A Cherry Cola Christmas (9 page)

That gave Maura Beth another opportunity to promote her December meeting, and she lost no time explaining everything in detail to Audra. “You absolutely must come. The more the merrier. I've just gotten Emma here to agree and bring along her husband, too. If you've got any relatives in town, bring them, by all means.”

Audra brightened considerably while fiddling with the fashionable aqua-colored scarf tied loosely around her neck. “I just might do that. I'm not moving away until after the first of the year anyway. It sounds like a great format for me to say good-bye to all of you.”

“Oh, I hate the sound of that,” Maura Beth said, pouting slightly. “But if you do open up again in Corinth, I promise Jeremy and I will drive over and check things out. If you hadn't heard, we've moved into Miss Voncille's old house on Painter Street, and I've told Jeremy I think it needs a bit of updating.”

Audra looked amused. “And I always say nothing updates better than a classic antique.”

“Couldn't have said it better myself.”

“Well, I better get back inside in case the phone decides to shock me and ring,” Audra said with a wink, heading for the door.

“I'm looking forward to seeing you on December 6th at the library.” Then Maura Beth turned to Emma. “Why don't you go on back to the library, and I'll take care of everything at The Twinkle. You don't need to explain anything to Miz Marydell, either. Just tell her I'll be back soon.”

“I just cain't thank you enough, Miz Maura Beth,” Emma said, embracing her boss once again. “And I promise, me and Leonard'll be there for the December to-do. Maybe I can even come up with a story if I think hard enough.”

“Don't worry about it. The two of you being there is all that matters.”

 

Maura Beth's intention had been to tell Periwinkle all about the missing money and then hand it over, but she wasn't able to get a word in edgewise because of her best girlfriend's unprecedented excitement. “Can you even believe it?” Periwinkle was saying as the two of them sat across from each other in her office. “I couldn't possibly pay for that kinda publicity, and now it's just fallen into my lap. Now, I know you don't particularly like country music, but I definitely want you to be right here at The Twinkle on December 7th. Bring Jeremy along, too. It'll help me keep my feet on the ground. If you need an extra incentive, dinner's on me.”

Maura Beth knew immediately she would have to put it on her calendar. After all, it was nothing short of a coup for The Twinkle. To have a major recording star like Waddell Mack rent out the entire restaurant to feed his band and crew that evening on the way to their concert the next day in Tupelo was the sort of “happening” that sometimes made
People
magazine. Sure, it would be all fluff and photo ops, but lots of people would scan it in doctors' and dentists' offices—not to mention hair salons all over the country. “We'll be there. I promise you. Maybe I'll even listen to one of your Mr. Mack's CDs to psych myself up.”

“Oh, I could lend you one if you want. And when he's here, he'll prob'ly tweet all the time about the food and the good time they're all havin'. We could even be a regular stop for country music people when they're on the road and headed this way. Girl, I can't stop thinkin' of all the possibilities!”

“Well, you're already a huge success story here in Cherico. There's no reason why the rest of the world shouldn't know about it.”

Periwinkle gave her a double thumbs-up. “There ya go. I don't know when I've been so pumped!”

Maura Beth let it all sink in. It would indeed be a big week for Cherico. She had high hopes for her special inspirational book club meeting on December 6th, the evening before the Waddell Mack invasion. There might even be television coverage from the Memphis and Tupelo stations just because everybody liked stories about celebrities in their hometowns or anywhere nearby. Maybe if she played her cards just right, some field reporter might even get interested in doing a piece on the construction of the new library. Why, she could even go to Councilman Sparks and enlist his help in that department since she believed their relationship had morphed from constant manipulation into semi-cooperation of late! Suddenly, she was the one with all the possibilities swirling around in her head.

Then a more sobering thought brought her back down to reality: She still had to explain the missing tips to Periwinkle—and hand over the money besides. So she decided not to mince words, straightforwardly recounting everything that had happened from start to finish. “So there never was any threat of a crime spree, you see,” she concluded. “It was just an unfortunate series of events, and Emma hopes you'll understand and forgive her dear Leonard.”

Periwinkle reached across her desk and briefly took Maura Beth's hand. “Oh, of course I do. And I know Lalie will, too, when I explain everything to her.” She paused for a thoughtful little frown that was quickly replaced with a smile. “But I never would have guessed that that was the solution. That poor man. What he must be goin' through!”

“I know. Everything I've read on the subject says Alzheimer's is a frightening journey for everyone concerned. But I've told Emma that she can think of me and the library as another family member when it comes to support. In any case, she doesn't have to worry the least little bit about her job.”

