In the middle of hickory.., p.17
In the Middle of Hickory Lane, page 17
I couldn’t stop the tears this time, and she shimmied off the stool to give me a hug. I let all my inhibitions go and hugged her back tightly, trying to remember the scents that clung to her—the chocolate, the rose, the lingering sunshine—and the feel of her soft, feathery cheek against mine.
When she pulled away, I wiped my eyes and movement outside the window caught my attention. I squinted and said, “Is that Dorothy in the backyard digging up your vegetable garden?”
She followed my gaze. “Land’s sake, it sure is.”
Glory headed for the side door, and a moment later, she was outside. I had to race to catch up.
“Dorothy, my love,” Glory called out as she wobbled her way along a stone pathway to the raised planter bed. “What are you doing?”
Dorothy was on her knees in the vegetable bed. Dirt clung to her pretty blue muumuu, and her white hair and pink scalp glowed like a pearl in the afternoon sunlight. She yanked out a radish by its leaves, tossed it aside, and stuck her small pink shovel in the hole.
She looked up at our approach, and there was a fire in her eyes I’d never seen before. “I’m looking for that no-account, no-good, slimy, pitiful rapscallion. He has to be around here somewhere.”
Rapscallion? I had a decent vocabulary, thanks to my lifetime love of reading, but I’d never heard the word before. By her thoroughly disgusted tone, I could decipher its meaning just fine, but even still I made a mental note to look it up.
“Oh dear,” Glory said as she climbed into the planter box along with her friend. She peered into the hole. “Is he down there? Do you see him?”
I picked up the radishes, brushed the dirt off their muted red skins, and stood idly by, not sure what to do other than follow Glory’s lead. I thought about calling Chase, but I didn’t have his number, and I really didn’t want to leave Glory to handle this alone.
“Not yet,” Dorothy said, still digging. “He’s a wily one.”
“Maybe try over here,” Glory said, pointing to a spot in front of her. She yanked out another radish plant and handed it to me.
“He shouldn’t be so hard to find,” Dorothy said as she thrust the trowel into the dark soil. “The stench of his putrid soul should lead the way.”
Glory nodded as if in total agreement. “There was a rotten smell today in Nannette and May’s front yard. Perhaps we should go take a closer look over there?”
“I already checked there,” Dorothy said, tossing a shovelful of dirt over her shoulder.
Glory glanced at me as if seeking help, but I wasn’t sure what to do until she said, “Have you smelled anything unpleasant lately, Emme, hon?”
Before I could answer, Orville raced past me, and with one smooth leap, he landed in front of Dorothy and Glory in the planter bed. He let out two sharp barks, then sat next to Dorothy and wagged his tail.
It suddenly seemed to me that Orville had been trained to find Dorothy. Good boy, I thought. Good boy. That also told me Dorothy went on these digging expeditions fairly often. Suddenly I wondered about all those holes in Dorothy’s front yard. Had it been she who’d dug them and not Orville? It was a definite possibility.
I recalled how Glory had said that Dorothy had squirrel issues, and I suddenly wondered if those “issues” had been a side effect of her brain injury. It seemed likely, considering the way Glory was playing along with her panicked search for the “varmint,” and my heart broke for the darling woman.
A second later, Chase came running into the backyard. With one quick glance, he sized up the situation. He stepped up next to me and said, “Dotty, did you find the dirty son of a—” He caught Glory’s raised eyebrow and coughed. “Squirrel?”
I took a small step away from him, uncomfortable with his closeness.
His grandmother threw the shovel down in disappointment. “No.”
“It’s certainly not for lack of trying,” Glory said, as she climbed down from the high bed.
I held out my hand to help her keep her balance until she found solid footing. Her hand curved around mine, holding it tightly.
Chase pretty much lifted Dorothy off the planter, and she tsked at the dirt on her dress. He said, “The search can wait. Let’s get you home and cleaned up before your big night out.”
She stared at him, a question in her pale eyes.
“Oh, that’s right.” Glory finally let my hand go so she could dust off the dirt clinging to her palms. “Nannette and May are taking us to a dance class!” She tried to do a cha-cha-cha but only made it through the second cha before she lost her balance.
Chase grabbed her arm, steadying her, and she patted his hand. “Thanks, hon.”
I tucked the radishes back into their beds and tried my best to fix the damage that had been done. Orville picked up the trowel by its handle and dropped it in front of me. I patted his head. “Thanks, buddy.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to a dance class,” Dorothy said. “What if I break a hip?”
“You’ve got a spare,” Glory said with a wide smile.
Dorothy rolled her eyes but her lips twitched with humor.
After the rough health day Glory had, I didn’t think it was in her best interests to attend the dance class, but I knew better than to try and talk her out of it, especially since the reason for attending was Dorothy.
She didn’t yet know that the dance class was being held at a local assisted-care facility. Glory had shared with me that for months now they’d been taking Dorothy there to try to get her used to the place. The long-term goal was for her to move in by the end of the year, and now I wondered at the timing of it all. Would Dorothy further decline once Glory was gone?
Chase took hold of his grandmother’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm and headed for the gate, Orville at his heels. “See you later on for our date, Emme,” he said with a cheeky smile. “No need to dress up. Wear something casual.”
