Page 63 of Broken Dreams
Oh Lord. “It wasn’t an hour. And we didn’t do anything. He needed to...check on something,” I say with a smile. I should be happy about this since our plan is to have the town believing it, which they seem to now, but I still don’t like the fact that Albert somehow saw this. “How did Albert know this?”
“He was checking on the chickens. We’ve had an increase of foxes lately. One can never be too careful. He was out front, saw Grady pull in, go inside...for anhour...and come out smiling.”
I sigh heavily. “If he saw him smiling, he had binoculars.” Considering I live a good eight hundred feet off the main road, and there are trees between our properties.
The two of them look to one another. “He didn’t mention that.”
“Shocking.” I need to nip this in the bud before the town starts saying he slept over. “Well, Grady did come by, told me some news he’d been waiting on, and that was it. It was maybe ten minutes.” I lift my hand when Mrs. Cooke goes to speak. “I know a lot can be done in just ten minutes, but it didn’t. We’re taking things slow and I would truly appreciate you keeping this little piece of gossip between us girls. Okay?”
The look in their eyes tells me that appreciation isn’t going to happen. “Imighthave mentioned it to one person.” Mrs. Symonds voice sounds a little apologetic at least.
“Might?”
Mrs. Cooke nudges her. “Tell her.”
“Fine, we told a few people. Just four. But then we told Mildred Stevenson and you know that woman can’t hold a secret to save her life.”
I slap my palm on my forehead. There’s no walking this back. All I can do is let Grady know this is going to spread far and wide now, and hope we can do our best to keep the truth from becoming some ridiculous story that grows in size.
Which won’t happen, but I can hope. While we want Sugarloaf to believe our fake dating, we don’t need the rumor mill to be out of control to a point that when we break up in a few weeks, everyone feels the need to pick sides.
And it has happened.
“I wish you had asked me,” I say softly.
Mrs. Cooke looks clearly affronted by that suggestion. “Albert is usually a reliable source.”
I raise a brow at that. “Didn’t he tell you that he saw Jimmy riding a horse three weeks ago only to find out it was one of the Arrowood boys?”
She tsks. “Anyone could’ve confused that.”
Right. Austin is a twenty-five-year-old and Jimmy Cooke is nearing eighty-five. Totally confusing.
Arguing with them is futile so I won’t. “Since you owe me, what exactly happened at this emergency meeting last night?” I ask.
Both Mrs. Cooke and Symonds look to different areas of the store before meeting my eyes. “You know,” Mrs. Symonds says innocently. “I can’t say I recall. My memory isn’t what it once was.”
Lord save me from these nutty women. “I guess I’ll find out when I get there.”
Mrs. Symonds smiles innocently. “I’m sure you will, and then you can remind me what happened.”
* * *
I walk the three blocks over to the town square where there are at least fifteen tents set up with all kinds of cooking apparatus. The cooking begins in about ten minutes, then they cook for three hours before they plate and we taste.
As I pass the last tent, I see Devney rushing toward me.
“I called you five times!”
I blink. “Good morning to you, too.”
She snaps her fingers. “Called. Because we have a big problem. Big.”
I’m going to assume this has to do with the little old ladies in the store. “Is it about today?”
“Yes.”
“Do Mrs. Cooke, Parker, and Symonds have anything to do with it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
