What could’ve been minutes or hours later, Dixie nudged her awake. “It’s dinnertime.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You know that don’t matter. You still have to come.”
Lil knew it all too well. She pushed back the covers and pulled herself together. “You go on ahead.”
“You sure? Might be easier if I’m with you.”
“Being with me would just get you in trouble. I’ll be fine by myself.” Lonely, but fine.
Dixie hesitated, and Lord knew Lil would’ve loved to have her at her side. But hanging around with her could put Dixie’s release at risk if Martha had a mind to make trouble. As angry as she was over this beautification project, Martha wouldn’t hesitate to use Dixie to hit Lil where it really hurt.
Lil scooted into the cafeteria just before headcount. She grabbed a tray and slid it across the metal rail. She held her thumb and forefinger up indicating that she only wanted a little of what looked like meatloaf smothered in a vat of tomato sauce. The girls behind the counter were generous with Lil’s portions, a fact underscored by the snug fit of Lil’s pants, but today her tummy wasn’t up to a full meal. Just enough food to keep the guards from suspecting something was up. Any hint of a problem and they’d be all over it.
She carried her half-empty tray to a table populated with inmates she recognized but had never dined with. They all stared up at her, not hostile exactly, but not friendly either. “Do you mind?”
“Suit yourself.”
She sat and tried to keep her head down, pushing food around on her plate.
“I heard Big Martha is in a mood and a half,” the woman next to Lil said.
The woman across the table flicked a panicked look over Lil’s left shoulder. “Shh!”
Just then, something bumped that same shoulder. Felt like a shark warning its prey of imminent attack. Lil didn’t even have to look behind her to know exactly who the shark was.
“I let you into my circle,” Martha said, “and this is the thanks I get? I guess where you come from, hoity-toity society ladies steal ideas from each other all the time. Maybe they even steal each other’s jewelry and shit.”
Lil let her fork clatter to her tray, stood and turned to face Martha. “I did not steal anything from you.”
“What do you call it when you swipe someone else’s idea?”
Although Lil’s insides were now a tight coil of fear, she couldn’t give in to Martha’s bullying. She took a pause for effect, and to steady her voice. “It’s not as if I waltzed into the warden’s office begging for another project. She came to me, asking for my help.”
“You didn’t have to say yes,” Martha said.
“Well, at the time, I didn’t have any idea beautifying Walter Stiles was your idea. And seriously, if the warden started talking early release to you, what would you have done?”
“Maybe,” Martha said in a low tone that reminded Lil of the slow warning dance of a King cobra, “I would’ve wondered why a woman like Warden Proctor, a woman with a limited number of good ideas, was having a great one.”
“I suppose I’m not a suspicious sort like you are. When someone tells me something, I tend to believe them.”
“Well, I’m telling you this, Miss H&M. It would be in your best interest to stay away from me unless you have some news I’m interested in hearing.”
Which meant she had no interest in honoring the deal they’d made about Summer Haven’s septic system.
Chapter 7
Maggie held the cushy-handled drain spade in one hand and rested her foot on its shiny blade as she surveyed Summer Haven’s front yard. The matted grass looked as though a merry band of possums, moles and armadillos had staged a hoedown—or maybe a throw down. She’d dug holes all around the septic tank looking for the distribution box and the source of the effluent breakdown, and things were looking worse rather than better, but she couldn’t stop until she found the source of the problem.
She took in a breath and lifted her drain spade. Then she chopped downward and—holy hotdogs!—what she hit wasn’t soft dirt but rather her own foot. “Yeeeow!”
She dropped the spade and hopped around on one foot, holding the one she’d sliced tight between her palms. Blood seeped out of the thin canvas of her tennis shoe to ooze between her fingers and drip to the soggy grass. She darn well knew better than to work in those lightweight shoes. She pulled off the bright red one and dropped the ruined thing to the ground.
Her awkward hops took her to the edge of the mucky part of the yard before she allowed herself to collapse to the ground.
