Читать книгу Belle Pointe - Karen Young - Страница 12

On her way to the Spectator, Anne impulsively decided to stop at Beatrice’s shop. She’d probably be recognized, but now that Pearce had outed her at the gas station, she might as well satisfy her curiosity about her stepmother’s place of business.

A bell tinkled over the door of the Hodge-Podge as she entered and somewhere in the back of the store Beatrice called out, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“It’s just me,” Anne said, wandering over to a display of pottery. She had always loved pottery and had once joined a class to learn the craft, but like other projects she’d undertaken, she’d had to quit when Buck’s career forced yet another move. Somehow, she’d never re-enrolled.

“What a nice surprise,” Beatrice said giving her an affectionate hug. “You’ve decided to come out of hiding.”

“Might as well since my cover’s blown,” Anne told her. “I had to stop for gas and who else but Pearce pulled up at the same time. He assumes Buck is here with me and hasn’t bothered to call his mother.”

“Seems a reasonable assumption. Did you explain?”

Anne sighed. “No, I lied. More or less. I didn’t admit Buck was still in St. Louis. I thanked him for his invitation to Belle Pointe and told him Buck would be in touch.”

“Naughty girl.” Beatrice clicked her tongue and wagged a finger at Anne.

“I know,” Anne said with chagrin. “You can believe I’ll soon have to come clean because he’s counting on Buck’s endorsement for his campaign. I bet he’s trying to reach him right now, probably at your house, which is where he thinks Buck and I are staying.” She stopped. “But enough of that. I’m here to see your shop. It’s wonderful.”

“Do you think so?” Beatrice said with a pleased look around. “I mean, is it wonderful? I try, of course. What you see is mostly the work of Mississippi artists, pottery, candles, soap and all local whenever possible. I—”

She stopped as the bell over the door tinkled. “Oh, shoot! Let me take care of this customer while you look around and—” She stopped again, recognizing the woman entering. “Oh, Victoria. Goodness, it’s been a while. How are you?”

“I’m well, Beatrice.” With a regal nod, Buck’s mother headed toward them. “And you?”

“Good, I’m good.”

Victoria’s cool gaze shifted to Anne. “Hello, Anne. I thought I might find you here. Pearce called after running into you a while ago and no one answered the phone at the Marshes’. I was a bit surprised to hear you were in Tallulah.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Anne managed a smile, uncertain about greeting her mother-in-law with a hug. It would be like embracing a mannequin. When Victoria kept her distance, Anne relaxed. “And how are you?”

“Busy. Very busy. I imagine Buck has described the flurry of activity at Belle Pointe this time of year. We’re up at dawn and we don’t stop until dark.”

“It must be exhausting,” Anne murmured. In fact, Victoria looked tired. Upon meeting her for the first time, Anne had been struck by the woman’s vigor. She guessed her mother-in-law’s age at about sixty, but she’d always looked fifteen years younger. Today, however, even with skillfully applied makeup, she looked her age.

“Well, of course, it is exhausting, but not so much so that I couldn’t find time for a phone call, if not a visit, from Buck. His trips to Tallulah are rare enough that I would have decided to have a little celebration,” she said. “Of course, I would have to know he was here.”

Anne sighed. It was silly to think she could be in Tallulah and avoid explaining Buck’s absence. “Buck is not here, Victoria,” she admitted. “I came alone.”

“Really?” Perfectly penciled eyebrows went up a notch. “Does that mean he was more seriously injured in the accident than he told me when I called?”

“I don’t know what he told you.”

“Well, knowing the media’s habit of sensationalizing anything about him, I wanted to hear from him personally the extent of his injuries. When I finally got beyond his answer machine, he said the media exaggerated. He’d be up and playing before long.”

Anne sighed. “He had a concussion, Victoria, and he’ll need extensive physical therapy before he can pitch again. When I left, it wasn’t clear just how long that would be.”

“And you left…when?”

