Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything (6 page)

Miss Ruffles ki-yi-yied and broke the moment. She began bouncing around us again.

Ten said, “You know how to fix a tie, Jane Eyre? With no mirror, I'm bound to make a mess of it.”

“Sorry,” I said to the talkative cowboy. “Ties are not part of my skill set.”

He shrugged as he flipped up his shirt collar. “I'll have to manage. You think it's okay to leave Hondo here? He'll probably just take a nap while I go inside, but I don't want to upset Carver. I know he's got a delicate temperament.”

“Mr. Carver is busy being upset about other things. Your horse is very handsome.”

“I think so, too. I raised him from a colt. That was a while back. He still likes to get out of the barn to run cattle, though, even at his age, so I ride him on Saturdays for the parade.”

“Why don't I get him a bucket of water?”

“Thank you kindly, but he just had a drink down at the stockyard. Don't trouble yourself.” He finished up his tie, smoothed it on his chest, and then craned his head to assess his appearance. “How do I look?”

I thought about fibbing but remembered his remark about my running shorts. “You look like a lawyer who plays at being a cowboy on weekends.”

“I used to be a cowboy full-time, but that can be rough work. I broke my leg and a few other things. So I went to law school while I healed, and look at me now.” He spread his long arms wide. “My parents almost gave up on me becoming respectable, but I fooled 'em. How about you?”

Lightly, I said, “I never went to law school.”

He gave me a look that acknowledged I was keeping my private business to myself. “What were you out to prove at Honeybelle's memorial service?”

“You were at the church?”

“Nope, I was fixin' to start the parade. News travels real fast in Mule Stop. Word is, you showed up loaded for bear, but ended up leaving without firing a shot.”

“I wasn't going to shoot any bears. I just wanted Miss Ruffles to see Honeybelle one last time. To say good-bye. She's been very depressed. I thought she was going to pine herself to death.”

He squinted at the dog zipping around us, and then at me. “Did it work?”

“Actually, I think it did.”

We both looked down at Miss Ruffles. She danced around me like a dervish, spinning and yipping.

Ten said, “I'll bet you take good care of her.” He reached again for his saddlebag and pulled out a polished leather portfolio, which he tucked under one arm. Suddenly he almost seemed like a respectable small-town lawyer, even though the smell of leather and sweaty horse clung to him around the edges.

I said, “You clean up pretty well.”

With a grin, he opened the gate and let himself into the backyard as if he knew his way around the place. Prudently, he didn't bend down to stroke the dog but looked down at her from a safe height. “Hello, Miss Ruffles. You gonna take a bite out of me like you did President Cornfelter?”

Miss Ruffles bowed, her stub up in the air, and she barked again as if daring him to play a game.

To the dog, I said, “Behave yourself.”

She yipped at me, smiling with her tongue hanging out.

I said, “She doesn't really bite. She might give a nip to chase someone, but she doesn't hurt anybody.”

“Except President Cornfelter.”

“Well, yes, except for him. She drew blood that day. She's … she was protective of Honeybelle. But she's not vicious. And she's definitely better behaved when she gets some exercise.”

Ten looked down at the dog but spoke to me. “So you run with her.”

“It seems to help.”

“Well, you've made some headway, I see. A few months ago, she'd have chewed my boots—or worse.”

“She still chews boots if she gets a chance,” I said.

“We'll be careful today. Come on inside. I have to talk to you and the others before the Hensleys get here.”

“Why?”

He winked. “Come in and find out.”

“Mae Mae and Mr. Carver are already worried about what's going to happen to them. You're not going to make things worse, are you?”

“Depends on your definition of worse. Are those the famous roses?” He pointed at a flower bed.

“No, the famous Honeybelle rose garden is out front. Those are foxgloves.”

“I've heard a lot about the roses.”

“They're in the front yard. Do you want a tour? I don't know all the varieties, but I can point out the ones Honeybelle thought were the most special.”

“Maybe we'll do that later.”

He was a man on a mission. Miss Ruffles ran circles around us as we crossed the yard and pool terrace.

