Chapter Fifteen
It was one of the best moments of her life. Watching Miles and Grant on stage together, dual trumpets blaring, playing to each other, bouncing off each other. The father-and-son team had been packing the club every week for the past three months. Soon Miles would be returning to college, and they would have to wait until winter break to play together again. Rebecca watched them, front and center, gripping a tissue in her hands, blubbering through the entire performance like always.
Miles and Grant were alike in so many ways. They even held the trumpet with the exact same stance, fingers moving in unison, elbows relaxed, feet splayed the same distance apart. Like father like son. It was still astonishing to Rebecca that they’d only known each other for six months. All these years Miles knew his father was alive, but he hadn’t pressed her for details. His grandmother, knowing that the lies were torturing her daughter, had explained all she knew to Miles when he was old enough to hear it. And he never even let on. Keeping secrets must be a family trait. He secretly hoped she would find his father in New Orleans, and here they were. It was unbelievable how much life could change. Besides her son and Grant being reunited, and the fact that she and Grant were so in love—as if that weren’t enough—ever since Rebecca gave that necklace to the high priestess, business had been booming.
Girls were coming out of the woodwork to buy her pieces, and then they brought their friends. One girl said she met the love of her life shortly after buying a necklace. Whether or not the two events were related, rumors began to spread. Everything in New Orleans was coated with a bit of voodoo, so Rebecca didn’t give it a second thought. If anyone asked her if it was true that her pieces could draw in true love, Rebecca would just smile and say,
It’s been said
.
Money will flow in faster than you can catch it
. . . She tried not to let it get to her—that this, too, had been one of the priestess’s predictions. She was doing so well at the shop, and Grant was doing so well at the club, that they had started looking at buying a house together. It was perfect timing; the small hotel where Rebecca had been staying was quaint, but she was ready for something more. She was ready to give her heart.
You will cause the death of someone else
. Despite how well her life was going, this prediction began to haunt her. Things absolutely could not be any better than they were right now, and she still couldn’t be happy.
You will cause the death of someone else.
Absolutely everything else had come true, so how could she ignore it?
Had the curse been lifted? Was she safe? Was Miles? Grant? She had to know. She had to pay the high priestess one last visit and ask her straight out. Rebecca waited until the last customer was out of the shop, then she hurried down the street. A light rain started to fall as she ran, and by the time she reached the Voodoo Shop she was drenched; her hair was plastered to her face, her thin dress clung to her body. This time, the door was closed. Rebecca stood in front of it for a few seconds, and then pushed on it. It opened.
The shop was empty. As if it never existed.
“Hello?” She took a few steps inside. The second room was empty, too, except for a young woman who appeared to be cleaning the shelves.
“What happened?” Rebecca said. The woman turned with a start. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to see the high priestess.”
“She passed away a few weeks ago,” the woman said.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Rebecca said. “And the daughter didn’t want to keep the shop open?” Rebecca hated thinking it, but now that she looked at it, this space would be the perfect place to move her jewelry store. The little shop she had now wasn’t big enough with all the traffic she was getting.
“She said it was never her dream,” the woman said. “She went West.”
“Good for her.”
“Were you a friend of the priestess?” the girl asked.
“I have a jewelry shop in town,” Rebecca said. “I made her a necklace.”
The girl gasped, then reached into her pocket. “This necklace?” she asked.
Rebecca was surprised to see it. For some reason, she thought the priestess would have wanted to be buried with it. “Yes,” she said.
“She died the day she got this,” the girl said.
At first Rebecca was convinced she hadn’t heard her correctly. “No,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“Doctor ruled it old age, of course, but her daughter blamed you.” She held up the necklace, and they watched the rose petals dance.
“Me?” Rebecca said. “Why me?”
“It reminded her of her true love,” the woman said. “He used to call her Rose. Then you gave this to her on their anniversary. She said he was coming for her, that true love lasted beyond the grave. And then, just like that, she was gone.” The girl snapped her fingers. “Her daughter said she died of a broken heart, but I think it’s the opposite. I think she died because after all these years of being miserable, her heart was finally full. She just couldn’t take being so happy.” The girl gave a shy smile. “Or maybe he was sending her a message. Maybe he was calling to her. And off she went.” Silence descended on the little shop. “Here,” the girl said, holding out the necklace. “You should have it back.” And then, before Rebecca could protest, the girl placed the necklace in Rebecca’s palm and closed her fingers over it. “She would want you to have it,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
The three of them stood, arms linked, and gazed down at the grave of the high priestess. Miles had already joked about being conceived here, and although Grant and Rebecca were too mature to point out exactly where the conception had taken place, they did share a little grin and hand squeeze when they walked past the statue of the maiden with the outstretched hands. She was faded, and overgrown with moss, but she was still there, still reaching out for her unseen lover. Rebecca laid the necklace on top of the priestess’s headstone. Miles lifted his trumpet and softly played “Amazing Grace.”
