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Standard country fare—fried chicken, country fried steak smothered in gravy, fried catfish, macaroni and cheese, turnip greens, fried okra, biscuits . . . the kind of food that would stick to your ribs, and your ass, but you’d enjoy every bite.
A teenage girl came out of the kitchen to take their drink orders, then vanished again. Two tall glasses of sweet tea and a basket of fresh-from-the-fryer hush puppies materialized moments later and she took their order. Grant got the country fried steak and Pepper went with the pork chops, both agreeing that they would leave room to split a piece of lemon icebox pie for dessert.
“I know why my day sucked,” Grant said once they were alone. “Judging by the pinched look on your face, I’d say you’re in the same boat.”
Pepper shrugged. “Same ol’, same ol’. You go first. What happened to you today? Oh wait . . .” she paused. “Did you find Estelle?”
Grant winced and nodded. “Yeah. Dealing with death is never fun, especially here in Rosewood where everyone knows everyone. Somehow in Birmingham it was easier. There were more fires, more accidents, more dead bodies, but I didn’t know them, so I could just do my job and not take it home with me. Most of the time. But finding Estelle? She made the dinosaur cake for my fifth birthday. I just didn’t need to see her like that.”
“See her like that? I thought I heard it was a heart attack.”
“Without sharing any details, I’ll just say that there are some things seen that cannot be unseen.”
“Her and Bert, huh?”
“Yes. What about you? You’ve seemed a little . . . off . . . since Sunday morning. Are you regretting dating me so soon?” he smiled, trying to ease the tension.
“No, not at all.” Pepper had been dreading this discussion since the moment she learned the truth about her mother and Norman Chamberlain. There was so much more to the story than she ever expected. It had shaken her. Her mother had been deliberately vague about the details of her pregnancy, leaving Pepper to wonder if she’d had the baby and given it away, or ended the pregnancy. If the baby was adopted, that meant she had a brother or sister out in the world. It made her wonder what else she didn’t know about.
But the hardest part was not being able to talk about it with anyone. She couldn’t tell Grant what was really behind their families’ differences. Instead, she reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m perfectly content with my decision.”
“Then let me guess,” he offered as his thumb stroked over her skin. “It’s your mother.”
Pepper opened her mouth to argue, but it was the truth. Perhaps a part of the story would be enough to get her through their impromptu dinner. “Forget my mother,” she said dismissively. “Her beef with your family has nothing to do with either of us. I’ll date whomever I want to date. I’m tired of her prejudices coloring my opinions.”
Grant frowned. “I don’t want to cause friction in your family.”
“Unfortunately, Chamberlains breathing is enough to irritate my mother and brother. Nothing will make them happy, but I’m hoping in time, they’ll change their mind. If you and I . . .” Her voice trailed off. Even though they were dating, she had a hard time speaking about their relationship in a long-term context. Would that scare him off? Make her sound more invested than she was? “I think once they get to know you,” she corrected, “they will realize they’ve misjudged you. You’re not your father.”
“Thank God for that,” Grant said.
Pepper’s gaze flicked up to meet his. She hadn’t expected that response. It was one thing for her mother to have issues with Norman, but she never expected his own son to feel that way. “Do you two not get along?”
Grant straightened up and looked over her shoulder. His line of sight shifted until she realized that the waitress was bringing their dinner. He pulled his hand away from her and the conversation was put on hold as their platters of fried, flavorful meals were presented.
“My father and I get along fine,” Grant replied once the waitress left. “I just don’t agree with some of the choices he’s made in his life. I don’t exactly hold him up as a shining example of who I want to be someday.”
“Why?” Pepper asked. She knew his father wasn’t quite the upstanding citizen he liked to portray, but did Grant know more about Norman’s escapades than she expected? “What did he do?”
Grant just shook his head and pointed at her plate with his fork. “Don’t let your food get cold. It’s best when it’s piping hot from the kitchen.”
Tuesday afternoon, the chime of his front door startled Logan out of a rousing game of Candy Crush Saga. He leapt up from his desk to greet the woman standing in his lobby.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
The woman was middle-aged, in her forties but in tip-top physical shape. She had nicely styled dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a few more wrinkles than she probably would’ve liked.
There was a wariness in her eyes that made him think she wasn’t just here for estate planning. He’d held a workshop at the senior center that had brought in a few clients, but she was too young for Thursday afternoon bingo. A quick glance at her hand showed a gold wedding band. Perhaps a divorce?
“My name is Jeanette Kincaid. I’d heard you’d opened a practice here in town and I’m afraid I may need to retain an attorney.”
Logan took a deep breath and smiled. “Okay, Mrs. Kincaid. Let’s go back to my office and you can tell me about your situation. My first consultation is free.” He saw to it that she was settled comfortably in his guest chair before he sat down at his desk. “What sort of legal services are you interested in, Mrs. Kincaid?”
“I’m not sure if you do this kind of thing, but I, uh, need someone to represent my husband in a criminal matter.”
Criminal matter? He didn’t get many of those. Depending on what it was, it might be better left to one of the bigger firms in Birmingham or Gadsden. “I can handle some criminal cases, but it really depends on what the charges are. Can you tell me what kind of criminal matter your husband is facing?” Jeanette nodded nervously and looked down into her purse.
“My husband, Pat, hasn’t been charged with anything yet, but the police have come by the house to question him. He insists he’s innocent and doesn’t need an attorney, but I would feel better if he had counsel. If he said or did the wrong thing, they could pin this whole mess on him and I know he’s innocent. We’ve been married twenty-five years come this summer and I know him better than anyone else. He is not a pervert.”
