Free Revenge of the Kudzu Debutantes by Cathy Holton Page A

they’d find gold buried beneath the streets of downtown Ithaca, and Marvin was a big believer in dreams. The ink wasn’t even dry on the probate documents before he plunked down the money to buy this place.” She chuckled and shook her head, remembering. She looked fondly around the room. Her bad eye rolled and bounced in its socket like a bobber on a fishing line. “Still, I don’t know why Mr. Redmon would want it. I don’t know what he would want with a bakery anyway.”
    Lavonne looked through the plate-glass window at the steady stream of tourists moving along the sidewalks. Across the street a crowd gathered on the porch of the Pink House Restaurant. Five years ago, a big Atlanta developer had discovered the charm of Ithaca’s old downtown and had begun a steady renovation. Now, Mrs. Shapiro’s crumbling building must be worth at least a half million dollars. Redmon would no doubt buy it and turn it into an upscale restaurant or women’s clothing store.
    “Mrs. Shapiro, do you have an attorney?” Lavonne took her wallet out of her purse and counted out the bills.
    “An attorney?” Mona frowned. Her eye took off like a rocket, flaring off the walls, the ceiling, and coming to rest finally on a spot just to the left of Lavonne. “Well.” She shook her head. “Marvin always took care of all that. He used his second cousin, Solomon, over in Valdosta.”
    “No, I mean an attorney to look over any contract Redmon might want you to sign.”
    “Actually, Miz Zibolsky, Mr. Redmon said your husband might be able to help me.” She closed the old-fashioned cash register with her hip, and counted out Lavonne’s change.
    Lavonne had a sudden image of Leonard and Redmon bent over a contract in Leonard’s office, laughing and rubbing their hands together like villains in a vaudevillian play. The thought that Leonard might make his living by taking advantage of trusting widows, that the big house they lived in, the grand private school her daughters attended, the everyday luxuries she herself enjoyed might be built upon the backs of sweet, gentle women like Mona Shapiro occurred to Lavonne like a blow to the head. Staring into Mona Shapiro’s kindly face, Lavonne felt an odd swelling sensation that started low in her abdomen and traveled up through her chest cavity into her throat. Her breathing quickened. She wondered if she might be hyperventilating. The effect was fleeting but alarming. She took a deep breath and put one hand on the counter to steady herself.
    Seeing her discomfort, Mona hurried around the corner and put her arm around her. “Sugar, are you all right?” There was something comforting and familiar about the little woman, something motherly. Lavonne wondered why she had not noticed it before. “I’m okay,” she said. “Just a little short of breath.”
    “Do you want to sit down?”
    “No, I’m okay.” She took another deep breath. There was a sound in her head, loud and insistent as rain drumming on a tin roof. After awhile she said, “Have you ever heard of conflict of interest?”
    Mona Shapiro stood looking up into Lavonne’s face with her good eye, trying to read her expression, trying to figure out if she was all right. “You sure you don’t want to sit down?” she said.
    Lavonne took another deep breath. “I’ll be okay. But listen, Mrs. Shapiro, don’t sign anything with Redmon or my husband before you get your cousin Solomon to look it over.”
    Mrs. Shapiro let go of her. She seemed puzzled by Lavonne’s request, but she nodded her head in agreement. “Okay,” she said.
    Lavonne was breathing normally now. She picked up the Peach Paradise in her arms, cradling it like she would a baby. A thought occurred to her suddenly, and she shook herself and said, “Mrs. Shapiro, have you ever done any catering?”
    Mona went back behind the counter. Her bad eye shot off like a steel ball in a pinball machine, and rolled slowly back to rest on Lavonne. “Well, I do a lot of