My blood turned to fire. “That is absolutely not true.”
“Well, that’s what she’s saying. You’ll need to come here and give her a good tongue-lashing.”
“Last time I did that, she tossed a Molotov cocktail at my house.”
“This time you’ll have me backing you up.”
I rolled my eyes. “For some reason I don’t think you’ll have much influence.”
“You’d be surprised,” she ground out.
We parked and headed toward the quilting club. Dooley Hutto was just taking his place at the top of a hill, bullhorn in hand.
I spied Crystal Darsey immediately. She wore gold heels, Daisy Duke shorts and a tube top. She hung from Sykes Laffoon’s arm like she was glued to him. Our gazes met, and her eyes narrowed.
Mine narrowed in return.
Dooley spoke, his voice booming. “I want to thank all y’all for coming out today to our annual apple-picking contest. I just think—”
Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!
The entire crowd turned to see a camper van rolling up the hill. The camper was a faded white with mustard-yellow stripes zipping along the side. It was so dirty that soil didn’tcakethe sides of it. Dirtcrustedthe entire vehicle as if it had never, and I mean never, seen the right side of a water hose.
“Oh Lawd,” Malene grumbled.
“What is it?”
“It’s notwhat is it,” Urleen corrected. “It’swhois it?”
Impatiently I replied, “Then who is it?”
Malene opened her mouth to answer, but the driver had parked the camper and got out, slamming the door and yelling, “Dooley Hutto, you wait! You wait just one minute!”
A woman who looked to be in her early sixties approached. Her gray hair was cut shoulder-length and sat skewed on her head. She wore yellow pants that weren’t short enough to be capris but weren’t long enough to actually be called pants. Her shirt was about three sizes too small and the buttons were nearly popping off from the strain of her bosom.
But appearance aside, it wasn’t her clothing that caught my eye. It was the spark of mischief in her gaze as she approached.
“Excuse me,” she said, pushing her way to the front of the crowd.
She stopped right beside us.
Malene glanced over. “Leola.”
Leola gave Malene the side-eye. “How’s Willard, Malene?”
“How would I know?” Malene said tightly.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Leola replied.
Malene pursed her lips and stared back at Dooley, obviously finished with their conversation.
I shot Rufus a confused look. He smiled, amused.
“As I was saying,” Dooley said, eyeing Leola. “Welcome everybody to the annual apple-picking contest. The team that picks the most apples gets to ride around in my truck in the apple festival. After you’ve picked a basket, bring it up for counting and we’ll add it to your tally. The winning team will be announced at the end of the day. Are y’all ready?”
Shouts of “Yes!” filled the air.
“Then on your marks, get set, go!”
