Food Fair Frenzy

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “Fine.” I padded back down to my room, fell onto the bed, and clicked on the pair I thought best. I felt like Robert Bernard determining the appropriate one for her, which turned out to be harder to do than I originally thought.

  Maybe he was a pretty smart guy . . .

  After I entered my credit card information and everything was ordered, I called Walmart to make sure they received the fax, and to let them know which frames went with the prescription for Vivienne Pennywell (I wondered if I should put “Caspard” in there somewhere). The optician told me I could pick them up the next day.

  I hung up the phone very pleased with myself. I smiled knowing I was the one that had made sure Miss Vivee would finally stop wearing two pairs of glasses.

  Then my smile faded. I’ve turned into Renmar, I thought. Making Miss Vivee do something that she didn’t want to do just because I thought it was right.

  Crap.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After I finished ordering Miss Vivee’s glasses, I decided to take a look at the flowers in the poem. The author’s (rather murderer’s) description told me the color and shape of some, but Mac had made me realize that I didn’t even know a lily when I saw it.

  Just as I finished looking at the last one, Bay called. He said he’d pick me up at seven to take me to a nice restaurant. He wanted to give me something.

  That’s when I felt the first butterfly hit.

  Then they went full force, and my stomach was all a-flutter. And they somehow must’ve gotten into my head because my temples started to ache. I had to stand still, clutching my chest, and catch my breath.

  This is it!

  He was going to give me a proper proposal.

  I knew he had wanted to speak to my parents and although I was nearly thirty years old, I appreciated his consideration. But, I hadn’t heard from my parents yet, so his invite to dinner took me by surprise. I had figured at least my mother would have called me to let me know she’d spoken to him. Maybe they were waiting until I officially got the ring. He must’ve told them how he was planning on taking me out tonight. I smiled. I’ll call them when we get back.

  I jumped up off the bed. I couldn’t wait. But I knew I needed something to wear, so I decided to drive up to Augusta. I bathed and washed my hair. Then I let Miss Vivee know I was leaving so she wouldn’t come looking for me.

  I got directions from Google Map and went to the Dillard’s on Wrightsboro Road, just down from the Walmart where I’d ordered Miss Vivee’s glasses.

  At least tomorrow I’ll know right where to go.

  I turned into the mall and parked my car. After wandering around the store for ten minutes trying to find the Misses Department, I perused through several racks and found that I really didn’t know how to find a dress to fit the occasion. I hadn’t ever been the girly type, spending my days playing in the dirt and the sun, I was a jeans and tennis shoes kind of girl. But, tonight, I wanted to look nice. Really nice. Maybe even pretty. I smiled at the thought until I walked past a mirror and caught my reflection.

  Okay, maybe not pretty, I thought as I ran my hands through my naturally curly hair.

  After announcing to the store clerk that I was getting engaged, I had everyone in earshot trying to help me find the “right” dress. Shoppers had stopped what they were doing and were giving the store clerk dresses for me to try on. When I stepped out the dressing room in a soft pink, short sleeved sheath dress, everyone ooo’d and awed, agreeing it was the one.

  The midi dress with small appliqué flowers all over had a pink ribbon band around its empire waist, and once on it made me feel like a princess.

  “This is it,” I said as I turned from side to side in the mirror. I did feel pretty.

  I thanked everyone for their help and headed to the shoe department, a couple of the dress department shoppers in tow. We all decided on a pair of kitten heel pumps with a buckle closure. The pearl-gold, pointed closed-toe pumps had rhinestone studs on the straps hat made it seem as if the whole shoe sparkled. Then one woman practically dragged me down the mall to the Mac store and had them make up my face.

  Swinging my new shoes by the handle of the white plastic bag with one hand, carrying my new dress in a garment bag with the other, and the thrill of my quickly approaching engagement swirling around in my head, I practically skipped out to my jeep. Filled with enough happy thoughts to consume every fiber of my being I hopped in my car, but as soon as I turned the ignition, for some odd reason, that stupid poem popped into my head and I couldn’t think.

