When Eugenia took Lady out for a bathroom break right after lunch, she looked over at the Iversons’ house and was surprised to see their van parked in the driveway. Her heart pounding with happiness, she hurried to their back door as fast as her old legs would carry her.
After several minutes of insistent knocking, the door finally opened. Mark stood there in his pajamas with mused hair. He blinked bleary eyes and then said, “I hope there’s a fire somewhere.”
She laughed, so happy to see him she wouldn’t have taken offense to anything he might have said. “No fire. I’m just here to welcome you all home.”
He pulled the door open so she and Lady could come inside. “Sorry, but it’s just me.”
Her good mood evaporated. “You left Kate and the kids in Utah?”
He ran a hand over his eyes. “Yeah. Since they were already there, I didn’t see any point in making them rush home. Besides, Kate’s mom would have killed me. So, yeah, I came back by myself.”
“It never occurred to me that you might be asleep at this time of day.” Eugenia’s tone, like her mood, was now subdued.
“My plane just got in a few hours ago. I haven’t slept in two days, so I was trying to catch up a little.”
This made Eugenia feel terrible. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, and I won’t bother you again.”
He smiled. “I needed to get up anyway. Do you have something I could eat at your house? Our cupboards are bare.”
Eugenia was relieved to be able to make things up to Mark. “Go put some clothes on and then come over. I’ll have a nice meal waiting for you.”
* * *
By the time Mark arrived, Eugenia had pork chops, cream potatoes, black-eyed peas, and cornbread arranged on her kitchen table. While he ate, they discussed all that had gone on in Haggerty during his absence.
“I’m sorry the mayor insulted you on TV,” she said with real compassion. “The very idea of saying he needed ‘top FBI agents from Atlanta’ because the case was too big for the local guys.”
Mark waved his cornbread dismissively. “I don’t have the highest opinion of Witherspoon either, so it didn’t bother me. Besides, if there really had been a serial killer in Haggerty, he’d have been right. I would have needed a lot of help from people with skills and knowledge that I’m glad I don’t have.”
“We do still have one murder that needs to be investigated. Do you think the FBI will want to look into Irma Heinrich’s death?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s a local matter, so it would be up to Winston or Sheriff Bonham. In my opinion it doesn’t make sense for anyone to invest resources and man hours into trying to solve it. Irma Heinrich died too long ago. There’s no real evidence, and everyone involved is dead.”
“Poor Irma,” Eugenia said. “It just seems like someone should care about what happened to her.”
“I didn’t say I don’t care,” Mark corrected. “I just said the FBI isn’t going to open an investigation, and I wouldn’t advise anyone else to either.”
“Presley DeGraff, Violet Newberry’s niece, wants to do an amateur investigation. I told her I’d help.”
He nodded. “I have no objection to that. Since it’s not being investigated officially by anyone, you won’t be getting in the way. And since all the principles are dead, I don’t see how it can be dangerous.”
She smiled. “It’s nice to have your approval for once.”
He took a big sip of lemonade. “And I’ll be glad to help if I can.”
Eugenia was pleased by this offer. “Maybe you can run it through your database,” she suggested, “the names, dates, and so on, and see what you come up with.”
He nodded. “I’ll do that when I get to the office. Now do you have any dessert?”
* * *
Presley was sitting in her aunt’s car, waiting for Mac. The hot Southern sunshine beat down, and combined with the near 100 percent humidity, she was sweating like she never had before. Her entire blouse was damp, and her hair was stuck to her head by the time he arrived. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that her face was pink and shiny with a film of perspiration.
She climbed out of the car as he pulled his tow truck in front of Aunt Violet’s Honda. He was grinning when he swung down from the driver’s door and trotted toward her. “Do the cars you drive always breakdown, or is this something new?” he teased.
“My luck hasn’t been good for a while now,” she told him. “But since I arrived in Haggerty . . . I’ve been on a seriously bad streak.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I knew that when I heard through the grapevine that we were dating. No girl’s luck could get worse than me.”
She groaned. “Oh, Mac, I’m so sorry! It’s Miss Eugenia’s fault, although she was just trying to help. I guess it’s really Junior Mobley’s fault for asking me out.” Her eyes dropped to the ground. “Or mine for being a jinx.”
