IN FOR A PENNY (The Granny Series) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Standing there in Nash’s carport, Maggie had never felt more helpless.

“It’s probably time to bring Teague in on this whole thing,” Abby Ruth admitted.

“Did you conveniently forget that we drugged him? We don’t even know what I put in that tea. Sera said it was better if we didn’t.”

Abby Ruth flipped a hand in the air. “Cold water can do wonders.”

“I don’t think we have time. We’ve got to track down Sera.”

“How do you propose we do that when Sera won’t answer your phone and we don’t have the slightest idea where Nash might be headed?”

Suddenly, Abby Ruth’s phone lit up in her hand. “It’s a text from your number.”

“What does it say?”

Abby Ruth’s eyebrows lowered into a vee between her eyes. “
In truck.
”

“Thank God.” Maggie took off across the lawn and yanked open the truck door. She climbed in and peered over the seat to see if Sera had taken refuge in the back floorboard.
Nothing.

She hopped out and climbed on the tire. The bed of the truck was also empty except for the buckets of pennies that Teague had loaded up earlier.

Abby Ruth’s phone beeped again.

“Wait a minute. I’ve got another text message,” Abby Ruth called.
“
In trunk.
”

“Text her back.”

“Already did and no response.”

Maggie trudged back toward the carport, and the muggy breeze swirling around her did nothing to cool her armpit sweat. But it did set off a high-pitched tinkling over Abby Ruth’s head. Maggie glanced up and spied a wind chime hanging from the house’s eaves.

“What’s that?” She pointed to the dangling snarl of assorted shells. The longer middle string had a seashell anchoring it, and it darn near brushed the top of Abby Ruth’s head.

Abby Ruth looked up. “Ugly. Sugar, we don’t have time to stand around jawing about Talley’s lawn ornaments. We need to head back to Summer Haven pronto.”

“You’re right,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t match anything else around the man’s house. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“I’m pretty damn sure Nash Talley is about the oddest bird I’ve ever come across,” Abby Ruth stated. “And I’ve met some doozies in my day.”

Maggie stood on tiptoes to get a closer look. “Can you pull it down for me?”

“I think you’d be better off with another load of soap, but suit yourself.” Abby Ruth reached
up and yanked the whole mess of shells and string and wood down. She shoved it into Maggie’s hands. “Let’s take it to go.”

They climbed into the truck and
hightailed it toward Summer Haven. Abby Ruth’s phone lit up again and a little box appeared in the center of the screen. She shoved it across the seat to Maggie.

“Sera says
car suck.
” Maggie looked closer. “Wait a minute.
Car sick.
”

“Tell her we need to know where the hell she is.”

Maggie texted back and waited. “She says she doesn’t know. I told her we’re going to find her.”

“Damn straight, we are.” The tires squealed as Abby Ruth took a sharp turn.

“These are lettered olive shells. They’re common on this coast.” Maggie fingered the wind chime and sorted through the mess of seashells to inspect the round wood piece that held the wind chime together. It was stamped with a C shape with two vertical lines slashed through it, making it resemble a cent symbol. “Haskell Cumperton made this.”

“Guess nobody’s ever told him he should keep his day job.”

“Might not be your cup of tea, but—”

“Hardly Nash Talley’s either, if you ask me.”

“Exactly my point,” Maggie said. “This didn’t match the style of his house, if you can call empty a style. Why would Nash own this type of tchotchke?”

“Could have been a gift,” Abby Ruth said.

A gift. Warner Talley liked stringing macaroni, maybe he liked shells too. Whatever else Nash was, he sounded like a good son so he would proudly display a gift from his dad. It hit Maggie like midnight lightning from a summer thunderstorm. “I think Nash is bound for Hilton Head.”

Abby Ruth glanced over, disbelief clear on her face. “How in the world would you know that?”

“Haskell Cumperton’s gallery is there. My late husband George and I visited that gallery when we were vacationing years ago. Haskell’s quite a celebrity around there. Something tells me Nash and Warner have spent time at Hilton Head in the past. Hit the highway. We’ve got to catch up with them.”