  Geesh.

  I pulled out the parking lot and onto I-520 headed back to the Maypop to get ready. I wanted to flat iron my hair, and that would take time. But those words from that stupid poem were swimming around in my mind.

  Fair flowers of the field . . .

  I turned up the radio.

  Mystery and wonder they provide . . .

  I changed the radio station. Katie Perry’s Roar was on. Good, I love this song.

  But the Lily of the Valley that one’s the most grande . . .

  Crap.

  I turned the music all the way up and shouted the words to the song. But no matter how loud the radio, or my bad singing got, those darn words were doing flips and making waves in my brain clouding it so much that I thought it was going to burst.

  I took in a breath and blew it out my mouth. Okay. Fine. I’ll think about this.

  So. If amygdaline killed Jack Wagner and made all those people sick, then why put the flowers on the note? They had to mean something. And, why try to frame Miss Vivee, if that’s what they were doing? Or, if not, then as Mac said, why do something to get caught? They’d have to know that planning a murder is a capital offense, and that Georgia had the death penalty. I shook my head. Mac was right, no one would want to get caught.

  So then why the references to the flowers?

  The trickery and deception that draws one near . . .

  Yep. Okay. You got me.

  I turned down the volume on the radio, and took the off ramp two exits before the one for Yasamee. Those flowers at the fairground were certainly “drawing” me near.

  Come see me . . . they were saying. So I was going to see them. Again.

  As soon as I got to the sign for Lincoln Park, the flowers came into view. I slowed down and took them in. I had planned on parking and walking through the fields. I wanted to find those lilies. I had seared into my mind a picture of each of the nine flowers in that poem, (and a bunch of other poison flowers just in case I ever came into contact with them) and I had decided to double check that none of the other flower were there. It was not probable, but certainly possible, that Miss Vivee had missed something, especially since after running into Aunt Martha, we hadn’t looked at any flowers.

  But I didn’t get a chance to get an up-close look at anything because, there in the field, digging in the dirt, was Gavin Tanner.

  What in the world is he doing?

  I slowed down even more and tried to see what he was up to. He had a trowel and a basket filled with flowers, and every few feet, he’d dig in the dirt and pull up a flower from the root, and throw it on the pile. I had come to a complete stop as I watched him. Then, still bent over a flower, he must’ve heard a horn that honked for me to get out of the way because he looked up and saw me. At least I think he saw me. Slowly standing up, I noticed a little grin spread across his face.

  Oh crap!

  I sped off, but I knew it was too late.

  ɛɜɛɜɛɜɛɜɛɜɛɜɛɜɛɜ

  “The Frog Hollow Tavern?” I said to Bay as we parked in front of it. It sure didn’t sound like a romantic restaurant to me. “This is where we’re going?”

  “Yeah, babe. This is one of the fancier and more modern spots in Downtown Augusta. Plus, I thought it’d make you feel more at home.”

  Why would he think that?

  I stepped inside and looked around. The restaurant itself was spacious. There was an air of coziness but not romance. At least to me.
There was a large, wooden full-sized bar, a small seating area with a couch and a few chairs to the right of it, and two loveseats on the opposite side of the room. The restaurant looked like the cellar of a Spanish tavern – long wooden custom made wine shelves covered the walls.

  I stood by while Bay checked our reservation and then leaned over and whispered something in the hostess’ ear.

  He must be setting up for his one-knee proposal.

  I started smiling.

  “What you so happy about?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  I saw a huge blackboard with the night’s specials written across it as we followed our hostess as she weaved us through small rooms to our seat, and my mouth started to water.

  Everyone on the wait staff smiled at us as we passed.

  Maybe they know about the proposal, too.

  We got to our seat, Bay pulled my chair out for me and the hostess put the menus on the table. I looked around and then up. Our table seemed overly lit, making me feel pretty exposed.

