'Til Grits Do Us Part (44 page)

I pulled Christie along on her leash toward Stella's dark blue Chevy, shouldering my bags. My teeth rattled in the misty chill, and I tugged my cardigan tighter as her door squeaked open.

“Stella. Thanks so much for taking care of me.”

“Ain't no trouble, sug. You jest git on in the house. Lands, that dog a yours is gold, Shiloh. If she hadn't shown up… ?” And Stella burst into tears, her back shaking. “Sorry. I'm jest a little shook up, is all. Everything fallin' to pieces—like that year it snowed in July. Nothin' makes sense.”

“Snow in July?” My eyes bugged. “Clarence tells some whoppers, but that's ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? I was there!” Stella's hands shook so much she dropped her keys. “Lands, an' the world's comin' apart again. Losin' your mama first, and now this is happenin' to ya? Boy, do I need a smoke.”

“No you don't. Relax and take a deep breath.” I leaned over and patted her back. “We'll make some tea. Come on inside with me.” I held out my hand. “Faye's opening the front door now.”

“Naw. I gotta hit the road.” Stella pushed the car door open and hauled her hefty frame out, grunting with effort. “I got a party to bake for today.” She squeezed her eyes in misery, her hands trembling. “C'mon, Shiloh. Jest one li'l Marlboro ain't never hurt nobody! Promise I'll quit tom'rrow. Honest.”

“No.” I crossed my arms and used my bossiest voice. “If you give up now, you'll always give up. Sometimes you've just got to stick with it, especially when it's hard. That's when it really counts.”

My mind flashed back to Adam and the angry words we'd exchanged. Feeling, a bit guilty, like I should take my own advice.

“I'll try.” Stella wiped her eyes. “But it ain't gonna be easy. I'm tellin' ya.” She jingled her keys. “And if I'm gonna have one whit of willpower, I better get some shut-eye.”

“Well, would you mind going by Adam's before you head home? To make sure he's okay?” I fidgeted with my purse strap. “Officer Whitman said they'll go by the house, but I'm worried. If he's awake, tell him I'll be there at eight.”

“Be where?”

“He knows what I'm talking about.” I glanced around at the dark fields, suddenly nervous about who might be watching. Or listening. “I'll fill you in later.”

“ 'Course I'll do it. You go on.” She pushed me toward the house, where Faye was unlatching the screen door. “I'll call ya. And watch your car, ya know? My car got broken into the other day. Didn't take nothin', but threw all Jer's stuff around like they was lookin' for somethin'.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot Jerry's borrowing your car.” I shivered and rubbed my arms, glumly remembering our last-ditch efforts to save the restaurant. All of which flopped.

Just like my life.

“I'll be careful.” I watched Stella over my shoulder as she got in her car and backed toward the road, easing close to the squad car. Window down. And she stuck her head out to talk.

And why not? Stella was related to Shane and probably related to Officer Whitman, too. That figured—probably half of Staunton was related in some way or another.

My cell phone vibrated suddenly in my pocket as I headed toward the front porch. Faye was hurrying down the driveway to meet me, hugging herself in the early morning chill.

“Adam—finally.” I dug for the phone. Then I held it up to see the screen and paused, not recognizing the number.

“Who is this?” I frowned, checking the number again as I turned toward Faye.

“My angel,” whispered a voice. “We almost made it. But don't worry—next time we will.”

“You…you…” I stopped in midstride.

“Just one thing, my love. About the justice of the peace. Don't go. It's a bad idea. A very bad idea. You broke my heart once, but I won't let you break it twice.” His words hissed like a serpent sliding through rain-beaded grass, ready to strike. “If you go, I promise it's the last thing you'll ever do. Don't even bother calling the police. They won't find me before it's too late.”

I stood rooted to the ground, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

“But I know where to find you,” he whispered.

T
here's still time for us to do things the way we planned—on our special day. Our wedding day.” The caller's breath caught. “I know you remember, my angel. It's why you came. Just like I knew you would.”

The call ended suddenly, and the phone silenced. Limp in my hand.

A death threat.

A whisper of vengeance. Of love turned sour—like the broken-heart stamp—and of lost chances.

“If not victory, revenge!”
The words from the wet banner I'd found on my porch swirled through my head, sounding vaguely familiar. A line from a book I read back in college. An essay I'd written, and a lit exam.

Something about the fall of man—a divorce. A breakup. Adam and Eve's sin and leaving the Garden of Eden forever.

And most importantly: angels. Lots and lots of angels.

That was it. Milton's
Paradise Lost
.

“Shiloh. Come on in here, honey,” called Faye, coming toward me with worry puckering her lined brow. She wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and rubbed my arms, and I blinked back, unseeing. “You all right, doll? We're worried sick about ya. Becky's on her way over. You jest go in and rest.”

I moved like a robot, stiff, up the wooden stairs, wishing for one terrible moment that I'd never set foot in Staunton, Virginia.

“Lands, Shah-loh. I'm so sorry.” Becky's face was pale, and her hands trembled on the steering wheel as she checked in her rearview mirror. “I never thought in a million years things'd git this bad.”