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “That’s probably the best thing anyone in Haggerty has had to say about me for a while.”
She stood back while he loaded her aunt’s Honda up on the back of his tow truck. Once he had it secured, he opened his door. She climbed in and slid over into the passenger seat while he swung under the wheel.
“Let me get some air conditioning going.” He adjusted the dials on the dash until cold air was hitting her with pleasant force.
“Oh, this feels good.” She lifted her ponytail so the cool air could reach her neck.
He pointed at a white sack on the seat between them. “I just picked up some chili dogs if you’re hungry. And there are bottles of cold water in that cooler.” He gestured toward the Igloo on the floorboard.
She was starving, so she took a chili dog out of the bag. “I’m pretty sure chili dogs don’t have any nutritional value whatsoever.”
“But they’re low carb if you don’t eat the bun.”
“I’m too discouraged to care about carbs.” She took a big bite, bun and all. It didn’t taste as bad as she’d expected. So she took another one.
He laughed again. Apparently he found her bad fortune and disregard for nutrition hilarious.
“I guess I’m going to have to give up on cars,” she said, swallowing her second bite. “Maybe I should get a horse.”
He shook his head and pulled the tow truck out onto the road. “Then you’ll have a dead animal on your hands instead of a broken car.”
“You’ve got a point there—unquestionably whatever I drive will die.” They sat in comfortable silence while she polished off the chili dog and drank an entire bottle of water without stopping for a breath. Then she collapsed against the seat of the truck. “I’m probably going to get fat since every food choice in Haggerty is full of carbs!”
He took his eyes off the road long enough to grin at her. “Not if you run every night—several miles of fast laps around the track at the football stadium.”
“I guess that might save me from obesity. Just as long as we stay off the grass so that crabby coach doesn’t yell at us again.”
“He’ll probably find a reason to yell even if we stay off the grass,” Mac said. This time there was no humor in his voice. “He resents me more than the rest of the folks here. I was his big success story, and well, my failure reflects on him.”
“He needs to get over that and find himself a new success story,” Presley said. “I mean, I know you were the best that ever lived and all that, but surely in the hundreds of kids he’s coached since you there have been a few with potential?”
Mac laughed. “You have the funniest way of twisting things around.”
“That’s the second thing I learned in law school,” she muttered. “And the coach can’t keep us from running there, right?”
“Right.”
“Then let him yell.” She was feeling better about life, having made the decision to stand up against the grudge-holding football coach—until she saw the big glob of chili sauce on her shirt.
“Oh gosh!” She searched through the white sack for napkins. There was only one, and it was tissue-thin. She rubbed it on her shirt and managed to spread the little glob into a huge stain roughly the size of a dinner plate. The cheap napkin also disintegrated, mixing tiny paper balls into the greasy, orange spot. Now she was not only discouraged, she was humiliated too. She turned to Mac. “I’m a total mess.”
“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “You’ll probably have to throw that shirt away. Not that it’s a huge loss. It’s too big for you and looks like something my grandmother would wear.”
She was surprised by his comments but felt too low to defend herself. “Yes, Cecelia already told me I look terrible.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I know that’s not true. Cecelia’s a very good judge of beauty.”
Presley wondered again if there was something between Mac and Cecelia. He certainly seemed to have a high opinion of her.
“She said I look like Clark Kent.” Presley expected him to laugh, but he nodded thoughtfully.
“I can see that, hiding behind a lousy disguise.”
She was starting to get angry, which was an improvement over hopelessly discouraged. “There’s a difference between hiding and just not being interested in your appearance.”
“Yes, yes there is,” he agreed.
She sat up a little straighter and turned to face him. She noted that although he’d been out working in the hot sun, he looked as handsome as ever. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“People who don’t care about their appearance wear shabby clothes.” He glanced down at his faded towing T-shirt and frayed jeans. “Their hair is a mess.” He pushed at the clump of auburn hair that had fallen, as usual, over his eyes. “But your hair is always fixed, pulled back in a style you think is unattractive. Your clothes don’t fit right, but they’re clean and tidy.” He held his nose up in the air and sniffed. “You don’t wear makeup, but you take the time to put on perfume. To me that says it’s all an act, a disguise. Maybe even a mask.”
