Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything (19 page)

“What kind of show?” I asked, making conversation just to get the impenetrable expression off Ten's face.

“I hadn't decided yet. Home decorating or entertaining, something that highlighted her personality. I wish she had been a cook, since cooking shows are always a hit. Her lifestyle was fabulous, though, wasn't it? Her charity work, community spirit, and gardening, of course. She was a winning combination. And she was so photogenic, even at her age. I'm simply heartbroken,” Poppy said again.

“You should do a show yourself, Pop.” Appleby was still wearing that goofy smile. To me, he said, “Nobody's more photogenic than our Poppy.”

Playfully, she slapped his arm. “Well, I do the weather now, but I want to build a career that will last longer than my looks. I may take off a few years to raise a family.” She sent a warm smile up at Ten. “But I'll want to come back to work someday, and producing is just the thing.”

Appleby complimented his sister again, but I stopped listening to them. So did Ten. He gave me a raised eyebrow that asked what was going on, and I returned his look with a quick shake of my head, which only intensified his glare. This morning, he wore another of his yoked Western shirts with clean jeans and what I had come to recognize as “dress” cowboy boots made of polished, tooled leather that had not seen a stirrup but looked capable of kicking me in the butt for being annoying. Today's belt buckle was the size of a paperback book.

Poppy turned on me again. “Honeybelle had such an eye for beautiful things, didn't she? Gardens, art, decorating—everything. When my sister thought of having our wedding here, I was over the moon! All of us Appleby girls are named after flowers, see. Posie and I have a cousin Heather and a Daisy and a Ginger—she's the barrel racer—and Ivy.”

“And Lily,” Bubba added. “Don't forget cousin Lily.”

“Well, sometimes we do,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes. “She moved to London, and now she talks like one of the Beatles.”

To Bubba, I said, “What's your given name?”

Another blush, this one all the way to the tips of his ears. “Well, ma'am, I was going to be named Achillea, but our daddy put his foot down, thank the good Lord, and they settled on Allium. Our parents thought I could be called Al for short, but that didn't take, so now I'm just Bubba. Daddy says every family in Texas needs a Bubba.”

“Anyway,” Poppy said to me, “as you can tell, flowers are a big thing in our family. Why, if Ten and I exchanged our vows by Honeybelle's roses, we'd be charmed for life. Her rose collection is practically a national treasure.” With a sigh of pleasure, she gazed at the pastel swells and rolls of Honeybelle's garden. “I've never seen it before. Why, it's just magnificent!”

I said, “I'm surprised you haven't had a tour.”

“Honeybelle was such a perfectionist, she probably wanted to make her flowers perfect before showing them off. Although all these bushes certainly look perfect to me. The family rumor is she has one from my great-grandma Appleby. A real pretty yellow one that came all the way from England on a boat in 1799, and—”

Ten said, “Let's not get started on that yellow rose again. Seems it starts a big fight every time it comes up.”

“Well,” Poppy continued, “then I heard there's also a gazebo out back that's real pretty. So Ten said we could drop by after church to take a peek before we decide.”

“So you're having the wedding here after all?” I asked.

“Why not?” Her voice sounded like sweet tea, but something in her gaze changed as she met mine—a quick hardening of her eyes, maybe—that told me I had no business exchanging glances of any kind with her fiancé. I had mistaken her for an empty-headed piece of fluff, but I suddenly realized Poppy might be every bit the barracuda her sister was.

Ten said, “Why don't you go have a look at the gazebo out back, Pop?”

She curled her hand around his arm again. “Come on. Your opinion counts, too.”

He disengaged her hand. “I need to talk to Bubba for a minute. Business.”

She sighed. “Okay, but you can't complain if the wedding isn't what you wanted.”

“I won't complain,” he promised with a smile.

She stood up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss. “I love you a bushel and a peck.”

He smiled. “Run along.”

I opened the front door of Honeybelle's house. “Nobody's home but me. Go straight through to the kitchen to the back door.” I pointed down the marble foyer. “Maybe you'll like what you smell. Mae Mae is the kind of cook you need for your show.”