I threw a glance at the apartment above the garage, then leveled him with a hard stare and tried to think of any excuse whatsoever that would get me out of working alongside him tonight.
“I’m not sure I can make it,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I’ve got a lot of baking to do. Oh my God—the cupcakes!”
I went running for the side door and skidded my way through the kitchen to grab a pot holder from the counter. The bitter scent in the air told me the cupcakes were burned before I even pulled open the oven and saw their crisp tops.
I set the pan on a trivet on the island and looked over to find the three of them staring at me from the doorway. “Ruined,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Glory.”
She waved a hand as she stepped inside. “Don’t worry any. There are two dozen extra cupcakes in the garage freezer. Plenty for tomorrow, which also means you have plenty of time to work on the apartment tonight as planned.”
“Fabulous,” I said with a tight smile.
Chase’s laugh followed him as he led Dorothy away.
When I was sure they were out of earshot, I turned to ask Glory about Dorothy’s squirrel issues, but she was gone, already in the bathroom washing up.
I took a deep breath as I looked at the overcooked cupcakes and hoped to the heavens above that Chase wouldn’t ask me any hard questions tonight that would put the rest of my time here in Sweetgrass in jeopardy.
I had the uneasy feeling he’d only volunteered his help because he suspected I was a fraud and wanted to interrogate me. Since he wasn’t wrong, I didn’t know how to answer his questions without digging myself into a deeper hole. One I wouldn’t be able to climb out of.
Chapter
14
Glory’s Garden Lesson #7
There truly aren’t enough words to describe the exquisiteness of dahlias. They’re simply stunning with their grand size—I have dinner plates smaller! And those rich colors—they’re absolutely drenched in beauty. It’s little wonder that they represent dignity and elegance. You know, hon, Lillian’s named for the white lily, a symbol of sweet purity, but I think Bee missed the mark. Lillian should’ve been named Dahlia. Maybe when she finally visits, we can talk her into changing it.
Emme
“Where do you want to start?” Chase asked.
“I thought I’d start the wall prep while you tackle that beast.” I pointed to the box on the small kitchen table that held a new faucet kit. “I can do small plumbing fixes, but that’s a little out of my league.”
If I was being honest, I could probably figure out the installation, but I liked the thought of him being in the kitchen, far away from me. Well, as far away as we could get in an open-concept apartment. Besides, I didn’t do well with small, enclosed spaces. The thought of crawling into the cabinet under the sink made my stomach hurt.
“Where’d you learn plumbing fixes?” he asked as he poked through the tool box sitting on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Nowhere in—”
“Particular,” he finished, as if expecting the answer.
Earlier, I’d peeked at the color chosen for the room by prying off the top of the can and finding it filled with creamy white paint with the barest hint of a yellow undertone. It instantly reminded me of Glory’s vanilla buttercream frosting. Cora Bee had picked the color, which meant it was the perfect shade. The color would add brightness, coziness, and complement the wooden beams and trim. “Exactly. Where did you learn plumbing?”
Chase had arrived at the apartment right on time wearing a red bandana as a head covering, which both looked ridiculous and oddly attractive. He had a small cooler in hand and was dressed in a sleeveless tee, knit shorts, and old tennis shoes by the looks of them. He’d left Orville at home, due to not wanting to get dog hair in the fresh paint.
I’d arrived early to bring up all the supplies from the garage, because the faster we could get this done, the better. I’d set out tape, sandpaper, brushes, rollers, and paint trays, then covered the wood floors and tried to ignore the pit in my stomach.
“My dad. He’s an accountant who has a penchant for DIY. Only, his do-it-yourself projects always included me.”
I tried to imagine doing homey chores with my father, whoever he was, and it made me ache with an indescribable sadness. “Did you enjoy it? The projects, the time together?”
He opened the box with the faucet kit, removed the pieces from inside. “Mostly. I could’ve done without the time we painted ourselves into a corner on the porch. I wanted to cut a screen to get out. He decided we could wait two hours until the paint dried enough to walk on. Any patience I have was learned at his knee.”
I thought of the kind way he treated Dorothy and concluded his dad was most likely a saint.
He pulled a phone from his pocket, swiped at the screen. “Any father figures in your life?”
“Nope,” I said as I pried the top off a small container of Spackle. I’d learned most of my handyman skills by attending the free classes offered at big home improvement stores. Between those and online videos, I held my own in the DIY department. When you lived in less-than-desirable apartments or rented rooms, it was necessary to know how to stop a sink from leaking or a toilet from overflowing, because it was unlikely the landlord would care enough to send a maintenance person along.
Music billowed into the air from his phone, the notes a throwback to another time. “Do you like oldies? It’s what my dad and I always listen to while working around the house. It’s kind of tradition. My phone is a poor substitute for my granddaddy’s old transistor radio that we usually listen to.” He grinned. “That scratchy reception really adds a little something extra to the sound. Anyway”—he set the phone on the table—“let me know if you prefer something else.”
The room filled with the sounds of a man singing about a woman asking him to come a little bit closer. The lyrics made me want to scoot another foot away from Chase. “I don’t really have a preference. Is your grandfather why you became a police officer?”
