Laurel cowered back into the sofa and willed the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
No, not now, when all her defenses were down—Uncle Larry and Uncle Ricky. They weren’t her uncles by blood, but that’s what she had grown up calling them.
Freiberg presented his finds like a proud parent. “Richard Simcek has a finger in every pie in town, and Larry Traylor is our mayor.”
Laurel suppressed a shudder. Uncle Larry, a member of her father’s congregation, had refused to let Daddy remove his personal mementoes from the church office. Uncle Ricky had turned his back on Mama in the produce section of Piggly Wiggly three days before she killed herself.
Larry Traylor stretched his face into a jolly-fatman smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stepped forward with his hand outstretched toward Jase.
No one had noticed her yet, Laurel realized. All their attention was focused on Jase, who was in fine form, pumping hands and introducing himself as “Jason Redlander, Redlander Properties out of Dallas.”
Dear God, her gentle, considerate lover had automatically gone into shark-hunter mode.
The men’s wives were surging forward now too.
“My wife, Betsy,” Uncle Ricky said, presenting her to Jase.
“So nice to meet you.” She gave Jase her hand and, as usual, glanced at her husband to make sure she’d said the right thing.
Aunt Betsy had aged a lot in three years, Laurel noted. Had Uncle Ricky been playing around on her again?
As soon as Betsy Simcek backed off, standing beside her husband again but keeping anxious eyes focused on Jase, Uncle Larry’s wife stepped forward to introduce herself.
“I’m Isabelle Traylor, but everyone calls me ‘Izzy.’ Just plain ol’ Izzy, that’s me.” She tossed her mink stole behind her shoulders for emphasis.
In contrast to Betsy Simcek, Aunt Izzy didn’t seem to have changed in the least—still pleasantly plump, still wearing her purple-tinted hair in rolls and puffs, still jovial. At least on the surface. Everyone in town knew her as a hard-boiled businesswoman whose money sense was the only thing that, time after time, had saved her showboating husband from financial disaster.
Suddenly Laurel realized Jase was tugging on her hand. When she tried to resist, he exerted even more pressure, forcing her to stand up.
“And this is Mrs. Redlander,” Craig announced.
Jase corrected him with an easy smile. “Not quite yet, but we’re working on it.” He dropped his arm around her shoulders. “I think you all know Laurel Harlow. I understand her father was one of the founders of the club.”
Laurel tried to smile, but could feel the room closing in on her. The foursome’s faces looked like he had just introduced them to Lady Dracula.
Uncle Ricky and Uncle Larry were the first to recover, closing their jaws and blinking their eyes back into their heads simultaneously. She’d seen them in action before—nothing caught those two by surprise for very long.
A drawing of the lips that passed for a smile spread across the mayor’s face. “Well, isn’t that just great!” he said in a hearty tone. “Jase Redlander and little Laurel Harlow. How about a congratulatory kiss for your ol’ Uncle Larry?”
Advancing on Laurel, he enclosed her in a hearty hug, then planted a smacking buss on her cheek. Laurel smiled stiffly and lifted an arm as if to welcome his embrace. Maybe they could all play this off, and she could hurry Jase out to the car.
Uncle Ricky took over where Uncle Larry left off. In his day, he’d been quite handsome, and she’d had a short-lived crush on him in her early teens. That was when she learned about his tendency to grope, which had been going on for so long that she doubted if he was even conscious of it anymore. Sure enough, one of his hands managed to brush her hip as he gave her a quick hug.
Jase frowned as he watched the men greet Laurel. This was awkward. What the hell was going on? Something was wrong. Traylor and Simcek wanted to reject Laurel, just like Rebecca Diaz had, but they had to accept her because she was with him. Their wives were still hanging back, though.
Then the big one, Izzy Traylor, lifted the slack sides of her mouth into a beaming smile, and stepped forward to grasp Laurel’s hand, murmuring how nice it was to see her again.
But Simcek’s wife was a different kettle of fish. She shook off her husband’s grip and backed off from Laurel. “No, no, Ricky! I won’t shake hands with her! You can’t make me!”
Her jaw sawed back and forth in indignation, and her eyes were rolling with rage and anger. “I won’t do it, no matter what! Not after what Ed did! Maybe you don’t remember, Ricky, but I do! My own nephew too! Maybe it didn’t come to court, but it should have! That dirty old man—and he bought his way out of it!”
Jase’s jaw dropped. What was she talking about? Reverend Ed, a dirty old man? Was the woman insane? And, of course, everyone in the place was coming into the room to check out the train wreck.