The Liar

9

She had fun, grown-up fun, normal-night-out-with-people fun. She saw glimmers of her old friendship with Emma Kate break through, and it gave her hope that it would beam bright again.

Seeing a man, and he seemed like a good man, besotted—that was the word that came to her mind—over her friend made her glow a little.

She liked the way they looked together, easy and comfortable but with some sparks over the familiarity. She’d seen her friend in love before, but with the teenage angst and drama and wonder that flamed like a comet over a night sky, and was as quickly lost from view. What she saw here struck her as real and grounded, a good, sturdy sapling sinking roots.

If the lost years came home to her not only in the way Emma Kate fit with Matt, but the connection between her and Griff, the obvious brotherhood between him and Matt, she could be grateful they opened that very tight unit to include her for an evening.

Maybe she had to work some to stay relaxed sitting next to Griff—pretty much hip to hip in the little booth. It had been so long since she’d been in close proximity with a man, which explained the occasional belly flutters. But he made conversation easy—they all did. And God it felt good not to talk about herself and her problems for an hour.

She nursed her water to make it all last.

“I don’t think things have changed so much in the Ridge that it could’ve been easy to start up a new business, especially since you’re not . . . local.”

Matt grinned at Shelby across the table. “You mean for us Yankees.”

“That would be a factor. But you do have the cutest accent,” she said, and made him laugh.

“It helps we’re good, and I mean damn good. Then there’s the Emma Kate factor.” He gave her shaggy hair a tug. “Some people were curious enough about the Yankee their own Emma Kate hooked up with to hire us for some odd jobs.”

“Painting,” Griff commented. “I thought we’d never stop painting. Then Emma Kate’s father gave us a boost when a tree fell on the Hallister house. They called him in for the roof, and he nudged them to us for the rest. Their bad luck was our good.”

“That Hallister boy’s family?” Shelby wondered. “The one my cousin Lark’s glued to?”

“That’s the one,” Emma Kate confirmed. “And Granny gave them another lift.”

“Did she?”

“She hired Dewey Trake and his crew out of Maryville to do the Relaxation Room at the day spa, and finish off the little patio. Some this and that,” Emma Kate continued.

“What about Mr. Curtis? He always did her work.”

“He retired about two years back, and even Granny couldn’t coax him out to take this one on. So she hired Trake, but that didn’t last two weeks.”

“Shoddy work.” Griff tipped back his beer.

“Overpriced,” Matt added.

“Granny thought so, and fired him.”

“I happened to be in there at the time.” Griff picked up the story, that easy rhythm. “Man, she lit into him. He’d had about four days on the job and was already running behind, making noises about overruns and delays. A lot of bullshit, basically. She handed him his ass, and told him not to let the door hit it on the way out.”

“Sounds like Granny.”

“That’s when I fell for her.” Griff let out a sigh, ending it on what Shelby would term a dreamy smile. “Something about a woman who can hand somebody their ass just does it for me. Anyway, not to let an opportunity slide—”

“Dewey Trake’s bad luck being your good.”

“Exactly. I asked her if she’d let me take a look.”

“Griff’s our community liaison,” Matt said.

“And Matt handles the accounting. It works. I took a look, asked to see the plans, told her I could have an estimate for her by the next morning, but ballparked it for her on the spot.”

“You were eleven hundred off,” Matt reminded him.

“Ballpark, on the spot. She measured me up—you’ve probably been measured up by Miz Vi.”

“Countless times,” Shelby agreed.

“Fell a little deeper, but restrained myself from asking her to run away with me. Timing’s everything. She said something like: ‘Boy, I want this done before Christmas and I want it done right. You get me that estimate, written down proper, first thing in the morning, and if I like it, be prepared to start work then and there.’”

“I take it she liked it.”

“She did, and the rest is history,” Griff claimed. “Once you get the thumbs-up around here from Viola Donahue, you’re pretty well set.”

“It didn’t hurt that Griff went out and snapped up that old house, and its four overgrown, trash-strewn acres,” Matt put in. “It was just crying, ‘Buy me, Griff, come on! I’ve got tremendous potential.’”

“It really does,” Shelby agreed, and earned a quick, flashing grin from Griff that had those butterflies swarming again.

