Rest in Peach (8 page)

Debutante Fact #038:
A debutante knows, when all else fails, good food is the balm of the body and the elixir of the soul . . . so make sure y’all have a good casserole recipe.

On the way to the Peachy Keen, I fought to keep my focus on the road as worries swirled through my head: Vivien’s murder and Ginny’s possible implication in the crime, as well as my love life problems and overtaxed schedule. Why did trouble always seem to hit in spurts? Any one of these things was enough to handle, but all these things together might just send me over the edge.

Pulling into a spot in front of the diner, I thrust the gear into park and remained in the truck for few seconds to collect myself. That’s when I realized just how self-centered I’d been. Because as bad as things were for me, at least I wasn’t the main suspect in a murder case. No wonder Ginny was so intent on playing detective. How scared she must be! And for good reason. Half the town had turned against her, choosing to believe what they read in Frances Simms’s libelous publication.

Still, regardless of the troubles weighing down my mind, I had work to do. So I hopped out of the truck and went to unload the peaches, but as I reached for the first crate, a loud rumbling startled me. I flinched, and the crate slipped from my hand, embedding a sliver of wood in my palm.
Ouch!
Shaking my hand, I glanced about, finally locating the source of the startling noise. What I saw made me nearly forget the pain: Dane Hawkins, parking his motorcycle in front of the Clip & Curl Salon.

Much to my annoyance, my heart kicked up a notch as I watched him dismount his motorcycle, remove his helmet and run his strong hands through that thick black hair of his. Even from where I was standing, his brooding good looks had an unwelcomed effect on me, conjuring up past memories I’d rather forget. Was I ever going to be able to move past all that? I looked down at my palm; he was a lot like a festering splinter I couldn’t dig out from under my skin. Of course, it didn’t help that Dane kept reappearing in my life. First in the previous summer when my brother hired him to investigate Hollis’s case. Then several times since he’d popped back into town to see his new heartthrob, Laney Burns, of all people. Still, every time I saw him, it took me back to the wild days of my youth, when those smoldering looks of his seduced me into making a poor decision. That decision, and the resulting pregnancy, changed the course of my life forever. I sighed, shook off the terrible memory of it all and turned my frustration to my palm.

I carefully pinched my ragged fingernails on the tiny end of the sliver but only succeeded in pushing the culprit in deeper. How irritating! I glanced back over at the salon. Speaking of irritation, why
was
Dane in town anyway? Just to see Laney? I knew he was still working as an investigator. Had Ray hired him to help out with Ginny’s case? Ray hadn’t
mentioned it to me, but then again, he didn’t always clue me in on the details of his work. What a relief it would be to know someone official was working on Ginny’s case—someone other than Maudy Payne, that is. I hated not knowing for sure. I wished I could just ask Dane. Remembering I promised Ginny I’d speak with Laney anyway, I left the peach crates for later, squared my shoulders and hightailed it across the street to the beauty salon. Besides, maybe they’d let me use a pair of tweezers. Might as well dispose of two irritants at the same time.

Inside I found Doris Whortlebe, the owner, busy wrapping a woman’s hair in what looked like little squares of tinfoil. Poor gal; she looked miserable. Fingering my no-fuss cropped hair and feeling grateful I didn’t have to endure such torture, I looked about the room for Laney and Dane. They were nowhere to be found.

“Hey there, Nola Mae,” Doris called from across the room. “What can I do for ya? A little colorin’, maybe, or . . .” She gave my short hair a hopeful once-over, her expression a bit doubtful, her dangly silver earrings swishing back and forth under her jet-black shag-cut hair. “Or extensions. You’d look real pretty with a little length. Wouldn’t she, girls?” she asked around the room.

“Real pretty,” the tinfoil woman agreed. “Doris is right, hon. You could use a little length. Why don’t you let her fix you up with some of those extension thingies? They’d look real nice.”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. Maybe some other time.”
Like never.
“I was just looking for Laney.”

Sighing, Doris pursed her lips and pointed a comb toward the back door of the salon. “Out back. She asked that boyfriend of hers to carry a stack of empty supply boxes out to recyclin’.”