On the back porch, Mae Mae opened the kitchen door with a startlingly big grin. “Mister Ten, look at you getting around like nothing ever happened!”

On our stroll across the backyard, I had noticed he had a little hitch in his walk, but he disguised it by turning it into a kind of swagger. He went up the steps nimbly enough and gave Mae Mae a noisy kiss on the cheek. He crowed, “Mae Mae Bellefontaine, best cook in Texas!”

Mae Mae grabbed his cheek with her thumb and forefinger and gave him a shake. “Still a flatterer.”

‘Yes, ma'am, but only when it's deserved.” Ten smiled at me. “When Gramps came here to help Honeybelle through her husband's estate settlement, I tagged along. He always came at three o'clock for coffee and Mae Mae's beignets. I made a nuisance of myself.”

“You were no trouble at all.”

“That's what I wanted you to think,” he shot back. “After I stuffed myself with beignets, I carved my initials on one of Honeybelle's trees.”

She laughed. “If I'd known it was you coming today, I'da made beignets.”

“I'm a last-minute substitution.” Ten took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as if she were a great lady. “Let's go set for a minute. Do you still keep a pot of hot coffee for yourself?”

“I never was the sweet tea type.”

He laughed and held the door for us both. “Me neither.” Before stepping inside, he glanced around the porch. “Where's your boot jack? I've been out at the barn.”

“Those boots are clean enough for me, and I'm the one who washes the floors. You come right on inside.”

Miss Ruffles dashed ahead of us, skittering on the linoleum. The kitchen was a throwback to the day when red-and-white checkerboard floors matched the calico curtains and the Aunt Jemima cookie jar on the counter. Recent upgrades were the new stainless appliances and spanking white marble countertops where Mae Mae rolled biscuit and pie dough. But an overlay of less tidy cooking habits gave the kitchen its personality. She kept pots of herbs on the sunny windowsill where I stored the vitamins for Miss Ruffles. Ropes of garlic and a basket of onions hung over the sink alongside a rosary. A special wooden spoon reserved for making roux held a place of honor in its own cup, and Mae Mae's black iron pot sat on the back of the stove at all times, ready at a moment's notice. She made gelatin salads in antique copper molds, but her new rice cooker had been the result of a long and detailed online search I'd helped with.

Today, Mae Mae had pretty tea sandwiches and cream puffs arranged on the silver trays. The food waited on the sideboard with plastic wrap on it, ready to be whisked to the buffet at a moment's notice.

Mae Mae pulled out a chair for Ten and bustled to pour him a cup of hot coffee. She swiped a cream puff from the tray and arranged it on a lunch plate with a sprig of mint she pinched from a pot on the windowsill. Proudly, she slid the plate and the cup in front of him.

Like a man accustomed to being waited on by indulgent women—after his remark about having no household help at home, I assumed he had a sweet-tempered mother—Ten sat, took off his hat, and set it on the table. Underneath it, his head was covered with a bristle of fair hair, crew cut. The back of his neck was suntanned, as if he spent more than his Saturdays on a horse.

I went into Honeybelle's private parlor and returned with the stack of mail that had arrived for her since her death. “I guess you're in charge of this now?”

He automatically stood up from the table at my return—the Texas gentleman—making me think he must have a very nice mother indeed. He said, “What is it?”

“Please, sit. Mostly bills. A few checks from people who owe her money.”

Studying the top envelope, he sat back down. “Not Hensley Oil and Gas business?”

“No,” I said, “that mail goes directly to her office. Over there, she had help from Hut Junior and someone else, a secretary, so I wasn't part of that. This was her private banking and household matters. She kept them separate.”

“Good thinking. The Hensley secretary is Angela. I went to high school with her. I met with her already. She and Hut Junior have things under control at the office. But after today, you should send all the personal mail over to me.” He flipped through the unopened envelopes to note the return addresses and found one that had been slit open. He showed it to me and raised his eyebrows.

“Honeybelle opened that the morning she died. It's a thank-you note from someone she sold a rosebush to. I put it back in the envelope.”

“Honeybelle sold roses?”

