the drought.” A deep drink of coffee followed.
“My money’s on Emma not coming back,” Willard stated flatly. “She’s not been back since—”
“She’ll be back. Emma’s local,” Ray interrupted.
Listening, but not really, Sparks smiled at the server who set down a full plate, plunking another Coke in front of him, as well. Sparks breathed in the aroma of creamy sausage gravy over crispy fried cube steak, lumpy mashed potatoes and a watery pile of vegetables. He picked up his knife and fork. Ignoring the conversation flowing around him, he sliced a piece of meat, ran it through the gravy and slid it into the pile of mashed potatoes. He sighed, the focus on his aches and pains shifted to this gastronomical delight.
Moments later, as he tuned back into the conversation, the three men were now discussing the Jamboree and the cancelled one-and-only volunteer organizational meeting. Naomi’s skills must be better than his to run a Jamboree off one meeting. Then again, most people’s skills in that area were better than his, and now even his dependability had been called into question by his boss. This job had to go well.
“Can’t Naomi’s husband plan the Jamboree?” Sparks asked.
The three men looked at him as though he’d thrown a pitchfork of manure into the conversation instead of a question. Then they chuckled.
“Be hard for him,” Ray said. “He’s been dead for almost two years.”
Duff jumped in. “By the way—” he gestured to Sparks’s plate “—you don’t want to eat that medley.”
“Right.” Sparks restrained the overcooked vegetables from contaminating the rest of the meal. He didn’t see the problem with who ran the event—it was a small-town Jamboree after all. The problem he saw was his summer slipping down the drain if someone didn’t step up. He put another bite of meat and potato into his mouth. He hoped this Emma would show up, and soon.
Willard seemed determined to drive home his morose observations. “I’m telling you, Emma is gone. I was at the funeral that day.” All eyes were on him. “Emma and Naomi might have been in the kitchen but most of the US of A heard them, even if everyone pretends they didn’t to Naomi’s face.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “It was a knock-down, drag-out fight, likely to raise Raymond from the dead.”
“Emma’s usually so quiet.” Ray didn’t sound convinced. “I wasn’t able to pay my respects till later. Naomi seemed fine then, like always.”
“Quiet around her grandmother, maybe,” Duff interjected. “She didn’t used to be that way. Older she got, less you heard from her.” He swirled his coffee.
Sparks squirmed. Add a hair dryer or two and this could be the Hattie’s Dyed and Gone hair place he’d noticed down the street. Emma, trained by Naomi, would be a clone of the fire-breathing Naomi. He tried to imagine a younger Naomi. No nonsense. Barking orders and expecting obedience every step of the way.
“Why don’t one of you plan it if Emma doesn’t show?” he asked.
Ray choked on his last forkful of pie. Willard looked as though Sparks had suggested he strip naked and run down Main Street, and Duff started laughing until tears ran down his face.
“Nobody but Naomi has done the Jamboree since Moses was in preschool,” Willard replied.
Looking down at his plate, Sparks leaned back. “Well, bigger fireworks will bring in more people who will then spend money.” Although the budget she had faxed fell miles below his usual, he knew the results would still knock the socks off anyone attending this small-town celebration.
Willard opened his mouth, but after catching the expressions on his friends’ faces, he reddened, snapped his lips shut and stared at the table. Sparks frowned. What didn’t Willard’s friends want him to say? Sparks watched the faces close up, wondering if everyone in town knew everyone’s business or if they saved energy and focused on The First Family, the Chamberses.
Not having a family, and with traveling so much, people only knew what Sparks told them; nothing more, nothing less. Some things people didn’t need to know. Some secrets needed to stay buried.
Looking at his watch, Duff sighed and slid out of the booth, turning a weary face to the remaining men. “Gotta get back to the store. Missus was holding down the fort for me while I went for coffee break.” He checked the watch again and headed to the cash register, bill in hand.
Ray inclined his head toward Sparks. “Room okay?”
With a contented expulsion of breath after finishing his meal, Sparks sipped his third Coke. “Yeah, other than the phone doesn’t work and it’s decorated like a time warp, everything’s good with me.”
Willard snorted as he held his stomach while Ray slapped his hand on the table and hee-hawed.
“Phones over at the Safari don’t ever work.” Ray wiped his eyes, then brought the mug to his lips.
Sparks raised his eyebrows. “The sign out front says phones in every room.”
Ray explained that there were phones in every room; they just didn’t work. When Lynette had bought the place back in the early seventies, they didn’t work. She’d just left them there so she wouldn’t have to redo the neon sign.
Ray punched Willard on the shoulder. “Move. I gotta get.”
The two men hitched out of the booth.
“Gotta love vacation,” Sparks said, no longer annoyed at the lack of phone service at the Safari. It was a great summer story.
Halfway to the cash register with his tab, Ray turned back toward Sparks, an enigmatic expression on his face. “You think you’re here for vacation?” He snorted.
A tall, thin man with a big smile and short white hair sprouting up on the top of his head pushed open the door and strode into the Dew Drop, scanning the diners.
He approached the booth. “Son, you Sparks?” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Chet. Naomi wants a meetin’ with you.”
Despite the older man’s warm voice and kind gaze, Sparks shivered. It was like a summons to visit the queen.
AFTER A SHOWER, and pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, Emma headed for the ancient Bunn coffeemaker on the turquoise kitchen counter.
The “trouble” her grandmother had talked about last night as well as the heavy breathing when Emma had opened the door turned out to be a black-and-white border collie. Trouble was printed on the side of his dish. His favorite place seemed to be under the kitchen table.
One more problem to solve before she left town—who would take care of the dog? And why did her grandmother even have a dog? She’d easily ignored all of Emma’s pleas for a pet. Trouble seemed keenly interested in her every move, which was probably why her grandmother liked the mutt.
Out of habit, she glanced over at Beryl’s window, the way she had while growing up. When a curtain twitched, as it had last night, she wondered if Beryl had witnessed the ambulance picking
