Dancing Naked in Dixie (14 page)

Chapter 15

Shug’s phone starts ringing before we can leave. As he answers, a distinct female voice—more than a tad distressed—echoes throughout the confined lobby area. With a hurried gesture, Shug covers the receiver and motions he’ll take the call in his office.
My mother
, he mouths before closing the door behind him.

I pace for a few minutes, stop, then repeat, listening to the exchange—until I realize with a start that I am eavesdropping.

To relocate as far away as possible—fifteen feet instead of ten—I park myself at the empty desk in the corner and retrieve a beat-up calendar from my bag. It’s clear that going high-tech on my iPhone would really help my organizational ability, but I can’t seem to get past needing to scribble and cross out on my little day planner.

Despite my original itinerary, my enthusiasm for making it back to Atlanta tonight is waning. There’s too much at stake here and my sorely ignored intuition is buzzing with tantalizing details yet to be uncovered.

On impulse, I grab my phone and hit speed dial. The familiar Delta Airlines jingle reaches my ear, with the recorded message following. I press zero for an operator, doodling on what looks like a scrap piece of paper.

A live person answers after a three-minute wait. “I need to change a flight, please,” I tell the person, and recite my departure information from memory. While keys click and clack in the background, I continue to scribble, sketching out what looks like a lopsided version of Shorter Mansion after a nuclear explosion. It’s a good thing I write for a living.

The chirpy voice is back. “The ticketing change fee and difference in the two fares comes to…” Her voice trails off and is lost in the noise of the Delta Airlines call center.

Shug opens the door, cheeks flushed, with a worn leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder. “I’m finished,” he calls out, but stops as soon as he sees me talking.

I hold up a finger while the operator quotes me an exorbitant price about equal to a month’s rent for my New York apartment. There’s only one seat left, and it’s in first class. For a moment, I don’t breathe, letting both sides of my brain duel it out.

How can I justify the cost? I can’t expense this, because I’m the one who changed it in the first place.
If I don’t stay in Eufaula, how can I go back to the office—and David—with no story?
If I do, I’m as good as fired. And if I’m going to be fired, I might as well drive my junky Expedition rental into Lake Eufaula.

“I’ll take the seat,” I tell the Delta representative.

Shug is frowning. He thinks I’m leaving. I try to smile as I confirm the last four digits of my credit card number, praying that I’ve not gone over my personal spending limit.

It doesn’t. I almost whoop with joy. Hey, I’ll be broke, but I’ll still have a job.

The woman rattles off my confirmation number and I jot it down. “Thank you for flying Delta. Have a wonderful day,” she tells me.

I let out a sigh of relief and hit the ‘end’ button on my cell. “And thank you,” I mutter to the air. With flourish, I toss the silver rectangle back into the side pocket of my purse.

“Wait, you’re going? Now?” Shug walks toward me, forehead creased. “But I thought—”

“I’m staying,” I cut in and jump up, “at least a little longer. Things are just getting interesting, Mr. Jordan.” I snap my fingers in his direction. “Ready? We have work to do.”

It might be my imagination, but despite all of the uproar about the Phase III project, despite the panicked phone call from his mother, I think Shug is pleased at my announcement. He sweeps an arm past my waist and holds open the door.

“After you, then.”

“So the word’s gotten out about Phase III?” I shield my eyes from the sunlight as I watch Shug’s reaction as we walk—fast.

“My source is spreading the word. There aren’t very many secrets in this town,” Shug replies. “And my mother isn’t taking the news well.”

I raise an eyebrow and quicken my pace.

Shug checks his watch. “Lunch isn’t until tomorrow morning at 11. There’s plenty of time to calm her down.”

“Where’s your sister? Or your dad?” I ask, thinking that many fathers are useful in an emergency—as long as the name isn’t David and he isn’t editor of
Getaways
magazine.

At the mention of his father, Shug offers a wry look. “Who knows,” he says flatly. “He’s never around. Especially in a crisis. The more dire the emergency, the longer it takes to find him.”

I swallow and don’t ask for details as we near Shorter Mansion. The tall windows and center door are draped with fresh pine garland and holly branches. Inside, a towering tree flickers with lights, sparkling ribbon, and glittering ornaments.

