Last Chance Beauty Queen (25 page)

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know. I appreciate that.”

“But either way our town loses.”

Hettie shrugged. “I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone. I can hardly help myself.”

“This gets out and your reputation is going to be ruined, you know that, don’t you?” Caroline said.

“Are you planning an exposé?”

“Hettie, if your husband is bribing inspectors, I’ve got to blow the whistle.”

Hettie’s stare remained fixed. “Well, if that happens, my husband is going to jail.”

Caroline took a seat at the counter of the Kountry Kitchen. Her stomach was feeling a little queasy, but she didn’t know whether it was the result of too many doughnuts or the bombshell Hettie Marshall had just exploded.

In any event, she figured she needed some healthy food just to get her system back on track.

“So what can I get you?” Ricki asked.

“I’ll have one of your garden salads and an iced tea.”

Ricki scribbled the order in her pad, just as a much deeper voice said, “Rocky, darlin’, don’t you ever get tired of eating food fit only for rabbits?”

Caroline looked over her shoulder and up into the twinkle in Dash Randall’s eyes. Dash sat himself down, dropping his cowboy hat on the counter beside him.

“I’m furious at you,” Caroline said.

He laughed. “Honey, don’t kid a kidder. I saw you kiss that guy. You enjoyed every minute. You should be thanking me that I let him buy your kisses. Otherwise you and me were going to have to get a whole lot friendlier than either of us really wanted to be.”

“Are you here to annoy me or to keep the rumor mill working?”

“Neither, actually. I came to let you know that we got us a great big problem, right here in Last Chance.”

“Tell me about it.” She planted her elbow on the table and propped her head. She was exhausted, demoralized, and discouraged.

Which was so strange because this morning the senator had made all her dreams come true. She was headed for Washington. She should be ecstatic.

But instead, she was worried right down to her marrow.

“So,” Dash said, “I guess you heard about what happened, huh? I’m really sorry. I should have my head examined.”

Caroline straightened and turned. “For what, buying up Jimmy’s land?”

His smile faded. “What in the Sam Hill does that have to do with what happened yesterday, and how did you know that?”

“I looked it up at the court house. What have you been trying to do—keep the chicken plant solvent all by your lonesome? Honestly, if you wanted to infuse the plant
with cash, why didn’t you do it directly instead of buying up Jimmy’s land at inflated prices?”

He stared at her for a full minute. “I didn’t buy the land to shore up the plant.” His cheeks reddened ever so slightly.

“Then why?”

He shrugged. “Land is always a good investment.”

“Oh, my God, you bought that land because of Hettie, didn’t you? You’re still in love with her, and you’re trying to protect her from her jerk of a husband.”

He turned away and stared out the plate glass window for a long moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Yeah, Dash Randall was kind of like Bubba, only a little farther along in his recovery. He was still carrying a torch for Hettie. Caroline wondered, given the state of Hettie’s marriage, if Hettie was carrying a torch for Dash. Boy, that would be some seriously hot gossip, wouldn’t it?

“So why were you researching land acquisitions?”

“Because I’m here to make sure Last Chance gets a spiffy new textile machinery factory. Right now that looks like a complete impossibility—and not because my daddy won’t sell his golf course. Jimmy sold swamp to Hugh at a price that was at least ten times its worth, and Hugh doesn’t have enough cash to handle the wetlands reclamation, and besides, Daddy won’t sell. So we’re pretty much up that swamp without either a canoe or a paddle.”

“Wow, you’ve been busy, in addition to kissing Englishmen and getting yourself lassoed.”

“You can joke about it, but this is serious. More serious than you think. So what’s your problem—did Lillian Bray catch you with some lady of the evening down at the Peach Blossom?”

He let go of a big breath. “No. I have more class than that, honey. If I want to fool around, I go to the Magnolia Inn outside of Allenberg. I have no desire to get on Lillian Bray’s bad side.”

“Okay, Dash, what did you do?”

“Bubba overheard me last night talking with the Canaday brothers about the whole lasso scenario, you know? I’m afraid he knows the whole thing was a ruse.”

“You told the Canaday brothers about the lasso scenario? Oh, crap.”

“Yeah, and both Bubba and Rachel overheard. Which is a darn shame because the two of them looked like they were having a nice time. I guess I got overconfident after Rachel laid that kiss on Bubba, you know?”

