The Liar

15

Shelby stood by the counter in Emma Kate’s trim little kitchen and watched her friend slide a lasagna casserole into the oven. She didn’t have long, but wanted to squeeze through the small window of time to see Emma Kate and her apartment.

“I’m going to get laid good and proper tonight.” With a wicked grin, Emma Kate set the timer on the oven. “Spinach lasagna’s Matt’s favorite, and I picked up a nice wine on the way home from the clinic. Anything with spinach might not be my idea of a romantic dinner for two, but it sure is his. I’ll reap the benefits.”

“It’s nice what you have with him. I can see how well you fit together. And I really like your place here.”

“I do, too.”

Turning from the stove, she could see through the doorway—Matt had taken off the door and stored it—to the old butcher block table he’d refinished, and where they’d have their romantic spinach lasagna.

“Of course, when Matt and Griff sit around, it’s how they’d take out this wall here, or do such and that with the backsplash. I guess one of these days I’m going to let Matt have his way with building a place from the ground up. He talks about it a lot.”

“Do you want that?”

“He’s gone native on me, Shelby. Wants a tucked-away place in the hills, in the woods, like Griff has. I guess I can see it, too. Quiet and ours. Maybe I’ll learn to garden. But for right now, it’s sure easy to step out the door, walk a few minutes and be at the clinic.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t it be fun to build a house from scratch? Deciding just where you want this room or that room, where the windows would go, and what kind?”

“The three of you could have endless conversations on that,” Emma Kate decided. “I start getting nervous once it goes beyond what color paint for the walls. In an apartment like this, everything’s pretty well set.

“Do you want to sample the wine?”

“Better not. I can’t stay long. I just wanted to see you and your apartment. Pretty well set or not, it’s really you, Emma Kate, bright and fun,” she said as she wandered out of the kitchen to the living room with its deep-cushioned red sofa, crazy-patterned pillows tossed over it. The framed posters of big, bold flowers added more color, more charm.

“Some of it’s Matt. That jade plant’s from a cutting he got from his grandmother. He babies it like his firstborn. It’s kind of sweet.”

She gave Shelby a rub on the arm. “I was giving you some time, but I’m starting to see you don’t want to talk about last night, or any of it.”

“Not really, but I should tell you her name wasn’t Natalie or Madeline. She was Melinda Warren, and the man she said I should be afraid of if he found me is James Harlow. He escaped from prison, Emma Kate, right around Christmas.”

She took out her phone. “Here’s the picture of him Forrest sent me, so you should be careful if you see him. Forrest said he’s probably changed his hair, maybe looks some different. He’s six-feet-three and weighs in at two-twenty, so he can’t change much of that.”

“I’ll keep my eye out. This is a mug shot, isn’t it?”

“I think it is.”

Taking another look, Emma Kate shook her head. “Wouldn’t you think he’d look threatening or hard or mean in a mug shot? What he looks is sort of affable. Like some guy who played football in high school and now he teaches social studies and coaches.”

“I think being able to look affable is how they all manage to swindle and steal.”

“I guess you’re right. And they think he killed her?”

“Who else?” Shelby had asked herself just that—who else?—a dozen times or more. And never came up with a single alternative.

“I guess they’re talking to everybody who was there last night, and asking around town. Forrest said they’re trying to get in touch with the detective who talked to me, but they haven’t gotten ahold of him yet.”

“It’s the weekend.”

“I suppose. She—this Melinda Warren—was telling the truth about being married.”

“To Richard?” This time Emma Kate laid a hand on Shelby’s arm, left it there.

“It’s most likely. They have to go through some paperwork and background and all to be certain the man she married was the same man I thought I married. But . . . Hell, Emma Kate, it’s not most likely, it just is.”

“Shelby . . . I’m sorry if you are.”

This, too, Shelby had asked herself a dozen times. Was she hurt? Was she sad? Was she angry?

The answer had been a little bit of all, but more of simple relief.

