Chapter 70
Nate struggled not to drown in a sea of panic. Nothing was going like he’d hoped.
By the time he made it back to the B&B with a new rental vehicle, McKenna had already left to get Bobbi.
Now, hours later, they still weren’t back yet, Oliver was still MIA, and last time Nate checked, which was probably thirty seconds ago since he’d been checking his phone roughly every thirty seconds, he still didn’t have any word from his dad.
He checked his phone again.
Nope. Nothing.
He wiped sweat off his forehead and thanked a group of ladies for leaving a donation in the “Let’s Benefit Bugle’s Library” basket Georgie was making him man at one of the many folding tables scattered throughout the property.
Barb had a vegetable table beneath the walnut tree. Evie had a knitting display table inside the house right next to the bathroom, which was only making money off the Harrys since everyone else was supposed to use the porta potties Georgie insisted they rent.
“We’ll make all the money back,” she kept saying. “We will.”
Not based on the donations Nate had witnessed so far.
In fact, the group of ladies still standing in front of him had already removed their donations from the basket as they frowned in unison at the sign taped to the front of the table that read Harry Connick Junior is unfortunately unable to attend this evening’s festivities.
“No Harry?”
“No Harry?”
“Who’s Harry?”
“Didn’t I try telling everyone that Harry Connick Junior wasn’t coming?” The last voice belonged to Lottie, who’d taken up residence beside Nate so she could gleefully inform everyone upon their arrival how right she’d been all along.
Nate ignored her and continued to answer the same questions he’d been receiving for the past hour and a half as more and more people filtered in for the concert that was supposed to start in less than twenty minutes.
“It’s true we don’t have that Harry, but rest assured, we do have a Harry.
Three of them. So if you don’t enjoy the first act, just wait for the next one.
In the meantime, quench your thirst at the drink table, feed your appetite at the meat station, grab a chicken, pet a goat, and get ready for an evening you’ll never forget. ”
“We certainly won’t,” added Lottie.
No, they certainly wouldn’t.
Nate let his gaze wander over to where a choir dressed in white robes stood next to the chicken coop, rehearsing “The Star-Spangled Banner” on their kazoos while a man with barbecue stains all over his white apron waved a giant pair of meat tongs and told them to stop stealing his act.
Meanwhile whichever Harry played bass was running around asking if anybody had seen his lucky hat while Georgie argued with another Harry about which folding table he could use to sell his books.
“I’ve already explained to you,” said Georgie, clutching one of the chickens in her arms because things had reached a level where people were having heated discussions with chickens clutched in their arms, “that you have fifteen minutes, tops, and the white folding table in the glass cottage is specifically reserved for the drinks because it has the least wobble.”
“I can’t sign books on a wobbly table any more than I can explain the entire Jazz Age in fifteen minutes. That’s ridiculous.”
Lottie cupped a hand around her mouth. “None of my folding tables from the Dominoes Dance wobbled. Just saying.”
“Oh, you wobble worse than any table I know,” Georgie yelled back at her before returning her attention to Hairy Harry or Harry Three or whatever they were calling this particular Harry these days.
“Fifteen minutes is plenty. Besides, I don’t hear Tall Harry complaining and he’s only getting ten minutes. ”
Georgie plopped the chicken into Tall Harry’s hands as he passed by.
“Am I Tall Harry?” he said. “Because I thought I had twenty minutes.”
He handed the chicken off to McKenna’s boss, who immediately dropped it and pulled a handkerchief out from his pocket to wipe off his hands. “Any word from McKenna? Don’t you think she should be here by now?”
McKenna’s boss had been pacing back and forth in front of Nate’s table like a Navy captain’s wife waiting for her husband to return from sea, asking the same two questions for over an hour.
Nate’s answer hadn’t changed. “Her last text said they’d finally made it out of the traffic jam and were getting close. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”
Maybe. Hopefully. At this point Nate wasn’t sure of anything.
And he felt even less sure when the same white truck he’d spotted yesterday at his dad’s place drove around the barricade at the bottom of the driveway instead of following the arrows to the nearby field where Gus was directing everyone to park.
Had his dad actually come through? If so, who was about to step out of that vehicle?