by Diane Moody
“I had no idea,” Peyton said. “It’s a big organization?”
Kathleen rolled her eyes. “Just you wait. The flowers alone will overflow this place. So I’m not sure where to have the actual service.”
“What about outdoors?” Gevin asked. “The grounds between the back terrace and the tree line could accommodate several hundred, I’d think.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Gevin. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”
“Of course, the weather will have to cooperate, but we’ll leave that up to Peyton since he has a hotline to God.”
“Gee, thanks. Like I don’t have enough pressure in my life right now.”
“Dee, jot down a reminder to contact Music City Tents & Events about putting up some open tents for the reception. Then if it rains, we can easily move everyone to those and just make do,” Kathleen suggested.
They continued discussing plans, deciding to hold the funeral on Sunday afternoon at three with a reception on the grounds following. Kathleen told them Dee was helping her put together an obituary to run the next day in The Tennessean.
“Dee, I’d like for you to contact the TFA and let them spread the word.”
“No problem,” she said.
“What kind of music would you like to have?” Peyton asked.
“Goodness, I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose we could enlist some of his friends from the Nashville Symphony Chorus.”
“Perfect,” Gevin added.
“Harley had stopped going to rehearsals several months ago with all this gambling mess,” Kathleen continued, “but I know he has a handful of friends there who might come. Even a quartet with some strings from the Nashville Symphony would be nice. Dee, I’ll give you those names after we’re finished.”
“Got it.”
“Now, Peyton. I don’t want a lot of people getting up there telling their favorite Harley stories or memories. It’s not dignified, and Harley always thought it quite crass. So I’d like for you to give the eulogy. I’m sure it would have pleased him.”
He swallowed hard. When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up over her glasses.
“Is there a problem?”
He could feel his face warming, no doubt tinting his face a subtle shade of crimson. Lord, help me out here.
“You okay?” Gevin asked at the ongoing silence.
Peyton ran a hand through his hair and blew out a noisy sigh. “You might want to think about asking someone else to give Harley’s eulogy.”
“Why? You don’t want to?” Kathleen asked, pulling her glasses off.
“It’s not that. It’s just that … well, I guess you could say I’m not—”
“What are you talking about?” Kathleen said.
He straightened his posture. “I had hoped not to mention it, but you might as well know what’s going on. Though, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask all three of you to keep what I’m about to tell you in strict confidence.”
“Can’t be that bad,” Gevin said with a chuckle.
“Actually, it is. The thing is, I’ve been named a person of interest.”
“For what?” Kathleen asked.
“For Harley’s murder.”
Their gasps came in unison. Kathleen’s eyes blinked rapidly as her mouth dropped open, her brows pinched in disbelief.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Gevin asked, half-smiling.
“I wish it were, but no.”
“Well, I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in all my life,” Kathleen snapped. “On what possible basis?”
He explained as best he could, leaving Ida Rose’s name out of it, as well as Tristan’s. When he finished, a quick moment of silence passed before Kathleen burst out laughing.
“Never in a million years would I believe you had anything to do with Harley’s death! If you want me to call Jeff as a character witness, just say the word. Because I don’t believe it for a minute. That’s some nerve of him to make such an accusation.”
“Yeah, buddy, I agree with Kathleen,” Gevin chided. “Someone’s pulling your leg. Has to be. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Has to be,” Dee chimed in with a laugh. “You’re about the least likely person in town to run a stop sign, let alone murder? Impossible.”
“No, I have no doubt in my mind that Harley is dead because of his gambling debt,” Kathleen continued. “Everyone knows the kind of people who call in debts like that. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the mob was all over this.”
Peyton rubbed the back of his neck. “You all are most kind, and I appreciate your faith in me. Just remember that none of this goes anywhere. I am holding you to your word not to speak of it to anyone. Jeff would have my neck if he knew I told you.”
Even saying the words, Peyton felt a noose tightening around his neck. He grimaced at his own failure to keep his mouth shut while imploring them to do so. What a hypocrite.
“I don’t care what Jeff or anyone else thinks,” Kathleen said, putting her glasses back on. “You are the only person I would even consider to give my brother’s eulogy. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is settled.”
He nodded, willing to do as she asked, but also keenly aware of the obstacles.
“Moving on. Gevin, I’ve asked you here because I’d like you to put together a slide show of photographs from Harley’s life. He was somewhat of a pack rat in that once-tidy house of his, plus I also have some pictures. I would like to have it run on a loop as folks gather for the funeral.”
“How will that work with the outdoor lighting?” Gevin asked.
“Good question” she said. “Would you mind looking into that for me?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Thank you. Also, in addition to the slideshow, I am planning a temporary exhibition room here at Braxton House to honor my brother’s life, and I would value your help in pulling that together.”
“I’d be happy to,” Gevin said. “What kind of timeline are you thinking about?”
“I’d like it up and running within a month.”