“We were both discharged from the hospital on Monday. I left Tuesday.”

“I’m finding it somewhat puzzling that you chose a time when Buck is…handicapped to take a vacation.”

“Buck would be the first to say he doesn’t need me to hold his hand at any time, Victoria. You must know that he isn’t the type to tolerate anybody hovering over him.”

“Hmm…yes.” Victoria paused, studying Anne as if sensing something more than what she was being told. “And have you recovered from your injuries? Buck danced around my questions about you, too.”

“I’m just fine.” If Buck hadn’t shared the fact that she’d miscarried, Anne wasn’t in the mood to tell her mother-in-law.

“So, how long do you intend to be here in Tallulah? Naturally, we’d like to have you over for dinner and soon.”

“Thank you,” Anne said. “In fact, I was just thinking today that I’d call and find a convenient time to visit. I’ve hardly done anything but putter around Beatrice’s house. She and Dad have been very gracious in just giving me the run of the place.”

“It’s been our gain,” Beatrice spoke up. “In just two days, Anne’s got everything in the house spic and span. Next, I expect her to start doing yard work.”

“That sounds as if you might be bored,” Victoria said, still studying Anne’s face keenly. “If so, there’s plenty to do at Belle Pointe.”

Anne smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about farming cotton.”

“And I wouldn’t expect you to. I meant there were other diversions. You’ve never spent much time with us and Belle Pointe has an interesting history.”

“I’ve always thought so. I’d love to know more.”

“Well, now’s a good time, wouldn’t you say? I’ll check with Pearce and Claire about their calendars and we’ll fix it. Now, I should be on my way.” With a nod, Victoria headed toward the door. Just short of her destination, she paused and turned back. “By the way, with Pearce’s campaign in full swing, as he must have mentioned, it occurs to me you’d be an asset. I’ll have Pearce call to see how best to use you.” With a tinkle of the tiny bell, she was gone.

Anne met Beatrice’s amused eyes. “Use me?”

Beatrice laughed. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Anne sighed. “That woman scares me to death and has from day one. I feel as if I’m back in the fourth grade and I’ve failed to turn in my homework.”

“She has presence all right,” Beatrice said. “But rest easy, you were very gracious and respectful. Which is as it should be.” She watched Anne pick up a platter from one artist’s display. “Maybe it would help to remember that Victoria hasn’t always been the chatelaine of Belle Pointe. She wasn’t born a Whitaker, you know. She married into the family.”

“I know that, of course, but it’s hard to imagine her as anything except the quintessential Southern matriarch.”

“Which is exactly how she wishes to be perceived.” Beatrice moved a beautifully glazed bowl to a different position. “However, in high school, she was Vickie Hinton.”

“Vickie?” Anne gave Beatrice an astonished look. It was hard to visualize Victoria Whitaker as a schoolgirl, let alone being called Vickie.

“Yes, Vickie. Before she married John Whitaker, her father worked for the Whitakers. Benny Hinton was a master mechanic and since farming at Belle Pointe is highly mechanized, his job was important. Still, he was hired help. In fact, he died in an accident while on the job and Victoria’s widowed mother moved somewhere up north, I believe.”

“That is so amazing. It explains why Buck’s memories of his maternal grandparents are pretty vague.”

Beatrice studied her thoughtfully. “The Whitakers figure prominently in Tallulah history, which is the reason I’ve suggested you might want to drop in at the Spectator and poke around a bit in the archives.” She paused, tweaking a quilt displayed on the wall. “If, as Victoria suggested, you’re a bit bored, I’ll bet that once you start digging, you won’t be bored for long.”

Anne wondered at Beatrice’s prediction as she surveyed the newsroom at the Spectator a while later, finding it as calm and quiet as a doctor’s office. The level of activity was nothing like the frenetic energy that characterized the news-rooms in a daily newspaper or a television station and, from her observation, unlikely to relieve anybody’s boredom. On the other hand, one reason Franklin gave for leaving his job in Boston was his desire to work under less pressure. He’d certainly managed that.

