He laughed. “Thanks for the warning, but she’s well aware I’m here. That’s probably why she hasn’t come out of the kitchen in a while. That and the fact that she knows I’m going to grill her some more about Annie.”
Mary Vaughn’s expression sobered. “That poor child. How’s she doing?”
“Better,” Ronnie said, not wanting to get into that discussion. “Do you have a minute? There’s something I’d like to talk about with you.”
“Have a seat,” she said at once. “I’m meeting someone, but he’s always late. I doubt tonight will be an exception.”
Ronnie pulled out her chair, then took the one next to her. “You look great, by the way,” he told her. She had the trim build of an avid tennis player, a sport she’d taken up when she’d decided the country club would be the best place in town to meet rich potential clients.
“So,” he asked, “are you still a big real estate mogul in town?”
She laughed. “The biggest. Why?”
“Are you by any chance handling the real estate that’s on the market on Main Street? I didn’t notice whose signs were in the windows.”
“Most of it,” she said. “And the one or two listings that aren’t mine, I can get you into. What’s up?”
“This needs to stay between you and me for now, okay?” he said.
“You know me, I’m the soul of discretion,” she claimed.
Ronnie laughed. “Must have been hard for you getting to that place,” he teased. “Used to be there wasn’t a thing going on at the high school that you didn’t know and share.”
She winced at the reminder. “Not a trait that works in this business. I know things—” She cut herself off. “Of course, if I told you, that would pretty much prove your point, wouldn’t it? You can trust me, Ronnie. I swear it.”
He nodded. “I’d like to take a look at the old hardware store property. When did it go on the market?”
“Only a couple of months ago,” she told him. “It broke my heart to see one more business die. Rusty had a heart attack and, what with worrying about him and making sure he followed doctor’s orders, Dora Jean couldn’t handle the business. Not that there was much left of it, anyway. She just put a closed sign in the window, called me and told me to sell it, lock, stock and barrel.”
“When could I see it?”
She pulled out a day planner that was crammed with business cards and slips of paper. When she finally found her schedule, she skimmed a finger over the entries. “Eight in the morning tomorrow,” she said finally. “Otherwise, not till after six. The day’s jam-packed. I’m meeting with a developer at nine to talk about getting an exclusive on selling the homes in the new subdivision he’s starting. Six hundred houses, if you can believe it. Then there’s a Chamber of Commerce lunch at noon that will drag on till two. And then I’m showing properties to a couple relocating from Michigan.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve already shown them everything twice. I’m beginning to think they just like looking.”
“Put me down for eight,” he said at once.
If he liked what he heard and saw during his tour of the property, maybe he could get Mary Vaughn to consider letting him tag along to meet the developer. At the very least, he might be able to wrangle an introduction later, so he could pitch the kind of services he’d be offering to contractors once he had the doors opened. Once again it seemed as if fate had stepped in.
Just then Mary Vaughn’s dinner companion, a well-dressed, older man Ronnie didn’t recognize, arrived. Ronnie stood up and shook his hand as they were introduced. Though he was wearing a suit and tie, he looked as if he spent a lot of time on a golf course.
“Dave Carlson, Ronnie Sullivan, an old school friend,” Mary Vaughn said.
“I won’t intrude on your evening,” Ronnie told him. “I was just scheduling an appointment with Mary Vaughn for tomorrow.”
The man shrugged. “I’m used to it. Besides, she’s one of my top Realtors, so I never complain when she’s conducting business that could bring in more money.”
“Ah, you’re her boss,” Ronnie concluded.
Mary Vaughn frowned at the man. “And ever since my divorce the man I go home with at night,” she said, then added rather pointedly, “at least for now.”
Suddenly Ronnie felt as if he’d stepped into a minefield. Were they married or not? It sounded as if there was tension around that issue.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning. You two have a good evening.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Ronnie wove his way back to his booth in about two seconds flat, picked up the menu and hid behind it.
A moment later, Dana Sue slid into the booth opposite him. “So why were you huddled with Mary Vaughn?” she asked, tilting the menu down to look into his eyes.
“Business,” he said evasively.
She regarded him uneasily. “Are you about to start looking at houses, Ronnie?”
“If I were, would that bother you?”
“You know it would,” she said.
“Why? Because it would mean I’m staying, just the way I told you I was?” He gave her a knowing look. “Or because it would mean I wasn’t waiting around for you to invite me to come back home?”
She scowled. “Are you looking at houses or not?”
“Not,” he said, then pointedly glanced at the menu. “What do you recommend tonight, sugar? The fried catfish or the scallops?”
She looked as if she wanted to recommend that he do something that was physically impossible, but she apparently thought better of it. “The catfish is one of our bestsellers,” she said, her voice tight.
“Then that’s what I’ll have,” he said cheerfully. “With a side of information.”
Her expression turned wary. “About Annie?”
“No. As a matter of fact, what I really want to hear about is your
