Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (2 page)

I studied her for a moment. Something was off. “Are you sad to miss the harvest festival? I know it means so much to you.” She and Daddy first met at the peach festival, and they’d never missed a single one in the fifty years they’d been married.

She tilted her head back and chuckled. My mama had a deep, raspy laugh that seemed too big for her tiny frame, but I never tired of hearing it. “How could I be sad when your sister has practically re-created the whole festival for tonight?” She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Oh, Nola. Wait till you see what’s she’s come up with. Why, the decorations, the flowers, the food . . . It’s all just divine.”

Boy, I owed my sister big-time.
“I’m so glad, Mama. And I can’t wait to see Hattie. When did she get back?”

“A few months ago when her father took ill. He’s in the convalescent home east of town. Alzheimer’s, I think. That family’s had its share of trouble—that’s for sure.”

I dipped my eyes, running my hand over the marred top of our family table. Poor Hattie. I never understood how some people had to bear so much sadness while others seemed to breeze through life without a care. Maybe that was why I’d loved my job so much. It gave me a chance to try to right the off-balanced nature of life. Something I knew wasn’t going to be possible from behind a desk.

“You know, she’s started a dress shop down on the square,” Mama added, bringing relief to the downturn in the conversation.

My mood lightened. “A dress shop! Hattie?” Although I shouldn’t have been surprised. Hattie was always the
epitome of southern fashion. “How about Cade?” I asked, wondering if he was still around.

“Cade McKenna? He’s still here. He started his own contracting business.”

“Really? He always did like building things. Do you remember that old fort we made over by the Hole?” The Harper farm included more than a hundred acres of land, most of which were planted in peach trees. The other part was wooded, with a branch of the Ocmulgee River cascading over large rocks and forming a deep, cool pool at the bottom. Growing up, we’d called it the Hole, short for the swimming hole. I’d spent many a hot afternoon cooling off there.

“Yes, you kids were always up to something.” She paused and took a long sip of her tea. I could hear Ida knocking around in the kitchen and wondered if she would join us soon. Mama swiped her napkin around the sweating glass again and continued, “You three were a menace. I had to keep a constant eye on you. Heaven only knows all the trouble you got into.”

I smiled, thinking she didn’t know the half of it. And, never would, if I could help it. “I wonder if Cade will show up tonight.”

She leveled her gaze on me, her blue eyes twinkling. “Of course he’s coming, dear.
Everyone’s
going to be here.”

•   •   •

My mother wasn’t exaggerating. In fact, the crowd started arriving early. It was only a little before five when I heard the first set of tires crunching on our gravel drive. Ray was already in position outside to direct the parking of the cars to strategically avoid a complete block-up of the property. Ida was no doubt directing everything downstairs. I was still in my room trying to decide between my only formal attire—a black halter-top dress, great for hot tropical climates, or a deep blue silk dress with long sleeves for countries with modesty codes—when a knock sounded on the door.

“Nola?”

I looked up to see Hattie standing in the doorway. “Hattie!” I screamed, running to hug her. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She hadn’t, either. Hattie always looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of a southern fashion magazine. Tonight was no different. She was wearing a cute little flowered sundress that barely glanced her knees and mid-calf rhinestone-studded cowboy boots. She even had her dark hair done up big, with a glitzy barrette holding back one side. I glanced down at the bed where I’d laid out my choices. Suddenly, neither dress seemed right. I was going to stick out like a sore thumb at the party.

“This suits you,” she said, reaching out and fingering my hair.

“You think? I cut it earlier when I went to Darfur. Long hair just didn’t work in the refugee camps.”

She sighed. “Well, bless your heart. I can’t even imagine. How long have you been gone this time? Three years?” she asked.

“At least. I don’t think I’ve seen you since your mama . . .” I let my words trail off. A few years ago, Hattie lost her mother to cancer. I came back to support her during that awful time, but since then, I’d let our friendship slip. “Hattie, I’m sorry I haven’t called more often. I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

She clasped my hands, squeezing tightly. “It’s just as much my fault. The phone line runs both ways, you know? And you
were
here for me when I needed it most. It’s just that after Mama passed, I lost my bearings.” Her eyes grew moist. “You know, Nola Mae, there’s just nothing better than a mama that’s always there for you. You remember that, okay?”

I swallowed hard, trying to understand her sorrow, yet not wanting to think too much about the day I might not have my own mother. I just couldn’t face the possibility of such significant grief. I reached out and hugged her again. This time when I pulled back she wore a happier look on her face.

