The Wedding Audition (5 page)

Until now.

He might not have a choice if his enemies saw
his
picture in a newspaper thanks to Annamae’s presence in Alabama. He used a different name now, but he hadn’t done much to change his appearance besides shave off a beard since Beulah was so small. Remote.

The trial started in three weeks. Surely he could weather that time here. But a part of him had begun to wonder if he’d been foolish to let Annamae leave. At least on his property, he could keep an eye on her. Because what if he’d somehow compromised her safety?

The thought chilled him.

Plus, if she truly wanted privacy—a fact underscored by the way she’d sneaked out the back gate—he could provide that here. Annamae Jessup could all but disappear on this property, surrounded by fences and cameras to keep out unwanted guests. If she remained in Beulah somewhere else, she’d only serve as a beacon for national media interest. And that would not be good for anyone.

He had enough supplies within the confines of his fenced orchards that he could probably remain locked inside the perimeter until the U.S. Marshals Service arrived via helicopter to take him back home. Back to Miami where his testimony could ensure key members of a particularly vicious street gang would live out their days behind bars.

He couldn’t let Atlanta’s runaway heiress jeopardize everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish. He’d have to find her and help her be as invisible to the world as he’d become—at least for three more weeks.

*

“Beulah Retirement Community”

The sign tilted to the side, half-buried in kudzu less than a mile from Heath Lambert’s farmhouse. She was finally here. At Grandma’s house.

Gulp.

Nerves tap danced overtime in her stomach. Surely that was just because of the whole debacle of her wedding and the worst hide out attempt. Ever.

Heath had helped her slip out a back gate, but she’d still felt like spiders were crawling all over her, her skin burning with the sense of being watched. She’d checked her rearview mirror compulsively, but only saw normal traffic. She was just being paranoid. This wasn’t Atlanta.

Annamae stepped out of her car and walked up the flagstone path to the three-story Victorian that looked like new construction despite the old-fashioned appeal. By all accounts her grandmother—Hazel Mae Smith—lived here at the retirement center, referred to as the old folks’ home by the gas station attendant earlier. He’d apologized if that sounded politically incorrect to a big city girl but around here they didn’t believe changing words changed reality.

Did she really want to meet Hazel Mae, a woman Annamae’s mother hadn’t bothered to call in twenty-some years and labeled dead? When confronted after her slip up, Delilah Jessup had written off the rift with Hazel Mae as “old baggage” as if that somehow alleviated the need for Annamae to concern herself with her grandmother’s presence in the world. But as far as Annamae could see, wasn’t that all the more reason to fix the problem? What old baggage could possibly prove important enough to keep Annamae from seeing her only living grandparent for that long?

Sure Annamae had wanted to write off her own parents a time or two when their public disputes turned their lives into a media circus, but she’d always hung on to the philosophy that family was worth the extra effort.

Decision made, Annamae charged up the steps to the porch with her dog tucked under her arm. She turned the low door handle favored by old people and arthritic fingers, more bar than knob. A few kids played in the foyer with crayons and paper near a polished wooden toy box with an elephant painted on the front. A lady who was probably their mother sat in a rocking chair beside a frail-looking old man who frowned and stared at a television as if the thought of visiting with relatives was a wholly unwelcome idea. The kids’ eyes lit up at the sight of the dog.

Gramps looked up. “Your dog’s not wearing a vest.”

Annamae paused. “Pardon me?”

Grumpy Gramps pointed to Bagel. “Your dog ain’t wearing a therapy dog vest. He can’t go inside to visit with the residents. Rules are the rules for the pets that come here.” His eyes narrowed. “You ain’t one of those people who tries to pass off fake working dogs just so you can carry your pet in your purse are ya?”

She blinked fast at the crash course on working dogs 101. “Uhm, no sir. I just can’t leave my dog in the car and I’m here to see someone and—.”

He plucked the pooch from her arms. “I’ll hold him outside ‘til you’re done. And don’t worry about me wandering off with him. My daughter here watches me like a hawk since I snuck out for a beer last month. Before you know it, she’ll be making me wear one of those ankle monitors like I’m some kind of criminal instead of the man who taught her to tie her shoes.”

Annamae looked from the older man to the daughter who nodded with obvious gratitude over having found something that made her father happy.

“Sure,” Annamae said. “Thank you for holding my dog, sir. I appreciate it. His name is Bagel.”

His gnarled hands stroked Bagel’s bristly fur. “Just don’t take too long. I’m not a dog sitter.”

“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

The daughter mouthed
thank you
as Annamae grasped the handle again and backed inside.

Beyond the reception area, a brightly lit check-in desk was bracketed by two thriving fichus trees in front of a curving staircase to a second floor. An elevator chimed somewhere in the background, suggesting the stairs were probably more for show. The Persian carpet runner down the middle certainly looked brand new.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” A young, dark-haired woman in hospital scrubs sat behind the desk, a diet soda at her elbow.

Annamae tugged the knot in her scarf tighter. “I’m looking for a resident. Hazel Mae Smith.”

Hopefully her grandmother didn’t share the disposition of the man in the reception area more interested in his crossword puzzle than the toddler waving a crayon drawing under his nose.

“Certainly. May I tell her who’s calling, Ms. Jessup?” The desk attendant – Bobbi, according to the nametag decorated with teddy bears in nursing hats – grinned as she picked up her cell phone.