True love. The road certainly hadn’t been smooth, or straight, and somehow it had brought them full circle, to this cemetery, these sacred grounds where it all began. And then, as they turned from the grave, Grant put his arm around Miles and Rebecca and announced that he was taking his two favorite people to the “best restaurant in town.”
When Rebecca went to kiss him, Grant pulled back. At first she was stung. Then he laughed and made a show of looking at his watch.
“A kiss before midnight?” he said. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
Rebecca grabbed the back of his head, stood on her tiptoes, and laid one on him.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Not afraid of anything.”
“Not anymore,” Rebecca said. “Not with
my
two favorite people by my side.”
Miles and Grant exchanged a grin, and Grant patted down his breast pocket as if checking to see if something was still there. Then, as they walked, and talked, and laughed, Rebecca could feel her future shimmering around them. She could see love, and happiness, and a long, magic-filled life ahead of them. And if she was right about what was in that pocket—what was waiting for her after the best meal in town—at least one thing was for sure. She knew the exact two-man band she was going to get to play at their wedding.
Chapter One
Marcy poked her head into the exam room. “Could you come out here for a sec, Jane?”
Jane hesitated, but when she saw the urgent light in the vet tech’s eyes, she smiled apologetically at Sandra, Fuzzy Weaver’s mom. Sandra looked annoyed by the interruption. Not Fuzzy. The minute the dog saw the vet heading for the door, his tail began to twitch at the possibility of a hoped-for reprieve. “I’ll get the vaccines ready and grab a few free food samples for you to try,” Jane told Sandra.
Free
was always a good way to unruffle ruffled feathers.
After the exam room door was closed, Marcy scooted ahead of Jane. “You’ve got to see this.” She led her past the kennel cages and out the clinic’s back exit, where the big deliveries were made. “Shane wants me to sign for this thing, but I think there’s been a mistake.”
Jane had been prepared to say that she didn’t have time to sort out a delivery problem right now, but what she saw made her swallow the words. Next to Kaylie the receptionist’s Honda Fit sat an enormous canary-yellow sectional sofa.
“What is
that
?”
“That’s what I wanted to know,” muttered Marcy. “There’s obviously been a screwup.”
Shane, the delivery guy, read off the invoice on his clipboard. “Dr. Carl Fenton, Mesquite Creek Animal Hospital. Says so right here, clear as day.”
Jane aimed a wary glance at his clipboard. “To this address? Not Carl’s home?”
“This thing wouldn’t fit in Carl’s little house,” Marcy said. “Besides, this just isn’t something he’d want.
Yellow?
”
“There’s a set of matching chairs still on the truck,” Shane informed them.
Had Carl really ordered this? Was he insane? That yellow fabric, so easy to stain, snag, and shred, would be a disaster in the vet clinic. In less than a week it would die the death of a thousand paws.
But the clinic was still Carl’s business—he could put yellow couches in the waiting room if he wanted to. Heck, he could furnish the place in Louis XV antiques if he preferred. Or beanbag chairs.
Reluctantly, she signed.
Marcy shook her head. “This isn’t right. Do you think Carl’s finally gone crazy?”
Jane didn’t want to have a discussion about Carl’s mental health in front of Shane. The truth was, she’d thought Carl was showing improvement lately from his usual withdrawn, gloomy self. The happiest she’d seen him since Maggie had died six years ago. “Could you go tell Sandra I’ll be right in?” she asked Marcy. “And Fuzzy’ll need his rabies and
Bordetella
.”
“What about this?” Marcy said, gesturing toward the massive couch. “You can’t haul it in yourself.”
“The couch stays out here until Carl gets back,” Jane said. “The plastic sheeting over it should protect it in the open air for one morning.”
Marcy appeared ready as always to put up an argument, but she finally turned on her heel and marched back into the clinic.
Shane’s gaze followed her, riveted, as if Marcy were a showgirl strutting across a Las Vegas stage instead of a petite twenty-something in surgical scrubs and sneakers, her lank hair pulled back in a ponytail with a rubber band snagged from the reception area.
Jane had to give the man a verbal nudge. “Chairs?”
He startled a little, then jogged back to the truck. “Hasn’t changed since third grade.”
“What hasn’t?” Jane shook her head as she eyed the first chair off the truck. It was armless, with yellow fabric going up the high back.
