The Happy Hour Choir (23 page)

Ginger either didn't hear them or was pretending not to. I didn't see the need to contradict them. Best I could tell, Carl Davis had gone from bad to worse, and the Gates brothers had always been better friends than enemies.

“Want me to take you home?” Sam's eyes crinkled with concern.

Tiffany vigorously shook her head no. “I don't want to go home to be by myself.”

“We'll all go as soon as we can,” I said. “You know Len's going to be here soon, and he's not about to let anyone go anywhere until he's done questioning everyone about everything.”

As if summoned by my thoughts, Len Rogers walked through the door. He spread his arms wide, looking like a gangly Alfred E. Newman scarecrow with Don Knotts's bulging eyes. “Bill, we're gonna have to shut you down until we can resolve this.”

“Len, it's Wednesday. I am shut down,” Bill said as he ran nervous fingers up and down his suspenders.

“Then what in heaven's name is going on here?” Len had his notepad open and had already licked his finger to turn a page.

“Bible study,” said Ginger.

“And choir practice,” added Mac.

Len surveyed the crowd for a moment then he laughed. “No, really, what are y'all up to? Don't pull my leg. Y'all have to be here for some reason.”

“For choir practice and Bible study,” Tiffany said with a mighty sniffle. She held up her Bible as proof. Slowly, each and every member of the Happy Hour Choir held up a hymnal in one hand and a Bible in the other.

“Man, y'all are freaking me out. I thought this was all some crazy rumor the ladies had cooked up,” Len said as he tried to turn the page of his notepad only to realize his saliva had long ago dried. “Beulah, you'll always tell me straight. What's this all about?”

So I told him the whole story. I told him about Luke's Bible study and about the choir. I told him how Carl Davis had originally been in the choir and about how he'd thrown me against the wall when I kicked him out. Len shook his head as he took notes at a furious pace. I left out the part about how Carl was Tiffany's baby daddy, and she slumped into Sam with relief as I said, “And that's pretty much the whole story, Len.”

Len took off his hat and scratched at his reddish-brown hair. “That's about the craziest thing I've ever heard.”

Ginger raised her glass to him. “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

She hiccuped, and Len looked from her to me. I shrugged.

“I reckon I'm gonna have to interview all y'all,” he said.

I retrieved my glass from the top of the piano and plopped down on the risers while Len moved around the room.

That's when I saw Luke at the door motioning for me.

Chapter 26

I
followed him across the parking lot to his house. The lone deputy outside admonished us not to go far, so we sat on the porch in an ancient swing. Luke's feet easily reached the floor, and he pushed off for both of us, but the swing swayed a little too fast on his side and lagged behind on mine because my feet didn't touch the floor.

I clasped my hands in my lap to keep from reaching for him. When I looked over, he had his hands clasped, too.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

I wondered if he remembered the last time I had been on his porch. At the memory of flinging myself at him, I felt a blush start at my hairline and move across my face.

“What happened? I've been worried since the cars pulled in, but they wouldn't let me go in to make sure you were all right.”

I looked at his face, but he gazed at the blue lights flashing in the parking lot. “Oh, Carl stopped by. With a hunting knife and a bad attitude.”

The swing jerked to a halt. He turned to face me, his eyes wide as he searched for wounds. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said.

“And Tiffany?”

“Everyone's fine. I don't imagine Carl got too far, and there were several witnesses who saw him threaten Mac and Ginger. Well, all of us really.”

Luke shook his head. “I don't like it. They'd better catch him this time. He needs to be locked up somewhere before he hurts someone.”

I opened my mouth to tell him about the Gates brothers and Carl's latest habit, but I quickly closed it. No need to worry him with information that might or might not be true. “He got a decent head start. I don't know if they'll get him or not.”

“Is he going to have to hurt someone before they do anything about it?”

The preacher man was riled up. I tried for a little levity. “Shouldn't you be advocating a little ‘turn the other cheek' about now?”

He cupped my face so quickly I flinched, but his touch was gentle. “Beulah Land, if he hurts you again, I—well, I don't know what I'll do. So, be careful. And don't get hurt.”