“Well, let’s not dwell on all that,” she said. “What’s important is that we’re here now and are about to celebrate a happy occasion.” She glanced down at the bed. “Having trouble picking your dress?”

I fingered the silk dress. “I bought this on a whim at an Indonesian market a few months back, but haven’t worn it yet.”

“For heaven’s sake, why not? It’s gorgeous! The color is perfect for your blue eyes.”

“Really?” I stood and carried the dress to the mirror and held it in front of me. I wasn’t sure. I’d never really considered such things. Most of my time was spent doing things like roaming field sites in search of water supplies, teaching English to slum orphans and searching rubble for earthquake survivors—strictly jeans and T-shirt type of stuff. I was out of practice when it came to dressing up. Usually, I just applied sunscreen, threw on a baseball cap and got busy. “You really think this one looks good?”

Hattie slid into the mirror next to me. She fingered the fine silk embroidery of songbirds in gold thread that edged the sleeves and matched the flowered trim around the scooped neckline. “Yes, I do,” she said, brushing aside a piece of my wispy bangs. “Especially after I fix your hair and makeup for you.”

I giggled. “The last time you said that was right before senior prom. I had a date with . . . Oh, what was that guy’s name?” I’d stripped down to my skivvies and was pulling the dress over my head.

“Danny Hicks.”

“Oh, that’s right. Was that night ever a disaster! Especially when”—I choked on even saying his name, as that night flooded back on me—“you-know-who showed up. He’s not still around here, is he?” I had a horrible vision of running into him at the party.

Hattie wheeled me around and started working the dress’s buttons. “Last I heard he was somewhere up by Macon. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back, though.”

“Good.” I let the image of that night, the wonder of it at the time, the horror of it later, pass by. I’d left that behind me, I reminded myself. Forever.

“Well, don’t worry,” she assured me. “All that’s in the past now. And tonight’s not going to be anything like our senior prom. Fifty years of marriage! Can you imagine? What could possibly go wrong when we’re celebrating something so wonderful?”

I turned back to the mirror and smiled at my image. At the moment, everything did seem right with the world. My parents were celebrating their marriage and embarking on an adventure, I had three weeks to hang at home, rest and catch up with my best friend . . . and the dress did look darn good on me. “You’re right,” I echoed her sentiments. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Georgia Belle Fact #012:
The reason Georgia women have such big hair is because all the gossip and secrets overflowing from their heads has to go somewhere!

I had to admit, Ida had done a wonderful job planning our parents’ party. The atmosphere did remind me of the peach festival, only slightly more refined. The most stunning feature was the columns that held up the massive tent. I’d been right at my first glance—they did look like miniature trees but with gigantic clumps of peaches topping each one, right under the tent’s white canopy. Each tent post had been wrapped in an oversized tube of cardboard that had been covered with crumpled tissue paper and painted brown to resemble the rough bark of a tree trunk. As I stepped closer, each peach cluster at the top seemed even larger, all fuzzy and blushed like the most perfect watermelon-sized peaches ever grown.

“Auntie Nola!” I heard the stereo echo of Savannah and Charlotte. “Aren’t they
wooonderful
?” Their giggles spoke of their participation in creating this miracle. As I inspected the “fruit,” the girls quickly related every step in the process of blowing up balloons, banding them with a string just tight enough to create a peach crease, flocking them with a fuzzy
craft spray and then airbrushing them into the peachy hues with a sun-kissed blush. Mischievous laughs and twinkling eyes belied some trouble in getting the sprayed flock off their skin and off who knew what else. Yes, Ida, accomplished mother and craftsperson, had certainly outdone herself, especially considering the “helpers” she’d had on hand!

In the next heartbeat, the two scampered off, calling out to someone else, leaving me in their wake. I shook my head—the decorations were, in fact,
wooonderful
, but these little Southern belle nieces of mine were marvels. A moment of melancholy that I’d missed out on seeing them grow up, or on having any little ones of my own, prickled my skin. I rubbed my arms; I’d simply chosen another path.

I quickly glanced around at the rest of the affair. Ida had picked a beautiful, peach-inspired palette for the decorations, from deep crimson red-orange to pale yellow. I felt like I’d just stepped into the orchard at harvest time. I was glad she’d chosen to celebrate at the farm and not at the church hall or the local VFW. I was sure it cost a fortune to rent the three-tiered frame tent from as far away as Macon and the two hundred–plus chairs. But as I stood watching the sun set over the rolling peach grove, I knew there was no better place to celebrate this milestone than where my parents had built their life together.

“Nola Mae?”

