Glory Be!. Ron/Janet Benrey
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of course.” Lily gestured toward an old Ford Taurus sedan.
Reluctantly, Emma dropped her car keys into her purse. She had been awake since four-thirty and wanted to get to bed, but Lily possessed a peculiar authority—a strange presence—that compelled Emma to agree. She obediently followed the woman to the well-cared-for silver Ford and opened the passenger’s door. She paid little attention to the elderly vehicle until she slid past the high side bolsters on her bucket seat.
This feels like a sports car seat.
Emma looked around. Enough light spilled into the car from the lampposts in the church’s parking lot to see that the Taurus had black-leather interior and a five-speed manual transmission. Lily pushed the clutch pedal and worked the ignition key. The engine roared to life and settled into a thrumming idle.
Lily revved the engine and turned to Emma. “This is my baby, my one luxury. She’s a Taurus SHO, one of the first built in 1989. ‘SHO’ stands for super high output. There’s a three-liter Yamaha V6 under the hood. Top speed is supposed to be 143 miles per hour, but I’ve never had her above 120.”
Emma pulled her seat belt tight as Lily accelerated along King Street.
“I enjoy life in the fast lane,” Lily said, with a giggle, as she accelerated again. “But only at night when most of the cops in town are asleep.” She braked hard, downshifted and then made a screeching right turn onto Main Street.
Emma watched the dark road whiz past. Beyond Glory’s town limits, Main Street became State Route 34A, which ran north to Route 17 then on to Elizabeth City, some twenty miles away. Dan’s Pizza Deluxe was about a mile up the road. Halfway there, Lily tooted her car’s horn.
“What’s that for?” Emma had asked.
“I like to give the animals a fair warning,” Lily had said. “A honk now and then gives the raccoons and deer a chance to get out of our way.” Lily patted Emma’s hand. “You won’t tell anybody, will you?”
“Tell them what?”
“About my speeding and horn blowing.” Lily had laughed. “It’s my little secret. Only a few of my friends know. Most people in Glory think I’m a mild-mannered retired librarian who never drives faster than fifty-five miles per hour.”
Emma joined in the laughter. “Your little secret is safe with me.”
The waitress brought their drinks. She was a slender young woman with dyed red hair and a sour expression that Emma doubted did much to encourage food sales. “Your poppers will be out in a minute.”
Lily waited until they were alone before she said, “I appreciate your willingness to take time away from The Scottish Captain to meet with me. I’ve been told that innkeepers are on duty twenty-four hours a day.”
“Well, some days are longer than others,” Emma replied.
This one, for example.
Lily pressed on, “I’ve never stayed at a bed-and-breakfast, so I can only guess how much work is involved. Do your guests expect you to be on call throughout the day?”
Emma tried to read Lily’s face. She seemed genuinely interested in the mechanics of running a B and B.
“I try to be available when guests are up and about. My housekeeper holds down the fort two or three afternoons a week so that I can run errands. Today, for example, I had an appointment in Norfolk. Tomorrow, I have to drive to Elizabeth City to interview a new food supplier.”
“Ah.” Lily’s face brightened. “Then it is likely I will see you again tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow evening?” Emma felt bewildered by Lily’s sudden change of tack.
“I’ll be a guest at the next meeting of the Writing for Glory Club.”
“Now I understand,” Emma said. The local writer’s club, chaired by Sara Knoll met twice a month—the first and third Thursdays—at The Scottish Captain. “Are you a writer?”
“Oh, no. Sara Knoll invited me to hear her talk about her work in progress. We’ve become good friends during the past few months. She’s been exceptionally generous with her computer expertise.” Lily peered at Emma. “You do know that Ms. Knoll has authored more than a dozen published books.”
“Of course.” Everyone who attended Glory Community Church knew that Sara wrote the popular Martha Does It series of how-to books for women on subjects that ranged from household hints to electrical wiring to setting up a computer network. “Come a few minutes early and browse around the Captain. I’m proud of the renovations and redecorating I’ve done.”
“Renovations?” Lily said sharply. “Have you done any major reconstruction?”
“Our kitchen is new and so are the guest bathrooms. The six guest bedrooms have new wallpaper and carpeting.”
“Did you make any structural changes to the first floor?”
“Nothing significant. Do you know the Captain?”
“It’s been many years since I’ve been inside.” Lily stared into space for several seconds. “I may accept your kind offer to browse around—assuming of course that I survive those miserable pranksters.”
Emma took a sip of iced tea.
Here it comes. A sales pitch to join her “side.”
But Lily surprised Emma. She, too, began to sip her tea and said nothing more until the waitress arrived with a platter of poppers and two smaller plates.
“They look especially good tonight.” Lily slid a popper onto her plate. “I hope you enjoy them.”
The poppers provided a second surprise for Emma. They were baked rather than fried and didn’t look mass-produced. She sliced one into thirds and tasted a piece.
“These are superb,” she said. “They are homemade.”
“Dave is an extraordinary cook. He used to be the hors d’oeuvre chef at the Hamilton House Hotel in New York City. He’s another big-city native who moved to Glory.”
Emma felt mildly annoyed at the way Lily emphasized “another.” She responded with, “I believe you wanted to ask me a question.”
Lily flushed slightly. “Yes, although I’ve been doing my best to avoid it.” She sighed. “I’d best dive right in. I couldn’t help notice you speaking with Rafe Neilson at the church this evening. Did you by any chance discuss the wave of pranks sweeping Glory?”
“Among other things,” Emma said, in a harsher tone than she meant to.
Lily’s expression grew tense. “I’m not trying to pry into your personal relationships, Mrs. McCall. I have a reason for asking.”
Emma paused to regain her composure. “We did talk about the pranks. A total of four have been committed. I became the…subject of the fourth practical joke this morning.”
“So I heard. The ancient ‘Beetle on the porch’ gag.” Lily carefully set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Does he know whether any of the mischief was mean-spirited? Does the so-called ‘Phantom Avenger’ wish to cause physical harm to his victims?”
“The four pranks were silly attacks on property, not people.” Emma abruptly pictured a flock of pigeons settling on the real Lily Kirk. She swallowed a snigger. “Rafe doesn’t see any criminal intent in what was done.”
“He told you that?”
“Those are his words.”
Lily nodded slowly. “That makes me feel much better. You see, earlier this evening a pickup truck nearly pushed me off the road.”
“My goodness!” Emma set her own fork down. “When? Where?”
“Two miles north on State Route 34A. About a quarter