“You can’t miss it if you know where to look. A lot of people thought—probably still think—I was crazy.”

“That probably gave you another nice, hefty lift. We do prize our crazy in the South.”

“Why, you know that young Lott boy from up to Baltimore?” Emma Kate began.

“He may be addled,” Shelby finished, “but he’s handy.”

She saw Forrest wander in. Checking up on me, she thought. Some things didn’t change.

“The law’s coming,” Griff commented as Forrest walked over to the booth. “Hey, Pomeroy. Is this a raid?”

“Off-duty. I’m here for the beer and wild women.”

“This one’s taken.” Matt squeezed a little closer to Emma Kate. “But you can slide in and get the beer.”

“Beer first.” He nodded toward Shelby’s glass. “Is that water?”

“Yes, Daddy. Did you come from home? Is Callie doing all right?”

“Yes, Mama. She had a bubble bath of epic proportions, talked her granddaddy into two stories, and was sleeping with Fifi when I left. You want another round of water?”

“I should probably get back.”

“Relax. Another round?” he asked the rest of the table.

“I’d take a Diet Coke this time, Forrest,” Emma Kate told him. “I’ve had my quota.”

When her brother went off to order the drinks, Shelby looked around. “I know we didn’t come in here all that much, but I don’t remember it ever doing this kind of business.”

“You should see it every other Saturday night.” Since he had another coming, Matt drained his beer. “They have live entertainment. Griff and I are talking to Tansy—and she’s talking to Derrick—about adding on—bigger stage, dance floor, second bar.”

“They could use it for private parties.” Now Griff scanned the room. “You keep it all in line with the original architecture, make sure you’ve got good acoustics, good traffic flow. They’d have something.”

“Drinks are coming.” Forrest slid in on the edge of the bench. “How’s that kitchen going for Miz Bitsy?”

“A couple more days,” Matt said, “we’re out of there.”

“You know, my mama’s talking about doing a big master bath off the bedroom. With a steam shower.” He narrowed his eyes at Griff. “You did know.”

“Maybe we’ve had a few words about it.”

“It’s going to eat up Shelby’s old room, and as she has Clay’s now and Callie’s got mine, that’s all the bedrooms there are.”

“Are you planning on moving back in with your parents?”

“No, but you never know.” He shot Shelby a glance. “Do you? So if she gets her way—and she will—and my circumstances change, I’ll be moving into your place.”

“I’ve got the room. You still on for Sunday?”

“You still buying the beer?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

“Griff’s taking out another wall or two at the old Tripplehorn place,” Emma Kate told Shelby.

“Do you think when I’ve lived there twenty years it’ll be the old Lott place?”

“No,” Forrest said flatly. “Hey, Lorna, how’re you doing tonight?”

The waitress served the drinks. “I’m doing just fine, but I’d be doing better if I was sitting down here having a drink with all these handsome men.”

She set Shelby’s water in front of her, bussed the empties. “You watch out for this one, honey.” She gave Griff a poke on the shoulder. “A man this charming can talk a woman into most anything.”

“I’m safe enough. He’s pining for my grandmother.”

Lorna set the tray of empties on her hip. “You Vi’s grandbaby? Of course you are, you look just like her, to the life. Well, she’s sure on top of the world having you home. You and your little girl. I was in the salon today, and she showed me a picture she took with her phone of your baby after Vi did her hair up. She couldn’t be prettier.”

“Thank you.”

“Just give a holler if you need something else. I heard you, Prentiss!” she called over her shoulder when another table hailed her. “Keep an eye on him anyway,” she said to Shelby.

“I don’t remember her. Should I remember her?”

“You remember Miss Clyde?”

“I had her for English literature, twelfth grade.”

“So did we all. Lorna’s her sister. She moved here from Nashville about three years ago. Her husband dropped stone dead from a heart attack at fifty.”

“That’s sad.”

“They didn’t have any kids, so she packed up, came here to live with her sister.” Forrest took a sip of his beer. “Derrick says Tansy’s his right hand around this place and Lorna’s his left. Did you see Tansy?”

