Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything (27 page)

“I'm happy to do that.”

“I got some oatmeal and peanut butter in the truck. There's nothing like oatmeal and peanut butter to tempt a prairie dog. But you gotta keep your own animal away from the traps.” He pointed his knife at Fred.

“Okay,” I said.

By that time, Mr. Carver was coming out the kitchen door while shrugging into his jacket.

Crowing, Rudy said, “Here comes the boss man. We'll see what he has to say. Or maybe he'll just sing us a tune.”

“You know Mr. Carver? You've heard his music?”

“Shore. He's been playin' around these parts since almost before the railroad came through. Honeybelle tol' me he wanted to move back up to Nashville and work in the recording industry. Looks like that didn't happen yet. Hey, there, Mr. Carver. How you doing this fine morning?”

I left them to their discussion. I gave Fred a pat and went back inside, where Poppy was making her pitch to Mae Mae.

“I can't promise you a program of your own,” Poppy was saying. “I thought I'd suggest to my boss that I produce three three-minute segments for our noon news program. We'll see how those go, what kind of viewer response we have.”

Poppy was seated at the table, and Mae Mae was pouring hot coffee into one of Honeybelle's delicate china cups. She had set a slice of coffee cake in front of Poppy on a china plate, too. “What kind of segment?”

“Cooking, of course. Cajun cooking. That's your specialty, right? Ten told me so.”

Today's apron said
THIS KITCHEN IS SEASONED WITH LOVE
, with a picture of a big red heart that seemed magnified by Mae Mae's enormous bosom. Mae Mae said, “I cook New Orleans style. That's not Cajun, no, ma'am. It's refined Creole cooking.” She spoke with pride. “Fine dining.”

“Then that's what we'll do,” Poppy said promptly. “You can provide a little education, too. Explain the differences in the cuisines of your region, the way Paula Deen did. And Martha Stewart—you could talk about your family traditions like she does. How you came to Mule Stop, that sort of thing. Our viewers will love it.”

Mae Mae glowered. “I don't see how no viewers are gonna want to hear about me wading out of the city through five feet of sewage.”

“Mae Mae,” I said gently, “don't play hard to get. Poppy's offering you a nice proposition. You could have fun with it.”

Poppy looked surprised to hear me take her side. “It will be a lot of fun, yes. Also hard work.”

“I'm used to hard work,” Mae Mae shot back.

“Sit down,” I said to her. “Listen to what Poppy has to say.”

“I don't need another job,” Mae Mae said as I guided her into one of the kitchen chairs. “I got plenty of work to do right here. I'm supposed to prepare meals every day. Just because Honeybelle isn't here don't mean I can shirk my duties. People depend on me.”

“I'm sure yours is a very daunting job,” Poppy said. “But we could work around your schedule. We'll tape the segments at your convenience.”

Mae Mae continued to frown and finally said, “I don't know how to talk on television like Paula Deen or Martha Stewart.”

Poppy smiled. “The same as you're talking right now.”

“What about my recipes?”

“You can share only the ones you're willing to,” I said. “They're not asking you to give away family secrets.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Poppy assured her. “We'll start with something simple.”

“Your beignets,” I suggested. “They're delicious, and you could make them in your sleep.”

Mae Mae said, “It's not like I can't make something complicated.”

“Why don't we look through some of your recipes?” Poppy said. “We'll put our heads together and come up with three fun segments.”

“You want to see 'em now?” Mae Mae asked. Without glancing at me, she went on, “I got 'em written down. They're upstairs.”

Poppy smiled. “That sounds like a plan. Would you like me to go up…?”

“I'll bring 'em down here.”

Mae Mae puffed up the back staircase, and we could soon hear her heavy footsteps overhead.

Poppy sipped her coffee and eyed me over the rim of her cup. “Thank you for helping.”

“Mae Mae just needs to be cajoled sometimes,” I said. “She's going to love showing people how to cook the way she does.”

“Does she show you how to cook?”

“No, I'm all thumbs in the kitchen.”

