by Delia Latham
Shell drew a deep breath. This was where things got sticky. “The throw was there when I left last night.”
“And gone when you arrived today?”
She nodded.
Miss Cora lifted one eyebrow. Her lips parted, but Miss Bessie broke in, clearly trying to prevent whatever her sister might have said next.
She said it herself, but probably in a much kinder tone than Miss Cora would have used. “Shell, that’s pretty scary. It means someone has access to your shop after you leave at night. Have you given anyone else a key?”
“No, ma’am, I have not. And I didn’t forget to lock up, either.”
Silence.
Shell heaved a silent sigh. They weren’t going to believe her.
~ Chapter Two ~
“M
ISS BESSIE. MISS CORA…” SHE met the sisters’ somewhat doubtful gazes with a pleading one of her own. “I know how this sounds, but I’m telling you, I don’t know how anyone could have gotten into the shop. I lock it—every night. And I double- and triple-check it—every night. Shell’s Petals & Pretties is never unlocked when I’m not there.” She cleared her throat, determined not to get emotional in the face of disbelief. “I don’t leave it open even when I’m making a short dash into the pharmacy next door to see Carly, or running into another shop to pick up lunch, or for a short visit with someone. Like Mr. Beaudrie, across the square in the antique store—a Wrinkle in Time. I stop in to check on him now and then. He’s alone so much…antique stores aren’t exactly hotspots on most tourist’s radar. And he hasn’t seemed well for a while. I feel—I feel so—”
“Shell.” Miss Cora used her no-nonsense, listen-to-me-or-else tone.
Shell stopped rambling and listened.
“Joe Beaudrie’s poor health is common knowledge around here. You’re right, he shouldn’t be alone so much. But that’s not what this conversation is about.” Miss Cora paused, and when she spoke again, her voice held less sharpness, more warmth. Real concern. “I believe you, and I think I can speak for Bess too.”
Her sister nodded, but said nothing.
“We’d never doubt your word. It’s the circumstances that are baffling.” Miss Cora’s forehead bore a little line that hadn’t been there before Shell shared her situation. “But if you say you have a thief, then you have a thief. And I, for one, don’t like it.”
“I don’t either,” Miss Bessie piped up. “It’s a violation of your space and your belongings, and it isn’t right.”
Prim and proper Miss Cora actually snorted. “Well, now, that’s a revelation, sister. We thought it might be all right to steal a little somethin’ now and then.”
“Cora, don’t be mean.” Miss Bessie’s tone and the reproachful shake of her head seemed to phase Miss Cora not in the least, and Shell bit back laughter. The twins never ceased to make her smile with their constant bickering…amusing only because she knew each of the two women would take a fork in the eye for the other.
Usually their little word-sparring sessions meant Miss Cora was sniping at her sister over something silly, exactly as she was doing in this moment. Now and then, on rare occurrences, the tables turned and Miss Bessie dealt out the sarcasm with no less gusto. Right now, she was far from mean-spirited, playful or otherwise.
“Sweet Shell has a problem, sister. She’s brought her concerns to us. The least we can do is take her seriously and offer our prayers. She certainly doesn’t need us taking stabs at each other while we pray.”
Shell’s overactive imagination supplied an immediate cartoon-style vision of the sisters kneeling in the shadow of an oversized statue of Jesus. Heads bowed in seeming reverence, they delivered quick, vicious pokes at each other between the lines of the Lord’s Prayer. Miss Bessie’s weapon of choice was a tiny condiment fork. Miss Cora used the sharp end of a French twist pin.
Shell bit back a giggle at the errant thought. She was glad she hadn’t indulged in such frivolity when Miss Cora—she of the sharp, fancy hairpins—let out another indelicate and uncharacteristic snort.
Time to play peacemaker. She stepped in to staunch the flow of irritation between the twins.
“The circumstances make my story a little hard to believe—especially in Harvest Square. I’ve always appreciated the seeming overkill of security measures, including the little army of guards that oversee it around the clock. The idea that someone could be in my store after hours, when I know without a doubt that I locked it before I left, is hard to wrap my mind around. But that’s exactly what’s happening, and I confess, it’s more than a little unsettling. Would you both help me pray about it?”