She shot a glance toward the driveway to check for Sera’s and Abby Ruth’s cars. Now, they’d give her three kinds of heck for insisting on working on the septic herself.
Yep, and there was the dually and the VW.
Shoot, shoot, shoot.
How in Pete’s name would Maggie make it past them to get her hands on a first aid kit?
She stretched out the hem of her T-shirt and mopped at the blood on her foot. Yeah, that was a long flap of skin she’d sliced. She scrounged around in her fanny pack. Three assorted finger bandages, but that was all. Where was a butterfly bandage when a gal needed one?
Well, if duct tape could patch the fuselage of a 747, it could patch a slice of skin.
Maggie reached to her hip for the duct tape tucked into the blinged-out holder she wore on her belt. She ripped off a long strip of pumpkin-patterned tape and wrapped it twice around her instep, trying not to think of how it would feel to peel the super-sticky stuff off her skin. Because doing that made her stomach twirl. A glass or two of special iced tea would definitely be required for the ripping.
Pushing to her feet was an awkward affair, with a lot of grunting, wincing and waving her butt in the air. Finally, she was upright and hobbling toward the house. Lots of weight on her right foot and baby tiptoes on the left. Hobble, schlump. Hobble, schlump. Hobble, schlump. The front porch stairs seemed like Mount Everest, but Maggie gripped the handrail and muscled on.
She eased open the front door and peeked inside. A rumble of voices came from the back of the house. Dang, hitting the kitchen for bandages was obviously out. Instead, she shuffled toward the stairs, then took a few seconds to pause and give them the once-over. Exactly fourteen steps. Fourteen Quasimodo hobble-schlumps.
A deep breath, and Maggie grabbed the balustrade. She pulled herself to the first step, then caught actual words streaming from the kitchen.
“Well, I don’t care what Maggie wants,” Abby Ruth said. “She might be Summer Haven’s caretaker while Lil’s in the clinker, but we all live here.”
Excuse me? Just when Maggie thought she and Abby Ruth were coming to some type of peaceful cohabitation, the woman’s real colors bled through again. That one didn’t do well with being second in command. And that was certainly as high as she would ever climb on the Summer Haven ship.
“I don’t know,” Sera responded. “I don’t feel quite right about going behind her back.”
“We’re not doing anything,” Abby Ruth said.
Not doing anything? That usually meant something. And Maggie had caught Abby Ruth’s unspoken word. Yet. We’re not doing anything yet. She had a mind to stomp into that kitchen—okay, maybe not stomp because right now belly-slithering was her best option for moving fast—and give Abby Ruth what-for about whatever. If those two were hiding something from her, it meant they didn’t respect her or her authority over Summer Haven. Was that the thanks she got for sharing Lil’s home with them?
But with a warm puddle forming under her foot, she couldn’t deal with her so-called friends’ treason right now.
Lord, the fatigue from the pressure of caring for Summer Haven, keeping Lillian’s secret and overseeing those two women in the kitchen swamped Maggie. The oak steps suddenly looked like a soft, comfy place to collapse and rest her face in her hands. She would’ve done it too, if she thought she could ever get up again.
She gathered her wits an
d gained another step. Then another. She was a third of the way up the staircase when Sera’s and Abby Ruth’s voices came closer.
Maggie tried to increase her speed, doing a hop-shuffle up two stairs. On the third, however, her technique failed her. She stumbled, cracking her right shin against a step, and if it weren’t for her quick reflexes and death grip on the rail, she’d have bumped back down the stairs to the foyer. She twisted to sit on the step above her and tried to look casual as Sera and Abby Ruth came into sight.
Sera’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Maggie, why are you sitting on the stairs? I thought you were outside working on the septic system.”
That girl was just a little too bright at the most inconvenient times. “I…uh…did you know there’s a nice view of the gazebo out the transom window over the front door?”
“You’re sitting up there—” Abby’s Ruth craned her head back as though to peer out the transom herself, “—looking at the gazebo?”
“It does a body good to slow down and take in her surroundings every now and again.”
“Normally, that’s something a body does from one of the rocking chairs on the front porch,” Abby Ruth replied.
