Hallie's Destiny (The Donovans of the Delta) (20 page)

“Yes, let’s talk, Mom.”

Taking her mother’s hand, Hannah led her to a chair and sat down beside her at the kitchen table. No, she thought, Anna never would say outright what she was thinking, but she’d drop hints that were big enough to fell an elephant.

“Now . . . tell me about Aunt Agnes’s latest plan.”

Anna pushed an errant pin into her neat salt-and-pepper French twist. “That can wait. Tell me what took you so long out in the pasture. I thought you were just going out for a little target practice.”

“I got sidetracked—by Jim Roman. What in hell is he doing in Greenville?”

“Hannah! Watch your language. I declare, I don’t know where you get that talk, your brother Paul being a preacher and all. It’s enough to scare any man off. Why . . . how in the world did you get sidetracked by Jim Roman?”

“His car broke down, and I fixed

“Oh. Is that all?”

Hannah chuckled at the crestfallen look on her mother’s face. “Don’t start putting one and one together and getting six.”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you. I know what you’re up to, Mom. And it won’t work. You’ll just have to be satisfied that you raised one daughter who’s content to be an old maid.”

“Pshaw! You’re always teasing me. Just like your father. He’s a nice man, don’t you think?”

Hannah grinned. “Pop? I’ve always thought so.”

“There you go, teasing again. Of course your father is wonderful. That’s a given. I’m talking about Jim Roman.”

“What I think about Jim Roman won’t do to tell in polite company. How do you know him, Mom?” Jim had told her, but she wanted to hear it from her mother. She figured he wasn’t above lying to get what he wanted.

“He’s the son of my college roommate and one of my best friends, Mary Louise Pritikin. You remember Mary Louise, don’t you?”

Hannah laughed. Her mother had so many people she called best friends, it would take the census bureau to keep up with them all. “No, Mom, I don’t. That was before my time, remember?”

“I forget. My, my, it seems like yesterday—me and Mary Louise getting our first pair of silk stockings together.” Her face became dreamy as she thought of old times. “Anyway, she married and moved off to California, but we’ve kept in touch over the years. I still have the card she sent me when Jim was born. She sent me a card when he got his big, fancy job too. He writes for that paper . . . what’s it called?”

“
The Daily Spectator
.” Hannah smiled at her mother’s perception of Jim Roman’s work. “Writes for that paper” didn’t touch the scope and influence of Jim’s column. “I still don’t see what he’s doing here. Surely
The Daily Spectator
isn’t interested in covering a wedding.”

“Mary Louise told me he works for a John Searles, who is head of what’s called a publishing empire. Isn’t that a silly name for a few newspapers and magazines? An empire. Makes me think of the Queen of England.”

“Mom . . .”

“I know.” Anna held up her hand. “You want me to get to the point. I declare, Hannah. You were always the impatient one. I remember that time Reverend Clemstattler dragged his sermon out so long. You stood up on the back pew and yelled, ‘Amen, now let’s go home.’”

They laughed together. Then, Hannah, as impatient as ever, gently urged her mother back on the subject.

“Well, you see, Jim Roman is going to write about your sister’s wedding for one of those magazines,
America’s Elite
. Isn’t that nice? I think Tanner’s wedding was written about in there, too. My, my. Two of my children making big news. And both of them happy as pigs in the sunshine. Did you know Amanda’s pregnant again? She and Tanner are not letting any grass grow under their feet. Making up for lost time, they say.”

“I didn’t know. That’s wonderful, Mom. They both want a big family.”

“Somebody shot at Jim Roman.”

“What?” Hannah was accustomed to her mother’s way of dropping one subject and plunging into another. She thought of the rifle she’d hung on the rack on the back porch and wondered what Jim Roman had told her mother about their encounter.

“In San Francisco. That’s why Mr. Searles sent him to Greenville. Mary Louise called last night and told me the whole story. I don’t think Jim Roman ordinarily writes about weddings, does he?”

“No, Mom. He covers the crime scene.”

“Some name that sounds like an Italian cake. That’s who’s after him. Poor man. I told him he could stay here.”

“Here? In this house?” Hannah jumped up and went to the kitchen window. Sure enough, Jim’s dusty rented car was parked in their front yard.

