“I thought we’d go see the house,” Conley said. “You know, maybe let your mom have a little visit with her old friend.”
“I’m not up for trespassing,” Skelly said. “Not even for you.”
“It wouldn’t really be trespassing,” Conley pleaded. “We could just drive down to the house, maybe knock on the door, pay our respects. I mean, Toddie was your mom’s best friend.”
“Toddie?” They both turned to see that Miss June was awake. “What is this place?” she asked plaintively. She craned her neck to see out the window, and before they knew it, she opened the door, climbed out of the back seat, and walked, with surprising speed, toward the gate.
“Mama?” Skelly called.
His mother pointed at the sign, her face animated. “I know this place,” she said. “This is Toddie’s farm.” She gave the iron gate a push, and the hinges squealed in protest.
“Shit,” Skelly said, flashing Conley an annoyed look. He got out of the car and approached his mother.
Miss June used her shoulder and pushed the gate open a few more feet. “Toddie lives here,” she told her son.
“Now, Mama,” he started to say, but just then, Opie gave a short yelp of excitement, jumping out of the car and trotting over to join his new friend.
“Opie,” Conley called, following behind. “C’mere, boy! Come here!”
The terrier paused and gave her a backward glance, followed by an enthusiastic wag of his somewhat stubby tail.
“Good boy, Opie,” she called encouragingly, creeping slowly toward him. “C’mere, Ope.”
He wagged his tail furiously. Then the little Jack Russell scampered past Miss June and her son, down the driveway as fast as his brown-and-white-spotted legs could go—which was surprisingly fast for an elderly dog whose usual speed was tortoise-like.
“Opie!” Conley yelled. “Come back!”
Skelly took his mother by the arm and guided her into the back seat of the Subaru while Conley clambered into the seat beside him.
“You did that on purpose,” he said, starting the car and rolling through the now open gate.
She knew better than to protest.
26
The Oak Springs Farm driveway wound through an arching canopy of moss-covered oaks and towering pines, but Conley was oblivious to all of it. “Follow that dog,” she instructed Skelly as he drove down the sandy lane. “If something happens to Opie, G’mama will kill me. And then she’ll kill you too.”
Every few hundred yards, the dog stopped to rest. Skelly slowed the truck and Conley jumped out to approach the dog on foot, but each time she came close enough to grab him, Opie trotted off, playing his own game of keepaway with the pursuers. At the end of the lane they finally spotted a white, two-story farmhouse with wide porches tucked behind a pair of spreading live oaks.
A tall, white-haired woman stood on the porch, her arms firmly wrapped around the squirming brown-and-white Jack Russell terrier, while half a dozen dogs circled around her, barking and whining.
“Thank God,” Conley breathed. Skelly had barely put the Subaru in Park before she was out of the car and running.
“Is this your dog?” the woman called. She had light blue eyes and weather-beaten skin and was dressed in faded blue jeans, mud-spattered work boots, and a navy-blue T-shirt.
“Opie!” Conley said, holding out her arms. “You bad boy!” Sheturned to the woman. “Thanks so much for catching him.” She looked down at all the dogs surrounding her. “They wouldn’t hurt him, would they?”
“No, they’re just curious. Bird dogs are the nosiest creatures you’ll ever meet. And they’re a little jealous.”
“They’re beautiful,” Conley said of the elegant dogs. “What breed are they?”
“They’re all English setters. Llewellyn setters, if you want to get technical.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Don’t mind the dirt or the dogs. I’m Toddie, by the way.”
“And I’m Conley.” She turned to gesture toward Skelly and Miss June, who were standing beside the car. “I believe you might know those folks?”
Toddie fished a pair of glasses from the breast pocket of her shirt and stared. “Good heavens! Can it be? Is that June Kelly?”
“It is,” Conley said.
