Chapter 10
Sera and Maggie had determined the next step was to chat up Tassy Harrison, and today’s High on the Hog committee meeting was the perfect opportunity. Sera walked into Gypsy Cotton Gallery, owned by Tassy and her husband, for the meeting. Only bad thing about volunteering for Summer Shoals’ annual pork festival was the chairperson, one Angelina Broussard. Oh, and the barbecued piggies.
One sweeping look at the space, a renovated cotton gin and warehouse, and it was clear Angelina hadn’t arrived. Perfect. Sera would have time to ask Tassy some questions. She spotted Sherman Harrison, seated near the side door, dressed in pressed slacks and a button-down shirt. Odd clothes for a farmer. Then again, Sherman was a hobby farmer, and Maggie said that meant he just played at being a man of the land.
Tassy sat right beside him, as always. That guy seemed to be on a short leash, although he probably didn’t mind, since Tassy was at least thirty years younger and beautiful.
Before Sera could make her way across the room to Tassy and her husband, Bruce Shellenberger walked up. Bruce was a sweetheart and the computer genius who’d helped them solve an online dating scam last fall. “Hi, Sera. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
That was an odd comment since they’d seen one another recently at another committee meeting. “Strange how people can live in a small town and still not run into one another nearly often enough, isn’t it?”
The tips of his ears turned pink. Bruce was a smart one. Wasn’t often a man caught a woman’s subtext. Sera wanted to give him a round of applause. “How’s…uh…how’s Maggie been?” he asked.
“Busy,” Sera replied, beating back a smile. “Seems like she has a new beau every other week.” Nothing wrong with stretching the truth when it was a means to a positive end.
But poor Bruce. His ears seemed to be blinking neon now. “Oh, that’s…um…good?”
“Is it?” She tapped the side of her face. “I really thought there was a spark between you two. Or is someone else defragging your hard drive these days?” She should be ashamed at herself for stirring the pot, but she wasn’t. Maggie deserved companionship and happiness, and Bruce might be the man for both jobs.
“No. I mean…oh, heck. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He blew out a breath. “Maybe I’ll stop in and see Maggie soon?”
“Excellent idea.”
Bruce made a beeline for the punch bowl, and Sera wove between the rows of chairs and slid into an empty seat right in front of Tassy and Sherman. She pasted on a smile and twisted to face them. “How have you been, Tassy? I’ve missed you at yoga.” She placed a hand on the woman’s forearm. Tassy always looked so friendly and cool, dressing in blues and greens, but her aura was never in sync with her appearance, running reddish orange and blinding yellow. “Quite a few new folks are joining us in the mornings now.”
“You’re so sweet. I can’t wait to get back to yoga, but I’ve been busy with some family stuff. ” She edged closer to her husband and wrapped a hand around his forearm. Probably in fear that Sera was out to steal her meal ticket. With his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and still toned body, he wasn’t bad-looking for his age, and he was way closer to Sera’s age than Tassy’s. But Sera had no intention of stealing away some other woman’s man. Not when she couldn’t even deal with the one she’d had.
Sherman’s jaw pulsed. “Her dad was in town for a few weeks.”
“How nice,” Sera said, but clearly Sherman didn’t agree.
Tassy’s lashes fluttered like pale butterfly wings. “Oh, it was. Daddy is such an inspiration, and my brother came for a few days too. I miss them already.”
“Where’s your family from?”
“Oh, up near Chicago.”
Interesting that a northern girl would call her father “daddy,” but Sera knew better than anyone how the Southern culture could creep into your language and thinking.
“The gallery looks amazing.” She looked around with wide eyes, as though impressed with all Tassy had accomplished. “And it’s so generous of you to let the committee meet here. So much better than down at the 4H barn or the school gymnasium.”
“Happy to do it.”
“I don’t know how do you do it all. The gallery. The farm. Hosting these meetings. I was just talking to the guy down at the Shipper Shack and he was telling me that you filled in for him while he was out of town back in mid-February. I wouldn’t think you’d need a part-time job on top of everything else you do.”
