She shrugs. “I don’t know much about it, and I don’t know why mine still works. Like I said, the older folks think it’s tacky to talk about. But I heard…” She nibbles at her lip. “I heard your grandmother might have had something to do with it?”
“I did hear folks were mad at her,” I start. “And I’ve been wondering why.”
Maggie’s voice in my head is flustered. “It’s all lies. People just want someone to blame. I told you: Shelby is a flibbertigibbet.”
“So what’s the dating scene like around here?” I ask, changing tack. “Did you and Hunter ever—”
Shelby laughs as she walks toward the restaurant steps, her UGGs crunching in the gravel. “Nope. I think we’re cousins twice removed or something, and I’ve known him all my life. I’m more into the big, burly outdoorsy type, you know? Give me a bushy beard and some camo and a freezer full of meat, and I’m good. Hunter is not a hunter. He was always kind of a nerd, to be honest.”
I internally sigh in relief, and we step into MacGillicuddy’s and wait to be seated. On the way to the table, Shelby stops at the bar to talk to two dark-haired women who must be sisters. The bartender looks like she could crush a watermelon with her thighs while mixing a martini, and the younger one in the waitress apron looks like she’s barely out of high school.
“Rhea Wolfe, this is Cash and Keelie King,” Shelby says, pointing first to the bartender, then to the waitress.
“I’m so glad we’ve got somebody new for Craft Night!” Keelie practically squeals, and I realize that I absolutely have no choice but to be there now because making her sad would be the equivalent of kicking a kitten.
“Do you go to Craft Night, too?” I ask Cash.
She winces. “No, but my boyfriend does. The only thing I craft is cocktails. Shelby says you’re from here originally?”
“My family is, but I’ve never been here before.”
“How are you liking it?” Cash leans in. “Because I left for fiveyears, and it’s definitely different, being in such a small town again.”
“Definitely differentdefinitely covers it. The hardest part is being away from my sisters. They’re still in Alabama, and we’re very close.”
Cash throws a fond glance at her sister. “I feel that. But, hey, you’ve managed to land in a special place. You’ll find your feet quick.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise and my shoulders hunch up, and that’s when I feel a dog’s growl deep in my chest.
“Peach Pit, what’s the matter with you?” Cash says firmly, looking directly behind me.
“She smells a stranger,” a new voice says.
I turn stiffly and find a short woman with big bleached-blond hair and a penchant for rhinestones. Beside her a chestnut-colored pit bull stands, staring at my backpack with her hacklesup.
“What’s in the bag, new girl?” the woman asks, looking me up and down.
I want to sink into the floor as I slowly hold it up. “A cockatoo?”
“The sign by the door just says no raccoons,” Shelby says helpfully. “So I figured a cockatoo wouldn’t be a problem? Right, Farrah?”
“You brought acockatoointo abar,” the woman begins, like she can’t believe it. “And don’t tell me it’s an emotional support cockatoo, because I don’t see a little red vest.”
The tension is weirdly high, so I raise the backpack, and Maggie unhelpfully shouts, “Shipoopi!”
“Yep, you caught me. I’m Rhea, and this is my pet cockatoo, Doris, and she gets upset if she’s left alone for too long in a newplace and shreds everything I own and then plucks herself bald. But if her being here is a problem, then I’ll apologize and get out of your hair.”
“You’re Maggie Kirkwood’s granddaughter,” the blond woman says. “Right?” But she’s looking at Maggie when she asks it.
“You know damn well she is,” Maggie mutters. “Stop giving the poor girl a heart attack.”
The blond woman laughs, and it’s then I know she can hear Maggie, too. “I can’t fault you, honey. The sign doesn’t say anything about cockatoos. Peach, this is a friend. Settle on down.”
The pit bull exhales, her hackles go down, and she gives a tentative wag.
“So we’re okay?” I ask.
Peach Pit bustles over to me, her whole body wagging now. She looks like an entirely different dog when she’s not about to attack. I tentatively reach one hand down to stroke her flat, silky head, holding my backpack out of reach with the other, just in case she changes her mind about Maggie.