“I did. It took me more than a minute to recognize her. Matt said they’re thinking about adding on here, putting in a dance floor and a stage and a second bar.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Emma Kate said as the talk turned to demolition and materials. “It’ll be nothing but construction talk now.”

She liked the construction talk, and the extra half hour she took to sit with her brother.

“This was nice, but I’ve got to get on.”

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Griff began as he slid over to let her out.

“Don’t be silly. I think my brother keeps the streets of the Ridge safe enough. You can take my seat,” she told Forrest, “spread out a little.”

“I’ll do just that. Why don’t you text me when you get home?”

She started to laugh, saw he was serious. “How about I text you if I have any trouble getting home, all one and a half miles of it? ’Night, everybody. Thanks for the drink, Griff.”

“It was water.”

“I’ll see if I can do more damage next time.”

She walked out happy. Happy enough to roll the windows down despite the chill, turn the radio up and sing along. She didn’t notice the car pulling out after her and following her that mile and a half.

Inside the bar, Forrest switched seats. “Walk her to her car?”

Griff studied his beer. “Your sister’s hot.”

“Don’t make me punch you.”

“You can punch me, but she’ll still be hot.”

Forrest decided to ignore him, shifted his focus to Emma Kate. “It looks like you two made things up.”

“We got a start on it.”

“How much did you get out of her?”

“Enough to be damn sure that dead husband of hers was a son of a bitch. You figured he was, Forrest.”

“Yeah, I figured he was.” Forrest’s eyes chilled; his mouth thinned. “Couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it.”

“What kind of a son of a bitch?” Griff demanded.

“The kind that made her feel stupid and small and kept his money in a tight fist.” The angry heat she’d banked down flashed out now. “The kind who likely had affairs while she was home taking care of the baby—the baby I got the clear impression he didn’t pay much mind to. And there’s more to it, I know there’s more. She didn’t let it all out tonight.”

Emma Kate took a long breath. “I swear, if he hadn’t gotten himself killed, I’d be holding your coat while you kicked his ass, Forrest, or you’d be holding mine.”

“She should’ve done some ass-kicking herself.”

“I bet nobody’s ever made you feel stupid or small.” Griff shook his head. He thought of those sad eyes, and the bright, flirtatious little girl.

His anger went on simmer. It could boil up—long, slow and rolling. If and when it boiled over, it scalded to the bone.

“My sister was hooked up with a guy for a while. Passive-aggressive, manipulative fucker. He twisted her up pretty good, and he only had a few months to do it. No kid involved. People like that, they start off making you feel like you’re the most amazing thing on the planet, you’re perfect, they’re lucky to have you in their life. Then they start chipping away, a little at a time. Got on her to lose weight, and my sis is no pudge.”

“She’s not,” Forrest agreed. “I’ve met her. Your sister’s hot.”

“Well played. This jerk was all over Jolie. Why didn’t she do something with her hair? If she couldn’t afford a better salon since she’s stuck working in some dead-end job, he’d pay for it. His treat.”

“Kick and kiss,” Matt said. “I remember that guy. When Jolie finally broke it off, Griff baited him into taking a swing.”

“I needed to get a punch in, and that way I could say he threw the first.”

“It’s still assault.”

“Shut up, Deputy, it was worth it.”

“Shelby was always so . . . what’s the word?” Forrest muttered.

“Vibrant,” Emma Kate supplied. “She went after things. She wouldn’t walk over somebody to get it, but she’d go head-to-head with you. And if you tried walking over her or somebody else, especially somebody else?” She paused to glance at Griff. “You got your ass handed to you.”

“She’s still vibrant. You two don’t see it maybe because you’ve known her all your lives. But I see it.”

Emma Kate cocked her head at Griff. “Why, Griffin Lott. Shelby said her little girl was smitten with you. Are you smitten with the mama?”

“Her brother’s sitting right here, and he’s already threatened to punch me.”

“She’d be your type,” Matt put in.

“My type?”

“Because you don’t have a type, as long as she’s female.”

“Her brother’s sitting right here,” Griff repeated, and applied himself to his beer.

