She laughed again as she went out the front door. Jefferson closed it behind her and turned to find the sheriff giving him a strange look.
“What?”
“I’ve not seen her laugh like that in a long time.”
Jefferson shrugged. “She’s great, when she’s not being awful. Hey, would you really help me move this furniture around a bit? They’re delivering a hospital bed for Uncle Sherman because he can’t go up and down the stairs for a while. I’ve got to make room in the study.”
“Yep. What do you need?”
They spent the next twenty minutes hauling the furniture around the house to make room for the bed. Clover had been right. By moving the love seat out of the study, they’d made enough room with only a few minor adjustments. Not that Jefferson planned on telling her that.
His stomach growling was Jefferson’s reminder that he’d had nothing to eat all day. The sheriff smirked at him before scooping his hat off the coatrack in the hall where he’d placed it when they’d started moving furniture. “I guess that’s my hint to head on out.”
“Wait. You never said why you stopped by in the first place. Come on back while I heat up this disgusting excuse Clover Crofton calls food, and you can tell me what’s up.”
“Oh. Uh. Wait. Clover made you something disgusting? She’s a great cook. And why are you going to eat it?” Sheriff Zane followed him back to the kitchen.
Jefferson sighed as he pulled the larger casserole dish out. “It’s casserole time, and if we don’t eat them, they will pile up and it will be even more drama. But I really loathe tuna casserole.” He whimpered and peeled back the foil. “Oh my God. I could kiss her. Tuna casserole, my cute butt! Excuse me for a sec, Sheriff.”
Jefferson grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Clover declaring his undying love. Then he scooped out a heaping bowlful of shepherd’s pie and stuck it in the microwave. He hit start and received her reply reminding him that she was awesome and of course he loved her.
“Do you want some? She made a ton. God, I really love that woman right now.”
“She must love you too. She doesn’t make her shepherd’s pie for just anybody. I know. I’ve asked.”
Jefferson grinned and made another bowl for the sheriff.
“I don’t mean to always show up at mealtime.”
“Not a problem. So why did you show up, anyway?”
“Oh, well. I just wanted to, uh, check on your uncle. Make sure everything here was okay. You know.”
Jefferson eyed the sheriff curiously. He’d never heard the man stumble over his words before. “Okay. You sure everything’s all right?”
“I’m sure. Everything’s fine. Oh, and I wanted to thank you.”
“For what.”
“For helping with the dog poop situation. I told Mrs. Weaver how sorry I was that I was going to have to get her disqualified from the rose competition, and wouldn’t you know? Within an hour, she had Rick Johnson over there with hammer and nails fixing that hole in her back fence.”
Jefferson grinned and put both bowls on the table. He poured them both some tea, then scowled when he realized the pitcher was empty and he’d have to make more. His sweet tea wasn’t as good as his uncle’s. Maybe Clover would come back over and make him some more.
“What’s wrong?”
Jefferson looked up and found the sheriff right next to him. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just out of tea.”
“Want me to make some more?”
“You make tea?”
The sheriff gave him a weird look and took the pitcher from his hand. “Yes. You don’t?”
Jefferson shrugged. “I’m not good at it. Mine always tastes funny.”
“Probably because you let the bags boil.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. I’ll make the tea. You wanna maybe get that cobbler out too?”
Jefferson smirked as the sheriff opened the cabinet beside the stove and pulled out a small pot. “I swear, everybody knows their way around this kitchen. And yes, I’ll get the cobbler out. Although I’m not sure you deserve it after you took Clover’s side.”
“Hey,” the sheriff protested. “You’ve had her cobbler. What was I supposed to do?”
“I need to learn to bake.”
“Oh yeah,” Sheriff Zane groaned.
“Did you just… what was that sound?”
“Uh… what sound? I didn’t make a sound, Jefferson Lee.”
“Yes, you did, Sheriff.”
“You can call me Zane, you know.”
“Yeah? Sheriff Keith always wanted to be called Sheriff.”
“Well, I want you to call me Zane.”
“Okay…. Zane. Huh, that’s kinda weird.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Jefferson said. He grabbed the cobbler and put it on the table then went back to the freezer to search for ice cream. His uncle always had a hidden stash somewhere. “Aha! Found it.”
