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"Pure black. Like a demon or something. "
"A demon? Have you been hitting the peace pipe again?"
"No one's eyes are pure black," she insisted.
"And neither were his. They were dark brown. It was just a trick of the light. "
"Sure it was," she muttered.
I didn't bother to argue with her. Arguing with Grace was never worth the headache that followed.
We reached the town hall, and she let the car idle out front. "You're not coming in?" I asked.
"Nope. Places to go, people to arrest. " I got out but leaned back in the window when Grace called my name. "I appreciate your coming along," she said.
"Why'd you ask me?" Her brows lifted above her sunglasses. "It's not like I'd be of any help in a sticky situation. " I waved my hand at my suit and heels, which were pretty much ruined after the trek to the lake.
"You might not carry a gun or have much in the way of balls," Grace began.
"Wow, Sheriff McDaniel, you're so PC sometimes, you scare me. "
"But," she continued with a scowl, "you've got your father's gift of gab. "
Jeremiah Kennedy had been the consummate politician. He'd known everyone's names, where they lived, their dogs, their children and grandchildren. He'd been good at this job in a way I doubted I could ever be.
I was starting to wonder if I was good at anything anymore. In high school I'd been not only a cheerleader but also captain of the debate team and a state champion forensics speaker. The rush I'd felt in front of a crowd had been seductive.
I'd taken my counselor's advice and gone into broadcast journalism, dreaming of a career beneath the bright lights of CNN, only to discover I wasn't pretty enough, talented enough - hell, I wasn't anything "enough" to succeed.
"Except for today," Grace continued, bringing me back to the subject at hand. "That guy made you go all girlie. "
"Did not. "
Grace ignored me. "I'll run a check on them later. See what you can find out from Joyce. "
"Sure. " I straightened, and Grace pulled away from the curb.
Grace had never much cared for anything girlie, and that was understandable. She was the youngest of five and the only girl. Her mother had run off when Grace was three, right around the time mine had died on an icy mountain road she had no business being on.
Mama had been from Atlanta, and she'd missed it every day. She'd been a newspaper reporter, and in the late seventies Atlanta was a very exciting place. She'd met my father while doing a story on small-town mayors, and they'd fallen in love. She'd given up the job she adored to come to Lake Bluff, then spent the next four years trying to get away as often as she could - or so I'd heard in whispered snatches of gossip throughout my childhood.
Grace and I had been thrown together, both motherless, both largely ignored by fathers who were devoted to something larger than us.
I'd been as fascinated with Grace's differences as she'd been with mine. Not that she hadn't teased me mercilessly about them, which had, in turn, led to me teasing her just as mercilessly. We'd been like sisters, and I wanted that closeness back more than I'd wanted anything for a long, long time.
Center Street bustled as everyone made last-minute preparations for the festival. Directly across from the town hall, Bobby Turnbaugh, owner of the Good Cookin' Cafe, hung a banner advertising Blue Ridge Dining at Its Finest - Southern Chocolate Gravy and Biscuits.
I made a face. Chocolate gravy and biscuits had never been my idea of fine dining, but my father had always enjoyed them for breakfast.
Bobby lifted a hand. I did the same. We'd dated our junior year, and he'd taught me a few things in the front seat of his daddy's pickup that I had remembered fondly for quite a few years.
Directly next to the cafe was a combination bookstore and souvenir shop, complete with Native American trinkets, Appalachian doodads, and Civil War paraphernalia. On the other side stood a beauty salon, then the Gun and Loan, where firearms could be bought and just about anything else could be borrowed, and a coffee shop that sold the fancy lattes and chai
teas that had become so popular in big towns. No one had thought the Center Perk would take off, but a hundred thousand Starbucks couldn't be wrong.
Farther south, the Lake Bluff Hotel housed a fine-dining restaurant and a higher-class gift shop. Subsequent streets held several bed-and-breakfasts, candle and candy shops, plus various establishments that sold jewelry, knickknacks, and other bright and shiny things. It never ceased to amaze me the amount of junk people bought when they were on vacation.
I let my gaze wander over the quickly moving, industrious citizens, a stark contrast to the lazily milling tourists who had already begun to arrive. I should have asked Grace if she'd sufficiently fortified the local police force with rent-a-cops, but I was certain she knew her job and needed no help from me.
