Rest in Peach (15 page)

“Love to,” I said, wrapping my hand around his arm.

Only instead of heading into the diner, we stopped at the entrance to Peachy Keen. “What’s going on?” I asked.

He removed the set of keys I’d loaned him and opened the door. Stepping back, he motioned for me to go inside first.

I entered tentatively, then stopped just inside the door. A blanket, set for a picnic for two, was spread in the middle of the floor. On the corner rested a giant orange and white cooler with the McKenna Contracting logo. He’d already tuned in the old Czar radio. The slow beat of a country melody filled the room. “What’s all this?” But before he could answer, my eyes drifted around the room. “Cade! You finished the shelves and . . . everything!”

He nodded, placing his hand on the small of my back and propelling me forward. “Yup. Yesterday while you were at the tea, I snuck in and wrapped things up. Looks good, doesn’t it?”

I was still gawking around. “Good? It looks fabulous.”

“There’s still a little more to do,” he said as we settled on the blanket. “I need to touch up the varnish on the shelves over there, and there’s a piece missing on that trim work . . . just odds and ends. For the most part, you can start setting up, if
you want.” He opened the cooler and pulled out a couple bottles of beer. He removed the top off one and handed it to me.

“Beer? Isn’t it a little early?”

“We’re celebrating.” He clinked his bottle against mine before tipping it back for a long sip.

I shrugged and lifted mine in the air. “What the heck,” I said, taking a swig, swallowing it down and asking, “But what exactly are we celebrating?” I glanced about. “The store?”

“No, but we can celebrate that, too, if you want.” He started pulling things out of the cooler: some paper plates, a bag of chips and some wrapped sandwiches. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to put anything together, so I asked Ginny to help me out. She filled the cooler early this morning for me.”

Shaking my head, I blinked back my emotions and said, “No, don’t apologize. This is wonderful.” Truth was, he could have been serving crackers and squirt cheese for all I cared. I was just touched he’d gone to the trouble of planning something so sweet, and that my friend had helped him. “So you never said what it is we’re celebrating.”

His expression became serious as he focused his eyes on mine. “New beginnings. We’re celebrating new beginnings.”

“You mean, between you and me?” My heart kicked up a notch.

He nodded. “I realize maybe you’re not completely over that Hawk guy, but—”

“You’re wrong,” I started, but he held up his hand.

“I’ve made you something.” He reached behind the cooler and pulled out a large, flat object wrapped in paper grocery bags from the local Pack-n-Carry. “Open it,” he said, handing it to me.

I took it, measuring its weight in my hands and wondering what it might be. It felt like a large, square board. Was it a . . . ? “Cade! A sign! You made me a sign.” It was perfect: white
with a painted logo in the corner of the smiling peach my nieces had created last summer and the words “Peachy Keen” carved in large letters. Simple but classy; just what I would have picked myself. I looked up, happy tears pricking the edges of my eyes. “How did you know? I was just going to put up a banner until I had time to get one designed, but this is perfect. Absolutely perfect.” I set it aside and threw my arms around his neck, planting a small kiss on his cheek. Then that small kiss grew into a bigger one, and before I knew it, we’d completely forgotten about
lunch.

Debutante Rule #027:
Debutantes may not know what they’re doing all the time. But rest assured, if you’re from a small town, someone else does.

If I ever got to heaven, I hoped it would be just like Sugar’s Bakery. Standing just inside the bakery door Monday morning, I took a moment to inhale the slightly burnt smell of deep brewed coffee mixed with the scent of vanilla and warm sugar and . . . ah, I could spend an eternity in Sugar’s and never tire of the aroma.

“Nola Mae Harper.” Ezra, the bakery’s owner, popped out from the back of the store and greeted me with his usual large, toothy grin. Every time I saw him, the mere bulk of his size caught me off guard. At well over six feet and with a shoulder spread that rivaled any SEC player, but with the disposition of sweet kitten, Ezra Sugar was the embodiment of a gentle giant. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“Been busy trying to get the shop up and going.”

“Aw, that’s right. You open in a couple weeks. Are you ready?”

“I will be,” I told him. The evening before, Ginny, Hattie
and I had spent several hours experimenting with variations of vinaigrettes and salad greens. While we chopped, diced and mixed, we discussed the murder investigation and filled Hattie in on our theory about Vivien being a blackmailer. Although we didn’t come up with any real answers to the mystery, we did end up creating the most divine peach pecan salad ever. Now, I was anxious to see if Ezra had come up with any dessert ideas. “I’m supposed to check with you to make sure things are on track for the cotillion dessert this weekend.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve got the design done.” He glanced over my shoulder and out his front window toward the sidewalk. He shot me another toothy grin. “Things are sort of slow right now. Why don’t y’all come back to my kitchen and see what I’ve got figured out so far.”

I returned his infectious smile and maneuvered around the counter, following him through a swinging door. “Oh my, Ezra!” I enthused and then fell into immediate kitchen envy. Ezra’s kitchen was a culinary masterpiece. Every appliance was state-of-the-art, with large stainless worktables alongside a marble-top pastry table. “Your kitchen is the stuff dreams are made of,” I gushed, stopping myself before I actually started drooling.