“Neat. I love a great view,” Sera said, rounding the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.
Maggie glanced down to find bloody footprints trailing up the steps. Sera didn’t miss that tiny detail either. Lil would have a hissy fit if she could see the mess Maggie was making.
“Maggie,” Sera gasped, scampering up the steps two at a time in a way that had Maggie clenching her teeth in envious pain. “What have you done to yourself?”
“It’s nothing.”
Abby Ruth climbed up behind Sera. “Bleeding like a stuck hog doesn’t look like nothing to me.”
Sera crouched at Maggie’s foot. “You hurt yourself.”
She wiggled her toes, which were already so swollen that they looked like pink baby mice. “It was just a little slice with the shovel.”
“Around that cesspool? Who knows what kind of flesh-eating bacteria might already be invading your body!” Sera scolded. “You put duct tape on it? Maggie, why didn’t you call for one of us? We would’ve come out to help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Even to her own ears, Maggie sounded sullen. “I fix things.”
“You need stitches.” Abby Ruth stepped over Sera in one long-legged stride. She clomped her way to the top of the stairs and disappeared into the upstairs bathroom.
“A butterfly bandage will fix me right up,” Maggie called.
“I don’t know—” Sera continued to study Maggie’s foot, “—your foot’s turning purple below the tape.”
Abby Ruth came back down with a towel and shoved it into Maggie’s hands. “Probably cut off the circulation by wrapping it so tight.”
“Maybe we should take you to the clinic,” Sera said. “Let Dr. Broussard take a look.”
Lord, that was the last thing in the world she wanted to do today. “I’ll pass. Cuts always look worse before they’ve been cleaned up. I’ll just make my way upstairs and then—”
Abby Ruth turned to Maggie and drawled in the annoying way that insinuated she knew better than you, “Tell me, Mags, when was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
Maggie clenched a fist but resisted banging it against her leg. That woman was insufferable when she was right.
“Umm-hmm,” Abby Ruth said, winking in Sera’s direction. “Looks like a trip to the clinic is just what the doctor ordered.”
* * *
They wouldn’t let Maggie drive herself to the clinic. She’d never been one of those girls who needed an entourage to visit the ladies room, and this little expedition felt a lot like a group primp and pee session. Which reminded her she should’ve hit the potty before they left the house. Abby Ruth insisted they take her monstrous truck. Made no sense seeing as Maggie almost took off her other foot trying to climb up into the thing. Then again, the shag carpet in Sera’s van would’ve wicked up the blood still trickling from Maggie’s foot, and that certainly wasn’t sanitary.
“I have to say—” Abby Ruth glanced toward Maggie huddled against the passenger side door, “—sulking isn’t really your color.”
“My foot would’ve been fine if you two hadn’t gone all mother hen on me. There’s almost nothing in the world that a butterfly bandage can’t fix.”
“Yeah.” Abby Ruth’s tone was dry. “Every case of lockjaw ever documented was cured with a Band-Aid.”
Dang it. This was time better spent in the yard whipping that septic system into shape. If Maggie couldn’t report some progress by the time she visited Lil again, she’d be forced to fight off Martha’s charity. Why in the world Lil would trust that woman over her, she couldn’t figure. Yes, they’d both made new friends since Lil got herself locked up, but no one would ever replace Lil in Maggie’s heart.
Maybe Lil was a touch more fickle.
Maggie rocked her forehead against the window, smashing her bangs. She should be ashamed of herself. She and Lil were not twelve-year-olds with friendship jealousy issues. No doubt, Lil had to do whatever she could to stay sane in that federal prison camp, even if it meant hanging out with the kind of people she never would’ve cottoned to before.
“Besides,” Abby Ruth said, “this gives us the perfect opportunity to pump Dr. Broussard for information. Maybe dig up a little dirt.”
“Why would we want to find dirt on the doctor?” Sera said from the backseat.
“Not the doctor.” Abby Ruth looked as if she’d like to bonk Sera on the noggin. “His cranky, historic-preservation-committee wife.”
