Last Chance Book Club(32)
Author: Hope Ramsay

“You know, Dash, I’m perfectly capable of talking to Zeph about the woodwork.”

“Ma’am, don’t you be blaming Dash, now. He drove by this morning heading to the stables, and he saw me waiting on you. I got here real early. And he offered to open the door for me.”

Just then Maverick sauntered down the stairs meowing loudly. He picked his way over the dirty floor and proceeded to wrap himself around Savannah’s legs.

Zeph laughed. “Yessir, that cat sure does belong to you.”

Savannah picked up the cat and stroked him, memories of Granddaddy’s cat suddenly washing through her mind. Maverick settled into her arms, his motor running loudly.

It was suddenly hard to stay angry. “All right, so tell me what you’ve decided about the woodwork. I’ll need to tell the contractor when he arrives.”

“Contractor?” Dash asked.

“Yes, I’ve hired a contractor. You didn’t expect me to rebuild the place with my own hammer and nails.”

“I thought you were going to hire an architect.”

“I talked to several, but their fees were astronomical. I thought the grant was a lot of money until I started talking to those people. Honestly, they all wanted six-figure consulting fees. I can’t afford it. So I talked to some contractors instead.”

He frowned. “Who did you hire? I didn’t know you were interviewing contractors.”

“Well, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I needed to check in with you. I hired JBR Construction.” She checked her watch. “Mr. Rodgers should be here in a few minutes.”

The look on both Dash and Zeph’s faces gave her no comfort.

“What?”

Zeph smiled and nodded. “Well, ma’am, I need to be getting along. There are some chores I need to do for Mr. Dash.” And with that Zeph turned and strolled out of the theater.

“Bad move, princess.”

“They were the lowest bidder.”

“Of course they were, but did you need to take the lowest bid? You should have plenty of money.”

“Well, I do, but things cost so much more than I thought they would. I just wanted to keep a little cushion for contingencies, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess, but sometimes you can be penny-wise and pound-foolish.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you think it’s kind of strange that Angel Development is giving me all that money with no strings attached?”

Dash smiled. “Honey, your book club friends are the folks behind Angel Development. Some of those women have more money than sense. So, no, I don’t think it’s strange. But you aren’t going to make them happy by using John Rodgers as your contractor.”

“They don’t like him?”

“I suspect they never heard of him. But I have. And Hugh has. Hettie might have had some dealings with him. He’s not straight, you know what I mean? He’ll come in low and then he’ll nickel-and-dime you. And he won’t do things right.”

“Well, it’s too late. I signed the contract.”

“Maybe I should talk to Eugene and see if you can unsign it.”

She put her fists on her hips, anger suddenly flashing through her. “Dash, I didn’t ask your opinion. And I deeply resent you coming in here without my permission and throwing your weight around like this was your project. It’s not. I didn’t take your money, precisely because I was afraid of this.

“I want to do this on my own. You heard what my mother said about me on Saturday. Can’t you see why this is so important to me?”

“Honey, you’re making a mistake.”

“Yeah, maybe I am. But if someone always catches me before I make a mistake, how on earth am I ever going to learn how to walk, much less run? I need to do this on my own.”

“All right. But you watch that man, you hear? And if he starts doing things you don’t appreciate, then you tell me about it.”

“Okay. I will.”

He shook his head. “It’s a damn shame about the woodwork.”

“About that,” she said. “Can you talk to Zeph? Everyone says he’s the only one I should have touching the candy counter and the columns here in the lobby. If I promise him that the general contractor won’t touch his work or give him any grief, do you think you could convince him to come back?”

“I’ll try. But Zeph is funny about things.”

“So I gathered.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And with that Dash pushed his back off the counter and sauntered from the lobby, just in time to meet John Rodgers on his way in. Dash stopped briefly, his face grim as he said, “Howdy, John. I can’t say as I’m entirely happy that my cousin chose you for this job. But you should know that I’m watching every move you make, so don’t you try to cheat her, you hear?”

And with that he was out the door, leaving her to deal with a suddenly annoyed and red-faced contractor.

Aunt Miriam’s sweater was a big purple mess. Savannah had managed to learn how to knit and purl so that the stitches looked even, but decreasing to form armholes and yarning over to make button holes were quite beyond her.

Which explained why she was sitting here at The Knit & Stitch on a Monday night at the shop’s bi-weekly knitting class. Pat Canaday was no fool. She knew the book club met on the first and third Wednesdays. So her knitting class was held on the second and fourth Mondays. That way, every Last Chance knitter was always within days of getting project help. Or having a gathering of women with whom they could share their strange addiction to yarn and their not-so-strange addiction to gossip.

