One Foot in the Grove (17 page)

“It's a little after four o'clock now, Sunshine. Tell your sis I'll be back at five,” said Precious, still holding her Diet Dr Pepper. “Miss Daphne said those two ladies from New York were plannin' on havin' Tammy Fae Tanner do 'em up this evening, so they asked for a late supper. We got plenty of time to prepare a killer meal. And you and me got all the ingredients here in the car. You okay to unload it all by yourself?” asked Precious as she lumbered out of the car.

“No problem,” I lied.

“Okey dokey.” Precious slammed the car door. The car shook. She tiptoed in her Louboutins over the cobblestones and through the open gates toward the Hummer.

Lurch, wearing a little black cap, bright white shirt, black vest, skinny black tie, and pressed black slacks, stepped out from behind the wheel of the vehicle and went around the Hummer to open the door for Precious. Somehow, he looked even taller outside than he had when I'd seen him skulking around inside Greatwoods. As he turned away from me to open the vehicle door for Precious, I caught a glimpse of something at the small of his back under his vest. Was it a gun holster? Did I really see that? The bright sun glared on the windshield. I couldn't tell for sure.

“Thanks for the ride, Sunshine. See y'all later!” Precious called. She waved to me before stepping up into the Hummer. Lurch closed her door and hustled around to the driver's side. Already, the big gates were closing in front of me.

So much for seeing Greatwoods. Or Ian Collier.

I backed my car around, pulled out onto the road, and headed home to unload the groceries.

All was quiet at Knox Plantation. The guests were still out, and I assumed Daphne was up on the third floor with the kids. In the kitchen, after I quickly scanned the yard for Dolly, to no avail, I unloaded the groceries, putting the cold foods in the Sub-Zero and stashing the rest of the food along with the box of glassware in the pantry. I needed to get the wine and champagne out of the trunk and put it in the basement wine cellar.

When Pep had first told me that Daphne had a fancy, climate-controlled wine cellar in the basement, I'd laughed. The basement we grew up in was little more than a catchall for dirt, dust, mold, and a few ancient tools, lawn gear, long-forgotten toys, broken household items, and unwanted furnishings. Growing up, the only way to get to the cellar had been through the outside bulkhead. Once down the stairs, there had been a dirt floor, rock walls, and a single light on a pull string, and it was full of spiders, snakes, and rodents. And although Pep and I had relished the moldy-smelling basement as a place for exploration, adventure, and secret hiding spots, Daphne had
never
deigned to go down
there. So, it amused me that, all these years later, this was the place that Daphne had spent so much of her ex-husband's money. And the first time I went outside and stepped through the new basement entry at the back of the house, I was shocked.

Daphne had masterminded an entire basement excavation and renovation, including a poured concrete base floor, new walls, ceiling, lighting, and stabilization of the outer foundation walls. Plus, she'd added a small studio apartment with kitchenette and full bath, an exercise room, storage areas, and a wine cellar. The only caveat was that you still had to go outside to get there. Daphne had sacrificed an in-house stair to keep maximum usable space on the first floor.

I went outside to the car and hoisted up a box of wine. My ribs hurt. My ankle throbbed. I sucked it up, as they say, and hobbled around the house to the basement. Behind my cottage on the other side of the yard, a giant red and white striped tent covered the lawn near the pond.

“Oh my God,” I said to myself. “Tomorrow's going to be a circus.”

I carried the box down the outside basement stair, went through the unlocked door below, and flicked on the light switch. Daphne's new basement was a generous slate-tiled mudroom with cubbies, shelves, hanging hooks, and a long antique bench that had once been in a local church. On the left was a stained wooden door to the apartment, Chef Loretta's apartment. In front of me, there was a hallway and another wooden door that led to Daphne's climate-controlled wine cellar.

I opened the door to the wine cellar and slid the box inside. Then, I went back out to get the second box from the car. The sugar from the candy and soda I'd consumed was beginning to make me feel sick. Still, I'd long ago run out of energy. I reached into the Krispy Kreme box in the car and grabbed myself a glazed sugar donut. I took a bite. Then another.

Four trips to the car, three donuts later, and the seventh
time I passed the door to Chef Loretta's apartment, my curiosity got the best of me. As anxious as I was to find Dolly and get home to a bath and bed, I wanted to peek into the apartment. Maybe I could learn something about our missing chef.

I closed the door to the wine cellar and went over to the apartment door and knocked. No one answered. I tried the door. It opened. Daphne said the deputies had taken some of Loretta's personal effects for evidence, deciding that Loretta was a murderer, murder victim, missing person, or all three. I wasn't sure that searching her place, and certainly, taking her stuff, was even legal. But this was Abundance. And Loretta was an out-of-towner. If it hadn't been legal, probably no one had cared. I hoped they hadn't done the same in my place. Although, it seemed likely that they'd at least gone through everything. By all accounts, I was an out-of-towner as well. And a damned Yankee, at that. I stepped inside and flipped on a lamp.