His face brightened when he looked up and saw her. “Anne!” He rose from his computer and motioned her inside. “Bea called and told me you were headed this way.”

“Don’t let me interrupt whatever you’re doing, Dad. I’ll just look around and get acquainted until you’re free to talk.”

“You aren’t interrupting anything and I mean that literally.” He looked at the screen of his monitor with disgust. “I’ve spent the afternoon trying to write next week’s editorial. So far, I’ve deleted almost everything I’ve written.”

He waved at a chair. “Bea suggested you might want to look at the Spectator archives. Curious about the Whitakers, are you?”

“The Whitakers and other Tallulah history. The Mississippi Delta is a very unique place. Maybe I’ll write a book.”

Franklin looked delighted. “Good idea. And I think you’ll find the Whitakers figuring pretty prominently in your research.”

“I was kidding, Dad.” Unwilling to interrupt him, she lingered at the door. “Actually, I was thinking that since there’s a political campaign going on I might do something with that. I ran into Pearce as I was pumping gas and he gave me the idea himself. Of course, he suggested an article favorable to him, but I thought it would be interesting to put Pearce and his opponent in the same article, showing the contrasts in their platforms.”

“Good idea. I’ll schedule it for next week’s edition.”

She gave a small laugh. “Just like that? What if it doesn’t meet your standards?”

“Then I’ll act like an editor and demand revisions,” he said.

“Gosh, you make it sound like I have a real job.” But she was smiling. Just the idea of working again and her adrenaline was flowing. “By the way, who is Pearce’s opponent?”

“Jack Breedlove, the current chief of police and a hometown boy who returned to Tallulah after a stretch in the army. He was discharged after an injury in the Gulf War. He’s about the same age as Buck, so I bet he could give you a few insights into Jack’s character.” He gave her a sly look. “Of course, you’d have to call Buck to pursue that source for your research.”

“Give it a rest, Dad,” she told him. “I think I can research the article without Buck, who probably hasn’t seen Jack Breedlove since they both graduated from high school.”

Franklin, still smiling, shrugged. “Just a suggestion, Annie.”

“Okay, now I’m really fired up.” She gave two quick taps to the door frame and stepped back, ready to begin. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get started.” Without turning, she backed into a person hovering in the doorway. “Oh, excuse me! I didn’t know there was someone there. Did I step on you?”

“No.” The reply was terse, almost rude.

“You remember Paige, don’t you, Anne?” Franklin asked.

“Of course.” Somewhere beneath a mass of coal-black hair tipped with neon orange, Anne recognized the youthful and vaguely familiar face of Buck’s teenage niece. She had missed seeing Paige at Franklin and Beatrice’s wedding. The teenager had been away on a skiing trip to Colorado. “How are you, Paige?”

Appearing utterly bored, the girl turned, exposing an ear pierced with no fewer than six tiny silver rings. “I’m okay.”

In light of her bizarre appearance, okay was not the word that came to mind, Anne thought. Paige’s eyes were outlined in dark mascara, which matched the hideous purple on her lips and nails. Slim to near anorexic, she looked even more wraithlike in a long, straight black coat and boots, which appeared to be at least one size too large and more suitable for combat duty in a war zone than for the rigors of middle school.

“You’ve grown since I was here last,” Anne said faintly, hoping her reaction wasn’t revealed on her face.

“People grow.” She looked beyond Franklin to the window that framed a view of the town square. “Is Uncle Buck with you? Is he going to recuperate from his accident here in Tallulah?”

“No, Buck stayed in St. Louis.”

Paige frowned. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“He has tons of people helping him,” Anne said. “He won’t miss me.”

Paige turned then and studied Anne briefly. “They said you were in the accident, too. Were you hurt?”

“Not seriously.”