Pat took one look at Savannah’s purple pile of spun possum fur and shook her head. “Honey, that is the sorriest armhole I have ever seen. The problem is that you forgot to use an SSK for the right sleeve decreases and a knit-two-together for the left.”

“Momma, that was completely confusing,” Molly said. “C’mon, Savannah, just sit down here with me, and I’ll show you the difference between an SSK and a knit-two-together, but I think you’re going to have to frog that back to right below the armhole.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Savannah said.

“It’s all right, sugar. It took me ages to learn how to knit,” Aunt Miriam said. The old lady was sitting in one of the big easy chairs in the front of the shop leafing through knitting magazines. Aunt Miriam had suggested this trip to Pat’s knitting class, mostly, Savannah thought, as an excuse to get out of the house.

Things had been kind of tense these days in the house on Baruch Street, and all because of the Kismet renovation. Dash had managed to sweet-talk Zeph Gibbs into working on the historic woodwork in the Kismet’s lobby, and Zeph was doing an amazing job. But JBR Contractors were not, and that resulted in almost constant bickering between Savannah and her kissing cousin. The disagreements over the theater renovation masked the real truth. Savannah had developed a first-class crush on Dash. It was probably inevitable, given the fact that he was such a good dancer. But still, having a crush on Dash was stupid and dumb. He didn’t love her back. He had a thing for Hettie. And everyone in town knew it.

So she went out of her way to avoid him. And when she couldn’t avoid him she picked fights with him that he seemed to enjoy.

The truth was that Savannah kind of enjoyed the fights, too. At least when they were fighting, they weren’t trying to ignore each other.

Molly gave her a short lesson that she finally understood, and then Savannah started ripping out stitches while the knitters around her gossiped.

“So, anyway,” Kenzie was saying, “I saw Bill’s car parked in Hettie’s driveway again. Last night.”

“Uh-huh, Violet Easley was saying at church just yesterday that she’s cooking more now than she ever did when Mr. Marshall was alive,” Lola May said. “Violet says Reverend Bill is particularly fond of her key lime pie. I swear that man has a serious sweet tooth.”

Savannah was sorry she’d tuned back in to the conversation. Meanwhile her sweater unraveled, row-by-row.

“Violet is too old for Bill,” Pat said.

“Not to mention the fact that she’s a member of the AME church and black,” Molly added.

“I don’t think Bill would turn down a soulmate based on the color of her skin,” Lola May said, “but Violet must be pushing sixty. I think the minister wants a family.”

Savannah’s sweater continued to shrink as she wound the yarn into a ball. She wondered why the women never considered the possibility that Bill was over at Hettie’s house because of Hettie.

Once again, she got that odd-twitchy feeling deep in her gut—half tingle, half itch.

She looked up, right into the eyes of her great aunt. Miriam was smiling at her. Her big brown eyes, the very same big brown eyes that Savannah had inherited, were twinkling behind her trifocals.

Miriam leaned over and put one of her gnarled hands on Savannah’s knee. “It’s kind of uncomfortable, isn’t it?” she whispered. “When that feeling comes over you, it’s like an itch that you can’t scratch. And then you just know.”

Savannah looked around at the other women in the knitting circle. She leaned in toward her aunt. “Why don’t they see it?”

Miriam shrugged. “Sometimes folks don’t see the most obvious things.” She grinned at this. Miriam didn’t look very senile or demented, even if she did look kind of old and frail.

“What did you tell Hettie?” Savannah whispered as Kenzie and Lola May continued to speculate about the various cooks of Allenberg County and their suitability as potential mates for the unmarried minister.

“I never told Hettie anything worth saying,” Miriam said. “I gave her my standard advice to be looking for a man with good values and a strong desire for family.” She grinned.

“But what about Bill?”

“You think it through, Savannah, and you’ll figure it out. It’s never a good idea to just come right out with it, you know. People will rebel, and they’ll make mistakes. You have to lead them to the decision.”

A sudden flash of heat flamed through Savannah. “You never meant Bill for me, did you? Hettie is good with bookkeeping. It’s always been about the bookkeeping and money management, not the cooking.”

Miriam nodded ever so slightly.

“But you invited him to dinner every other day.”

She shrugged. “A matchmaker has to use all of her wiles sometimes. Especially when the people involved are hardheaded, confused, and just a little bit willful. I figured Hettie would see you as a threat.”

“But what if I’d said yes to Bill’s proposal?”

Miriam snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, my God, you knew he would propose, and you knew I would…”

Aunt Miriam turned back to her magazine. She flipped a few pages then looked up. “Maybe. There is so much I’ve got to teach you before it’s my time to go, sugar.”