Annamae ducked behind a fichus tree, staring at the cell phone in horror. “No photos. Seriously. Or I’ll contact your boss.”

Bobbi gasped. “I wouldn’t dare take a photo. I was just going to show you the story on the Internet so you could be careful.”

“Surely you understand why I’m wary of trusting you.” Annamae leaned back against the wall, but wasn’t ready to step out of hiding yet.

“Honey, I let my mama push me into marrying my high school sweetheart and he turned out to be a total jackass – pardon my language. He expected me to wait on him hand and foot all the time, then ran off with my best friend.”

Annamae inched out from behind the tree. If the young woman wanted to take a photo, a measly fake tree wasn’t going to stop her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me too,” Bobbi said, straightening the nametag on her surgical scrub. “I like my job and all, but I lost four years of my life and all my savings. It’s better to be sure.”

Stepping forward, Annamae swallowed hard. “What was that you wanted to show me on your phone?”

“Oh, right.” She scrolled her finger across the screen. “Gus from the gas station has been busy gossiping. You’re gonna wanna be careful.” She passed over the device.

Annamae took it with a trembling hand and scanned the snippet posted on—of all things—the gas station attendant’s social media page. His status update included a grainy security photo that could have been anyone, especially since she was wearing glasses and a scarf. But judging by the number of Likes and Shares, all of Beulah had already seen the news online. How long before the Atlanta media got wind of this?

Annamae passed over the phone. “Thank you. I appreciate the heads up.” Would her grandmother help her hide out until she could figure out a way to plant herself in the carriage house and recoup? She could only hope. “I’d like to surprise Hazel Mae now, if I may. She’s—ah—an old friend.”

“Hazel has always had the most interesting friends.” The woman laughed as if this was a great joke, but she made the call for Hazel to come to the commons area, leaving Annamae free to explore more of the downstairs of the retirement home. A game room played host to three ladies bickering over a jigsaw puzzle and two men snoozing between moves on a chessboard. At least, she hoped they were snoozing.

Past the game room a muffled hint of music and counting suggested dance lessons or a workout of some sort. The scent of chlorine—evident even under the stronger odors of furniture polish and Old Spice—made her think a swimming pool or spa tub lurked behind one of the doors off the main corridor. Finally, she found an empty room with a few shelves of books and settled in to wait. But Bobbi, the desk attendant, was right on her heels.

“Hazel will be right down, Ms. Jessup.” Bobbi straightened a few of the books on the built-in shelves. “She’s going to be so excited to see you. She and her friend, Ruby, love
Acting Up
.”

“Really?” Surprised, Annamae knew the over-sixty demographic wasn’t the one that producers targeted with the show. Did Hazel watch to keep tabs on her granddaughter? Or was the older woman even aware of their connection? After Delilah’s lies about the Smith family, Annamae couldn’t be sure how much they knew about her.

“They were all up in arms when your youngest sister cheated on her psychology final exam last year.” The woman leaned into the doorjamb, launching into a diatribe about favorite scenes from Annamae’s last season.

“She didn’t really cheat.” One of many ways the editing process worked to the director’s advantage.

But the desk attendant didn’t hear her while she chattered about how upset her fiancé and parents must be over the broken engagement. She never mentioned anything about Hazel having a family connection to anyone on the show, so Annamae felt certain either Hazel was unaware or purposely hadn’t shared the information.

Interesting either way.

“Bobbi, did you call for me?” An older woman appeared in the hallway outside the door. Head wrapped in a white towel like a turban, she wore a yellow and purple caftan covering her whole body from slender shoulders to dainty feet in flip-flops with daisies between the toes.

The woman looked as if she’d been in the middle of a sauna or a massage, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, every wrinkle exposed. Still, her skin was lovely, all things considered. The crow’s feet around her eyes only made the vivid blue of her irises more striking. The laugh lines around her mouth settled into comfortable places as she smiled, and for a moment she didn’t look any older than Annamae’s mother.

“Hi, Ms. Smith.” Annamae stepped forward, suddenly nervous. As she walked closer she realized her grandmother was taller than her. “I’m Annamae and I’m—”

“I know exactly who you are, darlin’.” The older woman’s smile widened as she reached past Bobbi to stroke her granddaughter’s cheek.

Annamae’s eyes went misty and despite the mess of her over-processed hair, the guilt of her break up and the refusal of Heath Lambert to be her landlord, she was so glad she’d come to Beulah. She couldn’t believe she’d been deprived of her grandmother her whole life.

Leaning back, Hazel Mae clasped her hands to her chest for an emotionally charged moment before glancing over her shoulder.

Once Bobbi had disappeared and the hallway was empty, the older woman stepped deeper into the room, dragging Annamae with her. She clutched Annamae’s arm with two hands, her eyes narrowing.

“What in Sam Hill are you doing here?”

‡

A
nnamae stumbled back
against a coffee table at her grandmother’s harsh tone. Not that she should be surprised… hadn’t Delilah insisted the alligator hunter’s mother was mean as a snake? But right up to this second she hadn’t realized how much she’d been hoping her mother had lied about that, as she’d hidden so many things about Annamae’s father and his family.

“I don’t understand—” she began, uncertain and regretting ever coming to Beulah. “I thought—”