Sweet Caroline(41)

Mitch arches over the desk to see. “What is it?”

“A picture.” A black-and-white, curled-edge picture of six twenty-somethings lies alone on the bottom of the box. The date is stamped on the white photo border. “June forty-eight.”

Mitch comes around the desk for a closer look. The scent of Hugo Boss is distracting. “Isn’t that your granddad in the middle?”

“Yes, and Nana.” Her smile is very distinct. Sweet and unassuming.

“There’s Jones on the other side of your nana.” Mitch taps the young, angular face of my old boss. He grabs my hand to turn the picture over. “Nothing written on the back.”

“So, that’s it. A locked box with one old picture? Very weird.”

Mitch taps the picture. “A betting man would say there’s more to the story.”

“Caroline? Ready to go?” J. D. stops short when he sees Mitch. I watch his face, expecting to see a flicker of jealousy, but if he is, he cloaks it well. “Hey, Mitch.”

“Good to see you, J. D.” The country singer offers his hand. “What are y’all up to tonight?”

“Going to see Grease I and II at the drive-in.” J. D. angles over the desk to kiss me. I accept it, though it feels weird in front of Mitch.

“Look, J. D., an old picture of Jones. There’s Granddad and Nana.”

J. D. bends down to look, pressing his cheek against mine. “Another world.”

“So, a Grease double feature at the drive-in,” Mitch says.

J. D. clears his throat. “W-why don’t you join us?”The loud thunk is me hitting the floor.

“No, thanks, I don’t want to impose.” Mitch turns for the door.

“No, man, really. It’d be nice to hang out. It’s been a while.” The deputy smiles, resting one hand on my back. “Jess and Ray are coming. Wild Wally and his girlfriend, Holly. We could call Elle. Right, Caroline?”

Oh, I see. “Sure.”

Mitch hesitates with a glance at J. D., then me. “You talked me into it.”





DAILY SPECIAL


Friday, July 6

Frogmore Stew (all you can eat)

Cornbread

Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits

Pluff Mud Pie or Pecan Splendor Cake

Tea, Soda, Coffee

#36;8.99


18

I signed you boys up,” I announce to Dupree, Luke, and Pastor Winnie as they come in at eight-o-two. signed “Signed us up for what?” Dupree asks, sliding into the booth. “Toilet overflowed at two this morning. Been up ever since. Bring extra coffee, Caroline.”

“The Water Festival raft race. I needed eleven in the boat and . . . you boys are eight, nine, and ten.”

Luke squares his shoulders. “The Frogmore is putting a raft team in the race?”

“That’s the idea. What do you think? Get our name out there, show the town we’re alive and well.”

Dupree laughs. “Alive, maybe. I’m not so sure about well.”

“Never mind. Are you gents up for rafting?” I give them the details. They grunt and nod.

“Looks like we’re all in, Caroline,” Dupree says.

Good. Ten down, one to go. Mitch. I meant to ask him last night, but the gang dispersed after the movie. During intermission, Elle hauled me off to the ladies’ room and announced she’d booted Mitch from her back-up list.

“Every time I look at him, I see your face.”

“Wait seven years. When you call for backup, it’ll be different.”

She lined her lips with fresh gloss without looking in the mirror. “No, I can tell, Mitch is not for me. While charming and loverly to look at, there’s no spark—if you know what I mean.”

“Not really.” Spark is definitely—well, was definitely—not a problem between Mitch and me. “Elle, then why are you still primping and glossing?”

“I want to look good when the paparazzi pop out of the trees or swing down from the Spanish moss.”

Her expression had me laughing. I wish I owned life like Elle.In the office, I dial Mitch’s number. Hey, have I got a job for you. Mitch, pullease, I need a favor . . .

“What’s up?” This is how he answers the phone.

I blurt. “I need a favor.”

“Is it legal?”

“Far as I know. Will you row with us in the Water Festival raft race?” He chuckles. “Who is us?”

“The Frogmore Café.” I run down the team names.

“The breakfast-club boys?” he says slowly. “Miss Jeanne?”

“I know, I know—”

“I’m in. Now, will you do me a favor?”

“Is it legal?”

Mitch laughs. “Far as I know. How about letting me sing at the Café during the Water Festival? Try out new material. Might help draw some business.”

I lurch forward. “You’re kidding? All nine nights?”

“That’s the offer. Two shows a night. Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“Yes, yes. Sing at the Frogmore. Mitch, that will be so great for business.” Maybe twenty-five thousand dollars great. Or close.

“Well, I’ve filled a few stadiums.”