“It’s lovely,” I stop walking, thinking that I need to grab my camera, but that I don’t want to spoil the moment. Past the leaded-glass windows, I can see women moving back and forth, preparing for the visitors. “So, your sister and mother are inside?”

“I imagine my sister is busy getting ready for tomorrow. She’s become quite the chef. Every year, since she’s been little, PD’s helped my mother make a signature treat for the Pilgrimage.”

“So she’s talented?” I ask. The most I can do on a good day is toast bread.

“Very.”

“I hope I can try some of her recipes,” I say and remind myself to stop being so judgmental about PD. Shug seems like a great guy. Why wouldn’t his sister be just as nice?
I just have to get to know her better.

“She’s a really hard worker. I’m helping her with a grant application—economic development funding—so that she can open her bakery,” Shug explains, his face animated.

“That’s really generous of you,” I shake my head and smile. “My mother was the same way. She would have done anything for me.” The words tumble out of my mouth. I didn’t intend to share that, but it’s too late.

“Would have?”

“She passed away. Lou Gehrig’s,” my voice catches and I look away.

Shug reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Julia.”

I clear my throat and sniff back tears, attempting to compose myself. “It’s okay,” I lie and force myself to think of something else. Something or someone awful or mean. David’s face appears before my eyes and I mentally whack him down with a branch from the huge Magnolia tree towering above our heads.

I change the subject. “So, tell me more about PD and this bakery.”

“There’s a great spot that’s vacant downtown. Plenty of space and room to grow, plus the rent is pretty reasonable.”

“Sounds perfect,” I agree.

Shug rubs his chin. “It is. It’s PD who’s holding back, but with a little help and some more confidence, she’ll change her mind. There’s nothing I want more than for my sister to succeed.”

I want to offer some reassuring phrase, a tidbit of wisdom, but every sentence that forms in my mind seems trite. Probably because I was almost fired two days ago and have no business weighing in on anyone’s career. I vow to do better with this assignment. I have to.

We turn up the sidewalk and make our way to the front steps, where both the American and Alabama flags grace the double doorway.

Shug raises his fist to knock. Before his knuckles make contact, I see a figure through the glass. A slender woman opens one of the doors.

“It’s your mother, Shug,” she cries, the mascara pooling under both eyes. “Aubie’s locked herself in the bathroom.”

Without a word, I follow Shug and the woman into the airy, open foyer. We step noiselessly onto a patterned red and blue oriental rug. I can’t help but admire the ornate staircase that rises and disappears from view.

“What happened?” I hear Shug ask. When I train my attention on his broad shoulders, I see that he’s already clasped hands with the distraught matriarch. “Where is she?”

The woman, dressed in canary yellow silk, wrists dripping with diamonds, sniffs and lowers her eyes. “Some awful person started a terrible rumor about a secret government meeting, Shug darling. One of the girls—bless her heart—overheard her daddy, who’s kin to one of the city council members. By the time she tried to ask him, he was out the door, and driving off.”

My head spins, trying to link the connections, but Shug is following it all—as if she’s drawn a huge flow chart on the wall in green crayon.

“Word is…an investor’s made a substantial offer on some local property.” The woman sniffs. “Probably one of those Yankees.”

I swallow hard. Shug blanches, but nods for the woman to continue.

“As you can imagine,” the woman waves her hands for emphasis, “everyone’s as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers."

The phrase tickles me so much that I have to fake-cough to stifle my giggles.

“Julia, are you okay?” Shug looks ready to whack me between the shoulder blades, so I shake my head vigorously and cover my mouth.

Satisfied I don’t need immediate rescuing, he turns back to the canary-lady. “Where is she now? My mother?” Shug looks past her, up to the second floor. I follow his gaze, almost expecting to see a pair of expensive heels and stockinged legs dangling from the chandelier.

The woman puts a hand to her jeweled throat and exchanges a worried glance with an elderly lady in a trim navy suit who’s been listening at the edge of the foyer. They both answer in a chorused response. “She’s locked herself in.”

“In
where
?” Shug’s terse question reverberates against the antique glass windows, bouncing off the brocade curtains and carved mahogany sideboards.

