Last Chance Beauty Queen (8 page)

Miriam eyed him through the glasses as if seeing him for the first time, which was probably the case given the thickness of the lenses. He braced himself for the well-worn suggestion that he should find another site for his factory.

But Miriam surprised him when she said, “Lady Ashton? Really? Is she rich?”

“Well, yes.”

“So did someone tell you that you should be looking for a woman who will bring you a fortune?”

“Well, to be honest, Mrs. Randall, my forebears have made a science of doing that sort of thing. You know, I come from a long line of aristocrats, who were not a particularly talented bunch, unless you count picking the right brides.”

“Right brides? All of you? Do you have the sight then?”

“The sight? No, we’re just a practical bunch. Every one of my forebears going back ten generations or more has picked a bride who has brought wealth to the family.” He hesitated for a moment. “Except my father, poor sot. His marriage was a disaster and then he died quite young. My father, I’m afraid, was a failure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey.”

Hugh shrugged. “Well, I was only three at the time. I don’t remember my parents. Before I went off to school, I was raised by my grandfather and my Aunts Maude, Petunia, and Petal. I am well aware that marrying the right woman is important for a person such as myself. Lord knows Granddad drilled that point into my head relentlessly. Marrying well is practically a duty in my family.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm. “Hugh, honey, listen to me. You should be looking for a wife who will help you find your fortune. Just remember that, and you’ll do just fine.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“How do I know?”

“Well, no, that’s not what I was going to ask. I was going to ask why you aren’t concerned about losing the factory.”

She snickered like an old lady enjoying herself. “Oh, I reckon the factory will work its way out. My main concern in life is to make sure people find their soulmates.”

“What? I’m sure my forebears were more interested in money than love.”

“All the more reason you should listen to me.”

She turned and started to rock again, pushing her glasses up to the top of her head and closing her eyes. “Sometimes I can just see how two people fit together. Folks around here say I’m a matchmaker, but that’s not really what I do. God makes the matches, but sometimes He clues me in.”

“Really?”

“You’re humoring me.”

“Maybe a little.” He was skeptical of fortune-tellers. And of course, he was trying very hard to break out of the deBracy mold. He didn’t want to marry for money, as Granddad had done. He wanted to be a success on his own merits. Maybe if he could make a go of this factory, he could finally lay Granddad to rest.

“You know,” the old woman said, “folks around here say that I’ve never missed with one of my predictions.”

“Quite impressive, I must say.” And just a little bit depressing, given what she’d predicted for him.

She continued to rock. “I see you aren’t convinced.”

“Well, I haven’t ever heard of a matchmaker quite like you. But I will keep your advice in mind. Thank you,” he said very politely.

But of course, he wasn’t going to take her advice seriously, even though he had a deep romantic streak and sometimes wanted to believe in fairies, and angels, and all things supernatural.

But Miriam had simply parroted back his own history, which is exactly what charlatans and fortune-tellers did. The fact that her forecast was likely to come true meant nothing. All the family had ever expected of him was to marry well. And Lady Ashton had almost been handpicked for him. Victoria had been waiting for a long time. But it appeared as if her wait was about to come to an end.

If he had to marry Victoria to save Woolham House and keep a roof over Petal and Petunia’s heads, he would do it. He knew his duty.

He stood up. “It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Randall, but tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

“Honey, you have no idea.”

T
he next morning, after she’d confirmed the schedule for the day with Lord Woolham, Caroline donned one of her gray business suits, and drove down to the Allenberg County courthouse. She arrived just as the place opened its doors, and spent more than two hours poring over land records. By the time she had finished, she had a good idea of who owned what property and what they’d paid for it.

Something fishy was going on in Last Chance, South Carolina, and it didn’t involve cane poles, night crawlers, or the Edisto River.

Her morning’s research had turned up a big surprise: Jimmy didn’t own nearly as much land in Allenberg County as Caroline had thought. In fact, Dash Randall had been snapping up land faster than anyone, and he’d bought most of it from Jimmy over the last year. Dash had paid somewhat inflated prices for the land, too.

