Beneath Southern Skies. Terra Little
since he’d stepped foot inside his apartment in Seattle, and covering the aftermath of the conflict in Darfur was only partly to blame. Trips like these, trips back home to Mercy, Georgia, were the other half of the equation.
At the Mercy exit, Nate left the interstate and cruised along the two-lane service road that led into town. Traffic on the usually quiet and scenic road was heavier than usual, inching along in some spots and coming to a complete standstill in others. He passed a long stretch of farmland before the scenery opened up to clusters of residential communities and then a small industrial park. It was the same scenery that had always been there, except that now there was a new addition. Just past the industrial parks, new construction was going on, ground being broken and buildings leveled.
Seeing it caused a wrinkle of irritation to appear in the center of Nate’s forehead. He knew without having to track its progress that it was heading straight toward Mercy, Georgia. Short of a miracle suddenly happening, in a matter of months those demolition crews would be destroying the entire town and leaving hundreds of displaced people in their wake. People who wouldn’t be able to afford to live in the resort-style, luxury gated community that was slated to be built in its place. In political terms, it was called eminent domain, but as far as the people of Mercy were concerned it was theft, plain and simple.
Nate tended to agree.
When the Welcome to Mercy, Georgia, sign finally appeared on the side of the road up ahead, Nate picked up his cell phone from the passenger seat, turned it on and pressed a button to connect to his publicist. The phone on the other end had barely rung once before it was answered.
“It’s about time you called,” Julia Gustav said by way of greeting. “I was beginning to wonder if I should call the police and have an APB put out on you. Oh, but wait, I wouldn’t be able to give them an accurate description of you, now, would I? God knows I haven’t seen you in forever. Do you even care that I miss you?”
Nate chuckled, glad that Julia couldn’t see him just then. He was blushing like a schoolboy, which was exactly what she made him feel like sometimes. “I know, sugar, and I’m sorry. It can’t be helped right now, but I’ll tell you what. How about I take you out for a night on the town when I get back to Seattle?” he said. “We’ll take in a show, have a lavish dinner and drink bubbly all night. Maybe take a walk by the lakefront and catch up. Sound good?”
“Better than good,” Julia purred. “Promise?”
“Of course. It’ll be just like old times.”
Julia had been his publicist and personal assistant for more than a decade, which meant that she knew him better than he knew himself most of the time. At sixty years old, she was the closest thing to a favorite aunt he’d ever had, and he was crazy about her. Ever since his mother had passed away six months ago, Julia had taken it upon herself to become his keeper, insisting that he call her at least once every other day, regardless of where he was in the world or what he was doing, just as he had called his mother. Normally, he was able to deliver, but being damn near undercover in Darfur, with limited or no cell access for hundreds of miles and very little human contact that hadn’t required a translator, had kept him out of touch for longer than usual this time. It went without saying that he had some making up to do.
“No, it won’t,” Julia told him. “The last time we went out for a night on the town, your mother was with us.” Her voice turned wistful. “You flew us both to New York on a private jet, like we were queens, and took us to a Broadway show. We sat next to that famous actress and her husband, and your mother couldn’t believe that you were actually friends with them.” Julia laughed throatily. “She had the best time.”
“Yes, she did,” Nate said quietly, remembering. Merlene Woodberry had been like a kid in a candy store whenever she visited New York, and her last trip there was no different. When she hadn’t been dragging him around to every tourist attraction that the city had to offer, she’d spent hours on end walking him around Time Square, watching people and marveling at their antics. At the time, Nate had chalked up her hyperenthusiasm to the fact that she had decided that the trip would be her last for the next little while. She had more clients than normal back home, she’d said, and there were some things that she wanted to have done around the house that she needed to be home to oversee.
He’d had no idea that she was dying.
“So we’ll dedicate the night to her memory,” he suggested with a cheerfulness that he was nowhere near feeling. “She’d like that.”
“Hmm, I think she would also approve of what you’re trying to do for your hometown. It’s a special little place.”
“It was to her.”
His ancestors had lived in Mercy since the slaves were emancipated, and Merlene had lived and breathed the town. As for him—well, it had always been a nice place to live as long as he’d actually had to. But the minute he was old enough to start dreaming about places far, far away, he had started planning his escape route. Still, Mercy was special—Julia was right about that. His mother would never forgive him if he didn’t at least try to save it.
Julia’s voice broke into his thoughts. “So I’ll see you in, what? A couple of days? A week?”
“Maybe a little longer. There’s a town-hall meeting scheduled for tomorrow that I want to sit in on, and then I have a meeting the day after that. So we’ll see how it goes.”
After hanging up, Nate tossed his cell phone back into the passenger seat, only to have it ring again. He snatched it up again. “Woodberry.”
“When you said you were coming home today, did you mean today or did you mean next month today?” a deep, gravelly voice asked.
He rolled his eyes to the roof of the car and took a breath for patience. “I’m driving into town as we speak, Jasper,” he drawled. He rolled to a halt at the stoplight in front of the funeral home that Jasper Holmes owned and tooted his horn loud enough to be heard inside the three-story building. Jasper lived in the bachelor’s apartment on the top floor. “Did you hear that, old man?”
“That you?”
“Yep. You need anything while I’m in the area?” If he’d ever had an uncle, which he hadn’t, he probably would’ve been just like Jasper Holmes, Nate thought as he idled at the red light. Growing up, he had never quite cleaved to Jasper the way most of the town’s kids had, seeing him as a surrogate father figure, but the two of them had always had a grudging respect for one another. “Dinner? Your medicine? An ass-kicking in dominoes?”
Jasper cackled heartily at the thinly veiled but good-natured threat. “You wish, boy. You wish. I might take you up on that tomorrow sometime, though. Right now I’m thinking about putting some ribs in the smoker out back. Hallie Norris called me this morning and said that Elaine Gordon told her that Jessie down at Hayden’s Diner told her that Juanita Valentine’s granddaughter popped up in town the other day. Jessie says she’s been ordering takeout from the diner morning, noon and night, and we both know how Willie Burnett’s cooking can burn a hole in your gut. So I figured I might smoke a few pieces of meat, whip up some potato salad and see if I could talk Lilly Davis into throwing some stuff into a pot and ending up with her version of spaghetti. Figured the least we could do is feed the girl. Juanita was good people. She—”
Nate hadn’t listened to a word Jasper had said past hearing that Juanita Valentine’s granddaughter was in town. “Wait a minute. Did you just say that Tressie Valentine is in town?”
“Yeah,” Jasper confirmed. “Been here since the day before yesterday, the way I hear it. She’s staying in Juanita’s house. Well, I guess it’s her house now, but—”
“Do me a favor and hold up on setting out a buffet, okay? Let me look into some things and I’ll call you back.”
Nate disconnected the call and made a U-turn on two wheels in the middle of Main Street. Ignoring the blaring horns of drivers who had been suddenly and illegally cut off, he drove back the way he had come. Less than a hundred feet from the Welcome to Mercy, Georgia, sign