“It wasn't a real business. Just something she did now and then. Look, the problem is that the day Honeybelle died, Miss Ruffles got into her office and chewed up some of her mail. There wasn't much left but little tiny pieces of paper. I think she ate some bills or letters or something.” I was ashamed of myself for allowing that to happen. But when I'd first heard the news about Honeybelle, I'd been incapable of doing my job for a bit. “I know the electric bill was due to come soon.”

Ten used one of the envelopes to tap my shoulder, a strangely comforting gesture. “Whoever sent the bills will send them again, so don't worry about that. The electric company won't go out of business if Honeybelle's account is a little late.”

“But if they were personal letters?”

“She's not here to read them anyway,” he said kindly. “Don't let it worry you. Tell me. You helped Honeybelle with her personal finances?”

“I've only been here a couple of months, but yes. I balanced her checkbook once, helped her set up online banking to pay bills, went to the bank to make deposits, that kind of thing. She made small loans to people, and sometimes I delivered those checks. I was hired to be her personal secretary, so I kept her calendar, too, made appointments, took notes sometimes. Mostly, I was taking care of Miss Ruffles, though.”

“And you did a fine job with that,” Ten said. “Didn't she, Mae Mae?”

Mae Mae didn't answer for a second. “That dog hasn't been such a nuisance lately, no.”

He grinned at me over that high praise and asked me to go find Mr. Carver.

The four of us were soon seated at the kitchen table with cups of scalding hot coffee in front of the other three and sweet tea for me. I still didn't understand the Texas preference for hot beverages when the thermometer hit 100. I wanted to grab a handful of ice cubes and tuck them in my bra.

Miss Ruffles frisked around us on the floor, paying particular attention to Ten and his boots. After giving her a swift, businesslike pat, he opened his leather portfolio and removed a sheaf of papers.

“Now, then,” Ten said. He had polished off his cream puff and used his thumb to wipe a spot of whipped cream from his upper lip. “I can't seem to put my hand on any death certificate, but the directions in her estate file says the will is to be read a week after her death, so here I am. Before the family comes, I want to talk to y'all about some of Honeybelle's final wishes.”

“Oh,” said Mae Mae, and she put one hand to her bosom.

Mr. Carver looked more grave than ever. “How soon do we have to leave?”

I said, “Get it over with quick.”

Ten shook his head. “Let's not get worked up, everybody. Honeybelle thought kindly of each of you, and she has provided for your futures.”

Mae Mae let out a wavering sigh. “Praise the Lord.”

“She's been real generous,” Ten went on carefully, “but her largesse comes with strings attached. Strings, I'm sorry to say, that a lot of other people are not going to be happy about. Y'all are to receive pensions—considerable money that should ensure comfortable living for the rest of your lives. Miss McKillip, you're included because Honeybelle wanted you to be an important part of her plan.”

“How considerable?” Mae Mae asked.

“What plan?” I asked, startled.

Ten said, “The three of you are to remain here at Honeybelle's house for the next year—”

“A year!” Mae Mae cried.

“At least,” Ten continued steadily, “maybe longer, depending on what agreement can be reached about Miss Ruffles.”

The three of us sat in confusion for a moment before Carver said, “What does Miss Ruffles have to do with anything?”

Having heard her name, the dog wriggled herself between my chair and Ten's. She sat and looked attentively from him to me and back again, head tipped alertly to one side as if to ask for more specifics.

Ten said, “Honeybelle wanted to be sure Miss Ruffles lived a good, long life, so she has tied your pensions to the dog's survival. You're to stay here in this house for one year, at which time you three and the family must reach an agreement about Miss Ruffles and her future. Only after that, when she has a suitably safe and comfortable long-term home where she's happy, will you receive your full pensions. It's your shared responsibility to look after Miss Ruffles now, just as Honeybelle would have done if she were alive.”

“Hold your horses.” Mae Mae's voice climbed to another scale. “You mean the dog inherits everything?”

“Well, not exactly—”

“Now it's my job to take care of that animal?”

“It's Miss McKillip's job to see to the dog's daily routine. You and Mr. Carver are to keep the house as you always have. Except instead of Honeybelle, you're maintaining the property for Miss Ruffles.”