The Mulberry Tree
“No such luck,” Bailey said, sniffing.
“Now she tells me,” Matt said with such sincerity that Bailey came close to smiling. He took her hand. “Now, come on, chin up, we’ll get rid of them soon.”
Matt did as he said. They went outside, and everyone looked at them in speculation. Matt went straight to Violet and whispered something to her, but no one noticed because they were all staring at Bailey. When she couldn’t meet their eyes, they smiled, as though they knew what she and Matt had been doing in her bedroom. All it took to make all of them leave was for Matt to yawn and say, “Whew, it’s been a long day.”
Everyone except Alex said they needed to leave. Patsy said something to Rick, Rick said something to his two sons, then they whispered something to Alex. Alex said, “But I hate video games.” That’s when Carla walked over to him and struck him in the ribs with her elbow. “Hey! Why’d you— Oh, yeah, I think I’ll leave too,” he said, then he winked at Bailey.
Thirty minutes later, Bailey and Matt were alone in the house. He made her a strong cup of tea and set her down on the sofa. “Now talk,” he said.
It didn’t take long for Bailey to tell Matt every fact she knew. That her billionaire husband had died suddenly and left his fat widow with nothing had been on the news across the globe. Matt had seen the note, and all Bailey had been able to find out in her time in Calburn was that Jimmie had, maybe, been Frank McCallum’s son.
“Then who the hell are Atlanta and Ray?” Matt asked.
Bailey’s eyes widened. “How would I know? For all that this town is Gossip Heaven, there are big secrets everywhere. If Jimmie is one of Frank’s kids, then I guess Atlanta and Ray are Frank’s other kids.” She put her hands over her face. “This has all happened too fast. When I saw them in your photo, I—”
Matt pulled her hands down. “My photo? What are you talking about?”
“You have a photo of Atlanta and Ray in your shoe box,” she said.
“Those two ugly teenagers?” Matt asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “And you flat-out lied to me that you didn’t know who they were.”
“I—” she began, but he waved his hand.
“I’ll get my box.” He left the room and came back moments later with the shoe box, then held up the photo. “I’ve never paid much attention to this picture and I’ve thought many times that I should throw it away, but I didn’t.” He put the box of photos down on the coffee table. “I want you to tell me every word that Phillip said to you when he called.”
Bailey had to admit that her mind had been so full of starting the business that she hadn’t listened very carefully to Phillip, so it was hard to remember the details. And what she did remember had to be explained, so Matt could understand.
After a while he got up to get Bailey another cup of tea. When he returned, he said, “Maybe Manville had your mother sign a permission slip but never told you he’d done it.”
“That’s what Phillip said, but that doesn’t make sense. I told Jimmie that I would be nineteen on my next birthday. There would have been no reason for him to think that he needed to get permission from my mother. I told him—”
Suddenly, Bailey’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?”
“I . . . I don’t believe this.”
“What?!”
“When I met Jimmie, he gave me an award. I was in the—” For a moment, Bailey was too stunned to speak. “I was in the under-eighteen division.”
Matt leaned back against the couch. “I want you to tell me every word about the day you met him. Everything.”
Twenty-one
“I’d like to know who in the hell said I’d do this,” James Manville said, sneering at the little man with the badge on his chest. Jimmie was tall and big, and he was wearing black leather racing gear. His lion’s mane of hair and his thick mustache added to the size of him.
“It was, uh, part of your contract, sir,” said the little man. “The fair guaranteed your car a place in the—”
“All right,” Jimmie snapped. “What is it I’m supposed to judge? Flower arranging?” He looked over the head of the little man to his two employees, and they chuckled quietly at their boss’s joke.
The little man didn’t know Jimmie was making a joke. “No,” he said as he consulted his clipboard. “It’s preserving. Jams and jellies.” He looked up at Jimmie. “I apologize, sir. To ask someone of your stature to judge something as lowly as this is unthinkable, and of course I will see that whoever did this is fired. He—”
“Where?”
“You mean who?”
“No!” Jimmie snapped. “I mean what I say. Where is the preserving exhibit?”