Gone South (40 page)

The show would end tomorrow afternoon with the drawing for the charity raffle. He’d stay until then, on the off chance that he’d won one of the big prizes, but he’d be home in plenty of time to wish Mel a happy birthday.

On impulse, he pulled out his phone and called Stu. Given the way their last conversation ended, it might be awkward.

“Too bad,” George said under his breath.

Stu, when he answered, sounded wary but not hostile. “What’s up?”

“Not much. I’m wandering around a car show. Just thought I’d call and remind you that tomorrow is your sister’s birthday.”

Stu was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Good. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you.”

Stu sighed. “Not if I tell her the Corvette’s sold.”

“It is? Oh boy. She fell apart when she spotted somebody taking it for a test drive.”

“Yeah, that’s him. The one and only guy who took it out for a spin. He’s buying it. Go ahead and tell her if you want to.”

“That’s not a conversation I’d care to initiate.”

“Me either,” Stu said. “Poor Melly.”

“Melly? I haven’t heard you call her that since she was about eight.”

“I feel sorry for her. First the watch, now the car. Not that there’s any comparison, value-wise, but you know what I mean.”

“I’ve been wondering who ended up with the watch. Did your dad give it to you?”

“Yeah. He said that’s what he’d planned to do all along.” The edge to Stu’s voice said he was skeptical, though.

So was George. “Good for him,” he said.

“But now that I know how much it meant to Mel, I won’t enjoy having it.”

“Give it back to her, then. She would love you forever.”

“Not a bad idea, except Dad would be furious.”

“What you do with it is your business. You don’t have to tell him a thing.”

“Good point. Yeah. Yeah, I like that idea. I could give it to her for her birthday.”

“Excellent plan. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

“Hey, Stu, did you ever hear that we’ve pretty much cleared up the mystery of why Mel’s cash drawers used to come up short?”

“She said something about that,” Stu said slowly.

“She just didn’t have a clue about how to count change. I think there’s
more to it than that, though. Have you ever wondered if she might have a learning disability? Dyslexia or something similar?”

“Come on, George. Dad was on the school board. Mom ran the PTA. You think they didn’t pay attention to how she did in school?”

“Think about it. She’s smart, obviously, but she never did well in school. Sometimes I catch her staring at price tags like they’re written in Farsi, and it’s like pulling teeth to get her to write anything. I wonder if something keeps her from processing information the way the rest of us do. I’ve tried to broach the subject a couple of times, but she’ll never talk about it.”

“Huh,” Stu said. “It’s something to look into.”

George smiled, dodging an elderly gentleman who blundered into his path. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Okay. Hey, George … thanks for giving me a kick in the butt.”

“Anytime.”

Still smiling, George continued walking between rows of shiny muscle cars and smoking grills. His tuxedo-black baby stood at the end of the last line of vehicles, locked up tight.

Of all the cars he’d ever owned, the Chevelle was his favorite. He’d sell it in a heartbeat, though, if somebody flashed enough cash. As much as he tried, he couldn’t understand how Mel could be so attached to a car that had never been hers … unless she’d learned how valuable it was. That could explain it.

He called Tish next, wanting another dose of that fast-talking Yankee voice. He wanted to know what she’d thought of the garden club too.

Her phone rang several times before she answered, and then she sounded peeved with him.

“Uh-oh. What did I do?” he asked.

“Not you. Mel. How much bad behavior can she pack into one day?”

“Is she neglecting her dog-sitting duties?”

“Yes, but that’s not the worst of it. Not even close.”

“What did she do?” he asked.

“What didn’t she do? I’m starting to see why her parents threw her out. She’s impossible.”

“You want to give me the details?”

“She’s gone into a tailspin, George. She’s like a different person. A very difficult person. She helped me with yard work for a few minutes this morning, but then she smarted off and went inside. While I was still outside, working, she went into my office and used my computer without asking. When I said she needed to ask permission, she kicked my computer chair, and then she ran downstairs and slammed the door to her room.”