“You mean people actually pay good money for that crap?” By this time, they were pulling into Summer Haven’s driveway. Abby Ruth screeched to a stop in front of the house and was already bailing out of the truck. “It won’t take me a sec to check on Teague and then we’ll hit the road.”

When they walked into Lillian’s bedroom the collective gasp could have sucked all the air right of the space. They both rushed to Teague’s side.

“Get me some water,” Abby Ruth shrieked.

Instead of his earlier comfy place on Lil’s bed, he was now sprawled on the hardwood floor beside it.

Abby Ruth knelt and pressed her fingers to his throat. “Thank God, he’s alive.” She ran her hands over his head and winced.

Maggie raced out to the kitchen and returned with a big plastic jug of water. “Here. Is he okay?”

“He’s got a goose egg back here.”

As if Sera’s drugs weren’t enough to knock him out cold. Lord, when this man woke up, he would go three shades of crazy on them.

Abby Ruth splattered water on Teague’s face, but he barely reacted.

“Think we should lift him back onto the bed?” Maggie asked.

“I’m afraid we’ll hurt him worse if we try to wrestle him back up there.” Abby Ruth smoothed her hand over his shirtfront, straightened his badge and patted his chest. “Teague, sugar, I promise to buy you a new felt cowboy hat after this is all over. The sky’s the limit.”

His response was a snore.

Maggie’s insides were one big ball of snarled rubber bands.
Nash dropping in on us. Sera disappearing. And now Teague lying unconscious. I’m going to hell for all this.

“I thought you said you could revive him.”

“I don’t know what Sera whipped up, but it’s waterproof.” She sucked in a breath and leveled a stare at Maggie. “We’re on our own, Mags.”

Maggie knelt down beside Teague. “You’re sure he’ll be okay if we leave him?”

“Yeah, this was the kid who broke both arms in a dirt bike race and then climbed a pine tree in my backyard to zip-line into his. Granted, he ended up back in the ER, but only with a sprained ankle.”

Maggie looked at the sheriff with new respect.

“C’mon,” Abby Ruth said, “we’ll be back before he sleeps this off. He’ll never know a thing about it.”

Maggie bit her lip, but there was really no other option but to leave him. Sera’s life could depend on it.

Lillian tucked her head under the blanket and grappled for the cheap burner phone Big Martha had given her. Four times in the past hour she’d called Maggie’s phone, but it had rolled to voice mail every time, forcing her to leave this number and beg Maggie to call back.

Maybe this phone wasn’t working. She flipped it open to check the battery level and signal, and the screen displayed 10:32 p.m. and the picture of women drifting in a boat.

Up the creek without a paddle. That’s about how I’m feeling right now. God, please let everything be okay. I don’t care about Summer Haven if it means any harm to Maggie.

Lillian popped her head out from under the covers. Dixie was still asleep on the top bunk, mumbling something about “Leroy” and “right there.” Snores, snuffles and coughs pierced the dormitory’s darkness and somehow reassured Lillian.

Ten more minutes. That was all she was giving them. She couldn’t let them get hurt while trying to help her.

Lillian tucked the phone under pillow, praying for that vibration. She closed her eyes and counted imaginary sheep that looked exactly like the ones on Maggie’s shirt. Once six hundred made the leap, she would dial Teague Castro’s number.

What if Nash showed up at his house?

What if Maggie was hurt?

What if…?

Five hundred and ninety-eight, five hundred and ninety-nine.
She didn’t bother with the six hundred. She eased from under the covers, but didn’t even slip into her shower shoes. They’d just make noise. With her pillow under one arm and the cell phone in her hand, she tiptoed over the cold dormitory floor toward the bathrooms.

She went to the far end of the lavatory and ducked into the last shower stall. None of them had doors, so she went still and quiet, listening for any sound indicating she’d woken someone.

After what felt like five decades of silence, she opened the phone and checked it one last time.

Still no call and it
was 10:51 p.m.

Lillian crouched down, tucking herself into the shower’s corner and making
herself as small as possible. Based on what Big Martha said worked for her, Lillian propped the pillow before her to hopefully mute the sound of her voice and dialed Teague’s number. 