We were silent for a moment, and then Poppy said, “I have an all-afternoon meeting with my boss. I want to show up with ideas of my own so he doesn't lose confidence in me. I've been working here for eight months, and this is my first chance to demonstrate that I can do something besides be the weather girl with the big smile. Okay, maybe my last chance.” She couldn't meet my eye. “I don't want to be another former baton twirler with her sights set on the
Today
show. It's such a cliché.” With another smile, this one more genuine than before, she said, “I'm all thumbs in the kitchen, too. But Ten loves anything Mae Mae makes, so maybe I'll learn something useful along the way.”

“If anyone can show you, it's Mae Mae. Are you really setting your sights on the
Today
show?”

She turned pink. “Who wouldn't like to go far? But I'm already thirty and working at the only television station in Mule Stop. They fired me in Tulsa. Don't tell Ten, okay? They found somebody prettier, with a degree in meteorology, so I got the boot. I'm probably better off in a small town anyway, but…”

“It's a very nice small town.”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, it is. I didn't appreciate it as much when I was growing up here, but now I see it's pretty great.” Poppy took another sip of coffee, considering me. After a moment, she set her cup carefully into the saucer. “I think I owe you an apology. I had you figured all wrong. I thought you were here in Mule Stop to get your hands on whatever you could get away with. But you're helping Mae Mae, aren't you?”

I tried not to be offended. It was starting to look like I was being misunderstood by a lot of people. I thought the Texans were all hard to figure, but maybe I wasn't exactly transparent to them either. My silence had been interpreted as calculating. And maybe cold.

I said, “Mae Mae needs to do something now that Honeybelle's gone. Since nobody's hiring private cooks these days, and you needed a show idea, I thought the two of you could help each other out.”

Poppy laughed a little. “Maybe I should hire Mae Mae myself. For after the wedding. Both Ten and I will be working, no time to cook.”

Here was my chance to ask about the wedding, about her sister, about the yellow rose in Honeybelle's garden that might have set off a war between the families. But just as we were starting to be friendly, I thought bringing up her wedding to Ten might be misconstrued.

“Mae Mae's great,” I said. We heard her coming down the stairs again, so I dropped my voice to a whisper and added, “It helps if you make everything sound as if it's her idea.”

Poppy shot me a thumbs-up just as Mae Mae arrived, already shuffling through her notebook and giving her opinions.

They sorted through Mae Mae's recipes, both talking in overlapping sentences. While their creative juices flowed together, I cut myself another slice of coffee cake and ate it standing at the kitchen window. I felt much better than I had expected after my experience at the stockyard. Maybe Mae Mae's
traiteur
ritual worked better than I'd imagined it might, or maybe her bathtub tea was a miracle elixir. Whatever the reason, I was grateful not to be hobbling around and moaning with pain. I finished my breakfast, then went outside to check on Fred.

He saw me coming and responded by thumping his tail in the grass. Otherwise, he didn't move from his comfortable spot in the sunshine. I took my shovel and pickup bucket around the yard to clean up after him, then sat down to pet him while the Critter Control man and Mr. Carver explored the prairie dog town that was under construction in the back of the yard.

While they finished talking, I took Fred into the house.

Mae Mae was flipping her recipes at the table, and Poppy was gone.

I said, “Did you make some decisions?”

“We did. I'm going to the station tomorrow to practice for a tryout in the studio kitchen. What do you think of that?”

“I think it's fantastic. Do you want me to drive you?”

“Miss Appleby is going to pick me up.”

“First-class treatment.”

“Maybe so.” Mae Mae closed the notebook on her recipes and turned to me. “It's high time we went to the police about Honeybelle.”

“I know we should,” I said, changing gears just as fast. “And believe me, I'd have done it before, but I can't, Mae Mae. Neither can you. Not until I get Miss Ruffles back.”

“Get her back?”

I asked Mae Mae to sit down, and as I faced her across the table, I told her about Miss Ruffles disappearing. I did not tell her my prime suspect had been Posie. After my assault at the stockyard, not to mention our short exchange at the grocery store, I was beginning to doubt my assumptions about Posie anyway.