I turned at the familiar sound of his voice. “Cade?” It’d been so long, I was caught off guard by his appearance. The three years since I’d seen him at his mother’s funeral had caught up to Cade McKenna. He still looked a lot like his sister: the same dark hair, chiseled features and large solemn eyes. Only his were dark brown, almost black, while Hattie’s were an unsettling blue-gray color. Now, though, his dark hair was prematurely tinged with gray and his eyes lined at the corners. I self-consciously touched my own cheek, wondering if the telltale signs of a decade and half since our high school days were visible on my face as well.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he remarked, as if reading my mind. “Except your hair’s lot shorter.”

I chuckled and reached out with a hug, then quickly backed away. For some reason, our reunion felt awkward. Strange, because with Hattie it was as if we picked up where we’d left off. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I’d say. Not since my mother’s funeral. But I’m glad you’re back, Nola.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his gaze moving to the ground, obviously feeling as awkward as I did.

I ducked my chin, trying to make eye contact. “Mama says you’ve started a contracting business.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Mostly remodels and repair work. There’s not much need for new builds in this area. But I’m doing okay. And what about you? Guess you’re still traveling and helping people.”

I had to smile at the way he simplified my job. Cade had always spoken in a direct, straightforward way. He had an easygoing manner about him. Just the opposite of Hattie, who was more of a little ball of energy. “Yup. I’ve spent most of my time traveling. Haiti, then a few months in Indonesia, plus a little time in Sudan . . . and if you think the summers are hot here in Georgia . . .” I rambled on. Cade nodded politely, but I knew I was probably boring him to death. I couldn’t help it; I loved my job. Well, at least the job I used to have.

“That’s great,” he jumped in when I finally came up for air. “How long are you going to stick around here, then?”

I hesitated. The day before I left headquarters up in Atlanta, I found out that I’d been reallocated from fieldwork to a position as an operations coordinator—with no chance of changing the minds of the bosses. Which meant I’d be stuck behind a desk planning relief efforts instead of actually providing hands-on help. I hated the idea of a desk job.

“Just until my parents return,” I finally answered, not wanting to go into too many details about my current dilemma. “I’ll be looking over the place for them while they
travel.” My eyes swept over the view to where the land rolled away in a series of ridges and then eventually turned into the dense green wooded areas along the river bottom. I’d seen a lot of the world since leaving the farm, places and scenery that Cade could never imagine. Still, the fruit-filled hills of our farm always held a special place in my heart.

Cade moved to my side, his dark eyes also taking in the countryside. The conversation died away and we fell into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by waves of clicking tree frogs as they got in the last word before the sun dipped below the horizon. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but for some reason, Cade and I no longer shared the same easy banter that we’d enjoyed as kids. Something was different about him. I stole a glance at his profile, trying to figure it out.

“What?” he asked, when he caught me looking.

“Nothing. I mean, is everything okay? You seem . . .”

He turned and faced me head-on. “I seem what? And what would you know about how I seem? We haven’t seen each other for three years. And you barely spoke to me at my mother’s funeral.”

I took a half step back and shook my head.
Where is this coming from?
“It didn’t seem like a good time to be all social, with your mama just passing and all.”

“Was that really it?”

I shrugged. I actually kept to myself whenever I came back to Cays Mill because I didn’t want to stir up questions. Questions about why I’d left so quickly right after high school. Of course, Hattie knew. But she’d never betray my secret, not even to her own brother.

He went on, “How come you don’t ever come home anymore?”

None of your business
. “Oh, don’t be silly,” I finessed. “I’d come home more if I could. My work just keeps me busy, that’s all.” I held up my hands, palms out. “I’m home now, aren’t I?”

He studied me closely. “Yes, and I’m glad you’re back.”

Really? You don’t sound like it.

Behind us, clanking dishes signaled that people were heading to the buffet line. Not knowing what else to say, I started glancing about and noticed Ida glaring at me from across the room. She caught my eye and waved me over. I turned to Cade and touched his arm. “Duty calls. I’ll be sitting with my family for dinner, but I hope we can catch up some more.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. Hattie is making enough plans to fill your social calendar for the next three weeks. Then there’s the Peach Harvest Festival.” I apparently had a blink-blink reaction at that, because he asked, “You’re not leaving before the festival, are you?”

