Savannah. Looking at the incident now, from the perspective of motherhood, she finally understood.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “He only put that snake in my bed because I hurt him. I hurt him with words. I hurt his reputation.”
“That’s right, sugar.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Dash wouldn’t have put those snakes up there in the projection room, not if it would lead to this kind of gossip about his reputation. He’s been working on that, hasn’t he? It’s part of why he goes to his AA meetings every Thursday,” Savannah said.
“That’s right, sugar. Dash might tease you about snakes until the cows come home, but he wouldn’t do something like that. Especially not now. He’s been working to put aside that tough exterior he used to hide behind. And inside, he’s got the gentlest heart. Have you ever seen him with his horses?”
Savannah shook her head.
“Well, I know you’ve seen the way he is with kids and dogs.”
She nodded.
“He can’t help that he was born with the genes that make him and alcohol a deadly mix. But he’s been sober for almost two years. And that fight at Dot’s the day before Harry’s funeral was all Roy Burdett’s fault.”
“I’ve misjudged him. I know that.”
“I’m glad you know it. And there’s one other thing, sugar. If Dash wanted to scare you with a snake, he’d go find a garden snake or something a whole lot less dangerous than a couple of western diamondbacks. Those snakes had to cost someone a lot of money, and it’s funny because any fool could have gone out into the garden and found a harmless snake that would have scared you just as badly. Dash is a tease, but he’s not vicious.”
Aunt Miriam patted her knee and continued, “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad that you brought Todd. And I’m glad to see that you and Dash have started to get over all that stuff from when you were kids. Don’t let this set you back. You know in your heart that Dash is innocent.”
She examined her heart, and much to her surprise she did know that Dash was innocent. She knew it because she’d seen his face right after he’d discovered those snakes. He’d been surprised. He couldn’t have faked that.
And she knew he was innocent because of a bunch of other things that had nothing to do with the snakes. She knew it because of the way he paid attention to Todd. The way he made time for him, like he understood what Todd was going through. And he probably did.
Just then the front door opened, and Dash came striding in. He got as far as the archway. The look on his face spoke volumes. He expected her to blame him for the snakes.
Savannah stood up. “I just talked to Sheriff Rhodes, and I know what folks are saying about those snakes. And I just want to let you know that I don’t think you put them there. This situation is not at all like what happened when we were kids. It’s backward,” she said, borrowing her aunt’s words. Thank goodness Miriam was lucid today.
His mouth twitched, and he stood frozen for a moment. “Uh, thank you.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER 12
As a child, Savannah had attended the Watermelon Festival, held every year in midsummer. But she was ignorant of the other important celebrations that marked life in Last Chance.
She had never attended the Annual Egg Toss and Frog Jump Jubilee that occurred every year on the Saturday before Easter. And she had most certainly never gone frog hunting before.
But here she stood, clutching a flashlight and wearing a pair of oversized rubber boots that had once belonged to Uncle Harry, trying to keep up with her cousin and her son. They were walking along the trail off Bluff Road that skirted the old derelict Jonquil House, heading toward the swamp.
At night.
And the only reason she was here was because Dash and Todd had dared her to come. And she, like the idiot she often was, had risen to the challenge.
When would she learn? She should be back at home, cooking a casserole or something for the covered-dish Easter brunch that was held annually at the Baptist church after sunrise services. It was attended by every congregation in town. And, in addition to a bean casserole, Savannah wanted to bake an apple pie, just to prove the point that her crust was flakier than Jenny Carpenter’s.
But no. She’d opened her mouth at dinner tonight, and here