The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON

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       Chapter 6

      Ever since her younger daughter had returned to Adams Landing and opened her own business—Robyn’s Fitness Center—Brenda Granger had made a point of taking an active part in several classes Robyn offered. Brenda’s favorite was the Saturday morning session where a group of women went from doing stretches together to alternating on all the various equipment—everything from the treadmills to the stationary bicycles. After the first hour, they took a water break, then after the second hour, many of them stayed on and had lunch together. Robyn provided fresh salads with low-fat dressing and yogurt for dessert.

      Since Brenda had kept herself in shape all her life and had been blessed with a great metabolism, she hadn’t needed to worry about her weight until she went through menopause; then ten extra pounds had crept up around her hips and abdomen before she knew it. It had taken her two months of diet and exercise to get back down to what her husband laughingly referred to as her fighting weight.

      As she stood back and watched Robyn, in her much-too-skimpy exercise costume, Brenda sighed, then took a hefty sip of bottled spring water. Her younger daughter resembled her a great deal, with a slender figure, full breasts and curly, jet-black hair. Thankfully, Robyn had also inherited her great metabolism, as well as her love for physical exercise to keep her fabulous body toned. She had gotten her height from her six-four father, just as her sister, Bernie, had. Robyn was five-eight, and Bernie was just a tad over five-nine.

      Poor Bernie had not inherited her mother’s slender build or her great metabolism. Ever since childhood, Brenda’s elder daughter had been large boned and tended to gain weight easily, as R.B. did. Bernie was as much her father’s daughter as Robyn was her mother’s, in looks and temperament.

      But both girls were equally disappointing to a mother who longed to see her daughters happily married and producing some grandchildren for her. After all, neither she nor R.B. was getting any younger. A woman of fifty-eight should already have several grandchildren.

      At least Robyn was dating regularly, although Brenda didn’t always approve of the choices she made. Bernie, on the other hand, dated infrequently and seemed to let every good prospect slip through her fingers.

      Brenda felt it her motherly duty to do what she could to help both girls find the proper mate. That’s why she had invited two very suitable young men to Sunday dinner tomorrow. Raymond Long was a fine man and not bad looking, despite being a bit of a nerd. He owned the local hardware store and could provide handsomely for a wife. Luckily, he had divorced that hussy wife of his before they’d had children. And it didn’t hurt that Raymond’s mother, Helen, had been one of Brenda’s best friends for ages. The other Sunday guests would include the new minister, Matthew Donaldson. Matthew was young, handsome, charismatic, and best of all, he was single.

      “Are you staying for lunch, Brenda?” Abby Miller asked.

      “I wouldn’t miss it.” Brenda smiled warmly at Abby, although she didn’t especially like the woman. Abby wore too much makeup, dyed her hair that phony blue-black and wore clothes that screamed trailer trash. And there was a rumor going around town that Abby was secretly seeing another man while her poor husband was off in the Middle East serving his country.

      The others staying for lunch began making a circle in the middle of the exercise room floor. Brenda glanced around to ascertain just who was still here so she could decide who she wanted to sit by. One by one, she ruled out the women she did not want to talk to for the half-hour lunch session. Definitely not Abby Miller. She crossed Renee Michaels off her list immediately. That woman didn’t have a brain in her silly head. Besides, it was a known fact Renee was a slut. Deputy Holly Burcham was another no-no, but only because she was sitting beside Renee, as was Amber Claunch, whom Brenda liked.

      “Hmm …” Brenda spotted Bernie’s secretary, Lisa Wiley, and started in her direction, but stopped the minute she saw Cathy Downs sit beside Lisa. Cathy was a sweet person, but she would bore you to tears with her incessant chatter. The woman never stopped talking—about her children, her husband Lieutenant John Downs and her latest diet. The plump chatterbox tried every new diet craze that came along and did her best to convince everyone else that this one was the miracle cure for overweight women.

      As her gaze traveled the completely formed circle, she suddenly saw her perfect spot, right between Amy Simms and Thomasina Hardy. Brenda hurried across the room, then paused and looked from Amy to Thomasina.

      “Would y’all mind making room for me?” Before either could reply, Brenda squeezed in between them, forcing them to separate enough to make room for her.

      Amy smiled pleasantly at Brenda. “Yes, please, join us.”

      “We were just talking about what happened to that poor girl, Stephanie Preston, from over in Scottsboro,” Thomasina said.

      “It’s the world we live in.” Brenda shook her head sadly. “When I was a girl, you never heard of anything like that happening around here. Northeast Alabama was one of the safest places on earth to live. Why, my folks never locked the doors and we slept with the windows open and never worried about somebody breaking into the house.”

      “All the article in this morning’s Daily Reporter said was that she’d been murdered.” Amy looked right at Brenda. “You don’t know anything else, do you? Something you could share with us?”

      Brenda smiled, hoping her expression conveyed to these ladies that she did, indeed, know something very important about the murder case. Although she knew no more than they did, being the sheriff’s mother, as she had once been the sheriff’s wife, afforded her the privilege of pretending to be in possession of top-secret information.

      “I’m afraid there’s nothing I’m at liberty to share with y’all,” Brenda said. “There are many things that can’t be shared with the public or it might jeopardize the case. I learned years ago, as R.B.’s wife, to keep my mouth shut.”

      “Oh, Brenda, come on,” Amy cajoled. “Isn’t there some little something? You know we’d never tell a soul.”

      Brenda СКАЧАТЬ