“Paige,” Franklin explained, “is spending some time here at the Spectator after school to earn extra credits toward her grade in English.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “He makes it sound like I volunteered or something,” she said to Anne. “It was do it or die. When my grades in honors English tanked, the Dragon spoke and the parents agreed, of course. I swear people in prison have more choices than I do.”

“The Dragon,” Anne repeated. “That would be your…teacher?”

“No, it would be my grandmother. My teacher is actually okay. Almost.”

“Isn’t honors English a class for students with exceptional talent?” Anne asked.

“I wouldn’t know since I don’t have exceptional talent,” Paige replied dismissively. “Which I tried to tell everyone, but when have they ever listened to me? When has anybody ever listened to me? It’s like I’m expected to turn into Maureen Dowd or Ann Coulter or somebody.”

“Are you into politics?” Anne asked, trying not to smile at mention of the famous female pundits. It was remarkable that Paige even knew their names.

“God, no! One person in the family with politics on the brain is already one too many.” She huffed out a disgusted sound. “That’s all my dad ever wants to talk about and it’s so, like, boring.”

“You know, it occurs to me that Paige’s current project makes her the logical person to give you a tour of the archives,” Franklin said. “She’s organizing a shipment of records that came to me from the estate of a professor at Vanderbilt. Paige,” he turned to the teenager, “would you show Anne around down there while I try and finish this editorial?”

“I guess so.” Paige wasn’t exactly gracious, but she didn’t refuse. As Anne followed her down the hall, she wondered why Paige chose to dress as if auditioning for a role in a horror movie. What she’d read about kids who were into Goth was that they were, for the most part, troubled teens. Certainly, Paige’s bizarre dress, grades that had tanked and open hostility to authority were danger signs. As much as she longed for motherhood, Anne wasn’t blind to the challenges of raising kids.

“How is your mom, Paige?”

“Claire?” A shrug and an exaggerated look at her wristwatch. “Hmmm, probably on her way home from Memphis about now. She goes there at least three times a week. She’s a shopaholic. But when I want something really, like, cool to wear, she flips out. Like my taste in clothes just sucks and her taste is perfect.”

Claire was very attractive and dressed beautifully. Although Anne didn’t know her sister-in-law well, Anne guessed that Paige’s bizarre appearance probably drove her crazy. She wondered, too, what effect it had on voters that Pearce’s teenage daughter seemed a bit out of the mainstream compared to other kids.

“Fashion tastes can be a generational thing,” Anne suggested, seeking a reply that wouldn’t set them at odds at the outset. “I remember trying to convince my mom to let me have a tattoo when I was about fifteen. I just couldn’t understand why she refused to let me do it. It was going to be a butterfly…” With a smile, Anne lifted her hair and pointed. “…right here. Now I’m truly grateful that she put her foot down. Wouldn’t it look ridiculous when I’m all dressed up for a formal event and there’s an insect on my neck?”

“I think it would be way cool.” Paige lifted her clingy little T-shirt beneath the heavy black coat and bared her tummy. Curling around her navel, which had a silver ring in it, was a snake.

“Oops.” Anne covered her mouth to hide her dismay. “Guess your mom didn’t put her foot down fast enough, huh?”

Paige gave another disgusted huff. “I don’t know why Claire is so paranoid about my behavior considering what a real hellion she was at fourteen.”

Anne wondered if Claire knew Paige referred to her by her first name. “How many tattoos does she have?”

“None. And if she had done it, my dad would have forced her to remove it. He doesn’t want any of us to have an original thought or do anything without consulting him.”

“Let me guess. He takes exception to…ah, the way you dress?”

“It drives him wild. But at least I have the guts to do stuff out in the open, which Claire could never get up the gumption to do.”

“For example…” Anne held her breath, not having a clue what the girl would say next.

“Well, she objects to me smoking a few cigarettes,” Paige continued, “while she goes through a pack a day.”