“A month?” Gevin gulped. “Isn’t that kind of … I mean, how do you—how do we pull something together that fast?”
“We’re not talking about a display at the Frist Art Museum. Just a small room of mementos and photographs, that sort of thing. I’d like you to enlarge some of the pictures of special moments in Harley’s life. Some of his florist awards, pictures of him singing solos with the Nashville Symphony Chorus. That sort of thing. You’ll be well paid, of course.”
“If that’s what you want, Kathleen, then we’ll make it happen.”
“I think it’s a terrific idea,” Peyton added, “and I’d be happy to help, so let me know.”
“Excellent,” she said, closing the folder on her desk then standing. “Thank you both for coming. Don’t hesitate to call or stop by if you have any questions. Dee will see you out.”
As Peyton and Gevin walked out the front door of Braxton House, Gevin leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Was it just me, or did that all seem a little too rehearsed?”
“I was just wondering the same thing. Very business as usual, right?”
“I kept waiting for some emotion to surface, or maybe some fond memory she had of Harley.”
“I know, but like I keep saying, people express grief in all kinds of ways. For Kathleen, staying focused on this big sendoff for her brother is probably her way of dealing with her loss.”
“Maybe so.” Gevin started to turn toward his car, then stopped. “Peyton, this ‘person of interest’ business … Kathleen’s right. I’ve never heard anything so absurd in my whole life.”
“I know. Obviously it’s a case of mistaken identity or whatever, but I’m just leaning into the Lord. He’ll get me through this, one way or another.”
“I’ll be praying for you,” Gevin said, giving him a man-hug with a pat on the back.
“Thanks, Gevin. And remember not to—”
“�
��say a word to my wife, and least of all my sister. My lips are sealed.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
Chapter 18
“The pastor’s taking you out on a date?” Faye said. “Well, isn’t that nice.”
“Remember? I told you about it when you got home.”
“You did? Oh, don’t mind me. I guess I left my mind at the store. We were so busy today.”
“I’m afraid that means you’ll be on your own for dinner tonight,” Aubrey said. “Will you be all right?”
“Of course, sweetie. I’ll just heat up some of your leftover chicken noodle soup. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, dear. I’m sure. Now go along and get ready for your date.”
Half an hour later, Aubrey glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’d just applied her lipstick, checked her hair, spritzed her favorite cologne, and clasped the string of pearls around her neck when her mother’s voice drifted up the stairs.
“Aubrey, dinner’s ready.”
She stared at herself in the mirror and wondered for the hundredth time what was wrong with her mother.
A moment later the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” her mother called.
Aubrey took one more glance in the mirror, smoothing her black dress and the matching cotton knit sweater. She grabbed her clutch, then turned and made her way downstairs just as Faye opened the front door.
“Why Pastor, what brings you here?” Faye asked.
Aubrey’s heart ached at the reality setting in. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“I’m here to take your lovely daughter out to dinner.”
“How nice.”
“Hello Peyton,” Aubrey said, meeting him just inside the front door.
“Hi Aubrey.” His smile brightened his face, his eyes even bluer with his pale blue shirt and navy jacket over tan slacks.
“Look who’s come, Aubrey. It’s the pastor.”
“Yes, it is. I wonder if …” She looked back and forth between her mother and Peyton, trying to decide what to do.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Now, you two run along. I don’t want my soup to burn,” Faye said as she headed back to the kitchen.
“What is it?” Peyton whispered.
“I’m not sure I should leave her alone.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know. She’s just acting so strange. I told her three times you were taking me out to dinner. And then you show up, and she’s surprised to see you.”
“We don’t have to go if you’d rather stay in. I could go pick up something for us.”
“No, that’s okay. Give me just a minute, will you?”
“Sure. Take your time.”
In the kitchen, she found her mother standing at the stove stirring her soup. Why she hadn’t heated the soup in the microwave, Aubrey had no idea.
“Mom, will you be all right? Are you sure you don’t want me to stay in tonight?”
“Good heavens, no. I’m perfectly fine. You all have a nice time together.”
Aubrey looked around. “Where’s your phone, Mom?”
“Here in my sweater,” she said, patting the bulge in her pocket.
“Okay, then promise me you’ll keep it on you at all times?”
“Well, I most certainly will not keep it on me when I take my bath,” she answered with a giggle.
“I know, but even then, keep it near the tub, will you? In case something should happen?”
“You worry too much. Now go. Have a good time. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”
Aubrey kissed her mother’s cheek and said goodbye.
After Peyton closed her car door, then slid into the driver’s seat, he turned to her. “Now, just for the record, mind you, I want to say that you look and smell amazing. If that’s not too forward of me?”
“Not at all. Thank you, but I could say the same for you.”
“Oh, this silly ol’ thing?” he teased, pinching the sleeve of his jacket. “Just something I picked up on sale last year.”
“Either way, it’s a good look for you.”
