“She thinks she’s gonna fix things up there by herself,” Shane said.
“‘She’s’ sitting right here,” Laurel interjected, “and can speak for herself. The house needs repairs if I’m going to sell it.”
“If?” Shane’s voice was incredibly mild.
“Mrs. Cuthwater needs a reprieve,” she reminded, and saw the triumphant look passing between Evie and Stu.
“Without a reason to get up in the morning, Mrs. Cuthwater might as well lie down next to Mr. Cuthwater in Lucius Cemetery.”
“Shane,” Beau cautioned.
“She shouldn’t be staying in that house, much less wasting time and energy fixing it up, and we all know it.”
Laurel angled herself away from Shane. “You’ve made your opinion more than clear about that house. I don’t really need to hear it again.”
“Evidently, you do. Because you’re still there. You don’t have to fix it up to sell it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Who on earth would buy it in its current condition?”
Evie made a faint sound.
“All rightee, here we go.” The waitress arrived, bearing plates of food. She brushed her hands together when she finished unloading. “I’ll be back to top off your drinks. Anything else I can get for you?”
Laurel’s appetite for her fried chicken was definitely waning, but mindful of the concerned look in Beau’s eyes and not wanting to add to it, she picked up a drumstick.
“Probably should have a contractor look at your dad’s place,” Stu said. “Jack Finn’s the best around. He wouldn’t have to do the work, necessarily, but he could steer you in the right direction.”
Stu either possessed a remarkable ability to remain oblivious to the irritation rolling off Shane in waves or he simply didn’t care. Either way, Laurel wanted to lean over and kiss him. “Finn? He’s Freddie Finn’s dad, isn’t he?” She was surprised at the ease she had recalling old names, old faces.
Stu buried his attention in his burger as he nodded. “Call Jack. You won’t regret it.”
Laurel glanced at Evie. She would have to think about calling the contractor. It certainly made the most sense to get advice from a professional. But the cost was a consideration she couldn’t ignore, no matter how wise it would be. “Is Freddie still in Lucius? She was in your grade, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. And she’s still here.”
Stu made an unintelligible noise.
Evie rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s just irritated because he signed a lease for her to rent the barn he converted a while back. And she’s holding him to it, even though they can’t agree on the color of rice.”
Laurel buried her nose in her glass of tea. Stu’s barn was probably old Calhoun’s barn, unless he’d built another one.
She didn’t dare glance at Shane.
Evie, fortunately was chattering on. “Freddie runs a tow service with Gordon, but if you ask me, she’s the brains behind keeping the business going since her brother hardly has the sense God gave a goose.” Evie flicked a look at her father. “Sorry, Dad. But it’s true.”
“Gordon’s a hard worker,” Beau said, looking slightly amused. “There’s a lot to be said for that. But I agree with Stu about calling Jack Finn, Laurel.”
Shane breathed an oath that only Laurel heard. “Laurel shouldn’t be in that house at all, and we all know it.”
Silence settled over the foursome, and Laurel wished she were anywhere but there.
“So, Dad, have you heard from Nancy?” Evie finally broke the silence, her voice deliberately cheerful.
“Nancy Thayer,” Beau supplied to Laurel. “She directed our junior choir. Kids in fifth grade through eight. She eloped last week. And no. I haven’t,” he told Evie.
“Far be it from me to stand in the way of true love,” Evie’s voice was a little tart at that, “but she couldn’t have timed it worse.” Her blue gaze shifted to Laurel. “The junior choir still spends every year raising enough money to travel to Spokane to participate in the choir festival there. Now they won’t be able to go.”
“Never put my truck through so many car washes.” Stu dumped more ketchup on his French fries.
“Or bought so many homemade brownies,” Beau added. “Think you financed two kids’ expenses on that alone.”
Stu just grinned.
Laurel didn’t quite see the problem. “If they have the money, why can’t they go?”
“Without a director, they won’t be able to sing.” Evie shook her head. “Rules.”
“You can’t hire someone else? Or maybe have a parent fill in temporarily?”
Evie’s eyebrows rose pointedly. “The only other parent aside from me who’s even willing to try that is Tony Shoemaker, Shane’s senior deputy. And he can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
“Neither can you, Tater,” Shane drawled.
“A person doesn’t have to sing themselves in order to direct a youth choir. Surely you can find someone.” She flushed when she realized Beau was studying her.
“The festival is next weekend,” he said.
“What about you or your associate pastor?”
“Jon is on study leave for a month, and I can’t leave for three days without someone to fill the pulpit on Sunday. Believe me. If I could figure out a way of not disappointing Alan and the others, I would.”
Alan, Laurel knew, was Evie’s eldest son. “There’s not anyone?” Her stomach felt in a knot. She wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know where this was headed. The hopeful look in Evie’s eyes was enough to tell her that.
“Not so far.” Beau dropped his napkin on his empty plate. “Some things just can’t be helped. They’ll have a chance to go next year.”
Laurel swallowed. “Maybe I could, um, fill in as director. Just to get them through the festival.”
“No.” Shane’s voice was flat.
Laurel bristled, her nervousness shriveling into irritation. “Why not?”
“Joey Halloran is in that group. He’s hell on wheels. He got caught shoplifting last week at the thrift store.”
“All the more reason for him to keep involved with more appropriate pursuits. But I suppose being the sheriff, you think anyone who even slightly breaks the law ought to be punished, rather than resolve the issue at the root of the problem?”
He looked equally irritated. “I didn’t say that.”
She turned in her chair and looked at Beau. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sung—” a severe understatement “—but I can probably keep a group of kids on key.”
Shane shoved back his chair. He was surrounded by people bent on ignoring reality. Laurel didn’t need to be filling in for that twit who’d eloped, any more than she needed to be fixing broken steps. “I’ve gotta get back to the office.” He tossed some cash on the table and ignored the disapproval in Beau’s eyes as he turned to the door.
The wounded look in Laurel’s eyes, though, followed him all the way back to his office.
When he got there he stopped at Carla’s desk and picked up the stack of pink messages awaiting him.
“How