Bad grades, smoking, tattoos, body piercing and what else, Anne wondered, feeling sympathy for “the parents.” “Maybe she’s trying to help you avoid making the mistakes she made.”

“And maybe when she quits, I might listen. And how about Dad throwing away those smelly cigars? No way, Jose. Anything he does is fine.” Paige threw open a door revealing steep stairs. “The archives and stuff are down here,” she said, taking the stairs with surprising grace in her clunky boots. “Over there on those shelves is the stuff I’m working on that came from that old professor who croaked. Good luck trying to figure out the rest of what’s in here.”

Along with the archival material boxed and stacked to the ceiling, pictures of significant happenings in Tallulah lined the walls of the long and narrow room. The light was bad, air circulation poor and the dust thick enough to clog the sinuses. Anne didn’t wonder that Paige was grumpy if she spent much time alone down here.

Studying the wall of pictures, she instantly recognized a photo of John Whitaker posing with a past governor. This was definitely the place to fill in the gaps about Buck’s family before interviewing Pearce.

Paige looked around, wrinkling her nose. “Pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“I would say that we have our work cut out for us,” Anne said. “We’ll just think of it as a treasure hunt.”

“Huh?”

“Going by these photographs, there’s probably oodles of stuff about your dad’s family here…and since I married into it, I’m pretty curious, too.”

Paige looked around as if viewing the place from a different perspective. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Anne looked at her, expecting a question about the archives.

“What’s it like being married to somebody like Uncle Buck? I mean, besides being famous and the Jacks star pitcher, he’s like, really hot. Isn’t it exciting just being his wife and getting to be with him every single day?”

Anne smiled. “Sounds like you see that as a wonderful life.”

“Well, sure. At school, all the boys want to be like Uncle Buck. They want to know all about him. I get a lot of that because I’m his niece.” She made a face. “I know it’s not about me.”

“But you do like baseball?”

“Sure, don’t you?”

“I’ll tell you a secret. Just because I’m married to a man who plays baseball doesn’t mean that I have to love the game, too.”

“But you go to the games. I see you on TV when they show special people in the stands, wives and all.”

“I go because Buck’s fans expect to see his wife at the games. And besides, I’ve learned to appreciate many aspects of baseball. But when I met Buck, it was a different story. I was a reporter and I knew next to nothing about sports. I wrote human interest pieces for the features section of the paper.”

“Then how did you ever meet him?”

“I was assigned to cover a Special Olympics event and Buck was one of the athletes scheduled to appear. I was interested in meeting him, not because I cared anything about baseball, but because I knew he was from Tallulah, Mississippi.”

Paige wrinkled her nose, puzzled. “Why did that matter? This place is, like, nowhere, the end of the universe.”

“Oh, I think many people would argue with you there, my dad, for one. I grew up hearing him talk about the Mississippi Delta. The civil rights movement interested him, so when he came down with a PBS crew from Boston, what he saw made such an impact that he wrote a book about it.”

“I know about the book. We had to read it in honors English.”

“Did you like it?”

Paige nodded. “It was, like, way cool. All the stuff that happened back then seems like something out of a bad movie. So, what happened when you met Uncle Buck that day? Was it love at first sight?”

Anne’s gaze shifted from the young girl’s face to the gold band on her finger. Buck had bought her a large yellow diamond after signing his first million-dollar contract in St. Louis but it was in the wall safe back in St. Louis. Even in her disillusionment, she couldn’t bring herself to take off her wedding band. “I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but it was certainly something very powerful.”

“Like a wild crush or something, huh?”

Smiling, she looked at Paige. “Have you ever had a wild crush?”

Paige shrugged. “Not really, but I can understand how it would happen, especially if the boy was like Uncle Buck. Which is impossible because there’s nobody at school like Uncle Buck. He is so cool. I think you’re just about the luckiest woman in the world to be married to him.”

Anne’s opportunity to interview Pearce came sooner than expected. When it was time for Paige to leave that day, it was her father, not Claire, who came to pick her up. When Anne asked if he had time to answer a few questions for an article in the Spectator, he was more than ready to make time.