“Of course we will, dear! Our heavenly Papa knows who your intruder is, and He can solve this mystery. So we’ll take it to the One who can fix it.”
“Bessie’s right, of course.” Cora nodded and smiled, but a little crease between her eyes revealed her concern. “You can count on our prayers. Are you, uhm…do you plan to go to the police?”
Shell shook her head. “I know I should. That’s the reasonable, sane thing to do. But something is keeping me from doing that, at least for now.”
“God works in mysterious ways, dear.” Miss Bessie’s soft voice soothed the agitation in Shell’s soul. “Trust Him.” She stood and held out both hands. “Come, ladies. Let’s pray about it right now.”
Shell and Miss Cora joined her. The trio formed a circle and gripped each other’s hands. Miss Bessie led them in a short, sincere prayer that left Shell far less strained than she’d been five minutes earlier.
The sisters walked her to the front door.
“Thank you, yet again, for helping out here at the kitchen.” Miss Cora’s voice lacked any of the bite it sometimes held. “I hope you know how much we appreciate you.”
“Oh, yes, we do!” Miss Bessie affirmed.
Shell smiled. “I should be thanking you for allowing me to be a part of Grace Kitchen in some small way. Being able to bring a little sunshine into the lives of those precious people…oh! That reminds me. I wanted to talk to you about something else, as well. Maybe we can do that Thursday night.”
“Yes…or you could come visit anytime between now and then.” Miss Cora smiled. Her fingers tugged gently at the smooth stones around her neck.
Again, Shell bit back a smile. That gesture had become quite familiar. Miss Cora lacked her sister’s comfortable interaction with people on an emotional level. Anytime a subject bordered on becoming too intimate, or she risked showing more feeling than was normal for her, she reached for the string of beads, blindly chose one, and stroked it between thumb and forefinger like a mood stone.
“Maybe I’ll do that.” Shell gave each of the twins a quick hug. “I should get going. I still have to walk back to the store. My car’s parked behind it.”
“Well, then, perhaps this young man will escort you there, dear. I don’t like the idea of you walking alone at night, considering our conversation this evening.”
Young man? Shell whirled in time to see Thorne Knight latch the gate and stride up the walk. That he’d heard Miss Bessie’s unfortunate comment became abundantly clear right away.
“Of course I will.” Unlike his chilly gaze, the man’s solicitous tone communicated nothing but concern. “Wouldn’t want the little flower lady wandering the dangerous streets of downtown Harvest all by her sweet little self.” He offered his arm, and Shell reluctantly took it. Then he tossed the sisters a smile that could’ve charmed the stinger off a red hornet. “May I come back once Miss Priss—oh, excuse me, Miss Prentiss—is safely behind the wheel of her vehicle? I’ve got a hankerin’ for a big mug of that unbeatable Tarwater java.”
Miss Bessie giggled like a smitten schoolgirl, while Miss Cora’s quiet smile lacked a certain sincerity. She’d clearly not been much of a tittering teen.
Shell resisted the urge to shove Thorne away with enough force to land him on his rear. That kind of behavior would upset the sisters.
Well, other ways existed to get a point across.
She’d show him Miss Priss!
* * * *
What was he supposed to say?
Away from Grace Kitchen and the Tarwater sisters, Thorne found himself at a loss for words. Why hadn’t he found a way to politely decline Miss Bessie’s pointed suggestion that he walk the fancy little florist to her vehicle? His remark about the dangerous streets in Harvest had been pure sarcasm, and all three of the ladies knew that. In truth, if Miss Prissy Prentiss had to walk somewhere in the dark, she couldn’t choose a safer area.
“You really didn’t have to do this. I can take care of myself.” She withdrew the hand tucked through the bend of his arm, and he was struck with a sudden sense of loss. Whoa! God? I don’t need that kind of curveball… Wanna take it back, please?
Right. Like God is known for changing His mind.
“I’m not afraid to walk through the square alone, Mr. Knight. I’m sorry Miss Bessie made you feel obligated to play escort.”