“Well, he’s got the muscles to do it, doesn’t he?” A woman sitting nearby with a plastic bag on her curl-laden head snatched up a magazine and began fanning herself. “Whew! That Laney’s one lucky woman.”

“I’d say,” the older woman next to her agreed. “Why, if my Henry looked like him, I’d never leave the house.”

The other woman snorted. “The house? Heck, Marlene, if Henry looked like that you’d never leave the bed.”

As the room burst in raucous laughter, I excused myself with a waggle of my fingers and left them to contemplate Dane’s good looks, while I made my way through the salon and out the back door. I stopped in my tracks. “Oh, pardon me,” I said, clearing my throat and diverting my eyes from their brazenly passionate embrace. Guess they’d really missed each other.

Laney reluctantly pulled herself from Dane, giggled nervously and reached over to swipe a lipstick smudge from his chin. “Uh . . . hi, there, Nola Mae. What brings you out here?” She managed a polite smile while furiously chomping on the chewing gum she must have stashed in her cheek during their kiss. As she patted her well-teased pouf of hair back into place, I noticed her nails weren’t painted her usual signature red, but a subdued shade of pink. Probably something called Flushed Pink, whereas later on that evening she’d certainly be changing it out for something more along the lines of Burning Red Hot.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I muttered, offering what I hoped was an apologetic smile but probably seemed more like a scowl. Despite my intentions of putting the past to rest, seeing them this lovey-dovey up close was making my stomach turn. “But I saw Dane and—”

“It’s Hawk. Remember?” He shuffled away from Laney and shoved his hands into his jean pockets. He regarded me with
a perturbed look—due to the fact that I messed up his name, or because I’d interrupted his ardent reunion with Laney, I couldn’t be sure. “I’m just using my professional name now.”

“Hawk, right. That’s what I came over for, actually. I’m wondering if you’re back in town on official business.” Sometime between high school and now, Hawk did a brief stint in the army and then joined the police force up in Atlanta. More of the free-agent type, though, he’d quit that job to open his own investigative business. The work seemed to suit him.

He nodded. “That’s right. I’m here on a job.”

“So Ray
did
call you?”

His dark brows furrowed. “Your brother? No. I’m working a security job. It’s not my usual gig, but the pay’s good. And”—he threw a wink Laney’s way—“it allows me to be closer to my girl.”

I tried hard not to cringe. “Security?”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Laney sighed, wrapping her hands around his midsection and laying her head against his shoulder. “Hawk’s going to be working right here in Cays Mill for Congressman Wheeler.”

“That’s right,” Hawk went on. “Seems he’s beefing up his security team. There’s rumor he might run for president one day.”

My eyes widened. “Really?” I knew Jeb Wheeler’s congressional seat was up for reelection the next year, but I had no idea he had such high political ambitions. “Sounds like a great opportunity for you, Hawk.”

“For both of us,” Laney emphasized, pressing closer to him.

“Why’d you think Ray called me?” Hawk asked.

“You remember Ginny Wiggins? She owns the diner with her husband, Sam.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Guess so. Why?”

“She’s a suspect in a murder. A local woman, stabbed to death in Hattie’s Boutique just a few days ago. Ginny’s my friend, Ray’s, too, so I was thinking maybe he called you in to help.”

“No, afraid not, darlin’.” His chest puffed out, full of smugness. “But, if she needs my help, all she’s got to do is call.”

Oh brother.

Laney’s lashes fluttered. “Isn’t he just something.”

Yeah, he was something, that’s for sure.
“That’s good of you, Hawk. But hopefully she’ll be cleared from the sheriff’s list soon. But, I
was
wondering about something.” I leveled my gaze on Laney. “You’re out at the Honky Tonk quite a bit, aren’t you?”

She popped her gum and glanced nervously at Hawk. “I wouldn’t say
a lot
. Here and there, maybe.”

“Do you know Debra Bearden? I heard she works there.”

“Debra? Oh, sure. She used to tend bar.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah, she quit.”

“She did? When?”