Please don’t let her have set me up. And please don’t let her have set Maggie and the others up. She might do such a thing just to stay top dog at Walter Stiles.

The phone rang. And rang.

And rang some more.

With every unanswered ring, the tight feeling in Lillian’s midsection clenched harder.

She counted seventeen rings.

Where was Teague and why didn’t he have voice mail?

Just as she was getting ready to hang up and redial, a garbled voice came on the line.
“Tongue Custard.”

Oh Lord, maybe she’d misdialed.
“Teague? Is this Teague Castro?”

A moan and a grunt from the other end echoed against the shower walls and Lillian huddled into a ball.

After several heavy breaths, he said, “This is Teague.”

What did I interrupt? This is about the time of night Harlan had always wanted to—

“I said this is Teague.”

“You sound…busy.”

“Who the hell is this?”

Well, there was no cause to be rude. “Lillian Summer Fairview.”

“Miss Lillian? What are you doing—”

“I need your help.
Now.”

“How are you calling me?”

“That isn’t important.” If he did know she was in this place, he didn’t need to know she was probably breaking another law by having a phone in prison. The less he knew, the better. Only as much as he needed to find Maggie and bring her home safely. “I need you to go to Nash Talley’s house immediately.”

“What?”

“Listen up. I’m serious,” Lillian said then rattled out all the details she could.

“Wait a second,” Teague said. A shuffle and a thump came from the phone. “Ouch. Dammit.”

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Whoa.” She heard him blow and sputter. “I think I’m being attacked by a giant ruffle.”

“Potato chip or skirt?” The question popped out before she could contain it. “Never mind. I do not need to know.”

“Actually, ma’am,” Teague said. “I’m pretty sure I’m lying under your bed at Summer Haven.”

Lord have mercy on them all. What had Maggie done now?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hell and damnation.
Teague’s head hurt like a mother. From Lillian’s hardwood floor, he eased himself to a seated position and rested his back against her bed. When he tried to get his feet under him, they slid out again and he plopped to his butt. If any of his deputies saw him like this, he’d never live it down.

What had Maggie done to him? The last he felt like this had been his sophomore year in college, the one and only time he’d smoked…
sonofabitch!

She’d slipped something into his tea. Abby Ruth had to be in on the scheme too.

Lord help him at the department’s next drug test. If he pissed out something illegal, these three grannies were going to pay.

How could Aunt Bibi blindside me like this? Because she’s Abby Ruth Cady, that’s how.
Damned if she hadn’t switched teams on him. And he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
In fact, he’d bet she was as happy as a rat with a gold tooth.

Finally, he pulled himself up and sat panting on the side of Miss Lillian’s bed. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, and his mouth felt like a skunk had up and died in there. Jesus, he needed a shower and a toothbrush.
Yesterday.

But hygiene would have to get in line behind a trip to Nash Talley’s house. That slimy shit was going down after everything Lillian had just divulged to him on the phone. Not only for what Talley had done to her, but other elderly folks in this county. Teague shook his head and the movement set his stomach rocking.

He lumbered toward the front door. As soon as he opened it, the humid summer air hit like him like a slap with a wet fish.

With one hand on the door jamb, he fumbled for his cell phone and dialed Abby Ruth’s number. It rang four times before it went to voice mail. “Aunt Bibi, if you don’t stop whatever the hell you’re doing, I’m gonna be forced to throw you in jail.” For what, he wasn’t 100% sure, but if it slowed her crazy ass down, he’d figure out some charge to slap on her. “Call me immediately.”

Something tangled around his right foot, and he stumbled. He tried to kick it away, but a length of string followed in his wake all the way down the driveway to his car.

He collapsed into his cruiser and tugged at the wad around his ankle. It was a string of seashells. “Where the heck did these come from?” He untangled himself and tossed the whole mess into the floorboard.

He reached to crank the ignition, but his phone burned against his palm. As much as he dreaded it, he had to make another call. No way around it. He punched the button he always programmed into his phone first, even though he never used it.

He swallowed back the dizzying nausea and cleared his throat.

“Teague?” Jenny’s tone was clipped. “What’s wrong?”

