Rest in Peach (18 page)

I’d just crossed over Blossom Avenue and was about to cut across the courthouse green when I heard a familiar voice cut through the air. Glancing back across the street, I saw a crowd gathering in front of Pistil Pete’s Flower Shop.
What could possibly be going on now?
I wondered.

As I approached, I caught bits and pieces of the argument that’d drawn so much attention. “Other woman?” I heard Pete say. “But there’s nobody but you, baby.”

There was a bunch more bantering that I couldn’t quite discern until I heard Hattie shriek, “Don’t you dare try to deny it, you lying pig! I know what you’ve been up to.” I pushed my way through the gawkers just in time to see Hattie pick up a nearby watering can and dump it over Pete’s head. “Maybe that’ll cool you down, you hot blooded, two-timing, son of a—”

“Whoa!” I jumped in, snatching my friend’s arm and dragging her away before she turned the air blue. “What’s going on?” I asked, pulling her away from Pete and the crowd and heading across the street. I’d decided the best place for her to cool down might be at the diner.

But halfway there, she shook off my hand and veered toward the center of the courthouse green, stumbling to a stop in front of the statue. “Oh my goodness. Did I really just do that?” she asked, plopping down on the edge of its
concrete base and rubbing at her temples. “What’s gotten into me?”

I sat next to her. “You’re upset, that’s all. You think the man you love has been cheating on you.”

“Think? I know.”

“Oh, come on, Hattie. What makes you so sure? One note? That could have been anything.”

She stood and started pacing. “Not just the note. Sure, that was weird. But it’s been a lot of other things, too. Little things. Like he’s always busy. I can’t even count how many dates he’s canceled lately. Then when we are together, he’s so distant. It’s like he’s off in his own world. Probably thinking about
her
.”

I shook my head. “This is crazy, Hattie. Have you even tried to talk to him about it?”

“Talk to him!” she shrieked. “That’s what I was doing when . . . when . . . arg!” She clenched her fists in front of her then opened them again, taking a deep breath. “I’d just closed my shop,” she started over in a calmer voice, “and was walking home past his shop when he came out and begged me to discuss things.” She looked at me. “I swear, he can be so relentless sometimes. He’s been calling me constantly.”

“He loves you,” I interjected.

“And
her
, apparently.”

I threw up my hands. “Her? Her who?”

Hattie reached into her bag and pulled out a note. “This her.” She shoved a tiny scrap of paper in my face and plopped back down next to me. It said:
I’m ready and can’t wait for the special night, Pete. Don’t worry. She doesn’t have a clue.

Hattie rubbed at her shoulders, circling her neck to loosen her muscles. “Mercy, but I could use a drink. How about going to the Honky Tonk with me? It’s happy hour and tonight’s Two-Buck Beer Night to boot. A girl could drown her sorrows cheap tonight.”

I shook my head, still staring down at the note. “No, I don’t think so. Not tonight. I’m sorry, but I’m supposed to be at the diner now. Ginny and I are working on a couple batches of preserves. But honestly, Hattie. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. There has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this.”
At least there’d better be
, I thought. Because I recognized the handwriting on the note. I should, after all. I’d seen the same flowery handwriting several times since Vivien’s murder. In fact, I was a little surprised Hattie didn’t recognize it, too, but then again, maybe she’d been too distracted lately to notice such things. But there was no doubt in my mind that the loopy, feminine script on the note was an exact match for the handwriting on Ginny’s suspect list.

Ginny was the other
woman.

Debutante Rule #047:
A debutante knows that the only cure for jealousy is to stop countin’ other people’s blessings and start countin’ your own.

“There you are,” Ginny said the moment I walked into the kitchen. She waved the latest copy of the
Cays Mill Reporter
in the air. “Have y’all seen this?”

I caught a glimpse of the headline, which read: “Local Woman Found Unconscious in Church.” Frances must not have known at the time this went into print that the sheriff suspected an attempted murder. Because certainly, had she known, the headline would have been more sensational.

“Your name’s in the article.” Ginny slid the paper across the counter for my inspection before going on. “I feel awful about this. Here I was, all worried that it would be my picture on the front page. Especially after Frances snapped all those pictures when I was being hauled out of here by the sheriff.” She shook her head and adjusted her apron strings. “I wished something else would upstage any slander Frances wanted to thrust on me in this issue, but not at the expense
of someone as sweet as Maggie Jones just dropping over like that. I mean, what an awful thing.”

“She was still in a coma last I heard.” Mama had been spending time with the family at the hospital and had been keeping me posted on Maggie’s condition.

“Oh dear Lawd!” She ran her hands along the front of her apron. “Do you know if anyone’s organized meals for the family yet?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but Mama’s got a prayer chain going.”

“Tell her to mark me down.” She heaved a sigh and headed toward the storage room in the back of the kitchen. She was still going on about Maggie when she came out lugging one of the heavy crates of peaches I’d brought from the orchard that morning. “I just can’t believe all that’s happened in the last couple of weeks. First Vivien and now Maggie. And poor Belle. Her mama like this and the cotillion’s just four days away.”

