a pair of cream-colored wrist-length gloves with a ruffled cuff.
“I’m coming to believe, Carly Bell, that my type does not exist. Wendell is a perfectly lovely gentleman. For someone else. I need someone with a stronger . . . constitution.”
“The ulcer?” I asked with a small smile.
“And the headache from the music. And the sore throat from a possibly tainted piece of shrimp.” She peeled off her gloves. “Bless his heart.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Just one more frog crossed off the list,” she said on a long sigh. “But never mind that right now. I’ve come over because I want to talk to you about a particular guest staying at the inn. A young woman. Very sweet. Extremely kind.”
All three Odd Ducks owned inns on this street. Eulalie’s, the Silly Goose, and Hazel’s Crazy Loon were almost always filled to capacity. Aunt Marjie’s Old Buzzard had never once seen a guest and had a NO VACANCY sign hanging out front. She was contrary that way.
Eulalie’s place was two doors down, one of only three homes on this side of the street. Sandwiched between her place and mine was Mr. Dunwoody’s house, and I was grateful for the buffer. Though I loved my aunts, being directly next door would be a little too close for comfort.
“A bride-to-be?” I asked. With Hitching Post being the wedding capital of the South, most visitors to the town were involved with a wedding in some way. Before Eulalie could answer, I added, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she said, following me into the kitchen. “My guest has been extremely tight-lipped as to why she is here. Not for a lack of my trying to get a reason out of her, mind you.”
Eulalie had probably wheedled the woman endlessly. Poor thing. I set about making the coffee.
She said, “As far as I knew this young woman had no connections to this town, wedding or otherwise.”
“Knew?” I questioned her use of the past tense.
“Imagine my surprise when she turned up at the masquerade ball last night.” Pressing her hand to her chest dramatically, she added, “And played a starring role in the debacle that took place with Patricia Davis Jackson.”
The debacle. Eulalie had to be referring to Patricia’s tongue-lashing of the party crasher. The one Haywood had set out to rescue just before he was killed . . .
Slowly, I turned to face my aunt. “She’s that woman?”
Solemnly, Eulalie nodded. “Avery Bryan, age twenty-seven, from Auburn.”
Auburn was a good three and a half hours away and best known for the university of the same name. Hitching Post was mostly comprised of ’Bama football fans, but that wasn’t to say Auburn didn’t have pockets of fervent fans around these parts. It could get downright nasty during the annual Iron Bowl matchup between the two teams every November.
Reaching for a pair of mugs, I instinctively smiled at the Professor Hinkle mug Dylan had given me years ago. Once broken, it was now glued back together. Kind of like Dylan’s and my relationship.
“She was most distraught after returning to the inn last night,” Eulalie continued. “I heard sobbing coming from her room during the wee hours.”
The coffee finished perking and its alluring scent filled the air. I breathed it in like the true caffeine addict that I was. After grabbing a carton of cream from the refrigerator, I said, “I can imagine how upset she must have been. As you may recall, I’ve been on the receiving end of Patricia’s tirades many times.”
“That vicious tongue of Patricia’s will get her in trouble one of these days, mark my words. But regardless, Avery wasn’t weepy after the argument between them. I spoke to her immediately after the tiff when Idella Kirby pulled the two into the powder room to cool off.” Eulalie smiled slyly, her pale pink lipstick sparkling in the light. “I had gone in there to eavesdrop properly on the quarrel and my foresight paid off very well indeed.”
I
“I’m coming to believe, Carly Bell, that my type does not exist. Wendell is a perfectly lovely gentleman. For someone else. I need someone with a stronger . . . constitution.”
“The ulcer?” I asked with a small smile.
“And the headache from the music. And the sore throat from a possibly tainted piece of shrimp.” She peeled off her gloves. “Bless his heart.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Just one more frog crossed off the list,” she said on a long sigh. “But never mind that right now. I’ve come over because I want to talk to you about a particular guest staying at the inn. A young woman. Very sweet. Extremely kind.”
All three Odd Ducks owned inns on this street. Eulalie’s, the Silly Goose, and Hazel’s Crazy Loon were almost always filled to capacity. Aunt Marjie’s Old Buzzard had never once seen a guest and had a NO VACANCY sign hanging out front. She was contrary that way.
Eulalie’s place was two doors down, one of only three homes on this side of the street. Sandwiched between her place and mine was Mr. Dunwoody’s house, and I was grateful for the buffer. Though I loved my aunts, being directly next door would be a little too close for comfort.
“A bride-to-be?” I asked. With Hitching Post being the wedding capital of the South, most visitors to the town were involved with a wedding in some way. Before Eulalie could answer, I added, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she said, following me into the kitchen. “My guest has been extremely tight-lipped as to why she is here. Not for a lack of my trying to get a reason out of her, mind you.”
Eulalie had probably wheedled the woman endlessly. Poor thing. I set about making the coffee.
She said, “As far as I knew this young woman had no connections to this town, wedding or otherwise.”
“Knew?” I questioned her use of the past tense.
“Imagine my surprise when she turned up at the masquerade ball last night.” Pressing her hand to her chest dramatically, she added, “And played a starring role in the debacle that took place with Patricia Davis Jackson.”
The debacle. Eulalie had to be referring to Patricia’s tongue-lashing of the party crasher. The one Haywood had set out to rescue just before he was killed . . .
Slowly, I turned to face my aunt. “She’s that woman?”
Solemnly, Eulalie nodded. “Avery Bryan, age twenty-seven, from Auburn.”
Auburn was a good three and a half hours away and best known for the university of the same name. Hitching Post was mostly comprised of ’Bama football fans, but that wasn’t to say Auburn didn’t have pockets of fervent fans around these parts. It could get downright nasty during the annual Iron Bowl matchup between the two teams every November.
Reaching for a pair of mugs, I instinctively smiled at the Professor Hinkle mug Dylan had given me years ago. Once broken, it was now glued back together. Kind of like Dylan’s and my relationship.
“She was most distraught after returning to the inn last night,” Eulalie continued. “I heard sobbing coming from her room during the wee hours.”
The coffee finished perking and its alluring scent filled the air. I breathed it in like the true caffeine addict that I was. After grabbing a carton of cream from the refrigerator, I said, “I can imagine how upset she must have been. As you may recall, I’ve been on the receiving end of Patricia’s tirades many times.”
“That vicious tongue of Patricia’s will get her in trouble one of these days, mark my words. But regardless, Avery wasn’t weepy after the argument between them. I spoke to her immediately after the tiff when Idella Kirby pulled the two into the powder room to cool off.” Eulalie smiled slyly, her pale pink lipstick sparkling in the light. “I had gone in there to eavesdrop properly on the quarrel and my foresight paid off very well indeed.”
I
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