“I was only there a few days. I don’t mind helping out once in a while.”
Sera snapped her fingers as if just realizing something. “I bet you know Colton Ellerbee, the local artist who won the holiday art show with that amazing nativity scene.”
“Of course. As a gallery owner, it’s my job to know the local artists. I’m always looking for new talent.”
“Isn’t he innovative? I mean who would have ever thought of making a nativity scene out of upcycled stuff? And I thought I was the best upcycler around. I bet when he ships out his sculptures those are some huge packages.”
Tassy simply smiled. Good grief, couldn’t she give Sera a break and say something useful?
“I’m surprised none his sculptures are in your gallery since his work is in such high demand now.”
Tassy waved a hand. “I can’t acquire art from everyone who wants to be displayed here at Gypsy Cotton.”
Sera shifted into fact-finding mode. Maybe the direct approach would work better. “You know, I was trying to find out who packaged up some artwork and shipped it for Colton.”
“Why? Couldn’t you just ask Colton?”
Yeah, why, Sera? “Because…uh…apparently Colton uses different people to pack up his sculptures, and you know artists. Can’t be bothered to remember to put on clean underwear in the morning. I figured you were a better bet. When I asked down at The Shipper Shack, the owner mentioned you were working the day Colton’s package went out, so I thought you’d know who dropped it off.”
“He must’ve made a mistake. What date did you say it was?”
“February 20th. A Friday.”
Tassy turned to Sherman, who was scanning the room and beginning to fidget impatiently.
“Honey, weren’t we in Tennessee then? Remember, right before we saw Trace Adkins at the Grand Ole Opry?” She turned to Sera and whispered, “For Valentine’s Day. Isn’t he great?”
He nodded absentmindedly. “Right. Yes. We probably were.”
Tassy dug in her bag, pulled out lip gloss and began applying it. “The owner of The Shipper Shack must have gotten his dates mixed up.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Sera infused her voice with disappointment. “I was hoping to ask the person to help me pack shipments I’m putting together for the troops.” She was trying to spin a story quick. She hoped Tassy would buy it. “You can’t be too careful with those overseas shipments. If someone can wrap up expensive art, I figure he can pack anything.”
Sherman popped to his feet and made to edge out of the row. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to—”
Tassy put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Honey, we should made a donation to Sera’s charity efforts.”
Panic pulsed in Sera’s chest as Sherman reached for his pocket.
“Oh, no,” Sera said, gripping his hand. “You don’t have to write me a check right now.”
“Of course he does. Make it out for a hundred, honey.” Tassy glanced at Sera. “Is that enough?”
“Just $100?” Sherman asked Sera.
She swallowed hard. “More than enough.”
He closed his checkbook and pulled a crisp one hundred dollar bill from his wallet. “Here you go.”
Sera accepted the money with a warm thank-you, then slipped into a chair on the front row feeling guiltier than a kid who’d broken a window with a baseball. How would she explain this to Abby Ruth and Maggie? The lie had slipped right out of her lips. She hadn’t considered the Harrisons might want to actually donate money.
And cash, at that. If Sherman had written a check, she simply wouldn’t have cashed it.
Before she could dash to the back of the room and shove the money into the hobby farmer’s hand, Darrell Holloway strode up to a small podium and announced, “Angelina is running late, so she asked me to kick off the meeting.”
Resigned to keeping Sherman’s money, Sera sat back in her seat. At least Angelina’s absence this evening was good news.
While Sera was doing recon at the High on the Hog committee meeting, Maggie burned off her nervous energy by dusting Summer Haven’s parlor. Why couldn’t Lil have sold off some of the knickknacks rather than furniture when she’d been hurting for money? “Do you think Sera will find out something useful at the meeting?” she asked Abby Ruth.
“I think we’ll know once she gets home.” Abby Ruth kicked back on the parlor sofa and clicked at the remote. She’d recently hauled a wide-screen TV out of the horse trailer of belongings—mostly guns—she’d brought with her from Texas, complaining she couldn’t live another minute without her daily dose of ESPN. What in the world would Lil say if she discovered sixty-five inches of LED hung over her ornately carved sideboard?
