Page 593 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

She stared at the phone. It took her a few seconds to realize it was ringing.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Is this Sydney Lassiter?”

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Kendall Fletcher. Uh, we met a couple of days ago.”

“I remember you.” She knew the tone of her voice was coarse but didn’t care. It felt good to vent her frustrations.

“I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me this Friday.”

“Let me check my calendar.” She reached in the grocery sack and retrieved a box of Fruity Pebbles and glanced at the back. “No, Friday’s not good for me.”

He stuttered around a few seconds, long enough for her to fear that he wasn’t going to ask her out for another day. “Saturday then?”

“Sounds good. What time?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Do you need directions to my house? Okay then, see you Saturday.”

True to her word,Sydney’s realtor, Tess Lambert, showed up a week later to check on her. And as Murphy’s Law would have it, her visit came fifteen minutes before Kendall Fletcher was to arrive for their date. When Sydney heard the doorbell, she felt a flash of irritation at him for arriving early. Well, he’d just have to wait.

In all honesty, she was more piqued with herself than Kendall. Around 5:30 she decided to go for a short jog, thinking she would have plenty of time to get ready. Unfortunately, time-management was one of her greatest weaknesses. She always tried to cram too many things into her schedule.

When she looked through the peep-hole and saw that it was Tess instead of Kendall, she frowned. Tess was donning green oven mitts clear up to her elbows, juggling two large casserole dishes.

“Tess, this is a surprise.”

“Well, hidy Sydney. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Well, actually … I was just?—”

Tess breezed past her. “I’ll just put these dishes in the kitchen.”

“Those are for me?”

“I brought you a little taste of Stoney Creek hospitality masked in the form of squash casserole and blackberry cobbler. Or in the words of my mother,comfort food.”

“Thank you.” Sydney tried to think. She hadn’t had squash casserole in … she couldn’t remember how long it had been.

Tess was like most Southerners. She’d driven Sydney around Stoney Creek, showing her property available for rent, and in the short span of an afternoon told Sydney her entire family history, going back a generation. Tess Lambert wasn’t originally from Stoney Creek orhomegrownas she called it.

“I’m a transplant to Stoney Creek,” Tess said. “Although I try not to show it.” She chuckled. “I love this little town, warts and all. Give it time, and I guarantee that you’ll feel the same way.”

Sydney bit her tongue and smiled.

Tess was examining the place. “Sure does look nice.” She ran her finger over the dining room table. “Stickley?

”Sydney nodded.

Tess was from Charleston, South Carolina, and spoke in a drawling accent that sounded exaggerated, like she was playing Scarlett O’Hara on the stage. All she needed to complete the picture was a hooped skirt and parasol.

Sydney’s polite façade was wearing as thin as a sheet of veneer. She looked at her watch. “It’s so good of you to stop by, but I’m afraid I have an appointment.”

“I didn’t mean to keep you. It looks like you’re getting along all right.”

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