“Whether she deserves him or not isn’t the point. She has him, you don’t, Louella.”
Louella’s lips thinned to a cruel line. “You women are destroying the purity of Plum Orchard. This town’s reputation was built on family and good Southern values. Phone sex is hardly a family value. How will we ever hope to drum up more tourism with a phone-sex company harbored in the middle of everything? Who wants to visit in a bed-and-breakfast that sits right in front of a company that sells sex, Emmaline? Who wants to have a cup of coffee right beside a woman that looks like she just stepped off the stage at some heavy-metal concert and scares children to boot?”
“Suddenly this is about the purity of Plum Orchard? You’d better look past the end of your stuck-up nose before you start lobbin’ insults. And if you’re referring to Marybell, when was the last time you went to the library and read to the children, Louella? Made balloon animals for the sick babies in the waiting room to ease their fears? When was the last time Louella Palmer did anything—anything other than stick her broken nose in where it didn’t belong?”
Louella sat very still, her lips clamped tight.
Em shook a finger at her. “So, don’t you talk purity and values to me. And don’t you dare insult my friend with your fake values and your fake Southern nonsense. You don’t care about whether the coffee shop thrives or how many guests stay at the bed-and-breakfast. Your jealousy fuels this grudge, Louella. Don’t tell yourself anythin’ other than that when you put your pretty head on your pillow.”
When Louella didn’t respond, Em went in for the kill. “Now, I’ve let you slander my good name. I’ve sat back and allowed you to gossip about me, watched my boys hurt by your narrow-minded thoughts, and it’s about to end.”
“I can’t stop people from talkin’, Em. People will do what they do.”
“Will they do what they do when they find out how you got your dirty little hands on my birth certificate? The real one? That’s a legal document, stolen from the State of Georgia’s records.”
Louella bristled, but she didn’t crack. “You can’t prove it was me.”
“I can’t, but that poor man who works down at Johnsonville Emergency surely can. The one you talked into doin’ your dirty work for you. The one who helped you steal that birth certificate? The one that’s married?”
Louella’s eyes shifted. “What does that prove?”
Em folded her hands primly in her lap. “It proves you were the one who sent me the birth certificate because when that poor, misguided man you lied to finds out you were only using him, he’ll be angry enough to dust it for fingerprints for me. Now, while you’re a smart girl, you’re not that smart, but I am. I watched Dexter. All seven seasons.”
Now she cracked—wide-open. “Spit it out, Em!”
“If you don’t stop diggin’ up things you have no right unearthing, if you don’t make your puppets dance to a different tune, I will go to a lawyer. I’ll show him the birth certificate and tell him you stole it from me. That nice lab man will back me up, too, because if he won’t, I’ll tell that nice forensic lab man’s wife all about you. I wouldn’t like it, but I’d do it to protect my children. These are some pretty serious offences, Louella. Isn’t that identity theft? Some even require jail time if you’re prosecuted. Won’t that be somethin’ here in lil’ Plum Orchard? A trial. Maybe you might even end up on truTV. Imagine the tagline. Bitter, older Southern socialite seeks revenge and finds herself in hot water after the man she loves jilted her for prettier rival.”
Louella’s eyes, always so hard and cruel, hardened. “You’d never be able to prove a thing. It’d be your word against mine.”
Em smiled and patted Louella on the arm. “Well, sure it would. But it’ll make your life miserable for a little while—maybe even a long while. You know, the courts bein’ so slow these days. And while we waited, all eyes would be on you, Louella Palmer, taking the heat off me. So let me say this loud and clear, you will never, ever say another word about Dixie, or my boys or me again. If my sons are harmed as a result of this spiraling any further out of control, if I hear people talkin’ about me at Madge’s, or anywhere, I’m holding you personally responsible, and I’m going to pick up my phone and call an attorney and drag the Palmer name through the mud. I’ll make YouTube videos with cute captions and music. I’ll start an online petition. I’ll devote an entire Facebook page to you and your heinous Plum Orchard crimes. In short, I’ll make you wish you’d gone off to your otherwordly resting place. Do we understand each other?”