So not crazy. That was something. He laughed uneasily.
Evelyn resumed her haughty manner. She knew what he needed. “Go on in there and mind your manners. Ask Tiptoe to stay for breakfast. I’ll get to it.”
As she walked away, Brantley said, “Evelyn, don’t tell—”
“Don’t tell what?” she asked without turning around. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Nothing to tell.”
The last thing Brantley wanted to do was walk toward that room with music spilling out of it, but one did not disobey Evelyn.
When Tiptoe saw him, he ended the piece with an elaborate flourish and rose from the bench of the baby grand, extending his hand.
“Brantley Kincaid. You are going to make your grandmother one happy woman.”
Tiptoe Watkins owned the local cemetery and had more money that Midas. After all, death wasn’t optional. He presented himself as a simple man with cornpone wisdom, but he was Harvard educated and had done the world tour, back when young men did that before settling down.
He had been one of Papa’s best friends. Who knew why he tuned pianos? Probably for the social aspect and to amuse himself. Tiptoe was a talker.
“We all live to make Miss Caroline happy,” Brantley said as he shook Tiptoe’s hand.
“Fine instrument.” Tiptoe laid a hand on the piano. “Got a fine sound now. Want to take her for a spin?”
That wasn’t happening. It was
“Maybe later,” Brantley said. “Evelyn is fixing some breakfast. She said to make sure you stayed.”
Tiptoe laughed. “I had my Raisin Bran, oh, about six o’clock, but I’ve always thought Frodo and the boys had the right idea.” Tiptoe winked. “Second breakfast. Especially when Evelyn is doing the cooking. Reckon there’ll be cheese grits?”
“I reckon there will.”
Brantley motioned for Tiptoe to have a seat on the sofa and he let himself down in the chair across from him.
“So you’re going to see what you can do with that old building downtown?”
“My grandmother seems to have spread the word,” Brantley said. “Odd. I thought this was not for public knowledge.”
“I am not the public,” Tiptoe said. “People tell me things.”
“Odder still, I have not told my grandmother that I will do the restoration.”
Tiptoe laughed. “Yet you are going to do what she wants.”
Brantley nodded. “I am.”
“See, your grandmother is a wise woman. She knows the secret to getting what she wants—something that works every time.”
Brantley idly wondered if this elusive mythical secret would work on Lucy.
“Enlighten me, please. I could use a little magic.”
“No magic about it.” Tiptoe held up one finger. “First, act like what you want is a done deal. Be confident. Don’t entertain the thought that “no” could even be an option. Second, make everyone else think it’s happening. Perception is everything.”
Brantley laughed. “Big Mama certainly has that down. How do you think this method would play if you were trying to make a woman go soft on you?”
“Cannot fail.” Tiptoe nodded. “Especially if you make yourself dependent on her. Women love to be needed.”
“You’re a wise man, Tiptoe.” Brantley laughed it off, but he filed away what Tiptoe had said. There might be something to it.
At five o’clock that afternoon Lucy was still wearing what she had thrown on that morning. She was irked that Brantley had not come to get Eller, but not surprised. He might never come back. There was a small part of her that found it heady that, after all this time, he wanted to go out with her, but she wasn’t fooled. He only wanted it because she had refused to return his calls.
She considered putting Eller in the car and driving around until she found him. But she needed a shower and by the time she finished it would be six, or close to—the time he was supposed to pick her up for their “date.”
Not that she was going. Oh, no.
Or maybe she would. She could tell him that it wasn’t a date, but they could get some dinner. She would even pay for her own. That might be just the thing to do if they were going to have to work together—and it looked like they were.
Lucy showered and changed into brown corduroy pants and a lightweight cotton sweater the color of honey. Not date clothes, but a casual, nice looking, fall weekend outfit. She tamed her hair the best she could and applied the same amount of makeup she would wear to a football game or to the mall.
At a quarter to six, she walked Eller yet again, who, yet again, did not avail herself of the facility that was the great outdoors.
“You’ve got my number,” she said to the dog. “You know I can’t tell when you really need to go out or when you just want to see if you can make me take you.”
Then she went inside and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. Hating herself, she checked to make sure she had not set her phone to silent.
Eller begged for food and Lucy fed her—again. She’d never had a dog, and had no idea how often a dog was supposed to eat. She checked the time and the clock screamed 6:30 at her. She was a fool. Why had she let herself think he really did want to see her? That he wanted it enough that he would show up on time? If it wasn’t for that dog, she would leave. That way she would be gone if he came and if he didn’t, she would never know. Either would be fine.
Apparently, he’d gotten a good look at her this morning and decided he’d been too hasty. She would give him until seven and then she was driving Eller straight to Charles Kincaid’s house. She’d take her to Missy, except she didn’t want to answer a bunch of questions about what she was doing with Eller in the first place. She began gathering up the leash and dog food. She would say that Brantley had asked her to watch the dog, but apparently had gotten tied up and she had to be somewhere. And if Brantley was there—well, she hadn’t considered that.
The doorbell rang. Ten till seven. There he stood with a takeout bag of barbecue, a whole pie, and a six pack of beer. Eller went into fits of rapture.
Brantley, however, was not rapturous—or even remotely happy. Oh, he had a smile of sorts pasted on his face, but there was gloom in his eyes and a thin layer of sweat on his upper lip. She was right. He didn’t want to take her out, but he’d had to do something, since he’d been so insistent, so he’d brought barbecue. Obviously, this was the last place he wanted to be.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “It was unavoidable.” He didn’t sound sorry. He retrieved a piece of meat from his bag and gave it to Eller.
It was then that she noticed he had a fresh haircut and was sunburned.
“I see you got a haircut when you were supposed to be coming to get your dog,” she said as meanly as she could.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think it looks good? It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a real barber shop. Melba always makes my appointments at this place with soft music, where everybody has their own little private room. I can’t believe I let that foolishness go on. I am never going to another place that requires an appointment. I’m going to go right in and sit down and wait my turn like I did today.”
“Must have taken a while.”
He ignored her and, though she did not invite him in, he walked around her and took the food right back to the kitchen. And if that wasn’t nervy enough, he started rummaging around in the cabinet for plates.
Lucy was hot on his trail. “I’m sure you had a great time at the barber shop. You seem to always have a good time. Did you get in a little football watching?”
“I did not.” He started to unpack the bag. “But the Tide kicks off in a few minutes. Do you allow people to eat
