Deadline

“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to Magnolia Guesthouse,” a lovely blond woman with a sugary accent greeted her from behind the counter. “May I help you?”

With those blue eyes, skin like milk and pretty smile, all the girl needed was a hoopskirt, Tess thought, and she would have been convinced that she had been transported back to the nineteenth century. Shoving aside her foolish thoughts, Tess walked over to the registration desk. “Hello. I’m Tess Abbott,” she said as she set down her bags. Up close, she realized the girl was a little older than she’d thought at first glance, probably in her mid-twenties. Yet she’d ma’amed her as if she was pushing forty instead of someone who had just turned twenty-nine. “I believe you have a reservation for me.”

“Did you say Abbott?”

“Yes, I did,” Tess informed her and thought she’d caught a flicker of recognition on the other woman’s face. But it was gone so quickly, Tess was sure she’d been mistaken.

“Just give me a sec,” the woman said as she punched data into a computer system.

Definitely not the nineteenth century, Tess thought, smiling to herself.

While the girl worked at the computer, Tess used the opportunity to scan the rest of the room. She noted the small silk pillows in rich jewel tones with needlepoint appliqués propped along the back of a settee. A lush green ficus tree sat in one corner. Another table with more roses sat near a window. Her gaze gravitated to the far wall, dominated by a traditional fireplace. A fire burned invitingly in the grate, reminding Tess of the damp chill in the air when she’d gotten out of the car. Her eyes lifted to the painting above the mantel. It was the portrait of a beautiful redheaded woman sitting in a garden that looked very much like the one that she’d seen outside.

“Oh, here you are, Ms. Abbott. It looks like we were expecting you yesterday,” she said in that same slow, sweet voice.

“Yes, I had hoped to arrive yesterday evening. Unfortunately, I was delayed. I did call and leave a message that I’d be arriving a day later than planned.”

“Yes. So you did. It looks like you spoke with Ms. Maggie. She’s the owner of Magnolia Guesthouse. She’s left a note in the system for me to call her when you arrive.” The girl picked up the phone. “If you’ll just give me a sec, I’ll let Ms. Maggie know that you’re here.”

A few moments later, a striking pixie of a woman with a friendly smile came bustling down the hallway. “Ms. Abbot,” she called out and extended her hand. “I’m Maggie O’Donnell. Welcome to Magnolia Guesthouse.”

“Thank you,” Tess told her.

“I realize it’s late and you must be tired, so I won’t keep you. But I wanted to talk to you about your accommodations.”

The woman was right. She was tired, and after the day she’d had and the incident at the convenience store, she didn’t need anything else to go wrong. “Ms. O’Donnell, please don’t tell me there’s a problem with my reservation.”

“The name’s Maggie,” she corrected. “And there’s no problem at all. It’s just that you requested one of the cottages and since you were arriving so late and wouldn’t have a chance to view them this evening, I wanted to suggest that you spend tonight here in the main house. Then tomorrow when it’s light and a bit warmer, I’ll give you a tour of the grounds and show you the cottages. That way you can decide which one you’d like to stay in for the remainder of your visit. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Tess paused. She’d thought being in a cottage, away from the main house, would afford her more privacy while she investigated. She’d also hoped that she might even do some Internet research tonight on Lester De Roach.

“Of course, if you’d prefer, I can go ahead and put you in one of the cottages tonight.”

“No. You’re right. I would like to look over the cottages tomorrow. So the main house will be fine for tonight. Thank you for suggesting it.”

Maggie smiled at her. And Tess couldn’t help herself. The woman’s energy and friendliness were contagious. “Excellent. Then I’ll leave Mary Lee to get you registered and show you up to your room. Tomorrow morning, you just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll give you that tour I promised.”

“Thank you,” Tess told her, and after giving the girl behind the counter instructions, Maggie disappeared back down the hall.

“Ms. Maggie’s right. You’ll like staying here in the main house. Truth is, I think the rooms here are prettier than the cottages,” Mary Lee said in a whisper, as though she was sharing privileged information. She punched more information into the computer. “Here we go. Now, do you want to put the charges on a credit card or will you be writing a check?”

“Credit card, please.” Tess retrieved her Visa card from her purse and handed it to the girl.

The young woman zipped the piece of plastic through the machine, then handed it back to Tess, along with a receipt. “If you’ll just sign right here.”

Tess signed the receipt and the girl gave her a copy, which she stuffed into her purse.

“You’ll be in the Lady Charlotte Suite tonight,” she explained, handing Tess an old-fashioned door key, the kind that up until now, she’d only seen in old movies. “It’s right up the stairs and the last door at the end of the hall. If you’ll just give me a sec, I’ll help you with your bags.”

“That’s okay, I can handle them,” Tess told her as she hooked her computer bag to the front of her suitcase. “But thanks anyway.”

