by Hillary Avis
“They seemed pretty happy to me,” I said, sneaking a look at her in my peripheral vision to see if she’d take the bait. “Every time I’ve seen them together, they’re all smiles.”
“No, they aren’t!” Margie said triumphantly, stopped again and swelling like a pufferfish as she gripped my arm. “Now, don’t tell anyone I said this, but they weren’t even speaking to each other at the cocktail part on Friday.”
I tugged my arm out of her grasp—she was digging in her fingers so hard it was starting to hurt. “Maybe they were too busy schmoozing with the Chamber of Commerce to chat with each other.”
“And they left separately.” Margie raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, certain this piece of evidence would damn them in my eyes. “I don’t know where Amelia’s been staying, but it isn’t at home with her husband. Maybe she has a new boyfriend, maybe she doesn’t—what do I know?”
I confess that my mouth dropped open. No wonder Margie was having a hard time keeping that bit of information to herself. Amelia Goodbody cheating on her husband? I’d believe she was Audrey Hepburn reincarnated before I’d believe that. But I guess people can have deep secrets and a past they’d rather forget about. Someone who met me now, wearing grubby jeans and with callouses on my palms, would never guess that I spent thirty years as a pampered Beverly Hills housewife. And someone who met me then would never have guessed how miserable I really was, because I always put on a perfect smile. Just like Amelia did.
“It didn’t come from me,” Margie said slyly, watching my face. I could tell she hoped I’d spread it all over town.
I shook my head. “I’m not going to tell anyone, don’t worry.”
Disappointment flashed in her eyes. “Well, bless your heart. We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, poor woman.”
We were almost at City Hall, and I knew my chance at gaining Margie’s support for my egg business was waning, so I nodded in agreement. “At least we know it wasn’t something she ate. Eli assured me that her death was just a fluke. A freak accident. One that has nothing to do with her breakfast.”
“A fluke,” Margie agreed. She stopped with her hand on the door to the city offices. “You know, sometimes accidents happen for a reason.”
I blinked. “Why would you say something like that?”
“They show people’s true colors. I mean, you see how broken up Cal is over Amelia’s death, right?”
I nodded. The man was clearly devastated by her loss.
“Well.” Margie looked around us again and stepped out of the way of the door so a city worker could exit, then waited for him to walk down the block before she continued. “I can’t blame him for dumping her if she was a liability to his campaign. But I can’t respect him for crying over her now that she’s gone. That fluke did him a favor—now he should do us the favor of keeping his crocodile tears to himself. I’ve been in politics a long time now, and nothing turns my stomach like someone capitalizing on a tragedy. It sickens me.”
My mind raced. Maybe Margie was right—maybe the Goodbodys weren’t so good. A troubled marriage, a messy breakup, all swept under the rug so that Cal Goodbody could get elected mayor. But then again, maybe none of it was true. Maybe Cal and Amelia were as happy as they seemed, and Cal was truly devastated by his wife’s death. Margie might be spreading lies to cement her tenure in City Hall.
“Are you feeling all right, hon?”
I nodded. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
“It is, it is.” Margie smiled broadly at me. “But people need to know the truth. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands. You’re good friends with Ruth Chapman, isn’t that right? I know you said you weren’t going to tell anyone, but if you need to share with someone, well...I find her to be very understanding, too.”
She nodded across the street to Ruth’s salon. Through the window, I could see a cluster of women, including the raincoat trio from the library, with their highlighted heads together. Of course, Margie wanted me to tell Ruth what she’d revealed about Amelia and Cal. There was no better way to disseminate information than from Ruth’s chair. Her words traveled faster than the weekly newspaper and were more trusted, too. But Margie didn’t know one thing—even if I told her the rumor, Ruth would never betray my confidence. Our friendship was too old and deep-rooted for that nonsense.
I nodded politely. “Good luck with your campaign, Margie.”