• • •

SHELBY KEPT THE PLAYDATE in the park and enjoyed it nearly as much as Callie. Best of all, she and Chelsea’s mother made an arrangement. Tracey would watch the girls for a few hours while Shelby ran some errands the next day, and two days later, Shelby would do the same for her.

Everybody won a little something.

And maybe, she thought as she once again examined her wardrobe, she’d net herself at least a part-time job.

She opted for a dress—simple lines in pale yellow for spring—and a good pair of nude pumps, with a short white jacket to set it off.

She pulled her hair back into a tail, fastened on earrings with little pearl drops. Costume, as she’d had them since college, but pretty and right for the outfit.

With her mother back at work, she and Callie had the house to themselves, and she didn’t have to explain she was gearing up for a job hunt. If she got lucky and landed one, she’d present it all as a fait accompli.

If she got a job and sold the house? She’d do handsprings up and down High Street in front of God and everybody.

“Mama’s pretty.”

“Callie’s prettier.” Shelby glanced over where Callie sat on the bed, methodically stripping the clothes off two Barbie dolls.

“Baby, why are your Barbie dolls naked?”

“They need to change clothes for Chelsea’s house. Chelsea has a kitty named Snow White. Can I have a kitty?”

Now Shelby looked down at the old dog who snored at the foot of the bed. “And how do you think Clancy would feel about that?”

“He could play with the kitty. My kitty’s name’s Fiona, like Shrek. Can I have a kitty, please, Mama? And a puppy. I want a puppy most.”

“I tell you what, when we get a house of our own, we’ll see about getting a kitty.”

“And a puppy, too! The puppy’s name is Donkey, like Shrek.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Richard had had a no-pet policy. Well, when she had a house for Callie, they’d have a dog and a cat.

“And a pony!”

“Now you’re pushing it, Callie Rose.” But she scooped her up, spun her around. “Is Mama really pretty today? I want to look my best today.”

“Mama’s beautiful.”

She pressed her cheek to her daughter’s. “Callie, you’re my best thing in the world.”

“Is it time to go to Chelsea’s house?”

“Just about. You dress those dolls, then we can put them in the Callie bag and take them to Chelsea’s house.”

Once she’d dropped Callie off, chatted with Tracey, she headed straight into town.

She was capable, she told herself. She was smart enough to learn. She even knew a little about art, and she knew—or had known—some of the local artists and craftspeople. It made perfect sense to try to wrangle a part-time job at The Artful Ridge.

After she parked, she sat for a moment, gathering herself.

Don’t act desperate. If worse comes to worst, buy something. She could do this.

Fixing a smile on her face, ignoring the churning in her belly, she got out of the car, strolled down the sidewalk, and into The Artful Ridge.

Oh, it was pretty—she’d love to spend time here. It smelled of scented candles and glowed with natural light. She saw half a dozen things at a glance she’d be happy to have in her own home, once she got one.

Wrought-iron candlesticks, pale blue blown-glass wineglasses, a painting of a mountain stream on a misty morning, a long, sinuous jar the color of top cream polished like glass.

Tracey’s pottery, too—and she loved the tulip-shaped stacking bowls.

Glass shelves sparkled, and while the old wood floor creaked a little, it held a subtle gleam.

The girl who came around the counter couldn’t have been more than twenty and wore a half dozen colorful studs around the curve of her ear.

Not in charge, Shelby thought, but maybe a gateway.

“Good morning. Anything I can help you with today?”

“It’s just beautiful in here.”

“Thank you! We carry local artists and artisans. There are so many talented people in the area.”

“I know it. Oh, that’s one of my cousin’s paintings. A set of them.” She stepped over to a grouping of four small watercolors.

“You’re a cousin to Jesslyn Pomeroy?”

“I am, on my daddy’s side. I’m Shelby Pomeroy. Foxworth now.”

Who your people were mattered, Shelby knew, and could be another gateway. “She’s my uncle Bartlet’s middle daughter. We’re all so proud of her.”

“We sold one of her paintings just last Saturday to a man from Washington, D.C.”

“Isn’t that wonderful? Cousin Jessie’s art on somebody’s wall in Washington, D.C.”

“Are you visiting the Ridge?”

