“The kissing disease? At her age?”
“Now wait just one darn minute,” Maggie said. Was Angelina saying she was too old for a man to want to kiss her?
Abby Ruth’s expression closed down, went mean in a way that would make grown men wet themselves. Dang, as much as Maggie hated having Abby Ruth against her, she loved it when the woman was on her side.
“I think—” Abby Ruth’s voice was low and whiskey smooth. Oh Lordy, Maggie wanted to shout, “Run, Angelina, run!” but she kept her lips zipped, “—that you should never, ever underestimate an older woman, Ms. Broussard. We’ve experienced things you’ve only dreamed of. We have knowledge and resources, and we know where all the bodies are buried. Might’ve even buried a few ourselves.”
“I…I didn’t,” Angelina stuttered. “I just meant that seems an unlikely complaint.” She pointed toward the ground. “Besides, her foot is bleeding.”
“Because she just finished kicking some smart aleck’s ass.”
That had Angelina lifting her chin. “I don’t suppose you told your friends that you kidnapped my son?”
“What?” Sera yelped.
Good Lord, give me a break, Abby Ruth, would you?
Abby Ruth waved Sera back and advanced closer to Angelina. “This woman is touched in the head. I try to teach her kid how to hold a bat instead of striking out every time he’s up at the damned plate, and she thinks I’m some kind of bad guy. She should be thanking me.”
“That’ll be the day.” Angelina lifted her chin to meet Abby Ruth stare for stare.
Lord have mercy, they would never get in Angelina’s good graces this way. If the strained relationship only impacted Maggie, she’d be more than tempted to tell the woman to put her uppity self in a pipe and smoke it. But this wasn’t about her. It was about Lil.
Maggie hobbled forward enough to lay a hand on Angelina’s skinny forearm. “If you don’t want Abby Ruth teaching…ah…”
“Booger,” Angelina supplied.
Maggie glanced at Abby Ruth, who raised her brows as though to say And you think I’m in the wrong here? “If you don’t want Abby Ruth teaching Booger anything about baseball, I completely understand. Why don’t we just call it water under the bridge and move on? One little mistake doesn’t have to affect anything else.”
A smug smile crept across Angelina’s face. “Worried about how this might impact my assessment of Summer Haven?”
By the clench of Maggie’s own jaw, it was obvious both she and Abby Ruth would need major dental care after dealing with Angelina. “I don’t see why one should have anything to do with the other.”
Angelina hitched her sparkly silver-and-purple purse over her shoulder. “Well, in a small town, everything has to do with everything else.” Then she pranced toward the parking lot, her narrow little behind swaying in jeans decorated with more sparkles.
“I swear,” Abby Ruth said, “that woman just gave me a headache. In my ass.”
Maggie had one, too, but it was throbbing in her foot.
“I just don’t understand why she has to be so disagreeable,” Sera said. “I always heard people in the South were hospitable. Downright nice. She must be a transplant.”
Downright nasty was more along Angelina’s lines. “All I can tell you,” Maggie said, hobbling closer to the clinic’s door, “is that down here, we don’t hide our crazy. We parade it right down Main Street.”
“And sometimes even throw a big ole parade for it,” Abby Ruth added.
Sera reached past Maggie to push open the door. “Angelina would probably love a parade in her honor.”
The clinic’s lobby smelled of antiseptic, latex and cherry lollipops. Behind a sliding glass window sat the receptionist, her hair a bird’s nest secured with Bic pens and tooth-marked pencils. When Maggie printed her name on the sign-in sheet, the girl glanced up, panic clear in her gaze. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but this is a walk-in clinic, right?” And there wasn’t another darn name on the paper.
“Do you have an emergency?”
“Well…”
Abby Ruth elbowed around Maggie. “This woman darn near cut her foot off a half hour ago. She needs to see a doctor. Now.”
“Oh,” the receptionist said, “then you should probably take her to the emergency room.”
Maggie spotted the full manicure kit sitting in front of the girl. Not just polish but all those doodads and glittery-looking stuff. By the way the receptionist held her fingers arched up, it was clear that her nails were freshly painted and still wet.