The women seem startled. “She’s been in the powder room upstairs for the last thirty minutes and won’t open the door,” the canary-lady answers.

Without pausing for more details, Shug takes the red-carpeted stairs two at a time. I catch a glimpse of the back of his loafer as it turns at the hallway and disappears.

“Shug, honey, we tried our best,” the woman in navy calls out after him, then rests a hand on canary-lady’s arm. They both turn and look in my direction at the same time. “Hello dear.” Again, the two ladies speak in perfect stereo. “You must be Julia.”

I blink in surprise, then recover my composure. It’s all I can do not to back away slowly. A few of the other women drift closer to observe the exchange.

“We’re sisters. I’m Pearl,” the lady in navy explains. “And this is Shirl.”

Now, the connection explained, I see the resemblance.

“Oh, how nice!” I exclaim. “It’s lovely to meet you both. And I’m so pleased to be here.” With my biggest, friendliest smile, I thrust out a hand in greeting. When I’m only offered three fingers from the woman in navy, I squeeze the tips gingerly and release.
Gosh, I need a how-to manual for this place. Or private lessons from Miss Manners—the Southern version.

There’s an awkward pause. I find myself darting a furtive look at the staircase.
Where is Shug? Where is Aubie? Is she really locked in? What are they doing and why isn’t anyone coming back to save me?

The twins tilt their heads together and whisper. When they straighten up, Pearl—or Shirl—I can’t remember who is who, waves me toward the back of the mansion. “We’re forgetting our manners, dear. Come have some tea.”

I follow, praying it won’t take long for Shug to extricate his mother from her place of hiding.

Chapter 16

“What’s on the menu, ladies?” I ask, digging into my bag for a notebook and pen as we parade through the corridor.

When we arrive in the kitchen, the sister in navy presents me with an embossed card with swirling gold trim. It reads as follows:

Eufaula Christmas Tour Lunch
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Chicken Salad Croissant, Pimento Cheese Ribbon,
Cream Cheese & Dates on Raisin Bread, and Cheese Straws
Pecan Tassie, Lemon Danties, Cream Scone, Devonshire Cream,
Homemade Lemon Curd, and Strawberry Preserves

When I finish reading, four eyes are watching me closely. It’s the sort of stare that makes a girl feel as if she’s about to be blasted with a shrink-ray beam.

“Wow,” I exclaim, searching for proper praise. “This looks…wonderful,” I say. “And quite delicious.” I add for good measure.

My lavish compliments do the trick, as their anxious faces melt with giddy delight. The women cluck and coo around me, each sharing a knowing glance or wink.

Shirl links her arm in mine and pats my hand. “I just knew you’d love everything, New York City girl or not. Just wait until you taste the lemon dainties. And the pecan tassies are so scrumptious, if Paula Deen were here, she’d beg us for the recipe!”

“Hey, y’all,” a voice calls from the foyer. “Where is everyone?”

Pearl and Shirl exchange a worried glance, but assume smooth, refined demeanors when PD steps into the kitchen, stacks of trays in her hands.

“Here, sugar, let me help you,” Pearl tiptoes over and takes a platter off the stack. “These look marvelous, Patricia Dye. Your mama is going to be thrilled when she sees them.”

I lean to catch a glimpse of the coveted contents.

“Cheese straws. A little on the spicy side this year,” PD grins at me and sets the rest of the trays on the nearest counter. “Hey Julia.”

“Good morning,” I answer, then hang back and watch the ladies crowd closer to admire her handiwork. PD is in her element. Surrounded by confections and savory treats, she even looks different. Happier. Content. And she doesn’t know a thing about Aubie.

Then, as if she could read my thoughts, she stops fussing over the platters and stands ramrod-straight. “Y’all, where’s Mama?”

A hush falls over the room. No one speaks or moves, except me—and that’s because a hair is tickling the back of my neck and if I don’t scratch the spot I might jump out of my skin. The movement signals PD like a police helicopter searchlight.

“Julia?” she asks with an arched brow.

My neck and cheeks flush hot. I must look guilty.

“Um,” I begin, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “So, your brother found out about a Phase III project. Basically, an investor wants to buy up some historic homes. The houses closest to the water.”