With walls painted a soft ivory, the space was neat and tidy. Spotless, actually. And except for a bookcase full of cookbooks and a new wood chopping block in the kitchen area, I recognized nearly all the furnishings. It was all stuff from my childhood. Not the best things—there were no pricey or irreplaceable antiques, for example—but the apartment was outfitted with the sensible, utilitarian furnishings that we'd had growing up. An oak rolltop desk. A painted Windsor chair. Brass reading lamps from the den. The maple dresser from Daddy and Mother's bedroom, only it had been repainted a soft butter yellow color. A side table and a recovered couch from the living room. An old gaming table, repainted for use as a small dining table. There was a braided rug on the floor. And a low four-poster bed, painted white. I remembered the bed before it had been repainted—it'd been left disassembled, scuffed, and scratched, leaning against a dusty shelf in the old dirt cellar. I'd never have imagined that it could've been made to look so lovely again. And it was all Daphne's doing.

Still the most remarkable thing about the apartment, and
what interested me the most, were the photos. The walls were covered with them. Mostly old images of my family. Collectively, they made the apartment look like a Knox family museum. Some of the pictures dated back to more than a century ago. My grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, sisters, friends, neighbors . . . all the people whom I knew, and the ancestors whom I knew about growing up, were captured in images mounted to the walls. Except, of course, my mother. There wasn't a stitch of clothing, a piece of jewelry, personal knickknack, or photograph of my mother anywhere to be found at Knox Plantation. Daphne had made sure of that.

I sat on the couch and took in one wall. There was Great-Granddaddy Knox, sitting in a rocker on the front porch, looking as dapper as ever in his Sunday best and well-trimmed beard. And there was dour-faced Great-Aunt Winnie and her fox terrier standing next to a baby carriage. Grade school–aged Daddy, holding his bicycle, standing next to his Boston terrier. Great-Uncle Somebody-or-other was out in a field with a horse and plow. Or was he a great-
great
-uncle? I'd have to ask Daddy sometime, I thought. There was a photo of Daddy and his three brothers and sisters when they were kids, all sitting on a fence by the road. It'd been a dirt road back then. And there was an antique photo of men working to build an addition onto the house.

I stretched out sideways on the couch and studied the photos next to me on the wall above the back of the couch. These were newer photos—like me, Pep, and Daphne wearing bathing suits, splashing in a wading pool in the backyard. I looked to be only about two years old. In another photo, Pep was leaving for her first prom date, with . . . oh gosh, what was his name? He was in the chess club; that's all I could remember. I giggled. How did
that
unlikely pairing happen? And there was a photo of the house; the pretty dogwood tree outside my bedroom window was in full bloom. That photo was next to a photo of Daddy, Pep, and me carving pumpkins for Halloween. There was a shot of
Daphne standing next to her first car, an old Buick. Another one of me, onstage at my ballet recital. There was a picture of Pep sitting on a John Deere tractor. Me and Daphne standing with a bushel of peaches. All three of us girls, Christmas Day, standing in front of the Christmas tree. Me, holding up my first catfish . . .

Then, I noticed the little photo, at the bottom of a row, just behind the couch.

I'd never seen it before.

It was a small photo, in a cheap black frame. I sat up and looked closer at the two kids, maybe ten or twelve years old. And they didn't look familiar. Dark haired, dark skinned, and bulky, they didn't look at all like anyone in my fair Scottish family. The two little kids were photographed sitting side by side, bundled up in snowsuits, on the steps of a concrete stair to a brick building. Something looked familiar. I took the photo down and turned it over in my hand. Scribbled on the cardboard back was a note that read
Loretta and Lenny, Providence house.

“Eva! Wake up. It's late!” Pep shook my shoulder. “Eva, baby, c'mon. Y'all need to get up, sweetie. Time to go home now.”

“What . . . Where am I? Nooo . . . can't wake up now . . . Not yet!” I mumbled, still only half awake, blinking away deep sleep and dreams of my Scottish prince.

“Eva, what are y'all doin' down here, sleeping on the couch in Loretta's place?” Pep asked. She shook me again. “Daphne told me that she found you down here hours ago, fast asleep. She figured you needed the rest, so she left y'all down here. But when you never came back up, we figured I'd better check on you before I went home.”

“What?” I rubbed my eyes. “Is it late? What time is it?”

“It's after eleven o'clock. At night,” said Pep. She was wearing a short peplum leather jacket with a high collar and plunging neckline over black leggings and spiky red boots. There didn't appear to be anything under the jacket, and she smelled of leathered perfume and smoke. “I came from the Roadhouse to help Daphne finish setting up the tent for the Chamber of Commerce thingy tomorrow. Daphne said she'd found y'all holed up in here when she came down to the wine cellar to check on the champagne.”

“Oh. The Chamber meeting,” I sighed. “I bet you both needed my help setting up for that. I'm sorry.” I rubbed my bleary eyes again. “And what about dinner?”