“I’m glad of it.” Comforted, she laid her hand over Emma Kate’s. “As awful as that is, I’m glad of it.”

“I don’t think it’s awful. Smart and sensible, that’s what it is.” And turning her hand, she linked her fingers with Shelby’s. “I’m glad of it, too.”

“He thought I was stupid, but what I was, was pliable.”

After giving Emma Kate’s hand a squeeze, Shelby dropped her own to wander around the small, bright space.

“It’s infuriating to look back at it now. It’s . . . and you know I use the word sparely, but it suits what’s in me over this. It’s fucking galling, Emma Kate.”

“I bet it is.”

“At the time I thought it was the right thing, the thing to keep my family together. But we weren’t a family. I thought, once I swallowed hard on it, that was done now. It’s not done. Not until they find this Harlow person. I don’t know if they’ll ever find that woman’s jewelry and her stamps. I can’t think what Richard might’ve done with them.”

“That’s not your problem, Shelby.”

“I think it is.” She walked to a window, looked out at Emma Kate’s view of the Ridge. The long, steep curve of road, with buildings ticking their way down it as they hugged the sidewalk.

Flowers in barrels and pots, heading-toward-summer flowers in hot reds and bold blues replacing the pastels of spring.

Hikers with their backpacks, she noted, and some locals warming the benches outside her grandmother’s salon, the barbershop.

She could just see the well, just a corner of it, and the young family who stood reading its plaque. A couple of young boys made her smile as they raced after a spotted dog who’d snapped his leash and was running, tongue out, hell for leather.

It was a good view of what was what in the Ridge.

For a minute or so more, she had to take herself beyond that curving street with its hills and shops and flowers. Take it back into what still clouded over it.

“If the police could find all that, or what Richard did with it—or most of it—I wouldn’t have to worry or wonder. Then it would be good and done.”

“What does worry and wonder get you?”

“Not a damn thing.” She turned back, smiled at the practicality that steadied her. “So I’m not thinking about it every minute of the day. Maybe if I don’t think about it, something’ll pop into my head.”

“That happens for me when I vacuum. I hate running the vacuum.”

“You always did.”

“Always did, so my mind wanders around. Things do pop in.”

“I’m hoping. Now I’ve got to get home. Mama had Callie and her friend plant a fairy garden, and I want to see it. Remember when Mama had us plant one?”

“I do. Every spring, even when we were teenagers. I’ll have to try my hand at it if we ever build that from-the-ground-up house.”

“You could do a miniature windowsill fairy garden right there, using your big front window.”

“Now see, I’d never have thought of that. Now you did, and I’m going to end up buying little pots and plants. Wouldn’t that look sweet?”

“Guaranteed.”

“I could . . . Hold on.” Emma Kate picked up her phone when it signaled. “Matt’s texting me he’ll be home in about a half hour. Which means closer to an hour, as he must be finishing up helping Griff on the house, then they’ll have to talk about it awhile. Ruminate.”

“Ruminating can take some time. I’ve got a date with Griff Tuesday.”

Emma Kate’s eyebrows winged up. “Is that so? And you don’t mention it until you’re heading out the door?”

“I’m not sure what to think about it yet, but I want to see his house. I always wanted to see what someone with some vision could do with that place.”

Those eyebrows stayed raised. “And seeing the house is your sole purpose of this date?”

“It’s a factor. Honestly, truly, I don’t know what I’m going to do about what’s moving along between us.”

“Here’s a thought.” Lips bowing up some, Emma Kate lifted the index finger of both hands. “Why not try something I don’t think you’ve put up front for the last few years. What do you want to do?”

“When you put it like that?” Shelby’s laugh was quick and easy. “Part of me—maybe the most part of me—just wants to jump him, and the realistic part is saying, Slow down, girl.”

“Which one’s going to win?”

“I just don’t know. He sure wasn’t on my list, and I’ve still got a lot to tick off there.”

