by Misty Simon
Finally I arrived at my pretty shop, my own little slice of heaven, now that Kitty was in jail and no longer trying to poison me. Sure, I was still short a helper after all these months, but really, I’d rather pit my will against the stupid antique register than constantly wonder when the killing blow would occur.
Shoving the key in the lock, I thought hard about what I was going to say to Bella, how I was going to break the news of the Bastard’s triumphant return if hard-nosed Thelma was welcoming him with coos and strokes. Bella, of course, knew he was back already. But this incontrovertible (woot!) evidence that the town still loved him as their own was not going to go down well. Man, she was going to burst like a can of Cheez Whiz at high altitude, but I couldn’t keep it from her. I was sure she’d rather find out from a friend that he was still the hero than from some stranger asking her if she knew he had come home despite her treachery and gall in running him off in the first place.
I flipped the sign in the window to Open, warily eyeing the cash register. Every morning was a battle, but one I’d won so far. Not without broken nails and pounding headaches, but I still opened it. Today I left it alone for a little while longer—it wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, I picked up the phone to dial Bella. Somehow I had to tell her that, despite her current nightmare, her worst fear was also happening at the exact same time. The town was about to completely turn its back on her.
****
I had known going into the phone conversation that Bella was not going to have an easy time of it. But what I hadn’t expected was for it to come to this Box o’ Wine fest complete with sobbing confessions. Bella was the strong one, the one who kicked ass and didn’t even bother taking names. The hiccupping, drunken mess in front of me was not something I thought I could deal with. But I’d try because, really, I couldn’t just leave her alone. At least it was after six and the store was closed.
“I’m such a drunken, hiccupping mess,” Bella said.
Okay, even after six months, her mind reading was still freaky. Bella swore she wasn’t psychic, but I had my doubts. For some reason she often knew what I was going to say, or what I was feeling, regardless of whether or not I’d had a chance to tell her yet.
I patted her on the shoulder, at a loss as to what to do. Whenever I’d had a problem I’d gone to cry on the shoulders of one or more of the Bouquet (my name for my flowery-named sisters as a group—Daisy, Magnolia, and Rose; I was the resident vine), and they’d made me feel better. Because I was the youngest, I’d never been put in the position of being the one getting soaked with bitter tears.
Now I had to figure out the right thing to say.
“Um, Bella? You’re freaking me out.”
Bella started sobbing harder. Being the smarty-pants I was, it occurred to me I hadn’t found the right thing to say. Duh. Okay, second try. “Bella, I’m sorry I said that. What I meant was, what can I do to help? I want to help. I’m trying to figure out what to do, but I need to know more about what’s going on before I can come up with any kind of plan.”
The sobbing subsided a little. She swept her hand under her eyes, coming back with a big streak of black on her forefinger. After a watery chuckle she said, “Well, I guess this doesn’t work quite as advertised, huh, since it’s supposed to be waterproof?”
I chuckled along with her until it became full-out laughing. Bella wrapped her hands around her middle, bending forward. Yes, we were acting like loons, but really, under the circumstances, I felt it was definitely appropriate.
Once we composed ourselves, we got down to business. “Is his presence going to be a problem? More than it already is?” I hastily added when she cocked her eyebrow at me.
“It will only make things worse, to be honest with you.” She sighed, passing a weary hand over her eyes. “You think a lot of Martha’s Pointers don’t talk to me now unless they want something, just wait until they are all back under his thrall. I won’t even get a passing glance unless it’s of the slitty-eyed variety. Many of them will pretend I don’t exist because they have their golden boy back. I guess I’ll find out who my real friends are.”
I almost cried. “Well, you know I won’t leave your side. I certainly won’t fall under his spell. Ben won’t, either. And Martha and my dad will be on your side. You’ll have plenty of people.”
I hoped.
****
The next day dawned bright and clear. I had to get into The Masked Shoppe to do some inventory so I could stay on top of things. Valentine’s Day had been a great holiday for me, but I didn’t have any other major occasions coming up requiring my services, although I had heard the wedding season was already heating up, so my till count could be anybody’s guess. My bank account was hefty enough, though, to seriously consider hiring someone to help out around there. I had plenty of money coming in from a small Internet offering I’d set up for those of the lingerie persuasion who wanted a little something special. I’d also contacted a woman in the area who made candles, and I had started shipping for her along with the clothes from The Masked Shoppe. In fact, you could get a whole romantic package from me at this point. Go me! I’d even made a couple of baskets for parties, along with some gifts from way out of town. A few I had to shut down my brain to process, but we won’t go there.
In all the activity, it would have been nice to have someone who could help me out. Maybe then I could open back up to seven days a week from the five I currently ran. I’d still close at six, though. Lord knew I didn’t relish being visited by the police again because they thought someone was burglarizing me if my lights were still on at 6:01. But I could maybe open up earlier without actually having to roll out of bed any earlier. The more I thought about it, the more it struck me as a fantastic idea.
I placed a call to Ben at the Martha’s Herald, asking him if he could draft an ad for me. He took up ten minutes whispering naughty things in my ear, things he’d like to do to me, things I’d like to do with him. By the time I finally hung up on him, I was flushed and bothered.