Periwinkle sat back in her chair, her face almost glowing with approval. “I've said it before and I'll say it again: You were, are, and always will be a wonderful addition to Cherico. This town wouldn't be in the least bit a' trouble if more of our people were like you. I mean, you really do think outside the box about your library and what it's for and what it means to our little community.”

The testimonial caught Maura Beth by surprise, but she managed a bright little smile. “You are too kind. But I do agree that Cherico's in trouble. That's why I've come up with my inspirational get-together at the library in December. Then, if everything goes right, those country music stars will order everything on the menu, right?”

“Right! Those twangin' boys in jeans and cowboy boots have big appetites, ya know. Waddell Mack texted that he's right partial to cornmeal-fried catfish, so Parker and I'll be sure to whip up a batch a' that for certain!”

Maura Beth eyed her intently. “Oh, he'll be crazy about everything, I'm sure. But I suppose you know I expect you and Mr. Place to attend the book club meeting. Could you let your assistant chef run things for a couple of hours? I really want y'all there as much as you want me at The Twinkle when you feed Mr. Mack and all his people.”

Periwinkle did not dawdle, waving her off. “Oh, I expect I can trust ole Charlie Marks to get the job done up right. He's done it for me before when I've needed to be off elsewhere.”

“Good. The Twinkle won't even miss a beat, then. We'll definitely be there for each other's big event.” Then Maura Beth dug into her purse and handed over the $120 Emma had entrusted to her. “And here you go. That should settle things up nicely.”

“It definitely does, and I'll just put it back in the petty cash drawer where it came from.”

“By the way, how is Mr. Place getting along? I know he must miss his mother terribly.”

Periwinkle looked off to the side, her expression one of concern. “Oh, the shock has worn off, of course. Now, the grief just comes and goes without rhyme or reason. One day Parker'll walk in and say he had a good night's sleep, and the next he'll tell me he stayed wide awake thinkin' about the things he never told his sweet mama that he might should have. Of course, the only way to avoid that is to tell people how you feel about 'em while they're still alive. I try my best to do that with my mother, bless her difficult little heart.”

Both women laughed as Maura Beth said, “Same with my mother. Except things have gotten much better with her since my wedding. We managed to work out a ton of stuff right there at the finish line—just before Jeremy and I said our ‘I do's' out on Connie and Doug's deck. And when I told her over the phone recently about my special meeting of the book club in December, she just raved about the idea. She said she thought it was perfectly brilliant, very much in keeping with the season, and she was very proud of me for thinking of it. Hey, she's gone from one extreme to the other, but I'm not complaining.”

Then Maura Beth took a square of white scratch paper from a nearby stack, plucked a pen from a ceramic coffee cup filled with half a dozen of them, and quickly wrote something down, handing the note over.

Periwinkle glanced at it and recited the words in emotionless fashion: “Sheriff Dreyfus.”

“Yes, don't forget to go by his office and explain everything about the tips to him so he'll call off his dragnet. Although there's nothing wrong with his neighborhood watch program. I trust that'll continue. He just needs to understand that this particular case is closed.”

“Thanks for the reminder, girl,” Periwinkle said in that disarming, down-home way of hers. “Loose ends are just the pits!”

9

Be Careful What You Wish For

J
eremy had warned Maura Beth that it might not be the best idea to enlist the help of Councilman Sparks in publicizing anything dear to her heart—such as progress on the new library construction. “You ought to think twice about putting him in the loop about your special inspirational meeting, too,” he had continued one November evening over a dinner of shrimp and grits they were enjoying in their Painter Street cottage kitchen. “I don't need to remind you he's found ways to mess up many of your Cherry Cola Book Club outings before. His presence has been about as welcome as a python in a chicken coop.”

But Maura Beth had been too full of herself to listen to his advice back then. “Oh, things have changed between us now. He practically considers me one of his own these days.”

Jeremy had dared to pursue his line of thinking and risk his wife's displeasure. “I'm not so sure that's a compliment, Maurie.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say to me,” she had answered. “I thought you above all people would understand how much plenty of media coverage would mean to me. It would validate everything I've been working toward since I took over the library here in Cherico. Councilman Sparks has beaucoup contacts all over the state, so why not take advantage of that?”

At that point Jeremy had backed off and let her do as she pleased. But by the time they had sat down to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner a couple of weeks later, Maura Beth realized her mistake in going over to City Hall to gush effusively with a man she knew better than to trust, and now she was pleading with her husband for ideas on damage control.