His insides warmed even though she didn’t sound happy. If Jenny knew it was him calling, she had him programmed into her phone too. He tried to make his voice light and asked, “By chance, have you talked with your mom today?”

“You lost her,” Jenny accused.

“
I
didn’t lose her.”

“You were supposed to keep her under control.”

Yeah, like that’s a cakewalk.

“This isn’t good,” Jenny said. He could just picture her, pacing back and forth with her cell phone clutched so tight her knuckles were white. “No telling what she’s up to. After the newspaper gave her the
golden parachute, she was at a loss with nothing to keep her busy. When she’s not busy, she can so easily get herself into trouble.”

Oh, he was pretty sure Aunt Bibi was up to her pretty little .22 shell casing necklace in trouble. “Don’t worry so much. She’s already made friends here. In fact, she’s staying with some nice older ladies at the estate of the town’s founding family.”

“
My
mom?”

“She said something the other day about developing a new hobby.”

“Besides guns?”

“
Mighta been collecting coins.”

Jenny snorted. “Good try. You’re going to track her down, right?”

“Of course.”
Damn.
Why had he called Jenny in the first place? No way Abby Ruth would have told her daughter what she was up to if it was no good. But when it came to Jenny Cady, he’d never been able to think straight. That woman had messed up his head and heart years ago and had always been able to see right through him, especially when he was keeping the truth from her. “Jenny, when have I ever let you down?”

The quiet on both ends of the phone stretched out until it vibrated from the tension. He’d let Jenny—and two other people—down ten years ago. Neither he nor Jenny would ever forget that.

Finally, she sighed and said, “Call me when you find her.”

Relief and regret warred inside his already woozy head.
“Will do.”

They hung up, and he peered through his windshield at the dark Georgia night. He blinked half a dozen times, but his vision was still fuzzy around the edges.

Screw it.

He cranked the engine and tore out of the driveway, heading toward
Nash’s. With the car straddling the center line, he made it to the house in less than five minutes.

When he pulled up, no cars were around, but a fresh set of dually tracks ripped through the yard. The whole place had an abandoned feeling around it, not surprising since those three women moved faster than most women a third their age, but still he got out
to check the house.

The back door hung open, so he went inside and scanned every room. Nothing seemed out of place, but his stomach was still a pit of uneasiness.

He punched in Abby Ruth’s number again.

Voice mail.
He didn’t bother to leave another threat.

He strode out through the carport and something crunched under his boot. He stooped down to investigate. A seashell was now in fragments on the concrete.

More shells. He scooped up what was left and took it back to the car. It was a match to the string of shells that had tripped him up back at Summer Haven.

By the looks of them, they were those long skinny shells you could find up and down the southeast coast. Good Lord, if these things were any clue to where Aunt Bibi and her friends had taken off to, he was in a heap of hurt.

Two hours after the debacle at Dogwood Ridge, Nash pulled into his condo’s garage. He killed the ignition and rested his head against the steering wheel, but rather than soothing him, the leather was hot and slick from his hands. Ugh. He pulled away only to hear a muffled banging from his trunk.

Her.

He should leave her in there. Would serve her right, but that wasn’t part of the plan. Heck, nothing had been part of the plan since he opened his trunk to find her inside. But just his luck, she’d find the inside release and escape.

He grabbed his ledger from the passenger seat and scooted out. Damn, he needed both hands to control that wild woman. He tucked the ledger into the back waistband of his boxers.

Positioned where she couldn’t get past him, Nash popped the trunk. This time, the woman looked worse than a dead body, lolling there amid his cleaning supplies. Those would have to be dumped now. “Get out.”

She lifted her head and rolled forward. But this time, Nash moved faster. He sidestepped as she heaved down his bumper. He reached around her to grab the soiled blanket, poked her with one clean edge.
“Move. Now.”

“Can’t you see I’m sick?”

She was going to be a heck of a lot more than sick if she didn’t move. He grabbed a four-pack of toilet paper and whapped her on the shoulder. “Do you want me to toss you back in the trunk and drive around some more?”

“God, no.”
She slithered out, landing in a mound at his feet.