“Dinner was the berries! Precious put together an amazing meal—spicy sausage, chicken, and shrimp jambalaya over rice with deep-fried beignets and fresh fruit for dessert. I had some leftovers, and it was the best ever. And—oh my God—Eva, hon, you should've seen the two women from New York! They'd been to Tammy Fae's, and she had 'em all done up with these crazy-ass hairdos! Their hair must've been three feet high!”

“Omigosh.”

“Both of 'em had this wacky, king-sized cosmic hair that made 'em look like a pair of hair metal rock queens from the eighties. I think Tammy Fae might've been teasing with them . . .”

“No pun intended?”

“Right.”

“Daphne's gonna kill me. I sent her guests to Tammy Fae. I should've known she'd take out her dislike for me on them.”

“No. Wait. Here's the best part! The women
loved
their hair. Said they wanted to get their hairdresser in New York to do the same thing.”

“Who knew.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, I'm happy that we foiled Tammy Fae's wicked plan.”

“So, listen, hon, don't worry about gettin' up early tomorrow. We actually managed to get things under control tonight. Just show up midday to greet guests at the Chamber thingy. Daphne wants you showin' your face there. After all, you're the reason most folks are coming. Honestly, I don't know how we did it; Daphne is out of her mind over this. She must've spent a fortune.”

“That's our ‘DQ.' Everything over-the-top. No use fighting it.” I yawned.

“Do y'all feel okay, sweetie, now that you've had some rest?”

“Better. Still, I feel like I've been chewed up and spit out.
And I think I've broken a rib.” I started to push myself up. Then, I thought better of it and sank back down into the cushions. “Hey. You know, this couch is wicked comfortable. I don't remember it being like this.”

“It wasn't. Daphne had new cushions made before she re-covered it.”

“Oh.” I yawned. “It feels so good, I must've dozed off while I was looking at all the photos. This place is amazing.” I closed my eyes and started to roll over.

Pep shook my shoulder. “Eva, sweetie, I think y'all need to get home to bed. You'll sleep better and feel more rested in the morning. Daphne's countin' on y'all to help in the afternoon.”

“I know. I'd planned to be there tomorrow. Although, I'm not looking forward to it. Daphne said nearly everyone in the county is coming. That includes Tammy Fae. And Debi Dicer.”

“Debi Dicer? Why are you worried about her?”

“For one thing, she's tight with Tammy Fae. And, well, Debi and I had a bit of a run-in earlier.”

“A ‘run-in'? Care to share details?”

“No. Not really. Let it suffice to say that Debi takes great pleasure in my discomfort.”

“Ah well. Nothing new there. She's always jerking a knot in someone's tail. The woman just makes my ass itch. Y'all will just have to buck up when you see her sorry puss at the meetin' tomorrow.”

I shot a dirty look toward Pep when she said the word “buck.” She didn't seem to notice.

“Hey, how did the olive oil work out for you and Billy last night?” I asked, changing the subject. “Did it bring the romantic results you thought it would?” I raised my eyebrows teasingly.

“Well, I'm sure that it would've. But by the time I got back home, Billy wasn't there anymore. Pretty much par for the course these days.”

“Oh. I'm sorry,” I said. “Where could he have gone at that hour?”

Pep shrugged. She seemed to take it in stride. Although, I thought it was pretty weird, Billy running out on his wife in the middle of the night like that. And I couldn't help but wonder if he'd been in the woods with the rest of us. Still, it wasn't my place to upset Pep. I'd mull it over later.

“At least you'll have the oil ready for your next romantic interlude.”

“Romantic interlude? You kill me, sweetie.” Pep laughed. “Billy hasn't got a romantic bone in his body.” Pep sighed. “Although, he did surprise me with some racy lingerie a couple of weeks ago from the Lacy Goddess. Of course, it was two sizes too big. Still, I had to give the guy credit for having nerve enough to shop there. Here,” she said, holding out her hand, “let me help y'all up.”

I grabbed her fingers and let her pull me forward. Every muscle in my body ached. And my stomach was mad about all the sugar I'd consumed.

“Hey, hold your horses!” Pep said. “What's that?”

I looked down in my lap to see the small photo I'd found before I'd fallen asleep.

“Oh! I forgot. I found this. Tacked to the wall. Like it was part of our family display. Loretta must've hung it on the wall and the deputies missed it when they did their search. Look!”

I handed the photograph to Pep, who examined it in her hands.

“What the . . . ?
Loretta and Lenny
? What does this mean?”

“I'm not sure. But it does seem there's a good chance that our Leonard, my pastry guy, might be Lenny, don't you think?”

“It certainly seems plausible. Hey, why not? But then, if they already knew each other, what were they doing here, acting like strangers?”

“That is the million-dollar question. Of course, I doubt we'll ever figure it out if we can't find Loretta,” I said.

“Oh, she'll turn up directly,” said Pep. “You can bet your bottom dollar on that, sweetie.”