But not nearly as inflated as the land adjacent to Golfing for God, which had been owned by Jimmy Marshall.
Jimmy had made a killing on that real estate—selling the parcels for ten times their assessed value.

Why would Hugh’s partner do a thing like that? Of course, it was common for land prices to rise on rumors of a big development. But as far as she knew, no one in Allenberg was aware of the factory proposal prior to the sale.

And then there was the problem that the land Hugh’s partner had purchased had swamp on it. Not a lot of swamp, but just enough to make developing it expensive.

Caroline knew a lot about wetland abatement issues. You couldn’t live in South Carolina without being aware of something like that. And putting industrial development near any swamp was sure to bring out the environmentalists and the snake lovers, not to mention the government with a whole passel of red tape.

Hugh really
was
up the swamp without a paddle.

But there was something else going on—something way more ominous.

Why the heck was Jimmy Marshall selling off the family land like that? Caroline wondered if his daddy knew what Jimmy was up to. Of course, Lee Marshall was about eighty-five years old, but last she’d heard, he was still pretty sharp. Lee would never have sold the family land like that.

The plant was cutting corners, but Jimmy was still selling land for top dollar. Where the heck was the money going, if not into the business? Maybe the chicken plant was in worse trouble than Rachel had made it sound.

Or maybe Jimmy was getting ready to sell out.

Either way, the town of Last Chance was in deep trouble.

The plan to convince Lord Woolham to build a factory upstate didn’t seem like such a good plan after all. Last Chance might actually
need
his high and mightiness.

She was climbing into Stone’s truck for the drive back to town when her cell phone rang. She checked the ID. It was Rachel.

“Hey, what happened after I left you last night?” Caroline asked her friend. “How’s Bubba?”

“It’s awful, Rocky. The doctor couldn’t save his teeth.”

“Oh, no.”

“And he’s got stitches all over his upper lip, and his nose is broken.”

“Great.”

“The oral surgeon told him he should sue Lord Woolham. I’m thinking maybe the doctor is right.”

“Come on, Rachel, Lord Woolham was just protecting me. Bubba is the one who started the fight.”

“I know. But that man didn’t have to break his face, did he? I mean we were going. It would have been okay, and besides, there was the whole Miriam Randall prediction, which, by the way, you didn’t say a word about last night.”

“Uh, okay, you mean that stuff about how I should be looking for the salt of the earth, a regular Joe, a guy who works with his hands?”

“Right. Exactly.”

“Okay. First of all, what does that have to do with Bubba’s broken face? And second of all, I didn’t get a chance to tell you about Miriam’s prediction because we were busy talking about the problems at the chicken plant, and then Bubba arrived, and the rest is history.”

“Don’t you see, Rocky? Miriam is talking about Bubba.”

“What? No.”

“Of course she is.”

“No, Rachel, Miriam is not talking about Bubba.”

“But she described him to a T. And this morning everyone in town is saying that you and Bubba are going to get back together. Momma even said at breakfast that you and Bubba are a match made in Heaven, and that fistfight down at the Pig Place was just a confirmation of everything. Really, Rocky, you know you ought to consider it. Bubba is always looking after you, you know? He practically worships the ground you walk on.” Rachel’s voice sounded wobbly.

“Uh, Rache, this makes no sense. I dumped Bubba twelve years ago. Remember? And Bubba’s face was smashed last night because he decided to come after me. How is that a sign of anything except his infernal stubbornness?”

“I know, but everyone is saying it’s proof that he loves you in spite of everything, and you will come around to understanding it eventually.”

“Oh, great. Look, I don’t love Bubba.”

“But you will. Miriam said so.”

“Honey, it’s not going to happen, okay? There are plenty of regular Joes out there. I’m sure I’ll stumble on one of them one of these days. But in the meantime, I’ve got bigger problems. I need to figure out this factory mess. I spent the morning at the courthouse and you won’t believe who sold Lord Woolham the land adjacent to the golf course.”

“Who?”

“Your boss man. And Jimmy ratcheted up the price, land shark that he is. Do you think he really expected
my daddy to sell out? Or was he just playing a flim-flam game with his Lordship?”

“Oh, no. Do you think Hettie knows Jimmy did that?”

