Enticing Emily (Southern Scandals 3)

And, as always when she thought of that declaration of love, she panicked. Spurred into frantic action, she continued the packing she’d been doing for the past two weeks, going room to room, closet to closet, drawer to drawer, refusing to dwell on memories or give in to sentiment.

She spent more hours poring over her travel brochures, trying to imagine herself in those exotic places. Trying not to imagine Wade there with her. She’d told herself she wanted to spend time alone...so why did the future suddenly seem so lonely? And what took more courage on her part—going off alone, or staying in the hometown where she’d spent so many years?

WHEN HER DOORBELL RANG on the Saturday afternoon before Thanksgiving, she answered with some trepidation, wondering if Wade had returned to try to change her mind again. And whether this time he would succeed, despite her undefinable fears.

It was with more disappointment than relief that she found Martha Godwin standing on the other side of her front door.

“Oh, hello, Martha. What can I do for you?” she asked, moving aside to invite the older woman in. And please don’t ask me to keep your dog again. Not now.

Martha looked curiously around at the half-filled boxes on the living-room floor. “Hello, Emily. My, you’ve been busy.”

“Yes. I’m getting ready to move out at the end of next month. There’s a lot of work involved in packing up forty-odd years of household goods.”

> “I understand you’re having a yard sale in a couple of weeks.”

Emily nodded. “Obviously, I can’t keep everything. I thought other people might like to have some of the things I no longer need.”

“I see.”

Still uncertain why Martha had called, Emily motioned toward the sofa. “Please sit down. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you, dear. I just wanted to see how you’ve been,” Martha replied, making herself comfortable.

Emily didn’t believe it for a moment. Martha always had some ulterior motive. Gossip to spread or gather. A favor to ask. A complaint to make. Something. And Emily suspected she wasn’t going to like this one.

“I’ve been well, Martha. Just busy.”

“No lingering effects from that horrible attack? How is your poor head?”

“Fine. No lingering effects.”

“I knew all along that Kevin O’Brien had something to do with those break-ins,” Martha announced smugly. “If everyone had listened to me, the case would have been solved weeks earlier. Joe O’Brien is paying now for spoiling that boy rotten, and that’s exactly what I told him when I saw him at the pharmacy last week.”

“Oh, Martha, you didn’t.”

“I most certainly did. I told Joe years ago that he’d better take that boy in hand before he turned into a hardened criminal. But would he listen to me? No. I simply reminded him last week that he wouldn’t have spoiled the child if he hadn’t spared the rod.”

Emily bit her tongue. She’d felt rather sorry for the O’Brien family, who’d been genuinely shocked by their son’s behavior. Yes, they had spoiled Kevin, and they should have stepped in long ago to curb his growing wildness, but blaming them now served no purpose. It had been cruel of Martha to throw her uninvited advice in Joe’s face at this point.

“And it’s obvious that Kevin hasn’t learned anything from the trouble he’s in,” Martha went on, oblivious of Emily’s disapproval. “He’s still being very defiant, and he still refuses to admit that he had anything to do with the vicious attack on you.”

“Yes, well, it’s up to the courts to deal with him now.”

“Mmph. Most likely he’ll get a slap on the wrist and be released to terrorize our town again.”

Emily clasped her hands in her lap, wishing that Martha would just get to the point of her visit.

“At least for a little while we can feel safe in our homes again. Of course, we still have to deal with Wimpy Curtis wandering the streets at all hours. Why someone doesn’t put that man in a home is beyond me.”

“Wimpy is perfectly harmless and you know it, Martha,” Emily was spurred into retorting. “He’s just a sweet, befuddled old man who gets confused sometimes.”

“He’s getting worse. Why, yesterday he was walking down Main Street in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms at two in the afternoon. And then he spat, right on the public sidewalk. Not a foot from where I was standing.”

Emily’s head was beginning to ache—as it so often did when she spent much time with Martha.

“I went to Chief Davenport’s office to file a complaint, but he wasn’t there. Of course, he was home with that sick boy of his, and I understand he has to take care of the child, but who’s supposed to be watching out for the citizens of Honoria while he’s away, I want to know?”

Emily lifted her head sharply. “Clay’s sick?”