Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(17)

“That sounds manipulative,” June pointed out. “I can see why it would be entertaining.”

“Maybe we should feed him a few more little fibs,” Leah Mae mused. “Let it slip that you shoplifted from the Pop In?”

“Or how about you stabbed someone with a knitting needle at Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee?” GT suggested.

“Perhaps it would be more believable if we told Jonah we saw Shelby interrogating Mrs. Varney regarding the Callie Kendall case,” June suggested.

I laughed. “Isn’t Jonah your friend?”

They all shared a baffled look. “He’s practically family,” Leah Mae said.

“Then why would you go to all the trouble to mess with him like this?”

“Because he’s practically family,” GT said, as if that explained everything. “Also, the guy threw me in the lake.”

“How did Jonah Bodine throw you in the lake?” Jonah was strong. But it would take more than one man to lift my brother.

“He used a trebuchet,” June said.

“What a weird, wonderful town you have here,” I marveled.





9





Shelby





“My research suggests that Southerners in small communities are more likely to volunteer, even in unofficial capacities,” I said. “Can you ladies confirm that?”

My unofficial adoption by The Breakfast Club included the members taking a personal interest in me and my little survey. A few of them had invited themselves over for tea and to “sit a spell.” Meaning, they were pumping me for information on what their neighbors were saying under the guise of being helpful.

Mrs. Varney, Carolina Rae Carwell, Maribel Schilling, and Myrt Crabapple were rocking away in the pretty little rocking chairs Scarlett had on the front porch of the Little Yellow House. I’d bribed Leah Mae to make the sweet tea for me, and I’d bought cookies and cupcakes in town.

“Where do you get your information, girl?” Maribel giggled. “We don’t call helping neighbors volunteering.”

“What do you call it?” I asked, scribbling notes with one hand while licking pink icing from the other.

“Bein’ neighborly,” Mrs. Varney cackled. “You big city folk try to make being nice a big deal. Like it’s some kind of disease. If I give Myrt here a call on my way to the grocery store when I know she’s feelin’ poorly, it’s in my DNA to pick up whatever she may need. I’m not calculating favors or keeping track of whether or not she owes me.”

“It’s the neighborly thing to do,” Carolina Rae said, sipping her sweet tea and rocking.

“’Less of course it’s someone who’s constantly riled about somethin’ acting all ornery,” Mrs. Varney put in. “Then there’s some score keepin’ or maybe we don’t bring her the name brand butter. Or we give her the frozen batch of okra rather than makin’ it fresh.”

“So you’re even nice to people you don’t like?” It wasn’t really the questions that mattered. It was the information dump that occurred whenever more than two good Southern ladies got together.

It was warming into summer temperatures today, and I was sprawled out on the porch with my laptop, my notebook, and a glass of—don’t tell anyone—unsweetened tea. Asking questions, getting answers, organizing the information in my mind. This was my happy place.

“Now let’s take a little break from the work and talk about how you’re doin’, Shelby,” Mrs. Varney suggested sweetly.

“You seen that young Jonah naked yet?” Myrt cackled, leaning forward in her rocker.

“Um. No. Jonah and I are just roommates.” Though I’d seen him sweaty and breathless several times as the man was constantly coming and going from workouts and training sessions. That was almost as good as naked. Probably.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” Carolina Rae sighed. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t let separate bedrooms hold me back.”

The other ladies nodded and rocked vigorously in agreement.

“I’m not here to find myself a boyfriend,” I reminded them. “I’m here to learn why it is that the residents of Bootleg Springs work so well together. You’ve got people of all ages and backgrounds banding together for a common cause, and you succeeded spectacularly.”

“Shelby, there’s no secret there,” Mrs. Varney insisted. “We’re neighbors. That makes us family.”

In nearly every other part of the country that was not true. I remembered the next-door neighbors we had growing up in Charlotte. They blared rock music until 2 a.m. and got in loud arguments over who was going to clean up the dog poop in the backyard. My parents ended up building a ten-foot-tall privacy fence and threw a party when the couple divorced and sold the house.

In Pittsburgh, I knew some of my neighbors’ names. At least their last names according to labels above their mailboxes. But living together didn’t automatically foster any sense of community.

“Let’s talk about the history of Bootleg Springs,” I said, changing the subject. Perhaps their heritage played an important role in why residents felt like they all belonged here.

“Well, you can’t talk about Bootleg Springs history and not talk about Jedidiah Bodine,” Myrt cackled.