“I doubt that Rachel was having a good time with Bubba.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Because.”

Ricki came back with two iced teas and Caroline’s salad. She placed one of the drinks in front of Dash and said, “How are you, honey?” while she shamelessly batted her eyes. She glanced at Caroline. “I heard that you two aren’t as close as some folks thought.”

“Well, you know, you can’t always trust gossip, Ricki. How about a ham sandwich?” Dash said.

“Sure thing, Dash,” Ricki gave him a sultry smile and headed back to the kitchen to deliver his order.

“That woman has a thing for you,” Caroline said as Ricki hurried away to get his order.

“Uh-huh. Her and just about every other woman in the county except for you.”

“And Hettie.”

“Yeah, but Hettie is married. She doesn’t count.”

Caroline was just opening her mouth to dish out some snarky retort when the front door of the Kountry Kitchen banged open and Rachel came stalking in. For once, her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that did nothing for her long, chiseled face.

She stepped right up to Dash and Caroline, put her hands on her hips, and said, “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Honestly, Dash, you’re an immature idiot so I don’t expect much more from you, but you.” She turned to Caroline. “You are supposed to be my friend.”

Rachel looked pale and hollowed eyed—like maybe she’d cried herself to sleep last night.

Caroline jumped up and pulled Rachel into a big ol’ hug while she simultaneously gave Dash a chilling look. Dash picked up his hat and slunk from the Kountry Kitchen like the guilty rat that he was.

“I can explain,” Caroline said. “Why don’t you just sit down and have lunch with me.”

Tears started to fill Rachel’s eyes, and she shook her head. “You lied to me, Rocky. I don’t know if I can forgive that.” Rachel’s voice went wobbly, and she pulled away. “I gotta get out of here before I say something ugly.”

Rachel turned on her heel and marched out of the Kountry Kitchen before Caroline could say one word.

Damnit.
Caroline needed to talk to that girl.

She laid a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, and followed Rachel up the street calling her name. The more she called, the faster Rachel walked, until Rocky had to jog after her. She finally caught up with her friend right in front of the Cut ’n Curl.

Necessity being the mother of invention, Caroline
grabbed Rachel’s arms and dragged her forcibly into the cool, pink and green confines of Momma’s beauty shop.

“C’mon, Rachel, you need to give me a minute to explain what really happened.”

“You lied to me,” Rachel said as she shrugged away from Caroline’s grasp. “It doesn’t require any further explanation.”

“I didn’t lie. I let everyone in town jump to conclusions that weren’t true. There’s a huge difference.”

“What conclusions?” This question came from the proprietor of the Cut ’n Curl, who was in the middle of touching up Carrie Price’s roots. Jane was across the room giving a manicure to Miz Latimer, a little old senile lady whose daughter brought her by the shop every Monday to get her hair done.

It occurred to Caroline that having a fight with Rachel at the Cut ’n Curl was pretty darn stupid. But on the other hand, this was her opportunity to come clean of the whole thing.

“The conclusions people drew when Dash lassoed me off the parade float.”

“It was a hoax,” Rachel said, crossing the room and settling down into one of the big pink hair dryer chairs. “You did it just to fool Bubba Lockheart.”

“What?” Momma, Jane, and Carrie said in unison. Miz Latimer smiled.

Caroline took a deep breath and explained the entire Lasso Fiasco to her mother, sister-in-law, friend, and neighbor. “Honest, Rachel, I had no idea that Dash was going to lasso me off the parade float. He came up with that all by his lonesome. But I will confess that I told him that we needed to make some kind of intervention in
Bubba’s life. That was a big mistake on my part because Dash is an idiot.”

Rachel sat in her chair and listened. Big fat tears began falling down her cheeks.

“I know it wasn’t exactly nice of Caroline and Dash to hoodwink us like that, but you gotta admit that their plan seemed to have some real positive results.” This came from Jane, who always looked on the bright side of every disaster.

“Like what?” Caroline and Ruby asked in unison.

“Well, Rachel kissed Bubba yesterday, and he seemed to like it,” Jane said.

That was all it took for Rachel to come apart at the seams. “And he’s not the only one,” she wailed. “And now… now he’s n-never… g-g-gonna… ever look at me… a-g-g-gain.”

