met
me
, of course. Bernice seems to think Dudley’s still holding a candle for Angelea, and that framing Coach is his diabolical way of getting her husband out of the way. Have you ever heard anything so plumb crazy in all your days?”
A chair, popcorn, and a big Diet Coke with a bendy straw.
“Angelea and I are just friends,” Dudley said to me in a desperate whisper.
I suddenly recalled the rumors that Angelea had been cheating on Coach recently. Was she stepping out with Dudley? He did have a guilty flush about him—but that coloring could also have come from Emmylou’s oversharing.
Emmylou rolled her eyes and possessively latched onto Dudley’s elbow. “If anything, Angelea is still
pining
for Dudley. For Bernice to think differently is just plain crazy.”
Dudley looked like he wanted to shove a spoonful of macaroni salad down Emmylou’s throat to keep her quiet. Clearly he was a proud man who didn’t like airing his dirty laundry to outsiders. He’d probably keel right over if he knew Emmylou had come to see me about his
dudliness
.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a fat rain drop plopped smack-dab on Emmylou’s forehead.
Looking upward, she squealed, “Our picnic!” and started gathering up their supplies.
Dudley muttered something that sounded like, “Divine intervention.”
“Do you want help looking for the ring?” I asked.
Dudley said graciously, “Go on home before you get soaked to the bone, Carly. I’ll come back later with a metal detector. It’ll turn up.”
Emmylou was making quick work of packing her picnic basket. “Let me wrap some of this up for you, Carly.”
“You don’t have to. . . .”
“No, no. I insist.” She shoved a tin of corn bread into my hands. “I’ll come by the shop tomorrow to see you,” she said with a saucy wink.
For the virility potion.
“What for?” Dudley asked.
“For you, darlin’,” Emmylou cooed his way. “I’m sure Carly has something for stress.”
Before I could say I did in fact have a stress potion, Dudley spoke first.
“Thank you kindly, but I’m fine. I don’t need any potion,” he protested, his cheeks bright pink. “Especially not from . . .”
He trailed off, his blush turning red.
“Not from Carly,” he was going to say. I just knew it.
It was like I’d been hit by a two-by-four. Even my regular customers believed the rumors. Dudley never had trouble taking one of my potions before.
He glanced at me apologetically before Emmylou patted my arm. “There, there, Carly. This will all blow over soon enough. How is Coach, by the way?”
“He’s fine,” I said. “Turned out he had a diabetic reaction. He’ll be back home before nightfall.”
“Diabetes, really?” Emmylou said. “That’s interesting. That poor man, bless his heart. Bless
your
heart.” She smiled sympathetically.
I glanced between the two of them, and it was clear as day that neither believed what I’d said about the diabetes.
“I need to get going. Thanks for the corn bread,” I said.
Emmylou gave me a little wave and wrinkled her nose. “See you tomorrow, Carly.”
Nodding, I walked off. As soon as I rounded the corner, I dumped the corn bread in a trash can.
Chapter Nine
I was at a loss about what to do. Bernice Morris surely had some answers to my burning questions, but getting her to divulge them to me was going to take a small miracle.
A raindrop splashed my cheek, and I swiped it away as I headed down the tree-lined sidewalk toward the river walk at the bottom of the hill. It continued to sprinkle, but the storm held off for now.
Despite the weather the river walk was crowded, but I managed to find an empty bench. Most of Darling River was calm and flat, but every half mile or so it would suddenly form into rough water with rapids and small drop-offs—nothing too dangerous, but exciting enough for an afternoon of fun. From where I sat, I could see several kayakers bouncing over and dipping under the churning
me
, of course. Bernice seems to think Dudley’s still holding a candle for Angelea, and that framing Coach is his diabolical way of getting her husband out of the way. Have you ever heard anything so plumb crazy in all your days?”
A chair, popcorn, and a big Diet Coke with a bendy straw.
“Angelea and I are just friends,” Dudley said to me in a desperate whisper.
I suddenly recalled the rumors that Angelea had been cheating on Coach recently. Was she stepping out with Dudley? He did have a guilty flush about him—but that coloring could also have come from Emmylou’s oversharing.
Emmylou rolled her eyes and possessively latched onto Dudley’s elbow. “If anything, Angelea is still
pining
for Dudley. For Bernice to think differently is just plain crazy.”
Dudley looked like he wanted to shove a spoonful of macaroni salad down Emmylou’s throat to keep her quiet. Clearly he was a proud man who didn’t like airing his dirty laundry to outsiders. He’d probably keel right over if he knew Emmylou had come to see me about his
dudliness
.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a fat rain drop plopped smack-dab on Emmylou’s forehead.
Looking upward, she squealed, “Our picnic!” and started gathering up their supplies.
Dudley muttered something that sounded like, “Divine intervention.”
“Do you want help looking for the ring?” I asked.
Dudley said graciously, “Go on home before you get soaked to the bone, Carly. I’ll come back later with a metal detector. It’ll turn up.”
Emmylou was making quick work of packing her picnic basket. “Let me wrap some of this up for you, Carly.”
“You don’t have to. . . .”
“No, no. I insist.” She shoved a tin of corn bread into my hands. “I’ll come by the shop tomorrow to see you,” she said with a saucy wink.
For the virility potion.
“What for?” Dudley asked.
“For you, darlin’,” Emmylou cooed his way. “I’m sure Carly has something for stress.”
Before I could say I did in fact have a stress potion, Dudley spoke first.
“Thank you kindly, but I’m fine. I don’t need any potion,” he protested, his cheeks bright pink. “Especially not from . . .”
He trailed off, his blush turning red.
“Not from Carly,” he was going to say. I just knew it.
It was like I’d been hit by a two-by-four. Even my regular customers believed the rumors. Dudley never had trouble taking one of my potions before.
He glanced at me apologetically before Emmylou patted my arm. “There, there, Carly. This will all blow over soon enough. How is Coach, by the way?”
“He’s fine,” I said. “Turned out he had a diabetic reaction. He’ll be back home before nightfall.”
“Diabetes, really?” Emmylou said. “That’s interesting. That poor man, bless his heart. Bless
your
heart.” She smiled sympathetically.
I glanced between the two of them, and it was clear as day that neither believed what I’d said about the diabetes.
“I need to get going. Thanks for the corn bread,” I said.
Emmylou gave me a little wave and wrinkled her nose. “See you tomorrow, Carly.”
Nodding, I walked off. As soon as I rounded the corner, I dumped the corn bread in a trash can.
Chapter Nine
I was at a loss about what to do. Bernice Morris surely had some answers to my burning questions, but getting her to divulge them to me was going to take a small miracle.
A raindrop splashed my cheek, and I swiped it away as I headed down the tree-lined sidewalk toward the river walk at the bottom of the hill. It continued to sprinkle, but the storm held off for now.
Despite the weather the river walk was crowded, but I managed to find an empty bench. Most of Darling River was calm and flat, but every half mile or so it would suddenly form into rough water with rapids and small drop-offs—nothing too dangerous, but exciting enough for an afternoon of fun. From where I sat, I could see several kayakers bouncing over and dipping under the churning
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