I fanned myself with a new brochure I’d had made by a woman down the street. Lately, I was trying my best to use the businesses here in town for as many of my needs as possible. To some extent I still wanted to be accepted into the Martha’s Pointers’ fold. I wanted to walk down the street and have people say hi to me instead of ignore me. I wanted to be a Martha’s Pointer, no matter how much I poked fun at them sometimes.
The brochure listed all the things I had available, as well as a couple of services I wanted to try my hand at. Great-Aunt Gertie had been content to sell only the costumes and the underwear, as far as I knew, but I wanted a little more. I could help people plan romantic getaways, along with the baskets on the Internet. Or maybe have parties for bachelorettes, or even groups of women simply getting together to have some fun. But that thought reminded me of Tarrin—with her Tupperware-style sex toy parties—and her untimely demise.
Regardless, I couldn’t do much until I got some help in here. I didn’t want a teenybopper, obviously, but I also didn’t want an old woman who would frown upon some of my customers and their choices.
As if to prove my point, the lovely Mr. Hanks came strolling in through the front door. He was one of my favorite customers, but also the one customer I was the most afraid of.
To put it plainly, the man liked his banana hammocks. And I liked for him to buy his banana hammocks here, since rarely was price ever a consideration for him. But I feared there would be a day when he would want me to actually see what he looked like in the Speedo-esque underwear on his squat, rotund body.
Pushing that thought into the far, far back of my mind, I gave him my best smile while pulling a bin of his favorite things out from under the counter. I dragged along a new catalog I had received last week from a company who specialized in what he liked.
“That’s my girl,” he said, a big smile on his round face. “Always ready for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I like to keep you happy.”
�
��And you do such a great job.” He leaned on the counter, running an eye over the various colors and fabrics I’d ordered for his pleasure. Normally, he just grabbed a handful and went to a dressing room.
I wasn’t sure what this hesitation in the routine was, but I thought I should probably make a little small talk, which was not always my strength. “So how are things?”
“What?” He jumped and jiggled a little.
Had I spoken in Russian? I tried again. “How are things at home?”
“They’re fine, fine, just fine, dear. Enjoying the warmer weather, thinking of some plans for a vacation this summer.” He seemed to get himself back together, and his smile popped back out. “Things are moving right along. Couldn’t be better. Hey, did you have those tax records you wanted me to look at? We’ll have to make sure you’re paying taxes to the government properly this year. I don’t know what Gertie was thinking, not to leave you instructions. But I bet there’s going to be a pretty big penalty this year for not doing the third quarter right.”
Like I needed to hear that. “Is there some way we can track back and explain the situation?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He studied his nails for a moment. Against my will, I did, too. The man must get a weekly manicure with Bella. He looked buffed and polished to a shine.
“I’d appreciate it.” But I didn’t get any more out because someone strolled in through the front door, accompanied by a slight tinkle that made me feel almost hysterical. Charlie Drake was back. I didn’t know if I was going to be in trouble here or not.
Mr. Hanks’ smile cracked a little when I gasped out the guy’s name. Not too long ago, I’d had the pleasure of putting this guy behind bars because he stole most of my plus-sized lingerie, attempting to ruin my Shoppe. I’d only caught him because of plumber’s crack. But that was a different story, certainly not one I wanted to relive now. I had only recently stopped having the nightmares about seeing a thong poking up over the top of his jeans when he put in my lovely fountain. I had a distinctly bad feeling those dreams were going to be haunting me again.
I did try to be nice when his eyes connected with mine, but I don’t think I pulled it off. “What in the living hell are you doing in here?”
He stumbled back a step. I took great satisfaction in that one movement. Ivy Morris, Terminator.
I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, my left foot tapping out a staccato rhythm. Just seeing him made my blood pressure spike. And he must have had some serious balls to walk into the Shoppe where he’d stolen from me repeatedly. I didn’t even get a discount on my fountain while he was walking out the front door with various pieces of lingerie in sizes sixteen through twenty-six trying to bankrupt me, or run me out of town in a panic so his mother could get my store. And to top it all off, she tried to kill me with a pair of scissors and a poisoned drink.
So to say I wasn’t happy to see him would be an understatement. And I was repeating myself in my head, never a good thing.
Instead, I repeated myself out loud. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Mr. Hanks cleared his throat at my left elbow. Whoops! I’d almost forgotten he was there. I expected to see his horrified face when I glanced over at him, but what I got was a far cry from my vision. He was smiling. And not an evil, I’m going to get you for screwing over Ivy smile, but a Hey, how ya doin’, where’ve you been? kind of smile. Which confused the heck out of me. Mr. Hanks had been around for the whole underwear-stealing debacle, or at least he’d been in town. And he was definitely higher on the grapevine than me, so it wasn’t like he could have missed all the hullabaloo from the irritating episode. But you’d have thought Charlie had recently left for a six-month vacation and come back with a fake tan and ridiculous little plastic drink umbrellas for all of us as souvenirs.