I needed to keep him talking so he wouldn’t ask about me, but also not be too chatty. It was a fine line I needed to walk.
“Yeah. He was a great guy. One of the best. It about crushed me to leave the force.”
“Why did you?” I asked, pretending not to know.
“Broke my wrist chasing after a mugger. Had surgery, pins, the whole nine yards. It didn’t work the same afterward. And it was my right hand, my shooting hand, so I couldn’t do my job anymore. I could’ve taken a desk job, but I didn’t think I could sit around all day watching other people live my dreams. I tried selling insurance for a while. Then worked as a recruiter. Nothing felt … right. My head was still in the police world. It was Dotty who steered me toward writing. She loves true-crime shows. Once, when we were watching an episode about an unsolved mystery, I started throwing out theories. She told me I should stop guessing and get off my rear and solve the case. So I did.”
“You make it sound easy.”
His laughter rose to the rafters. “It wasn’t. It took years of investigating, of conversations, of digging in old files. Then, of course, finding a publisher and all that isn’t easy, either.”
“How old are you?”
“You’re not supposed to ask people their age.”
I smiled as I used my fingertip to push Spackle into a hole in the wall. “I thought that etiquette rule only applied to men asking about women.”
“Nope. It’s both. But I’m thirty-three. You?”
“Twenty-five.” I’d hoped that would be the end of the questions for a while, but he clearly wasn’t done.
“Was it always just you and your mom when you were younger?”
Not always, no. Not if one counted all the men she brought into our lives. I didn’t count them. In fact, I wished I could forget them completely. “Until I was eighteen, then we went our separate ways.”
When he didn’t ask another prying question straightaway, I looked over at him. He was studying me with softness in his eyes.
He said, “That’s pretty young to be out on your own, with no family support.”
“How do you know I didn’t have family around?” I hadn’t had any family around, but I wanted to see if I could ferret out how much he had already learned about me.
“I found out when I visited nowhere in particular.”
His wry tone made me smile. “Or did you find out when you did a complete background check on me? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d slipped away to Louisville for a few days to talk to my old housemates.”
After a brief hesitation, he said, “I can’t leave Dotty that long. I sent an old friend.”
He wasn’t joking. It was a strange feeling to admire his honesty. He could’ve lied easily. Of course, I would’ve known he was lying, but he didn’t know that. “And what did they say?”
“Apparently you don’t make much noise. Most of the people who lived in that house said they didn’t even know you’d left. I hope you’re not upset I checked into you. I have a soft spot for Glory.”
Grateful he hadn’t found out that I’d once been arrested, I said, “I’d question your investigative integrity if you hadn’t looked into my past.”
He carried the faucet and hand sprayer to the counter. “I could look only so far. Your early years don’t have much information. And if you had a juvie record, it’s likely sealed.”
My heart darted around my chest like it was trying to escape and run far away. “I don’t have a juvie record,” I said honestly. “And I’ve never used an alias, though my mother has more times than I can count.”
“Noted,” he said.
I took advantage of the break in his questioning to say, “How’s Dorothy doing? Feeling better?”
Deep lines creased the space between his eyebrows as he studied the instructional booklet. “She’s always happy to get dolled up, go out.”
“Glory was excited, too.” It was the perkiest I’d seen her all day, and I kind of wished I were with them, watching them dance and laugh, instead of being here, dodging questions about my past. I decided to turn the tables.
“How long did it take you to teach Orville to track Dorothy?”
“So you noticed that, did you? I’m surprised it took you so long since I’ve noticed you’re quite perceptive.”
“It took so long because I’m not psychic. I’d never seen him find her before today.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
I smiled. “He’s a good boy.”
“The best. I can’t take credit for training him, though. Professionals did that.” As I filled another hole with my finger, Chase added, “You know there’s a putty knife on the table, right?”
“If you don’t mind getting dirty, fingers do a better job. It’s easier to feel if the hole is fully filled, and you don’t have a ton of waste.”
He smiled, showing off his dimple. “Then carry on.”
At some point in the past week, Glory had taken down everything that had previously hung on the walls and carried it down to the garage. She’d mentioned something about a garage sale, and I wondered when she’d ever have the time. It seemed she was always working, at the Sweetplace, or cooking the desserts she sold there, or fussing in the garden.
For as much as I wanted to tell her to rest, to take it easy, I wanted her to keep doing what she was doing. Living every minute. Not missing a beat. Soaking it all in.
She’d yet to say a word to me about being ill, and I wondered when she would. What, exactly, was she waiting for? I couldn’t even imagine—mostly because I couldn’t imagine what life was like for her right now. Knowing there wasn’t much time left.
A song about starting over drifted through the room, filling the silence as surely as I filled small holes, dents, scrapes. I kept an eye on Chase as he picked up a wrench and flashlight and angled himself into the cabinet under the kitchen sink. At the sound of a low, sharp curse, I said, “You okay down there?”
He mumbled something in reply.
I moved a little closer. “What was that?”
There was a clatter of a wrench, then he shimmied out of the space and sat up. “I said it’s a knuckle buster.”