“I didn’t feel obligated.”
“Of course you did.” She stopped. “They’re back in the house now, so I can take it from here. Thank you for being willing, though. I appreciate it. Good night.” She spun and took off across the square, almost at a run.
Thorne rolled his eyes. He caught up in a few long strides and took her elbow in a firm grip. “I told the sisters I’d walk you to your car, and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s no problem.”
“Suit yourself.” This time she physically shoved his fingers off her arm. Once again he suffered a wicked stab of disappointment. “But if you call me Miss Priss again, I promise you’ll regret it.”
He chuckled. “Touched a sore spot, did I?”
“Look, Mr. Knight, I know—”
“Thorne. Please.”
“As I was saying…I know you don’t like me. That’s been obvious ever since I came here. Until now, we haven’t said three words to each other, so I’m not sure why you have a problem with me, but it’s a fact. So let’s cut the niceties, shall we? I’ll stay out of your way, and you won’t have to pretend. But don’t call me Miss Priss again. And here’s my car. Good night…Sir Knight.”
Before he could lift his chin off his chest, she was behind the wheel. And then she was gone.
What kind of ill wind had that been? They’d managed to say exactly nothing nice to each other, and why? Without a doubt, it was his fault, because the lady was right…he hadn’t liked her since the first day she moved all her fluff and flowers into the square. He was usually a decent judge of character, but he hadn’t even given Miss Priss a chance.
See…why Miss Priss? She’d done nothing whatsoever to earn the derogatory moniker. From all accounts, Shell Prentiss worked hard and ran her shop well. Most everyone in the square liked her—of course, there were always those few who didn’t like anyone. She sure as heck wasn’t hard on the eyes. Maybe that was where his animosity lay. Not that he didn’t like attractive women, but Shell was too pretty to be anything more than a priss…wasn’t she?
No. Prissy divas didn’t volunteer in soup kitchens. They didn’t take on businesses of their own and put in the long hours and dedicated labor to make them successful. Most importantly, the Tarwater twins liked her. That in itself said Shell wasn’t a diva. Bess and Cora didn’t like laziness, and they sure didn’t approve of self-centered people.
Thorne puffed out a confounded exhale. He swung back toward the soup kitchen, but stopped cold before he’d taken three steps. A dark-clad, shadowy figure moved swiftly past the back of Shell’s shop, around the corner, and into the service alley.
Surely no one had any legitimate reason to be in this area at this time at night.
He jogged across the parking lot and peered around the corner. Streetlamps placed at intervals along the narrow alleyway revealed nothing but a couple of large dumpsters. The garbage service had run this morning, so both bins were empty enough for the covers to be snugged into place. No one had raised a lid to hide inside, because Thorne would’ve heard the scream of squeaky hinges. Every dumpster in the square needed a little WD40, and had for some time. Maybe he’d make it his business to take care of that little problem tomorrow, now that he’d thought about it. The sanitation company seemed unconcerned, as long as the covers weren’t actually coming off and spilling trash onto the street.
He turned away. Whoever he’d seen had managed to get all the way through the alley before Thorne reached this end. He chuckled. Ten years ago, that wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he needed to leave the office more often and do a little running. Or something.
As he walked back to the soup kitchen, his thoughts returned to Shell, and he liked himself less with every step. When had he become so judgmental, mean-spirited and ungentlemanly?
Sir Knight, she’d called him. This Knight’s armor could use a good polishing—exactly her point, of course. He’d let it get dull and rusty. His dad would be ashamed of him.
Even worse, his heavenly Father couldn’t possibly be pleased with his behavior. The thought pinched his heart…because despite everything that had gone sour in Thorne Knight’s life, he never, ever wanted to drive another nail into the hands of his Savior.
“I’m sorry, Lord.” He stopped outside the gate at Grace Kitchen. One hand on the latch, he stood in silent prayer for a moment. “Please forgive my selfishness and over-confidence in myself. I’m not worthy to judge anyone, and certainly not Shell. I don’t even know her—but You do, and You love her. Create in me a clean heart, oh Lord, and renew a right spirit within me.” He borrowed the words from Psalm 51:10, and promised himself to pray that same prayer every day. Apparently his heart could use a daily cleaning service. “Amen.”