“Sure thing. Oh, by the way, we serve a country breakfast beginning at seven-thirty in the dining room. You don’t want to miss it.”

“That sounds good. Is it possible for me to get a wake-up call for six-thirty?”

“Of course. And if you need anything in the meantime, just ring down to the front desk. I’ll be here all night.”

“Thank you, Mary Lee,” Tess said, and once again she thought she’d detected something in the way the girl looked at her. An eagerness, almost as if she was bursting with a secret, Tess mused. Dismissing the notion to an overactive imagination brought on by fatigue, Tess headed toward the stairs, eager to set up her laptop and get to work. With any luck, she might just be able to find out who Lester De Roach was and whether or not he’d had any ties to either of her parents.

Chapter Five

“I don’t like this any more than you do, pal,” Spencer told the twelve-pound black-and-white cat he’d named George that sat meowing beside him on the couch in his apartment in Jackson. “But if you want me to keep you in cat food, I’ve got to finish this column. So stop with all the racket so I can think.”

Apparently insulted, George jumped off the couch and headed for the kitchen. Not that he blamed the cat, Spencer admitted. With the governor’s election less than a month away, he’d had his fill of campaign rhetoric, too. He’d also had a bellyful of Everett Caine. Damn, but he didn’t want to see that man get in the governor’s mansion. But Caine had covered his tracks well. Except for a few questionable appointments and the steering of some legal work to his cronies’ law firms, he hadn’t been able to find anything to derail Caine’s bid for the governorship, and to prove, once and for all, what a lying snake in the grass he was.

When his cell phone rang, Spencer ignored it. Instead he went back to staring at the computer screen on his laptop. Deadlines were a bitch, he thought as he looked at the half-finished column. He needed to finish the damn thing and turn it in before Hank had another hissy fit. Not to mention that the other newspapers that carried his column would be none too happy with him if he didn’t deliver the goods for which they were paying him.

Rubbing his face, he pretended not to notice that his face felt as if it belonged to a grizzly bear. He reread what he’d written.

WHAT ARE FRIENDS WORTH?

By Spencer Reed

Associated Press

Or perhaps the question gubernatorial candidate Everett Caine has been asking his friends and business associates is how much is friendship with the man who wants to be the state’s next governor worth to them? Quite a lot it seems if Saturday evening’s fund-raiser at the Ritz-Carlton in Oxford, Mississippi, is any indication. It was there that Lieutenant Governor Caine collected another $1,000,000 for his campaign war chest from two hundred of his closest friends at a $5,000-a-plate black-tie dinner. Let’s hope that for that price steak and lobster were on the menu. What shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone is to learn that three individuals, who each purchased tables of ten at the fund-raiser, have had their names mentioned as part of Caine’s management team if he should win the governor’s race next month.

While Everett Caine and his supporters are quick to point out the candidate’s record of good government, and purport him to be the man to wipe out the good-old-boy network that has long been the bane of Southern politics, this reporter has to disagree. Based on his own track record as a district attorney and lieutenant governor, Everett Caine has surrounded himself with friends who have helped him get into office. Payback? It sure seems like it to me.

Lieutenant Governor Caine claims to be the candidate who will keep his promises, a man who pays his debts. A $1,000,000 dinner is no small favor and we can only wonder how this debt will be paid, and how much it will cost the State of Mississippi and its citizens if Caine wins the governorship….

Spencer sat back in his chair, considered what he’d written and wished he could make the people see Everett Caine for what he was—a lying, self-serving politician who used people and tossed them aside. People like Jenny.

That familiar ache in his chest started again at the thought of sweet, innocent Jenny. Jenny Wyatt—the girl who had been his friend and practically a kid sister to him, but who had died before she’d even had a chance to live. Dead before her twenty-second birthday because she’d gotten mixed up with the likes of Everett Caine.

His cell phone rang again and this time Spencer snatched it up instead of letting it go to voice mail. “Yeah,” he snapped.

“Now, sugar, is that any way to answer the phone?”

Spencer paused, glanced at the caller ID feature, noted the number was the Magnolia Guesthouse in Grady. He smiled. “Well, now, Mary Lee, if I’d known it was you calling, darling, I would have been a lot nicer.”

“I bet,” she said with a sniff. “I haven’t seen you in ages, Spence.”

Spencer didn’t have to see Mary Lee to know that the sexy little blonde was pouting. The woman was flat-out gorgeous and she was used to men tripping over themselves whenever she batted those baby-blue eyes of hers at them. He had neither the desire nor the inclination to be one of those men. “Darling, I’ve been working. I thought I told you that when we talked the other day.”

“But I miss you,” Mary Lee cooed.

Spencer laughed. “From what my momma tells me, Shane Russell’s been giving old Donny a real run for his money. You didn’t mention that when I called you.”