She swallowed hard. He was dangerously close to the truth. “So you’re calling me Clark Kent too?”
“Yes. But I’ve got to tell you, Presley, it’s not working. Your inner beauty still shines through.”
That was the moment she started to love Mac McIntyre.
* * *
Mac pulled into the parking lot in front of Aunt Violet’s law firm. He left the truck running but put it in neutral and set the emergency brake. Then he opened his door and climbed down before beckoning for her to slide over. This time when she reached down for his hand, he caught her around the waist and set her gently on the cracked asphalt.
Then he moved his hands up to her shoulders and let them rest there.
“So, is seven o’clock tonight good for you?”
She was having trouble concentrating on anything besides the gentle weight of his warm hands on her shoulders. But she managed to ask, “Is seven o’clock good for what?”
“For our date tonight,” he said. “We’ve got to sell this romantic rumor.”
For the first time since her aunt’s car stopped, she was able to laugh at the ridiculous situation. “We don’t have to sell Miss Eugenia’s story.”
“Yes we do, or you’ll have Junior Mobley right back over here trying to get a date.”
“Mac, you’re still married.”
“Just a legal technicality,” he said. “And I’m not asking for a lifetime of devotion, just dinner and maybe a movie.”
Presley lifted an eyebrow. “A movie too?”
“We’ll have to go to Albany since there isn’t a theater here,” he told her. “And a date to Albany is several degrees more serious than a local one. So after tonight you should be safe from Junior.”
She smiled. “Seven o’clock will be fine. But I’m paying my own way.” Brave words, considering her dwindling cash.
“You can try,” he said, clearly a challenge. Then he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You might want to change that shirt, though.”
She smirked at him, and he laughed. Moving aside, Presley watched him swing up into the cab.
“Seven o’clock,” he repeated.
She squared her shoulders. “I’ll be ready.”
Then he drove off with her aunt’s car strapped to the back of his truck.
All was quiet when Presley opened the door to her aunt’s house. She walked into the kitchen, where Aunt Violet was reading a law journal.
“You made it home!”
Presley sat down across from her. “I’m sorry about your car.”
“Well, it’s certainly not your fault!”
“I’m beginning to wonder.” Presley sighed.
“Mac said he’d take it to a repair shop in town. They don’t work on Astons, but they do work on Hondas. It will be running in no time.”
Presley felt like she should offer to pay for the repairs but didn’t have the resources without going further into Dr. Khan’s money. And all of that was going to have to be repaid at some point.
Aunt Violet said that she had a couple coming in for an appointment at five o’clock. “The divorce consultation I had to reschedule from yesterday. It’s a local couple, and I’d like you to sit in.”
Presley nodded. “As long as we’re through by seven. Mac is determined to convince everyone in Haggerty that we’re really dating to keep Junior Mobley from bothering me. So we’re going to dinner and a movie tonight.”
“I’ll make sure we’re through in time for your date,” Aunt Violet promised. Then she closed her magazine. “I realized after you left with Loralee that we haven’t discussed salary yet.” She pushed a white envelope with Presley’s name written on it across the table.
Presley pushed the envelope back to her aunt. “You don’t have to pay me. Any work I do can just be counted toward rent.”
Her aunt laughed. “I would never charge you rent, and you will certainly be paid as an employee of my law firm. I can’t match what you earned in Ohio, but I can do five hundred dollars a week to start. Once we increase our client base, I’ll raise your salary.”
“That’s too much!” Presley objected. It was a quarter of what she made when she worked for Sorenson and Lowe, but based on what she’d seen of Aunt Violet’s practice, she probably didn’t even bring in five hundred dollars a week.
“It’s not too much.” Her aunt had that firm tone in her voice again. She pushed the envelope back to Presley. “This is your first week’s pay. I gave you cash since you don’t have a local checking account yet.”
“But it’s only Thursday,” Presley pointed out. “And I’ve only worked two days—if you could call what I’ve been doing work.”
“I like to pay on Thursdays,” Aunt Violet claimed. “And consider the extra for this week a signing bonus.”
Presley really needed the money, but she didn’t want to take advantage of her aunt. “I don’t know how long I can stay. I mean, I might not be able to take over your practice so you can retire. If I try to get a license in Georgia—”
Her aunt held up a hand to stop her. “I’m not asking for any kind of a commitment. We’ll take it week by week. Or day by day if you’d prefer. Then every day will be payday.”