“This isn't working out the way I thought it would. Councilman Sparks is actually interfering with the construction crew. They've already gotten behind because of all the rain we've had, and now he's got them constantly staging things so he can get lots of photo ops out of it and create some sort of documentary. He claims it's to promote Cherico to new industry in the park, but I'd be willing to bet it's probably for his next reelection campaign. Yesterday I was out there on my lunch break, and Kyle Hoskins, the foreman, told me that he's hired this camera crew from Tupelo to follow the crew around no matter what they do—even going into and coming out of the port-a-potties. That's just too much information. It's all very distracting and way too much to deal with. I can tell Mr. Hoskins is intimidated by Councilman Sparks and doesn't want to tell him no. Hey, I've been there myself, so I know exactly what he's going through.”

Jeremy said nothing at first, and Maura Beth was hoping he wouldn't dare say anything to her as predictable as, “I told you so!” or “Be careful what you wish for!” Fortunately—and even though he was just a newlywed—he had better sense than that. “Well, I'm sorry to hear he's up to his usual tricks.”

Maura Beth skillfully added a bit of cranberry sauce to the slice of turkey on her fork and began munching thoughtfully. “He's also driving Periwinkle crazy about Waddell Mack's gang reservation at The Twinkle. He wants that camera crew to go in and film the band while they're all sitting around eating dinner—as part of that same documentary, of course.”

Jeremy took a sip of the good Merlot they were enjoying and frowned. “I hope she's telling him and his crew where to go.”

“She's tried in so many words, but he keeps trying to wear her down. She even texted Waddell Mack and asked him if he would mind that kind of intrusion, and he texted back that he'd mind very much. He told her that the last thing the band wants to do is ‘be on,' as he put it, at a private dinner. They want to be the ones to control their own publicity. I can certainly understand how they feel about it. I'm sure they don't have that many chances to relax on a road tour like the one they're doing.”

Jeremy put down his wineglass and devilishly raised an eyebrow. “You have to fight fire with fire. Periwinkle ought to put the fear of God into Councilman Sparks for starters.”

“How?”

“I'd tell her to add a little something to that text she got from Waddell Mack. She's a strong woman—she can pull it off. How would Councilman Sparks know the difference anyway? Just tell her to say that the dinner's off and the band won't even stop in Cherico unless they can be guaranteed complete privacy. That would include people out on the sidewalk pressing their noses to the glass. Bring Sheriff Dreyfus in on it, too. Ask him to block access to The Twinkle that evening. Commerce Street would be easy enough to rope off. It's not like you'd have cars backed up to Corinth and people honking like mad. When was Cherico ever like that? Just make it clear that there will be no media circus allowed this time around.”

Maura Beth's eyes widened dramatically, as if Jeremy had invented the wheel. “Why didn't either one of us think of that?”

“Too close to the situation, I'd imagine. But remember, I'm used to dealing with devious people, too. Headmasters and principals from hell, I like to call them. First, Yelverton at New Gallatin and now Hutchinson here in Cherico. All I've ever wanted was a little respect for the English department and classic American literature versus the Deep South obsession with football, and I intend to get it before I die.”

Maura Beth managed a little shiver as she put down her fork and frowned. “Let's not bring up all that again. The last time we argued about it, you nearly
did
die out on the Natchez Trace, thanks to that deer scrambling across the road.”

“But you have to admit it did eventually bring us together. I lost a Volvo but got you. Something good really did come of it.”

“Another toast to us, then,” she said, hoisting her wineglass and clinking rims. “But what do I do about all these construction delays?”

Jeremy thought for a while and finally shook his head. “That foreman has to grow a pair and stand up to Councilman Sparks. It's in his best interest, of course. That construction company has a deadline to meet, as you well know. They can't do that and allow this documentary or whatever it is to interfere with their schedule. Just how far behind are they, by the way?”

“Mr. Hoskins says almost a month, but he thinks they can catch up if they can get that film crew and Councilman Sparks to stop bothering them and staging things. The big problem is that if the library's not ready on time, we'll miss our Fourth of July grand opening window next summer. That's when we'll actually need all the media coverage—not now. But in Cherico, too often it's been Councilman Sparks's priorities or nothing.”

“Pass me some more of that yummy sweet-potato casserole you made,” Jeremy said, reaching over to take the bowl. “I'm still brainstorming.” He scooped another generous helping onto his plate and sat with everything for a while as he enjoyed his food. “How about this?” he continued finally. “Have Periwinkle go to Councilman Sparks and invite him to the dinner at The Twinkle, but without the film crew. Periwinkle would be okay with that, wouldn't she?”

“I assume she would.”

“Well, have her play to his ego and remind him of how important it'll be to have the Charles Durden Sparks and Company Library completed in time for the big Fourth of July event. I'd close the deal by telling Councilman Sparks to personally invite Waddell Mack and his band to play at the grand opening next summer during the dinner at The Twinkle. What band doesn't want to book more gigs? The way I see it, everybody would go home with big smiles and full bellies. Whaddaya think, Maurie?”