All Maggie knew was the sound of high-priced sneakers squealing against hardwood floors was about to make her hate pro basketball. “Can’t we watch HGTV?”
Abby Ruth shot her an amused look. “When they start giving the Larry O’Brien Trophy for slapping up sheetrock, I’ll change the channel.”
Lord, Maggie loved this woman, but sometimes she could be hard to live with. Before Maggie could try to make her case for one of the home shows, the doorbell rang.
Saved by the bell.
Angelina stood at the front door. “Hi, Maggie.” She waltzed right past Maggie into the foyer.
“Do come in,” Maggie said after the fact.
“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by quickly to give you something. And I needed to give Sera her High on the Hog committee shirt since I missed her at the last meeting.”
“Isn’t there a committee meeting right now?”
Angelina waved a dismissive hand and reached into her sparkling rhinestone and leopard-skin purse. She pulled out a thin paper bag and tossed it in Maggie’s direction. “I’ve been meaning to get this back to you since before the holidays.”
Maggie had a bad feeling. Since the holidays? What could she possibly have from the holidays that would last until now and fit into the small paper bag? The thinnest piece of fruitcake ever?
Angelina nodded, encouraging Maggie to open the bag.
Maggie unfurled the top and shoved her hand inside. The tiny Kraft paper bag reminded her of the little bags she and George had used at the hardware store they’d owned in Virginia when they sold a few screws or bolts to customers. When her fingers skimmed smooth plastic, realization bolted through Maggie’s chest.
No, it can’t be.
Slowly, she eased the item from the bag, and her stomach rocked with panic.
Why yes, apparently it can be.
It was a prison visitor’s badge. The one with Maggie’s name on it that had gone missing late last year.
Maggie swallowed to keep her jaw from hanging slack. One look at Angelina’s face, full of smug satisfaction, and Maggie took a step forward, her palm already feeling the sting of a good smack.
No. She couldn’t give Angelina the satisfaction. And what if she didn’t know about Lil but was just dangling a line to see if she caught a big ol’ blubberfish?
Words stuck in Maggie’s tight throat.
“That’s all I needed.” With a smile, Angelina shoved a T-shirt into Maggie’s hands. “Oh, and of course, this for Sera.”
“Thank…thank you for stopping by,” Maggie choked out and swung the front door wide. Surely, Angelina would get the hint and leave.
But she simply leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “By the way, how’s the Tucker Torpedo?”
Someone should buy Angelina a pair of boxing gloves because it sure as heck felt like she was throwing bare-knuckled one-two punches at Maggie’s head. “Fine?” The word came out like a question. Well of course it did, because it was a dad-burned lie.
“Excellent,” Angelina said. “You might want to get it cleaned up. I’ll need it for the High on the Hog event.”
“I’ll have to ask Lil.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of that.” Angelina gave her a wink. Not a friendly one either. “I’ll just let myself out.” Angelina whisked around and darned if it didn’t sound like she was laughing under her breath.
Maggie shut the door, then zombie-walked back into the parlor.
“Who was that?” Abby Ruth asked. “Not Hollis again?”
“It was Angelina.” Maggie dangled the prison badge from her forefinger and thumb. “To bring this by.”
Abby Ruth glanced up and for once even she was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like that blubberfish struggling for breath.
“I didn’t lose it. She must have taken it when the Historical Preservation committee was here for the inspection.” Maggie’s knees finally gave out, and Abby Ruth moved her legs just in time for Maggie to sink down on the sofa beside her. “She knows.”
“Did she come out and say that?”
“Not everyone is as direct as you.”
“We could tell her one of your kids is in prison.”
Maggie’s spine went rigid. “I will not do that.”
“Maybe let sleeping dogs lie?”
“You can’t be serious. When have you ever let a dog—sleeping or otherwise—just lie? And if you think Angelina is done tormenting us, then you may not be quite as smart as I thought you were.”
