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that little committee stunt. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but the Torpedo is due for some work and won’t be available for the parade this year.”
    Angelina’s jaw dropped in a most unladylike way. “You’re not serious!”
    Oh Lord, if she were any more serious, she’d lay right down on the floor and cry. “I’m sure you understand a car like that needs special care and attention.”
    “Well, of course,” Angelina sputtered.
    “Maybe you could ask Teague to lead the parade in his patrol car.”
    “Now, Teague Castro in and of himself is a draw, but a Crown Victoria sheriff’s car? Even with the lights and sirens, it’s not very exciting.”
    And now Lillian had one more thing to feel responsible for. Then an even bigger weight crashed down on her shoulders. Fourth of July was not only the biggest parade of the year, but it had completely slipped her mind that it was also Maggie’s birthday. How in the world was her best friend going to forgive her for all this? If the tables were turned, Lillian wasn’t sure if she could be so unselfish.
    Then again, Maggie didn’t have a clue about the storm coming her way.
    Darrell ambled through the store with the monstrous ladder above his head. “Alrighty, Miz Lillian, here’s your ladder. Since you don’t have any money today, I’ll put it on your account like we talked about.”
    A flush bloomed across Lillian’s chest and raced up her throat to heat her face. “That’s kind of you. Just send me the balance and I’ll write a check out of the estate account.” And she would, if the darn thing had any money left in it.
    Darrell muscled the ladder out the front door.
    Lillian turned to Angelina. “Again, I’m sorry about the parade, but I’m sure you’ll find another lead car this year.”
    “Fine,” Angelina said through tight lips, “but I’ll see you in August for that inspection.”
    Oh, no she wouldn’t. But Lillian rushed toward the door with that threat hanging over her like a hungry black vulture. When she opened the door this time, that damned warthog fell eerily silent.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Maggie sat in one of the six rocking chairs in a perfect row across Summer Haven’s front porch. She was elbow-deep in her twentieth garbage bag of scratcher tickets when a tow truck pulled into the circle drive. A man, in his late thirties if she had to guess, stepped out and pulled off his baseball cap. He wore coveralls and a friendly smile as wide as the embroidered name—Christopher Cartersworth—on his shirt. “Howdy there. Is Mrs. Fairview around?”
    Darn it, every time she was making progress she was interrupted. She lifted another handful of tickets from the bag and thumbed through them as she answered. “Lillian’s gone to town. Can I help you with something?”
    “Maybe. I’m here to pick up a trunk.”
    Lillian hadn’t mentioned she was having something restored. Just like Lil to fix one of the family heirlooms instead of tending to maintenance first. Maggie tossed the losing and expired tickets in the pile of others and walked down to talk to the man. “Most of the bedrooms have a trunk of some type. Do you know which one?”
    “Yes, ma’am. It’s pre-Civil War.”
    “Sweetheart, just about everything around here is from that era.”
    “I think she said it’s in the Cherokee Rose Room.”
    Maggie’s breath caught. “There has to be some mistake.” Doing any restoration on an antique like that would actually decrease its value. “Lil wouldn’t have work done on that trunk.”
    “I’m not working on it, ma’am. I’m buying it for my wife as an anniversary present. I don’t understand why my wife loves all that old shi…stuff, but she does. And I have a feeling she’s gonna be real happy when I give her this.” The smile on his face told Maggie exactly what he figured his wife would give him in return.
    “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until Lillian gets home because this must be a