“Speaking of the cotillion . . .” I told her about asking Carla to help with the dinner. “I’m sure Hattie and I could handle things, but it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands around. Just in case.” Especially since I knew Ginny was going to be tied up all evening with Emily’s presentation to society. The plan was for Ginny to do the prep work earlier in the day, and Hattie and I would take over the transportation and final preparation of the food.

“That’s a fine idea,” Ginny agreed. “Carla’s pretty handy in the kitchen.” She placed a large colander in the sink, and we started filling it with peaches to be rinsed.

“Good,” I replied absently, my mind already switching to a more pressing matter. I decided it was as good of a time as any to show her the note Hattie gave me.

I wiped my hands and pulled it from my pocket. “Does this look familiar?” I asked.

Her mouth fell open. “Why, yes. I wrote that. But how’d you get—”

“Hattie gave it to me.”

She slapped her hands against her cheeks. “Uh-oh.”

I stared at my dear friend, waiting for her side of the story, something simple and logical. Because surely she wouldn’t betray a friend like Hattie, not to mention cheat on her devoted husband, Sam. But all I got was silence. “Well?” I prompted.

Ginny shrugged. “What can I say? Guess the cat is out of the bag.” She started rolling the peaches around to clean them.

“Ginny!” I couldn’t believe my ears. I waved the note again. “What’s this all about anyway? Certainly you and Pete aren’t . . .” I couldn’t even finish the statement.

“Aren’t what?” she asked, sorting the peaches.

I caught her arm in motion, and she looked at me with a puzzled expression.

“You know . . . you aren’t, well, having an affair with Pete.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Of course not. How could you . . .” She glanced down at the note, and her eyes scanned the wording, her complexion turning red. “Oh my!”

I nodded. “Hattie saw a note last week, too, and she’s just sure Pete is seeing someone on the side. Only she didn’t recognize your handwriting like I did.”

Ginny exhaled and shook her head. “Well, shoot! No wonder she’s been so uptight lately. I thought it was all this stuff with Vivien’s murder and then . . . well, you know how busy she’s been getting dresses ready for the Peach Cotillion.”

I squinted. “So what’s this all about anyway if it isn’t . . . ?”

She threw up her hands. “God’s truth, Nola. There’s nothing like
that
going on.”

I believed her. Of course I did. I hadn’t really believed anything like that could ever be true in the first place. But even though I still didn’t understand what
was
going on, a few things were starting to come together. “You were with Pete at the time of the murder, weren’t you?”

She nodded. “That’s right. He’s my alibi.”

“And the signed statement Ray got to clear your name?” I asked, remembering that Ginny had said Ray came through with an affidavit from a witness.

“That was from a jeweler over in Perry where we were that night. A real nice fellow named Dan something or another.”

“A jeweler? You and Pete were looking at jewelry together?”
What’s going on?

She started flitting around the kitchen, grabbing bowls and utensils for making preserves. “Yes, we were looking for a ring for Hattie. Pete’s going to propose.”

For a second I didn’t know how to respond. I’d been so busy imagining all sorts of scenarios, I hadn’t even considered the obvious. “When is this supposed to happen?”

“Thursday night. Right after the rehearsal. Oh, he has it all planned out, and it’s so sweet.” She bit her lower lip and glanced off for a moment, then went back to work, as if nothing more needed to be said.

I blinked a few extra times. “Rehearsal?”

“Yes, Nola.” She let out a long, exasperated sigh and put the stockpot on the stove with a
thunk
. “I swear, I don’t know where your mind has been lately.”

Well, murder, for starters. Then there was my shop opening, the cotillion dinner, my own love life . . .

She went on, “The rehearsal’s Thursday night at the VFW. It’s for the debs and their marshals, just to go over a few of
the basics.” Then, she began ticking items off her fingers. “There’s the Grand March Presentation and the curtsy—all the girls need to brush up on that, of course.”

Of course.

“And the cotillion waltz.” Her eyes went a little dreamy as she rinsed off peaches. “Don’t you just love the cotillion waltz? It’s so graceful and elegant.”

My brain stumbled over that for a second before I recalled that the cotillion waltz was that silly dance where the debutantes pranced around in a circle, waving their bouquets. “Yes, just lovely. But getting back to this note. Hattie thinks Pete’s cheating on her, and she’s all worked up about it. You have to tell her about this.”

She stopped and turned off the water. “Are you nuts? I can’t tell her. It’s a
surprise
! I promised I wouldn’t say a word to anyone. I only told you because of that note.” She nodded at the now crumpled paper in my hand. “Oh, and I told Sam. Only because he was so upset over not knowing where I was when Vivien was murdered.” She started removing the rinsed peaches from the colander and placing them on a clean dish towel. “And don’t think that I wouldn’t love to spill the beans, if anything just to prove my innocence. Half the town thinks I killed Vivien Crenshaw.”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe the idea of helping a friend in creating some fantasyland of a romantic moment could supersede something like being accused of murder and infidelity. “But Hattie’s so ticked off. You should see her. She just emptied a full water can on top of Pete’s head. Right out in front of his flower shop,” I added for emphasis.