“I don’t think so,” Maggie piped up. “Besides, my friends also need full physicals. Probably a few shots too.” She swept an arm around the waiting area. “Doesn’t look like you’re too busy to handle that.”
“Fine,” manicure girl huffed. “Take a seat.”
Maggie hurriedly scrawled Sera’s and Abby Ruth’s names on the list and tried not to think of all the time she was wasting today.
While they waited, Abby Ruth played with a children’s puzzle made of wooden beads and curving, intertwined wires. It took her a good ten minutes to maneuver all the beads to the left side of the thing. Maybe she wasn’t quite as smart or quick as Maggie thought. Maggie reached for the puzzle. Maybe she would just—
“Margaret Evelyn Stuart Rawls?” A nurse called from the doorway leading to the examination rooms.
Sera stood. “Want me to come with you, Maggie?”
“No, but thanks.” God knows, she didn’t want Sera to see her with her drawers down if she had to take that tetanus shot to the behind.
“Ladies,” the nurse said to Sera and Abby Ruth, “the doctor is running a little behind today, but the good news is October is Breast Health Month. All three of you are eligible for a free mammogram while you’re here. Our radiology tech can fit you right in.”
Such a lovely day, one where I get to bare both my behind and boobs. All thanks to that darned septic system.
Chapter 8
“We don’t need mammograms.” Abby Ruth told the nurse. She’d never been a fan of the breast press. Because hugging a big piece of cold metal while wearing nothing but your pants had to look ridiculous.
“Oh, no.” Maggie whirled around and jabbed a finger at her. “When’s the last time either of you had a mammogram?”
Both Abby Ruth and Sera were conspicuously silent.
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. So you will get one while we are here.” Maggie’s wicked grin hinted that her mood was on the mend. “Sera already insisted on physicals for all of us. Why not get the full meal deal?”
“No, thank you,” Abby Ruth said firmly.
“It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.” Maggie turned to the nurse. “Book them.”
Dang that girl was getting some cojones on her. Maybe Abby Ruth should schedule Maggie for one of those turn-your-head-and-cough exams.
“Excellent.” The nurse smiled as if she earned bonus miles for each set of boobs she recruited.
Abby Ruth shot a round of eyeball hollow points at Maggie. “Make that all three of us.”
Maggie shrugged and followed the nurse. “All you IBT girls whine about getting your boobs pinched. They can smush my girls all they want. It’s worth my peace of mind.”
Sera called after them, “IBT?”
“Itty-bitty-titty.”
Even the nurse was chuckling as she pulled the door closed behind Maggie.
Sera plopped into the chair beside Abby Ruth. “Maggie comes out with a zinger now and again.”
“Yeah, she’s a regular Jeff Foxworthy. But what’s all this about us all getting a physical?”
“I looked further into that dating site, and you have to submit a clean bill of health to register.”
“Seems like overkill if you ask me.” Abby Ruth flipped through a couple of magazines, but unfortunately Dr. Broussard didn’t stock Guns & Ammo in his waiting room. Finally, she tossed aside one with a cover promising to teach her how to ple
ase her man, in bed and out. She leaned close to Sera. “That vain little receptionist isn’t paying a bit of attention. Bet we can slip back to the doctor’s office and take a poke around.”
“What if the nurse comes back for us?”
“She’ll think we skipped out on our mammograms.”
“What do you think we’re going to find back there?”
“I don’t know. That’s the beauty of the whole thing. It’s like when you have an itch between your shoulder blades but you don’t know what’s causing it. You just have to keep hunting until you find something juicy. Something no one else has found.”
“Like taking your chances on Nordstrom’s sale rack, you mean?”
Abby Ruth drew back. She did like to look good, but mall shopping appealed to her about as much as taking a club to the back of the head. “Probably.” Another out-of-the-corner-of-her-eye glance at the nail-obsessed receptionist, and she confirmed the girl was no more watching them than she was filing all that paperwork piled up on her desk. “Let’s make a break for it.”
