Free Southern Comforts by Joann Ross Page B

368. Gateway to the Gold Coast.
    Although Chelsea thought that the slogan might be overstating the town’s importance, she could not fault its beauty.
    The buildings lining the main street were draped in a dreamy embrace of oak and moss, surrounded by an explosion of fiery pink azaleas. White-pillared gas lamps with round white glass globes were beginning to flicker on.
    They passed the commercial center, two blocks of stucco-covered brick buildings with wide awnings that made thetown look as if time had stopped there. A pair of old men in bib overalls played checkers in front of a store, as Chelsea suspected old men had been doing in that location since the town was established in the 1750s. In the window, signs advertising a sale on six-packs of Dr Pepper and a new three-day checkout period for the latest videocassettes provided a faintly jarring note to the languorous scene.
    In the heart of the town—surrounded by a wide square of diagonal parking spaces—a courthouse glistened as white as new snow. A carillon of chimes pealed out the hour on the towering clock. It was, Chelsea noted with a glance down at her watch, ten minutes late.
    â€œThat’s Colonel Bedford Mallory,” Dorothy said, pointing out a marble statue of a confederate soldier astride a horse. “He’s a local boy who distinguished himself under General Johnston at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. Every Confederate Memorial Day, the ladies of the Raintree Garden Club decorate the statue. They also decorate the graves of both confederate and union soldiers in the cemetery.”
    Once again, Chelsea had the strangest feeling she’d stepped back in time. “Do you have any industry in Raintree?”
    â€œIndustry? Like a carpet mill? Or furniture factory?” When Chelsea nodded, Dorothy shook her head. “No. Although we’re on the river, we never really became an industrial center. It’s still mostly agricultural, although more and more of the farmland is being sold off to build homes for people who work in Savannah, but want to escape the hustle and bustle of the city for the small-town life.”
    Chelsea decided not to mention that being accustomed to Manhattan, Savannah had seemed far from bustling. “Well, Raintree certainly looks like a tranquil town.”
    So tranquil, Chelsea mused, that if she did decide to stay,it might be difficult to get into the proper mood to work on her novel. If she’d ever seen a place less likely to harbor thoughts of murder and mayhem, it was this one.
    â€œIt’s quiet,” Dorothy agreed, “but like all small towns, it does have its hidden depths. And its secrets.”
    â€œI love secrets,” Chelsea confessed cheerfully as Dorothy pulled the car up in front of a lovely two-story building. The red bricks had faded over the years to a soft pink, but the shutters framing the windows were a bright fresh white. The windows glistened, brilliant red azaleas and creamy magnolias overflowed clay pots on the wide and inviting front porch.
    â€œOh, this is wonderful!” Chelsea said as she entered the cozy lobby that reminded her more of a private home than a hotel. The scent of fresh-cut flowers perfumed the air.
    â€œWelcome to the Magnolia House,” the man behind the hand-hewn counter greeted her. He looked around thirty, with friendly blue eyes and tousled blond hair. His soft drawl gave evidence of local roots.
    After introducing himself as Jeb Townely, her host, he filled out the paperwork quickly, then carried her bags up to her second-floor room.
    â€œI hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said as he opened the door. More flowers bloomed in vases on a small cherry writing desk and atop the dresser. There was a tray with two glasses, a bottle of mineral water and a tin of cookies on the table. The bed was canopied, and like the rest of the furniture, appeared to be a genuine antique.
    â€œI think I may just stay