“Before we get started,” he said, making himself comfortable in front of her newly assigned desk, “tell me, where the hell is Buck? Nobody’s home at the Marshes’, he’s not picking up his phone messages, nobody’s seen him. Man, I need to talk to him.”

Anne sighed. Apparently Victoria hadn’t yet filled Pearce in. “He’s not here. The Jacks are concerned about his injury. He’s undergoing pretty intensive physical therapy in St. Louis.”

“How long are we talking here?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? It was a serious injury. He could be out for the season.”

He studied her thoughtfully. “And you’re here…working for your daddy?” He let his eyes roam around the office. “What does Buck think about that?”

She crossed her legs and gave him a speaking look. “In this interview, I ask the questions, Pearce.”

“O-kaaay…” He studied her, narrow-eyed, letting her know he guessed interesting things were going on in his brother’s marriage, but he wouldn’t press her…for now. “So, where do you want to start? The voters know my background, but it won’t hurt to remind them that we Whitakers go back five generations here.”

Anne wished for a tape recorder, but since she’d occupied the tiny office for less than half a day, she hadn’t collected supplies, not even a notepad. At least there was a computer, albeit an aging one. She grabbed a few sheets of paper from the printer and prepared to take notes. “I have a standard list of questions that I use when interviewing,” she told him, “but don’t worry, I won’t use everything we discuss. It just helps to know as much about an individual as possible.”

“Well, sweetheart, you know about all anybody could know about me,” he said, propping an ankle on his knee. “We’re family, aren’t we?”

“What I meant was this, Pearce. To decide how to shape the piece that eventually emerges, some of my questions that may strike you as personal, but most of that won’t show up in print.” She gave him a professional smile. “Okay?”

With the survival instincts of most good politicians, he took a while to consider the implications of that. “Hmm, I’m getting a little nervous.” He didn’t look nervous. Instead he looked relaxed and confident. Leaning back, he reached inside his jacket and brought out a cigar. “Do you mind if I light this?”

She glanced at the wall where a No Smoking sign was posted and clearly visible. “I’m new here at the Spectator,” she reminded him, “but it appears there’s a no smoking policy.”

“I sure wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your boss,” he said, winking at her as he tucked the cigar back in his pocket.

“Thank you,” she replied dryly. With her pen poised, she asked, “What person do you most admire, living or dead?”

He laughed and shook his finger at her playfully. “Looking to trip me up, aren’t you? If I say George Washington, I alienate half of the voters in the district. If I say Martin Luther King, I alienate the other half. Can’t win for losing.”

“I’m not looking to trip you up, Pearce. Knowing whom you admire gives me an idea of your value system.”

“I’ll match my value system with my opponent’s any day,” he said darkly, suddenly losing all trace of good humor.

“Your opponent,” Anne said, her pen flying across the paper. “That would be Jack Breedlove.”

He shifted in his chair, both feet now on the floor. “He’s the chief of police…at the moment. Have you ever known an honest cop?”

“It sounds as if you’re accusing Mr. Breedlove of something illegal. Would you care to be specific?”

He looked at her notepad and swore under his breath. “Erase that, sweetheart. It’s off the record. I shouldn’t have said it.”

She made a mark on the paper. “Do you call every woman you talk to ‘sweetheart’?”

He winked at her again. “No, only the pretty ones.”

She made another note and without looking up asked, “What made you decide to run for the state senate?”

“Hey, wait a minute. I’m kidding. You put that in the article and every feminist in Mississippi will turn out against me.”

She put her pen down and folded her hands on top of the desk. “Okay, if you act as if you’re taking this interview seriously, I’ll do the same.”

“Agreed. So…let’s start with why I think my opponent’s qualifications to hold the office are pitiful.”

She hid a smile. He was determined to control the interview and it suited her to let him think he was doing just that…for now. She could hardly wait to write up her notes and put in a call to his “pitiful” opponent.