Before Abby Ruth could say another word, Sera was out of her chair, crouched over and doing a speed-duck-walk toward the door connecting the waiting room with the exam rooms. Dang, that girl’s getting good. Sera’s gauzy skirt flowed behind her like a bride’s train. Abby Ruth followed, a big grin stretching her facial muscles. She waved Sera to one side of the door. “When I open it, you check for anyone in the hallway.”
Abby Ruth yanked open the door a few inches, careful to stay behind it.
“We’re clear,” Sera whispered, slipping through the opening.
Abby Ruth followed, her heart pumping in a perfect hell-yeah rhythm. Was there a better way to spend an afternoon than snooping around where you didn’t belong? Well, maybe spending it in bed with the right man, but that wasn’t something she’d focused on since she moved to Summer Shoals. In fact, she’d had a mighty nostalgia for Jenny’s daddy lately. And she hadn’t been in touch with that man in thirty years.
“Abby Ruth,” Sera hissed from halfway down the hall, “what are you doing?”
Shoot, she was out in the open like a fat dove sitting on a telephone wire. Idiot, get your head in the game. She lowered herself to half-height, hunched over and galloped down the hall like some kind of lame horse. Smooth it wasn’t, but it got the job done.
Sera was crouched down with her back against a door and pointed to the sign above her head. Dr. Benjamin K. Broussard. “I think this is it.”
Yep, this gal was a keeper.
When she heard the rumble of a male voice from one of the nearby exam rooms, Abby Ruth gave a sharp nod. “Let’s go.”
This time, they barreled through the door and closed it quickly behind them with a quiet snick.
By the looks of the dark wood desk the length of a mid-sized car, the matching bookshelves, and the cozy grouping of hair-on-hide chairs, Dr. Broussard’s little clinic was banking.
“Should we hit the filing cabinets first?” Sera stage-whispered.
Abby Ruth found that most folks didn’t keep their most important secrets under lock and key. They were more likely to stuff them in their underwear drawer or conceal them in cereal boxes. Still, she said, “Sure, but they’re probably locked.”
As soon as Abby Ruth spit out the last word, one drawer slid open, and Sera turned to her with a sheepishly prideful grin. “Maggie’s been teaching me to pick locks.”
The gals Abby Ruth had started out thinking were a couple of duds a few months ago were turning out to be a damned good investigative posse. Maybe it was time to take inventory of all the skills they had at their disposal. If they were missing something critical, one of them could take a class at the Georgia Community College. Satellite classes were offered right here in Bartell County. Then again, when they’d needed those lock-picking skills in the past, Maggie’d gotten everything she needed to get the job done right off YouTube for free.
Abby Ruth headed toward the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves because people sometimes stashed goodies in their sleep-inducing nonfiction. She slid books in and out, revealing nothing behind or between. She avoided anything directly in her line of sight. Too obvious.
The sound of shuffling file folders accompanied Sera’s search through the doctor’s drawers. “I just found a file on Angelina’s medical history. Did you know she’s had a face lift, two tummy tucks, and gets Botox every third Thursday of the month?”
“Doubt seriously those bullet-point boobs are natural either. Don’t know if that’s scandalous enough to bribe her with, though.”
When the door suddenly swung open to reveal the nurse, Sera and Abby Ruth froze. “You’re not supposed to be back here,” the nurse protested.
Sera, with her head down and her hair hanging forward like droopy ears, looked guiltier than a mud-streaked hound at a poodle convention.
Abby Ruth walked right over to the woman and stood a couple inches too close. “My friend is so nervous about the mammogram. I was trying to find a cup of water and a quiet place to reassure her the process doesn’t hurt.”
The nurse relaxed and held a hand out to Sera. “You’ve never had a mammogram?”
Sera shot Abby Ruth a sideways glance. “No?”
Abby Ruth steamed forward to cover up Sera’s questionable answer. “You know these tree-hugger types. They never trust machines when they can do things on their own. She uses her breast self-checks as foreplay. Go figure.”
The nurse reddened, a sure sign Abby Ruth had successfully changed the subject.
“Who’s going first?” the nurse asked.
