Carlton’s smile faded, and he lowered his voice. “Are you sure her coming back here in her weakened condition is wise? I came to make a final offer for your land and this diner. Someone”—he pointed toward the ceiling—“could be sending you a message.”
“Someone”—Vicky rolled her eyes upward—“would probably tell me to dig a hole six feet down and put you in the bottom before he told me to leave Pick, Texas. I’m not interested in your offers, no matter what they are. You might as well take your business elsewhere.”
“You will be sorry in ten years,” he said. “You’ll never get another offer like I’m making you. My final offer is a quarter of a million dollars. Here’s another of my business cards with my number on it. You have one week to change your mind. Your town can’t go on forever. Take advantage of what is before you. And that offer for dinner is still on the table, Victoria.”
She shot a mean look his way. “My name is—”
He butted in quickly. “I know you like to be called Vicky, but Victoria suits you so much better. It’s regal, like you are.”
The bell above the door let her know that someone had arrived. She’d never been so glad to see Ryder in her entire life. He popped a hip up on a stool right beside Carlton. “Mornin’, Mr. Wolfe. What brings you to Pick at the crack of dawn?”
“Just here to do a little business with Victoria. I’m going down to see Leonard and then I’ll be on my way.” Carlton pulled out two dollars and laid them on the counter.
“Don’t go yet,” Ryder said.
“You got property to sell me?” Carlton spun the stool around to face him.
“No, sir, I do not own property in Pick. At least not yet. But I’ve got a question to ask. Have you ever been to a cemetery cleanup?” Ryder asked.
Vicky’s hands clenched into fists. What on earth was Ryder thinking? The man was on his way out of the diner. Let him go.
“Of course not. It sounds horrible.” Carlton shuddered.
“Well, we’re goin’ to have one tonight. We all gather up at the cemetery and we bring a tailgate supper. We share the food and the duties, and even the little kids work to help get it in top-notch shape once a year. While we work we remember the stories that we’ve heard about the folks who are buried there. We remember that Jancy’s grandma made the best lemon pie in the whole state and always brought one to the church dinners. And we talk about how Vicky’s mama never lived long enough to see Emily. It’s a time of cleanin’, yes, and when we get done, it’ll look right nice for the folks comin’ in for the festival.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Exactly,” Ryder said. “It has nothing to do with you or with the people who would buy your fancy houses. It has to do with the people who live in Pick now, the ones who will be buried out there in that cemetery someday and who know that their graves will be cleaned up before festival day. This isn’t just a chunk of dirt to us. It’s our heritage and our lives. And that’s not for sale at any price.”
“Everything is for sale. It’s just a matter of price and time,” Carlton snapped.
“You have my deepest sympathy,” Ryder said.
Vicky could have hugged Ryder. The younger generation was stepping up to the plate and realizing their responsibilities toward keeping their community intact.
Carlton jerked his head around to glare at Ryder. “Why would you feel sorry for me?”
“Because you have nothing of value if everything you have has a price tag on it. Just between me and you, you will not talk anyone out of their land here in Pick. You have a nice day now,” Ryder said. “Miz Vicky, I’d like a tall glass of milk and whatever breakfast special is on the menu today. And welcome home, Miz Nettie. It’s good to have you back even if they won’t let you do much today.”
“You have my offer, Victoria.” Carlton slid off the bar stool.
Ryder picked up the two bills and shoved them back into the pocket of Carlton’s snowy-white shirt. “Put his coffee on my tab, Miz Vicky. I’ll pay for the last cup he ever gets in this diner.”
Carlton stormed out, gunned his fancy little car enough to sling gravel against the metal siding, and left at least six months of rubber on the highway.
“I think that went very well.” Ryder grinned.
“That went amazingly wonderful.” Emily backed out of the swinging doors and set a big platter of food in front of him. “And this is on the house. We heard every word you said, and no one could have done better.”
“Thank you. I was just speakin’ from the heart. Folks like Carlton don’t know about the way we do things here in Pick. It probably went in one ear and out the other, but hopefully he doesn’t have a Teflon brain.”
Emily giggled, and Vicky frowned.
“Nothing sticks, Mama,” Emily explained.
It started with a giggle then went into laughter, and finally Vicky was grabbing napkins from the nearest dispenser to wipe the tears flowing down her cheeks. “I don’t imagine”—she hiccupped—“that we’ve seen the last of him, but you earned your breakfast. You ever think of goin’ into politics, Ryder?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be happy to pitch a tent right here in Pick and work out of the office in Frankston until I’m old enough to retire.”
“Well, if you”—another hiccup—“ever change your mind, I’ll be your campaign manager.” Vicky poured a glass of water and took seven sips without coming up for air. Just like her mother always said, it stopped hiccups. If only she could make Carlton Wolfe disappear the same way.
The day went fast for Nettie, and that evening Vicky relegated her to sitting in a lawn chair. It was the first time that she hadn’t made her way through the cemetery helping a little here and there and bossing everywhere. She should be glad to be above the ground and not under it.
Nothing had changed in the more than sixty years she’d been coming to the cemetery cleanup day. Compliments of a group of FFA boys back in the forties, a metal sign above the entrance said PICK CEMETERY. Most of those guys now had tombstones in the newer section toward the back. One central road led past the oldest tombstones. Halfway to the back side, a road cut across the main thoroughfare. A water faucet was located at each of the four corners of that road, and hoses were stretched out every which way. Tomorrow morning every tombstone would be cleaned and shining, and there wouldn’t be a weed in sight.
Woody set a chair beside her and eased his lanky frame down into it. “Glad to see you here. Wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Or you. We’re the old folks now. Remember when our parents were the ones who sat in chairs and watched the young folks work?” Nettie sighed.
“Yep,” Woody agreed. “But we ain’t ready to turn up our toes just yet. Right now we got to save our strength for that wolf that’s still knockin’ on our door. Sorry son of a gun can’t take no for an answer. He was in town again today.”
“Ryder put him in his place,” Nettie said. “Hey, Jancy, your granny’s grave looks good. Elaine would be right proud of you takin’ care of it on cleanup day.”