I pressed my elbow to the door of her car, staring listlessly out the window. My eyes ringed with dark circles from a sleepless few hours before dawn. “I shouldn't have gone back to Mom's. I shouldn't have investigated.”

“The police couldn't track that phone number?”

“Calling card. It's impossible to trace.”

Becky shook her head. “Well, as long as you an' Adam are together, everything else'll work itself out.” She checked the rearview mirror again, her green eyes tense and narrowed in the reflection.

“I just wish Adam would call me. It's not like him to be so silent.” I picked up my phone again, which still felt warm from my hand. “Stella said his truck wasn't there, but his bedroom light was on. He'd left a note on the door saying he'd see me in the morning.” I pressed my lips together. “And he texted me a while ago saying, ‘Waiting for you at eight.' So I guess he's okay. I texted back that I'd be a few minutes late because I need to stop by the bank first.”

“He's probably packing. Y'all are gonna leave town after ya sign the papers, ain't ya?”

“Yeah. Jerry opened The Green Tree so I can pick up my paycheck for helping him and cash it when the bank opens. Then I'll meet Adam at the courthouse. The whole marriage process shouldn't take more than a few minutes.” I forced a smile. “Hey, you can be a witness if you want.”

“Aw, no. I'm holdin' out for that red dress your half sister said she'd buy.” Becky eased into a parking space along downtown Staunton's historic streets, empty in the early morning glow.

“I know. I never should have trusted her.” I sank my face into my hands. “Everything's ruined.”

“Not ev'rything. Keep that chin up, Yankee.”

“Yes, everything. Everything except the house selling. We're sharing a moving truck with Adam's Uncle Bryce, and Adam's making the deposit on the apartment right after the wedding.” I caught myself, nearly forgetting the change in wedding dates. “So I guess that means sometime this week.”

I'd changed into fresh jeans and a pretty white cotton top with lace edging, which I thought might scatter some bride-like sentiments on such a momentous occasion. But sturdy enough to last several hours in the car, on the run with Adam, as soon as we signed the marriage documents. White lace headband. Leather sandals. A rainbow-colored cloth messenger bag from Guatemala hung over my shoulder.

Yep, the Fashion Nazi was about to get married in jeans and a messenger bag.

At least I hadn't stooped to cowboy boots.
Yet
.

My cell phone rang suddenly, startling me. I fought with my partially unclipped seat belt, freeing my hands, and grabbed for it. “Hello? Adam?”

“Shiloh? This is Bryce Carter. How are you doing?”

“Bryce? Hi. I'm…well, okay. Long story.” I leaned back in the seat, feeling one last spark of comfort as I imagined handing over the key to Mom's house. The house that brought me to Virginia. And the house that would slap triple digits, for the first time in years, into my bank account. “The house'll be ready for you in a couple days.”

Bryce sighed. “Shiloh, I don't know how to tell you this…but we're not moving. We'll have to back out of the real-estate deal. I'm so sorry.” His voice trembled a bit. “The company folded, and instead of getting a promotion, I've just been laid off.”

“Oh, my friend.” Becky looked over at me with sympathetic eyes, shaking my shoulder as I buried my face in my hands. For Mom's house, yes, but also for Bryce Carter. “I'm so sorry.”

“They've got three kids,” I murmured, rolling my head back and forth. “Everything's falling apart, Becky! How do I manage to ruin everything? Tell me that!”

“Shucks.” Becky took the keys out of the ignition and reached over to hug me. “Must be a special gift, I reckon. 'Course from my view, not havin' Ashley show up in town for your weddin' might be the best part a the deal.”

“Maybe so.” I chuckled and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Maybe nothin'. You shore know how to stir up some life in this li'l old town!” She ruffled my hair. “Well, c'mon, Yankee. You're still a bride, remember? Git 'er done!”

And she marched around to my car door and flung it open, giving a silly bow.

“I don't like this,” I said, stepping up onto the sidewalk near The Green Tree. A cool breeze ruffled our hair and clothes, poststorm, and a hint of peach glowed along the horizon through fine breaks in the clouds. “It's not like Adam to keep his phone off this long. I'm going to call the police station and see if they've heard anything else.”

“He's prob'ly jest busy gettin' ready, but it won't hurt nothin' to call.” Becky shrugged, tugging on The Green Tree door and then knocking when it didn't open. “ 'Specially with some madman on the loose.”

I dialed the police and talked to Officer Whitman while Jerry unlocked the door, his hair a mess and eyes haggard with dark circles. He ushered us in, his sleeves rolled up and shirt damp. Wiping his shoes on an old towel.

“Sorry, ladies. The sanitizer hose broke again, and I'm jest gonna replace the whole doggone system. I've fixed it a hundred times, but it's never worked right—and I can't get a single plumber to fix it properly. So be it.” He sighed. “I reckon I'm jest fixin' it up for somebody else to enjoy, but as long as my doors are open, we're gonna do our best.”