Sera whirled and pointed at Abby Ruth. “She is!”
Abby Ruth grabbed Sera’s arm and strode forward. “We’ll go together.”
They followed the nurse down the stark white hall and into a compact room. “Sorry, but we’re a small clinic and only have one dressing room. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Sera answered.
“You’ll strip to the waist, then slip on the gown. Open in the front.” She picked one up and demonstrated, slipping it on over her scrubs. “After you’ve changed, the radiology technician will be right with you.”
Once the nurse left, Sera held the paper gown up to her chest. “Seriously? Why bother?”
Abby Ruth turned her back to Sera and stripped out of her shirt and bra, then pulled on the paper gown, tying it like her favorite Wrangler shirt at the bottom to hold it together.
Sera pushed her arms up through the draped neckline of her sweater as if she was executing a swan dive, then let the fabric land to rest at her hips. She wrestled with the paper for a second, finally slinging the make-do gown over her shoulders like a cape. “You couldn’t smuggle anything in these outfits.”
A quick knock on the door and the radiology tech ambled through the door. “Oh, there are two of you. We normally do this one at a time.”
“We’re sisters. We do everything together.” Sera waltzed through the door and across the hall.
Whatever. Wasn’t as if Sera hadn’t already flashed Abby Ruth. So she and the tech followed.
“We’ll go in alphabetical order.” The tech consulted her computer screen. “Okay, Mrs. Cady, you’re up first.”
“Ms.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s Ms. It’s never been Mrs.”
“Well, step over here, Ms. Cady, and we’ll get you set up.” The woman guided Abby Ruth to the huge shiny machine. “You’ve had this done before, right?”
“Several times.”
“Great, makes it much easier for me.” The tech led Abby Ruth through a follow-the-leader game of up, back, down and scooch. Then positioned her with one arm in the air and pushed her shoulder back.
She stepped behind the barrier and studied Abby Ruth as if she were a piece of experimental art. “Lean toward me.”
Abby Ruth craned her neck to look at Sera, waiting on the opposite side of the glass wall separating the machine and the tech’s computer station, and said to he
r, “This ought to be a cake-walk for you. I think I’ve seen you in this pose before.”
The tech tugged Abby Ruth forward a little more. “This will be slightly uncomfortable.”
“Bring it on.”
She ruthlessly cranked the upper tray into place, and a screech clawed its way out of Abby Ruth’s throat. “Lord Jesus, this thing is like ice! My girls in Texas always put a heating pad on this sucker.”
“Great idea,” the tech said. “Never thought of warming it up.”
“Clearly. Careful now. Cold as that metal is, I could poke an eye out.”
Sera snickered. “At least you’ll warm it up for me.”
“You’re welcome,” Abby Ruth said.
The tech zipped behind the half-wall to press the magic boob portrait button. “Don’t move.”
“Like I can,” Abby Ruth complained.
“Hold your breath. Good. Now, other side.” When she returned, the tech released the tray.
Abby Ruth glanced down at her left breast, sure it would be the thickness of a stingy flapjack.
The tech spun Abby Ruth around, then arranged her like she might a Barbie doll. One arm here, one arm there, back arched, one foot pointed, one foot flat. “Hmm. Can you tippy-toe a little? Yes. Perfect.”
Abby Ruth was a holding a position that defied all gravity while the tech wedged her tiny breast between the two plates. “Suckers look big when you squish ’em all out like that.”
Sera patted her bare chest. “I’m not even sure I have enough to fill a mammogram sandwich.”
“Hold your breath,” the tech told Abby Ruth and hustled back to her place next to Sera. “Hold it.” She pressed the clicker. “Good.”
She didn’t rush back, however. Instead, she hovered over her computer clicking her mouse. “Let me take a quick look at these pictures to make sure I have what we need.”
“Nothing like hanging by a nipple to put you in a mood,” Abby Ruth said, her tone sour.
“Maybe I don’t really need to get one done,” Sera said. “I’m not as old—”
“Oh no,” Abby Ruth cut her off. “We’re all getting one.”
Fit to Be Tied Page 6