“I’m calling you Wednesday morning to see if you ticked off ‘sex with Griff.’”

Now Shelby raised her eyebrows, shot out a finger. “That’s not on the list.”

“Add it on,” Emma Kate suggested.

Maybe she would, for some point down the road. But for now, she was spending the rest of the weekend with her daughter.

• • •

BY MONDAY THERE WAS still no word on Jimmy Harlow, no sign anyone matching his description had been around the Ridge, or asked about the brunette at her hotel in Gatlinburg.

Shelby decided to be optimistic, decided it was best to think he’d done what he’d come to do, had exacted his revenge on Melinda Warren, and moved on.

She parked outside the salon with time to spare, so walked down to the bar and grill. Optimism was her choice. It didn’t have to be everyone’s.

Tansy answered her knock.

“Shelby.” Tansy immediately enfolded her in a hug. “I’ve been thinking about you all weekend.”

“I’m so sorry about all this, Tansy.”

“Everyone’s sorry about it. Come on in and sit down.”

“I have to get to work, but I wanted to see you first, and tell you I understand if you and Derrick want to cancel Friday Nights.”

“Why would we do that?”

“It wasn’t the sort of encore any of us had hoped for on our debut.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with us, with you, with the bar and grill. Derrick talked to the sheriff personally just yesterday. They’re looking at it as a vengeance killing, old business that came here with her.”

“I’m part of that old business.”

“Not to my way of thinking. It’s . . .” On a whoosh sound, she levered onto a stool. “I still get a little queasy and light-headed in the morning.”

“And here I am hammering at you. Let me get you a cool cloth.”

“I’d do better with a ginger ale.”

Quickly, Shelby went behind the bar, poured ginger ale over a lot of crushed ice. “Sip it slow,” she ordered, then got a clean bar rag, soaked it with cold water, twisted it until it held cool without dripping.

When she came back around, lifted Tansy’s hair and laid the cloth on the back of her neck, Tansy made a long, long Ahhhh.

“That really does feel better.”

“Worked for me when I was carrying Callie.”

“It comes on most mornings, but usually passes before long. Every once in a while it hangs on, comes back a time or two. Just the icks, you know?”

“I do. It doesn’t seem right something so wonderful should make a woman feel sick, but the prize at the end of it’s worth it.”

“I tell myself that every morning when I’m hanging over the toilet.” She sighed again when Shelby turned the cloth over, laid the cooler side against her skin.

“It’s passing already. I’m going to remember that trick.”

Reaching back, she patted Shelby’s arm. “Thank you.”

“Do you want a couple crackers? I can get some from the kitchen.”

“No, it really is passing. Now you sit down here and take my brand of cool-cloth treatment.”

After tugging Shelby around, Tansy looked straight into her eyes. “That Warren person? She was an awful woman, and from what I’ve been told, didn’t give a good damn about anybody but herself. She didn’t deserve to die for it, but she was an awful woman. Whoever killed her was awful, too. You didn’t even know those people, Shelby.”

“I knew Richard—or thought I did.”

Obviously feeling herself again, Tansy hissed and flicked that away. “And Derrick’s got a cousin over in Memphis deals drugs for a living. That doesn’t make us part of it. Are you too upset to sing on Friday? I understand it if you are. We lost a waitress over it.”

“Damn it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. Her mama had a cat fit, said she might as well work at Shady’s Bar as here with people getting shot. As if it happened every week. She was a whiner anyway,” she added with a wave of her hand, “and Lorna’s not sorry to see her go, so neither am I.”

“I’m not upset about it, not like that. If you and Derrick want me, I’m here. I’ve already started the playlist.”

“New flyers out today, then. We set a record on Friday.”

“You did?”

“Topped our best night when we had the Rough Riders from Nashville, by fifty-three dollars and six cents. You e-mail me the playlist when you’re finished, and I’ll make sure the machine’s set. And how’s your mama and all the rest?”

“Dealing. I’d better get to work before Granny docks my pay.”