My eyes widened. “I won't. I promise.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. When his eyes found mine, Luke the man was gone. Luke, the rather resigned preacher, was in his place. “You don't have to promise to not get hurt. I know you too well for that. Just promise you'll be careful.”

“I'll be careful, Luke.” I swallowed hard. For the first time I let myself see a future with the two of us together. Up until this point, I hadn't let myself think past a couple of dates, but Luke wasn't a man who played the field. He was opening himself to me totally, and that thought both exhilarated and chilled me to the bone. And when he cupped my face like this, he looked for all the world like he wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss him.

“Beulah!” Tiffany's voice cracked, and I broke away from Luke.

“I've got to go,” I said.

“I know.”

Was he disappointed, relieved, or a mixture of both?

“Right here!” I yelled across the parking lot. I stopped on the front step and turned to face the enigmatic preacher man. “Still on for Sunday?”

“Still on,” he said, his eyes meeting mine with an emotion I couldn't read.

“Good,” I exhaled unexpectedly. “I'll see you then.”

I dashed across the gravel lot, arriving at The Fountain's screen door just in time to hold it open for Ginger. Tiffany and I eased her into the front seat of the Corolla.

“I believe it may be time for this car to retire,” she muttered as Tiffany slid into the backseat with a grunt. “Next time we take the Caddy.”

“Thank God,” Tiffany breathed from the backseat where she was scrunched up like a contortionist.

“You know the doctor said you couldn't drive anymore with the meds, right?” I chanced a glance at the passenger seat, and Ginger looked almost skeletal under the beam of the security light.

“I think I've done enough driving for a few lifetimes,” she said as she lay against the seat.

I cranked the car and got us headed back to town. Ginger's comment wasn't sitting well with me. I knew she was talking about driving, but the oncologist had said that it could be tomorrow or it could be several months. He did fear the cancer had spread even though the test results didn't back up his hypothesis.

Be on the lookout for strange behavior,
he had said. A few short months ago cursing and drinking would have been strange behaviors for Ginger. Willingly giving up driving privileges wouldn't have happened, either. Permanently handing over the keys to the Cadillac was worse. I decided then and there that if Ginger tried to make French toast the next morning, I wouldn't let her.

Tiffany helped me get Ginger into the house and to the bathroom. We stumbled over each other like the Three Stooges, but we finally got Ginger situated in her favorite recliner.

Then she dismissed us. “Go upstairs. I don't feel like company tonight.”

Tiffany and I looked at each other, and I'm sure she was thinking what I was thinking:
Please, please don't let Ginger die yet, even if she is acting weird.

“Go on,” Ginger said, waving her hand in the direction of the stairs.

I took the steps at a gallop, and Tiffany puffed behind me. I sat down on my bed and cradled Raggedy Ann. No way was I going to sleep yet—not with the image of Carl and his hunting knife alternating with the one of Luke cupping my face with his hands.

“Beulah?” Tiffany leaned in the doorway, one hand under her belly, supporting it.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

I patted a spot on the bed beside me. “Sure.”

She plopped down, still trying to catch her breath from climbing the stairs. “If something happens to me, will you raise my baby?”

My lungs froze. My heart stopped beating.

“Seriously. I'm scared Da—he's going to do something to me one day. If that happens, would you take care of him? Or her?”

“Yes, of course. But nothing's going to happen to you. We won't let anything happen to you. You know Len's out there looking for Carl right now. He's going to jail.”

Her hands reached over Raggedy Ann to clasp mine. “That's only if they catch him, but I would feel much better knowing you would raise my baby.”

Baby. I immediately pictured a son, my son, but Tiffany refused to find out if she was having a boy or girl.

“But are you sure you want me?”

Tiffany smiled, the sweet, glowing smile of a pregnant woman. “You're the only one who could ever understand me, so you're the only one I want to raise my baby. You're going to be such a good mother someday.”

My womb, that part of me I had believed rotten, clenched and reminded me of what those first baby kicks had been like, and I blushed. “Then I would be honored. Just take care of yourself, though, because this is an emergency situation only.”

