Simple Gone South (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

“Yeah, that,” she said. “There’s something else.” Wasn’t there just always? “Lucy and I need some serious hair products. I need you to go to Sephora at Green Hills Mall to get them.”

NO, NO, NO! He hated the mall—not just that mall, but every mall. But again, there was no refusing Missy. He reached for his pen and DayRunner.

“Go ahead. Tell me.”

She paused. “You’re getting your DayRunner, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“There’s an app for that, you know.”

“I don’t want an app. I want paper. I want to write with a fountain pen—the very same Mont Blanc pen you gave me upon our graduation from that fine institution, Merritt High School. Now, what is it you need from the hell mall?”

“All you have to do is pick it up,” she said, like it was a gift. “I’ve already talked to them and they’ve got it gathered up. I’ve given them my credit card number and everything. All you have to do is give them my name.”

That was something anyway. He decided to steer the conversation away from the Green Hills Mall before she thought of any more errands. “Is this shindig on Saturday?”

“Of course. You can’t do anything on Friday nights during football season.” Right. High school game. He’d played on that team with none other than Nathan Scott, former college star and present Merritt High Head Coach.

“I might not come until Saturday morning.”

“That’ll be fine. We need our hair stuff by early afternoon.”

“I’ll find you when I get there.”

“Call my cell. I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“I’ll do it.” With his clean hair and ducks, he went to bed.

• • •

Lucy Mead slid into a back booth at Lou Anne’s diner. She was elated. She’d had a great morning—it wasn’t every day you got handed a job that was beyond your dreams.

But she was hungry. And tired. Thank goodness her new project wouldn’t start until after the Junior League Follies were over. Why she had let her best friend, Missy, talk her into performing in the Follies, she would never know. Their other two book club friends weren’t performing. Lanie was working on the after party and Lucy could have done that too. Or she could have helped Tolly with publicity. But no. Missy wanted to lip-sync and dance and she wanted Lucy to do it with her. So that’s what they were doing.

What they
weren’t
doing was eating much. Damn those costumes. Not that it would hurt her to miss a meal. She might not be the fat teenager she had been, but her hips and thighs could use a break from the carbs.

“Hey!” Missy sang out as she slipped into the booth across from Lucy. Missy was walking perfection, even after two children. She always had been. Lucy would never forget her first summer in Merritt. She still marveled that eighteen-year-old Missy, the beautiful blond cheerleader, had befriended the awkward, overweight, younger girl Lucy had been.

She’d been fifteen and had begged her anthropologist parents to let her stay with her great aunt Annelle while they went to some village in Brazil. Or was that the Denmark summer? She couldn’t keep up. Back then, they’d moved to new faculty positions every few years; Clemson, University of Georgia, Florida State. And every summer there had been some dig or study in some remote place. Lucy had hated it. Working at Annelle Mead Interiors that summer had been heaven. Not only had she found her best friend, she’d found her professional calling. Of course, she’d gotten her heart broken too, but wasn’t that what the fifteenth summer was for?

Maybe it was the nostalgia or the lack of food that made her say to Missy, “I love you.”

“Of course you do!” Missy said. “I’m loveable.”

“Some would say.” Lou Anne approached the table with menus, water, and a smile.

“We don’t need those menus, Lou Anne,” Missy said. “We are going to split the grilled chicken salad. No dressing. Just some balsamic vinegar. Water to drink.”

Lou Anne sighed. “These Junior League Follies are going to be the death of my business. There’s not a woman in this town between the ages of twenty-four and forty who’s eating.”

“It’s going to be the death of me too,” said Lucy.

“Poor babies. I’ve got a chocolate cake, still warm. Why don’t you let me bring you some? Just a little? I’ll give it to you for free, if you’ll just eat.”

Lucy’s mouth watered. “Better not. You see, we have these costumes . . .”

She imagined herself on the stage of the Merritt Community Playhouse looking like the Goodyear Blimp. That probably couldn’t happen in four days, but fat was always right around the corner.

“Okay, but you girls come to see me Monday. I’m going to give you a proper meal.”

“Good news,” Missy said after Lou Anne had gone. “I have solved our hair product dilemma.”

“I told you I would go to Birmingham to get what we need,” Lucy said. Their regular stylist wouldn’t even attempt what they needed done. The girl at the mall was willing to try but only if they obtained the correct products, which could not be had in Merritt.

