One Foot in the Grove by Kelly Lane

never be seen as any less than perfect. Explaining my oldest sister didn’t seem to matter anyway. Precious never came up for air.
    â€œYour other sister was here, too,” she continued. “Ain’t that Pep a pistol! Promised she’d find me some big dangly skull earrings like what she’s wearin’. Now, mind you, whenit comes to accessories, I’m more of a classic designer gal—not usually into that dark, goth stuff, ya know?”
    Precious flapped and waved her hands around and nodded her head emphatically as she spoke. Still, she never waited for me to say a word. Just kept right on smiling and talking.
    â€œThey got a full house over there with six guests. I said I’d sit with you here a bit, but I gotta head over now. Promised I’d cook a late breakfast for everyone after the detective and his deputies left.”
    â€œGuests? Six?” I’d thought there were only four. Then, I remembered how I’d promised Daphne I’d take care of the New Yorkers. “Oh my God!” I croaked. “Guests! Breakfast! I shot straight out of bed, flailing around stark-naked, hobbling on one foot, looking for my clothes. “What time is it? I’ve got to cook! Buy
donuts
!”
    â€œHold on, Paula Deen.” Precious tapped a finger to my shaking shoulder. I was weaker than I’d imagined and keeled backward onto the bedcovers. Jumping up quickly had only made my colossal headache worse. Made my ankle throb. Made me want to throw up. My head pounded, and my left ribs hurt. My heart fluttered and flip-flopped. I wanted to cry. Precious calmly picked up my bare legs and swept them under the sheets. She pulled up the covers to my chin and tightly tucked everything under the mattress. She wagged her finger.
    â€œThere’s no cookin’ for you today, missy. And there’s no gettin’ out of bed, either, for donuts or anything else,” she scolded. “Like I said, it’s all taken care of. Mister Collier ‘loaned’ me to your folks. I’m helpin’ out, for as long as your big sis needs me.”
    I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what to say. My mind was racing to put it all together. I felt worse than crap. I was totally confused. Who was Mister Collier? Where was I?
    â€œSince your sister’s staff—the Greene twins?—went to the concert and got laid up from the accident on theinterstate, Miss Pep is helping with the servin’ this morning. We got it covered.”
    â€œDaphne’s letting Pep help? Really?” I couldn’t fathom it. She must be
more
than desperate. “Please. I have questions . . .”
    â€œI’m just glad I could help y’all out. Things have been mighty quiet over here.” Precious looked up at the ceiling for a moment. There was a beat before she mumbled, “Too quiet.”
    â€œWait. I’m all confused. Where am I? And who is Mister Collier?”
    â€œWhy, Sunshine, I thought you knew. I mean, surely, where
else
would you be? I work for Mister Collier, right next door to your place. At Greatwoods.”
    â€œGreatwoods? You mean, this is Greatwoods Plantation? Next door?”
    â€œYep. Greatwoods. Right next door,” chirped Precious. “Didn’t I say that?”
    Built during the Gilded Age of the late nineteenth century by cotton broker Duke Dufour and his wife, railroad tycoon heiress Dina Abbot Dufour, the opulent, mega-thousand-acre Greatwoods Plantation featured a grandiose French-style mansion; hunting lodges; stables; guest cottages; and more. The estate was once a summer playground, hunting retreat, and ostentatiously rich and lavish party place for some of America’s most wealthy and famous people. A century later, when I was growing up, the mansion was inhabited by a crotchety spinster descendent, Doris Dufour. The place was rumored to be in general disrepair, and