The Wedding Circle Read online

  Maura Beth’s laugh was genuine enough, even if she halfway wondered if he was joking. “I’d say so, yes. There’s even a Broadway play called Kinky Boots that’s all the rage now. Plus, cowboy boots do go over quite well in this part of the South. So, exactly how many jobs will they be bringing to Cherico?”

  “Three-hundred and fifty, at first. But they have plans to expand to over six hundred within two years. It’s all good. Why, Cherico could become the cowboy boot capital of the world, eventually!”

  Maura Beth had never seen Councilman Sparks this happy and proud. It was almost as if he had just found out his wife was pregnant, and he just couldn’t wait to spread the word. “I promise I won’t say anything until I get the green light from you.” She rose quickly and offered her hand, not wanting to stay any longer than she had to. Lingering with the man was almost always an unwise decision. “Congratulations again, Councilman. I applaud your vision.”

  “Nice to hear that coming from you, Miz Mayhew. I’m really not a bad guy, you know.”

  “We’ll just keep that little secret between us,” she said with a wink.

  He escorted her to the door where they said their goodbyes, and she was almost out of earshot when she turned back at the last second, crossing in front of Lottie Howard’s desk. “Oh, by the way, Councilman, we haven’t gotten your RSVP for the wedding yet. I assume you did get your invitation?”

  He seemed to be genuinely astonished by her question, and she knew he was a man who was very seldom surprised. “Well, I know we got it because Evie mentioned it a while back at the dinner table. I thought she had gone ahead and taken care of it, though. I’ll remind her. But, yes, we intend to be there to watch you tie the knot with your shop teacher.”

  “English teacher.”

  “Ah, yes. How could I forget?”

  Maura Beth quickly conjured up a dig of her own as she gave him a saucy smile. “I’m sure you made a point of it. But, anyway, I wanted you to know that you’ll get to meet lots and lots of my distant relatives at the wedding. That will be your punishment for all you’ve put me through lately.”

  When Maura Beth returned to the library, she was greeted by the intriguing sight of Nora Duddney and Renette laughing like girlfriends behind the front desk, their faces flushed bright pink.

  “What are you two up to?”

  “Miz Mayhew, meet my new assistant,” Renette said, pointing while still full of giggles. “No, I’m just kidding. Nora’s just given me the best news, so I made her come around here so I could give her a big hug.”

  Maura Beth put her purse down on the counter and cocked her head. “So tell me already.”

  “Well, Maura Beth, I can hardly believe it myself,” Nora said. “But I’ve met someone. It happened this past Wednesday at the church supper. Cherico officially has a new gentleman in town—Mr. Wally Denver, and he and I just seemed to hit it off while we ate our spaghetti and meatballs.”

  Maura Beth immediately joined the giggling. “Just like a scene from Lady and the Tramp, I guess. But I really am so happy for you. And when do we get to meet this Mr. Denver of yours?”

  Nora emerged from behind the counter, and said, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, if I could.”

  “Well, come, let’s go into my office and have a seat.”

  No longer the dull, shy secretary of old, Nora cut to the chase once they had settled inside. “I was just wondering if I might bring Wally as my guest to the wedding. I mean, it doesn’t say ‘and guest’ on the invitation, so I thought I needed to run it past you.”

  “Of course you can bring him. You didn’t even have to ask. In fact, I can’t think of a better way to meet him,” Maura Beth said. “This really is such exciting news, Nora. No wonder you and Renette were cutting up so much.”

  “We’re sister bridesmaids, after all!” Nora exclaimed. Then she leaned across the desk and gave Maura Beth a wink. “I can’t believe how much my life has changed since I had the courage to join The Cherry Cola Book Club. It’s all been smooth sailing since then. You know, just the other day I was thinking that your book club is way better than any therapy out there—plus, it’s way less expensive.”

