Chapter Three #2
The young woman looked back and forth between them, tucking her daughter closer to her side. “We’re fine. Just asking for directions. I’ll just be going.”
Bailey Rae stepped closer and touched the woman’s elbow with only a fingertip. “Hold on, Gia. This is Martin Perez—he’s a game warden. The police officer I reached out to assured me you can trust him.”
Was that a hint of resignation about the “trust” part? She must still be holding a grudge over the ticket. Rules mattered, though. He’d learned that lesson the hard way right before he’d left the army.
Then her words registered deeper. Why would it matter that the young mother could trust him? He reassessed the stranger’s tear-streaked face and found ... fear. Not just the afraid-of-bugs kind. More of a terrified-of-snakes sort.
Libby inched back into her wheelchair, cane across her knees. “She needs our help relocating.”
Relocating?
The fear in her—Gia’s—eyes shouted as loudly as the faint bruise he could now see blooming on her cheek. He measured his words, not wanting to alert the child. “Ma’am, is what Mrs. Libby’s saying true? Are you in need of emergency lodgings?”
Gia chewed her bottom lip, nodding. “For my daughter and me. Just somewhere to stay tonight, until things, um, settle down at home.”
His gaze skated to the little girl as well, and while he saw no sign of outward injury, her expression was another story. Withdrawn. Nervous.
Libby tugged her cell phone from a quilted pouch on the side of her chair.
“I can call the Lodge-Inn to see about a vacancy. You’ll want to use a different name, preferably pay cash—for the sake of getting that cooling-down time.
” Her face creased with confusion for a moment before she said, “I watch a lot of true crime and ‘most wanted’ shows.”
Not exactly the television lineup he would have expected from sweet little Libby.
Gia clutched her purse in a white-knuckled grip. “How much does a room at the Lodge-Inn cost?”
Since he’d heard that the Lodge-Inn had closed five years ago due to unpaid back taxes, Martin opted for a more affordable answer. “There’s a women’s shelter in the next county. They’ll be better equipped to steer you in the right direction. I can call ahead and see if there’s a room available.”
Gia exhaled. Hard. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Libby tapped the table for attention. “Be sure to park your car somewhere else so he can’t find you.”
Libby was one of a kind. Martin smothered a wry smile and looked back at Gia. “Have you filed a police report? If not, I can give you a ride to the station first—”
“Martin,” Bailey Rae interrupted, “I think we’re overwhelming Mrs. Abernathy.”
Abernathy? The same surname as the missing fisherman he’d been wading through swamps trying to locate. His instincts ramped into overdrive. “Any relation to Owen Abernathy?”
Her tear-streaked face paled.
The little girl popped her thumb out of her mouth. “Uncle Owen?”
“Ma’am?” Martin asked.
“He’s my husband’s brother,” Gia answered softly. Defensively.
He wanted to wrangle a police officer over here ASAP to help but worried the woman might bolt if he left. “Did you know he went missing a few days back while fishing?”
“Owen’s probably just on a camping trip,” Gia answered with a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “He always turns up after a few days.”
Logical. But also coincidental. He wondered what more she might share if given the time. All the more reason to personally escort her to the shelter. They might have more luck persuading her to speak with the authorities.
At the very least, he could pass along her location to the police in case they had questions—or concerns. “Sounds like your family’s been going through a lot lately. Maybe you and your husband would benefit from a breather.”
“Ian and I could use a break, that’s for sure,” Gia said with a weak smile, her eyes darting to Bailey Rae and Libby. “It’s so hard loving the wrong man.”
Silently, Libby clasped her hand.
Martin wasn’t much good when it came to comfort, but he could tackle logistics.
“How about I call that shelter. I’ll even show you where it is. You can follow me.” He glanced at Libby, then back to Gia Abernathy again. “And if you need to shuffle where you park, I’ll be on hand.”
Gia nodded fast, her throat moving in a long swallow. “Thank you. Yes, please.”
As he pulled out his phone to place the call, Bailey Rae mouthed thank you .
He believed she meant it. But he doubted it softened her grudge.
Three hours later, after dropping off her trailer and Skeeter back at the farm, Bailey Rae knew she should rest easy now that she’d passed over Gia Abernathy to Martin Perez’s care.