“Uh-oh. That
is
bad,” Ginny agreed.

I gathered a grater and a large piece of fresh ginger. Mama’s secret to making the best preserves was a touch of
fresh ginger to complement the sweetness of the peaches. “So you’ll tell her?”

“No.”

I clenched my teeth and raked the ginger across the grater.

“He wants to
surprise
her, Nola. I can’t ruin that. It is just so very sweet, so romantic.” She started peeling and dicing the peaches. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “The ring’s gorgeous. Pete paid a lot for it.”

I noticed a tinge of sadness as she glanced down at her own modest wedding ring—a thin gold band, dull from years of wear and tear. I felt my earlier irritation melting away. Things couldn’t have been easy for Ginny and Sam when they got engaged. They were barely out of high school, and Ginny was already pregnant. Sure they had a wonderful marriage, and two beautiful kids, but they’d worked so hard, sacrificed so much. And here she was going to all this trouble to help make her friend’s engagement special and memorable. I took a deep breath and managed a smile. “Tell me what he has planned,” I prompted.

We continued to work on the preserves as she explained the whole scenario she and Pete had schemed. She told me that since it had been that mixed-up take-out order from the diner (orchestrated by Ginny) that’d brought the two of them together in the first place, Pete thought it would be romantic to put together a candlelight dinner for two at the diner Thursday night—which just happened to be the one-year anniversary of their first date. As soon as rehearsal was done, Ginny promised to lure Hattie to the diner, where Pete would be waiting on one knee in a room full of flowers and candles. It was clear from Ginny’s wistful looks and sighs that she was living vicariously through the romance of this planned moment. Not that she was unhappy with her life with Sam, but she obviously missed out on the honeymoon period in
her own life, and this was filling that void for her. Pete had even remembered and asked Ginny to prepare the very same take-out meals that’d brought him and Hattie together in the first place. “Fried catfish, hush puppies and coleslaw for Pete. Just some roasted chicken and a side salad for our dear friend,” Ginny explained, scrunching her nose. “You know how healthy Hattie always eats. It’s no wonder she’s skinny as a rail.”

I bobbed my head in agreement, thinking how I had to lay across my bed that morning just to get my own pants zipped. “It all sounds very romantic,” I said, grabbing a measuring cup and the bag of sugar. “If it still happens, that is.”

“What do you mean? Of course it’s going to happen.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t see how mad Hattie was just a while ago. And poor Pete. She pretty much humiliated him in front of half the town.”

“Oh pulease! Like that’s going to scare him away. I’m telling you, he’s so in love, there’s nothin’ that’s going to keep him from poppin’ the question,” she gushed. “I’d just love to be a fly on the wall when he slides that ring on her finger and asks her to be his wife.”

Yeah, well as mad as she is, he might not get the chance
.

A similar thought must have occurred to Ginny. She stopped dicing and turned to me. “I guess Hattie’s another deal, though. There’s just no predicting her.” I could tell by the sudden slump in her shoulders that a little of her enthusiasm was dying away as she thought it over. “I guess there’s a chance she won’t even listen to what he has to say.”

As much as I hated to see Hattie upset, I also hated seeing a gloom overtake Ginny’s earlier glow. Whether it meant that much to me or not, the whole romance angle meant so much to Ginny. Heck, I had glowed myself just to have a silly lunch on the floor of my shop with Cade the other day. Maybe all
women needed at least a bit of romance in their lives even if it was secondhand like Pete’s planned proposal. “Maybe I’ll pop by tomorrow afternoon, after Hattie’s had a little time to cool off, and try to talk some sense into her.”

“Would ya?” Ginny perked up a bit. “And I’ll talk to Pete. Let him know why she’d been so upset and that you’ll smooth things over. But don’t give anything away when you talk to Hattie. Pete’s counting on it being a complete surprise. You promise?”

I promised.

•   •   •

But the next day, I found out that talking sense into Hattie wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. She had it in her mind that Pete was cheating on her, and there was no convincing her otherwise. “I honestly don’t care if I ever see that two-timer again,” she said. “And here I thought I loved that man.” She slid a stack of dresses back on the rack, checking a list on her clipboard as she examined each alteration ticket. It was around four thirty on Wednesday afternoon, and the shop was empty except for Hattie, Mrs. Busby and me. Oh, and Carla was there, too, doing some odd jobs for Hattie. Currently, she was on the other side of the room dusting a display of accessories. I’d tried to make a little small talk with her when I first arrived at the shop, but she wasn’t in a talkative mood. In fact, she seemed downright depressed. I wondered if something bad had happened at school that day.

I lowered my chin and stepped forward, forcing Hattie to make eye contact with me. “You’re telling me that you don’t love him anymore? Not even a little?”

She flinched. “Like it matters now? It’s over. I dumped water over his head in front of half the town.” She stopped
counting and tossed the clipboard onto the counter with a heavy sigh. “I still can’t believe I did that.”