I lowered my voice. “Just exactly when did you get back?” I hissed. “And when were you planning on letting me know?” Then something occurred to me. I whipped around and faced my mother. “And you knew about this?”
She shooed Trey back toward the kitchen, but he didn’t go. Instead he walked over to Anna and took the broom from her hands. “Go get them some more bread and drinks. I’ll clean this up.”
“I don’t want more drinks or bread. I want answers. Now.” That stopped everyone cold as my blood ran hot from being so flagrantly lied to. Arms crossed, I stepped toward this now pale-faced boy of mine, when my toe started to catch the edge of something. I looked down, afraid of stepping on glass, and noticed several protruding floor tiles. That must have been what Anna tripped over, I thought.
“Careful.” Anna held out a hand to me. She looked up at Trey, back at the floor, and then at Trey again. “You’re not going to tell Grandpapa, are you, Trey? He’s stressed about this already. You saw how he was the other day.”
Trey shook his head. “Did I ever! I thought he was going to kill that guy.”
Then, looking around some more, I noticed the whole floor was uneven, some of the tiles cracked and coming loose. Suddenly a light went off in my mind, temporarily eclipsing my anger. “What do you mean, Trey? What guy?”
“Some handyman he hired to do a bunch of stuff around here. I can’t remember his name.”
Anna spoke up, “I think it was Chuck something.”
“Chuck Richards?” I asked.
Her eyes registered recognition. “Yeah! That’s it. Don’t ever have him do any work for you. He’s a terrible contractor.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “There’s absolutely no chance that anyone will be hiring Chuck for any more jobs.”
Chapter 8
“Yoo-hoo, Ms. Wilkins!”
I stopped short, squeezing my eyes shut for a second before turning around to face Trudy Lambert. “Yes, Ms. Lambert. Is there something I can do for you?” She was the last person I needed to see, especially after everything that had happened today.
“Perhaps you can be of some assistance, especially since Ms. Duke seems preoccupied with other things. We have a slight problem.”
It took all of my self-control to keep from rolling my eyes. She didn’t have to tell me about problems—I was up to my eyebrows in problems: my client accused of murder, my son leaving school and not even telling me . . . I shook it off and put on my professional face. “I’d be glad to help, if I can.”
“It’s about your author, Pam Fox.”
“Pam? Yes, what is it?”
She lowered her chin and tucked a strand of platinum blond hair behind her ear. “It seems Pam has some sort of fortune-teller at her booth.”
“Oh? Is that a problem?”
“Not necessarily. It’s just that the line for fortunes is blocking the other booths. I’ve received several complaints from the vendors in that area.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
She sent me a sappy smile to match her sugary tone. “Soon, I hope.”
I had been on my way to find Lynn in order to do a couple of practice runs on her presentation, but I guessed I could take a few minutes to stop by Pam’s booth. “Sure,” I sighed. “I’ll head over there now.”
“I knew I could count on you, Lila.” She stepped to the side, opening up the path toward Pam’s booth. “I wouldn’t think of keeping you another second.”
As soon as I was out of earshot, I mumbled a few choice words under my breath. It was easy to see why Bentley butted heads with this woman. Ms. Lambert and my boss were complete antitheses. While both were equally demanding, Bentley dished out directives and orders like a drill sergeant, while Ms. Lambert coated them in sugar and handed them over on a doily-covered platter. I preferred the drill sergeant tactic.
Then again, as I neared the area of Pam’s booth, I realized the line, more of a clump actually, really was blocking several other booths. The good news was that Pam was busy on her end of the table, signing books like crazy. Flora’s idea of using the Babylonian Fortune-Teller was paying off big-time, but I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of Mama behind the starry-eyed and giggling ladies vying to be next. One woman, heading the opposite direction, clogged traffic all the more as she excitedly whispered to others waiting, showing her palm to them, as if it held some secret treasure. I sighed; no doubt this one had just left the Amazing Althea with “good signs,” as Mama would say.
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice called out. “Would y’all mind moving over, please?” I glanced over the heads in the crowd to see a hand waving through the air. “Excuse me, ladies,” the deep voice continued, a little more agitated this time. “You’re blocking my booth.”