“Up with you.”
He nudged her again.

She wobbled to her feet and weaved toward the garage’s outer wall to hang her head over the rail. “Need air,” she gasped.

He grabbed another package of toilet paper, jammed them both into the small of her back to force her away from the wall and toward the building. She stumbled and he thwapped her on the shoulder. “None of that. March.”

“You’re cranky,” she complained. “And in case you don’t know, your chakras are a mess. You might—”

“Well, you reek, and I don’t need any advice from the likes of you.” Thank God there was only a keycard entry into the building from the garage, so he didn’t have to explain to a security guard why he was forcing her inside. And why he was wearing nothing more than his now not-so-pressed underwear.

She craned her neck to look around, but it didn’t matter what she saw. There’d be no way for her to know where they were after that long drive. “Then why are you dragging me along? I don’t want to come with you. You got nothing I want.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” He hustled her into the elevator and they rode to the top floor. “What’s your name?

“Serendipity.”

Stupid name, and there isn’t one thing serendipitous about you being in my trunk.

The elevator doors slid open and he prodded Serendipity toward his
condo. “Get inside.”

She breezed through the door. “Wow, this place is—”

“Stop!”

She jerked.
“Geez. I was going to say gorgeous. What’s up your butt, dude?”

“Do not take a step. Not a single one.”

She stood in his foyer, with one foot pointed and the opposite arm frozen midflourish. “Whatever you say.”

Yes, she would do whatever he said.

She could not, under any circumstances, walk on his carpet. But what should
he
do? If he left her here to clean himself up, she would bolt.
Think, Nash. Think.
This was not part of the plan. Or the contingency plan.
Breathe.

He locked the front door and pulled out the key.

“If you move from this spot, I’ll be forced to…to…”

“To what?”

“Do something you won’t like.” Nash whisked past her and trotted down the hall. In less than sixty seconds, he returned with the plastic liner from his guest shower flowing behind him like a sail.

He fluffed it into the air and dropped it to the ground in front of her. “Sit.”

She started to squat on the tile.

“No.
On this.”

“Well, you should have said so.” She
clomped forward two steps and dropped to a cross-legged pose with her feet atop her thighs.

“I don’t want you touching anything I own.” He grabbed the two corners and dragged her onto the carpet.

“Whoa.” She tipped over to her side and grappled for the edges of the plastic. “Little warning would’ve been nice.”

Nash’s nerves popped. “Shut. Up.”

He dragged her through the living room on the marshmallow-soft carpet, past the white couch and his statues, then down the hall to the master suite.

He looked up to find the damned woman with her arms out like she was flying on a magic carpet. “Stop that.”

“What?” She dropped her arms and he pulled her from the carpet to the bathroom’s marble floor. Her tailbone made a thud when she hit the tile. “Ooomph.”

“Get cleaned up.” He slammed the door and rammed a transparent acrylic chair under the knob.

So there.

Maggie and Abby Ruth were on the road hell-bent for Hilton Head and closing in fast. Maggie wouldn’t even glance at the speedometer, but the telephone poles and trees outside her window were a blur.

“I sure hope you’re right about this,” Abby Ruth said. “Because if not, we’ve just wasted almost two hours going in the wrong direction.”

“Me too,” Maggie said. Doubt was sneaking in, but she was out of other ideas.

Abby Ruth’s phone signaled a text.

“It’s from Sera.” Maggie thumbed down to the message.
Out of car.

Maggie texted back.
Where are you?

Okra & Man w Nash.

Huh?
“She says she’s at Okra and Man streets with Nash.”

Maggie texted her back.
Does he know you’re there?

Yes.
Busted. Hurry.

Abby Ruth glanced over at Maggie. “See if you can get a house number.”

“821.”

“And ask her if she can keep him occupied while we’re on our way.”

Maggie didn’t bother with the last request. “She’ll think of something. Sera has a way with people.”

“She better or her ass could be in deep shit before we get there.” Abby Ruth stabbed at the buttons on the fancy built-in GPS in the dashboard. “Okra and Man,” Abby Ruth muttered. The GPS squawked, “Recalculating.
Recalculating. Recalculating.”