Poppy blinked at me. “Mae Mae can cook? I thought she only made old-lady finger sandwiches.”

Ten gave her a gentle push. “Check it out, Miss Producer.”

The tantalizing scent of the gumbo Mae Mae had left simmering wafted out to us, so Poppy followed her nose. As she stepped over the threshold, though, her cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of the handbag on her arm. “Poppy Appleby speaking!” Her voice was friendly but instantly businesslike. We heard her heels click on the marble floor as she walked away.

When she was out of earshot, Ten turned back to me and said, “So what's going on here, Bubba?”

“Sorry, Ten. I shouldn't say without—”

“You can say whatever you like,” I said, wrapping up my lollipop. “Mr. Tennyson is my lawyer.”

“You need a lawyer now?” Ten asked. “What for?”

“A restraining order.” I showed him the papers, which he skimmed. “I have to show up for a hearing in two weeks.”

Ten handed the paper back to me. “What's with this?” He directed his question to Assistant Deputy Appleby. “Your sister Posie's afraid of Miss Ruffles? Or…?”

Appleby gave up trying to be a cop “Aw, you know how Posie gets, Ten. Nobody can work up a head of steam like her. Why, the whole department still talks about the day she found those old barrels of toxic stuff near their new house. She practically wanted the National Guard mobilized. Well, now she's got a bee in her bonnet that Miss Ruffles is dangerous. At least, that was my take on it when she came in last night.”

“What time last night?” I asked. “After the football game? Before seven?”

With a frown, Bubba said, “It was around eight, I guess.”

After Miss Ruffles had been abducted, I thought. While I was looking for her.

Ten asked, “Why do you want to know?”

I tried to wipe all suspicion off my face. “Just curious.”

Ten accepted that answer after a second's hesitation. “All right, well, let me consult with my client, Bubba, and we'll see you in two weeks.”

“Thanks, Ten. Bye, Miss McKillip. Nice meeting you.” Bubba smiled with a sweet, lingering twinkle. He tipped his hat to me before returning to his cruiser. As he strolled away, the rear view of the handsome prince was just as breathtaking as the front. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, tight behind. A manful stride. At the gate, he turned and waved at me one more time. The sunshine glinted off his perfect teeth.

Standing beside me, Ten said, “You've turned his head.”

“What does that mean?”

As if English were my second language, Ten looked down at me and said clearly, “He likes you.”

“He thinks I'm a criminal!”

“That'll pass.” Ten was still grouchy. “You be nice to him, hear? He's the sensitive type.”

“Is that why he failed his police exam so many times? His sensitivity?”

“He's also not too bright,” Ten admitted, “which I don't want to say in front of his sisters, but that's how it is. He's not exactly your type.”

“What's my type?” I demanded, ready to be offended again.

“Somebody who doesn't flunk tests.”

Gruffly, I said, “Well, he's very cute.”

“Right. Don't tell his sisters, but he falls hard and gets himself lured into bed too soon, and then he gets dumped because he's … well, I guess once you put your clothes back on he's not exactly scintillating company.”

On a laugh, I asked, “What man gets himself lured into bed these days?”

“I'm serious. That's exactly what happens. So watch yourself with him.”

“Get your mind out of the bedroom, please. I'm not taking off my clothes for anybody,” I said, feeling prickly. “Certainly not for the cop who just served me with a restraining order.”

“He's all right. We all went to high school together. Bubba and I rodeoed, and Poppy probably helped him pass remedial math.”

“He obviously loves his sister Poppy.”

“Everybody loves Poppy.”

“Let me guess. Homecoming queen?”

“And president of the Honor Society,” Ten shot back, “not to mention most every other club she belonged to, so don't let your prejudices run away with you. She might talk slow and smile a lot, but she's every bit as smart as you.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to insult your future wife. She seems … very nice. I hope you'll be very happy together.”

Ten was glaring at me again. “How come when I see you your mouth is always some unnatural color?”

“It has nothing to do with you. I was having a lollipop.” I poked out my tongue. “See?”