“Of course,” Tiffany said as she squeezed my hand. She pushed herself up from the bed with a grunt. “I'm going to bed.”

When she reached the doorway she froze. “Did we lock all the doors?”

“I'll go down and double-check in a few minutes,” I said.

Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned on the door frame. “Of course, you know this means you're going to have to go into the nursery.”

My stomach flip-flopped, but I kept the smile on my face. “No, I'm not, because you're going to be fine. I'm only plan B. Besides, Mac agreed to do all of the painting and the heavy lifting.”

She went to bed, and I trudged downstairs to check all the locks once more—not that I thought they could possibly keep Carl out if he had a mind to get in. Our best hope was that Len's deputies had caught up with him and taken care of him at least for the night. Or that the Gates Brothers Militia would find him while on unofficial patrol.

Once upstairs, I paused in front of the nursery. I pushed the door open and turned on the light. Gone were my airplanes. In fact, everything was gone or covered up because Mac had been in the process of painting the nursery under Tiffany's direction. The crib, changing table, and rocker all hid underneath a plastic tarp in the middle of the room. My buttercream walls had given way to a bright yellow, a neutral color, since Tiffany insisted on being surprised. Blue painter's tape still lined the baseboards, windows, and ceiling.

I should have been able to step into the new room, but I couldn't. The memories were faded around the edges, but my heart rate still spiked. I slammed the door and ran to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

But this time I didn't cry.

Chapter 27

T
here we were, two damaged women in our cutest outfits, ready to conquer the dating world. Ginger leaned heavily on her walker and looked us over. “Beulah, you need some mascara.”

I scowled. “I don't like mascara.”

“Do you like having eyelashes?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then run upstairs and put on some mascara.”

I huffed, reminded myself I wasn't sixteen or anywhere close to it, then ran upstairs to put on the least amount of mascara I could. I heard the murmur of voices. Ginger needed to tell Tiffany something.

I ducked into the bathroom and started to put on some Dial A Lash when I realized the stuff had to be germ central because they didn't even make it anymore. I fished through the makeup drawer until I found a sample of a different brand, a tube that hadn't been opened. I took my time. Sure, I wanted to know what Ginger was saying to Tiffany, but I knew better than to get into Ginger's business. Besides, a perverse part of me wondered what was going to be “wrong” with Tiffany so Ginger could then have a chat with me.

Sure enough, my feet had hardly hit the last step when Ginger turned on the pregnant lady.

“Tiffany, I really think you need a different pair of shoes,” Ginger said with a frown. “Why don't you go back upstairs and get those slip-on Dr. Scholl's. They aren't much to look at, but you don't want varicose veins, now, do you?”

That was all Tiffany had to hear. She was scared to death of stretch marks, varicose veins, and any other physical deformities associated with pregnancy. I didn't have the heart to tell her they couldn't be avoided no matter how much magic cream she slathered on.

“Okay, Ginger, so what's your super-secret message to me?”

Her lips twisted into a smile. “Can't get much of anything past you, now, can I?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Just that if ol' Sam seems like a stand-up guy on this date, I think you ought to let him drive her home.”

I frowned. “I thought us girls should stick together.”

“Beulah,” she whispered in exasperation. “Tiffany is seven months pregnant. She's about to get really big. Let her have a little fun while she can.”

And then Ginger winked at me. My mouth hung open. Was she suggesting what I thought she was suggesting? I was still trying to wrap my mind around that when Ginger pressed a stack of crinkly packets into my palm. “You're not too old to have fun, either. You have my permission to make a sinner out of that saint.”

My eyes widened to match my mouth. “Ginger Belmont!”

At the sound of Tiffany's sensible shoes clunking on the stairs, Ginger pointed upward, and I stuffed my “gift” into my purse.

The doorbell rang. Ginger hugged Tiffany then pulled me into an embrace.

“Life is short,” she whispered. “Life is awful damn short.”

Tiffany opened the door to find Sam standing there on the stoop. I might've developed a fondness for chinos, but there's still nothing like a country boy dressed up for a trip into town. Sam Ford played the part well in his nicer denim jeans and freshly ironed button-down shirt. He wore a cowboy hat and boots, and smelled of something Western. Stetson?