“And good luck with your little egg farm,” Margie replied, straightening up. All trace of her alcoholic slur was gone, and her eyes were suddenly focused and clear, making me wonder if she’d ever been drunk to begin with. “It’d be a shame if that didn’t work out for you.”
Chapter 10
“I can’t believe she said that,” Ruth declared as she ran a wide-toothed comb through my hair. Somehow she’d convinced me to get one of her special herbal conditioning treatments while I caught her up on my conversation with Marge-in-Charge. “Do you think it was a threat?”
I shrugged and winced as Ruth tugged out a knot in my curls. “I think she was letting me know that she understood my objective in walking with her—to restore Lucky Cluck Farm’s reputation. She knew it wasn’t out of the goodness of my heart. And maybe she was also letting me know that she was up for a little quid pro quo—she’d help me with my reputation if I helped her win the election.”
“What can you do? You can’t even vote for her.” Ruth squirted some purple styling goo on her hands and then ran them through my hair, twisting each curl around her finger until it formed a perfect ringlet.
The goo made my scalp tingle pleasantly, and I felt my shoulders start to relax. “I can spread what she told me about the Goodbodys, I guess. She can’t tell people herself because it would look like a campaign smear. For all I know, it is a campaign smear.”
“Why’d she trust you with the information, though?” Ruth squinted at me in the mirror and laughed at my offended expression. “Well, really. You avoid coming into town as much as possible. You hate talking to people.”
“But she knows I’m friends with you—and with Eli, now that I think about it. She thinks he’s important, and she’s pretty certain he and I are a couple. She tried to sell us condoms,” I said drily. I glanced over at the chair dryers to make sure the Raincoats, who were oiled and foiled and waiting for their highs to light, weren’t listening.
Ruth followed my gaze in the mirror and grinned. “Don’t worry, they can’t hear anything. It’s like a jet engine under one of those hoods. Anyway, aren’t you and Eli a couple? Don’t be offended just because Margie noticed.”
“We’re just friends,” I said automatically. “And I’m not offended. Actually, I’m flattered she thinks I can still get pregnant.”
Ruth giggled, then flicked on a blow dryer with a diffuser attachment and began gently drying my hair, taking care not to ruin the ringlets she’d formed. “So, are you going to?”
“What?” I said loudly over the whir of the dryer.
“Tell people.”
I shook my head and she nudged me to hold still. I tried to hold my head steady as I answered. “I’m not sure it’s true—she could be making it up just to put her opponent in a bad light. Why—do you think I should?”
“You should consider it.”
I frowned. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I was surprised Ruth had asked whether I would spread Margie’s rumor at all—she was usually adamant that any gossip that passed through her chair was the truth, not conjecture. That was part of why people were so eager to hear what she had to say. They knew it was information they could trust.
Ruth clicked off the dryer and spun my chair around to face her. “I’m just worried for you. Margie can hold a grudge. Her comment about your farm makes me think she’ll have it out for you if you don’t help her win. And you know how much weight she can throw around when she wants to. Remember Annaliese?”
I nodded. Annaliese was a chubby-cheeked girl with deep dimples who’d had the audacity to run against
Margie for student council president back in high school. Margie managed to get her cut from the debate team by spreading a rumor that Annaliese stole M&Ms from the concessions stand, and then the whole school closed ranks against the poor girl. Maybe Annaliese had done it, maybe she hadn’t, but all of the scrutiny led her to leave Honeytree High before the Homecoming dance. Margie got elected, and Annaliese homeschooled for the rest of her senior year. I was only a freshman at the time, but even I knew it wasn’t right. And now Margie wasn’t just an ambitious high school girl—she was the mayor and had connections all over the state. She could really do some damage...say, to a struggling small-business owner like myself.
Ruth finished drying my hair and turned me to face the mirror. She fixed a stray curl and surveyed her work with a satisfied nod, then applied a cloud of hairspray. “What do you think?”