She walked in right on time and went straight to work. She gave the garden patio a sweep, watered the pots, opened the umbrellas so clients could sit in the shade if they chose.

Back inside, she folded towels that hadn’t been seen to while she listened to the chatter of the first customers. When she stepped out she saw her grandmother had come in, already had someone in her chair. Crystal gossiped happily with the woman she was shampooing.

And Melody Bunker and Jolene Newton sat in the pedicure chairs with their feet in bubbling water.

She hadn’t run into Jolene at all since she’d been back, hadn’t seen Melody since that day in The Artful Ridge. She wouldn’t have minded keeping it that way. But since she hadn’t been raised to be rude, she stopped by the chairs on her way to check the front treatment rooms.

“Hey, Jolene. How’re you doing?”

“Why, Shelby, I swear!” She set her glossy magazine in her lap, gave her head a toss that had her long, high ponytail bobbing. “You haven’t changed one single, tiny bit, even after all you’ve been through. Are you getting nails today, too?”

“No, I work here.”

“Is that right?” Jolene widened her hazel eyes as if this was fresh news. “Oh now, I think I did know that. You told me that, didn’t you, Melody, that Shelby was working at Vi’s again, just like back in high school?”

“I believe I did.” Without looking up, Melody flipped a page in her own magazine. “I see you took my advice, Shelby, and found work you’re suited for.”

“Thank you for that. I forgot how much I enjoy being here. Y’all enjoy your pedicures.” She walked to the desk to answer the phone, booked an appointment, then slipped through to check the front rooms.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Melody and Jolene with their heads together, heard Jolene’s high-pitched giggle. The same as it was in high school.

She ignored it, and them, reminding herself she had a lot more important matters to concern her.

By the time she swung through the salon again, Maybeline and Lorilee—mother and daughter—were both perched on low stools doing the scrub portion of the pedicures.

So they’d gone for the deluxe, Shelby thought, and walked down to make sure the paraffin was turned on warm. She checked the locker rooms, hauled out used robes, ran through the rest of her morning checklist.

She had a friendly conversation with a woman from Ohio, one giving herself a day off from a hiking adventure with her fiancé, and offered to take a lunch order as the woman had booked a full day.

“You could eat out in the garden if you want. It’s such a pretty day.”

“That would be wonderful. I don’t suppose I could get a glass of wine.”

“I can make that happen,” Shelby told her, and produced a couple of menus. “You just let me know what you want, and one of us will go get it for you. About one-fifteen? You’ll be between your Aromatherapy Wrap and your Vitamin Glo Facial.”

“I feel so pampered.”

“That’s what we’re here for.”

“I love this place. Honestly, I just booked the day here so I wouldn’t have to hike three days running. But it’s all so terrific, and everybody’s so nice. Could I get this Field Green Salad with the grilled chicken—the house dressing on the side. And a glass of Chardonnay would just make my day.”

“You just consider it made.”

“Is the woman out front, the owner, is that your mother? You look like her.”

“My grandmother. My mama’s doing your facial later.”

“Your grandmother? You’re kidding me.”

Shelby laughed, delighted. “I’m going to tell her you said that, and you’ll have made her day. Now, can I get you anything else?”

“Not a thing.” The woman burrowed down in one of the chairs. “I’m just going to sit here and relax.”

“You do that. Sasha will come get you in about ten minutes for your wrap.”

She walked back into the salon with a smile on her face, went straight to the desk to place the order for a one-o’clock pickup. She started to turn to her grandmother when Jolene hailed her.

“That’s pretty polish,” Shelby said, nodding toward the toes Jolene was having painted glossy pink.

“It puts me in mind of my mama’s peonies. I forgot to say before, and my goodness haven’t you been busy in here, I heard you were singing on Fridays down at the bar and grill. I was sorry I couldn’t make it in to hear you, then I heard about what happened and wasn’t sorry I wasn’t there on Friday. I think I’d have had a heart attack or something finding out some woman got shot right outside.”