“I was born and raised here, and while I’ve been away a few years, I’ve moved back home. Just a few days ago, actually. I’ve been settling in. The fact is, I’d like to find some part-time work. It would be just lovely to work in a shop like this, with my cousin’s art right there.

“And Tracey Lee’s,” she added, as it never hurt to know people. “Her little girl and mine have become best friends already.”

“We can’t keep Tracey’s coffee mugs on the shelf. They just fly out of here. My sister Tate’s married to Robbie’s—that’s Tracey’s husband—to Robbie’s cousin Woody. They’re living up in Knoxville.”

“Would that be Tate Brown?”

“That’s right. It’s Bradshaw now, but that’s my sister. You know Tate?”

“I do. She dated my brother Clay for a time when they were in high school. So she’s married and living in Knoxville?”

Gateways, Shelby thought, as they chatted about family connections.

“We’re just starting to look for some extra help, for the season. Would you like to talk to the manager about it?”

“I would, thank you.”

“Just give me a minute. Browse around if you like.”

“I will.” In fact, as soon as the girl was out of sight, Shelby checked the price on the tall jar. Winced a little. A fair price, she imagined, but a little out of her reach right now.

She’d make it a goal.

When the girl came back moments later, the friendly had drained out of her eyes, and her tone was cool.

“You can go on up to the office. I’ll show you.”

“Thank you. It must be nice,” Shelby continued as they walked to the back of the shop. Here rustic wooden cases and shelves held pottery and textiles. “Working around all these pretty things.”

“You go right up the stairs here, it’s the first door you come to. It’s open.”

“Thanks again.”

She went up the sturdy stairs, turned into a room backed with three narrow windows that opened up to a view of the Ridge and the rise of the hills.

Here was art and pretty things as well, a sweet chair with curvy legs done in deep blue, and a wonderful old desk refinished so the oak shone gold. A vase of red roses and baby’s breath stood on it, along with a computer and a phone.

It took her only a moment to focus in on the woman behind the desk—and understand the abrupt change in the clerk’s demeanor.

“Why, hello, Melody. I had no idea you worked here.”

“I manage the gallery. My grandmama bought it just about a year ago and asked me to get it in shape for her.”

“Well, from what I see, you’ve done a wonderful job of it.”

“Thank you. You have to do what you can for family, don’t you? And look at you.” She rose then, a curvy woman in a fitted dress of rosy pink. Her blond hair fell in a long, soft wave to her shoulders, sweeping around a heart-shaped face with poreless skin glowing from an expert hand with bronzer or a good self-tanner.

Shelby knew Melody would never expose her face to the sun and risk lines and spots.

Her eyes, a chilly blue, flicked over Shelby as she walked over, moved in for a cheek bump.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you! My goodness, this humidity that’s moving in must play havoc with your hair.”

“It helps to have easy access to good salon products.” Yours could use a root touch-up, she thought, as no one made her hackles prickle faster than Melody Bunker.

“I’m sure it does. I heard you were back. It’s just tragic about your husband, Shelby. Just tragic. You have all my sympathy.”

“Thank you, Melody.”

“And back where you started now, aren’t you? Living back with your mama, aren’t you? Oh, please, have a seat.” Melody leaned a hip back on the desk, holding the higher ground, the position of power. “And how are you, Shelby?”

“I’m fine. I’m happy to be home again. How’s your mama, Melody?”

“Oh, she’s doing fine. We’re going to Memphis in a couple weeks, having a few days, doing some shopping, staying at the Peabody, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You know how hard it is to find decent clothes around here, so we try to get into Memphis every season. I have to admit, I never thought to see you back in the Ridge, but being a widow, you must need the comfort of family.”

“They are a comfort.”

“But I sure was surprised when Kelly came up and said you were downstairs and asking about work, what with all the talk about how well off you were, landing yourself a rich husband. And you have a daughter, don’t you?”

Those blue eyes sparkled now, but it wasn’t with friendship or camaraderie. “Some say that helped with the landing.”

“I’m sure they do, as some will say all manner of unattractive things just to hear their own voice. I’d like to work,” Shelby said simply.

“I’d sure like to help you out, Shelby, but working here at The Artful Ridge takes certain requirements. I don’t suppose you’ve ever worked a cash register in your life.”