“That’s not acceptable behavior,” he admitted.

“It gets worse. She knows she’s not supposed to smoke in the house. I caught her once already and chewed her out. So what does she do? She lights up a cigarette in her room and doesn’t even try to hide it. She left the door wide open, like she was taunting me. I was so tempted to kick her out.”

“Why didn’t you?”

There was a long silence. “I don’t want her to be on the street again,” Tish said.

“I don’t either, but maybe it’s time to draw a line in the sand. Tell her if she crosses the line, she’s out on her ear.”

“But what if she crosses the line?”

“Then she’s out on her ear.”

After another silence, Tish said, “Gotta go” in a wobbly voice and ended the call.

He’d forgotten to ask how she liked the garden club.

George unlocked the Chevelle and climbed in but didn’t start the engine. He couldn’t forget what Calv had said about Mel. All her mess-ups were somehow related to abusing other people’s property. Taking things or breaking
things. More than that, though, Calv had guessed that her parents hurt her somehow, so she tried to hurt them back.

But Tish had never hurt Mel. Tish had only helped her—or tried to, anyway. Returning the watch to Dunc hadn’t helped, unless Stu was serious about giving it back to Mel.

About to call Tish back and tell her Stu’s plans for the watch, George decided to keep it under his hat. If Mel went off the deep end, Stu might change his mind. He still might keep the watch and ditch his little sister.

The cinnamon rolls for Mel’s birthday breakfast were staying warm in the oven, their yeasty aroma filling the house, and Tish had finished decorating the dining room. Guessing that the birthday girl wasn’t into pastels, she’d festooned the chandelier with balloons and crepe paper streamers in red, turquoise, purple, and lime green. She’d draped a colorful “Happy 21st” banner across the doorway. She’d put yellow napkins on the table, filled a small crystal vase with cherry-red camellias, and tucked the gift into a nest of apricot-colored tissue paper in a small gift bag of vivid orange.

The gift, like the color combination, was over the top, but she wanted Mel to know her birthday was worth celebrating in spite of her bratty behavior. And, if nothing else, giving away treasured possessions was good for the soul. Once Tish had given them away, she wouldn’t have to worry that someone would steal them.

“You can’t take it with you,” Tish told herself in a whisper. With a lump in her throat, she placed the heavy gift bag at Mel’s place.

The downstairs shower finally went off with a heavy thudding in the pipes. Tish placed the cinnamon rolls and fruit salad on the table, then poured milk for Mel and coffee for herself.

Waiting at the table, Tish checked the clock. She hoped she’d be free in time to walk down the street to a church she wanted to try. The service started
at eleven. If she didn’t pick up friendly vibes … well, that was one thing about the South. There was a church on every corner.

The bathroom door creaked open. Mel’s bare feet padded down the hall with the scent of shampoo preceding her.

“Something smells yummy,” she called. “Where are you?”

“Dining room.”

Mel stopped in the doorway, her hair wet and her eyes wide. “Whoa! Wow!”

“Happy birthday,” Tish said.

“You shouldn’t have bought all this stuff. Balloons and flowers and everything.”

“It’s nothing. The decorations didn’t cost much, and the camellias are from the backyard.”

Mel noticed the gift bag. Her eyes filled. “You bought me a present?”

“Actually, it’s something I’ve had for a long time. I hope you don’t mind that it’s not store-bought and new.”

Mel shook her head vigorously. “No, I know what it’s like when you can’t afford to buy somebody a present.” She sniffled. “When am I supposed to open it?”

“Right now, if you’d like.”

Mel sat and reached into the bag, her eyes bright with tears and anticipation. Pulling out one of the silver rings, she sucked in her breath. “It’s beautiful! What is it?”

“It’s a napkin ring. There are four of them. I’ve had them for years.”

“It’s so shiny.” Mel turned it over, admiring it from all angles. “Is it real silver?”

“It’s only silver plate.”