  I’m going to be so embarrassed when he gives me that ring.

  I did have to admit, though, that the place smelled heavenly, and we didn’t have to wait long before someone came to get our order. They arrived with drinks.

  “I ordered that for you, Baby,” Bay said. “It’s their signature drink.”

  “Looks good,” I said. “What is it?” I took a sip.

  “It a Tea Hive,” Bay said

  “Oh. My.” I closed my eyes. This is so good. It’s the best cocktail I ever had. What’s in it?” I asked and took another sip.

  “It’s a wonderful concoction of honeysuckle vodka, chamomile, lemon, and honey,” the waiter said. “We’re pretty famous for it.”

  “I can see why. I love it,” I said and smiled.

  “You know what you want to eat?” Bay asked me.

  “Yep,” I nodded, and dabbed my mouth with my napkin. “Do you?”

  “Yeah. But let me order an appetizer for us to share. I want you to try it, okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  Bay smiled up at the waiter. “We’ll have the House Smoked Andouille Sausage.” He looked at me. “It has a strong smoky flavor,” he explained. “I think you’ll like it.”

  “Yes, it does,” the waiter took over the explanation. “And it’s served on a bed of Anson Mills' Organic Grits with Caramelized Vidalia Onions on top, and it comes with a small dab of the Tavern Mustard on the side.” The waiter and Bay licked their lips.

  “Okay, I’m convinced. Bring it on,” I said.

  They both laughed.

  “Good,” the waiter said, noting our appetizer on his order pad. “And what will you have for an entrée ma’am.”

  I ordered the double pork chop. The waiter had explained that it was brined over three days, sou vide, then pan seared in butter and roasted over sweet potatoes.

  Bay ordered the Florida Gulf Day Boat Red Snapper. It was laid out on a bed of Chal's corn, red bell peppers, Vidalia onions, celery and pulled Parsley leaves. Combined with a House Pickled Sweet Onion Butter. He added to that a side of their Smoked Gouda Mac 'n Cheese.

  So many onions, I thought, I might not want to kiss him when he gives me that ring.

  I giggled.

  “You sure are giddy tonight.”

  “Am not.”

  Our meal came in short order and there was a mountain of food. I reached my fork across the table, and flaked off a small piece of Bay’s fish. I slid the fork past my lips and it melted in my mouth. It was so good. Moist and tender, every flavor from its fresh vegetables bed came through.

  “I should have gotten that,” I said.

  “You haven’t even tasted yours,” he said.

  So I took the knife to cut a piece of the pork and it sliced through it like it was butter, the meat fell off the center bone. I put a piece in my mouth, and then another, shoveling sweet potatoes in after that.

  “Omigosh,” I said, jaws full of food. “This is soooo good.”

  We ate in silence, but my thoughts were going a mile a minute. I wondered how he was going to do it. Would everyone stop eating and look at us? Would I cry?

  “You want dessert?” Bay asked as I finished my last bite.

  “No,” I said. “I’m full.” If he only knew, I barely made it through dinner trying to wait for my “gift.” No way, I could get anything else down my throat. It had already started to tighten up. I took the cloth napkin off my lap and laid it on the table. “I think it’s time.”

  “Time?” he asked. “Time for what?”

  “Don’t play with me boy.”

  He gave me one of his smirks. The kind he’d given me when we first met – me as the fugitive and him as the law.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I knew he was up to something. I looked down at my hand. My ring finger on my left hand to be exact. It was twitching.

  “Okay, baby.” He reached in his pocket and my heart stopped. Then he pulled out an envelope.

  I almost fell out of the chair.

  “What the heck is that?” I wanted to throw my knife at him.

  “Two tickets.”

  “They better be honeymoon tickets with my 1 ½ carat, emerald cut ring attached to them.”

  He gave out a hearty laugh. “I talked to your father,” he said and handed me the envelope. “And your mother, and they decided we should get engaged up there since they hadn’t met me yet.”