Presley smiled. “Week to week is fine. And thank you.”
Aunt Violet seemed pleased. “Well, good. And now that you have some spending money, why don’t you go over and let Cecelia give you a haircut—or maybe a full makeover. She doesn’t have any appointments this afternoon, so I know she’d be glad for the business. Then you’ll look your best for your date tonight with Mac.”
“It’s not a real date,” she cautioned, as much for herself as for Aunt Violet.
“But you still want to look nice,” her aunt replied. “And I hope you’re planning to change your shirt.”
* * *
The beauty salon was much nicer than Presley had expected. It was a shabby-chic style with lots of old mirrors and empty picture frames on the walls. The floors were a practical laminate but made to look like well-worn hardwood. The counters and sinks were marble, and the furnishings looked expensive.
Cecelia was sitting in one of the leather stylist’s chairs with her feet propped up, watching television. “What in the world happened to you?” she demanded.
Presley plopped down in the chair beside Cecelia. “I borrowed Aunt Violet’s car to take Loralee home. On the way back, it stalled out on me. So I sat for an hour in the hot Georgia sun. Mac picked me up and towed the car. I ate a chili dog—and the bun, even though it was full of carbs—because I was starving. And in the process I spilled chili sauce all over my shirt.”
Cecelia threw her head back and laughed. “And I was feeling sorry for myself because I haven’t had a customer all afternoon!”
Presley looked down at the stain on her shirt. “Now that I’ve let this set in, I don’t know if I can get it out.”
“No big loss there. I’d just throw it away if I were you.”
“That’s what Mac said.”
Cecelia nodded. “Smart boy.”
Presley decided that she should find out once and for all whether Cecelia and Mac had a mutual attraction, but she wasn’t sure how to phrase the question. “Are you and Mac . . . I mean does he, or do you . . .” her voice trailed off in embarrassed confusion.
“Mac and me?” Cecelia cried. “Heavens no! Why did you think that?”
Presley felt silly and relieved. “I don’t know. It just seemed like there was some kind of connection between the two of you. And now that the whole town thinks I’m dating Mac, I just didn’t want it to be awkward.”
“Mac’s a good guy,” Cecelia said. “We’re friends, and if some chemistry had developed between us, I wouldn’t have minded. But it didn’t, and now you’re here.”
“Mac and I aren’t really dating,” Presley was quick to clarify.
“Hmm,” Cecelia responded. “We’ll see about that. Now, please tell me you’re in here for the works!”
* * *
Presley left Cecelia’s salon two hours later and two hundred dollars poorer, but she felt like a woman resurrected. Her hair was several inches shorter, just brushing her shoulders, and layered so that it framed her face. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a demure pink. She had allowed Cecelia to do a facial but had insisted that she use a light hand when applying makeup.
Her final purchase had been from the “Boutique Corner” in the back, where Cecelia kept a very limited selection of women’s clothing. Presley had picked out a white cotton blouse that was cinched at the waist and edged with crocheted lace. It was feminine and made her feel almost like a Southern belle.
When Presley walked into her aunt’s house, she saw that their five o’clock appointment had arrived early. Aunt Violet was ushering clients into her office. Presley got a folding chair from the lobby and pulled it into the only remaining space—basically the doorway.
The couple seated in the chairs by Aunt Violet’s desk appeared to be in their early thirties. Both looked uncomfortable, but the husband seemed particularly ill at ease. First Aunt Violet got the introductions out of the way. “Presley, this is Mike and Donna Beus. Mike and Donna, this is my new associate, Presley DeGraff. She brings a wide range of skills and experience to my law practice.”
Mike Beus just nodded politely, but Donna pointed a finger at Presley. “Aren’t you Mac McIntyre’s new girlfriend?”
“Uh, well, yes,” Presley answered awkwardly.
“I figured you must be,” Donna said. “I mean, how many Presleys can there be in Haggerty?”
“Are you representing both Mr. and Mrs. Beus?” Presley asked her aunt, changing the subject.
“For the time being, yes,” Aunt Violet said.