She patted a hand to her heart as if even now it was in danger.

“I heard you knew her, too, is that right?”

Shelby gave Melody a glance. “I know you consider Melody a reliable source of information—and that Melody’s confident you’ll push whatever buttons, turn whatever knobs she tells you to.”

“Why, Shelby, I was just asking—”

“What Melody told you to ask. The answer is no, I can’t say I knew her.”

“Your husband did,” Melody said. “But that’s right, he wasn’t your husband at all, was he?”

“Apparently not.”

“You must feel just awful, being deceived like that.” Jolene picked up the theme. “Why, I’d just about die if I’d lived with a man all those years, had a child with him, and found out he had another wife all along.”

“I’m still breathing. I guess I’m not as sensitive as you.”

She started to step back.

“You’re not doing anything important,” Melody began. “I’d like a glass of sparkling water, with ice.”

“I’ll get that for you,” Maybeline began, but Melody shot her a hard look. “You’re busy painting my toes. Shelby can get it, can’t you, Shelby?”

“I can. Would you like something, Jolene?”

Jolene had the grace to flush. “I wouldn’t mind some ice water, if it’s no trouble.”

“None at all.”

She turned, went to the back, into the tiny kitchen. She’d stew about it later, she promised herself, but for now, she’d get the damn water.

She brought out the glasses, handed one to Jolene.

“Thank you, Shelby.”

“You’re welcome.”

When she held out the glass to Melody, Melody knocked it with her hand so water sloshed over the rim.

“Now look what you did!”

“I’ll get you a towel.”

“These capri pants are silk, and now they’ve got water spots. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to get you a towel.”

“You probably did it on purpose because I didn’t want the likes of you working in my store.”

“Your grandmother’s store, last I heard. And believe me, if I’d done it on purpose, I’d’ve poured the whole glass in your lap. Do you want that towel, Melody?”

“I don’t want anything from your kind.”

Shelby knew the place had gone quiet. Even the whirl of dryers had shut off. Every ear in the place was cocked. So she smiled. “Why, Melody, you’re just as spiteful and full of self-importance as you were back in high school. It must be a burden carrying all that around inside you. I’m sorry for you.”

“Sorry for me? Sorry for me?”

Melody flung the magazine away so it landed with a thwack on the floor. “You’re the one came crawling back to the Ridge with her tail between her legs. And what did you bring with you?”

Her voice pitched louder as temper rose in hot spots on her cheeks.

“I brought my daughter and not much else. You’re awful flushed, Melody. I think you need this water.”

“You don’t tell me what I need. I tell you. I’m the customer. You just work here, sweeping up. You don’t even have the marginal skills to polish nails or use a curling iron.”

“Marginal.” Shelby heard Maybeline breathe the word, saw out of the corner of her eye the longtime employee carefully cap the coral enamel with only half of Melody’s toes painted.

“Melody,” Jolene began, gnawing her lip at the stony stare on Maybeline’s face.

But Melody only slapped Jolene’s hand aside. “You’d better show some respect after where you’ve come from, and what’s gone on since you came back here? Whose fault is it some woman got shot right in our town Friday night?”

“I’d say the person who pulled the trigger’s at fault on that.”

“It wouldn’t have happened here if you weren’t here, and everybody knows it. Nobody decent around here wants you around. You’re the one who ran off with some criminal. And don’t tell me you thought you were married to him. Like as not you cheated people just like he did, and when he died and left you in a fix, back here you come with your bastard child.”

“Be careful there, Melody,” Shelby said as Jolene let out a shocked hiss. “Be real careful there.”

“I’ll say what I think, and what most everybody around here thinks, too. I’ll say what I like.”

“Not in here you won’t.” Viola stepped up, gripped Shelby’s arm hard, took the glass of water she still held—and had been about to heave—out of her hand. “I’ve just spared you from a soaking or worse, as I expect Shelby was about to do what I’d like to do myself, and that’s haul you up out of that chair and slap your head clean around, you rude, ugly-minded, pitiful girl.”

