Bob.
And maybe Todd. Oh, joy.
* * *
At that point, the party divided itself along gender lines. The women congregated in the kitchen, prepping food and drinking wine—and in my case, sparkling water—while the children parked themselves in front of the TV and the men took their beer into a different room where they could shoot the breeze without female ears listening in.
It took me a few minutes to notice that Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t in the kitchen with the rest of us. But the children had taken over the parlor with the TV, so maybe she was in there with them. I excused myself and wandered down the hall to see.
The parlor was crawling with small shapes. Three were female: Dix’s Abigail and Hannah, and Catherine and Jonathan’s Annie. Annie even wore a pretty eyelet dress. But neither of them was Mrs. Jenkins.
I didn’t think she’d be with the men, but I stuck my head into the room just to be sure. Dix frowned at me, and I withdrew again.
Maybe the excitement and all the people she didn’t know had been too much for her. Too much stimulation, too much activity. Maybe she’d gone upstairs to her room.
I dragged myself up the stairs again, and had to stop halfway when another Braxton-Hicks hit. This time, it felt like it would never end, but it was probably just because I had somewhere to be in a hurry. I wasn’t really worried—or not a whole lot—but Mrs. J did have a tendency to disappear. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.
Wherever she was, it wasn’t in her room. That was empty. Since I was upstairs anyway, I checked my own room, Dix’s old room, the bathroom, and the master bedroom and bath, as well. Mrs. Jenkins was not on the second floor of the house.
I took the servant’s staircase down to the first floor and into the kitchen. A quick look around told me that Mrs. Jenkins had not shown up in the five minutes or so I’d been gone. “Where’s Rafe’s grandmother?”
“She took the dog outside,” Mother said.
“Pearl’s in the parlor with the kids.” Or she had been when I looked in. Or so I’d thought. But maybe I’d been wrong.
I headed back down the hallway to the parlor.
Yes, there she was. Curled up on the floor.
Pearl, not Mrs. J.
“Have you seen Mrs. Jenkins?” I asked the kids.
The looked at each other. “The old black lady?” Cole asked, and his older brother immediately shushed him. The kids all looked guilty.
I nodded. “Yes. Rafe’s grandmother. Have you seen her?”
“She left the dog in here,” Robert said, with a glance at Pearl. As always when her name or species is mentioned, Pearl’s tail slapped against the floor and she gave me a canine grin.
“Did she take the dog out before she left it with you?”
The kids exchanged another look and a universal shrug. I looked at Pearl. “Go outside?”
She wagged, but didn’t move. That usually means she’s been out recently. If she has to go, she gets up and heads for the door.
I left them there and went to the door myself. It was open. Or unlocked, rather. Latched, but not locked. As if someone had gone out without a key, and not come back in.
I stepped out onto the porch and looked left and right. There was no one in sight.
I went inside again and closed the door behind me. And left it unlocked, just in case Mrs. Jenkins was around the corner of the house. No sense in locking her out if she was on her way back.
“I can’t find your grandmother,” I told Rafe once I’d made my way to the room where he, Dix and Jonathan were nursing their beers. “I’ve been all over the house. Mother said she took the dog for a walk, but Pearl’s in the parlor with the kids. They said your grandmother dropped her off. And the front door’s open.”
Rafe didn’t say anything, but I could see his hand tighten around the beer bottle. If it had been a can, it would have crumpled.
“Sorry,” I added.
His hand relaxed. “Not your fault. She musta left while we were upstairs.”
Most likely.
“She’s probably just out wandering around. Maybe she decided to go to Audrey’s house. We drove home from there yesterday, so she might remember the way.” Or think she remembered the way.
Rafe nodded.
“And like you said, at least Fesmire isn’t a threat anymore.” All we had to worry about was hypothermia and Mrs. J getting hit by a car.
He put the bottle on the table and pushed to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“You want us to come with you?” Dix asked. “The kids are fine here.” He glanced at his brother-in-law. “Jonathan and I can take our two cars and drive around.”
“We’ll let you know.” Rafe navigated around the table toward me and the door. “If we don’t find her at Audrey’s, or on the way there, it might come to that.”
“For now,” I added, “just keep the front door unlocked in case she comes back.”
Dix nodded. “I’ll check the house again. Just in case you missed something.”