  Maura Beth leaned back in her chair, looking like she had conquered the world. “That’s some high praise, Nora. I’ve never thought of the book club quite that way, but you’re probably right. It really does provide all of us with a great opportunity to get to know each other—and help each other out as we go along, too. But there’s one more thing I’d like to say to you, Nora. You have truly arrived, and every time I see you, you’re more confident than ever—why, you’re practically glowing. I really am so proud of you.”

  Nora hung her head and blushed. “Thanks, Maura Beth. I don’t think I could have done it without your encouragement.”

  Periwinkle hung up the kitchen phone at The Twinkle and stared straight ahead at the gleaming walk-in freezer across the way, her face a mask of bewilderment. She even took the gum out of her mouth and threw it in the nearby trash can. It was just after three o’clock—that blessed lull she always anticipated and truly needed to rejuvenate herself for the dinner service. Mr. Place stood at a nearby counter, mixing up the ingredients for chocolate ganache in a big silver bowl, but also noticing her pose out of the corner of his eye.

  “What’s wrong? Who was that? I thought you’d never get off the phone. You sure did a lot a’ listening.”

  She moved closer to him but seemed to be having a great deal of trouble speaking. Then her bewilderment shifted into something resembling a pained expression.

  “Peri?” he continued. “What is it?”

  “That was . . . Harlan,” she told him, her eyes downcast.

  Mr. Place immediately stopped his stirring and drew himself up, his protective instincts apparently kicking in. “Now, what does he want? He better not be bothering you. I’ve got half a mind to give him a good talkin’-to. Maybe the two of us should’ve had it out long before now. After all, I know where he lives.”

  “No need for anything like that,” she said. “He won’t be bothering me anymore.” She glumly pointed to her office. “Let’s go in there and sit down.”

  Once settled inside at her cluttered desk, she continued to have trouble expressing herself, shuffling papers around absentmindedly as if trying to buy herself some time. Finally, she just blurted it out. “Harlan’s leaving town.”

  “What!?”

  With the worst of it behind her, the rest began to flow more easily. “He’s . . . declaring bankruptcy. He’ll close down the restaurant and go back to Texas where he came from. He—he wanted me to be the first to know. I mean, I knew The Twinkle had turned into some real competition for him, but I didn’t think things had gotten that bad. I . . . I almost feel sorry for him and . . .” She trailed off, apparently lost in thought.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said, sounding almost flippant about it.

  “I guess so, but it just seems like, well . . .” Again, she seemed to be wandering mentally.

  “Now, don’t tell me you feel guilty about this, Peri. It is what it is. You’re a damned good businesswoman, and if he couldn’t keep up with you and figure out a way to compete, then he had to suffer the consequences. As we like to say down here in the South, bid’ness is bid’ness.”

  Periwinkle was fine with his logic, but her heart was in a very different place. She knew Harlan had tried to manipulate her into a second marriage and had refused to sign the prenuptial agreement she had created to protect herself. Furthermore, he had made a nuisance of himself on and off ever since then, making her imagination work overtime that he still might be stalking her. She had threatened but never followed through on that restraining order. But somehow, she had thought he would always be around, out there by the lake with his stale jukebox tunes playing and drinking buddies trading their stories. Not exactly a viable option for her—but still there on the periphery of her choices. She suddenly realized that something about that notion had
been strangely comforting to her. Imagine that!

  “You’re right, of course,” she told him, emerging from her fog somewhat. “I had a lot to do with his success to start with, and when we broke up, I guess he was flat-out doomed.”

  “And that’s why he’s outta here,” Mr. Place said, making an exaggerated hitchhiking gesture with his thumb. He also had an expression on his face that suggested he was far from sorry to hear of Harlan’s imminent departure.

  Periwinkle felt a certain resolve overtaking her, and it was reflected in her more confident tone. “I’m sure he was too proud to ask me for money. At least other than trying to get me to marry him. But I saw through that and didn’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “Yeah, you did. And you have to believe that it all worked out for the best,” he added, looking more smug than ever. “Maybe he’ll find himself back in Texas. Maybe that’ll bring out his better nature. What part of Texas is it, by the way?”