Laney chomped a few times on her gum before replying. “Just last night as a matter of fact. Came in right before her shift, plopped her apron up on the bar and told her boss that she didn’t need that stinkin’ job no more.”

“Really?” That seemed strange. She must’ve gone straight over there after helping with etiquette class. “Had she been working there long?”

Laney looked upward and shrugged. “Oh, since last summer, I guess. Just a few nights a week, usually the closing shift and sometimes weekends, too. Hated it, though. Wasn’t much good at it, neither. Always wondered why she was
workin’ there in the first place. Her husband’s got a good job at the mill.”

“The mill?” I hadn’t kept track of the mill over the winter, assuming it shut down after all the trouble it had over the past year.

“Yup.” She pulled the wad of gum out of her mouth and tossed it down the alley. “He’s the new foreman. You knew some company from up north bought out the mill, right? It’s doing much better, too. Couldn’t have been easy to turn it around, either, considerin’ Ben Wakefield ’bout run it to the ground.”

I rubbed down the goose bumps on my arms. “Let’s
not
go there, okay?”

Laney nodded her head and gave me a knowing look.

Pausing a second, I regrouped my thoughts and asked, “Did you happen to see Debra working last Saturday evening?”

“Yup. She was there. She was working happy hour that night.” She paused a second, then shook a manicured nail my way. “Come to think of it, I saw her later on just as the band was kickin’ into gear.”

Hawk’s jaw jutted out. “So, you were there last night and Saturday night, too?”

Laney sidled closer and rubbed his arm, staring up at him with doe eyes. “Oh, baby. Don’t go getting all upset. Saturday night at the Honky Tonk is live-band night. And you know how I love to dance.” Then she turned to me and said, “Sounds like you’re onto something, Nola. Are you thinkin’ Debra had something to do with the murder? ’Cuz I’ve known Ginny Wiggins all my life, and she doesn’t seem like the murderin’ type to me.”

Finally, someone on our side. Even if it was Laney. “I don’t really know what to think at this point, Laney. All I know is Ginny’s innocent.”

“Well, I’ll keep my ears peeled. You know half the ladies who come into the salon could tell you what you’ve done before you do it. If I hear anything, I’ll let y’all know.”

Gee, that was easy
. Not only was Laney an abundance of information, I didn’t even have to fork out money for a manicure. I thanked her and said good-bye, letting them get back to their steamy reunion. Only I’d just made it back across Peach Tree Boulevard when I heard Hawk calling my name. “Hey, Nola. Wait up!” He caught up to me outside the diner just as I’d reached my truck. “I forgot to tell you about Roscoe.”

Roscoe! The most adorable basset hound pup in the world. Last summer, Roscoe spent some time with me out at the farm and I’d fallen hopelessly in love with the little fellow’s solemn brown eyes, soft fur and impossibly long ears. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Just that I’m staying at Sunny Side Up again, and you know how Margie feels about dogs messing up the place.” I nodded. Who could blame her? Margie Price, owner of the Sunny Side Up Bed & Breakfast, bought the neglected, dilapidated property a few years ago and painstakingly restored every inch of the three-story antebellum home to its original glory. I could understand why she made a “no pet” rule. “So, he’s staying with Laney then?”

Hawk shook his head. “Oh no, Laney’s allergic. So he’s out at your place. Didn’t think you’d mind, being that y’all got along so well last time.”

“At the farm?” Of all the nerve! Part of me wanted to tell this imposing egotist where to go, but sadly, another part of me melted at the thought of that sweet little dog in my arms again. I loved the idea of having Roscoe around, but. . . .

“Yup. Stopped by there on my way into town. Had the nicest visit with your mama.” He patted his taut stomach. “She makes darn good biscuits.”

Now my jaw dropped. Hawk and my mother? Chatting it up over biscuits and coffee? All these years I’d avoided telling Mama about Hawk’s very existence, practically denied it myself in an attempt to bury all those awful memories, and here he goes and just pops in to have coffee with her. I forced a tight smile. “And how did Mama take to the idea of watching Roscoe?”