I didn’t think I’d missed anything, but it couldn’t hurt. And I moved slowly these days. It was certainly possible that while I’d made my slow way down the servant stairs, Mrs. J had nipped up the foyer stairs to her room. “Check the outbuildings, too. The carriage house and the slave cabin. Just in case she got curious and decided to take a look.”
Dix nodded. “Take my car. It’ll save you from having to go get the Volvo out of the garage.” He handed Rafe the keys.
Rafe dropped them in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
He brushed past me and into the hallway. I smiled at my brother and Jonathan, and followed.
Eighteen
Dix’s car is an SUV with two booster seats in the back. If we found—when we found—Mrs. Jenkins, we’d have to take one of them out to make room for her. Or maybe she was small enough to fit. She wasn’t a whole lot bigger than Abigail, Dix’s oldest daughter.
Rafe took the turn from the driveway onto the road on two wheels. I didn’t think Dix’s car had ever seen that kind of treatment before, but it responded. Even if a warning light went on on the dashboard.
“‘Tipping danger,’” I read. “Maybe take the turns a little more carefully.”
Rafe glanced at me, but didn’t speak. Not about that. “How far d’you think she mighta gone? How much of a head start did she get?”
At least ten minutes. And she was a nimble old lady when she wanted to be.
“She could be halfway to town by now,” I told him. “At least if she’s following the road. If she’s crossing the fields, it’ll take longer.”
And we might not see her. There was no sign of her yet.
“Someone mighta picked her up,” Rafe said.
“If so, she’s probably at Audrey’s already.” If she was headed that way. “Sweetwater’s a small town. Everyone knows who Audrey is. If your grandmother explained that she wanted to go to Audrey’s house, anyone in town could have taken her there.”
Rafe nodded. “If we’re lucky, that’s what happened.”
He didn’t have to spell out what would happen if we weren’t lucky. Sweetwater tends to be a nice, law-abiding place, but bad things can happen anywhere. And Mrs. J might not remember Audrey’s name. She might have asked for Oneida’s house instead. And depending on who picked her up and how old they were, they might not remember Oneida. She’d been gone a while.
“Would you like me to call the sheriff?” I asked.
He hadn’t shown up at the mansion yet. I knew he was expected, but since he wasn’t part of the family, I guess he was waiting until closer to when dinner was supposed to be served, as befits an honored guest.
Or maybe something had happened at work that he needed to deal with. When you’re the sheriff of a county, you’re pretty much always on call. Even if it is Thanksgiving.
“Give it a couple minutes,” Rafe said, and the way his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel were in sharp contrast to the
calmness in his voice. “We could find her along the road. If we do, no need to involve the sheriff.”
“Of course.” I knew what he was thinking. For as long as we could keep calm and not call the police, we could pretend that maybe it wasn’t a big deal that she was gone. “She’s probably just on her way to see Audrey. Or already there.” No need to panic yet.
Rafe nodded. “Keep an eye out on your side of the car. I’ll check over here.”
We drove another minute in silence. He was driving slower now, partly to give us enough time to look, and partly, I’m sure, because when we got to Audrey’s, if Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t there, we’d have to deal with the fact that this wasn’t going to be easy. The longer he could put off the inevitable, the happier he’d be.
The houses started getting closer together, and there was still no sign of Mrs. Jenkins. On Rafe’s side of the car, there was the stone wall surrounding the Oak Street Cemetery.
“We went here yesterday,” I told him, pointing. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to go back. Unless...”
He glanced at me.
“Oneida is probably buried there. She lived in Sweetwater. And I told your grandmother yesterday that everyone in town is buried at Oak Street.”
Rafe hesitated. It was a tough call. If she wasn’t at the cemetery, we’d be wasting time by stopping. Time we could use to find her. But if she was there, and we drove by and didn’t look, we’d miss her that way, too. And she’d spend more time out in the cold, maybe catching a chill.
I made an executive decision. “Let me out. I’ll go up and look for her. You keep driving. I have my phone, so if I find her, I’ll call you.”
Rafe pulled over to the side of the road with a screech of brakes. Dix would not have been happy about the treatment of his car. “Be careful.”
“Always,” I said, throwing his standard response right back at him.
But let’s be honest: what was going to happen to me in the middle of a cemetery on Thanksgiving? The only other person who might be there, was Mrs. Jenkins. And it was broad daylight, so it wasn’t like I was in any danger of stumbling over any gravestones or into any open graves. “Call me when you get to Audrey’s. Either way.”
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