Five seconds after this monumental confession, Caroline, Ruby, and Jane Rhodes descended on Rachel and gave her the biggest group hug in the history of Last Chance, South Carolina.

An application of hot coffee, some new highlights, and a pedicure were immediately called for.

Hugh dialed Caroline’s number and got her answering service once again. He disconnected without leaving a message.

“Who are you calling now?” Cissy asked as they headed up the stairs of the Humanities Building at Voorhees College.

“Oh, just checking my messages,” Hugh lied.

They left the midafternoon heat behind as they entered the building and rode the lift up to the third floor.
The institutional hallway that housed the faculty offices smelled of chalk and bookbinder’s glue.

They found Kamaria LaFlore, professor of African studies and longtime member of the Last Chance Town Council, in her tiny office. She looked at home, surrounded by bookshelves, tribal masks, and a wall filled with advanced degrees from places like Princeton and Yale.

“Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” Hugh began as he settled himself into a chair by the professor’s cluttered desk. “I thought I would—”

Dr. LaFlore put up a hand. “I know what you want. I just got a phone call from Lillian Bray, and she explained it all. I think it’s an interesting idea, but I don’t believe it will fly.”

Since Hugh had yet to meet formally with Lillian Bray, he was momentarily confused. “Um. What does Mrs. Bray think I’m looking for? Because to be quite frank, I haven’t yet spoken with her. I met her for the first time on Saturday, of course, but that was a social affair.”

“Oh.” Dr. LaFlore leaned back in her chair, the springs squeaking. “She said you wanted the town council to condemn Golfing for God.”

“Well, if ya’ll had the gumption to do that, it would sure solve all of Hugh’s problems,” Cissy drawled.

“Not all of them, Dr. LaFlore,” Hugh said. “The land adjacent to the golf course has swamp on it. I’ve been informed just recently that wetlands reclamation can be difficult in South Carolina.”

“It can be. But there are ways to get around some of that regulation. And I don’t think we’ll have too many locals lining up to save water moccasin habitat, Lord
knows we have enough of that in our state. What we don’t have is a healthy tax base.”

“I see, so you could help me get through the environmental red tape?” Hugh asked.

“I can’t guarantee that, but I think I can be helpful. My biggest concern, quite frankly, is that committee of church women that Hettie Marshall is chairing.”

“Well, if you don’t have the courage to stare down a bunch of churchwomen, then Lord Woolham will have to build his factory elsewhere,” Cissy said.

Cissy’s threat wasn’t real, of course. If he didn’t build his factory here, he would have to go back to square one and find some additional partners. And before he could get that kind of thing set up, he’d have to pay taxes on Woolham House.

Really, he was sunk. He felt as if he were rearranging the deck chairs on the
Titanic
.

Dr. LaFlore gave Cissy a sober stare. “I support your factory. And I wish Bert would sell his golf course. That old place makes our town look like a Bible Belt backwater. But for the town council to legally take Bert’s land, we’d have to be building a road or something.”

“Building a road would make a difference?” Hugh asked.

“Well, yes. If the state were building a road, then we could take the land using eminent domain because we needed the land for a public use. But to simply condemn the place, force him to sell it to the town, and then turn around and resell it to you would be highly illegal.”

“But I only need that small parcel for road and rail access.”

Dr. LaFlore studied him for a long, uncomfortable
moment. “Well, that changes things.” She steepled her long fingers. “Of course, public financing for a road through that land would be impossible. Now, if you could come up with some private financing, perhaps we could figure out a public-private partnership. That might make it possible, and certainly worth thinking about. I sure would hate to see Last Chance lose out on this kind of economic development.”

“But this approach would require the state to force Elbert Rhodes off his land, wouldn’t it?” Hugh asked.

She nodded. “Yes, it would. Are you squeamish about that? You ought to be, you know. And the churchwomen will be very unhappy. That could be a problem for my election, but I’m betting that economic development and jobs will trump a putt-putt place every time. Do you really have the money to build a road through there?”

The hairs on the back of Hugh’s neck prickled. He had enough money, barely, to build the factory, which included road and rail connections. But if he had to spend a farthing more for wetlands reclamation, he was sunk. He doubted, very much, that Victoria would be willing to loan him money for this venture. Vicky had already told him that if he were to marry her, he’d have to give up tinkering about with bits of machinery.