“Of course. Would I turn away the son of my best friend, especially after she called and asked me to watch after him? She’s had a hard life, and Jim is all she has.”

“What about the wedding, Mom? You’re swamped as it is. I don’t see how we can have another guest in this house. Especially an outsider.” Even as she reasoned, Hannah knew it was useless. Her mother had a heart big enough to take in everybody who knocked on the front door, and she also had a stubborn streak. Hannah could see her mind already was made up.

“The son of a friend is never an outsider, and we have plenty of room. Tanner and Amanda and their two girls will be staying in her house in Greenville. Paul and Mattie and their children will be here, but your brother Jacob will be the Lord only knows where. I’ve put Jim in Jacob’s room. Right next door to yours.”

Hannah sat back down with a plop. She’d known she’d have to deal with her bossy Aunt Agnes; she hadn’t counted on having to deal with the West Coast Warrior.

 o0o

Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble, Excerpt

Peggy Webb

(Fourth Southern Cousins Mystery)

Elvis’ Opinion # 1 on the Valentines, Manicures, and Mooreville’s Royalty

Ever since I used my famous nose to crack the Memphis Mambo Murder Case, things have gone to the dogs around here. And I don’t mean to a musical genius in a basset hound suit, either. (That would be yours truly.)

To hear my human mom tell it (that would be Callie Valentine Jones, owner of the best little beauty shop this side of the Mason Dixon Line), life just couldn’t get any better. She thinks she’s happy since she said “The Last Farewell” to Jack (my human daddy) up in Memphis, but I know better. When she’s not giving New York hairdos to Mooreville’s finest and doling out the dough for her mama’s little gambling escapades – and every other kind of escapade Ruby Nell Valentine can think of – she’s sitting on the front porch swing with a faraway look in her eyes that says, “Stuck on You.”

Listen, I know she believes Jack is finally going to give her a divorce so she can have her heart’s desire with somebody who won’t spend more time in the world’s underbelly avoiding bullets than he does in the gazebo with Callie and her “Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hounddog” best friend. (I’m not even going to talk about Hoyt, that ridiculous cocker spaniel pretender to my throne, and the seven silly cats who took up residence with us when Callie rescued them and dragged them home.)

Believe me, Jack’s face said it all when Callie and the rest of our gang headed home from Memphis - “There Goes My Everything.” A man that smitten is not going to let his woman go, no matter how noble he thinks the gesture might be.

I’m trying to teach Jack and Callie to be thankful for what they’ve got – each other plus a suave, famous Rock ‘n’ Roll King who is content to live a dog’s life in order to make his humans happy. Instead, they’re intent on turning everything upside down to get what they think Callie wants. A child. Otherwise known as a short, not-too-bright little person who makes car noises all day long, smears peanut butter on my pink satin guitar-shaped pillow, pulls my mismatched ears, runs Tonka trucks up the legs of Callie’s customers, and generally has turned everything upside down here at Hair.Net.

 This particular little person is David. He was part of the package when his mom, Darlene, (Callie’s new manicurist) moved in lock, stock, and uppity Lhasa Apso.

 That would be William, who claims he’s the Dalai Lama reincarnate. He’s prancing around here, even as I speak, acting like he outranks the King. I thought he’d get the message when I howled “The Great Pretender,” but he just did his silly Lhasa flop that made Callie say, “Isn’t he the cutest little dog?”

 Cute, my slightly crooked hind leg. “Don’t Step on my Blue Suede Shoes” is what she ought to be saying. That silly fuzz ball’s motto is “Rip It Up.”

 Mine is “Suspicious Minds.” Listen, you can’t trust a dog with a bushy tail. What’s the use of a tail that can’t point rabbits? Or thump the floor like a drum? Or whack your human mom’s legs to let her know you love her?

 Wait till Callie finds out William sneaked into the beauty shop closet and chewed the toe out of her favorite Steve Madden moccasins. She loves her designer shoes.

 But even with that dumb dog chewing up everything in sight and trying to steal my spotlight and David trying to pull my tail, I’ll have to admit business has picked up around Hair.Net. Ever since Fayrene’s daughter moved back home with her entourage (which includes a cat named Mal that I’m not even going to dignify with a comment) and started dispensing Atlanta nail art, we’ve been booked to the hilt. Everybody who is anybody comes here to have Darlene paint witches and pumpkins on their toes. And while they’re at it, they end up getting a new hairdo for Halloween.