Melody knew very well she had, at the salon.

“I ran one since I was fourteen, weekends and summers at my grandmother’s salon. I was assistant manager of the bookstore in college—University of Memphis, if you can’t recall. That was a few years ago, but I’m sure I could get references if you need them. I know how to work a register, a computer, I know most of the basic softwares.”

“A family beauty parlor and a college bookstore don’t give you much of a foundation for an upscale showplace of arts and crafts. And do you know how to sell? Working a bookstore in college? Why, that sort of thing sells itself, doesn’t it? We carry a superior range of art, a lot of it exclusive to us. We’re a landmark in this town now. In the county, come to that. And we’ve got a reputation.”

“I’m sure the reputation’s earned, considering what you showcase here, and how you display it. Though I’d have taken those cane-back chairs from the front and put them at that burl wood table in the back, done something interesting on the table with the pottery dishes and some wineglasses, some of the textiles.”

“Oh, would you?”

She only smiled at the frigid tone. “I would, but that’s me. And I can say so because you don’t have any intention of giving me a job.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

With a nod, Shelby rose. “That’s your loss, Melody, because I’d have been an asset to your grandmother’s business here. I appreciate the time.”

“Why don’t you go over to Vi’s? I’m sure your grandmother could find you work there, suited to your skills and experience. She has to need someone sweeping up and washing out the sinks.”

“You think that’s beneath me?” Shelby angled her head. “I’m not surprised, Melody, not at all surprised. You haven’t changed since high school, and still holding a grudge because they put that Homecoming crown on my head instead of yours. That’s awful sad. It’s just awful sad your life hasn’t gotten any richer or more satisfying since high school.”

She walked out, head up, started down.

“I was second-runner-up Miss Tennessee!”

Shelby glanced back, smiled at Melody, who stood, hands on hips, at the top of the stairs. “Bless your heart,” she said, and continued down, and straight out.

She wanted to shake. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or humiliation, but she wanted to shake. Walk it off, she ordered herself, and crossed the street.

Her first instinct was to go to the salon, vent it all out, but she turned sharply, headed for the bar and grill.

Maybe Tansy could use another waitress at Bootlegger’s.

Running on that anger and humiliation, she banged on the door. Maybe they didn’t open for another half hour, but somebody, by God, was in there.

On her second series of bangings, the door opened. The tough-looking guy in a T-shirt with cut-off sleeves that showed off arms with muscles carved like a mountain range gave her one hard look out of eyes black as onyx.

“We’re not open until eleven-thirty.”

“I know that. It says so clear enough. I’m looking for Tansy.”

“Why would that be?”

“That would be my business, so . . .” She broke off, bore down on herself. “I’m sorry—I apologize. I’m upset and I’m being rude. I’m Shelby, a friend of Tansy’s. I’d like to talk to her a minute if she’s around.”

“Shelby. I’m Derrick.”

“Oh, Tansy’s husband. It’s nice to meet you, Derrick, and I really am sorry for being rude. I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“Bygones. It’s clear you’re upset. Come on in.”

A couple of waitstaff did setups on the tables. In the relative quiet Shelby heard kitchen noises, raised voices.

“Why don’t you have a seat at the bar? I’ll get Tansy.”

“Thank you. I won’t take much time.”

She sat, tried to fall back on the yoga breathing she’d practiced when she’d taken classes in Atlanta. It didn’t help.

Tansy came in, all smiles. “I’m so glad you came by. We didn’t really have time to talk last night.”

“I was rude to your Derrick.”

“She wasn’t that rude, and she’s already apologized twice. Want a drink?” he asked her.

“I—”

“How about a Coke?” Tansy said.

“God, yes. Thanks. I’m repeating myself, but I’m sorry. I just had a little altercation with Melody Bunker.”

Tansy slid onto a stool. “Want something stronger than a Coke?”

“I’m tempted, but no thanks. I went over there to see if I could get a part-time job. I wish I didn’t like the place so much. It’s just wonderful, and has such a good feel about it. Until I went upstairs and talked to Melody. She was as biting as a nest of rattlers, I swear. Wouldn’t you think she’d let go of high school?”