  “Oh, East Texas,” she said, flashing back to a more pleasant time in her life. Pleasant, to be sure, but she had been entirely too naïve for her own good. More than once she had reminded herself that it was a wedding and a marriage that never should have taken place. “Jefferson, Texas, to be exact. He took me there once to show me where he and his mother had lived. It was this tiny little nothing of a shack, not much bigger than Elvis’s dogtrot in Tupelo. But we never returned. Actually, the town has a lot more charm than Cherico does. Part Deep South and an extra big helpin’ of that special Texas spirit. I kinda liked it.” The suggestion of a smile crept into her face. “We drove up and down the streets, and he pointed out all the house numbers. He said when he was trying to learn how to count, he couldn’t get enough of ’em. It was a side of him I never saw again.”

  “Just you resist any urges to go back for old time’s sake once he leaves,” Mr. Place said, sounding almost fatherly. “That part of your life is over, Peri. You gotta know that for your own good.”

  She said nothing but nodded slowly. There was a finality to it all that was gnawing at her, and she was surprised by the emotions that were rising inside. There were strange spurts and pangs in the pit of her stomach. In some order or another she knew that Parker and The Twinkle were her future—one she was more than happy to pursue and enjoy. If that happened to be the case, however, why didn’t she feel better about it? Why did she feel such a tremendous sense of loss?

  Harlan John Lattimore had driven his big white truck to the edge of Lake Cherico a mile or so south of Justin Brachle’s developments, the construction site of the new library and his own Marina Bar and Grill. That morning, he had put a closed sign on the front door of the restaurant and given all of his employees the day off without a hint of explanation.

  “Don’t worry now, and don’t look so damned shocked. I’ll pay y’all, too,” he had told them when they showed up, and they had happily scooted off with their smiles in place—no questions asked.

  Later in the afternoon he had made his phone call to Peri, and he could tell she was shocked by his news because she hadn’t once smarted off to him. In fact, she had hardly said a word. That was truly a first—leaving Periwinkle Lattimore speechless. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, however briefly. It was the last sensation of humor he had allowed himself the rest of the day.

  Now it was nearly ten o’clock in the evening, and he was parked beneath a couple of pines that stood over him and his vehicle in towering, protective fashion. He rolled down the window to listen to the sounds the lake and the creatures around it were making. The crickets, frogs, and cicadas had still not retired for the season, hanging on to their summer symphony as long as they could. He remained behind the steering wheel, staring at the distant lights north of him where people were doing such things as cooking and eating food, watching television, reading, arguing with each other over things both trivial and substantial, or even having sex in their bedrooms. It came to him that most all of them were reasonably content and not even close to questioning the routine nature of their lives.

  Routine. That was what had gone wrong for him. Or rather, the wrong routine was the issue. This obsession with Peri had taken on a life of its own. He considered himself fortunate that it had not ended in even greater disaster already. There had been plenty of opportunities for the worst to happen. Not that Peri’s refusal to marry him the second time had been easy for him to swallow. In fact, it was devastating. He was sure she was going to say “yes,” and then there had been that business with the prenup she had sprung on him at the last second, and he thought his head might explode when it was all over and done with. It was the first time in a life of effortless and continuous conquests that he had failed to get his way with a woman.

  Then there was the evening a first-time customer had sauntered in for a couple of beers and gone on and on about Peri and that Parker Place, damn him!

  “I’m in town all week on business,” the balding salesman with yellow teeth began. He was one of those types who thought bartenders just hung on their every dull, rambling comment. “Thought I’d give you a try. Had a great meal last night at that Twinkle place, and that dessert I had . . . wow! They’re pretty friendly, too. The owner and the pastry chef stuck around and chatted with me. Do you know ’em, this being a small town and all?” The man could have no way of knowing how much his banter almost felt like a branding iron being applied to Harlan’s backside.

