Ron/Janet Benrey - Glory Be!

“Tell them what?”

“About my speeding and horn blowing.” Lily had laughed. “It’s my little secret. Only a few of my friends know. Most people in Glory think I’m a mild-mannered retired librarian who never drives faster than fifty-five miles per hour.”

Emma joined in the laughter. “Your little secret is safe with me.”

The waitress brought their drinks. She was a slender young woman with dyed red hair and a sour expression that Emma doubted did much to encourage food sales. “Your poppers will be out in a minute.”

Lily waited until they were alone before she said, “I appreciate your willingness to take time away from The Scottish Captain to meet with me. I’ve been told that innkeepers are on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

“Well, some days are longer than others,” Emma replied.

This one, for example.

Lily pressed on, “I’ve never stayed at a bed-and-breakfast, so I can only guess how much work is involved. Do your guests expect you to be on call throughout the day?”

Emma tried to read Lily’s face. She seemed genuinely interested in the mechanics of running a B and B.

“I try to be available when guests are up and about. My housekeeper holds down the fort two or three afternoons a week so that I can run errands. Today, for example, I had an appointment in Norfolk. Tomorrow, I have to drive to Elizabeth City to interview a new food supplier.”

“Ah.” Lily’s face brightened. “Then it is likely I will see you again tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow evening?” Emma felt bewildered by Lily’s sudden change of tack.

“I’ll be a guest at the next meeting of the Writing for Glory Club.”

“Now I understand,” Emma said. The local writer’s club, chaired by Sara Knoll met twice a month—the first and third Thursdays—at The Scottish Captain. “Are you a writer?”

“Oh, no. Sara Knoll invited me to hear her talk about her work in progress. We’ve become good friends during the past few months. She’s been exceptionally generous with her computer expertise.” Lily peered at Emma. “You do know that Ms. Knoll has authored more than a dozen published books.”

“Of course.” Everyone who attended Glory Community Church knew that Sara wrote the popular Martha Does It series of how-to books for women on subjects that ranged from household hints to electrical wiring to setting up a computer network. “Come a few minutes early and browse around the Captain. I’m proud of the renovations and redecorating I’ve done.”

“Renovations?” Lily said sharply. “Have you done any major reconstruction?”

“Our kitchen is new and so are the guest bathrooms. The six guest bedrooms have new wallpaper and carpeting.”

“Did you make any structural changes to the first floor?”

“Nothing significant. Do you know the Captain?”

“It’s been many years since I’ve been inside.” Lily stared into space for several seconds. “I may accept your kind offer to browse around—assuming of course that I survive those miserable pranksters.”

Emma took a sip of iced tea.

Here it comes. A sales pitch to join her “side.”

But Lily surprised Emma. She, too, began to sip her tea and said nothing more until the waitress arrived with a platter of poppers and two smaller plates.

“They look especially good tonight.” Lily slid a popper onto her plate. “I hope you enjoy them.”

The poppers provided a second surprise for Emma. They were baked rather than fried and didn’t look mass-produced. She sliced one into thirds and tasted a piece.

“These are superb,” she said. “They are homemade.”

“Dave is an extraordinary cook. He used to be the hors d’oeuvre chef at the Hamilton House Hotel in New York City. He’s another big-city native who moved to Glory.”

Emma felt mildly annoyed at the way Lily emphasized “another.” She responded with, “I believe you wanted to ask me a question.”

Lily flushed slightly. “Yes, although I’ve been doing my best to avoid it.” She sighed. “I’d best dive right in. I couldn’t help notice you speaking with Rafe Neilson at the church this evening. Did you by any chance discuss the wave of pranks sweeping Glory?”

“Among other things,” Emma said, in a harsher tone than she meant to.

Lily’s expression grew tense. “I’m not trying to pry into your personal relationships, Mrs. McCall. I have a reason for asking.”

Emma paused to regain her composure. “We did talk about the pranks. A total of four have been committed. I became the…subject of the fourth practical joke this morning.”

“So I heard. The ancient ‘Beetle on the porch’ gag.” Lily carefully set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Does he know whether any of the mischief was mean-spirited? Does the so-called ‘Phantom Avenger’ wish to cause physical harm to his victims?”

“The four pranks were silly attacks on property, not people.” Emma abruptly pictured a flock of pigeons settling on the real Lily Kirk. She swallowed a snigger. “Rafe doesn’t see any criminal intent in what was done.”

“He told you that?”

“Those are his words.”

Lily nodded slowly. “That makes me feel much better. You see, earlier this evening a pickup truck nearly pushed me off the road.”

“My goodness!” Emma set her own fork down. “When? Where?”

“Two miles north on State Route 34A. About a quarter to seven. I’d driven to an industrial supply shop in Elizabeth City to buy a tube of the glue I use to repair books and I was racing through the rain to be on time for choir practice.” Lily hesitated, as if she were reluctant to relive the memory.

“Go on.” Emma thought back to earlier that evening. At a quarter to seven she’d been on the same road, but had been farther away from town.

“All at once I saw a huge grill in my rearview mirror. The truck actually tapped me—you can see the dent in the back bumper. I tromped on the gas and got out of there. I didn’t see the truck after that.”

“Do you think the driver hit you on purpose?”

“My first thought was that a prankster was trying to frighten me. But it may have been nothing more than an exuberant teenager who got careless while driving his father’s pickup truck.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“I intended to talk to Rafe after choir practice. But now I don’t dare bother him—not after the contretemps at church this evening.”

Emma needed a moment to remember that contretemps meant quarrel. “A quarrel in the choir is one thing. But if someone tried to harm you…I think you should talk to Rafe. He seems reasonable.”

“Most women in Glory find him more than reasonable,” Lily smiled. “We don’t have an abundance of thirty-eight-year-old, good-looking single men in Glory.” She shook her head. “No. This time I won’t talk to Rafe. A dent in my back bumper doesn’t prove anything. And since the pranks are essentially harmless, Rafe is likely to conclude I’m a hysterical older woman who suffers from a touch of paranoia.”

Emma chewed on a piece of popper and made a mental note to talk to Dave about providing poppers—and other appetizers—to the Scottish Captain. She also wondered what she should do about the fear she heard in Lily’s voice.

Daniel Hartman peered into the church’s refrigerator and allowed himself to sigh. “No real cream, and no milk,” he said. “All I can offer you is powdered creamer.”

“That will do me fine,” Sara Knoll replied. “After twenty-five years as an international journalist, I’m used to tight rations and impromptu meeting places.”

“In that event, let’s talk right here. What could be more impromptu than our kitchen?” He handed her a ceramic mug full of coffee and gestured toward a pair of wooden stools next to a stainless-steel food preparation table. “I don’t want to keep you long tonight, but I do want to review the progress your committee is making.”