Abby Ruth’s mouth slowly stretched into a grin and she walloped Maggie in the arm. “There’s my girl.”
Lord, would Maggie ever outsmart this woman?
Chapter 11
Sera was relieved Angelina wouldn’t be at the committee meeting. She’d never had another person look at her with so much malice. If looks could kill, Angelina’s eyes would be registered weapons.
But Sera felt most sorry for Angelina’s son. Poor Booger. The kid had to tiptoe on eggshells—or broken glass—around his mom.
Darrell called on each committee lead, who stood and reported their progress. Apparently, Angelina had handpicked everyone but Sera to make this year’s High on the Hog event better than in previous years. Which, in translation, simply meant Angelina was trying to outdo Lil. As usual.
Sherman brought everyone up-to-date on the cooking team. “After a close inspection, we’ll need some welding done on three of the hog cookers. I can weld some, but these smokers are over my skill level.”
Sera’s ears pricked at the word welder. Colton had mentioned fillet-something-or-other joints on the sheep living down in Palm Beach. Not that she had any clue what that was, but she’d Google it later.
Tassy piped in, “I talked to Colton Ellerbee. He’s a skilled welder, but when I asked him about welding hog smokers he snarled at me and ran me out of his studio. That man has some personality challenges.”
A titter of nervous laughter skittered across the room.
Sherman gave Tassy a pointed look, and she sat down. He said, “I only found one person in town with the welding skills to fix the smokers and who’s willing to help. Joe down at the muffler shop will do it in exchange for advertising in the brochure and signage in the cook-off tents.”
“Perfect,” Darrell said. “I know Angelina has some money budgeted for stuff like that, but I don’t think it’s much. Great job, Sherman.”
Sherman nodded. “Joe said he’d come into some unexpected money so he wanted to do this for the town. Welding is his thing, and I say we let him do it.”
Sera fidgeted in her seat, excitement making her muscles dance. If the shipping angle was a dead end, then this was just the lead they needed to move forward with investigating the forged Ellerbee sculpture. The box had been shipped from Summer Shoals, and Joe was apparently the best
welder in town. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
When she made it home and told Abby Ruth and Maggie, they would be so happy.
Sera stood to give her report. “Thank you, committee members, for the opportunity to serve as children’s liaison for this event. In years past you’ve had face painting, a greased pig catch contest and piggy races. I’d like us to consider something different this year.”
Angelina’s voice rang out over the space. “The greased pig catch is the highlight of the day for the kids. They love it.”
Apparently, Sera’s luck had run out.
Darrell chuckled. “Especially your Booger. Last year when he did a flying leap across the ring and brought that piglet down with a pile driver, I thought it would come out from under him as flat as a sausage patty.”
Angelina started to say something, but Sera pitched her voice louder. “That’s exactly the on the hog I want to avoid this year. I suggest we give our piggies a little break. I’ve done some research and in fairness to the treatment of our fine swine friends, we’ll take a more gentle approach. I’m proposing each registered contestant dress their piglet up for a costume contest. We can provide a theme, perhaps fairytales or—”
“I like the costume contest idea,” Darrell Holloway said. “Never hurts to mix things up for the kids, right, Angelina? Otherwise, they get bored. I’ll put up some prize money for the winners. How about $25 for the grand prize, $20 for second and $5 for third?”
Angelina’s smile was tight, but she didn’t say a word.
Tassy said, “I love that plan, Sera, and I’d be happy to be one of your judges.”
“That would be great!”
Darrell nodded toward Tassy. “All right, committee members, this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. It’s time to reveal this year’s event poster. Tassy, come on up here.”
Tassy walked to the front of the room. Her long blond hair shone as if there were stage lights following her. The tailored skirt suit she wore clung to her willowy body. In front of a row of past years’ posters, she pivoted to face her peers and grabbed the edge of a white drape hanging over a large easel. She tugged on the drape, letting it fall to the floor.
In High Cotton Page 9