Page 5 of Moonshine and Magnolias
Okay, fine. She could admit his strong, skilled hands had been useful while they waited for Sarah. His extra inches of height had retrieved things without a stepstool. And he was surprisingly capable at both rearranging items to fit in the refrigerator and smelling so good it drove her to distraction.
“Wendy, sweetie, I made this corn casserole.” One of Grandma’s oldest friends held out an aluminum tray. “It was Maybelle’s favorite.”
“Thank you. She always raved about your cooking.”
The woman smiled, her grey eyes misting with tears, and moved into the parlor.
Wendy turned to the kitchen, only to be stopped by another of her grandma’s friends. “I can’t believe she’s gone. She was the best of us.” The woman put one hand on Wendy’s shoulder. The other gripped a warming bag. “How are you holding up, honey?”
“It’s been rough.” The woman meant well, but all the attention from Grandma’s friends made her head throb and chest tighten. Brandi was the one who loved being in the spotlight, not her.
“I made you a roast. It’ll freeze real good. Just heat it up after it’s defrosted.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
By the time Wendy had tottered into the kitchen, she had managed to balance the roast and casserole, a batch of biscuits, mashed potatoes, and two pecan pies. She slid everything onto the island and shook out her arms before putting some food in the fridge and more on the sideboard in the dining room.
Generations of her ancestors stared down from the pictures on the cream-colored wall, reminding her of her duty to family and the Inn at Fountenoy Hall. And she’d uphold it, but right now she needed time to recharge. She headed out the kitchen’s back door and down the grassy hill to the peach orchard. Just for a minute, to bask in the silence on familiar ground.
The humid air carried the scent of the fruit, bringing back memories of her summer vacations, when the stable place to live was the norm instead of feeling the anticipation of moving because of her dad’s job. Of playing softball, pitching peaches with her cousin instead of for high-school championships. Of lazy days spent reading. Of working, learning the business, while Brandi ditched to sneak off with a boyfriend or to escape her duties. But they’d gone to college together on athletic scholarships for softball. After graduation, Wendy got a job at a big hotel chain. Worked her way through the ranks to a project manager position. On her terms, not by right of inheritance.
She picked up a ripened peach from the ground and bounced it in her hand a few times, its fuzzy skin tickling her palm. A copy of her grandma’s will lay in a dresser drawer, all official and legal and life changing, but she didn’t need to see it. She’d read and reread it so many times, it was a wonder the pages hadn’t yet fallen apart.
A life estate for the Inn at Fountenoy Hall will be established for my sister-in-law Eulalee Katherine Clayton with my granddaughters, Wendy Marsh and Brandilynn Clayton, as tenants in common…
She got into her pitcher’s stance and lobbed the fruit at the tree. It bounced through the branches, then hit the ground with a soft thunk. The satisfaction that usually followed a well-thrown ball didn’t come. She did it again with the same lack of results.
She didn’t want to stay. Staying meant giving up everything she had worked for. But she couldn’t leave her home.
Chapter 02
Wendy sat cross-legged on her twin bed and scratched her forehead with the pencil eraser. Morning sunlight cast a glare on her computer screen, so she angled it, careful not to disturb the papers stacked around her.
The Hall’s ledger sat next to her laptop, and she made some light marks to keep her place. She had checked the numbers and the receipts and other sources of revenue three times, and they still didn’t make sense. Where had the extra thousands of dollars come from?
Fountenoy Hall income was clearly marked. Guests, obviously. Vendor payments for the Pansy Hamilton historical reenactment. Wedding fees. Donations to keep items of historical value in pristine condition. Likewise with the expenditures, supplies, employee wages. Even expenses for the wake yesterday. So unless Grandma Maybelle had been hosting a Vegas-sized poker game in the basement every month, there was no obvious explanation for the extra money.
Wendy leaned back against the pillows to stretch. Posters of boy bands showed the progression through her teens, as did her trophies from high school softball championships. There was no point in redecorating, not when she wasn’t planning on reestablishing her roots like the trees in the orchard.
Breakfast would be starting soon, but it was Brandi’s turn to serve theUpshaws and the honeymooning couple who insisted on staying, even with the memorial service scheduled in the middle of their vacation. Apparently the bride’s parents and grandparents had all honeymooned at Fountenoy Hall.
Wendy had already showered and dressed, but wanted to check the ledger one last time in case she had missed something between answering the plethora of emails from Steward Hotels.
A knock sounded on her door and she glanced at the clock. It had to be either her mom, aunt or Brandi. The first two would be okay. The last would mean trouble.
Wendy closed the laptop and placed the pencil next to the two others on her nightstand, then pushed it up an eighth of an inch to align the tips. She unfolded herself from the bed. “Come in!”
Brandi opened the door and held up a white lace thong. Her sexy green nightie exposed her creamy shoulders and most of her thighs. Not appropriate work attire, but there was still eighteen minutes before her shift started. “Good. You’re awake.” She thrust out the panties. “Will you please stop doing our laundry?”
Thank goodness the guests were on the second floor so no one saw any lingerie being waved around. “I didn’t have enough of my own to make a full load,” Wendy said.
“So wait until you do instead of pilfering in our rooms.”
“Can’t.” Wendy shook her head. “Yesterday was Laundry Day.”
“So make Wednesday your laundry day. Or Friday. Or just do it when you need it done. That’s how the rest of the world works.” Brandi raised the pair in the air. “Did you iron these?”
Wendy crossed her arms. It was her business how she liked her underwear. “Are you here to talk about my laundry habits?”