 Business is popping over at Gas, Grits and Guts, too. People have been coming from Mantachie and Saltillo and even as far off as Red Bay, Alabama, to admire Fayrene and Jarvetis’ disco ball dance trophy. They hung it over the pickled pigs’ lips then proceeded to spotlight it so it would send rainbows over the Vlasic pickles and Lay’s potato chips. My best friend, Trey (Jarvetis’ redbone hounddog), tells me that Fayrene and Jarvetis (Mooreville’s answer to royalty), are acting like lovebirds these days in spite of the fact that work is progressing on the séance room he said she’d build onto the back of their convenience store over his dead body.

And speaking of dead bodies…ever since Charlie Valentine thought Ruby Nell was going to join the body count during the Memphis Mambo Murders, he’s back to being her best friend as well as the backbone of the entire Valentine family. As a matter of fact, he’s planning to take her to the undertaker’s convention in the Yucatan.

That leaves only one Valentine unaccounted for – Lovie, Callie’s 190-pound, over-the-top, flamboyant cousin. Currently she’s in the Yucatan at Rocky’s archeological dig promoting an agenda that features the love of her life discovering her “national treasure.” She had that tattooed on her bombshell hips when we left off trying to catch a killer long enough to have a little fun up on Beale Street in Memphis. Personally, I think the “national treasure” ought to be added to the list of world wonders.

Here comes that five-year-old, pretending he’s a Peterbilt rig. I’d escape through the doggie door and mosey on down to see what’s cooking with my cute Frenchie (that would be Ann Margret) and my five handsome progeny, but somebody has to keep things straight around here. Ruby Nell will be here any minute. She called to say she wanted to get spiffied up for her trip, but you can bet she’s up to something. And I’m just the dog to find out. These mismatched radar ears miss nothing.

 
Well, bless’a my soul. The little person is carrying a cone of vanilla ice cream. That goofy Lhasa just waves his useless, ostentatious tail, but I know opportunity when it knocks.

I heft myself off my cushion, hum of a few bars of “Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear,” then mosey on over to see if the short person will let me lick ice cream off his elbows.

 o0o

About Peggy Webb

 In a career that spans 26 years, the Mississippi author has written almost 70 books. Writing as Peggy Webb, she pens romance and the popular, comedic Southern Cousins Mystery Series starring Elvis, the basset hound who thinks he’s the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll reincarnated. Writing as Anna Michaels, she pens literary fiction. She has been on the romance bestseller list numerous times and has won many awards, including a Romantic Times Pioneer Award for creating the sub-genre of romantic comedy. Several of her romances have been optioned for film.

The Tender Mercy of Roses, 2011,
written as Anna Michaels, is a Delta Magazine Top Five Pick, a Literary Guild and Doubleday Book Club Featured Alternate. Pat Conroy, author of
The Prince of Tides,
calls it “astonishing.”

Peggy is a member of Novelists, Inc., International Thriller Writers, and Romance Writers of America. She is excited about bringing her romance classics (originally published as Bantam
Loveswepts)
back to readers as E-books. The award-winning
Touched by Angels
and
A Prince for Jenny
are Kindle Top 100 bestsellers.

Follow the author on her websites:
www.peggywebb.com
and
www.annamichaels.net
and on Facebook as both Peggy Webb and Anna Michaels.

o0o

Other E-Books from Peggy Webb

Classic Romance (originally published as Loveswept)

Dark Fire

Touched by Angels (RT Reviewer’s Choice)

A Prince for Jenny,
sequel to
Touched by Angels

The Edge of Paradise

Duplicity (Rave review, RT Reviewer’s Choice)

Where Dolphins Go (RT Reviewer’s Choice,
women’s fiction, optioned for film)

Night of the Dragon
(time travel romance)

Christmas in Time
(time travel, brand now, prequel to
Only Yesterday)

Only Yesterday,
(time travel, sequel to
Christmas in Time
)

Summer Jazz

The Donovans of the Delta Series: