Treasure Me (37 page)

He struggled to his feet. “How?” Then he remembered. “The business you mentioned?”

Rising, Anthony grinned. “You’re running the place for me from now until Christmas.” He slapped Hugh on the back. “It’ll put a few bucks in your pocket. All things considered, you probably need the cash.”

At the suspicion gathering on Hugh’s face, he added, “Relax. You’re going to love this.”

* * *

In the parking lot behind the Gas & Go Hugh stamped his feet, which were numb from the cold. From the back of the semi parked at the south end of the lot, two men unloaded Christmas trees.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this. The commute back and forth to Akron would be a hassle. Anthony had offered the spare bedroom at his house, which Hugh had quickly refused—he still hadn’t run into Blossom. The kid was notoriously mischievous. There was no telling what she might do if Hugh stayed in the house. He’d wake one morning to find he’d been hogtied in bed. Or worse.

Impervious to the weather, Anthony came out of the Gas & Go with his jacket flung open. He appeared alert and ready to face the day. Unlike Hugh, who was exhausted and depressed.

Longing clenched his heart. He still wasn’t sure if he’d look up Birdie. He’d never put things right, so why bother?

Anthony nodded at the men. “They’ll have you set up in an hour.”

“About the costume—”

“I’m done arguing. You’re wearing it.” Anthony hesitated, his expression sobering. “What’s this about you calling Landon?”

Stunned, Hugh crossed his arms. He’d put in the call less than an hour ago. How fast
did
news travel in the small town? “Ralston should’ve given Landon an opportunity to comment before the article appeared. I wanted to apologize. His maid said he was out Christmas shopping.”

“With Birdie,” Anthony supplied, grinning when the information snapped Hugh’s head up. “For a reporter, you really don’t keep up. Landon’s her father. He’s got a paternity test to prove it.”

“What?” Hugh reeled. “Landon’s her father?”

“I’ll give you the details when you get back.”

“Where am I going?” he asked warily.

“Over to the Second Chance to calm the savage mob, my daughter included.” Anthony frowned. “You didn’t write the story but the women blame you. Or maybe they’re baying for your blood because of what you did to Birdie. Either way, it’s your problem.”

“Oh, shit.”

“The news story brought a horde of people to town last week, all searching for rubies. The antiques in the Second Chance weren’t damaged but the wallpaper is torn and someone left graffiti on the walls.” Anthony shook his head. Damn if he didn’t appear to be enjoying himself at Hugh’s expense. “Offer to have the carpets cleaned and the walls repaired. You might avoid Finney’s skillet if you do.”

Hugh doubted it. Finney was probably eager to bash in his skull. At least Birdie was AWOL. He wasn’t prepared to see her until he came up with an apology.

Shuffling across the center green, he tried to compose the proper words to pacify the women. Through the restaurant’s window, he spied a few customers seated in the dining room. Delia, her green hair flashing, was taking an order. Ethel Lynn stood arguing with Theodora while Blossom drowned them out with the ear-buds of her iPod.

He noticed a sign on the door, which looked suspiciously like Blossom’s handwriting:

If you’re looking for rubies, go away.

Their rightful owner has claimed them.

As the door creaked open, Blossom tossed down her iPod and nudged Theodora. Finney barreled through the swinging door from the kitchen with her wooden spoon raised to strike. Delia and Ethel Lynn seethed. Theodora’s wrinkles firmed into a mask of rage, which she accented with an abrupt shimmy-shake of her shoulders.

They’d enjoy roasting his hide.

Run like hell.

But if he ran now, he’d never be able to show his face in Liberty again. Sorrow knifed him. He didn’t have a future with Birdie, but he’d never find peace until he apologized.

Theodora jabbed her finger toward a barstool. He sat.
Take it like a man.

Swinging his barstool around, she stood before him like a supremely enraged gnat. “Do you realize the fine mess you stirred up? If Blossom hadn’t put the sign up on the door, we’d still be overrun with hooligans.”

Mention of her brought a red-faced Blossom forward. “What about me?” She halted before him with her brown eyes watery. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

She wrinkled her nose. “The jury’s still out.”

He looked around wildly at the women. “I didn’t stop to consider how the publicity would affect all of you.”

Delia shrugged. “I made out okay—treasure hunters leave big tips.” Her pleasure faded. “Of course I nearly lost my best friend. I blame you. I was pissed off at Birdie for days, until I realized she’d stopped stealing money weeks ago.”

Hugh stifled a groan. “She did?” Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she was trying to go straight?

“People in town gave her an awful time,” Ethel Lynn put in, fluttering to a standstill. “Natasha over at the bakery? She slapped her. What a terrible thing.” To his astonishment, the old woman raised her delicate and heavily veined fists. “I have a mind to put you in your place.”

In turmoil, he searched for something to placate the women. Not to mention Blossom—hell, was there any way to make it up to the kid? And the baker had slapped Birdie? Heartsick, he let the pain suffuse him, body and soul.

Finally, he took Blossom’s hand. He’d set things right, starting with her.

“Blossom, I quit the
Register
,” he said, a dart of relief skimming through him when she appeared ready to hear him out. “I can’t write about you. Lying to you was wrong, and I’m ashamed of myself. No story is that important. Tell me how to make things right.”

“Let me work for you.”

“Selling Christmas trees?” An odd request, but he’d give her anything she asked.

“No, I want to work for you as a stringer,” she said impatiently. “That’s what it’s called, right?”

“A stringer works for a newspaper, but I can’t get you a job at the
Register
or anywhere else. You’re too young.”

Theodora nudged the girl aside. “She’s talking about the rubies, fool. Birdie’s trying to decide what to do with the money. If you ask me, Liberty needs a newspaper. Someone ought to report the goings on. Someone like you.”

“You want me to open a newspaper with Birdie’s inheritance?” Hugh nearly laughed but the women’s displeasure stopped him cold. Carefully, he added, “I’m sure Birdie won’t talk to me. Besides, there isn’t any news to report.”

Theodora whacked him on the knee. “Our farming community has news galore. The pig festival up in Bellrywood, the church supper next week—there’s a lot of news.”

Pigs? Church dinners?
“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” He scrubbed his palms across his cheeks. Was Theodora serious?

Behind the counter, Finney lowered her spoon. “All of you, ease up.” When he glanced at her in silent thanks, she added, “It took some guts coming here to apologize. I expect you called Landon this morning for the same reason.”

“Yes, I—” Hugh rocked back on the barstool. Did
everyone
know his business? “I understand he’s out shopping with Birdie.”

“He is. But don’t bother yourself on his account. He doesn’t want your apology.”

From somewhere behind, a silvery voice added, “Actually, my father would like to thank you for bringing Birdie home to us. I would, too.”

The attractive blonde had gone unnoticed in a corner of the dining room. She came forward now at a dignified gait, her tweed coat swaying and her diamond earrings flashing. Her stylish, platinum blonde hair brushed her ivory cheeks and he froze—he’d never seen her before but something in the turn of her lips, in the shape of her eyes, reminded him of the woman he loved.

“I’m Meade Williams, Birdie’s half-sister,” she said, her hand outstretched. Hugh shook her hand, releasing her fingers in stunned silence. “We never got the opportunity to meet last year, when you made Blossom famous. I was in Europe.”

“You’re Cat Seaver’s daughter.” Hugh swallowed down the regret barreling into his chest. Fate was forcing him to face all his demons today. “Fourteen years ago, I was the reporter who broke the story—”

“I know.” Sadness pooled in her eyes.

The other women drifted away. Appearing satisfied when they were left alone, she seated herself beside him.

“I’ve learned a lot about my mother this past week,” she said as if he were a trusted confidant and they’d been talking for hours. She laid her hands flat on the counter and splayed her fingers. “Cat did a lot of good for Ohio. The day she drowned… Hugh, I’m sure it was an accident. She was arrogant, proud—not suicidal. She could be so dramatic. I think she was angry. The Trinity story could’ve uncovered her indiscretions.”

“The article was about your father.”

“Of course.” Meade patted his forearm, a surprisingly welcome gesture. “My father… well, he’s rather old-fashioned. He’d never damage my memory of my mother. Fact is, she took many lovers. They were always young men she controlled. You were the one I knew about. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one.”

A shudder went through his chest. “She told you?”

“Right before she went out on the lake. She handed me the photographs of Wish, and my father with Birdie… and she told me about you. A young reporter with too many ethics who she hoped she’d destroyed. My father had already paid off one of her lovers to buy his silence. Once the story appeared in your newspaper, Cat was sure there’d be no way to stop the others.”

“I had no idea.” Relief washed over him.
I’m not responsible for her death
.

A shadow of a smile played on Meade’s lips. “You’ve given my father Birdie, the daughter he’d lost. You gave me the sister I didn’t know I had.” She clasped his fingers and he couldn’t stop himself—he held on tight. “If you hadn’t investigated Birdie, there never would’ve been a story in the
Register
. She would’ve moved on.”

“Once she found the rubies, she planned to.”

“If she had, my father never would’ve healed. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

For proof, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. Drawing back, she playfully nudged his shoulder. “Now, go on. From what I’ve heard, Anthony has you working the Christmas tree lot. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Fortunately Theodora’s stuffed groundhog, Alice, and the gold pedestal upon which she perched, were missing from the dining room table. The dead rodent had been replaced by china set out on an appropriately colored, ruby red tablecloth.

“Alice is on the back deck,” Theodora’s daughter, Ruby, whispered. She placed a platter of barbecue chicken in Birdie’s waiting hands and picked up the bowl of collard greens. “We’d like to give that poor groundhog a proper burial, but Mother won’t hear of it.”

Birdie followed Ruby into the dining room. “Name the time and place and I’ll toss Alice into a shallow grave.”

Ruby laughed. “Mother will tan your hide if she finds Alice missing.” She placed the food on the table then gave Birdie a hug. “How are you doing? Still nervous?”

Of all of Theodora’s children and grandchildren Birdie had met this snowy Sunday afternoon, Ruby was by far her favorite. Something of Theodora’s fire was evident in her sandy brown eyes, but it was mellowed by the serene expression on her well-rounded face. She wasn’t tall but she was a large woman, with every exaggerated curve and hill of her body created to give love and comfort. Ruby patted the faces of her adult children, squeezed her two brothers whenever they slipped into the kitchen to ask about dinner, and playfully smacked her two sisters on the behind as they finished at the stove and removed pies from the oven.

Birdie glanced into the living room. “I’m still nervous but I’m holding up.” Her new relatives were crowded in small groups, talking loudly. They appeared galvanized by the savory aromas drifting from the kitchen, as if sweet potato pie and barbecue were stimulants for conversation. “It’s a little overwhelming trying to remember everyone’s name.”

“There won’t be a pop quiz. We’re all just glad you’re here.” She took Birdie by the hand. “C’mon. Mother wants to show you something before we all sit down for dinner.”

Intrigued, Birdie followed her down the hallway, away from the living room’s revelry. Surprises no longer sent her looking for an escape route. Her past career as a petty thief didn’t matter. Ever since she’d found Theodora waiting outside the cave, everyone had showered her with affection. She now knew her real father. Her older sister, Meade, in a stunning about-face, had taken to fussing and fretting over her. Theodora and Ruby and the raucous Hendricks clan were now the extended family she was proud to call her own. She didn’t have Hugh, of course, but she’d learned to ignore the heartache. With so much family to treasure, it seemed ungrateful to wallow in self-pity because their relationship hadn’t worked out.

With a wave of her hand, Ruby led her into a large bedroom sweetly decorated in pastel hues. Theodora’s room? Nothing of the feisty matriarch’s gun-toting personality was in evidence. A rocking chair sat in one corner, and the four-poster bed was decorated with a trove of lacy pillows.

Theodora marched out of the walk-in closet. “Here it is.” She hefted a leather volume to the rocking chair and sat. She glared at Birdie. “Well, come on now. It’s time you saw this.”

Ruby nudged her forward. “Go. She’s wants a moment alone with you.” She left the room.

After she’d gone, Birdie settled on the rug at Theodora’s feet. The volume resting in the old woman’s lap was large, and it carried the faint scent of roses. The pages of parchment were golden with age, the edges painted with gilt.

“Is that Justice’s diary?” Delighted, Birdie ran her finger across the soft binding as Theodora searched for something inside.

Finding it, the old woman smiled. “Now, you know Justice opened the Second Chance Grill. Back then it was called The Second Street Eatery. First restaurant in Liberty. People didn’t think a colored woman should own a business, but our Justice didn’t care.”