“Shirley Temple ain’t got nothing on me,” I said. I hardly recognized my own reflection. My frizzy mane had been completely tamed—though probably not for long. At the moment, however, my curls looked smooth and shiny, like spun gold laced with silver. They’d be the envy of any princess, Hollywood or otherwise. “This is red-carpet hair, Ruth. You could make a fortune in LA.”
Ruth snorted. “And leave all this glamour behind?” She motioned around her little salon, at the strings of fairy lights and bohemian tapestries she had tacked to the walls and ceiling, the well-organized reception desk that doubled as a manicurist’s station when Tambra wasn’t taking time off for Spring Break, and the makeshift altar with candles and crystals and sage. “Never.”
I stood and gave her an impulsive hug. “Thanks. For the hair, and for the advice. I think I know what I need to do now.”
She nodded, her expression cautious and reserved. “I won’t ask. But whatever you do, be careful.”
Of course, she was right. And of course, I ignored her.
“WHERE IS HE?” I ASKED Preston. I scanned the comfortable interior of the church office, but there was no sign of Pastor Cal. Rows of leaflets with titles like “God In Your Marriage” lined one wall, and above them, a motivational poster reading “Keep Calm and Trust Jesus” hung next to a simple wooden cross. A cozy reading area with a bookshelf and easy chairs faced a large desk that held a name placard with Pastor Calvin’s name on it. I noticed a few “Goodbody for Mayor” yard signs leaned up against the wall behind the desk, too.
Preston sighed and rubbed his red, puffy eyes. He looked like he’d been up all night. “I wish I knew. He’s not answering his phone. I’ve had to cancel his whole afternoon. He was supposed to speak at the Friends of the Library meeting about the new literacy program he wants to spearhead as mayor. You don’t happen to be a member, do you?” I shook my head, and he sighed again. “I was hoping you might be able to do some damage control.”
“Sorry. I’m here to do some damage control myself.”
Preston raised an eyebrow. “What kind of damage?”
I bit my lip as I tried to formulate my approach. Though he was Cal’s campaign manager and spent a lot of time with the couple, I had no idea how much Preston might know about the Goodbodys’ personal life. “Let’s put it this way. I heard a rumor that I’m not sure is true. If it isn’t, I’d like to know that.”
“A rumor about Cal?”
I nodded. “I think it could affect the election if it starts to circulate. That’s why I need to know if it’s true.”
Preston groaned and sank into one of the overstuffed green armchairs in front of the bookcase, resting his head in his hands. “I knew this was going to come up. I knew it. What have you heard?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather talk to Cal about it. I don’t want to repeat a rumor if it isn’t true.”
“If it is what I think it is, it’s true. Is it about their marriage?” Preston raised his head and looked at me. I nodded and he groaned. “I told him that Amelia was going to be trouble, but he swore he could manage her. He said they had an agreement—they were going to stay together until he got elected and held office for a year. Then they’d have an amicable divorce. I guess it doesn’t matter now, though.” He paused. “Who told you they were separated?”
“I was told in confidence, so I’d rather not say.”
“It was Margie, wasn’t it?”
Oops. Apparently, my line of questioning wasn’t as discreet as I thought.
Preston shook his head disbelievingly. “I don’t know why she bears such a grudge against Cal. He might be her political rival, but she takes the rivalry way too far. Did you know she reported their dog to Animal Control for peeing on the tree by her house? It’s not even in her yard, it’s a city tree by the street.”
“I don’t want anyone to get in trouble. I just thought Cal should know the rumor circulating out there, so he could decide how he wants to handle it.”
Preston snorted. “I’m pretty sure the only way to handle Margie Morrow is to beat her at the ballot box. Of course, that will be difficult without your discretion.” Preston stood and adjusted his lapels, flashing a smile at me. His teeth were extremely white. He gestured to the stack of campaign signs behind the desk. “Would you like one? It’d be great to have a sign out in the Flats since so many people drive through there every day.”
