One Foot in the Grove by Kelly Lane Page A

the old woman was rarely seen in town. A manservant took care of her needs. Most of the land was neglected and became a playground for poachers. I’d been told that during my eighteen-year absence, Doris had perished, Greatwoods had changed hands, and the new owner, a mysterious and reclusive man from out of town, had brought the estate back to its former grandiloquence.
    â€œNow, Sunshine, you just set back and rest,” said Precious.
    â€œNo! Stop! Please. Why was Buck Tanner here? He
was
here, wasn’t he?”
    â€œSheriff Tanner? That man’s as hot as a dog on a stick. Yeah, he was waitin’ and wantin’ to ask you about the dead fellow Mister Collier found layin’ with you in the woods.”
    â€œWha . . . what?”
    â€œMister Collier found you two out there in the fire, and when his cell phone wouldn’t work, probably on account of the weather and all, he brought you back here early this mornin’. We weren’t sure who you was at first. Then, when Doc got here, he said he thought it was you, on account of your hair and all. Doc said all you Knox girls have that pink hair.”
    Floyd “Doc” Payne was old and decrepit looking when I knew him as a child. He’d always reminded me of photos I’d seen of Albert Einstein, with knotted hands; big, bushy eyebrows; and untamed, wiry white hair. Plus he had bad breath. Worst ever. I couldn’t believe he was still practicing medicine—surely he was well into geezerdom.
    â€œIt’s not pink. It’s strawberry-blonde.” I frowned, trying to assimilate everything Precious was saying. It was all too much, too fast, for me to process. Worse still, I didn’t remember any of it.
    â€œWhatever. Your hair looks pink to me. Anyway, once we figured out who you were, we called your folks right away. And the sheriff, of course, on account of the dead fella.”
    â€œDead fellow?” I was starting to remember. I’d been running in the woods . . .
    â€œNow don’t go botherin’ yourself about things—your big sis told me that y’all fret too much.” Precious waved her hand in dismissal. “And Doc said you need to stay calm and rest. No fretting. Besides, I’m sure the dead guy deserved what he got. Men usually do. Maybe it was some sort of accident, like the time my cousin Dewanna shot her husband, Tyrell, when she came home early and found him doin’ the deed with the babysitter on top of the portable dishwasher. Dewanna wasn’t thinkin’ straight when she ran into the bedroom, opened the closet, climbed up on thechair, opened the shoe box, and grabbed Tyrell’s gun and started wavin’ it around—just to scare him, ya know? Well, before y’all know it, the silly gun goes off and Tyrell is plumb dead as a doorknob. Anyway, Dewanna’s always been a good girl, and since the babysitter took off and was never seen again, there was no one to say it
wasn’t
an accident, so Dewanna made out just fine. And I think you’re a good girl like Dewanna. So, no matter what other folks are sayin’, I think that whatever happened was accidental, ya know? Anyways, y’all have got time to think about it. Sheriff won’t be botherin’ us again for a bit. We sent him away, cute, pinchable ass and all.”
    â€œStop! Stop! Stop!” I whined in a squeaky voice that I didn’t even recognize as my own. I put my hand to my forehead, closed my eyes to concentrate, and continued, mustering all the strength I could in my voice. “I remember now. What was the guy from Anthony’s Awesome Pastries—in Boston—doing here? In Abundance? And he was dead. Right? Dead!”
    â€œNow listen, Sunshine, I don’t know nothin’ about no pastry guy from Boston.”
    â€œIt was him—the guy I ordered my wedding cake from. In Boston.” A wave of confusion and anxiety washed over me.