Page 46 of Home Body
“That reminds me,” Dalia said, “I have a date tonight with a man I think is a nice guy. Any idea how long we’ll be in here?”
“Nah uh. I don’t even know why you’re here. All you did was try to talk to that crotchety old witch, right?”
“Right!” Dalia felt vindicated, even if only by a rather vapid girl.
“Hey, you guys want some pop? I can get you something at the diner down the street if you’re hungry.”
“I’m fine,” Dalia said. “Thank you though.”
“Me, too,” Kenyon added. “Thanks.”
“Listen,” Prissy confided, “I called my grandpa as soon as you were brought in. He’ll be here soon.”
“Who’s your grandpa?” Dalia asked.
“Oh, he’s the sheriff. He won’t think nothing of you being out there talking to that old lady. I mean, she’s been the gossip of this town for as long as I can remember. I heard Grandpa talking about her once. Sometimes he forgets to turn off the intercom and I can hear him in his office. He and this other guy were saying she ‘probably did it.’ They just couldn’t prove it. People say all kinds of things about how she and some old dead doctor used to be having an affair.”
Kenyon became excited at this piece of information. “What else do they say?”
Prissy put a purple-tipped finger on her lips while twirling a pigtail with her other hand and looked up to her left, thinking. “Um, that’s about it, I think. I can ask my friend Karla. Her grandma knew them.”
The door slammed open and a man who walked like he considered himself to be the king of the hill marched into the room. He wasn’t in uniform but there was no doubt he was the one in charge.
“’lo, Grandpa,” Prissy said sweetly. “These ladies need to be let out.” She jabbed a finger at Dalia. “She’s got a big date tonight.”
The man’s entire demeanor shifted. He guffawed, shook his head, and took a fat key out of his jeans’ pocket. He unlocked the cell door and swung it open. “Sorry ladies. I’m Sheriff Wisniewski. My deputies got carried away. I confess they’re a little scared of Nellie Franklin. Everybody in town is a little scared of Nellie Franklin. Even me. Your car is still out there. I’ll drive you back to get it.”
On the way back to Nellie’s, the sheriff asked them what they’d been doing out there. Dalia explained the entire situation. He listened with keen interest but didn’t say anything except to warn them not to trespass again. He let them out at their car and waved at Nellie, who stood on her front porch with her arms crossed, and he waited for them to drive safely away.
It’d been a fateful adventure. Dalia and Kenyon didn’t quite know what to make of it. One thing for certain was that the sheriff had been too quiet as Dalia explained the situation.
“He knows more than he’s telling us,” Kenyon asserted.
“Yeah. I think everybody in that town knows more than they’re telling us.”
“Well, except Prissy. I’m not sure she knows much of anything.”
“True. But she sure was nice to us.”
“Sometimes nice trumps everything else, doesn’t it.”
Kenyon dropped Dalia off at her truck, which she’d left in Farmdale, and they went their separate ways. Dalia had to get ready for her big date. Kenyon, on the other hand, had absolutely nothing to do.
CHAPTER 27
Dalia didn’t want to think about the mystery of her birth. She didn’t want to think about that miserable trailer she’d scoured. She didn’t want to think about Agnes Singleton. And she wasn’t ready to talk about her disastrous afternoon in Amberton and ending up in jail.
All she wanted to do was relax and have a good time with Brody. It was time for her to get to know him better. Well, something other than his sexual preferences. After all, he knew just about everything about her, everything except the dilemma of where she came from. But she didn’t even know that.
Nervousness set in as she got ready. Rose, ever astute, watched curiously. The little girl shoved at her glasses, even though they’d stopped at the optometrist’s office and had them adjusted so they fit perfectly. Pushing at her spectacles had become a habit.
“Mommy, how come you aren’t putting on a red dress and red lipstick?”
“What makes you ask that?” Dalia sat at her bedroom vanity table at the mirror, running her pinky over the edges of the pink lipstick she’d applied.
“That’s what ladies on TV do when they’re gonna go on a bait.”
Dalia snickered. “Honey, it’s a ‘date.’ Although, bait might be a better description. And I’m not on TV. And I don’t like red.”Not anymore, she thought, an image of her former tawdry dancing costume popping into her head uninvited and unwanted.
