It took the better part of the day but by the time the bank closed at five, the paperwork for the purchase and for the line of equity I’d need for the renovations was already being pushed through. The estate hadn’t gone for the full twenty thousand but they’d knocked off ten and promised to have everything on the exterior fixed within a week. The contractor dealing with the renovations had sworn he’d be able to get everything I wanted done within two weeks of the closing date. All things being equal, the kids and I would be able to move in three weeks, four at the most.

That was the one good thing I could say about doing business in my home town—the companies were so desperate for any sort of revenue they were willing to bend over backward to get you what you wanted, when you wanted it.

At the moment, though, the only thing I wanted was a burger and a beer.

It felt wasteful, probably because it was, but I’d been eating grief food for the last week and I wanted something which didn’t come with the sticky strings of nosiness disguised as pity. Still, I sat in my car in the bank parking lot, debating with myself for a solid half hour before I caved and called Tammy.

“Hey, Aunt Jeannie.” I could barely hear her over the noise of someone screaming at the top of their lungs in the background and she sighed. “Hold on a second.” There was a faint rustle and I realized she must have covered the receiver with her hand since her answering yell was toned down to a dull roar. “I’m on the phone, damnit! Hush up!”

“Problem?”

“What?” Another moment or two of rustles and thuds and then not only was her voice clearer but there was almost no sound in the background. “Sorry. Dolly took Conway’s baby doll and he was throwing a fit.”

“Ah.” The first time I’d seen my nephew dragging around a baby doll which had clearly been through hard times I’ll admit I did a double take but after a week I was used to it. I knew—because the whispered conversations hadn’t been whispered all that softly—that people in Cotton Creek thought there was something a little off with a boy who was happier playing with dolls and kiddie kitchens than mud pies and baseballs. I also knew none of them were stupid enough to say anything directly to me, not after the look I’d given old Mrs. Peterson when she made the mistake of trying to bring the topic up. “Couple few things.”

“I’m listening.”

“First things first, I bought us a house—the old Fisher place, to be exact.”

“Shut the front door.”

“You realize cursing isn’t a sin, right?” Before she could answer, I continued. “It’s gonna be a few weeks because there’s repairs and upgrades and everything but we can last until then.”

“Cool.” She paused and I heard Dolly in the background whining about eating leftovers again. “You said a few things.”

“Yeah.” And now I felt even guiltier about wanting that burger. If I was sick of casseroles and soggy sandwiches, there was a good chance the kids were, too. “You guys eat yet or no?”

“I was going to start pulling stuff out of the fridge before I had to break up World War Three.”

“Hold off on that. I’m thinking we go get something that didn’t come out of a copy of Ladies Home Journal in the sixties.” I paused, struck with an unsettling thought. “Tell me they’ve added another restaurant to Cotton Creek in the last fifteen years because if it’s a poor version of a Mexican lasagna or the Chuckhouse, I think we’re better off with the Mexican lasagna.”

“Oh, no, the Chuckhouse closed down five or six years ago, right around the time Conway was born.”

“Small miracles.”

“We’ve got three or four restaurants but the only one open for dinner is the steakhouse.” She paused. “Well, and the Watering Hole but we can’t go there.”

“Then I guess we’re going to the steakhouse.” I’d ask her about the bar—because what other kind of establishment could it be with a name like the Watering Hole—later. If I was relocating to a redneck version of Peyton Place, I was going to need ready access to alcohol. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Try to keep World War Three from breaking out until I get there.”

––––––––

THE STEAKHOUSE LOOKED exactly as I expected—overblown, wavy tan glass everywhere, dark red booths which were barely a step up from vinyl, fake wood everything, and seemingly every velvet painting in the tri-county area. The servers, bless their hearts, were decked out in white long-sleeved button downs, black pants and aprons, and ties which somehow managed to match the color of the booths. The menu, which didn’t feature the official name of the restaurant, were leather bound but the leather was cracking and there were more than a few questionable stains on the cardstock interior pages.

If I’d been here on assignment, I would have murdered them with my review.

As it was, I’d already resigned myself to poor service and mediocre food. If nothing else, the kids were in seventh heaven, the two younger ones oohing and aahing over every little thing. Tammy was a little more contained but I caught her doing an excited wiggle in her seat when she thought I wasn’t looking. Even if the food was bad, it was worth the indigestion to see the three of them doing something other than yelling and crying and moping.

“Jeannie? Jeannie Jackson?” The voice was familiar but not to the point where I could place it. “Why, it is you—I’d recognize that hair of yours anywhere.”

I glanced up, the smile I reserved for strangers firmly in place, only to drop my jaw in shock. “I’ll be damned.”

“Aunt Jeannie.” Tammy hissed out my name, looking over at the younger kids before glaring at me. “No cursing in front of Dolly and Conway.”

“Tammy, if you think I’m going to follow that particular rule, you’re in for a world of disappointment.” Shifting my attention back to the server, I said, “I’d say something about small worlds but Cotton Creek never was too big. How’ve you been, Lynn?”

Lynn Smith, former Miss Teen Georgia runner up, Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, captain of the cheerleading squad, and one of the people who had made my life nothing short of a living hell in high school was my server.

If I was a shitty person, I’d use this as an opportunity for good old fashioned revenge.