He and Tiffany made goo-goo eyes at each other with the door wide-open, letting in the last mosquitoes of the year. But there was someone missing. My heart plummeted to my stomach or somewhere below.

“Um, where's Luke?”

“Luke's coming in a minute, since neither of us has a car that will hold all of us,” Sam said sheepishly. That made sense, I supposed. Sam drove an older model pickup, and Luke drove his little two-seater.

“Go on to town, then,” Ginger said. “You're letting all the cold air out.”

Sam tipped his hat, reminding me of an old-time cowboy, and Tiffany gave us the widest grin I'd ever seen. Peering past the gauzy curtain on the door, I watched Sam escort Tiffany to his pickup then help her up into the cab. Beyond them, dark gray clouds hung on the horizon.

“Don't worry. He'll be here.”

I looked at my twinkly-eyed fairy godmother of sorts.

“I don't know what to say to you.” I shook my head and tried not to think of the handful of condoms that weighed down my purse.

“I may be old, but I'm not dead,” she said. “He's a good-looking man. I should have taken advantage of a few more good-looking men in my time. Before I got too old for that mess.”

“You planned this for me just as much as for Tiffany.” I wanted to smack myself for being so stupid as not to see it from the get-go. I sucked in a breath. But Luke had seen it. First, my adrenaline soared at the thought that he saw the ruse and went along with it, then those same emotions dipped faster than a determined kamikaze because he wasn't there. Maybe he had changed his mind after our discussion on the porch. Maybe he'd decided he didn't want to be manipulated by a little old lady.

Ginger shrugged. “I gotta do what I gotta do. How many dates have you been on in your life?”

Well, the ill-fated date with Roy, Jr., had been my first date. Then there were a few hookups after hours at The Fountain after Hunter died. As to formal “dates,” I could count them all on one hand.

She reached up and pinched my cheek. “I'm not saying you have to marry the man, but I've seen a whole heckuva lot worse. Besides, I have to get you in the habit of dating. No one's going to hand you condoms and push you out the door when I'm gone, and you don't want to end up an old cat lady, do you?”

“I like cats,” I sniffed. I couldn't cry or it would ruin my mascara. No doubt that had been part of Ginger's devious plot as well.

Fifteen minutes later, Luke still hadn't shown. I paced the floor as though I'd actually wanted to go on the date. Ginger had wilted into her chair—she hadn't planned on this possibility. The phone rang, and I jumped for it.

“Hello?” My voice was entirely too breathless.

“Beulah, thank goodness. I got a flat tire in Harlowe Bottom where there is no cell reception to speak of. I think I've walked halfway to town trying to get a signal. It'll take me a few minutes longer because I have to walk back to the car and I can't find my tire iron, either.”

A flat tire. Of course. Relief washed over me, and I couldn't believe I had even for one minute thought Luke might not show. How could I have doubted him?

“You want me to bring you a tire iron?” I wondered if he could hear the relief in my voice.

“Would you?”

“Of course. I'll be right there.”

I had just hung up the phone and grabbed my purse when he called for me again. “Hey, Beulah, why don't you call Tiffany and tell them where we are and to go ahead without us?”

They'd done just that, but my heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. “Okay, I'll text her and be right there.”

Luke hung up, and I texted Tiffany. When I looked up, Ginger was smiling at me, the prettiest smile I'd seen in months. “See?”

“Did you arrange for the flat tire, too?”

“No, dear. I can't bend over like I used to, and I'm fresh out of thumbtacks. Now, you go and have fun doing whatever you end up doing. You look beautiful, and I couldn't be prouder of you.”

I held out my skirt. Ginger and Tiffany had picked out the sour-apple-green sundress with the Queen Anne neckline. Ginger said it went well with my red hair and green eyes. Tiffany had loaned me her platform sandals to give me some height, and I noticed Ginger wasn't suggesting I exchange them for Dr. Scholl's.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Go, go, Cinderella, before the clock strikes midnight!”