“I’m sorry we’re early,” Donna apologized. “I told Mike we didn’t need to leave until four forty-five, but he insisted that we leave at four thirty. He never listens to me.”
“It’s fine,” Aunt Violet said. “As it turns out I didn’t have an appointment before yours, so we can start now. Donna, why don’t you begin?”
Since this was their second meeting with Aunt Violet, Presley was expecting Mrs. Beus to address the division of assets or custody arrangements, but instead she began a long list of grievances against her husband. These complaints ranged from frivolous—like his failure to take out the garbage—to more serious, like a series of overly friendly text messages to a coworker. Aunt Violet finally cut Donna off after she nearly came to tears because she claimed her husband had purposely weed-eaten her rose bushes.
Mr. Beus’s list was shorter, and he didn’t seem emotional about any of them. It was obvious to Presley that he hadn’t been invested in the marriage for some time, and she had a nagging suspicion that he did, indeed, weed-eat his wife’s roses on purpose.
By the time he finished mumbling his complaints, Presley was thoroughly confused. “Excuse me,” she interrupted. “Before we go any further with this discussion, shouldn’t we consult the family court calendar and schedule a date for your divorce hearing?”
Both Mike and Donna looked at her with varying degrees of horror.
“But Miss Violet said we needed to take it slow,” Mike told her.
“She said we could come every week and talk about our issues,” Donna added. “She said lots of times her clients don’t even want a divorce anymore after they’ve met with her.”
So this wasn’t a complicated divorce that was taking a long time to work out; it was a non-divorce with unlimited consultations. Presley looked at her aunt, “You’re providing them with marriage counseling?”
Aunt Violet shrugged. “We’re just working on communication skills for now.”
Presley rubbed her temple where a headache was forming. For the next forty minutes, she sat and listened while Aunt Violet led the Beuses through their list of complaints against each other. Some grievances were stricken from the agenda by mutual consent. Others were resolved immediately, and some were tabled until the next week. When the couple left, they seemed happier and more relaxed.
After Presley shoved the door closed, she turned back to her aunt. “I’ve got some experience with counseling, and you did a good job with them.”
Aunt Violet seemed pleased. “I hope they’re benefitting from the meetings. And I’m sorry that I didn’t explain the situation to you before they came. I intended to, but they got here early.”
“I wish I’d known,” Presley said. “I’ll make sure to go over each case with you well in advance from now on.”
“They really should be going to a trained marriage counselor, but most people can’t afford that and there’s a stigma attached. So by letting them come here, I work around both.”
“And you make twenty-five dollars,” Presley teased.
“Pretty soon I’ll be rich.” Her aunt gave her a quick hug. “And may I just say you look fabulous!”
“Thanks.” Presley reached up to touch her now shorter hair. “Letting Cecelia remake me was fun. And she foolishly offered to let me use her car if I need transportation before yours gets out of the shop.”
The phone on the desk rang, and Aunt Violet reached over to answer it. After a short exchange, she extended the phone toward Presley. “It’s the mayor, and he’d like to talk to you.”
With some trepidation, Presley put the phone to her ear. “This is Presley DeGraff,” she said in her most professional tone.
“Hello, Miss DeGraff! Welcome to Haggerty!”
“Thank you.” She kept her voice carefully reserved.
“I’d like to meet with you for a few minutes tomorrow morning. Could you come to my office at about ten o’clock?”
“I believe so, but let me check my calendar.” Presley covered the receiver and looked at her aunt. “What do you think?” she whispered. “Should I meet with the villain in our imminent domain case?”
“It can’t hurt to talk to him,” Aunt Violet whispered back.
Presley returned the phone to her ear. “Mr. Mayor, I’ll be at your office tomorrow morning at ten.”
“Great!” he sounded more thrilled than seemed requisite. “I’ll see you then.”
She hung up the phone and faced her aunt. “He probably thinks I’m a silly city girl that can be easily pushed around.”
“Let him keep that notion,” Aunt Violet suggested. “That way his guard will be down.”
Presley nodded in agreement. “I’ve gotten several responses from the feelers I put out about imminent domain. I think we have a good chance. I’m going to call tomorrow and request a hearing.”
“I wouldn’t mention that to the mayor,” Aunt Violet advised. “That will certainly bring his guard up.”