I ignored the offer—there was a reason no campaign signs peppered the stretch of highway between Honeytree and Duma. That’s because the folks who lived in the Flats minded their own business and stayed out of small-town politics. I was surprised Preston was so blithe about the potential rumors, though. “You’re not worried about what people will think when they hear about Cal and Amelia’s problems?”
“Nope. I think Honeytree is rallying behind Cal,” he said staunchly. “You saw the turnout yesterday. They love him. He’s a good guy and he just lost the love of his life—sure, he and Amelia had their issues, but who doesn’t? It makes him relatable, right?”
I shrugged. “Marriage trouble might. But lying about it and covering it up doesn’t. Maybe you could get away with it in the anonymity of a big city, but in small towns, people don’t appreciate being tricked. Especially not by their pastor.”
A fleeting expression crossed Preston’s face at my words. Anger? Shock? But it quickly settled into an ingratiating smile. He reached out to shake my hand. “Well, I’m glad you’re a supporter. He’ll need every bit of it in the coming months as he’s learning the ropes in City Hall. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”
Before I knew it, I was back out on the sidewalk in front of the church. I had the answer I’d been looking for and more. Preston had all but admitted that Cal and Amelia were secretly split up at the time of the Easter Scramble. And how did he put it? He knew that Amelia would be trouble for Cal’s campaign.
Except now, she wasn’t.
Chapter 11
I walked back down the hill toward where my burgundy Suburban was parked in front of the sheriff’s office, lost in thought. I wasn’t sure how I’d clucked things up, but I had. Somehow, I had ruffled the feathers of both mayoral candidates in the space of an hour, when I’d only meant to smooth things over. Margie was sure to sabotage my business if I didn’t spread the truth about Cal and Amelia. And Cal seemed likely to win the mayor’s seat, so spreading rumors about him wouldn’t win me any friends—or customers. Either way, Lucky Cluck Farm was in trouble.
Speaking of things that were clucked up...I winced as I saw Eli watching me from the sidewalk in front of his office.
“That was fast,” he said when I crossed the street and reached for the driver’s side door handle. I could only assume he’d been surveilling my little detour to the church and was irritated by my meddling. I braced myself for a scolding, but he just held out his hand.
I shook my head. “He wasn’t there.”
Eli withdrew his hand and frowned. “I thought you knew right where it was. It’s got a thousand bucks in it—you can’t just leave it laying around.”
Oh, he meant the golden egg. I knew wh
ere that was...sort of. “Not the egg. I couldn’t find him. Pastor Cal. I haven’t gone home for the egg yet.” Truth be told, I’d forgotten all about it since Margie dropped the broken-marriage bomb.
Eli raised an eyebrow. “What do you want with Cal?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets sheepishly. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Liar.” He barked a laugh. “There’s no way Leona Landers—”
“Davis,” I interrupted. As much as I wanted to shuck my ex-husband’s last name, I hadn’t been a Landers for more than thirty years. Plus, I didn’t like Eli’s assumptions that he knew what I would or wouldn’t do. I’d changed a lot since I was his date to the Sadie Hawkins dance.
“Davis,” he corrected, rolling his eyes. “There’s no way you walked into a church looking for a pastor unless you had a good reason. You’re not letting this Amelia thing go. Why not? You must know something.” He eyed me appraisingly, his eyes lingering on my golden princess hairdo and slowly making their way down my entire body. I felt my chest and face flush under his scrutiny.
Darn it, he was right.
I yanked open the door of my car and slid into the driver’s seat to escape, but he was too quick for me. Before I could put the Suburban into gear, he was sitting in the passenger seat beside me. Curse this old car and its lack of automatic door locks, too!
“Spit it out, Leona. What do you want with Cal?”
I gnawed my thumbnail and peeked him in my peripheral vision. His dark eyes were still searching my face—what he could see of it—and his expression was equal parts hopeful and earnest. He wasn’t just asking me so he could turn it around and berate me. He really wanted to know what I was thinking.