Page 31 of The River We Remember

“Not too long,” she said. “The potato salad.” She lifted a hand in a silent parting gesture to the women and headed outside.

“Any chance that meat loaf will still be here when I get back?” Brody asked.

“Can’t promise anything, Sheriff. A popular menu item.” Ida looked straight into Brody’s eyes. “That woman smells awful nice for this Christian mission of hers.”

“No law against smelling nice, is there, Ida?”

The three women watched him leave, get behind the wheel of the station wagon, and drive away with Garnet Dern.

“Whoo-ee,” Charlie said and waved her hand to clear the air. “Any idea what that girl was wearing?”

Angie poured herself a little more coffee. “No idea, but Brody better stay upwind of her or that smell will knock him right out of his jockey shorts.”

Ida laughed, then leaned near her daughter-in-law. “So like I said, door’s open. If you don’t pounce on Brody, somebody else will.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE AFTERNOON WAS lovely and warm, the kind of early summer day that makes southern Minnesota—or anywhere for that matter—feel like a small part of heaven. Brody followed the crooked course of the Alabaster south out of Jewel, passed areas of wetland full of cattails and the flutter of red-winged blackbirds. Fordham Ridge lay on the distant horizon, a sleeping giant overlaid with a quilt of plowed and planted fields.

“Have you been thinking about me?” Garnet asked.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I hope I’m in there somewhere. Because I think about you a lot, Brody. You do get under a girl’s skin.” She reached out and moved her hand seductively over his thigh. “So. Angie?”

“What about Angie?”

“Brody Dern, don’t tell me you don’t notice.”

“What?”

“That little piece of southern hospitality’s got her eye on you.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t go getting a big head, Sheriff. Or ideas. A woman raising a child alone, she’s bound to have her cap set at most any man without a wedding band.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Garnet laughed. “Oh, Brody, I do love you. You’re still such a kid.” Her fingers squeezed his thigh.

Brody thought it was an odd thing for her to have said. He couldn’t recall ever feeling like a kid. All he seemed to remember of childhood was doing the backbreaking work of a man day after day alongside his father and brother. And before he was out of his teens, he was in the middle of the slaughter of war. But he did love hearing Garnet laugh.

He turned onto the lane that led to the Quinns’ farmhouse and outbuildings. When they pulled up to the house, Brody spotted Connie Graff’s truck parked near the barn.

Garnet noticed it, too. “What’s Connie doing here?”

“Good question. Only one way to find out.”

“Before you run off, Brody, will you help me get the food inside?”

There were several covered boxes in the back of the station wagon. While Garnet went to the front door and knocked, Brody lifted the first box and joined her on the porch. Colleen appeared behind the screen door. The teenager studied them a moment, as if trying to make sense of their presence, then said, “Hello, Mrs. Dern. Sheriff.”

“Hello, Colleen,” Garnet replied. “Is your mother here?”

“She’s resting,” Colleen said.

“Well, you just let her rest, dear. I’m here on behalf of the ladies of Saint Ignatius. We’ve put together a few things to take some of the worry off your shoulders. Some casseroles and whatnot. May we bring them in?”