“Please do. I’ve missed seeing your face, Hank.” Daisy lavished him with an adoring look. If Cordelia didn’t know better, she’d think this gentleman was Daisy’s one and only. “And tell Maureen I loved the cookies she sent last time and would love the recipe.”
“Will do.” Hank rotated his hat in his hands. “Her sister’s coming up from Corpus Christi next week. They’ll be gabbing into all hours of the night, so she might just send me over to get me out of their hair.”
“That’ll be fine, just let me know when I can pencil you in.” Daisy stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print so perfect it could’ve been drawn on. “It was good to see you. Take care now.”
They walked about five steps before Hank stuttered out, “And welcome back, Miss Cordelia. Everyone’s real pleased you’re taking Miss Penelope’s place.”
“Oh.” Cordelia stumbled over being addressed with warmth from one of the market men. “Thank you.” She gave him an awkward wave. “I hope you enjoy your next visit.”
Daisy giggled and pushed her in the back to get her moving again. “You’re so silly, Miss Cordelia. I told you people in townwould be welcoming; you don’t need to act like a nervous Nellie. You’re the madam of the Chickadee, and that’s not nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.” Cordelia didn’t comment further. She hadn’t gotten around to explaining to the chicks that she had no intention of staying, and wasn’t sure how to break that news to them yet. Cordelia had never been good at engaging in conflict.
They entered the store and proceeded to get on with their shopping, Daisy stopping every aisle to say hello to a patron or the wife of a patron. Everyone greeted Daisy with genuine smiles and offered Cordelia the kind of respect she’d only ever dreamed of while growing up. It seemed as though Mr. Arbuckle Jenkins wasn’t lying when he said the Chickadee was an institution, and everyone in town appreciated the service it provided.
There were a few people Cordelia recognized. The Newman brothers, who still smelled like a couple of wet dogs. Ashby Clover, who rode in the mayor’s convertible as the Pumpkin Patch Festival Queen the year Cordelia started kindergarten. Bert Baker, who chipped his front tooth trying to jump a rail in the park on a dare, now walked around the store with a baby strapped to his chest. And Rayla Towne, who moved to Houston to work for NASA, but still came back every other week to volunteer at the local animal shelter. A collage of faces from her childhood that had shifted and changed, even as the town around them remained the same.
“Miss Daisy.” A man in his late fifties with a bristly beard and small eyes took off his John Deere hat and clutched it in his hand. He handed Daisy a flyer. “Would you be so kind as to put this up in your room? The sheriff is more interested in helping that real estate fellow from Catterwood, Sean O’Leary, scout out land than he is in solving crime these days.”
Cordelia looked over Daisy’s shoulder at the poster offering a cash reward of twenty dollars for anyone who had information on a recent break-in, or forty dollars if anyone had heard of an oldminer’s journal reported to be sold to a nearby pawn shop. If so, people were instructed to contact Porter Sheldon.
“Oh, Porter, honey, I’d love to. Really.” Daisy handed back the flyer. “But I’m not sure it fits in with my decor. Next thing you know, everybody will be wanting to pin things to my wall, and that’s not good for ambiance, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.” Porter put his hat back on. “Thought it would be worth a try.”
“I’ll be sure to pass the word along though.” She gave his cheek a pat.
“Thanks, ma’am. Appreciate it.”
They walked up a few more aisles, grabbing a package of gummy worms for Daisy and cooking spray for Arline to do Lord knew what with since she didn’t have a stove.
“There’s Stella.” Daisy pointed to a woman who stood alone in the baking aisle holding a bag of flour and staring off into space like she wasn’t quite sure how she got to the store.
She looked nearly the same as she had in Cordelia’s youth, with sleek raven-black hair twisted into a tight bun, wide tawny eyes, and understated makeup. Even her style screamed elegance, though she wore only a plain black shift dress. She had a softness about her that made her the perfect pastor’s wife. The picture of a nurturing soul.
“Should we say hi?” Cordelia whispered. While it seemed like the polite thing to do, as Stella had been her neighbor for the first ten years of her life, she didn’t want to bombard her with the woman her husband had been spending time with for the last thirty years.
“Probably not.” Daisy maneuvered their cart toward the produce section. “Stella didn’t have a problem with my arrangement with the pastor, but it’ll stir up gossip, and that’s not a nice thing to do to a woman in mourning.”
Daisy put Belinda Sue’s strawberries in their cart, thengrabbed Cordelia’s upper arm. “Ooh, don’t look now, but here comes Honey Stevens. She don’t like me on account of her obsession with the pastor. I’m surprised she’s not wearing a black veil.”
Cordelia turned her head to take in a woman of about sixty wearing a skintight leopard-print leotard with neon-pink leg warmers and a matching headband that pushed back a pile of blond curls sprayed stiff enough to be a storm shelter.
An old memory prickled the back of Cordelia’s mind. Twenty years ago, Honey Stevens had been too busy gossiping to pay attention to where she was going and bumped into Cordelia as she was coming out of Parson’s Drugstore. Instead of apologizing, like any good Texas woman would, she yelled at Cordelia right in the middle of Main Street while she doused her hands in sanitizer like Cordelia was a germ who was trying to invade her ecosystem.
Honey’s blue eyeshadow cracked as she raised her brows at the sight of Daisy. Her gaze passed over Cordelia as if she weren’t worth noticing, and Cordelia couldn’t decide whether to feel offended or blessed at the obvious brush-off. Bracelets jangling as she waved, Honey made a beeline toward Daisy with her reusable shopping bag dangling off her overly tan, speckled arm.
“Now you’ve done it,” Daisy said. “I told you not to look.”
“Well, if it isn’t Daisy Dawson. I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.” Honey fluffed her immobile curls. “I’m sure you heard the news.”
“It’s a tragedy.” Daisy’s voice couldn’t have been flatter if it had been pressed between a stack of Bibles. “He was a good man.”
“The best.” Honey’s thousand-watt smile dimmed by several degrees as her eyes filled with tears. A practiced move, if Cordelia had to bet the farm on it. “I’m not sure how this town is supposed to move on when he was the center of it.”
“I’m sure people will find a way. They can be real resilient like that.” Daisy began to guide Cordelia away. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Honey’s eyes narrowed. “Truth be told, I thought you’d bemore broken up, but here you are, out strutting through town without a care in the world.”