“Marcy,” Shane said, tossing a glance toward the clinic’s back door. “I gave her a little heart-shaped box of candy when we were kids, and then during the next recess she knocked me off the monkey bars. Broke my arm.”
Jane only half listened as she pulled her cell out and dialed Carl’s number. Right now he was out dealing with some sick cattle in another county. She waited through a half dozen rings and then left a quick message for him to call her. No telling when he’d check his messages.
She’d been heartened when Carl had announced that he wanted to modernize the clinic a little after all these years, to brighten things up a little. She’d encouraged him. But this stuff was wildly inappropriate. How did you tell a man who was finally emerging from his shell that he was coming out the wrong way?
“Do you know if it’s really serious between her and Keith Atkins?” Shane asked.
“What do you call serious?” Jane laughed. “Going out for three years? Won’t look at anyone else? Seems depressed if he spends so much as a Saturday away from her on a hunting trip?”
“Oh.” His face fell. “Guess that answers my question.”
“I’d think one broken arm would have cured you,” Jane told him, moving a couple of chairs farther out of the path of cars.
Shane looked at her blankly, and then lumbered back into his truck and roared away. She bit her lip. Maybe her words had come out more tart than she’d intended. The truth was, she sympathized with Shane completely. Some people got under your skin that way, making it seem no one else in the world compared.
She went back in, apologized to Sandra and Fuzzy for the interruption, and administered the vaccines. She left the room for a moment to retrieve the forgotten food samples and nearly slammed into Kaylie, who was standing next to the door and practically hopping from foot to foot with impatience.
“You’ll never guess who’s out front!” Before Jane could even attempt to answer, Kaylie blurted out, “Roy McGillam! Roy McGillam’s out in our waiting room. Your Romeo.”
The words broke Jane’s stride only momentarily as she crossed to the shelves where the samples were kept. She forced her mind to stay on task.
Fuzzy. Food samples
.
Kaylie followed her. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I spent my four years at Mesquite Creek High School participating in Skeeter Theater, and the picture of you and Roy in
Romeo and Juliet
was right there in the hall going into the auditorium. My sister said y’all were the big couple in school that year. Everybody thought you two would run off and get married or something.”
Jane snatched several samples out of plastic baskets. “It ended up being ‘or something.’ ”
Kaylie lowered her voice. “I can show him into Carl’s office, if you want some privacy.”
Jane flicked her an exasperated glance. “We don’t. The exam room will be fine.”
“I saw that production when I was in fifth grade. I cried.”
Jane took a deep breath and turned. “Why’s he here?” Roy didn’t even live in Mesquite Creek. Or in the state.
As if in answer to her question, Marcy appeared, her expression grave. “Roy McGillam’s got his mom’s dog with him. Buddy. Says he wants to put him to sleep.”
The words knifed through Jane’s heart. What had happened to Buddy? Euthanizing beloved pets was never her favorite part of the job, but there were some animals that made it even harder than usual.
She wrapped up the appointment with Sandra and Fuzzy and took a moment to collect herself. To steel herself both for seeing Roy and doing what had to be done with Buddy.
Buddy had been fine four months ago, when Wanda McGillam had still been alive and brought him in for his normal checkup. Apart from a little arthritis in the back legs, Jane had found nothing wrong with him. But Buddy was a big Great Pyrenees, and old, and he’d lost his owner a month after that last exam. The past three months had probably been stressful for him. No matter how gutted she felt, she had to think of Buddy, not her own emotions, and face what had to be done.
Facing Roy was a little more complicated. Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably as she quickly sprayed and wiped down the exam table and then, foolishly, checked her reflection in the stainless steel surface. She immediately regretted it. No makeup. Wiry hair needing a trim.
Knock ’em dead, Jane.
She turned to the door, bracing herself for those blue eyes of his.
But when Roy came in, it was his back she saw first. Buddy weighed well over a hundred pounds, and he wasn’t one of those dogs who dealt with vet stress by becoming super hyper. He handled terror in a way Jane understood completely—he froze up. Legs locked, head ducked, eyes half-clouded in cringing fear, poor Buddy had to be dragged into the room with Roy tugging at his collar and Marcy at the other end, grunting as she shoved against his ample rump.
He can’t be feeling too bad.
Once they got him in and settled on the table, Roy straightened, then spent a long moment drinking Jane in. “Hello, Jane.”
Her throat felt as if she’d swallowed sand. The eyes hadn’t changed—they were as blue as she’d always imagined the Mediterranean to be. His hair was cut short, so he didn’t have that youthful floppy appearance anymore. Overall, he seemed more substantial. Bulkier. He’d gained muscle, and a polish he certainly hadn’t had back in school, when Levi’s and a Weezer T-shirt were basically his uniform.
