Love Finds You in Camelot, Tennessee (3 page)

“Is this going to be one of those shows where the guys have to wear tights?”

She felt the color drain from her cheeks as she stammered her response. “Well, I…um, I guess so.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s all I needed to hear.” Steve gave her a pensive look then stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Amy leaned back in her chair, more determined than ever. Never mind Steve’s silly questions. Tights or no tights…the show must go on!

Steve Garrison took a few determined steps down the narrow hallway, his thoughts tumbling a thousand different directions in his head. “She’s got to be kidding!” He spoke the words to no one but himself. Then he began to have a chat with the walls about how this would never work. Never in a million years.

His secretary looked at him with some degree of curiosity as he approached her workspace outside his office. “Everything okay, boss?” The soft wrinkles around Eula Mae Peterson’s gray-blue eyes deepened in concern.

“Mm-hmm. Unless you count the new city planner’s crazy idea to save the town by making men put on tights and dance around in the park like a bunch of ballerinas in tutus.”

Did I really just say that out loud?

“Oh, wow.” Eula Mae looked at him, her eyes wide. “Now
that
I would pay money to see.”

Alrighty, then. Maybe Amy was on to something after all.

Acting is also working with people who invite you into their dreams and trust you with their innermost being.

C
ATHERINE
D
ENEUVE

The following Monday evening, Amy approached the Civic Center with a sense of excitement. Steve had balked at her idea, but she felt confident the city council members would see the good in it, once they caught a glimpse of the income it could generate for their little town. Desperately needed income, no less.

The sunset over the bluff distracted her temporarily as she pulled into the parking lot. She settled on a spot and then glanced over as Pete Jones eased his van into the spot next to her. Amy prepared herself—psychologically and otherwise—for seeing him. Or, rather, for smelling him. Pete couldn’t help it that his job as Camelot’s only pest controller created such a pungent odor. Not that he appeared to notice. No, the genteel fellow seemed oblivious to the pinched noses of his fellow townspeople.

She watched as he climbed out of his old Chevy van—a 1980s number with a large plastic cockroach on top—and approached her car. Amy opened the door of her SUV and climbed out, holding her breath in a non-obvious way.

“Evening, Amy.” A genuine smile followed his words. “Can’t wait to hear what you’ve got to share tonight. Should be exciting, as always.”

“Thanks.” As always, her eyes began to water and Amy took a teensy-tiny step backward. She diverted her attention to the tagline on the side of his van, which he’d hand-painted—P
ETE’S
P
EST
C
ONTROL:
C
ONTRACT
K
ILLER
O
NBOARD
.” Ironic, since the fellow didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

The squeal of tires alerted her to the fact that someone else was arriving. A rusty red Mustang convertible came tearing into the parking lot, barely missing her Jeep as it whipped into the next-closest spot.

“Slow down, Woody!” Amy called out. She shook her head, wondering how the seventy-nine-year-old managed to keep his license.

Seconds later Woody emerged from his car, first adjusting his glasses then fidgeting with his hearing aid. As always, he moved slowly and remained in a somewhat hunched-over position. Age spots shone through his thinning wisps of white hair, as he leaned forward to yank the hearing aid from his ear. He whacked it against his palm and muttered something indistinguishable.

“Thought you were in a hurry to get to a funeral or something, Woody,” Pete said, giving him a pat on the back.

“Eh?” Woody looked Pete’s way, the wrinkles around his eyes growing deeper as he fiddled with the hearing aid in his hand.

Amy raised her voice a notch. “Pete wants to know why you’re driving so fast.”

Another grunt escaped as Woody attempted to stand upright. “No power steering on that car, and the brake pads are worn, so I have a doozy of a time keepin’ up with her. Besides, this old body of mine won’t move fast anymore. Figure the car’s the only chance I have left to really live it up.” He pressed the tiny device into his ear, made a face, then pulled it out and shoved it into his pocket. “And speaking of living it up…” He narrowed his gaze as he looked at Amy. “You’re up to something. I can feel it. What’s this meeting all about?”

“Oh, you’ll see.” She shrugged and tried to act nonchalant.

“Hope it’s not another one of your goofy ideas,” he said. “Like that time you talked me into dressing up like Uncle Sam for that ridiculous Fourth of July pageant.” He gave her a pensive look.

Thankfully, their conversation was interrupted by another vehicle pulling into the parking lot. Lucy Cramden approached in her powder-puff pink Crown Victoria, circa 1993. Her Mary Kay bumper sticker had faded over time, but the amount of makeup she wore had not. Lucy always provided a colorful distraction.

A couple of minutes later, the middle-aged diva climbed out of the car and eased the strap of a large purse over her shoulder. Her hot-pink T-shirt boasted the words
S
HUT
U
P AND
K
ISS
M
E
, Y
OU
F
OOL
in shimmering sequins. Lucy flashed a smile almost as bright and offered a “Hi, y’all.”

“Hi yourself, Lucy.” Pete’s focus had clearly shifted from pest control and the topic of tonight’s meeting. His gaze remained fixed on the inviting words blazoned across Lucy’s ample chest. “G–good to see you.” His focus abruptly shifted to her face, with his cheeks now crimson.

A high-pitched squeal from the oversize purse alerted Amy to the fact that Lucy must have brought along her pet ferret. Uh-oh. Not again. Not after the fit Eula Mae had pitched at the last meeting. Lucy clutched her bag tightly under her arm and sauntered over to Pete, who wrinkled his nose.