From my pocket I pulled the notes sent to me by the dognapper. I handed them over to Mae Mae and let her read them. “If we go to the police, there's a chance the dognapper might find out. And then something bad happens to Miss Ruffles. Also, the police squad includes Posie's brother, Bubba. With him on the force, we'd have to worry about information getting to … well, to someone who might want to harm Miss Ruffles.”

Mae Mae took the notes from me and studied the paper. “This looks like blood. Is the kidnapper hurting her?”

“I hope it's the other way around.”

Mae Mae allowed a grim smile. “Me, too. That dog had a temper.”

“Don't say ‘had,' please,” I said. “She's still alive. I have to believe that. But we need help. I've run out of ideas, and I can't go to the police.”

Mae Mae looked sharply into my face. “Who, then?”

“There's only one person I think could be helpful.”

Mae Mae agreed. She pulled a Tupperware container of her étouffée from the freezer and handed it over. I took some time to cover up my scraped knees with jeans, and my skinned elbows with a shirt that reached my forearms. I put a Band-Aid on my cheek where a gash looked not too bad, but unattractive. Within the hour I was in Honeybelle's Lexus heading toward Ten Tennyson's office, with Fred sleeping on the passenger seat.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY

It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.

—JANE AUSTEN,
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

At the Tennyson law office, I found Gracie Garcia sitting alone behind a big desk, frowning at a computer screen and typing very fast. Her desk was located in what had once been an alcove off the center hall of the old house. A reception desk sat in the middle of the center hall, but it was vacant today except for a telephone and a large Remington bronze of a cowboy on a horse. Around the desk, three doors stood ajar. In each of the rooms I could see a desk with a big swivel chair, bookcases, and a computer. All three offices were unoccupied.

Gracie looked up from her work when I came through the door from the vestibule, and she brightened when she recognized me.

“Sunny! You found Miss Ruffles!”

I eased Fred into an armchair in the deserted waiting area. The more I carried him around, the happier he seemed. He thumped his stub on the chair's upholstery. I decided to avoid lying to Gracie by changing the subject. “You look fantastic. New dress?”

Gracie was looking not exactly professional in a sleeveless black and white print dress with a low scoop neckline. A long chain with an elaborate hunk of metal nestled in the valley of her cleavage. The print on the dress seemed to exaggerate her curves—a fun-house version of the sexy secretary look.

She beamed at the compliment. “I figure with the big bosses still on vacation, and the little boss out at the ranch today, I could dress as I please. I'm all by my lonesome.”

“Ten is out of the office today?”

“Yep. Today's Junior Rodeo practice out at the old Tennyson family ranch. He told me to call him if anything came up. But nothing comes up—not with his daddy and granddaddy on vacation. He even gave the secretary a couple of days off so she could get ready for her grandma's ninetieth birthday this weekend. So I'm holding the fort—catching up on some documents. Hey, I can use the paycheck.”

“Sorry you're all alone. I was actually hoping to talk to Ten.”

She pulled out her keyboard again and tapped it, studying her computer screen intently. “He's coming in tomorrow at nine to meet with one of his daddy's clients. That should only take an hour. Want me to put you on his calendar for ten?”

“Can I get back to you?”

“Sure.” Her gaze met mine, suddenly curious. “Everything okay?”

“I just need to talk to him. Gracie, were you involved in Honeybelle's will at all?”

“I did most of the typing. But, darlin', I can't talk about that.”

If she'd typed it, she knew every detail of the will. Still, she was right to keep client business to herself. “Sure, of course,” I said. “Sorry to ask.”

She checked the clock on the wall. “You could catch Ten out at the ranch. It's the old place where his granddaddy grew up—about two miles past the stockyard, take Boone Parkway past the Grotz family cotton fields and Miss Patty's Pies. You can't miss it. There's a big pasture with a mean ol' bull in it. On the right, past the dry creekbed. Easy drive.”

“Okay, thanks.” Although she seemed eager to get back to her work, I hesitated. “Hey, Sunday I met somebody I wonder if you know.”