“You don’t dare speak to me that way! Just who do you think you are?”

“I’m Viola MacNee Donahue, and this is my place. I’ll speak to you just as you deserve, and the good Lord knows somebody should’ve spoken to you long before this. I’m going to tell you, tell you both, to get your lazy, spiteful asses out of my chairs and out of my place. You get up and you get out, and you don’t come back in here.”

“We haven’t finished yet,” Melody began.

“You’re finished, done and finished altogether. No charge for today. Now get the hell out of my salon. Neither of you are going to walk in that door again.”

“Oh, but Miz Vi! Crystal’s doing my hair for my wedding.” Tears spurted into Jolene’s eyes. “I’ve got the whole day before booked here.”

“Not anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jolene.” Melody grabbed the magazine forgotten in Jolene’s lap, tossed it across the room. “You can just pay Crystal to come to you.”

“She couldn’t pay me enough,” Crystal piped up.

“Oh, but Crystal—”

“Shame on you, Jolene.” Crystal bent down, picked up the magazine. “We’ve come to expect that kind of ugly from Melody, but shame on you.”

“We don’t need you,” Melody snapped at Crystal as Jolene blubbered. “Barely a step up from the trailer trash in the holler. We don’t need this place, either. I only come in here to be civic-minded and support local businesses. There are plenty of other places to go with more class.”

“You never did learn class,” Viola commented as Melody grabbed up her shoes. “That’s a shame, considering your grandmother. She’s going to be awful disappointed in you when I call her and tell her how you behaved in my place, what you said to my own granddaughter. What you said about my great-granddaughter. That takes you back a peg,” she added when some of the angry color faded from Melody’s cheeks. “You must’ve forgotten I’ve known your grandmother for over forty years. We’ve got a lot of respect for each other.”

“Tell her what you want.”

“Oh, I will. Now get your second-runner-up’s ass out of my salon.”

Melody sailed out while Jolene scrambled up. “Oh, Melody, wait! Oh, Miz Vi!”

“She’s your choice of companion, Jolene. Maybe it’s time you grew up some. Go on now, get.”

She ran sobbing out the door.

After one still moment, several people—staff and customers—began to applaud.

“I swear, Vi.” The woman in Viola’s chair gave herself a half spin in it. “I’ve always said coming to Vi’s is more entertaining than watching the soap operas.”

Since it was there, Shelby took the water back, downed it. “I’m sorry, Granny. I wasn’t going to slap her. I was going to haul her out of the chair and punch her right in the face. Nobody talks that way about my baby.”

“Or mine.” Viola gave Shelby a one-armed hug.

“Are you really going to call her grandmother?”

“I won’t have to. You better believe she’s calling Flo right now, giving her an earful. Flo loves that girl, but she knows her, too. I’ll be getting a call inside the next half hour. Maybeline, Lorilee, you take your usual commission for the pedis out of the till.”

“No, ma’am,” they said, almost in unison.

“There’s no need for it,” Maybeline added. “Viola, don’t you make me mad and say another word about it. That girl’s lucky I didn’t stab her with the cuticle scissors. Shelby, she was talking trash about you for the last half hour. I’m not sorry to see the last of her in here. She always shorts my tip.”

“Jolene’s not so bad when she comes in on her own,” Lorilee put in. “But together they’re downright mean.”

“All right, then.” With a glint of pride along with the dregs of temper, she nodded. “I’m treating everybody to lunch.”

“Lunch!” Shelby checked the time, sighed in relief. “I’ve got to go down to the Pizzateria, get a customer a salad and sneak out a glass of wine. I can get the rest if y’all put an order together.”

“We’ll have ourselves a party,” Crystal declared. “Second-runner-up’s ass.” She hooted out a laugh. “Miz Vi, I swear I love you to distraction and back again. Twice.”