He dipped his chin and nodded modestly. “Baking is my passion.” He motioned for me to follow him around the counter to where he pulled out a notepad. “Here’s what I have so far.”

I looked down at the sheet, surprised by what I saw. I was expecting to see a sheet cake, or maybe a tiered cake, but what he’d designed instead was a bunch of individual round cakes. Each one was decorated in a cream-colored fondant with little peach polka dots and topped with the
cutest miniature sugar peaches. “These are absolutely adorable!” I raved. “You’re so talented, Ezra.”

He tipped back his head and let out a booming laugh. “Talented, huh? Well, thank you, but let’s see if I can actually pull this off.” He sighed and swiped a hand across his apron. “It’s been hectic here. Business has really picked up.”

“That’s because word’s out about your baking.”

He smiled again, nodding his head. “Hey, I’m not complaining. That’s a good thing. I’ve just reached the point where I think I’ll need to bring in some help.”

I nodded, hoping for the day Peachy Keen reached that point.

“Yoo-hoo!” came a voice from the front of the store.

Ezra slapped the notepad shut and headed toward the front of the shop. After taking one last look around, I followed him. We found Betty Lou Nix in front of the dessert case, bending over and peering at the array of tempting sweets.

“Hello, Mrs. Nix,” Ezra greeted.

The spry woman straightened up and smiled. “Hello, Ezra. And Nola Mae! What a surprise to see you here.”

I moved around the counter and joined her next to the dessert case. She tapped on the glass and ordered a dozen cinnamon rolls. “I’m buying these to take over to the church. The ladies and I are working on sorting items for the bazaar.”

“That’s so nice of you to volunteer,” I said, watching her carefully count out her bills. I held up my hand. “Let me get this,” I said, fishing bills out of my bag. “Think of it as my contribution to the cause. You and the other ladies always give generously of your time to the church. This is the least I can do.”

Her cheeks blushed with pleasure as she tucked her bills back into her purse. “Well, I always do say that the church
feels like my second home.” She chuckled. “Of course, I might just be the oldest member of the congregation, so I’ve had more time to settle in, if y’all know what I mean.”

We laughed. I took my change and thanked Ezra. Then I dashed ahead to hold the door for Mrs. Nix. “Mind if I walk with you?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Out on the walk she turned toward me and offered a roll. “No, thank you,” I said, thinking there might not be enough for all the church ladies. We continued down the walk, discussing the heat before I turned the conversation back to the church. “Everyone’s happy you’re playing the organ again, Mrs. Nix. Not that we didn’t enjoy Vivien’s organ playing, but . . .” I wasn’t sure how to finish without saying something that sounded ill-mannered.

No need to worry, though. Mrs. Nix jumped right in with, “If that wasn’t the darndest thing!”

“What’s that?”

“Vivien Crenshaw taking over the organ playing, that’s what.” She paused for a minute and turned to face me straight on. “Maggie Jones came to my house one evening and told me that I wouldn’t be needed anymore. That they had a new organ player.” She shook her head, her grip tightening on the bakery bag. “Just like that! At first I thought maybe I was slipping. You know, messing up the songs. I’m no spring chicken anymore.”

“Oh no. That’s not the case,” I assured her. “Your organ playing is just . . . heavenly.” That put a smile on her face. We started walking again, passing by Pistil Pete’s and Hattie’s Boutique on the way. I continued, “That’s why everyone was so shocked when she replaced you with Vivien.” I leaned toward her ear. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but she just didn’t have your talent.”

Mrs. Nix let out a happy little sigh. “Well, all I know is the next day after Vivien’s death—awful, wasn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Anyway, after it happened, Maggie came by my house and practically begged me to come back and play the organ. I had it in my mind to tell her to go fly a kite, but I remembered that we all have an obligation to use our God-given talents to serve others. Isn’t that what Reverend Jones is always preaching? Why, when you look at it that way, playing the organ is my duty.”

“So, what do you think the real reason was that she replaced you with Vivien in the first place? I mean, certainly it wasn’t the way you were playing, because she couldn’t wait to get you back.”

Mrs. Nix stopped again, her bright eyes darting up and down the walk before she leaned forward and said, “If you really must know, I think that woman was bullying Maggie.”

“Vivien? Bullying Maggie?”

“Yes, that’s right. One Sunday, after the church cleared out, I went to the back storage room to look through some old hymnals. The storage room by the preacher’s office. You know which one I’m talking about?”

I had no idea, but I nodded anyway.

“I heard the sound of voices coming from the office. It sounded like an argument at first, but then I thought I heard someone crying. I couldn’t figure out what in tarnation was going on, so I peeked around the corner, and you know what I saw?”

I leaned closer.

“Well, I saw Maggie all hunched over in a chair like a child being scolded. And right there, towering over her, was that Vivien woman. She had a mighty mean look on her face, too.”