“Are you trying to flatter me, Miss Evans?”
She smiled and wished for an evening free of worry, but wondered if that was even possible.
“What’s going on with your mom? Would you like to talk about it?”
“Something’s just not right. Sometimes she’s forgetful, other times she’s her same usual self. I could probably overlook it, except for the fact she’s never been this way before.”
“You’ve never noticed this kind of forgetfulness before?”
“No.”
“The other day you said she was snapping at you a lot. Is she still doing that?”
“No, not really. Now it’s more like she’s ditzy. And I’ve noticed a peculiar giggle. My mother has never giggled. Laughter, sure. But giggles? No way. Sometimes I feel like shaking her and saying, ‘Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?’”
“Do you think it’s possible all of this is just part of her grief?”
“That’s the other thing—she rarely talks about Dad. How is that possible? We buried him only a few days ago, and it’s as if she’s already forgotten about him.” She turned to look out the passenger window. “I don’t know, but it’s unsettling.”
“Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin our evening out, so let’s talk about something else.”
“Are you sure? Because if you need to air it out, we can.”
“No, it’s all right. I need a break from thinking about it, so tell me about your day.”
He told her about his meeting with Sterling and Jeff and the odd transcript of the conversation between Harley and Stone Decker.
“Who is this Stone Decker? I asked Mom on the way home from that town hall meeting, but she didn’t know much about him or even why he was in jail.”
“That’s a long story in itself. Decker is just one of those guys who … well, let me put it this way. Ever hear the expression ‘big fish in a little pond’? That’s Stone Decker. To say he has an inflated ego would be a gross understatement. A while back, he set up an elaborate scheme to make it look like crime in Braxton was getting out of control. That’s what Smitty Jeters was talking about at the town hall meeting. Decker wanted to unseat our mayor, and according to what we heard last night, part of that was an attempt to get his hands on that city property where the water tower sits.”
“Sounds like a real sweet guy.”
“No, not so much.”
“What was on that transcript?”
“Evidence of Harley and Stone Decker’s collusion. Harley apparently owed Decker some money, and Decker called in a favor. It’s complicated and hard to explain, but bottom line, Decker threatened to find Harley and make him pay, even saying that once he got his hands on Harley, ‘there’d be nothing left but that miserable toupee.’”
“I would expect this kind of thing in New York, but not in a little town like Braxton. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
“I do. But there’s evil everywhere, not just in big cities.”
“Why do I feel like I’m about to hear a sermon?”
He smiled at her. “No sermons tonight. I promise.”
They arrived at Antonio’s, a small and intimate Italian restaurant in the west part of Nashville known as Bellevue. Old-school ambiance, a loyal wait staff of older gentlemen, and a menu featuring the cuisine of northern Italy. The host seated them in a cozy back corner. After selecting their entrees—chicken marsala for him, eggplant parmigiana for her—they continued their conversation.
“How did it go with your office conference call this morning?” he asked.
“The usual. Lengthy and exasperating.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too. I realized this morning that I’m being punished for not being in the office. Which is completely unfair,
given that I work seventy-hour weeks and have no time for a real life.”
“Seventy hours? Why do you stay? Do you love what you do?”
“I used to.”
He arched his brows and smiled.
“What?” she asked, tearing off a bite of crusty garlic bread.
“Seems to me if you work long hours and don’t love it, you should move on.”
“I know. I’ve actually been thinking about that since I’ve been here. How much I don’t miss it. But I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, you know? I’ve broken the gender barrier in a company run by good old boys for decades. How do you walk away from that?”
“Simple. You give your notice, pack up your box—the kind you always see in the movies when someone gets fired or retires—and you fill it with your framed awards and photographs, the lone potted plant from your desk, your favorite coffee mug, then you make your exit.”
“If only it were that easy.”
After the waiter brought their meals, Peyton took her hand in his and offered a brief prayer before they began to eat.
When he finished, he said, “May I ask you a personal question, Aubrey?”
“Sure. Well. I guess?” She smiled. “But just because you ask doesn’t mean I have to answer.”
“Fair enough. I’m just curious if there is someone waiting for you back in New York?”
“Ah. The boyfriend question.”
“So there is one?”
“Did I say there was?”
“Don’t mess with me, girl. It’s hard enough to get the nerve up just to ask.” His shy smile spread a web of tiny laugh lines from the corners of his eyes.
“There was once,” she said. “But that’s over now.”
“He’s an idiot.”
She laughed out loud. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Considering you don’t even know him.”
“No, but I’m grateful nonetheless.”
“For?”
“For whatever reason split you two apart.”
“In all fairness, we just had too many differences between us. He owns a restaurant in Soho. I’m a corporate girl. He liked to pick up and get out of town now and then. I could never get away. That sort of thing.”
“He’s still an idiot.”
She laughed again then took a sip of her tea. “No, he’s not. You’d like him. But he was right when he said I was already married.”