“I do see. The whole town can see.” He switched back to being a lawyer again and indicated my envelope. “You going to tell me what happened?”

I knew what he meant. “With Posie Hensley? Nothing happened. This is out of the blue. Last I spoke with her was after you read the will. She came outside and got her kids and left. I haven't seen her since. Except in traffic last night when she … Look, I don't know what Posie's problem is, but Miss Ruffles wouldn't hurt her children.”

“You sure about that?”

I hesitated. “Pretty sure.”

Ten grabbed the front door. “Is Miss Ruffles out back? Is she going to frighten Poppy?”

I didn't think Poppy could be frightened by much of anything. And although this was my chance to tell Ten the truth, I decided to lie because he was soon marrying the dognapper's sister.

“No. Miss Ruffles is … she's not in the yard.” Before he went into the house, I said, “Listen, thanks for agreeing to be my lawyer. That was very nice of you. Unfortunately, I can't afford to pay for your services.”

“Well, you'll get exactly what you pay for because I'm not really a lawyer until I get my bar exam results. C'mon. Let's go find Poppy.”

We walked through the quiet house, and Ten appreciatively breathed the aroma of Mae Mae's cooking. When we got to the kitchen, we could hear Poppy speaking authoritatively on her cell phone out on the patio.

Neither one of us felt like interrupting her—at least, I certainly didn't—so we hung around the kitchen for a minute. I could only hear snatches of her conversation. She was giving orders with military precision.

I said, “She sounds like she's already organizing a television program.”

“She'll be running that station in a few years.”

I stepped on the trash can pedal and dropped my lollipop into the can. “She's obviously a catch.”

Ten lingered by the stove and lifted the lid on Mae Mae's pot. He sniffed and sighed. “If only she could cook like Mae Mae.”

“You could learn to cook yourself, you know. That's how it's done these days.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He set the lid back down and turned to me.

We looked at each other through the spicy steam, and Poppy's voice faded as she walked away across the patio. Whatever I was going to say next evaporated out of my head, and we shared a moment there in the cozy kitchen, the two of us alone. An expression came over his face, and I knew he was thinking about my lollipop mouth, and I started thinking about his mouth, too, and wondering what it might taste like, and for a few unsteady heartbeats, we almost gave in to a temptation that was clear and strong in both our minds, but wrong, wrong, wrong.

I turned away first.

I opened the nearest drawer. “There's a tape measure around here somewhere if you want to measure the gazebo for a dance floor or an altar, or whatever you've got planned for your wedding.”

He didn't have time to answer, because outside on the patio Poppy let out a bloodcurdling scream. And a gunshot went off.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Texas girls have an amazing sense of purpose when they lose it. They're the best girls in the world. They're loyal and fun. But when they get mad, they'll try to kill you.

—JOHN CUSACK

Ten and I jumbled out the back door onto the porch like a couple of stooges, and Ten nearly fell over one of Honeybelle's big flowerpots. I caught him by the arm, and we both rocked to a stop on the steps, hanging on to each other for balance.

Poppy was standing on top of one of the patio tables, holding on to the umbrella pole and shrieking. “It's a rat! A rat! I saw a rat!” She pointed a shaking finger. “And dammit, I
missed
him!”

It wasn't a rat. A frightened prairie dog scampered across the pool terrace, heading for the back fence, making his escape. He ran as if his tail were on fire.

Poppy's little gun lay on the pool terrace, still spinning from the momentum of having been thrown after her departing target. She had lost one of her shoes, too, and I could see her cell phone sinking into the deep end of the pool, where she must have thrown it when she pulled her gun.

Ten ran clumsily down the steps and over to the table. “It's gone now, honey, but I think you might've winged him.” He helped her down.

“I hate rodents! Rats, squirrels, prairie dogs—they're all the same! Posie had a guinea pig once, and the little bastard bit me!” She hit Ten in the chest with her open hand.

He was laughing. “Calm down, now, Poppy. You're cussin'.”

She started to laugh, too, but shakily. “He surprised me, that's all. I'm no ninny.”