The ring of his cell phone woke Buck from a half doze. Groggily, he stared at the caller ID. His mind cleared instantly upon seeing the area code for Mississippi. His wife…finally. “Anne?”

“No, Buck,” Victoria Whitaker replied. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ma. Hey.” He cleared his throat and settled back in the chair. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. How’s that knee coming along?”

“I can’t complain.” Between his mother and Pearce, he’d received more phone calls from Mississippi in the last few days than he had in the past five years. “Everything okay there?”

“We’re in the throes of spring planting, as you know. Up early, working late. It’s demanding.” Many women in her situation spent their days playing bridge or golf at the country club or shopping in Memphis, but not his mother. She was busy ramrodding the hired help at Belle Pointe.

“I hear you.” And his mother wasn’t one to call and chat either. Something was up.

“I was surprised to see Anne at Beatrice’s shop this morning,” she said. “It seems odd that she’s here and you’re there.”

“Anne claims when I’m injured I’m like a bear with a sore paw, so she took off to visit Franklin and Beatrice.” And he’d be joining her in a week. It was killing him to wait, but he was afraid of a setback if he put too much stress on his knee too soon.

“Yes, she mentioned that you didn’t tolerate much coddling. What was it she said…hmm, something like you’d have the entire Jacks organization looking out for you. That you wouldn’t need her.”

Buck rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. His head ached. It wasn’t the concussion. His mother always gave him a headache. “How’s Pearce’s campaign going?”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. Pearce is preoccupied with his campaign, which is a complication. It makes us shorthanded at Belle Pointe.”

“Ma, you’re not trying to tell me he ever gets his hands dirty at planting season or any other time, are you?” he asked.

“I can only tell you I miss every pair of hands, especially now that Will Wainwright gave notice.”

“Will has quit?” Buck’s mouth fell open.

“Retired.” She gave an offended huff. “He gave me some excuse about wanting to see more of his grandchildren. It was terribly inconvenient.”

“Holy sh—Um…holy schmolie,” he breathed. Wainwright had been her right-hand man for fifteen years. “Now there’s a pair of hands you’ll definitely miss.”

“I must agree with you there,” she said. “However, I think I’ve resolved the problem, Buck. With Pearce caught up in this campaign and you idle for the season, the stars seem aligned.”

“The stars seem aligned?” Now what, he wondered.

“Yes, indeed. We’re in a bind at Belle Pointe and you always understood what was required to get the crops planted and maintained until it was time to start picking. You’re well able to step right into Wainwright’s shoes.”

“Ma, if you’re asking what I think you’re asking, forget it. I’ve got my hands full with rehab. I—”

“Added to that,” she went on, “it looks odd that you’re in St. Louis and your wife’s here. People talk. Do you really need more bad publicity, Buck? After that boy, Casey—”

“Ma, it’s not a good time for me,” he argued, keeping his travel plans to himself. If she knew he was heading for Tallulah, she’d probably meet him at the city limits on a tractor and hog-tie him to the nearest cotton field.

She sighed. “I expected just that reaction from you, Buck, but I also know that after you think about it, in the end you’ll do your duty. You love Belle Pointe. Don’t deny it. You won’t be able to resist helping out. It’s what your father would want you to do.”

Somehow, he managed to keep his outrage in check. She had her nerve mentioning his father. Fifteen years ago when John Whitaker died, Buck had wanted nothing more than to step in and fill his father’s shoes, but she’d had different plans then. “I appreciate the problem you’re having, Ma, but I’ve got other priorities right now. You need to find a good manager to replace Will. As for somebody to step into Pearce’s shoes, I can’t think it would be too difficult since he never knew jack shit about growing cotton anyway.”

“I don’t appreciate your vulgarity, Buck,” she said frostily. “And I might remind you of your responsibility as a Whitaker.”