“Me, too.” Shelby pressed her cheek to Viola’s. “Me, too.”

• • •

THE MURDER and Melody’s eviction from Viola’s competed for the richest juice squeezed from the local grapevine. While it was true there hadn’t been a murder in the Ridge for three years, coming up on four, when Barlow Keith shot his brother-in-law—and winged two bystanders—in a dispute over a pool game at Shady’s Bar, nobody knew the woman currently in a cold drawer at the annex of the funeral parlor that served as the coroner’s office.

Everybody knew Melody and Viola, so that story took the lead with most.

The incident got a fresh boost on Tuesday morning, when the word went around that Florence Piedmont had dressed her granddaughter down and ordered her to apologize to both Shelby and Viola.

The Ridge waited with bated breath to see if Melody complied.

“I don’t want her apology.” Shelby stacked fresh towels at the shampoo stations. “She wouldn’t mean it, so what’s the point?”

“Her offering, meaning it or not, and you accepting it, makes her grandmother feel better.” For once Viola sat in the chair while Crystal touched up her roots.

“I guess I can pretend to accept a pretend apology, if it comes.”

“It may take a few days, but it’ll come. The girl knows where her bread’s buttered the thickest. We’re slow in here today. Why don’t you let Maybeline give you a nice pedicure? It’d be nice to have pretty toes for your date with Griffin tonight.”

Crystal and Maybeline, currently the only others in the salon, both slid their gazes toward Shelby.

“I don’t know as he’s going to notice my toes, one way or the other.”

“A man who’s interested in a woman notices everything at the start of it.”

“That’s the truth,” Crystal agreed. “It’s after they’ve got you awhile they wouldn’t notice if you grew an extra set of toes and painted them every color in the rainbow. Especially if there’s a game on the TV and a beer in their hand.”

“We’ve got some really pretty spring colors,” Maybeline put in. “There’s Blues in the Night. It’s just about the color of your eyes. I’ve got three manis this morning, and only one pedi scheduled all day. I’d love to do you one, Shelby.”

“If there’s time, that’d be nice. Thank you, Maybeline.”

“What are you going to wear? On your date with Griff,” Crystal asked.

“I don’t know. Really, I’m mostly going over to see his house. I’ve always loved that old place, and wonder what he’s doing with it.”

“Since he’s fixing you dinner, you should wear something pretty.”

Shelby turned to her grandmother. “He’s fixing me dinner? How do you know that?”

“Because he dropped by to see me Sunday afternoon, and asked, casual-like, if there was something you especially liked to eat, or something you didn’t especially like.”

“I thought he’d just pick something up.” Now she didn’t know whether to be flattered or nervous. “What’s he making?”

“I think that ought to be his surprise. You should wear a pretty dress. Nothing fancy, just pretty. You’ve got good legs, girl. Good long legs. You got them from me.”

“And pretty underthings.”

“Crystal!” Maybeline flushed, and giggled like a girl.

“A woman ought to wear pretty underthings every day anyway, but especially on a date. It’s confidence-building, I think. And it’s always best to be prepared.”

“If I want to get Jackson heated up, all I have to do is put on a black bra and panties.”

“Oh, Granny.” Undone, Shelby buried her face in her hands.

“I wasn’t able to get him heated up, you wouldn’t be here. Seems to me your mama says your daddy favors midnight blue when it comes to lingerie.”

“I’m going in the back to check on things.”

“What things?” Viola wanted to know.

“Anything that doesn’t involve my parents and grandparents getting heated up.”

She moved fast, but still heard the quick female laughter follow her.

• • •

SHE HAD TOENAILS painted a deep violet blue, and at Callie’s insistence wore a dress the color of daffodils. And because she couldn’t get it out of her mind, she wore under it a white bra with tiny yellow rosebuds worked into the edging lace, and matching panties.

Not that anyone was going to see them, but maybe they would build confidence.

