“The two of you here together can only mean one thing,” Agatha said. “You want to know what happened.”

“Willa found something called The Walls of Water Society Newsletter. We’ve pieced some things together.”

“The Society Newsletter. I’d forgotten about that.” Agatha laughed when she thought of it, how important they all thought it was at the time. “Jojo McPeat published it. That woman was the nosiest person God ever created.”

“Mrs. Osgood, was Tucker Devlin my father’s father?” Willa asked.

That hit her in the place her heart used to be. “Figured that out, did you?”

“What happened?” Paxton asked, taking a seat beside Agatha. Willa lingered in the doorway. “Did you really kill him?”

“Yes. I did,” Agatha said. For all the things she couldn’t give Georgie, she could at least give her this.

“Why?”

“Because we’re connected, as women. It’s like a spiderweb. If one part of that web vibrates, if there’s trouble, we all know it. But most of the time we’re just too scared or selfish or insecure to help. But if we don’t help each other, who will?”

“So you killed him for Georgie?” Paxton asked, and her tone insinuated she had assumed it was for other reasons—other, less noble, reasons.

“We were once as close as shirt buttons, Georgie and I. I didn’t think anything would change that. Until Tucker Devlin. You have to understand what it was like back then. It was during the Depression, and on top of that, the new national forest meant no more logging. Those of us who managed to keep our money were trying to help those who had lost theirs. When he arrived, it was like we came alive again. Days were brighter. Food was sweeter. He promised us each exactly the thing we wanted most. And we believed him. The whole town believed him. We were his captives. And we learned early on not to cross him. There was an old man named Earl Youngston who repeatedly tried to get us to see that Tucker was a con man. But after a confrontation with Tucker one day, Earl’s beard grew forty feet overnight, trapping him in his bed. He was quiet after that, and had to shave six times a day.

“After a while, all the men wanted his opinion, and all the girls were in love with him. He made certain of it. Because he knew the best way to get what he wanted was to break down what made us strongest. And our friendships were what made us strong. He changed all that. That’s why we were so jealous when Tucker moved into the Blue Ridge Madam with his big plans to save the town by turning Jackson Hill into a peach orchard. Not only was Georgie the prettiest of our group, but she now had him under her roof.”

Agatha turned her head. She could hear the food trolley coming down the hall. It was the only sense of anticipation she had left. Her stomach tightened with it.

“Nana?” Paxton said.

Where was she? “Oh. Well, Georgie tried to tell us what was happening. She said Tucker slept in the attic and paced a lot. She said he was restless, and it affected the whole house. She said mice fled, but birds were always trying to get in. She would say things like He’s got a mean temper and He won’t leave me alone. But we hated her for it, because we wanted him for ourselves. After a few months, Georgie started avoiding us. She didn’t go to parties anymore. We thought she was saying we were no longer good enough for her. But she did it because she was scared and ashamed, and when we turned our backs on her, she had no one left.”

“What was she scared and ashamed of?” Willa asked.

“There was no love story going on up there,” Agatha said. “Tucker raped her. That was one of the reasons he wanted to move there in the first place. To get to her.”

Silence from the girls. The food trolley was getting nearer.

“When she finally got up enough nerve to tell me she was pregnant, I was so angry with myself. She was my best friend, and she had tried so many times to tell me what was happening, but I let my jealousy get in the way. I could have stopped it. I could have stopped it all.”

“So you killed him because of what he did,” Paxton said.

“No. I killed him because he wouldn’t stop doing it. He was terrorizing her. I hit him over the head with a frying pan.”

“The frying pan that was buried with him,” Willa surmised.

“Yes.”

“Did no one know?” Paxton asked. “Did you bury him under the peach tree by yourself?”

“Georgie knew. We buried him together. And there wasn’t a peach tree there at the time. It came up later.” There was a knock at the door. “He always did say he had peach juice in his veins.”

“Here’s your dinner, Mrs. Osgood,” the food-service girl said.

“Go now,” Agatha said. “I want to eat.”

“But …” Paxton said.

“If you want to know more, come back. The story has been around seventy-five years. It’s not going anywhere.”

She heard the shuffle as the girls left. She liked that they were together. It gave her hope.

“Don’t underestimate us. You did before, and look where that got you,” she told Tucker.

“What did you say, Mrs. Osgood?” the food-service girl asked as she rolled the tray table in front of her.

“Nothing. Leave me to eat,” Agatha told her. Then she added, “Both of you.”

ELEVEN

Love Potion

European dance troupes, African a cappella groups, Chinese bell ringers—it didn’t really matter. Every year, the Women’s Society Club chose one obscure international group to sponsor for an American tour, and in return they received a special private backyard concert. It was always the highlight of the summer social season—except for this one. This season, the gala was all anyone was talking about, much to the consternation of Moira Kinley, whose year it was to host the concert.

It was barely a week until the gala, and Moira knew what she was up against. But she was smart. She was savvy. And most of all, she was Southern. So she scheduled the concert as a luncheon instead of a nighttime affair, completely different dressing situations, after all, and she managed to procure Claire Waverley as the caterer. Everyone wanted Claire Waverley, from the nearby college town of Bascom, to cater their affairs. Her food could affect you in magical ways. It was something you remembered fondly for years. Something you compared to every other meal you had. No one was going to pass this up, not even Paxton, who didn’t normally eat in social situations, and who didn’t even have a date for this one.

“Introduce yourself to Claire Waverley,” Paxton’s mother said to her as she followed Paxton to their front door.

“I will,” Paxton said, checking her watch. She had hoped she’d have time to call Willa to see how she was this morning. Last night had been intense. But now she’d run out of time. They had agreed to meet up again at the nursing home on Sunday, though.

“Make a good impression,” Sophia said.

“I will.”

“Give her this.” Sophia handed her a small box wrapped in beautiful blue paper and a plaid bow.

Paxton looked at it curiously. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift for the caterer, a gold pin in the shape of a flower, because she works with edible flowers. And I wrote her a nice note, too.”

It wasn’t a gift, it was a bribe, but Paxton didn’t point that out. “You really want her to cater your anniversary party, don’t you?”

“It’s only eight months away!” Sophia said worriedly.

Paxton had reached the door by this time. “Goodbye, Mama.”

“Yes, goodbye,” Colin said, appearing from out of nowhere and slipping out the door ahead of them.

“Colin! Where are you going?” Sophia called.

“To commune with nature,” he called back.

Paxton walked out, and Sophia said, “Fix the strap on your heel; it’s crooked.”