Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 07 by O Little Town of Maggody Page B

customers, and it’s all I can do to handle them until Joyce gets here to help me out. If you got something to say, spit it out.”
    They both gave Ripley suspicious looks, as if he were dressed in a trenchcoat and sunglasses. He held up his hand and said, “Please don’t think I’d stoop so low as to eavesdrop, my dear ladies.”
    “Then see that you don’t,” Ruby Bee said sternly before turning back to Estelle. “Well?”
    “I was driving out Finger Lane to look for the last of the little yellow bur marigolds to make an arrangement for the table by the door where I keep my appointment book.” She smiled at Ripley. “It’s a maple drop leaf that I inherited from my second cousin. He died of a broken heart after his wife ran off with a preacher with a wooden leg. I guess you could say she ran off and he hobbled off.”
    “He doesn’t care where you got the table,” Ruby Bee said in her snippiest voice.
    “I was just being polite by including the gentleman in the conversation,” countered the accused, momentarily nonplussed when the gentleman winked at her. “So I drove by Earl and Eilene’s place, racking my brain as to where I’d seen the marigolds last year, when I happened to glance at the brick pillars at the bottom of you-know-whose driveway. There’s a new sign. I wouldn’t be surprised if the paint’s still tacky.”
    “There are new signs all over town. Some of ‘em are real tacky.”
    “How many of them announce the opening of the Mayor’s Mansion Bed and Breakfast?”
    “You better tell me right this minute that you made this up on account of my forthright remarks about Matt Montana’s Hair Fantasies.”
    “The sign’s stuck right there on the J. The one on the B says the rates include a full country breakfast and reservations are required. Remember the meeting when we made our proposals and voted on ‘em? Who objected to Joyce wanting to paint portraits of Matt on black velvet to sell out of the back of her station wagon? I myself thought it was a real clever idea.”
    “She’s also the one who fought tooth and nail to keep Elsie and Eula from setting up their craft shop across from the pool hall. At least she didn’t get her way on that one.” Ruby Bee realized the peculiar man was hanging on their every word like he was paralyzed except for the tic in his eyelid and the quiver of his chin. “When we learned that the famous country singer Matt Montana is coming to town, we formed a little group to make sure he feels welcome,” she explained curtly to him. There wasn’t any call for tourists to concern themselves with the town’s private affairs. She stomped back down the bar, snatched a jar from a customer’s hand, and held it under the tap until foamy beer streamed over her fingers and down her arms to her elbows.
    Ripley shrugged in apology. “I did notice all the signs about Matt Montana. He was born here?”
    “You bet your bow tie he was, out on County 102 just past my house. It’s been fixed up real nice, and tomorrow is the grand opening with a parade featuring the high school band and local dignitaries. After that, it’ll be open to the public every day till dark, with trained guides to talk about the history of the house and point out the bedroom where Matt Montana was born. You can visit the exact place where Matt was baptized in Boone Creek, and when you get tuckered out, you can ride around the town in the Maggody-Matt-Mobile. It’s like an old-fashioned hayride except for the loudspeakers.”
    “Are any of Matt’s relatives still living here?”
    Estelle ran her tongue over her lips (Tangerine Twist to complement her new sweater) while she considered how to phrase her response. “Well, he has a great-aunt who had to go into the county old folks home a while back, but she distinctly remembers the night Matt was born and in which bedroom. All this has been so exciting for her that it’s like she’s living in a different world these days.” She felt