“I have no idea. Probably not. But that’s not the important thing—there’s something off about the whole situation. Jimmy’s been selling off a lot of land lately, Rache. Like he’s either in deep financial trouble or… I don’t know.”

“Shoot. This is bad. I heard something else this morning in the break room.”

“What?”

“Roy Burdett was complaining, like he always does. But this time Harlan Gregory said Mr. Marshall was paying off the state OSHA inspector to look the other way.”

“Well, that might explain where some of this money is going. Rachel, if Jimmy is bribing inspectors, we’ve got to say something about it to the authorities.”

“We don’t have proof. We just have something I overheard.”

“Even so, we might want to make a couple of calls to the authorities.”

“No. I can’t. If I blow the whistle and the factory closes, everyone will blame me.”

“Not if you do it anonymously.”

“There is no such thing in Last Chance. My life is utter crap, you know that?”

“It could be worse, honey. Your career might hinge on convincing a bunch of church ladies to give up on saving a putt-putt place dedicated to the Lord. And also you could be the focus of one of Miriam’s matrimonial forecasts.”

“Uh, Rocky, I wouldn’t mind being included in one of
Miriam’s forecasts. It’s you who want to go off and have a career. Me, I’d like to settle down with a nice guy and maybe raise a few kids.”

Caroline gritted her teeth. Rachel could be maddening sometimes. She’d gone to college and had worked in Columbia for a bank until an unhappy love affair had sent her home three years ago. Now she seemed to think being an administrative assistant at the chicken plant was the pinnacle of achievement.

She just didn’t seem to understand her own worth.

“Look,” Caroline said, “call me if you hear any more rumors at the chicken plant. I’ll be at the meeting of the Committee to Resurrect Golfing for God.”

Caroline ended the call and drove from Allenberg to Last Chance. She parked her brother’s truck in the parking lot behind the Cut ’n Curl. It was still early so she strolled into the doughnut shop that shared the alleyway. She inhaled the scents of powdered sugar and frying oil like an addict. Despite the state of her waistline, she ordered a Boston cream and a cup of coffee.

Her plan was to hide out for a few minutes while she ate the doughnut and checked her e-mail on her smart phone. Caroline needed the sugar fix before she met up with Lord Woolham. There were just too many things going wrong with her life at the moment for her to face him—or a meeting of the Committee to Resurrect—completely cold turkey.

But as so often happens to the best-laid plans, hers fell apart a minute later when Dash Randall sauntered into the shop and ordered a cup of coffee to go.

He was dressed in full-out western mode. His Wranglers were cowboy worn, his alligator boots had pointy
toes and stacked heels, and his hat was a dusty gray Stetson.

He looked like he’d been born in the saddle, which wasn’t too far from the truth, seeing as Dash had started his life in Texas. He’d moved to Last Chance to live with his great-aunt and -uncle after his granddaddy died. The whereabouts of Dash’s parents had always been a mystery—one he never spoke about.

He ambled over and dropped into the molded plastic seat at the little round table where Caroline was devouring her doughnut.

“Sneaking junk food again, huh?” he asked, taking a noisy sip of his coffee.

“Did I ask you to sit down and insult me?”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I reckon you’re allowed to be nasty this morning. And I can fully understand the need to fortify yourself before your Englishman makes a fool of himself in front of the ladies of the committee.”

“You can go away now.”

“Did I miss something? Are you mad at me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?” His big blue eyes opened wide, and he gave her an innocent “who-me?” look. Dash was way too cute for his own good.

Luckily Caroline had learned how to ignore his antics a long, long time ago. She stared up into his face, making eye-to-eye contact while she explained his most recent transgression. “You did nothing to stop that whole scene at the Pig Place last evening. I mean really. I could have used your help before it came to blows.”

“I didn’t think it was going to come to blows. You and Rachel looked like you had things under control.”

Caroline took a long sip of coffee and considered her next words carefully. “Look, Dash,” she said, “I just talked to Rachel, and I know what everyone in town is saying about last night. And they’re all crazy. I’m not in love with Bubba. In fact, Bubba needs to realize that his behavior last night triggered that fight. And the town needs to quit enabling him.”