“You don’t have time for that. We have practice every night. Besides, never do something that you can get someone else to do. That’s my motto.” She smiled her million watt cheerleader smile. “I called Brantley last night. He’s bringing them.”

Hell and double hell!
Not Brantley Kincaid! Anything but that.

“Mmmm,” Lucy said and sipped her water. “I thought he was in San Francisco.” She was surprised at how disinterested she sounded, but she
was
disinterested. Mostly.

“He’s back. And he’s coming to the Follies and the party. Sans that she devil from hell, Rita May Sanderson. They have broken up again.”

“It won’t last.”

“We can hope.”

You can hope; I don’t care.
She couldn’t say that, of course. Not to Missy. Missy had shared a teething ring with Brantley and she’d cheerfully have a street fight with a motorcycle gang for him. It had probably always been so, but after that horrible day when his mother and beloved Papa Brantley were killed in a car crash Missy had appointed herself the one woman Brantley Kincaid Protection Agency.

“Rita May is mean to Brantley,” Missy went on.

“So you say.”

Lou Anne served their half salads and defiantly set a basket of corn muffins, homemade yeast rolls, and butter between them. Oh, God—she had included little packets of honey and strawberry jam. Lucy’s mouth watered. Then she remembered the first time she’d seen Rita May. It had been at the Country Club Father’s Day brunch.

Brantley had stopped by the table where Lucy and Annelle were eating.

“Well, if it’s not Lucy Mead looking like a strawberry cupcake.” The pink eyelet dress had looked so pretty in the store and made her feel so feminine, but now she hated it. He smiled, winked, and laid his hand on her shoulder. Then he introduced her to the tall, model thin, porcelain skinned woman on his arm. Her sleek black linen dress contrasted perfectly with her sleek white blond hair. Rita May Sanderson definitely did not look like a cupcake of any flavor. And she could not have looked more different than Lucy.

Lucy’s maternal grandmother had been Italian and Lucy wore that history on her face—dark brown eyes, full lips, and perpetually tanned skin. The only way to tame her dark curly hair was to keep it cut short, close to her scalp. Put her in a striped t-shirt and she looked like she should be climbing on a Vespa scooter in a 1960s movie. All she needed was a beret and more eyeliner.

And then there were those hips and thighs. Always that.

Lucy pushed the bread basket to the edge of the table.

Missy let out a little whimper. “I might have some skim milk in my coffee later.”

“You weakling.” Lucy grinned with relief that they had moved on from the subject of Brantley Kincaid and his maybe-yes, maybe-no romance.

Maybe-yes, maybe-no
. That was Brantley through and through. She had done a pretty good job of avoiding him these last few years. He didn’t come to town often, and when he did she usually had warning and could leave town herself. Of course, there was the odd time or two that he’d showed up unannounced, and a wedding or birthday party here and there that she could not miss. Still, she’d held it together, considering.

What had happened that first summer was one thing. As much as anything, it had been her fault—and that of circumstances. Brantley hadn’t even known how she felt, had never meant to hurt her. But what had happened that time in Savannah was a whole different matter. Not even Missy knew about it, and she never would. It had been at the end of Lucy’s freshman year at the Savannah College of Art and Design, and Brantley had come to town with some other Vandy students for an architectural restoration seminar. That was when she’d learned that Brantley was a runner. When something happened that he couldn’t deal with, he ran. After college she’d worked in Atlanta a few years before moving to Merritt to work with Annelle. Before returning, Lucy had decided that the easiest way to deal with a runner was to run from him.

Only she couldn’t do that this time. The show had to go on. Junior League president Millie Carmichael was entirely capable of hiring a hit man. She had the money and the guts. You had to have those things to be president of Junior League.

Lucy cut her chicken into smaller bites to make it last longer.

“Brantley said—” Missy began.

“Missy,” Lucy cut her off because she could not listen to what Brantley had said, whatever it was. Her news was supposed to be a secret, but it would be common knowledge soon. She could trust Missy and above all else, she had to change the subject.

“What? Tell me. Tell me now!”

No turning back. Missy could always tell when Lucy had a secret—well, almost always.

“I want to tell you something but you cannot tell.”

“Never.” Missy crossed her heart with her index finger like a girl scout making a promise to a bunkmate.