Then again, it would only give her a chance to tell people she’d always known I was trashy and it didn’t matter how much money I threw around I was still that girl from the trailer park.

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

“Oh, I’m fine, just fine.” Her lips thinned out some, as if she was struggling to hold the smile in place, which only made me smile that much brighter. “They’re a little short-staffed here so I told Bill and Diane I’d help them out in the evenings.”

“You always were praised for your charity work.” A lie, since the only cause Lynn Smith had ever embraced was her own advancement, but unlike in the real world, you couldn’t call someone out on their lies in Cotton Creek. No, you had to smile and bless their heart and deliver some cutting remark addressing the fact you knew they were lying but were far too polite to say so. “Anyway, I’d love a sweet tea. Kids—either tea or one soda and then water.”

As soon as Lynn sauntered off to fill our drink order, Tammy leaned over and whispered, “They’re not short-staffed. I tried to get a job here during the summer and Ms. Diane said they had more than enough servers.”

“Oh, I know.”

“How?”

“Knowledge is power, Tammy, especially in a place like this.” When she started to open her mouth, no doubt to ask what I mean by that statement, I shook my head. “I’ll explain later. Right now, watch and learn.” I smiled at Lynn, both of us pretending not to notice her nearly bobble the tray or the fact she touched the rim of each and every single glass. After she set the last one down, I said, “Why don’t you start with the kids and I’ll make up my mind before you get around to me?”

“Sure thing.” If the way she ground her back teeth together was any indication, she was about as pleased with the suggestion as she’d been the day our senior English teacher made her switch seats because she couldn’t make it through a class without talking. Turning to Dolly, she said, “What are you having, little girl?”

The next few minutes were interesting to say the least. Not because the kids couldn’t order for themselves, because they could. It was the fact Lynn was apparently so unfamiliar with the menu she had no idea what sides came with certain entrees or that you didn’t really need to ask someone how they wanted their chicken cooked. By the time she made her way back around to me, she was flushed and sweaty and all of the kids were irritable from the multiple rounds of twenty questions.

“And what are you having, Jeannie?” Lynn’s smile was more of a grimace, her grip on the pen so tight I wouldn’t have been surprised if it suddenly snapped in half. “Steak? Pot roast?”

“Actually, I’ll just do a bacon cheeseburger, medium, pepper jack, fully dressed, with the steak fries.”

“I’m not sure if we have that kind of cheese and we can only do burgers medium well.”

“If you don’t have pepper jack I’ll take Swiss and yes, you can.” When she only glared at me, her lips pursed so tight they were almost a seamless line, her nostrils flaring slightly, I sighed. “Go get the cook, please.”

The second she stalked off, Tammy hissed, “What are you doing?”

“Starting out as I mean to continue. Don’t worry, I’m not going to embarrass you.” I ran my fingernail down the glass, frowning at the obvious evidence of hard water residue. “They need to get a softener.”

It took a few minutes, probably because Lynn was back in the kitchen talking about the bitchy, picky customer, but she finally stormed out through the swinging door, a big hulking beast of a man in her wake. Flouncing over to the table, she lifted her chin and said, “Here’s the cook. Joel—.”

“McNabb.” I stood and held out a hand, my smile genuine for probably the first time in a week. “I’ll be damned. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Ignoring my hand, he scooped me up in a bone-crushing hug, my toes barely touching the ground. Setting me back on my feet, he said, “Heard you’d come home. Sorry about your sister. She was always nice to me.”

“Thanks.” Joel was one of the few people in town who hadn’t considered me or my sister trash, probably because he’d lived in the trailer six slots down and he’d dealt with the same bullshit I had. Stepping back, I said, “So you’re a cook now, huh?”

“Pays the bills, which is more than can be said for working out at the plant.” He shrugged, somehow managing to not look ridiculous despite the small, almost dainty apron struggling to cover his mountainous frame. “Besides, I always liked working with food.”

“That you did.” He’d been the only boy in our grade to take home economics and had aced the class with almost no effort. The only reason there’d never been even a rumor about his sexuality was his position on the football team and the fact he’d been known to lay out a grown man with a single punch. “So tell me something—why is it I can’t get a burger done medium?”

“Who said you can’t?” His easy smile died and he turned to Lynn with a scowl. “Come on now, Lynn. Not again.”

“Consuming undercooked meat isn’t recommended.” If her spine got any straighter it’d probably interfere with the stick in her ass. “Doctors say—.”

“Lynn.” Joel dropped his voice to a low murmur, probably to keep from drawing any more attention our way, although most of the people in the restaurant were already watching not only openly but avidly. “Unless a damn doctor is a customer, it doesn’t matter. And if Jeannie Jackson wants a medium burger, she can have one.”

“With pepper jack cheese.” I waited a beat. “If you have it, I mean.”

“Of course we....” Joel trailed off, shaking his head even as Lynn clenched one fist at her side. “No problems, Jeannie. I’ll make sure everything comes out right.”

“Thanks, Joel.” I turned to Lynn and smiled. “You, too, Lynn. Great service so far.”

I sat down as they both headed toward the kitchen, the restaurant erupting in whispers. Tammy leaned over and said, “How’d you do that?”

“Told you, Tammy—knowledge is power. Not just what you know but who you know and what you know about them.” I took a sip of my tea and sighed. “And I know an awful lot about an awful lot of people.”