Once she was dressed, Callie clung to her leg. “I want to go on a date with Griff, too.”

Since she’d expected something along those lines, she had a counteroffer ready. “Why don’t we take Griff on a date, maybe on Sunday afternoon? We could take him on a picnic. We could make fried chicken and lemonade.”

“And cupcakes.”

“Absolutely cupcakes.” She hauled Callie up before she walked out of the bedroom. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Uh-huh. When’s Sunday afternoon?”

“Just a few days away.”

“Don’t you look pretty!” Ada Mae exclaimed. “Doesn’t your mama look pretty, Callie?”

“Uh-huh. She’s going on a date with Griff, and we’re going to take him on a date for a picnic on Sunday afternoon.”

“Why, that sounds like the best time. I don’t know if the bubble maker your granddaddy’s setting up in the backyard’s going to be as much fun as all that.”

“Bubble maker?”

“Why don’t you go out and see?”

“I’m going to make bubbles, Mama. Bye.” She kissed Shelby’s cheek, wiggled down and took off like a rocket, calling for her grandfather.

“I sure appreciate you watching her again, Mama.”

“We love every minute of it. I think your daddy’s as excited about bubbles as she is. You have a good time tonight. You got a condom in your purse?”

“Oh, Mama.”

Ada Mae just pulled one out of her pants pocket. “In case. You put this in your purse, and I’ll have one less thing to worry about.”

“Mama, I’m just going to see his house and have dinner.”

“Things happen, and a smart woman’s prepared when they do. Be a smart woman now, Shelby.”

“Yes, ma’am. I won’t be late.”

“You stay as long as you want.”

With the condom tucked in her purse, Shelby started out. She’d just opened the van door when Forrest pulled up.

“Where are you off to in a yellow dress?”

“I’m just having dinner with Griff.”

“Where?”

She rolled her eyes. “At his house because I want to see it, and I’ll be late if you’re going to give me the third degree.”

“He’ll wait. The sheriff cleared me to let you know. Richard wasn’t Jake Brimley, either.”

Her pulse jumped. She actually felt the leap in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“Jake Brimley, with the Social Security number he used, died at the age of three in 2001. Richard created the identification, or paid to have it created.”

“You mean . . . he used that name, but he wasn’t that person?”

“That’s right.”

“Who was he then? God’s sake, how many names can one man have?”

“I can’t say—I don’t know,” Forrest corrected. “We’re working on it. I’ll do what I can to find out, Shelby. I figure you’d want to know, one way or the other.”

“I would. I don’t know how I can put it all away until I know. Did you find anything else out about the murder?”

“As a matter of fact, we had someone come in today. She was in the parking lot—in the backseat of a car with another individual. An individual not her husband. While they were busy doing things that put a layer of steam on the windows, she heard a loud pop. The timing’s right for it to be the shot. She surfaced from her activities long enough to notice someone get into a car, drive off just a few seconds later.”

“God, she saw the killer?”

“Not really. She thinks male, but she wasn’t wearing her glasses at the time, so didn’t get a good look. We wouldn’t have that much if her conscience hadn’t gotten over on her guilt. What we’ve got is probably male, getting into a dark car, possibly an SUV. No make, model or license, but she thinks black or dark blue, and shiny. Struck her like a new car, but she can’t say for certain.”

“What about the man she was with? Didn’t he see anything?”

“I didn’t say she was with a man.”

“Oh.”

“Which is part of her problem with coming forward. We’ll just say the other individual was very busy below window level at the time, and didn’t see anything.”

“All right. And Harlow?”

“Nothing there yet. You be careful driving over there to Griff’s, Shelby. Text me when you get there.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Forrest.”

“If you don’t want me calling when you might be . . . busy, text me when you get there. I’m going to see if I can mooch leftovers.”

“They’re out back,” she called out as he strolled toward the house. “Daddy’s got Callie a bubble maker.”

“Yeah? I believe I’ll get me a beer and get in on that. Text me.”