Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) by Paisley Ray

if hot guy and She-Devil were involved.
     
     
    HUGH DROVE HIS POOP-COLORED rusted Datsun hatchback well below the speed limit the entire trip. He and Katie Lee carried on a conversation in the front seats of the car, which I couldn’t hear above the busted muffler that hummed in my ears. Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward to avoid the cracked, plaid-plastic upholstery stuffing that pricked at my shoulder and the underside of my knees. The gray duct tape that held the passenger door together had lost its money back guaranteed adhesive-stick, and I listened to shredded strips flap like a flag in high winds. Driving above fifty would’ve left generous mementos, in the form of vital engine parts on highways across the state, so neither Katie Lee nor I complained to granny-snail-speed behind the wheel.
    By the time Mrs. Brown picked us up, an hour outside of New Bern, daylight had succumbed to dusk. The trip across the state took four excruciating hours, and Katie Lee complained, “As sweet as Hugh is, his car is a dump. We’re lucky we made it to meet my mom.”
    Mrs. Brown had a heavy foot, and in no time, her headlights reflected past magnolia trees to a detached garage. I stepped out of the car, and inhaled a pine tree, woodsy smell. Clustered like matchsticks, the dried needles formed a carpet along the berm. Soft churns of rippling water lapped the shore and a night owl called.
    “Come on y’all,” Mrs. Brown said. “Let’s get inside.”
    Gas porch lights flickered on a two-story brick home. Moss baskets draped with beech-ferns and vinca-vine hung between half a dozen columns on an elevated porch. Rushing past a pair of high back plantation rocking chairs, Katie Lee moved inside the front door. I stopped to admire the handmade needlepoint bolster pillows and watched the rockers sway in harmony with the night breeze. Mrs. Brown rested her hand on my shoulder. She whispered, “Late at night, I sit here to rest my bare feet on the floorboards and ponder. It’s my favorite spot.”
    I turned to her. “If I take one of these chairs for a test rock, I may never go back to school.”
    “Hey Daddy,” Katie Lee shouted above hound howls. Dr. Brown’s neck rested against a soft leather recliner in the living room. I guessed the two furry companions with droopy ears had kept his feet warm until we arrived. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and planted a kiss on the peak of his graying hair before cooing the dogs that stuck their wet noses into her knees. “Okay Uncle, okay Sims. Settle down.”
    Folding what looked like a medical periodical, Dr. Brown stood and hugged Katie Lee. I’d briefly met him the first day on campus, and he was dressed exactly the same, khaki pants with pressed creases down the center. He probably rotated between dark polo shirts in the winter and bright ones in the summer. Tucking the folded paper he held between the arm of the chair and the cushion, he greeted me, “Well hey there, Rachael.”
    “Y’all must be hungry,” Mrs. Brown said. “Come on into the kitchen, I have crab cakes and slaw waiting.”
    Mrs. Brown liked decorative plates, and Dr. Brown killed furry things. Both their tastes merged in a display on the high shelf that wrapped around the eat-in kitchen.
    “Mama, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I hope you don’t mind, we have to eat and run otherwise we’ll miss the game.”
    Pulling the crab cakes from a warming drawer, Mrs. Brown placed them on a Lazy Susan. She offered me a clear ketchup bottle with pink sauce. “It’s my secret recipe. Puts kick in your crab cakes.”
    “Daddy, I still get the van tonight, right?” Katie Lee confirmed. She’d told me that her dad was particular about who drove the van and normally only used the vehicle for special occasions and on road trips. Tonight Katie Lee had volunteered to chauffeur. She told her parents, “I’m picking up a few friends, and there’s more room in the cruiser.”
    Mrs. Brown