  Beyond that, Harlan was having serious trouble with the race angle—there was no way around it. He didn’t like it one bit that his ex might be getting too friendly with this black man everybody was raving about. And that confrontation he had staged with Peri in the parking lot had only confirmed his fears. There was no longer room of any kind for him in her life, and it was driving him crazy.

  After that, his obsession with Peri, Mr. Place, and The Twinkle itself had escalated exponentially. There were times when it seemed that someone else—maybe some crazed demon whispering schemes in his ear—was orchestrating everything, and he was helpless to do anything about it. He didn’t seem to care that these premeditated actions of his might lead to some very serious and unintended consequences. If he got the sudden urge to go downtown and stand across the street staring at The Twinkle, then he went right ahead and did it.

  Then there was that sneaky business of paying Barry Bevins’s high-school friends, Crispy and Scott, to call in that fake takeout order and then tailgate the young man in The Twinkle’s van out on Littlejohn Lane. It had taken some legwork for Harlan to track them down, but he had managed to do it. He was his own private detective, working feverishly yet stealthily around town. And he had paid them well to go all out and throw caution to the wind.

  “This’ll make it worth your while, boys,” he had said, handing them three crisp hundred-dollar bills each. “Your mission is to scare the hell outta him, ya hear? Stay on his tail ’til you make him pee his pants. And no matter what happens, you never met or heard of me. This is money under the table, so nobody can ever prove a damned thing. Just keep your mouths shut and don’t go spendin’ it all in one place at one time. Folks’ll get suspicious as to where kids your age got it.”

  Later, Crispy had called him up and said that they wanted more money to cover the cost of the ticket the sheriff’s deputy had issued them for reckless driving, and he had complied, although grudgingly.

  “Just remember, this is the end of the money train. So don’t either one of you fellas get in touch with me again!” he had told the boy, practically shouting at him.

  Then there were all the forays into following Mr. Place’s mother out to her house on Big Hill Lane. He had no idea what he was going to do, how far he would go at such times. Would he break in at some point and terrorize her for the hell of it? He had actually considered doing it and had even imagined the poor old woman clutching her chest and having a heart attack as a result. That would put the fear of God into the high and mighty Mr. Parker Place with all of his fancy recipes! How sick and unhinged was eve
n thinking something like that, and what had Ardenia Bedloe ever done to him, except give birth to that annoying, pastry-making son of hers?

  There were other times when he would park his truck on Myrtle Street, just behind The Twinkle, and watch Mr. Place pull out of the parking lot after work and head home by himself. That was the only way he could be sure that his rival wasn’t sleeping with his Peri on that particular night. The idea of such a coupling made him want to stand atop his restaurant deck railing and scream out over the lake. Who knew? If there was some long-missing corpse mired in the mud at the bottom, maybe he could make enough noise to cause it to float to the surface with its skeletal smile. His mind was filled to overflowing with such creepy, unspeakable horrors, and it was just way past time to put an end to it all. Otherwise, his rapid descent into Hell was imminent.

  There was only a half moon reflected in the waters of Lake Cherico on this crisp, early autumn evening. But there was still enough light to remind him of that magical night when Peri had said she would marry him twenty-something years ago. He had her wound around his finger then, their wedding had been “storybook,” as people were fond of saying, and he saw no end in sight to the cheating game he had started playing with her. But that point in time seemed to belong in an alternate universe now, and he was bogged down in this driven, compulsive routine that would allow him no peace, awake or dreaming.

  Enough of this torture. It was time to move on, whatever that entailed, however it was accomplished. Was this peaceful spot by the lake going to be the site of his last hurrah? Somewhat tentatively, he opened the glove compartment and retrieved his handgun. The metal was cold to the touch as he handled it gingerly, but somehow it felt pleasant to him. Maybe it would be the last cold thing he would experience before the hellish conditions that probably awaited him for doing what he was about to do. He always kept it loaded in case anyone, anywhere tried to mess with him. It was practically a mantra in the Deep South among a certain class of men—don’t even think about messin’ with me and my gun. But he had never imagined that he would end up using it on himself.