A light broke through the darkness in the front yard when the door swung open. “You comin’ in, Thorne?” Cora’s abrupt voice broke into the quiet, fragrant night. “Or did you plan to stargaze a while?”
Thorne laughed. “No, ma’am, Miss Cora. I still want that coffee.”
“Well, it’s ready, and Bess has a lemon pound cake set out for you. You know my sister—she’s convinced any man who isn’t married is perpetually hungry.”
Thorne crossed the small yard to join her at the door. He planted a kiss on her cheek, and chuckled when she stiffened. “Lead the way, sweet Cora. I can already taste the citrus on my tongue.”
“Can you taste the silver, too?” Cora closed the door behind them and motioned him to follow her upstairs. “I think you must’ve written the definition for ‘silver-tongued,’ Thorne Knight, but why you want to waste it on me, I don’t know. Especially when there’s the likes of Shell Prentiss right at your fingertips.” She shot him a sharp glance as they reached the landing and entered the upstairs apartment. “I hope you treated her better on the way to her car than you did standing in my front yard. If I had my way, you wouldn’t get a bite of that lemon cake ’til you apologize. Miss Priss, indeed!”
Wow. He’d kicked up a stink, and he couldn’t deny the truth. He’d been a jerk—and not just tonight. From Shell’s first appearance in Harvest Square, he’d kept himself at a distance. He always extended a personal welcome to new merchants, but he hadn’t bothered with Shell. Convinced the too-pretty-to-be-tough-enough florist would occupy the space no more than six months, he’d told himself making a big deal of her arrival would be a waste of breath.
“I know, Miss Cora. God’s already raked me over the coals. Think maybe that’s enough for tonight?”
She pursed her lips, but her eyes held a little light of humor. She’d forgive him, but he’d disappointed her, and it rankled. Still, no wonder she felt that way. Watching anyone else behave as he had tonight, he’d have been tempted to shake some manners into them. Maybe that’s what God was doing with all this reproach…trying to pour a touch of finesse and a renewal of chivalry into his heart and soul.
Bess rushed over for a hug, then led him to the kitchen table. “Thorne, you simply must try this cake. Nadine Simms brought one to our last quilting meeting, and I loved it so much I begged
for the recipe, even though she swore it was a family secret.”
“Well, it looks mighty fine.”
They gathered around the small table and Bess took his hand. “Would you say grace, dear?”
He prayed, and then raised his head and smiled at the sisters. They’d been like a mother to him. He grinned, because the singular use of the word seemed wrong, but it was right. Bess and Cora were like one great mom in two identical bodies. He loved them both, and if playing nice with Shell Prentiss made them happy, then it was worth the effort.
Then they started talking. Thorne’s temper flickered, and then fanned into a blaze. Apparently the florist had fed Bess and Cora a bunch of nonsense about missing items in her shop. So much for all of his good intentions. By the time he left Grace Kitchen, he was downright angry, and convinced “Miss Priss” was a perfect name for the too-pretty florist, after all.
Now he’d have to go visit her shop, and that didn’t make him any happier. Shell’s Petals & Pretties occupied the one space on the square that Thorne never stepped inside. The place made his skin crawl.
One Harvest Knight
(Grace Kitchen, Book 3)
Find all three Grace Kitchen novels here.
~About Delia Latham~
Writing Heaven’s touch into earthly tales, Delia Latham puts her characters through the fire of earthly trials to bring them out victorious by the hand of God, His heavenly messengers, and good, old-fashioned love. You’ll always find a touch of the divine in her tales of sweet romance.
Delia and her husband Johnny live in East Texas, where their pampered Pomeranian, Kona, kindly allows them to share her home. The author enjoys multiple life roles as wife, mother, grandmother, sister and friend, but above all, she loves being a princess daughter to the King of kings. She admits to a lifelong, mostly un-battled Dr. Pepper addiction, and loves hearing from her readers.
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