Chapter 4
Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
“Yipes,” I exclaimed.
“Yipes is right, if any of it’s true,” Lillian agreed.
Magda clucked her tongue. “Which most likely it is not.”
Jason’s supposed history made me think of Jay Gatsby and how many lies had been told about him. What was truth, and what was fiction?
Someone knocked loudly on the door. Magda gasped.
“It’s me,” Zach yelled from the porch.
Lillian said, “Relax, Nana. It’s Allie’s guest. We should go.”
“Come on in,” I called.
‘“Come on in.’ How neighborly.” Lillian tittered. “Yes, darlin’, you keep telling yourself you’re just friends.” She reinserted the suit and dress into the bag. “Swing by the shop this week so I can show you the rest.”
“Don’t rush out on account of me, Lillian,” Zach said, emerging from the foyer.
“Me rush, Detective? A lady never rushes.” She blew him an air-kiss, slung the dress bag over her arm, and sauntered out of the house, deliberately swinging her hips.
Her grandmother gave Zach a once-over, said, “Have a nice night, Detective,” and followed Lillian out.
Zach laughed. “Lillian is such a character.”
“Yes, she is.”
“And her mother is a hoot. According to her, she knows everything about everyone in town.”
“I’ll bet she does.” I moved toward the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?”
“Beer, thanks. Got any Holy Grail?”
Monty Python’s Holy Grail was a hoppy and nutty English pale ale, and as it humorously stated on the bottle, it tasted as if it had been “tempered over burning witches.” A month ago Zach had discovered it and loved it, so I always had it on hand.
I fetched a bottle and an opener and handed them to him.
He popped the top and took a sip. Darcy abandoned his playtime beneath the chair and scuttled to Zach.
He scooped up the cat in one hand and kissed his nose.
Like me, Zach was an animal person. Unlike me, he’d had a menagerie while growing up: cats, dogs, and rabbits. His mother was a soft touch.
“Mom says hello,” he said.
His mother owned Jukebox Joint, or the Joint, as locals had dubbed it. It was a hip and happening diner and one of my newest clients. Sadly, Zach’s father, whom I had never met, had passed away from a heart attack when Zach was in high school.
“I see cards on the table,” he said, settling onto a chair, which he dwarfed due to his six-foot-four frame.
He mounded a pile of pennies on the table, after which he began to shuffle a well-used deck.
“Got your losings ready?” He swooped a lock of dark hair off his face, a move that made the muscles beneath his short-sleeved polo bulge. “You’re going down.”
“No, you are.” I fetched the mason jar of pennies I’d labeled my winnings from the fireplace mantel, plunked it on the table, retreated to the kitchen for the snack plates I’d arranged, and returned. “Cheese and salami, a few accoutrements, and cookies.”
He took a sugar cookie, which I knew he’d go for first. He loved sugar cookies … or any cookie, for that matter. “Things good?” he asked.
“Good enough. Busy.” I sat at the table and had a sip of wine. I didn’t eat anything. Lillian’s gossip about Jason Gardner had thrown me for a loop. Were any of the rumors true? Was he running from the law? “Have you heard about the guy who came to town to build a mall? His name is Jason Gardner.”
“Nope.”
I filled him in on what I’d learned at the bookshop as well as from Reika. “So, there she and I were, sipping coffee, when Finette Fineworthy came into Ragamuffin with Iggie Luckenbill. And get this, they were arguing about Jason’s intentions.”
“Neither keeping their voices down, I imagine.”
I chuckled. “Right. Iggie said he’d wanted to bid on the mall project. He demanded to know why he hadn’t gotten the gig. Finette, in no uncertain terms, called him a hack.”
“Whoa!”
“I know. She added that Jason promised to tailor the project in keeping with the town’s designs, implying Iggie wouldn’t.”
Zach sipped his beer.
“Jason is originally from Bramblewood,” I went on. “It turns out Magda Bellingham knew his parents. But he relocated to California when he was young.”
“I can always count on you to get the skinny.”
Zach dealt cards, two each facedown and one up. I had the lowest upcard, a three—he drew a six—so I paid the bring-in of one penny. He matched it and dealt another upcard to each of us. A four to me. A five to himself.
“Go on,” he said.
I peeked at my down cards. An ace and a jack. Not a pair. Even so, I added another penny to the pot. I wasn’t rash. I was confident.
“Big spender,” Zach teased.