“Speaking of Brantley, his grandmother came to see me this morning.”

“Does she know Brantley’s coming this weekend?” Missy asked.

“I don’t know. We did not discuss Brantley. Miss Caroline told me that the city offered to buy the building where Judge Brantley had his law offices. They want to turn it into a community multi-purpose center.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Missy said. “That’s a great building. Did you know the whole top floor is a ballroom? It hasn’t been used in years but Brantley and I used to play up there when we were kids. After the judge died, they moved his furniture from his chambers at the courthouse back to his old office and locked it up. I know most of the rest of the building is rented out.”

“Here’s the thing. Miss Caroline is going to donate the building, but she wants control of the restoration. She’s offered me the job of restoring the interior.”

“Oh, Lucy, that’s wonderful!”

“She wants it kept quiet for now because she hasn’t notified the tenants yet. Her plan is to have the building vacant and the other details worked out by the first of the year. I am so excited—I still can’t believe she chose me.”

“I am not a bit surprised. I know she and Miss Annelle are friends but everyone knows Miss Annelle’s taste runs more toward art deco style and ultra modern. That wouldn’t work in that building at all.”

“Still, she could have brought someone in. It makes me feel like I am really home now. I mean, if Caroline Brantley accepts you for something so important, you must really belong, right?”

Missy laughed. “Why on earth would you think you don’t belong here? That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You grew up here; you haven’t been jerked all over the globe.”

“I say you belong here. But if you need Miss Caroline’s stamp of approval, I’m glad you’ve got it.”

“I want to do a great job. I don’t want to make her sorry. I want to give this town a beautiful building.”

“You will, Lucy. I know you will. Who else is going to work on the project?”

“No idea. Miss Caroline said she was still ironing that out.”

• • •

The streets of Merritt left no doubt that it was October. You couldn’t swing a dead dog without hitting a pile of pumpkins or a scarecrow sitting on a hay bale. There were a respectable number of ghosts and witches too. They would disappear November first but the other autumnal items would linger on until they were replaced by snowmen and Santas.

Brantley had promised he would arrive in the morning and he had—but just barely. Afternoon technically started at one minute after noon, so he had about fourteen minutes to catch up with Missy before he was officially late. He called her cell but it was Harris who answered.

“Hey, Harris, it's Brantley. Did I call the house?” It had happened before. Speed dial will do that to you.

“No, she left her cell here.”

“Missy without her phone?” She’d tried to take it to the delivery room.

“Yeah, I know. She’s crazy right now. Not sleeping much. Living on coffee. I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“I’ll bet. I’ve got two big bags of hair stuff and a receipt for an amount you don’t want to know about. She said to bring it to her. Do you know where that would be?”

“Sort of, I guess.” He sighed. Harris Bragg sighed a lot—and for good reason. Missy’s All-American quarterback-turned-lawyer husband was the only man Brantley had ever known who came anywhere close to being able to handle Missy. God love him.

“She and Lucy were going to get their hair done at the mall somewhere. They’ve gone out there.”

“At the mall? At a chain?” It worried Brantley that he knew where Missy ordinarily got her hair done, which was at a shiny little shop downtown.

“You got me.” Harris sounded bewildered. “But that’s what she said. Do you want to bring that stuff to me and let me work it out?”

Tempting. “Don’t you have the kids?”

“They can go to the mall.” Harris’s tone was begging Brantley to say no. He pictured Harris gathering up bags of kid stuff, strollers, and messing with car seats. He didn’t have the heart. Plus, all that would take time, which might get him in trouble with Missy.

“I’ll find her,” he told Harris.

At the mall, it was pure luck that he found them as fast as he did. He went in through Dillard’s, thinking he’d ask someone in there about hair salons. It was when he rounded the corner, trying to get away from the lingerie department, that he heard laughter that rang out like schoolyard magic. He’d ended up in women’s accessories where Missy and Lucy were trying on hat after ugly hat, some large, some small, some with feathers, some plain, and all belonging on heads that answered to the name of Grandmother. He must have stood there a full minute watching them clutch about each other, swap hats, and wipe tears from their eyes. For a second he thought they might be drunk but then he remembered what Harris had said about the lack of sleep and living off coffee. Apparently Missy was enforcing her present lifestyle choices on Lucy because they were in the same giddy boat.