Zane pulled the pot of boiling water off the burner and dropped tea bags into it. “Oh, ice cream. Nice touch.”
“You’ve gotta have ice cream with Clover’s cobbler. It’s a rule somewhere. Probably in the Holly Creek bylaws. You should know these things as the sheriff.”
“True. I’ll read them again to make sure I didn’t miss the ice cream and cobbler rule. What’s your uncle going to say when he comes home and finds half of it gone?”
“Would it be wrong of me to say I’ll just slip him a painkiller and pray he forgets?”
Zane chuckled and dumped sugar into the pitcher before adding hot water from the tap. “You can’t drug your uncle, Jefferson Lee. Much as I’d like to cuff you… I mean….”
“Ha! You just want to lock me up and throw away the key. I’m not
that
much of a criminal element, Sheriff.”
“Zane.”
“Right, Zane. I only smoked pot once. Well, once in the Holly Creek city limits, if I’m being honest. Just because Sheriff Keith probably has me on Holly Creek’s most wanted list, doesn’t mean I’m a bad seed.”
“I never thought you were.”
“Sure. That’s why you keep dropping by. You think I’m some sort of hoodlum or something.”
“Not exactly.” Zane added the brewed tea to the pitcher, then turned to the freezer and added a bunch of ice. He left the pitcher on the counter and turned to face Jefferson. “You ready to eat?”
“Oh my God, yes. I’m starving. Learning about Twitter will do that to a person.”
“Twitter?”
“Uh-huh. Let me tell you a little something about what it takes to run the
Jolly Holly Creek
blog.”
“THIS IS
Jefferson Lee Davis, reporting live from Holly Creek. This small North Carolina town has been rocked by scandal. Which parade route should the Dogwood Parade take? More at eleven.”
Jefferson snorted at his own ridiculousness as he made the few blocks walk to the town square. His uncle had sent him out with a very specific task for the day: get spring pictures for the blog post. Uh-huh. Sure. He’d get right on that, as soon as he stopped by Gracie’s Diner to see what she’d baked up that morning. Hopefully something extremely motivating.
As he neared the diner, Owen came storming out and kicked the light post by the curb.
“Wow,” Jefferson said. “Don’t know what that light post ever did to you, but if I should call the sheriff on it, you let me know.”
Owen scowled at him before letting out a deeply disgruntled teenaged sigh. “Hey, Jefferson Lee.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. My gran is driving me crazy. Again.”
“Uh-oh. Should I go in there and be devastatingly charming? I mean, there’s no way she’ll fall for it, but she might find it amusing enough that she’ll leave you alone for a while.”
Owen cracked a small smile but shook his head. “Nah. She’s made up her mind. I wanted to have a coffee stand on the square for the Dogwood Festival, but she said no. Like I couldn’t carry that big coffee thing over to the cart without burning anyone. Does she really think I’m that irresponsible?”
“Walk with me,” Jefferson said as he started toward the square again. “Let’s think this through. Besides, I have to find something springy to take a picture of or Uncle Sherman is going to pout.”
“’Kay,” Owen said as they started walking.
“Now, last time, the church did a bake sale thing, right?”
“Yeah. They always do that for the Dogwood Festival.”
“Yep. So that means you’d probably want to put the coffee near the food, right?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
Jefferson nodded. “Good thinking. Problem is, your gran is right.”
Owen’s mouth turned into another scowl. “I thought you’d be on my side.”
“I am. See, here’s the thing. The church always does cookies and brownies and stuff, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But your gran, she bakes her scones and muffins.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. So go with me on this. You take the coffee, carrying those huge carafes across the square. Not only is some yahoo tourist likely to bump into you because they’re too busy looking up at the dogwoods, but you’re putting the coffee next to the church’s baked goods and not your gran’s.”
“Huh.”
“Plus, you’ve gotta have electricity and stuff, and then you’ll have to get permits and all that nonsense. All that for a cup of coffee?”
“I guess you’re right.”
“But so are you. Coffee is a great idea. Last time I was here for the festival, I had lunch at the diner. You know what I had a view of? Everybody’s butts while they waited at the counter for coffee.”
“Yeah. It gets packed in there. That’s why I thought a coffee stand was a good idea.”