“Tish, it’s too much. Especially after yesterday—”

“No. Yesterday’s forgiven. When you have your own place someday, you can invite me over and use them on your own table. I don’t have to own them to enjoy them.”

Mel’s tears flowed freely as she returned the napkin ring to the bag with the others. “How can you be so nice to me? Nobody else treats me like this. Not even my own parents. My ex-parents, I mean.” She used her napkin to dab her eyes, then reached for a cinnamon roll. “Thanks for making these. They look so good.”

Quietly amused by the power that food had on Mel’s outlook, Tish took a roll too. She passed the fruit salad across the table. “Eat up. If we finish in time, I’d like to walk down the street to church. You want to come?”

“Hmm.” She licked her sticky fingers and wiped them on her jeans, as if she were afraid to dirty her napkin. “I’m kinda scared of church and all that. God, you know? God’s scary.” She frowned, craning her neck to see past Tish to the window. “There’s a cop car out front.”

Tish turned to see. A squad car parked squarely in front of her house was an unsettling sight even for an upright citizen. “Maybe they’re stopping to talk to one of the neighbors.” She resumed eating her breakfast while Mel kept an eye on the police car.

“Somebody’s getting out,” Mel said. “Ooh, it’s Darren. Remember him? The cute guy who stopped to talk when I was at the gazebo that night?” She flashed a smile that was bright but not warm.

“I remember him.” Tish watched Mel’s face carefully, trying to believe she’d have no reason to fear an officer of the law.

We all do terrible things
, she’d said, and she’d been mysterious about how she’d spent her evening alone on Friday.

“Ugh,” Mel said. “Robot Face is getting out too.”

“Robot Face?”

“I don’t know him. He’s the new cop in town, and he has a weird, square face like a robot. He always looks mean.”

Again, Tish turned to see. An older officer stood by the driver’s door, using his phone. Mel had described him perfectly.

The younger officer, Darren, headed straight toward the front door. His expression was somber but not angry. Worried, maybe.

Tish glanced at her beautiful table. The basket brimming with perfect cinnamon rolls. The healthy, yummy fruit salad. The birthday decorations, the bright napkins and crockery. She might have congratulated herself for achieving something that could have come straight out of
Southern Living
, except her scenario included the police at her door.

“Do you have any idea what they might want?” she asked.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Mel said in a faint voice. “Honest.”

“Then you have no reason to avoid talking to them. Let’s go.”

“Um, yeah. Right.”

Tish led the way, glad to hear footsteps behind her. Reaching the door, she beckoned to Mel. “Come on.”

Mel followed Tish onto the porch as Darren reached the top step. Blond, blue-eyed, and handsome, he reminded her of Stephen, except this young man seemed to be the serious type.

“Good morning,” Tish said.

“Good morning, ma’am. ’Morning, Mel.”

Mel smiled back. “Hey, Darren. This is my friend, Tish McComb.”

“Glad to meet you, Miss McComb. I’m Darren Chapman, and I’m afraid I’m here on official business.” He studied Mel. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me before the lieutenant gets involved?”

She regarded him with big, innocent eyes. “No, I don’t have anything to tell you. Want to come in for a cinnamon roll? They’re fantastic.”

Darren shook his head. “Thanks, but I can’t.”

The older cop swaggered up the walk and stopped beside Darren to glare at Mel. “Are you Melanie Hamilton?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good. Talk to me. Tell me about the Corvette that’s missing from Duncan Hamilton’s garage.”

Tish stifled a gasp and searched Mel’s face. The girl was pale but calm. Too calm, as if she’d rehearsed this moment.

“Of course it’s gone, Officer,” Mel said politely. “He sold it, didn’t he?”

The lieutenant let out a peevish sigh. “The buyer left a deposit. He planned to pick up the car today, but your dad opened the garage this morning to make sure it was ready to go, and …” He held his hands wide and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Somehow, between Wednesday night and this morning, the car vanished. In spite of a good security system.”