She allowed a smile of greeting to flicker across her lips and then she focused her attention on Buddy. The dog was shivering as if he expected to be hacked in two with a meat cleaver. Matted fur rippled. He’d gained weight, obviously, which didn’t indicate a dog at death’s door.
“It’s been so long,” Roy said. “But you look . . .”
“Older.” She spoke to the dog, because it was easier. “We’re all a little older, aren’t we, Buddy?”
Buddy answered with another tremble and a whimper.
Roy cleared his throat. “I was actually hoping Dr. Fenton would be here today, not you.”
Jane frowned.
“I mean”—he skimmed a hand through his hair the way he used to when there had been more of it—“I’m sure you’re as good as Dr. Fenton, but . . .” He blew out a breath. “This is so hard. I mean, about Buddy. And then seeing you . . .”
She raised a brow. “What’s wrong with Buddy?”
In a gesture she remembered well, Roy lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “He’s old.”
Buddy was ten, which was old for a big dog. But a quick listen to his heart and lungs indicated that he was still going strong. Just quivering in fear.
She stepped back and patted his head, even though it made him flinch. Outside the vet, he had a heart like a lion. Inside, he was the Cowardly Lion.
“Buddy seems the same as the last time I saw him, about four months ago, which was when Wanda brought him in.” She froze as soon as she spoke the name, then looked Roy in the eye. “I was so sorry about your mom, Roy.”
He nodded, but his jaw popped with tension. “I expected to see you at the funeral.”
“I wanted to be there. You know how much I loved her. But we had an emergency here—I had to do a surgery on a dog that had been run over. And then you left so quickly . . .”
“I had to.”
Jane nodded, although she wondered if that meant he had business he needed to get back to in Seattle, or if he’d been so broken up he just couldn’t stand to be in Mesquite Creek. Maybe it had been a little of both.
“I asked Aunt Ona to look after everything until I could come back and get Mom’s stuff settled,” he explained. “But Aunt Ona can’t stand Buddy. She says he sheds and drools and”—he lowered his voice, as if to spare Buddy’s feelings—“he has a problem with flatulence.”
Jane would have laughed at that, but she felt her irritation rising. She kept her eyes trained on Buddy—a sweet, gentle giant of a dog who she remembered as a fuzzy white puppy. Wanda had gotten him to keep her company, since Roy was making noises about not coming back to Mesquite Creek after college. Buddy had been like a second son to her. Wanda had had three things she was proud of in her life: Roy, the fact that she hadn’t touched a drink for twenty years, and her dog.
“Let me get this straight,” Jane said, straining to keep her voice steady. “You’re going to euthanize your mom’s beloved pet because Ona thinks he farts too much?”
Roy’s eyes widened. “He’s an old dog. Great Pyrenees don’t live past twelve. I looked it up on the Internet.”
“The Internet?” Jane usually aimed for a professional distance when it came to how people dealt with their pets in crises, but Roy’s words sent her professional demeanor out the window. She’d hoped his coming here had been on impulse, that he was looking for guidance. But this was just too cold. “You searched the Web to rationalize putting Buddy to sleep?”
“Only because I was sure—”
“All you needed to do was look into his eyes.” She gestured toward Buddy. Unfortunately, he wasn’t at his best at that moment. The raised tension in the room caused his entire body to shake, sending a cloud of dander up around him. At the same time, a thick strand of drool cascaded out one side of his quivering jowls. Also, a pungent odor now suffused the room.
But that doggy gaze, soulful and dark, so full of plaintive, heartbreaking uncertainty provided more fuel for Jane’s anger. Three months ago he’d lost his owner, his beloved person. He’d been shunted off into exile with Aunt Ona, who obviously hadn’t taken care of him. And now here came Roy, Mr. Don’t-Look-Back, to snuff his life out completely.
“I will not euthanize Buddy,” she declared.
Roy looked trapped, defensive. “What am I going to do with him?”
“You could take him home with you.”
He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “That wouldn’t work. My place in Seattle is full of stairs, and I’m at work all day, and I travel a couple of times a month.”
She’d heard about his life from his mom, of course. Wanda had always lavished Jane with details of Roy’s successful life, wanting her to know what a prize she’d let slip through her fingers. Roy was the catch of Seattle, the playboy of the West Coast. Wanda had always considered the breakup to be Jane’s fault, which was true . . . up to a point. Much as she’d loved Roy, Jane had already been accepted to vet school at Texas A & M for doctorate studies when he wanted to take off for Seattle. It would have been wrong to give up everything she’d ever worked hard for and dreamed of, not to mention everything her parents had dreamed of for her, to run off with him.