“What’s different now from the day Dad died, tell me that. You reminded me then that Pearce was the primary heir to Belle Pointe, that when I finished my degree, I was to forget coming home to grow cotton.”

“It worked out well, didn’t it? You had excellent prospects for a career in professional baseball and you made it. I knew you could.”

“After about ten miserable years in the minors, Ma!”

“And would you have tried as hard if your real goal was simply to return to Belle Pointe?” she replied. “I think not.”

His laugh was short and mirthless. “You’re telling me you practically disinherited me for my own good? And now, because Pearce is temporarily distracted, I should forget all that?” He stopped at a sudden thought. “What if he wins that senatorial seat as you predict and then decides he doesn’t want to play at being a gentleman farmer anymore? What if he wants to live most of the year in the state capitol? What then, Ma?”

“Pearce knows where his duty lies. Which is exactly what I expect from you. To use a baseball metaphor, I expect you to step up to the plate, Buck. Do your duty.”

He was shaking his head at the gall of her. “Again, no disrespect, Mother, but you’ll have to find another pinch hitter.”

It was almost a week after interviewing Pearce that Anne was able to secure an interview with Jack Breedlove and nothing about the man struck her as pitiful. Far from it, Breed-love was tall and lean with severe features that were not quite handsome, but powerfully male. She was used to world-class athletes with an excess of testosterone and this man, she thought, would fit right in with Buck and his teammates.

The slight limp was a souvenir of his tour of duty in the Gulf War, she thought, as he came around his desk to greet her, but she quickly forgot his handicap as he took her hand and smiled down at her from striking green eyes. “Anne Whitaker. I feel as if I know you considering how often I’ve seen you in the Jacks VIP box. Welcome to Tallulah.”

“Thank you.” A little flustered, she took the seat he offered. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t take up too much of your time. As I mentioned when I phoned you, I thought it would be interesting to contrast the platforms of the two leading senate candidates, especially since you’re both from Tallulah.”

He didn’t return to his chair, but propped one hip casually on the side of his desk and crossed his feet at the ankles. “I’m up for that, of course, but first, how’s Buck? Bad news, that accident. I’ve been following it in the media. Word is he’s out for the season.”

He probably knew as much as she. By refusing Buck’s calls, she relied on Marcie for updates on his injuries. “He’s undergoing pretty intensive physical therapy,” she said. “And yes, he’s out for the season.”

“Rotten luck,” he said. After a pause, he added, “We played baseball together in high school. He pitched. I played shortstop.”

“The thinking man’s position,” she said, smiling.

“I don’t know about that, but we made a good team.” He gazed at his feet, remembering. “Those were good times. I was thrilled when he finally made it into the majors.”

“Not as much as Buck, I bet,” she said.

He turned his head to look at her. “And now here you are reporting on an obscure political race in Mississippi while he’s recuperating in St. Louis. What’s wrong with that picture?”

She pulled a tape recorder from her bag and set it on his desk. After checking to see that it was on, she asked, “Is that how you see the position as state senator in this district…obscure?”

He paused with a look of chagrin. “I apologize if I trespassed into personal territory.”

“Apology accepted.” She let her gaze wander to the window. Then, because she liked him, she said, “For what it’s worth, Chief Breedlove, Buck belongs to his public, but I don’t. So I’m just having a little break from all that while I’m here in Tallulah.”

It was probably more than he wanted—or needed—to know, but it was the explanation she planned to give while in Tallulah. He wouldn’t be the only person who would ask outright why she wasn’t with Buck.

He straightened from his desk. “Call me Jack,” he said.

She smiled. “Okay, Jack.” While he went back to his chair, she checked to see the tape was still running, then opened the flap of her notepad and clicked her pen to start writing. She liked to have tape as backup, but she usually wrote from her notes. “First question: Why do you think you’re the better man for the job than your opponent?”

“Are you kidding?” He grinned, enjoying himself. “How much time do you have? This could take a while.”