Maura Beth realized just how much she had to be thankful for on this crisp Thanksgiving day in Cherico and had no trouble expressing herself. “I think I married a brilliant man who is eventually going to defeat the local educational bureaucrats and bring ‘Living the Classics in the Real World' to life. I think there's nothing you can't do when you put your mind to it. You're even going to get rid of that writer's block you've been having with your novel. You're as determined as I am, and I think our children are going to be trailblazers, whatever they decide to become.”

Jeremy enjoyed a hearty laugh. “Wow! A simple ‘I like it!' would've sufficed, but I'll take the rave reviews.”

“And I'll share your suggestions with Periwinkle after the holiday weekend is over. The important thing is that we keep Councilman Sparks from screwing the pooch, and I think you've given us a plan that'll do just that.”

Across town on Big Hill Lane, Periwinkle and Mr. Place were finishing up the Thanksgiving dinner he had lovingly prepared for them in the cozy little house he had inherited from his mother; although the food was delicious—from the first course of duck gumbo to one of Mr. Place's signature desserts—Periwinkle felt Ardenia Bedloe's presence everywhere. Not that it was a bad or intimidating thing she was feeling, for in the last few weeks before her death, Ardenia had truly warmed to her son's new love interest over a couple of down-home dinners she had fixed for them. She had opened up her house as well as her heart.

Periwinkle had treasured those first tentative conversations, pressing the gist of them into her scrapbook of memories.

“I hope you like my cookin', Miz Periwinkle,” Ardenia had said after loading up the dining room table with her roasted pork tenderloin, seasoned collard greens, and rice with onion gravy.

“Please. Call me Peri just like Parker does.”

“All these names I got to get right. I'm still tryin' to get used to Joe Sam changin' his to Mr. Parker Place back in the day once he got up to Memphis. But once a chile is all grown up, a mother got to let go and let him live his life.”

Periwinkle had sensed Ardenia's genuine interest in getting to know her as a person—perhaps even as a future daughter-in-law—even if she was a white woman who had never experienced what it was like to grow up “Colored” in the Jim Crow Deep South as Ardenia had. Then that promising dialogue that eventually would have bridged their two different worlds had been cruelly cut short by death itself. Her task now was to be there as her Parker worked through his terrible, ongoing grief—helping him toward the closure he desperately needed.

“It's so ironic, Peri,” he was saying to her as they lingered at the table after dessert. “You won't believe how ironic.”

When he didn't elaborate further, Periwinkle gently pressed on. “What's ironic, Parker?”

He avoided her gaze, looking down at his half-eaten piece of grasshopper pie. “I used to come home every night from The Twinkle, and I could count on it like clockwork. Mama'd have that TV blaring so loud, you could hear it outside in the carport as soon as you shut off the engine. But it was reassuring, you know. Every time I heard all that noise, I knew Mama was still up, waiting for me like the sweetheart she was. ‘How was work today?' she'd always say as soon as I walked in. ‘Y'all had a lotta people down there, I hope?' And I'd tell her how many desserts we'd sold, or how many people came in just for a piece a' cake or some of my cookies to carry out, and she'd just light up like a sparkler on New Year's Eve. ‘That's my son!' she'd say to me. ‘You got you a gift, and Miz Periwinkle lucky to have you!' ”

“She was sure right about that part,” Periwinkle told him. “But I still don't get the irony.”

Some barely heard sound caught in his throat as he continued. “There were also times when I heard that noise and wished Mama wouldn't be watching TV at all. Maybe you can understand me when I tell you that while it was reassuring, it was also annoying because it really hurt my ears and got on my nerves at times, and now I'm feeling so damned guilty that I got what I wished for. Man, did I ever!”

“Come with me,” Periwinkle said, rising from the table. “Forget about the dishes. We'll do them together later. Let's go over to the sofa and sit, and you'll talk and get this all the way off your chest.”

He got to his feet and shook his head. “Not over there. I can't bear to sit there anymore because that's where I found her. I can't even watch TV anymore because it reminds me of her. I'm even thinking of selling it. Nothin' on I like to watch anyway these days.”

She moved to him quickly, and they embraced tenderly. “We can sit wherever you want to. I'm here to listen.”

They ended up on a couch on the screened-in back porch that ran the length of the house. It faced a small backyard dominated by two mature fig trees that were always prolific during the summer months. “Mama put up her famous fig conserve every year from those trees. They were saplings same time as when I was a sapling—we grew up together—and I've been meaning to give you a jar to try,” Mr. Place pointed out as they settled in comfortably, holding hands.