But she had never been good at putting things out of her mind and moving on. She had worn out that mental hamster wheel far too often to believe otherwise.
Her only defense? Run faster until she found the answers she sought—or she crashed.
Her odds today were pretty even on the outcome.
So here she stood outside the Fill ’Er Up Café in search of answers from Thea and June, who—according to Thea’s husband—had come here a half hour ago. Bailey Rae pushed through the front door, bell chiming her arrival to a packed clientele, dining on the supper specials.
Chicken-fried steak or chicken pot pie. Healthy-heart meals were tough to come by in Bent Oak, where deep-frying, homemade biscuits, and real butter reigned supreme. As an employee, she knew the menu by heart, both from waitressing and working as a backup short-order cook.
The old gas station had been renovated into a restaurant. People in Bent Oak were thrifty, the ultimate in upcycling. Offices in back had been converted into a restaurant-grade kitchen, with the former garage transformed into a dining space with soaring ceilings.
During the fair-weather days, the garage door opened to let a fresh river breeze sweep through as if celebrating the remnants of spring before summer sealed the space for air-conditioning.
Ceiling fans swirled overhead. Rusty hubcaps and custom license plates that filled in the bare spots showcased the local who’s who.
This was more than just a restaurant to her, more than just a place to earn a buck.
The eatery had once been the town’s only gas station, owned by Uncle Russell’s grandparents.
They’d both died before she arrived in Bent Oak, but she’d spent hours here on Saturdays passing tools while Russell rebuilt his latest vehicle for dirt track racing.
He would give her change for a cold Coke from the bright-red machine while he made use of the garage’s lift.
She remembered most, though, how he talked to her, drawing out more than a yes or no answer from her, like her opinions mattered on everything from the best fishing currents to the upcoming town council election to her favorite boy band crush.
For a girl who’d been in survival mode for too long, it had felt indulgent to discuss something other than how to make it to the next day.
About twelve years ago, the place had been sold when a chain gas station with automatic card readers put old-school establishments out of business.
Aunt Winnie had told Uncle Russell that only people mattered, not places.
Still, her steely eyes carried a sadness when passing over the keys, maybe even a hint of tears—quickly gone, of course. Aunt Winnie hadn’t been a crier.
To this day, the scent of motor oil made her think of Uncle Russell and self-respect.
Scanning the dining space, she finally located Thea and June in the far back corner. Not their normal table in the center. Their heads were bent close together as they talked, their food uneaten in front of them.
Bailey Rae made a beeline toward them. The familiar faces provided an obstacle course of greetings from a community where chatting without rushing was considered a commandment Moses must have forgotten to haul down from Mount Sinai.
Right up there along with Thou shalt not leave the saltshaker off the table .
“Mrs. Thea and Miss June,” Bailey Rae said, gripping the back of a chair, “do you mind if I join you?”
The two women bolted apart like they’d been discussing state secrets—or the ingredients to Thea’s lemon bars, something she shared with no one but her closest friends. Even Bailey Rae hadn’t been privy to the recipe.
“Please do.” Thea moved her purse from the chair to hang on the back of her own seat. “How did the rest of the day go at the market?”
June patted the empty chair. “You’ll have to forgive me if I hope the sale was a bust and you have to stay in Bent Oak.” She raised her hands. “I’m just telling it like it is.”
“So when you mis-tagged things with an extra digit in the price, it wasn’t an accident?” Bailey Rae asked wryly and received a teasing wink from June. “Thankfully, I corrected them after a customer questioned why a Mason jar full of peaches cost fifty dollars.”
Thea covered her hand. “Just know we love you and only want the best for you. I’ll be sure to keep a closer watch over June when we help you get ready for next Saturday’s sale.”
“Speaking of the inventory ...” Moving on to the real reason for seeking them out, Bailey Rae reached into her leather backpack and fished around for the cookbook she’d tucked away earlier. “What’s the deal with this?”
Their silence lasted a beat too long.
“Mrs. Thea? I know your hearing works just fine.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just local recipes.” Thea pressed her fingers to her chest. “All but my lemon bars, of course. Perhaps it’s time I shared it with you.”
Bailey Rae wasn’t diverted that easily. “But Aunt Winnie has so very many copies. Isn’t that strange?”