“And you’re right. But how about setting it up outside the diner instead?”
“Huh?”
“Come on. Let’s go back and look. I’m seeing nothing springy in the square. What the heck is springy anyway? Only thing I can think of is a daffodil. Why do I think this is a good idea?”
“You should go over to the high school. Wood shop just finished building a bunch of birdhouses for their project this term. That’s kinda springy, right?”
“Owen, you are a genius. First a coffee stand, and now this. Your gran needs to know she has a brilliant great-grandson.”
“Ha. She won’t believe you.”
“Yes, she will.”
They reached the corner of the block where the diner was located. Jefferson turned and pointed toward the back of the building, where the loading dock stuck out from the alley. Jefferson hated that dock. He’d spent an entire day one summer cleaning and rearranging the back room for Gracie as a favor for his uncle. He’d lugged a million and one boxes out of there only to turn around and lug them back in once the room had been cleaned.
However, it had electricity, which was what Owen would need.
“Look. You can use the cart that your gran puts her pies on during Homecoming. Have some scones and muffins under the glass so people can see them when they get their coffee. You can put the daily specials out here, too, printed up real nice on a menu so maybe folks will stop back by for lunch. Run the electric from the back of the diner to the cart, and you can carry the coffee around that way too so you don’t have to worry about bumping into any tourists.”
“Holy sh—I mean, that’s awesome!”
“Nice save there, buddy. Now go talk to your gran and see if she likes this idea better. I’m going to go over to the high school and see if I can find some birdhouses.”
“Cool. My brother made one. Try to find his. He probably won’t give a crap, but it’ll make Gran happy to see a picture of it on the blog.”
“I like the way you think, Owen. You should be a politician.”
Owen bounded back into the diner, and Jefferson made his way toward the high school. He realized he was only a block over from Quincy and Mary Caroline’s, so he decided to stop by and take a peek at the super-duper yard of wonder while he was out. Maybe he’d snap a picture or two of it just to make Clover insane. He could make an entire blog post about the best yard in Holly Creek.
Cackling to himself, Jefferson stepped onto the front porch of his cousin’s house and rang the bell. Mary Caroline answered, and she looked a bit pale.
“Mary Caroline? You okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
She opened the door farther. Clover was sitting on the couch with a mug in her hand.
Oh my.
“Clover! My goddess of shepherd’s pie!”
She grinned and took a sip of tea. She was up to something. Anytime Clover Crofton wore a sweater set and her pearls, she had a big evil plan in the works. Poor Mary Caroline.
Jefferson followed Mary Caroline into the living room where she sank down onto the armchair. He plopped down beside Clover and swiped her cup out of her hand. He took a swig, then scowled. “Chamomile?”
“What? It’s soothing.”
“You need soothing at ten o’clock in the morning?”
Mary Caroline sat up and ran her hands nervously over her jeans-covered legs. “Oh, where are my manners? Would you like some, Jefferson?”
“Sure,” he replied. What he really wanted was to know what Clover was up to, and the best way to find out would be to get Mary Caroline out of the room.
Once his cousin’s wife was gone, he turned to Clover with a scowl. “What are you doing?”
“Being nice. Having tea like a normal person. What are you doing? Stalking me?”
“No! I came to see the ninth wonder of the world. You know, Mary Caroline’s yard.”
“And?”
“Well, I haven’t seen it yet, have I? I mean, it looks nice enough from the front.”
Clover huffed. “Yeah, well, the roses are out back.”
“I figured. God, you’re cranky.”
“Takes one to know one. Now shut up. She’s coming back. And do not bitch about the chamomile. I’ll find a way to gently break the news to her that something else would be more appropriate in the daytime.”
“Gently? You? Are you broken? Did you hit your head? Ohhh. Did you get laid?”
“I will beat the crap out of you if you do not shut up.”
“Damn. You’re still too cranky to have gotten any.”
She slapped his leg, really hard, right before Mary Caroline came back into the living room with another cup of tea for him.
“Mmm,” he said after taking a small, sad sip. He hated chamomile. “Thanks. This is great.”
Clover rolled her eyes. Well, he didn’t exactly see her roll them, but he knew she had.
“So what are you two lovely ladies doing today?”