“Her type never lets go of anything. I’m the one who’s sorry. I sent you over there. I didn’t think about Melody—I try not to.”

Tansy sent Derrick a smile when he put a ginger ale in front of her. “Thanks, baby. Melody’s only in there two or three hours a day, and only a few days out of the week. Otherwise she’s off to some club meeting or getting her nails done, or having lunch up at the big restaurant. It’s Roseanne, the assistant manager, who really runs the place.”

“Whoever runs it, Melody would burn it to the ground before she hired me on. Thank you,” she said to Derrick when he set the Coke in front of her. “I’m sure I’m going to like you because you have such good taste in wives. And I love your place. I had the best time here last night. Oh, and congratulations on the baby.”

“That about covers it. I already like you.” He poured himself a fizzy water. “Tansy’s told me about you, and how you’d take up for her when somebody like that bitch across the street picked on her.”

“Derrick, you shouldn’t call her that.”

“She is a bitch,” Shelby said, and drank. “At least I gave her some of her own back. It’s been a while since I’ve given anybody some of their own back. And it felt damn good. Maybe a little too good.”

“You were always good at it.”

“Was I?” Calmer, Shelby smiled, sipped. “It sure came back to me. Smoke was spiraling out of her ears when I left, so that’s something. So, I won’t be working there in the foreseeable future. I wonder if you need any help here. Another waitress, maybe?”

“You want to wait tables?”

“I want a job. No, I need a job,” Shelby amended. “That’s the truth. I need a job. I’m making the rounds today while Tracey Lee’s got my Callie with her Chelsea. If you’re not hiring, that’s all right. I’ve got a list I’m going down.”

“Have you ever done any waitressing?” Derrick asked her.

“I’ve cleared plenty of tables, served plenty of food. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m only looking for part-time now, but—”

“Waitressing isn’t for you, Shelby,” Tansy began.

“All right. Thanks for listening, and for the Coke.”

“I’m not done. Derrick and I, we’ve been talking about adding some entertainment on Friday nights. We have,” she insisted when Derrick frowned.

“Talked about it, some.”

“Two Saturdays a month we have a live band, and we do good, strong business. We’d add to Friday night’s till with some entertainment. I’ll hire you right now, Shelby, to sing on Friday nights, eight to midnight.”

“Tansy, I appreciate your offering, but I haven’t done anything like that in years.”

“Do you still have your voice?”

“It’s not that . . .”

“We couldn’t pay a lot, at least until we see how it goes. Forty-minute sets, and ten of the twenty between you’d work the crowd some. Go around the tables. What I want is to try a kind of weekly theme.”

“She’s got ideas,” Derrick muttered, but with a spark of pride.

“I have good ideas.” With the ginger ale in one hand, Tansy tapped a finger on the bar. “And this good idea is we’d start off with the forties. Songs from the forties, specialty drinks from then. What did they drink back then? Martinis or boilermakers. I’ll figure that out,” she said, waving it aside.

“Next week it’s the fifties, and we work our way up. It’s all nostalgia. We’ll draw in a lot of people. I’ll get it set up. We’ll use a karaoke machine for now. Maybe if we do the expansion, we can get a piano, or we can hire a couple of musicians. For right now, to start, we’ll get that karaoke machine, Derrick, because we’re going to start doing Karaoke Mondays, too.”

“She’s got ideas,” he said again.

“I got one says people just love hearing themselves sing whether they can’t pipe out a single true note. They’ll be flocking in here Monday nights. And now Fridays, too. That’s what we’ll call it—just ‘Friday Nights.’ I know it’s only one night a week, Shelby, but that’ll give you room to find some day work if you need it.”

“Are you all right with all this?” Shelby asked Derrick.

“She manages the place. I just own it.”

“Not this Friday,” Tansy continued, steamrolling over them both. “It’s too soon, and I have things to put together. Next Friday. You’ll want to come in a couple times, rehearse, once I get it set up. We’re going to need that expansion, Derrick, once we get this going. You’d better talk to Matt and Griff, get that nailed right soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So. Shelby?”

Shelby blew out a breath, drew in another. “All right. I’m in—and if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. But I’m in, and grateful. I’ll be your Friday Nights.”