“Charlie! Are you back for good now? It’s wonderful to see you.” He clapped the other man on the shoulder. I wondered if he felt a bra strap digging into the other man’s meaty flesh. Gah!
I’ll admit here I felt a little betrayed. I mean, Mr. Hanks had been my ally last time we had problems in town. He’d been the only one to stand up for me during Martha and my dad’s wedding when everyone was talking terribly about me behind my back. And now he was welcoming Charlie back with a handshake and a smile.
Although I did remember I felt sorry for Charlie when he was caught. I remembered I thought he almost looked relieved when they carted him out. Relieved to be away from his mom, as well as his girlfriend (and my archenemy), Jackie Sturder. And maybe he had been. Maybe he had been afraid to approach me about actually buying his own underwear because he didn’t think I’d understand about his fetish. I understood about Mr. Hanks (I was pretty sure his first name was Herbert, but don’t quote me on that) and his panty choices. I would have understood a man who wanted to wear women’s underwear. Well, maybe not understood, but I would have at least turned a blind eye.
Mr. Hanks, thankfully, broke into my mental rambling. Unthankfully, the topic of choice was not something I was prepared to deal with.
“Ivy, I’m going to need your help this time,” he said, waving his handful of bikini underwear in the air. “I’m finding the fit is a little weird in some of these. I’d like your opinion on them.”
I froze. I couldn’t be sure my mouth wasn’t an O of horror. Oh. My. God. Ohmygod! My worst nightmare was realized right before my poor ears, and I didn’t know what to say, or do. I was having a hard time remembering to breathe, to be honest.
I had faced crazy bitches and a man who was intent on making my life miserable. I’d faced down a bevy of women who wanted to take my boyfriend from me, and a guy who had dipped right off the edge into near insanity. But being asked to help Mr. Hanks with the fit of his banana hammock was way too much for me. And I was still frozen in place.
But then a voice called across the room like an angel from up above, saving me and unfreezing me at the same time.
“Are you looking at the Zezo brand? Because they can pull up in the back,” Charlie said, strolling around the racks to stand right in front of Mr. Hanks, with his back to me. “I tried them for a while, but I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t feel good like Bender’s. After a little experimentation, I found it makes a world of difference if you set them down lower.”
I didn’t know if I’d been witness to a more bizarre conversation. We were all in my shop talking about men’s underwear as if discussing the light spring weather outside. But then Mr. Hanks smiled, clapped Charlie on the back, and thanked him before going into the dressing room all alone without asking again for my help.
I finally got myself to blink my eyes. They’d turned dry while they were opened wide in horror. I blinked a couple more times for good measure and found myself locking gazes with Charlie.
“I heard tomorrow I’ll read in the newspaper you need help here. I was really surprised to think The Masked Shoppe would be in the Help Wanted section.” Leaning against the corner with his elbow propped on the glass, he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. But the slight shaking of his hand gave him away.
Why on earth would he want to work here? This was where I had taken him down, and his mother, too. I’d only sent him away for a little while, since he had stolen underwear from me, not money. But I’d sent his mom to jail for a long, long time because she’d killed a woman here in town thinking it was me. Why would he want to work in the store where his worst day had happened?
I decided to ask him instead of diddling around with the question in my head. “Why on earth would you want to work here? With me?” To me that was the ultimate question. I’d put this man’s mom in jail for a very long time, and he’d had to spend some time in the pokey, too, because of me.
He flashed me a smile. For a brief second, I wondered if it worked on Jackie, then dismissed the question. It didn’t matter in the least. I wasn’t swayed, since he in no way did anything for me. I drew the line at men who wore women’s underwear. Even Ben wouldn’t
do it for me if I saw him in purple silky underwear. Maybe red silk boxers, but not some French-cut bikini.
Which had nothing to do with the conversation currently happening. I had to get back to Charlie. His smile had fallen, maybe because he realized it wasn’t going to work after all.
“I heard you needed help.”
The ad hadn’t even run yet, and already I was faced with an applicant. Then again, if Charlie had to fill out an application for me I could do a background check on him. I could get his financials to see whether he could afford his own lingerie this time. I’d have access to every little bit of information on him. When put that way, it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Not to mention he could help with Mr. Hanks. A small shudder ran through me again when I thought of the narrow miss with the whole fit-of-the-banana-hammock thing. I could have been scarred for life.
“Why don’t you fill this out?” I said, reaching for an application from under the counter and handing it over. “I still don’t get why you’d want to work here, but I guess I can think about it.” I didn’t try to keep the skepticism out of my voice, but it seemed to go right over his head.
“Thanks, Ivy. I can guarantee you I’d be a real asset here if you’ll give me a chance. I won’t let you down. I really want the opportunity to get my life back.”
If I could have mastered the act, I would have raised one eyebrow. But since I had yet to do that, I kept it inside. Hopefully, he didn’t literally want his old life back. Terrible things had happened in that old life.
Also, it didn’t escape my notice that he had recently come back into town right when we had another murderer running around. Coincidence? I didn’t know, but wouldn’t it be easier to keep an eye on this former criminal if he was right under my nose instead of wandering around town unattended? A good question for which I had no concrete answer.
