Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

pie. It’s her secret recipe, so I don’t know what’s in it, but we always sell out at the Sandbox.”

Each of the males at the table immediately reached for a square. They were all munching happily.

“Bo, I meant to ask, how did your big T-ball game go today?” Grace asked.

“We lost,” Bo said, spraying crumbs of chocolate over his plate.

“Not with your mouth full,” Wyatt warned.

Bo chewed for a moment, then, his eyes on his father, carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. “We lost to the stinkin’ Pythons. Our archenemy.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace said.

“But we played great,” Wyatt said. “Bo hit a triple and a double. And he hit a smokin’ line drive that probably would have homered, except their third baseman, who I totally think is on growth hormones, because the kid is six and he’s like six feet tall, made a diving catch.”

“But then I struck out. Twice,” Bo said sadly.

“Boy, you’re batting four hundred,” Nelson reminded him. “That ain’t too shabby.”

Bo eyed the last slice of pie on the plate, his hand hovering just above it, until his father nodded approval.

“Granddad, I’m four hundred for the week, three-fifty for the season. This kid on the Wolverines, he’s batting six hundred. Scout’s striking out, like, two kids an inning.”

“Wow,” Grace said admiringly. “You really do know your statistics. Your dad told me you’re quite a math wizard.”

“He’s a freak,” Wyatt said, gazing fondly at his son. “But he’s our freak.”

Bo looked longingly toward the other room. “The game’s still on, Dad. Can I be excused?”

“After you two clear the dishes. And thank Grace for the dinner she cooked.”

“Don’t thank me,” Grace admitted. “My mom fixed everything. I just carried it over here.”

“Dinner was awesome,” Bo said, gathering the dishes.

Nelson stood slowly. “Anytime you want to bring over some more of that taco casserole, please feel free.”

Wyatt looked at Grace, who was starting to gather up the silverware. “That’s Dad’s job,” he said. “It’s not too hot right now. I thought maybe I’d take you on a tour of the park. If you’re interested.”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Grace said.

40

The golf cart bumped noiselessly along the crushed-shell pathways, an occasional limb or branch slapping harmlessly at Grace’s arm. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of damp earth and tropical flowers. It was twilight, and birds and squirrels twittered from the thick tree canopy. And from somewhere off in the park came an unearthly shriek that made Grace startle, so much that she nearly fell off the cart. “What was that?” she asked, clutching Wyatt’s arm for balance.

“Peacocks,” Wyatt said. “The bane of my existence. If only that damned coyote had jumped a peacock…”

“But they’re so beautiful,” Grace said. “So elegant.”

“So noisy and cranky and a major pain in my ass,” Wyatt said firmly. “People in the neighborhood around here are always calling the cops to complain that we’re torturing animals over here. We can’t make ’em understand that it’s just normal peacock behavior.”

“Why do you have them if you don’t like them?”

“Jungle Jerry’s has always had peacocks,” Wyatt said. “The first pair, Ike and Mamie, were my grandmother’s pets. After they died, we thought we were through with peacocks, but no, somebody was always ‘gifting’ us with new peacocks. People get them because they think they’re such a classy addition to a garden or an estate. Then they hear that ungodly banshee screeching and they can’t get rid of them fast enough. They don’t even ask us. They just drop the damned things off in the parking lot in the middle of the night, like stray kittens.”

He pointed to a huge banyan tree a few hundred yards ahead. “They like to roost there.” The path wound around the tree and a clearing came into sight. It was ringed with flowering bushes, and a tall rose-covered arch was centered in a swath of grass.

“That’s the butterfly garden,” Wyatt said, pointing. “And the wedding chapel, in the middle there.”

“How pretty,” Grace said. “Do you get many weddings here?”

“Not so many lately,” Wyatt said. “Couples seem to want to get married at the beach. Anyway, we don’t have the kind of upscale facilities a lot of brides want. The only bathrooms are back at the gift shop, and they’re not too glamorous. And let’s face it, Jungle Jerry’s ain’t exactly a classy destination.”

“That’s a shame,” Grace said. “It really is a lovely setting, with all the trees and flowers around, and that sort of meadow in the middle. You could bring in a tent and those fancy port-a-potties that are on trailers, with running water and everything. A good wedding planner could pull off an amazing event here.”

“Know any?” Wyatt said gloomily. “Me neither.”

The path made a sharp left and suddenly they were surrounded on both sides by a dense wall of bamboo. A light rain had begun falling, so she moved away from the open sides of the cart. Grace caught a glimpse of some kind of structure through the curtain of green.

“What’s that back there?”

“That’s what’s left of Jungle Jerry’s big-cat house,” Wyatt said. He explained about his grandfather’s short-lived career as a lion tamer, and how all the big cats had long ago left the premises.

“From what I’ve heard, they used to really pack ’em in for the shows,” Wyatt said. “At one time we had a ‘Safari Train’ that ferried people from the parking lot back in here. It was really nothing more than a glorified tractor with a bunch of open cars tacked on the back. Dad sold the train for scrap after we farmed out all the animals more than twenty years ago. But the cages and the remains of the grandstand are still back there. Mostly rust and dust. He planted bamboo to try to provide a natural barrier, but he didn’t really understand back then how invasive the stuff is. It’s a constant, losing battle, trying to keep it from totally taking over every inch of the park.”

“I had