I knew someone would ask me sooner or later about the festival. I needed to make up my mind if I was going or not. It wasn’t that I didn’t love our annual tradition, because I did. I had tons of fond festival memories. There was always a kids’ carnival, booths with folk art displays, great music and plenty of peachy food. My mouth watered just thinking about Harley Corbin’s famous funnel cakes topped with homemade peach sauce. Or the veterans’ local booth where they scooped hand-cranked peach ice cream. The festival was the biggest thing happening around these parts. That was the problem.
Everyone
would be there. Maybe even . . . Oh well, if I decided not to go, I could always fake some sort of illness. I put on my best smile. “Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He exhaled and grinned. “Good. Then I guess we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks.”

I met his eyes again. Whatever attitude he’d had earlier was gone. He seemed back to normal, almost like the old Cade I used to know. “I’ll be looking forward to that,” I said, thinking that the idea of seeing more of Cade McKenna might be fun after all.

•   •   •

“You’ve done a great job with this party. It’s unbelievable,” I told Ida after we’d settled around the table with our food. I glanced at the couple dozen tables covered in white linen
and set with simple but exquisite place settings. Ida had designed the centerpieces with low arrangements of flowers in striking shades of peach: dark peach gerbera and pink-tinged carnations alternated with spiky peach-colored delphinium. She’d even used cotton bolls and bits of fig branches from the farm as fill-in. Next to each arrangement she’d placed framed photos of our parents’ wedding day, the old black-and-white images sharply contrasting with the colorful flowers. Above us, yellow paper lanterns cast a warm hue over the guests. I watched as Mama and Daddy mingled from table to table, practically glowing themselves as they worked the room and visited with their friends.

“Well, it
was
a lot of work,” she replied.

I was feeling entirely plagued with guilt. “I’m sure it was. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to be more of a help. I arranged to come back as soon as I could get away.”

“I understand. I really do.” She sighed. “It’s just that things have been stressful around here.” She pushed at her food, moving it from one side of her plate to the other, seemingly preoccupied.

I studied her more closely, my eyes sliding down to her pregnant belly. “Is it the baby? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes. The baby’s fine.” She leaned in closer. “It’s a boy,” she whispered. “But don’t tell anyone. Hollis wants to keep it a secret.”

I grinned, happy for her. With twin girls already, a boy would be a great addition. I glanced around. “Where is Hollis? I haven’t seen him.”
Not that I had actually been looking.

She looked about nervously and tugged at the colorful scarf around her neck. I’d always admired my sister’s ability to pull together an outfit. Even seven months pregnant she looked great in a simple black dress paired with a hand-painted silk scarf. She must have been to the Clip & Curl recently, too; her hair was tinged with honey-colored highlights. “It’s hard telling,” she said, her face falling. “He’s been preoccupied with a big bank deal lately.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, understanding where the stress was coming from. No wonder my sister had come on so cold earlier. This party, her twins, the pregnancy . . . All that and Hollis had been busy with work and unable to help. Of course, the same thing could be said about me. I placed my hand on hers. “I’m sorry again. I should have come home earlier. It’s not fair that you’ve had to take on all this on your own.”

She looked up from her plate and squinted toward our parents, who were engaged in a lively discussion with Reverend Jones and his wife. “No, it’s more than that,” she started, but was interrupted by Hollis’s arrival.

He plunked down next to her and slid his plate onto the table. “Good food, honey,” he commented, placing a half-empty glass next to his heaping plate. He was probably drinking Peach Jack, a well-loved peach-flavored whiskey distilled right in our own county. I never really liked the stuff, but Daddy and Hollis seemed to have a taste for it. We seldom had a party without a bottle or two.

“Good to see you again, Nola,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. Hollis and I had never been on friendly terms—not since he made a pass at me the night before he married my sister.

“Hello, Hollis,” I replied, trying to inject a bit of friendliness into my tone. I searched the room for Ray, wishing he’d hurry up and join us. It was going to be awkward with just Ida, Hollis and me.

Not seeing him, I turned my attention back to my own plate. Ida really had gone all out with the food. With help from Ginny at Red’s Diner, she’d put together a scrumptious buffet: fresh greens with grilled peaches and a tangy peach vinaigrette, slow-roasted pork with the famous Harper Farm peach chutney on the side, and a yummy vegetable Napoleon made with fresh picks from Snyder’s farm down the road. Even Ezra, the owner of the local bakery, had risen to the occasion. He’d donated the most delicately decorated peach ruffle cake with tiny white sugar blossoms. It was almost too beautiful to cut.

That was how it was in small communities. Everyone came together for happy events, just like one big family. I’d seen that in villages in Africa too, and had admired it in places where sharing water became a life-sustaining gift. Guess I’d never really appreciated that same principle in my own hometown.