Simple Gone South

her phone.

She turned off the phone without checking the caller ID. Then she ripped her already ruined blouse off her body, wadded it into a ball, and threw it at as hard as she could. She wanted it to break something or at least land with a thud. But it unfurled four inches from her hand and floated softly to the floor like a soap bubble.

Having found no satisfaction in blouse throwing, she screamed like a cave woman who had been denied her gathering rights. It felt pretty good, so she did it again.

Chapter Seven

Even after staying in seclusion with her phone off all day Sunday, Lucy’s anger was still with her Monday morning.

She stormed into Annelle Mead Design and Interiors at 8:25 A.M.—fifty-five minutes later than she liked to be and twenty-five minutes later than she was supposed to be. She had an armload of dog supplies and Eller’s leash wound around her legs.

Aunt Annelle looked up with amused surprise. “I don’t know whether to be more shocked that you’re late or that you’ve got a dog in tow.”

Lucy dropped the dog food at her feet and removed the leash from Eller’s collar; the dog began to zip around the shop like a hummingbird at ground level.

“One surprise is all that’s necessary,” she said grimly. “One led to the other.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” Annelle said.

Lucy carried the bag that contained Eller’s food and water dishes, toys, and bed to her office. “I can sum it up in two words: Brantley Kincaid. But I will tell you this. I have a new appreciation for Lanie and Missy, having to haul all that kid stuff around all the time. Is this okay?” She gestured to Eller, who seemed to know Annelle was in charge and was sucking up to her. “I can lock her in my office.”

“No!” Annelle bent over and scratched behind Eller’s ears. “Lock this perfect baby up? Never! She might bring us some business.”

“Let us hope she doesn’t do her business on the floor.” Lucy reached for her messages.

A client canceling an appointment. The fabric for Angie Callahan’s drapes was on backorder. Nothing but good news. Oh, and the last one put the icing on the cake.

“Do you know why Caroline Brantley wants me to come over as soon as possible?” Lucy asked Annelle.

“Not specifically. I know her bridge club is coming today at eleven and she wants to talk to you before then —the earlier the better.”

“Then I guess I’d better feed that dog and go. She’s probably going to fire me from the Brantley Building project. Or tell me she’s hired someone else who I’ll have to answer to.”

“Darling, I’m sure that is not true. Run on.” Annelle bent to pet Eller again. “I’ll take care of feeding this precious girl.”

* * *

Miss Caroline opened the door and ushered Lucy into the living room.

“It was so good of you to come over, Lucy. Please sit.” She gestured to the velvet sofa in front of the fireplace, which was ablaze.

Miss Caroline sat beside her. “I know it’s a little warm for a fire, but I can’t resist if there is the least bit of snap in the air.”

“It’s lovely,” Lucy said and let her eyes wander to the mantle. “A mantle that wonderful deserves to have a fire as often as possible.” She paused, reluctant to show off, but if Miss Caroline was going to fire her, she ought to know what she was losing. “American Victorian Renaissance Revival. Black walnut. I would put it original to the house.”

Miss Caroline smiled. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you for the Brantley Building.” So maybe she wasn’t going to fire her. “But no, it isn’t original. It should have been. Originally there was a marble monstrosity that was a hundred years too early. I couldn’t take the naked nymphs.”

“Good call,” Lucy said.

“Would you like coffee?”

She would have loved coffee but not as much as she wanted to get this chitchat over with and find out why she was here.

“None for me, but you go ahead.”

“It’s just as well,” Miss Caroline said. “We can leave Evelyn to her cheese straws and crab salad. She’s a much bigger snob about bridge club food than I am.”

Lucy laughed. “I don’t think anyone could rightfully accuse either one of you of being a snob. Discerning, yes; snob, never.”

“I like how you think.” Miss Caroline let her eyes wander to the huge oil portrait over the fireplace of the rosy-cheeked blond toddler. He was clutching a ball and the blue smocked bubble suit he wore was classic, just like this house and everything in it. “He was a beautiful baby, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. And he’s a beautiful man. And a beautiful kisser. Wait. No. Stop. He is the man who left his dog on your porch without asking you!

“Brantley is the reason I called you over.” Miss Caroline smiled like she was giving away the keys to the kingdom.

What now? “I have spoken with Brantley,” Lucy said hesitatingly. “He told me we would be working together on the Brantley Building.”

“Oh, yes!” This woman was in hog heaven. “I so hoped he would do it. I think you two will do a wonderful job.”

“We will do our best,” Lucy said. At least she would. Who knew about golden boy?

“When Brantley returns, the mayor is going to call a press conference to announce our plans. There will be someone there from the State Historic Commission. I’d like you to be there.”

“Of course.” For this she had to come to the house?

“But that’s not what I needed to talk to you about.”

Lucy inclined her head toward the older woman. How much longer was she going to have to wait?

“Brantley is moving into my carriage house. I know you are familiar with it from when Tolly lived there.”

“Oh, yes. I was there many times.”

“Brantley is in San Francisco—” She paused. “Did you know he was in San Francisco?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And his dog is with me.

“The carriage house needs a coat of paint and—well, just a little care. Is there any way possible that you could put it together for me? By Friday?”

Hell and double hell! Friday? And for Brantley? She might throw up.

“Yes, ma’am. I will make it my priority.” Because, really, what else could she say?

“His furniture is scheduled to arrive this afternoon. He doesn’t have a great deal—a lovely Eastlake bed, a leather chair and ottoman, a few odd tables, an antique draftsman’s table. Brantley still likes to draw by hand sometimes. Of course, there is that monster television that will have to be worked around.”

“What did you have in mind?” Lucy asked. And wouldn’t it be better to wait and let him choose what he wants?

As if she had read Lucy’s mind, Miss Caroline said, “I know it seems odd that I want this done while he’s gone without consulting him, but if we wait on him he will sleep in the first place he puts the bed. He won’t do anything. I want him to be comfortable. I want his surroundings to be pleasing.”

“I see,” Lucy said and she did. Miss Caroline wanted him to stay. Good luck with that. Didn’t she know he was a runner?

“You can take some pieces from this house. Goodness knows there is too much here. And we can buy whatever is necessary. But I want to put this in your control. If I choose it will be to my liking. I want Brantley to