He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “What is that unusual aroma?”

“Maybe it’s my perfume,” Lucy said. “I’m wearing something new.”

Eau de Fiona, no doubt.

The sound of crunching gravel caused Amy to look up. She smiled as her father’s blue Ford F150 pulled into the parking lot. Even after all these years, Dad still enjoyed serving on the city council. It had filled a void in his life after Amy’s mother passed.

He pulled into a spot on the opposite side of the parking lot then sprang from his car, headed toward the group.

Lucy pivoted on her heel, the words on her shirt now directly in his line of vision. His eyes widened as he read the inviting message—and then his face turned redder than Woody’s car. “Charlie, it’s so good to see you,” she crooned.

“I, um, well, it’s good to see you too, Lucy.” He now focused on the others. “And all the rest of you too.” He drew near the group, gave Amy a hug, then wrinkled his nose. “What is that…” He didn’t get the word “smell” out before glancing Lucy’s way. “Hmm. Risky move on your part, Lucy, after last month’s fiasco with Eula Mae. She’s allergic to Fiona, you know.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Allergic, my eye. That story is a ruse.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Amy asked.

“She’s not allergic. Eula Mae has been jealous of me ever since I told her that the pastor’s wife was a better choice for the song O Holy Night’ last Christmas. We’re not speaking.” She shrugged. “Besides, Fiona is in my purse, safely hidden from view. I had it made just for her.” She held up the cotton-candy pink bag; the ferret’s nose peeked out of one end.

“Unless that bag comes with a built-in deodorizer, I don’t think your plan will work.” Amy’s father rubbed his nose.

Pete shook his head. “Eula Mae’s gonna flip. So’s Steve.”

“Speaking of which…” Amy’s dad gestured to the door of the building, where Steve stood with his mom’s best friend, Caroline, at his side.

“What’s the holdup out here?” Steve called out. “Are we meeting outside tonight?”

“Nah.” Amy took several steps in his direction. As she passed by him, he rested his hand on her shoulder and gave her a playful wink. Her heart fluttered as he gazed into her eyes.
Hmm.
She’d been noticing that a lot lately—the same feeling she’d gotten in junior high whenever he donned that football uniform. Not that she’d ever come out and told him that her heart fluttered in his presence, of course. How did a girl go about telling her best friend that she suddenly wanted…well, more?

“You ready to share your idea with the masses?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. Tingles ran all the way down her spine.

“What idea is that?” Caroline’s voice rang out. “The one where all the men of Camelot dance around in tights?” She laughed and slapped her leg. “I heard all about it from Eula Mae. Can’t wait to see how
this
one goes over.” She disappeared into the building, laughing all the way.

“What’s Caroline talking about?” Pete looked at Amy, his eyes widening. “Men in tights? I hope that’s some sort of a joke.”

“No kidding,” Grady Knowles, owner of the hardware store, said as he joined them at the door. “I’ll be ding-dang-donged if anyone thinks fer a minute I’d be seen in girly tights.” He raked his hands through thinning gray hair. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

Amy groaned. “I’ll be sharing my idea in a few minutes,” she said. “But don’t be so quick to judge, okay? What I’ll be proposing could turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to Camelot.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be lovely, whatever it is.” Lucy slipped through the door and into the hallway next to Amy. “We could stand a little shaking around here. This town has drifted off to sleep.” She headed off in the direction of the meeting room, shushing Fiona, who’d started that high-pitched squeal again.

“Sounds like you’ve come up with another one of your hair-brained ideas, Amy.”

Amy turned as she heard the voice of her one-time best friend, Gwen Meadows. The beautiful blond took a couple of steps in Steve’s direction. She batted her overly mascaraed eyelashes at him. “Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with her, Steve.” She paused and punctuated her next words. “As her
friend,
I mean.”

Amy caught her meaning. Gwen wanted everyone to know she’d set her sights on Steve.
Hmm.
Strange, the sensations that passed over Amy. Though she held no official claim on Steve—other than best friend, of course—she still couldn’t imagine him dating Gwen. In a parallel universe, perhaps, but not here. Not now.

“We’d better get inside.” Steve put his hand on Amy’s back and guided her down the narrow hallway toward the meeting room.

A couple of seconds after they greeted the others, Eula Mae entered with a tray of cookies in hand. She turned toward the group with her nose wrinkling. Sniffing the air, she voiced the inevitable question.
“What
is that stench?”

“Oh, I, um…” Amy shrugged, unable—or would that be
unwilling?
—to divulge the information.

“I distinctly smell…” Eula Mae’s gaze circled the room, finally coming to land on Lucy Cramden’s purse. “Ferret.” She marched Lucy’s way. “I can’t believe you’ve done this again. I’ve told you a half dozen times at least that I’m allergic to Fiona. Why you persist in…” At once, her eyes began to water. Eula Mae sneezed. And sneezed again.

“How could you be allergic?” Lucy pulled her bag a bit closer. “That’s just silly. People aren’t allergic to ferrets. Why, they’re the sweetest, cleanest—”

A voice at the door distracted them. Pastor Crane, who also owned the Knox County Funeral Home, swept in. His forehead glistened with tiny beads of sweat. “Evening, everyone.”

Eula Mae turned toward him and handed him the tray of cookies. “Evening, Pastor. Help yourself.”

He clutched the tray, his eyes growing large as he took in the variety of cookies. “Don’t mind if I do. Natalie’s Chicken Surprise casserole left something to be desired.”