If it weren’t for Delilah, Sugar Beth wouldn’t have been forced to come back to Parrish, but the money for Delilah’s care had run out. Now Sugar Beth couldn’t keep her stepdaughter at Brookdale unless she found the Ash painting. Still, she wouldn’t feel sorry for herself. Unconditional love was a precious gift, and Sugar Beth knew a blessing when she met one.
As she retrieved her grocery sacks, a familiar cognac-colored Lexus sedan pulled up and stopped next to her. The driver’s side window slid down to reveal the imperious face of the Duke of Doom himself, sneer and all. “You look like a bag lady.”
She assumed he was referring to her grocery sacks instead of her jeans and motorcycle jacket. “Thanks, I hope you’re having a nice day, too.”
He regarded her through his invisible quizzing glass. “Would you like a ride?”
“You let peasants in your carriage?”
“If I’m feeling benevolent.”
“My lucky day.”
He made her wait while he took his time flicking the locks. She opened the back door and set the sacks behind the passenger seat. Then, since pride did count for something, she climbed in with them and closed the door. “Carry on.”
He draped an arm over the seat and gazed down his long nose at her.
She gave him a haughty look. “I really don’t have all day.”
“Perhaps you should walk after all.”
“Bad for the neighborhood. Having a bag lady around.”
She was pleased to note that he stepped on the accelerator just a little harder than necessary, and his tone was withering. “You’ll let me know, won’t you, if there’s anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”
She gazed at the back of those wide shoulders. “You could take that silly little chain off my driveway.”
“But I find it so amusing.” He turned onto Mockingbird Lane. “I saw a tow truck by your car this morning. I’m dreadfully sorry about that.”
“Oh, don’t be. The sweetest boy was driving it, so reasonable, not to mention attractive.”
“So you managed to dissuade him from taking it away, did you?”
“Now, now. Southern ladies don’t French-kiss and tell.”
She waited for him to say she was no lady, but obvious jabs were beneath him, and he engaged in more subtle warfare. “How’s the job search progressing?”
She managed a breezy flick of her hand. “Career decisions are stressful, so I’m taking my time. You can drop me off right here.”
He ignored her and pulled into the drive that led to Frenchman’s Bride, which took care of his tip. “A lot to choose from, is there?”
“Tons.”
“So I’ve heard. The town is abuzz.”
“I’ll bet.”
He parked near the house and turned off the ignition. “The rumor is that even Louis Higgins refused to hire you at the Quik Mart, and he seems to hire anyone who speaks even a modicum of English.”
“Unfortunately, I was the driving force behind a rather nasty rumor about his little sister in ninth grade. He didn’t seem to care that it was true.”
“The chickens keep coming home to roost, don’t they?”
“Clucking all the way.” She opened the door and began to unload. He came around the hood of the car just then, and she nearly dropped her Coke because he was wearing an honest-to-God black suede duster. And, with his short, rumpled hair, looking way too good in it.
“Let me carry your sacks to the carriage house,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”
She was too stunned by the sight of the duster to answer. In Mississippi yet.
“I’d hoped closing off the driveway wouldn’t be such an inconvenience. Alas, I was wrong.”
“Not to worry,” she said as she recovered. “With the added exercise, I’ve been able to dismiss my personal trainer.”
Gordon had apparently been hiding out on the veranda because he came trotting across the yard. Byrne astonished her by looking pleased. He shifted the sacks so he had one arm free and leaned down to scratch behind his ears. “So you haven’t run off.”
“Nice dog,” she drawled.
“He showed up a few days ago. He’s a stray.”
“That could mean rabies. I’d call the pound if I were you.”
“He doesn’t have rabies.” Byrne looked even more irritated than normal. “And you know exactly what the pound would do to him.”
“That’s remarkably unfeeling, even coming from you,” Byrne said stiffly.
“Yeah, well, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.” Gordon trotted toward the veranda, more than a little pleased with himself. She noticed an extra waddle in his gait. “You haven’t been feeding him, have you? He looks fat.”
“And what business is it of yours if I have?”
She sighed.
They reached the carriage house. When she turned the knob, he got all critical again. “Why isn’t this door locked?”
“It’s Parrish. There’s not much point.”
“We have crime here, just as any other place does. Keep this door locked from now on.”
“Like that’s going to stop you. All you’d have to do is give it one good kick, and-”
“Not from me, you ninny!”
“I hate to be the one to break the bad news, but if they find my body, you’re the one with the biggest grudge.”
“It’s impossible to hold a rational conversation with you.” He gazed at the living room with distaste, despite the fact that she’d cleaned the whole place from top to bottom. “Did your aunt ever discard anything?”
“Not much. If you see something you like, be sure and make me an offer.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” He headed toward her kitchen, duster flapping behind him.
She shrugged off her own jacket, dropped her purse on a chair, and followed him. “I’ll bet you’d take out your wallet for the Ash painting.”
“I’m afraid that would stretch even my finances.” He set the sacks on the counter, his big body filling up the small space.
She pulled out a package of E.L. Fudge cookies. “You talked to Tallulah. You believe the painting exists, right?”
“I believe it existed.”
“I hope that’s some kind of fancy Brit talk for, ‘Yes, indeedy, Sugar Beth.’ “
He leaned against the ancient refrigerator and crossed his ankles. “I think it’s quite possible your aunt destroyed it.”
“No way. It was her most prized possession. Why would she?”
“She refused to share the painting during her lifetime. Why would she want to share it after her death? And not to put too fine a point on it, why would she share it with a niece she considered a bit of a tart?”
“Because she believed in family, that’s why.”
He picked up the box of doggie treats she’d just dropped. “What’s this?”
“I’m poor. They’re nutritious.” She snatched them away and tried not to brush against him as she put the Coke in the refrigerator.