June smirked, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Maybe they weren’t very popular. Or she over-ordered. You know how Winnie could be with her collections.”
Reasonable explanations. Any other day she wouldn’t have thought twice. Something had changed, though, when that woman approached her booth at the market, followed by Libby’s stranger-than-usual responses.
Now Thea and June’s evasiveness made her all the more suspicious. “There was a ruckus at the market earlier. A young mother showed up with a vintage version insisting there was some kind of hidden message directing her here for help.”
Both women across from her went silent. Longer than the silence over the cookbooks. Thea wiped a water spot on the table. June fidgeted with a fork, scraping the white gravy off her chicken-fried steak.
Bailey Rae leaned on her elbows, dropping her voice. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”
Thea returned her napkin to her lap. “Maybe she just needed some of Winnie’s special canned goods before they’re sold out. The cookbook does promote them.”
A logical assumption, except there was tension sprinkled as heavily as salt at a potluck. “She’s leaving her husband, and she is clearly afraid.”
An understatement.
June rested her fork on the edge of her plate. “That must have been so upsetting for you after all you and your mother went through.”
Bailey Rae would have applauded June’s pivot if it had been directed at anyone else.
But neither woman had answered the question.
“I’m fine. Thank you. Just curious. Libby seemed to understand what the woman meant, and I would have asked questions to clarify, but Keith rushed Libby away when he arrived to pick her up. ”
Which was just as well, given Libby’s memory issues. Thea and June were the better choices to ask.
“Libby’s confused,” Thea said, shaking her head as she stabbed a fork into the middle of her chicken pot pie, pushing the crust into the soft insides. “That’s a sad reality of her Alzheimer’s disease.”
June pressed her fingers to the edges of her eyes and cleared her throat. “Um, what happened to the young woman? The one with the cookbook?”
A waitress angled in, placing a glass of sweet tea in front of Bailey Rae.
Kinsley was a new hire, a teenager working evenings and weekends who hadn’t mastered the art of discerning when not to interrupt patrons.
“Hey there, anybody need refills? Bailey Rae, can I get your order? We’re running low on the pot pie, but I can snag one for you if you want. ”
“Nothing to eat,” Bailey Rae said. “Just the sweet tea.”
“Or napkins?” Kinsley pressed. “Does your dinner taste okay—”
Thea cut in. “We’re fine, dear.”
The teen also hadn’t found the balance of how too much attention could be just as bad as not enough. Bailey Rae remembered well from her own early days waitressing here at the Fill ’Er Up Café.
“Thank you, Kinsley,” Bailey Rae said, waiting for the girl to leave before turning back. “Martin Perez is escorting her and her daughter to a women’s shelter. He’s going to text me once they’re settled.”
Thea frowned. “Not the police?”
“The woman was nervous about the authorities.” Bailey Rae squeezed a lemon slice into the glass before sliding in the straw and stirring through the ice. “And regardless, they were otherwise occupied with fallout from the wild pig incident.”
“Hmmm,” Thea said. “Good, good. So, how did you do on your sales today?”
“The inventory sold better than I’d hoped, but still a ways from my goal. I’ll get there, though, thanks to all your help sorting. Before you know it, there will be nothing left keeping me in Bent Oak.”
Bailey Rae leaned to sip her tea, the cool drink washing away grit, if not the tension. The tea wasn’t as good as Aunt Winnie’s and it wasn’t in a Mason jar, but it made Bailey Rae think of her all the same—conversation and wisdom shared over a scarred table.
What would her aunt have done this morning to help Gia Abernathy and her daughter? Would Winnie have understood what the woman meant about the cookbook?
As Bailey Rae looked at two of her aunt’s best friends across the table, she wished she could ask them and trust that they would give her an honest answer. But sure as she was sitting here sipping sweet tea through a soggy paper straw, Bailey Rae knew they were hiding something.
And no one could make either of these two women say or do something unless they chose. Best to let them keep their secrets and focus on tidying up the remains of her life in Bent Oak.
Her phone buzzed from inside her backpack with an incoming text. She abandoned her tea and snatched up her bag. “That must be Officer Perez with an update.”
Thea quirked a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “Nothing at all holding you in Bent Oak, eh?”