The two of them stared at each other, both refusing to flinch. Finally, Annie shook her head.
“You win. For now. But I’m telling you right up front, I just don’t see us as anything but friends.”
“But we are still friends, right? You’re not mad at me?”
“No, I’m not mad. I just want you to understand how things are.” OK, so she was a pushover. “And yes, we’re still friends.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me take you to the banquet tomorrow night?”
“Roy.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. The man was incorrigible. “What did we just talk about?”
“Well, you are going, aren’t you?”
“Alone.”
“All right. I guess I’ll just have to see you while you’re there.” He opened the door. “Good night.”
“Good night, Roy.”
She locked and bolted the door once he was gone. After this thing with the notes and the prowlers, who may or may not be out there, was all over, she would have to have a nice long talk with Officer Hamilton. No matter how unpleasant a task it was, she was going to have to make sure he knew how utterly impossible his hopes were when it came to the two of them ever having any sort of romance.
She was not going to give him any room to say she had led him on. Or that she had taken advantage of his kindness. Or that she had indicated the slightest interest outside of general and not remotely close friendship. He hadn’t been the least bit shy in expressing his feelings, and she had already told him straight out that she wasn’t looking for a new relationship, but it hadn’t seemed to dampen his ardor in any perceptible amount.
Annie saw Boots investigating her crochet bag and went to pick her up.
“At least he’s being a gentleman about it, Boots, even if he doesn’t seem to want to take never for an answer. He’d just better not have anything special in mind for the banquet tomorrow night.”
Boots made a little complaining meow but didn’t resist being taken upstairs to bed.
15
The community center was decked out in orange, red, and yellow streamers punctuated with bouquets of dried wildflowers tied with raffia. Hurricane lanterns and Alice’s little cornucopias ornamented every table, and colorful squash and pumpkin groupings sat on top of bales of hay in the corners. A smiling scarecrow lounged on either side of the podium and a stuffed crow in a straw hat was perched on the microphone.
Annie smiled. She had helped set up the tables and the chairs around them earlier in the day. Then the decorating committee, led by Alice, had shooed everyone else out of the building to finish up.
It looked nice, even if it was a little kitschy—warm and casual and colorful and fun. Who could ask for more? And it smelled wonderful too. The aroma of turkey and ham, baked squash and peach cobbler along with myriad other home-cooked dishes made the large room a treat for the nose as well as for the eyes. Annie knew from experience that everything would taste as good as it smelled. Whether it was Texas or Maine or anywhere between, nobody cooked better than church ladies.
“What do you think?” Alice stood with her arms crossed looking over the banquet hall. “Too much hay?”
“It looks great. And of course, you have to have hay. Nothing says ‘harvest’ like big bales of hay and scarecrows.”
Alice laughed. “Oh, we’ve decided to auction off your pies for donations for the food pantry. Is that OK with you?”
“Sure. Whatever helps out most.”
“And they won’t actually be your pies, you understand. They’ll be Betsy Holden’s famous homemade pies.”
Annie chuckled. “If that gets the bidding up, that’s fine too. Anything I can do to help?”
“I think we’re all ready. Just waiting for the guest of honor.”
Annie found herself a seat at one of the tables, and soon Ian spotted her from across the room. She returned his wave, and he made his way over to her.
“You ladies did a fine job fixing things up, as usual.”
“I can’t take any credit, I’m afraid.” Annie pulled out a chair for him. “I didn’t have much to do with the beautification portion of the operation, just the basic manual labor.”
“And pies, I hear.”
She laughed. “I can’t take credit for those, either. Those are Gram’s recipes, and she’s the one with the reputation for her cooking.”
“So what are you up to when you’re not baking pies? How are things going with your investigation?”
“I think I’m spooking myself more than anything else. I was half convinced that somebody was prowling around my house last night.”