Who?
Phelma Jo stepped forward. “Go away!” she said, clenching her stick tightly. “You can’t be here. We aren’t finished.”
“Come with me, Phelma Jo. I can help you. I can make everything right for you again.” He held out his hand invitingly. “I can be your friend.”
She knew that hand. She’d held it before. She’d slapped it away in anger. She… she couldn’t remember all the reasons why she hated that hand.
“I belong here now. Hay says I have to stay until he calls me. Then we can finish our job.” Something was wrong with that statement. Why would she wait for any man to tell her what to do?
“Hay can’t help you. Hay will just cost you money. Hay will take away your control over your life.” He took one step closer.
She backed up until she bumped into the fir. The rough bark poked at her spine and scratched her pretty blouse.
“Phelma Jo, you’re hurt. I can help you.” Again with that entreating hand.
His left hand. She knew he should stretch out his right. What was his right hand doing?
She spotted the iron weapon on his hip and raised her stick.
She slammed the stick down on the side of his head, knocking the ridiculous hat to the side.
His knees gave out, and he sank to the ground.
“Damn, I knew I should have brought a real gun.” His eyes rolled up and he fell forward, his face on her feet.
Very good, PJ. Now you can come out of the woods. I have work for you, a tiny voice insinuated into her mind. I’ve invented a new game with matches. You can light the first fire.
Obediently, she kicked aside the man she thought she should know and strode across the grass to the opposite side of the woods.
She wouldn’t wait for instructions. She’d light that fire where and when she chose.
Thirty-seven
DUSTY AND CHASE WANDERED the grounds, holding hands. They nodded to the mayor. Dusty waved to Pamela Shiregrove and her handsome husband.
All of the committees seemed to be doing their jobs without supervision. She giggled a bit. “Mom trained them well. But she’d never believe they could do anything without her hovering over them, driving them crazy.”
The cell phone tucked into her bra vibrated and jingled. Dusty looked down at her scant cleavage in surprise. A call now could only mean something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. “Now what?”
She fished the phone out with her free hand, never letting go of Chase. He inspected the procedure with extreme interest, lingering on her breasts even after she freed the phone.
The international exchange on the caller ID told her all. “Hi, Mom. I’m kind of busy right now.”
“What time is it there? Has the Ball started? Did you make sure the serviettes match the tablecloths and candles? And I just remembered the big slotted serving spoons are in a box in the attic of the gift shop.”
“I know, Mom. We took care of it. And yes, the tablecloths, serviettes, and candles coordinate. We’re doing fine. But I’ve got to get back to my guests.”
“Yes, of course. What are you wearing? I do hope you aren’t in those musty old pioneer dresses you favor. You need something light and colorful…”
“Mom, I’m dressed as a white swallowtail Pixie, complete with tiara. And Chase looks marvelous as the local sheriff.”
“That’s nice. But did Ted call you? Why aren’t you with the date I arranged for you?”
“Ted did call, and we agreed we’d both be happier dating someone else. I’m with Chase tonight. Ted should be coming with his real girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Mom’s voice fell flat.
“Mom, I followed all of your instructions for the Ball to the letter.” Then she’d tossed most of them and started over from scratch with a less redundant and micromanaged schedule.
“But…”
“Not now, Mom.” Dusty closed the phone with a decisive click.
It rang again. She ignored it after a quick glance at the caller ID.
“Good for you, Dusty,” Chase whispered as he leaned in for a quick kiss.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. Mom will never let go of me until I cut the umbilical cord myself. Until I define myself and not let her and the dead cancer do it for me.”
Chase just grinned and kissed her again.
“Amazing that the food comes out of the kitchens at regular intervals, the musicians play twenty-minute sets and then retire to the punch bowl, and all the guests are behaving themselves,” Chase mused. “All without your mother telling people what to do, when to do it, why they should do it, and how.”
“I diluted the champagne punch to half usual strength,” Dusty whispered. “No one is getting drunk. Mom would never think of that. She insisted we had to follow the 1857 recipe precisely.”
“You forgot the mayor.” Chase frowned.
“You mean the flask?”
“Yeah.”
“Not to worry. Thistle substituted a different one. He’s drinking heavily watered vodka.”
“Good planning. Good party.” Chase raised her fingers to her lips. “I suppose you’ll want a formal courtship, lots of dates, making out in the back of my pickup before I can ask you to marry me.”
“Oh, I want lots of dates. And lots of making out. But you can ask me before all that happens.” She smiled hugely, leaning closer to him, relishing the strength of his arms and the silly grin on his face.
“Later, when this is all over and we both have time to concentrate on the future, I’ll get down on bended knee and ask you properly. Then Monday morning we go buy a ring. Won’t be very big or flashy, but it will be our promise to each other.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.
Her heart swelled until she thought it would burst, spreading her joy to the entire crowd.
“Have either of you seen Dick?” Thistle ran over to them, a deep frown and worry lines making her almond eyes look sharper, her nose longer, and her ears more pointed.
Dusty jumped away from Chase, embarrassed by their public display. “What’s wrong with Dick?”
“Dick’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Chase reassured her, drawing Dusty back within the circle of his arm.
“I’m not so sure. He’s been gone for hours.” Thistle gnawed on her thumb as she stared at the line of trees festooned with tiny lights that added mystery and romance to their dense shadows.
“Has it been that long?” Now Chase looked a bit worried, his muscles clenched where they held Dusty.
“Dick? Where did he go?” Dusty asked. Panic wanted to claim possession of her mind. Not Dick. Dick was always there, ready to protect her, eager to crack jokes, always coming out on top no matter how much trouble he got into-like when he got set back his sophomore year of high school because he partied too much to do his homework. The next year he’d aced all his classes. Or when he quit medical school halfway through because studying interfered with his party time. Maybe that was the excuse, but he really was better suited as a pharmaceutical representative and volunteer EMT.
“I haven’t seen my brother since just after he got here at five,” she said. A lump formed in her stomach. The same kind of lump that used to send her scurrying to the basement. Now she wanted to range all over the park looking for her errant brother.
“He went into The Ten Acre Wood looking for Phelma Jo,” Chase said. He started walking in that direction with Dusty in tow (as if he didn’t dare let go of her or she’d vanish into the cursed basement) and Thistle following close behind.
“There’s Phelma Jo,” Dusty called. “She looks horrible, all rumpled and dirty. Her hair’s a mess and she’s lost a shoe. That really isn’t like Phelma Jo. What’s she doing with that match?” Her heart climbed to her throat and cut off her breath.