  “Up where?” I asked and took the envelope.

  “In Cleveland,” he said.

  I opened the envelope and took out the two first class tickets. Then I shook the envelope to make sure nothing else was in there. I looked at Bay.

  “I’ll give you the ring when we get there.”

  “But I bought a new dress,” I pointed to it. “New shoes.” I swung a foot out from under the table. “I got my face all made up, and it took me an hour to flat iron my hair.”

  “And you look beautiful,” he said, he reached across the table and took my hand. “And that ring is going to look good on this finger.”

  “If I don’t die of anticipation first,” I said and jerked my hand away. “And order me a slice of that seven-layer chocolate decadent cake I saw on the menu.”

  “You want it to go?” Bay asked signaling for the waiter.

  “No,” I said. “I want to eat it here. And since I have to wait so long, and spend so much money just to find out I’m getting a trip to Cleveland instead of a ring,” I took a gulp of my drink, “I’ma need that ring to be two carats.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I woke up early the next morning after my fake proposal dinner, and as usual followed my nose down to the kitchen. And there, standing in the doorway, chatting it up with Renmar, was Gavin Tanner.

  “Hi, Logan,” he said.

  What was he up to?

  I mumbled a hello, and grabbed a glass and the half gallon of orange juice out the fridge. I usually ate in the kitchen, but I wasn’t hanging out with him, not after yesterday when I saw him in the field. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I had a feeling it wasn’t something he was supposed to be doing. Plus, Miss Vivee had him pegged as a murderer.

  I waved a good-bye, and went into the dining room. There were sweet rolls out, and eggs and bacon in a warmer for the breakfast crowd. I grabbed a plate, and piled it up, stopping at the fruit bar before I slid into a seat at one of the small, round tables in the corner.

  I hadn’t finished chewing my first mouthful when Gavin appeared in the dining area, looking around until he spotted me, he rambled over to my table.

  “Hi there,” he said.

  “We spoke in the kitchen, remember?” I said.

  “You mind if I join you?” he asked.

  “You don’t have any food.” I bit my bacon, chewing it, and sized him up.

  Could he be a murderer?

  He looked around at the food, and back at me. He acted as if he wasn’t quite sure if he should get some
thing to eat or not. He cracked his knuckles and just hovered over me.

  “Well?” I said.

  He sat down in the seat across from me. “What were you doing at the field yesterday?” he asked and scratched his elbow.

  “I should ask you that same question.”

  He took in a breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I was taking flowers.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “I saw you. Why?” I crunched on another bite of bacon.

  He let out that breath, then looked around, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. “They’re going to dig up that field you know. Bulldoze it.”

  “No. I didn’t know,” I said. “Who is this ‘they?’ Robert Bernard?” I asked.

  “Yes. Mr. Land Tycoon, himself.” He shifted in his seat.

  “Land tycoon?” I asked and chuckled. “And who is he working with, Mrs. Wagner? Because she didn’t seem like the type to want to rip flowers up out of the ground to me.”

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye like he was thinking. “Nah,” he said after a pause. “I don’t think it’s her. He might have had another partner for that.”

  “Really, now?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I thought you told me they had a thing.” Then I waved my hand dismissing the conversation. I didn’t want to participate in his gossip. Plus, it seemed as if he was making stuff up. “What about Mr. Wagner?” I said “Didn’t he want to build the condos?”

  “Oh no.” He shook his head. “He had a special attachment to that land.”

  “Why? What was his attachment?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “But I do know he was upset with Mrs. Wagner for allowing Mr. Bernard to hang around, especially after he found out he wanted to get a hold of the land so he could build the condos.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “I heard Mr. Bernard and Mr. Wagner arguing. They were pretty loud.”

  “So?”

  “So, Mr. Bernard was pretty upset. Said that the land was going to waste and that a residential subdivision would be the best use for that land.”