Page 13 of Moonshine and Magnolias
“That’s fine.” He looked around the room. “I can’t come up with anything to do that beats picking peaches. Any suggestions on what’s happening in Claremont?”
“I hope you don’t bill your clients by the hour.”
“A set fee per day, plus expenses. But getting a feel for the town where someone lived is important to uncovering nuances in their daily lives.”
She nodded, but didn’t move from her position by the ladder. Her focus drifted back to the Chippendale, and her hand reached up to play with her hair. “Are you looking for historic? Old cemeteries? Quirky? We have some fabulous farmer’s markets and beautiful historical buildings.” The words were more of a recitation, like she was more preoccupied with her split ends than with him.
“Whatever you recommend.”
She raised her chin in the direction of the desk. “Can you grab that stack of letters for me?”
After her lectures earlier about letting guests help, it was an odd request. She was only a few steps away from it, but obviously something else was going on. “Is there anything I need to know? Sharp corners on the wood? Trap doors under the floor?”
She shook her head, avoiding eye contact. “Not unless you believe ghosts linger around and guard their prized possessions.”
The wistfulness in her voice turned the guilt in his chest into a ball of molten lava. This went far deeper than her unflappable façade. It was the perfect opportunity to use her hidden vulnerability for his own needs, but even he had limits. He picked up the letters.
“Thank you.” She snatched them out of his hand and scurried into the hallway. “Come with me and we’ll set up you and your brother.”
He followed the scent of peaches.
Topographical maps of the area and formal portraits of the Clayton family decorated the lobby’s cream-colored walls. A black ribbon hung from the one of Maybelle Clayton. Wendy lifted her hand briefly as she passed by. It was those little actions, almost like she didn’t realize what she was doing, that kept him intrigued.
Wendy thumbed through the flyers of local businesses on the display rack. “Your visit to Georgia simply would not be complete without seeing at least one replica of a giant peach.”
“The ones in your orchard aren’t up to snuff, then?” Rob asked.
“Not unless one has become mutant. And those were cleared when we had the Society for Mutant Fruits out last month.” She handed him the brochure. “What are your thoughts on Prohibition?”
He was beginning to enjoy her subtle sense of humor, but the mention of Prohibition had his hackles rising. That was dangerous territory. His great-uncle had been on the enforcing side of the despised law, working for the Bureau ofInternal Revenue. “What do you have?”
“The Hall of Bootlegging. Did you know moonshiners evading the police was the precursor to NASCAR?”
“As I tell my clients, you learn something new every day.”
Wendy handed him another trifold from the rack. “If you’re willing to have your historical sanity level tested, you can visit the museum dedicated to Pansy Hamilton,” she said. “She’s a local hero that saved the town from destruction during the war. We have a festival in her honor at the end of every summer.”
That was the name on the contract, but it didn’t sound familiar, and this area of Georgia hadn’t seen much action during either the Civil or Revolutionary Wars. “Which one?”
“You’ll just have to go and find out.”
Her teasing tone gave him a surprise and let some of her inner personality escape. “Pansy Hamilton it is. Thank you. Do you want to come with us?”
“Ah...” she glanced at her phone.
Rob held up his hands. “I’m not on your to-do list.”
“There are a lot of things I have to get done today.” Cool Wendy was back in charge, leaving exposed Wendy behind. “Maybe another time.”
Hal met Rob by the large front door, and the two men got into their rental car without speaking. Rob drove down the shaded three-quarter mile to the street.
“What did you see in the office?” Hal asked when Rob finally pulled onto the main road.
A glimpse of heaven. “Very little. Filing cabinets and boxes. One desk, very old, nothing usual at first glance.” He recited the list with levelheaded ease, though he wanted to lie and insist there was nothing worth investigating. “Fire place. Supply closest. Nothing that screamed ‘look here!’.”
“Okay.” Hal made some notes on his tablet. “We’ll have to check the closet, the mantle around the fire place and the desk for hidden spaces or drawers, and maybe tap around the walls. I bet we can get in the office any morning and not get caught. The staff seems to avoid it.”
If Rob didn’t ease the image of the innkeeper from his mind, he’d never accomplish his distasteful task. “The problem is Brandi Clayton. She seems to always be where we’re not expecting her.”
