One Summer by David Baldacci Page B

of the older ladies had scarves around their heads. One elderly gent had on seersucker shorts, white socks, and white sandals. Others rode bikes with wicker baskets attached to the fronts. A few people had dogs on leashes, and some kids ran up and down the street. Everyone was very tanned. There was also a sense of prosperity here. Most of the cars parked along the street were late-model luxury sedans or high-dollar convertibles. Some had out-of-state license plates, but most were from South Carolina. But then Jack noted dented and dirty pickup trucks and old Fords and Dodges rolling down the street. The people in those vehicles looked more like he did, Jack thought. Working stiffs.
    They passed a shabby-looking building with a marquee out front that read, CHANNING PLAY HOUSE . An old man was sweeping the pavement in front of the double-door entrance. Next to the entrance was a glass ticket window. The man stopped sweeping and greeted them.
    “What’s the Channing Play House?” Jack asked.
    “Back in its day it was one of the finest regional theater houses in the low country,” said the man, who introduced himself as Ned Parker.
    “Regional theater?” said Jack.
    Parker nodded. “We had shows come all the way down from New York City to perform. Singers, dancers, actors; we had it all.”
    “And now?” Jack said.
    “Well, we still have the occasional performance, but it’s nowhere near what it used to be. Too many video games and big-budget movies.” He pointed at Mikki. “From your generation, missy.”
    Mikki pointed to the marquee, which read, CHANNING TALENT COMPETITION . “What’s that?”
    “Hold it every year in August. Folks compete. Any age and any act. Baton, dancing, fiddling, singing. Lot of fun. It’s a hundred-dollar prize and your picture in the
Channing Gazette
.”
    They continued on, and Jack and Mikki went to the local, well-stocked hardware store and purchased what they needed. A young man who worked at the store helped Jack load the items. Jack noticed that the boy was giving Mikki far more attention than he was Jack. He stepped between the young man and his daughter. “Some of this stuff won’t fit in my truck bed,” Jack pointed out.
    Before the helper could answer, a stocky man in his seventies with snow-white hair strolled out. He was dressed in pleated khaki pants and a dark blue polo shirt with the hardware store’s name and logo on it.
    He said, “That’s no problem; we deliver. Can have it out there today. You’re in the Pinckney place, right?”
    Jack studied him. “That’s right; how’d you know?”
    He put out his hand and smiled. “You beat me to it. I was coming out to see you later today and formally introduce myself. I’m Charles Pinckney, Cecilia’s ‘little’ brother.” He turned to Mikki and extended his hand. “And this must be the celebrated Mikki. Cee wrote me often about you. Let me see, she said you could play a guitar better than anyone she’d ever heard and were as pretty as your mother. I haven’t heard you play, but Cee was spot-on with her assessment of your beauty.”
    In spite of herself, Mikki blushed. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
    Pinckney looked at the young helper. “Billy, take the rest of these materials and set it up for delivery.”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Pinckney.” He hurried off.
    Jack said, “Now I remember. You were at the funeral, but we didn’t get a chance to talk.”
    Pinckney nodded slowly. “I’m the only one left now. Thought for sure Cee would outlive me, even though she was a lot older.”
    “There were ten kids? At least that’s what Lizzie told me.”
    “That’s right. Mother and Dad certainly did their duty. I was the closest with Cee. We talked just about every day. Feel like I lost my best friend.”
    “She was a fine lady. Really helped me out.”
    “She was one of a kind,” agreed Pinckney. “She was duly proud of her heritage. Not many ladies of her generation kept their maiden name, but it wasn’t a