“Did you hear anything they were saying?”

Mrs. Nix shook her head. “Nope. But you know, I saw something I won’t ever forget. I saw Vivien walk right over to the offering basket sitting on the preacher’s desk, dip her hand in and take out a fistful of bills.”

“Oh my! What did Maggie do?”

“Not a blasted thing, I tell you. She just sat there like a bump on a log. I was going to go on in and say something myself, but that Vivien woman kind of scared me.”

“Sounds like you weren’t the only one.”

“You got that right. But I did tell Reverend Jones about it.”

“You told Reverend Jones?”

“Darn right I did! Felt it was my duty. That Vivien Crenshaw was a piece of work. If you ask me, she got her comeuppance.” She punctuated her statement with a firm nod and held out the bag. “Sure you don’t want a roll, honey? There’s plenty to go around.”

I reached out my hand and smiled at the spunky Mrs. Nix. “In that case, don’t mind if I do.”

•   •   •

I took my cinnamon roll, said good-bye and headed back to Peachy Keen. For the rest of the day, I mulled over this new information while I unpacked product, stocked shelves and organized display areas for items I planned to consign for local craftsmen: peach-scented soaps made by a local stay-at-home mother who’d recently started her own soap business; and jewelry crafted by a local artisan who designed Georgia-themed trinkets.

My enthusiasm grew as I worked. Things were really coming together, and I hoped that one day my shop would be as successful as Ezra’s bakery or Hattie’s Boutique. If I could
pull it off, the income from the shop and my online order business would be enough to cover the farm’s recent losses with some left over to afford my own vehicle or maybe even rent a small place of my own. Although lately I’d come to realize that Mama and Daddy had visions of me living at the farm forever, even taking over the entire operation one day. I laughed, thinking how just last year I wasn’t even sure I could take care of the farm for three weeks, let alone run the operation full-time; I doubt they were sure, either. But, I was getting way ahead of myself. Counting my chickens before they hatch, as Nana used to say. Still, the possibilities excited me, and I couldn’t help but think I’d made the right decision leaving my job with Helping Hands International and deciding to stay in Cays Mill permanently.

After working steadily until late afternoon, I was ready for a glass of iced tea. I also wanted to discuss the case with Ginny, so I headed next door to the diner. She was standing at the counter, rolling silverware into napkins as Carla moved about bussing and cleaning tables. “Hey there, Nola Mae.”

I waved at Carla and took a seat at one of the barstools across from Ginny.

Ginny said, “I want to thank you again for standing in for me at the tea. I’m glad I was able to make at least part of it for Emily; the important thing is that Emily had a good time. Thank goodness that whole fiasco with Maudy Payne didn’t make it into Saturday’s edition.” She tossed a roll of silverware on top of the pile she’d already done and turned around to scoop up a couple glasses of ice. “I’m dreading tomorrow’s paper, though,” she said over her shoulder.

“I bet.” I picked up some silverware and started rolling, while Ginny filled the glasses. Then she pulled two plates
out from under the counter and crossed over to the dessert case, pulling out a peach pie.

“Want some?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.” My stomach rumbled, and I realized I hadn’t had anything since the cinnamon roll earlier that morning. She dished up a couple slices and settled on the stool next to me. I began quietly filling her in on everything Mrs. Nix had told me, including the fact that Reverend Jones knew about Vivien dipping into the coffers.

“Well, I certainly hoped he set her straight.”

Maybe he had
, I thought. But any sentiment against the preacher would be lost on Ginny. Never in a million years would she doubt a man of the cloth.

She continued, “At least now we know for sure that Vivien was a blackmailer. I mean, why else would Maggie just sit by and let her take from the offerings? But what in the world could that woman possibly have had on the preacher’s wife?”

I quirked a brow, but didn’t comment. “So, have you learned anything else about the case?”

“As a matter of fact, Travis came in today. I always serve the fried chicken special on Mondays. It’s his favorite.”

I scooped up a forkful of pie and moaned. Ginny’s peach pie could bring a grown man to his knees, that’s for sure. “Did he have something new to say?” I asked, my mouth still half full.

“Well, it wasn’t easy, but I used my chicken to pry a little information out of him.”

“Uh-huh.” I just couldn’t stop shoving in the pie.

“Well, he was saying that they had the lab boys working on identifying prints they’d lifted from Vivien’s purse.”

A sudden clinking of dishes caused both of us to turn around. “Ya okay there, Carla?” Ginny asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry,” Carla replied, moving the large tub to another dirty table. I watched her closely for second as she fumbled with a couple glasses and dropped a spoon.

“Anyway,” Ginny went on, drawing back my attention. “They fingerprinted me the other day, just to eliminate my prints from the others on the purse, since I’d touched it and all. Ray thought it was okay. He said it was normal procedure.”

“I’m sure he’s right. He knows all about that type of stuff.” I was trying to sound upbeat. Poor Ginny. Being fingerprinted by the police must have been upsetting to her. “Did Travis have anything else to say?”