“Ooohh.” Sera propped her arms on the front seat and leaned in. “That makes a lot more sense.”
“So my mangled foot is just an excuse to get cozy with the enemy?” Maggie said.
Abby Ruth cut her a look that could’ve lasered the whiskers off a cat’s chin from a hundred yards. “Look, sugar, you can’t have this both ways. First, you don’t want to go, and now you’re all down-in-the-mouth because you think this doctor’s visit isn’t all about you.”
“Yeah, Maggie,” Sera said, “this isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”
What was wrong? It was wrong that she was a little scared this septic mess was too big for her just like everyone kept telling her. She’d promised Lil she’d take care of Summer Haven, and she was already falling down on the job. “Just a little stress.”
Sera reached over, rubbed Maggie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t hurt to have the nurse check your blood pressure. In fact, why don’t you get a complete physical while we’re there?”
“What?” Maggie squawked. “I have a cut on my foot, that’s all.”
“It wouldn’t hurt for all of us—” Sera sent a wide-eyed look toward Abby Ruth, who met it in the rearview mirror, “—to get a physical.”
“Wha—”
Sera’s elbow hit Abby Ruth in the shoulder. “Oops, sorry about that. Lost my balance around that curve in the road.”
Maggie peered out the windshield. They were driving straight down Main Street. Good Lord, was everyone conspiring against her in some way? Then again, it was nice having friends who cared enough to look out for her.
“You’re right.” Abby Ruth nodded so vigorously that her hair stuck up in back like a bird’s tail feathers. “Wouldn’t hurt for the doctor to give each of us the once over.” She flexed her biceps. “Gotta keep this fine machine in fighting shape.”
She was right. Maggie couldn’t afford to ignore her health either, not at her age. Besides, she’d made such progress over the past few months, dropping a handful of pounds, toning her muscles and shedding a little back fat. It would be a shame to backslide now just because of a little cut. “Well, I have to admit that I like the efficiency of it.”
Sera clapped her hands in a funky little rhythm. “Perfect. It’s all settled then.”
Abby Ruth pulled up in front of the clinic and parked her dually in two spots. At Maggie’s narrow
look, she said, “Hey, there are three of us. I could’ve taken one more parking spot if I’d wanted.”
This woman made the most convoluted, yet rational, arguments Maggie’d ever heard.
Sera hopped out and raced to open Maggie’s door to help her down. They almost made it to the clinic’s front door when out sashayed Angelina Broussard. Dang it to heck and back.
Maggie could all but hear Abby Ruth’s teeth grinding down to nubs so she slapped on her best customer service smile and beamed it toward Angelina. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Angelina’s over-plucked eyebrows rose. “Why wouldn’t I be here? After all, my husband—” she said the word as though she meant slave, “—does own this clinic.”
“Oh.” Sera fluttered her hands. “We just figured you’d be out and about doing historic preservation committee business.”
Maggie forced herself not to close her eyes and wince. One topic of conversation she did not want to stir up with Angelina was that committee and Summer Haven’s tenuous place on the register.
“Well,” Angelina drawled, “you’ll be very happy to know I’ve filled the third committee position.”
Oh, yay. “You don’t say.”
“The illustrious Hollis Dooley.”
Was she serious? By the self-satisfied smile on her face, it appeared she was. Hollis was less illustrious and more inert. Good Lord, they’d need to install an elevator for the man to arrive at Summer Haven’s second floor in time for next year’s inspection. “Interesting choice.”
Angelina’s back went straight and stiff. “He is a pillar of this community.”
Maggie imagined porcupine quills popping out all over Angelina’s body. The picture made a giggle tickle the back of Maggie’s throat, and she just couldn’t keep the sound contained so she tried to cover it with a fake cough.
“Why did you say you were at the clinic today?” Angelina skipped back until the door stopped her retreat.
“Oh—” Abby Ruth stepped forward until she was invading Angelina’s personal space, then pointed toward Maggie, “—we think she has mono.”
Fit to Be Tied Page 5