“Iggie got quite steamed and asked Finette if Jason was bribing her.”
Zach whistled. “That must’ve gone over well.”
“Like a sledgehammer. She put him in his place and stormed out.”
“She’s a tough nut. Her father was equally robust.”
I hadn’t known the man, although his reputation as a fireman was epic.
He’d saved many people, homes, and kittens from near disaster.
He passed away ten years ago, and her mother, a year after that from a broken heart, if the stories were correct.
The remaining relatives Finette had were her sister, who lived in Arizona, and their great-aunt, who was childless.
According to Finette, her great-aunt had declined in recent years.
“By the way,” I said, “I’ve seen Finette eyeing you at council meetings.”
“Nah.”
“Oh, yeah. She likes you.”
“Get out of here. I’m young enough to be her little brother.”
I chuckled.
He dealt another upcard. A four for me, meaning I had a pair showing, and a seven to himself. With his down cards, he might have the beginning of a straight, but my hand was better for now. I bet another penny.
“I see on Instagram you and she still join in the Hikers Rule meetup group.”
“We hike. End of story.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “She’s quite attractive.”
“Cut it out. Not interested.” Soon after his wife died, he joined the army, after which he moved home to Bramblewood, went to college, and subsequently joined the police force. I was the first woman he’d dated since his return. “Tell me more about this Jason guy.”
He dealt a fourth upcard. A ten for me and an eight for himself. My pair was still the best hand. I added another penny.
“He says the mall will be a mecca, a place where everyone can gather and be a community.”
“Did you like him?”
“Sure. He’s nice enough. But I hate to see historic property destroyed.” I sipped my wine. “I was hoping those houses would be part of the preservation society’s tour for years to come.”
“Yes, me, too.” Zach offered a supportive smile and a casual shrug. “We can’t fight progress sometimes.”
“Is a mall progress?”
“Some in town will be thrilled they don’t have to go all the way to Asheville to shop. Mall stores will offer lower prices.”
“Making mom-and-pop shops struggle. Ugh.” I heaved a sigh. “I wanted to create protest signs, but Tegan and Vanna talked me out of it.”
“I’m glad they did,” he said. “Demonstrations don’t get results and often garner resentment.” He dealt the last upcards. A four to me and an eight to him.
Three of a kind was a good hand. I added five pennies to the pot.
He matched the bet and raised me two more pennies. I saw the bet and flipped over my ace and jack. Slowly, painstakingly, he turned over one card, a ten, and then the next, a nine. He had a straight, five to ten.
“Rats!” I muttered.
He gathered his winnings, took another cookie, and shuffled the deck. After we played ten more games, he yawned, which of course made me yawn.
“It’s late,” he said, rising. “I’ll get going.” Darcy sped to him for a goodnight caress. Zach obliged and walked to the door. He rested his hand on the doorknob. “You know, Allie …” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.
“I do know. A lot.”
“Yeah, you’re a know-it-all.” His grin was easy, warm. “Sleep well.”
After he left, I leaned my back against the door. What had he wanted to say? Had he wanted to talk about our friendship? The kiss? How I wished I was good at reading men, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t a fatal flaw, but it sure didn’t make life easy.
While cleaning up the dining table, I stumbled over Darcy’s catnip toy.
Frustrated, I kicked it across the room.
Darcy startled and leaped into the barrel of the llama cat-scratching station to hide.
I peered in at him. “Don’t worry, my sweet pal.
I will never hurt you. Your toy? There’s a chance.
You? Never.” I reached in and stroked him beneath his chin.
The action soothed me and helped him chill.
The next morning after loading up Vanna’s vehicle at Dream Cuisine with the goodies she would deliver—she owned a Nissan NV Cargo van, so I didn’t need to lend her my Ford Transit—I headed to Feast for the Eyes.
Tegan was already at the shop, behind the sales counter, unpacking a sizable delivery of copies of The Great Gatsby.
She’d ordered the deluxe hardbound edition, which featured an Art Deco drawing of an elegant couple standing in front of a snazzy car and a huge mansion.
The house reminded me of the Sugarbaker estate, and I thought about Jason Gardner.
He hadn’t called me yet about catering his soiree.
Had he merely been polite in asking for my card?
Had he reached out to Vanna instead? No.
She couldn’t have held such juicy news from me.
It was against her nature. She’d have wanted to boast.
“Let’s tag this stack. Here’s the list of preorders.” Tegan provided a printed copy.