Ginger pulled me down to her height so she could kiss my cheek. I instinctively reached up to rub away the lipstick but noticed she wasn't wearing any and frowned. No eyebrows today, either.

“Go on, quit worrying about me,” she said as she sank carefully into her chair. “I'm going to watch some old movies, I think. Maybe something with Cary Grant.”

 

By the time I reached Harlowe Bottom, it was misting. The road stretched flat and straight through the swamp, so I quickly saw Luke's car.

Luke leaned against his little roadster, oblivious to the precipitation. He had jacked the car up, but that was as far as he could get without the tire iron.

I stepped out of the car, and he gave a low whistle. “I had intended to say you were a sight for sore eyes, but that was even before I saw how pretty you're looking tonight.”

I blushed to my core. His compliments were far different from the lewd remarks I usually got in The Fountain. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard as much whistling and carrying on in the past few nights. It'd been really, really quiet in there. Almost too quiet.

I handed him the tire iron and he set to work. He was wearing khakis and a polo, a look that had really grown on me. Unfortunately, it was raining harder, and he was destined to ruin the knees of his pants by kneeling on the soft mud of the road's shoulder. “Why don't you get into the car so you don't ruin your dress?”

“I'm not so sweet I'm in danger of melting,” I said. “You might need my help.”

He wrenched off the flat tire and rustled in his trunk for the spare. The rain pelted us relentlessly, steady enough to make me blink and for drops to roll down my nose.

And then Luke Daniels let loose with a couple of four-letter words that made me giggle.

“Reverend Daniels,” I said in my best Southern belle impersonation as I stepped to the trunk to see what had caused such a string of curse words. “I cannot believe such filth would come out of your mouth.”

“My spare is flat.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and it lay limp on his forehead this time. “What are the odds of that?”

I dangled my keys in front of him. “You can use mine.”

Luke headed for my car just as a pickup with only one working headlight eased toward us. I shielded my eyes against the bright light and the rain. It was Mac.

His brakes squealed as he eased to a stop beside me then had to reach over to manually roll down the window. “Hey, there, Beulah. You need any help?”

“I think we've almost got it,” I said.

“No, wait!” Luke ran up to the side of the truck. Rain pelted us now. “Got a spare, Mac?”

“Nope, sure don't. Why don't you lock her up and head on home until this mess quits so you don't catch a cold. You can put on a new tire tomorrow.”

“Probably a good idea,” Luke conceded. I had to agree, since the fall rain was chilling me to the bone.

Mac went on his way, and Luke locked his roadster and put everything in order.

“What's wrong with my spare?” I asked once we were both safe in my car. I shivered from being wet. The Toyota's heater had given up the ghost some time ago so the fan was blowing cool air on me. I reached over to turn it off.

“I think the more appropriate question would be
where
is your spare?” Luke showed only a hint of irritation and waited patiently for the question to register.

Then it was my turn for a string of four-letter words. I have to confess, Luke was quite the amateur on that score, too. I had put the spare on the Caddy last spring, but I had forgotten to transfer it from the Caddy's trunk to mine when we got a new tire.

Luke grinned. “I'd say we're even now.”

I guided the car on the road with a squeal of tires. “But I'm not the preacher.”

He frowned, and I wished I could take back those words.

When we got to the parsonage, we sat there for a moment. He could send me home, or he could ask me in, but we both knew what had happened the last time he let me through the door.

“Why don't you come in and dry off?” he said.

I started to speak, but I couldn't find the particular words I needed.

“I know it's not what we had in mind, but we can watch a movie and pretend it's a date. I don't know about you, but I've been really looking forward to tonight.”

I smiled.

“Unless you're so miserable you need to go home.”

“No, I'm not miserable.” Which was funny because, although I had always liked piña coladas, I had never much cared for getting caught in the rain. Especially not a cold fall rain. “I think I was looking forward to tonight, too.”

“Well, let's go build a fire even if it's not yet October. I'll see if I can find some clothes for you to borrow.”

He bolted out of the car before I could contradict him. I stepped out then sat back down in the driver's seat to reach behind and grab my purse.

Even though Ginger's gift couldn't weigh more than a few ounces, my bag still felt weighed down.