CHAPTER TWENTY
LIBBY woke up with a crick in her neck and a crooked spine. Every muscle protested as she sat up in the bathtub. After all of Marcie's talk about killing people with a silencer on her pistol, Libby and Vivian decided it would be better for their health if they slept behind a locked door that night. Unfortunately, none of the bedroom doors had locks — only the bathroom did.
They had hauled in a pile of pillows and blankets when Marcie wasn't looking and tried to make themselves comfortable in the clawfoot bathtub.
It wasn't easy.
Vivian was still asleep when Libby crawled out of the tub and sat on the edge. She grabbed her phone off the edge of the sink. It was only five-thirty, but Libby didn't feel like trying to sleep any longer in the tub. The pain was too much.
Instead, she exited the bathroom and made sure to lock the door behind her for Vivian's sake. Next, she threw on a pair of jean shorts and a huge sweatshirt along with her black Converse. She didn't want to go on a run with how exhausted she was. It had been one of the longest nights of her life, and she needed some coffee.
She hurried into town and picked up four coffees at Jo's, then headed to the hardware store to play cribbage with Bob and Harvey. She gave each of them a coffee and drank two herself. She got skunked and had to pay up ten cents per point she lost.
This cribbage habit was starting to get expensive.
By the time she got back to the house, it was close to seven-thirty. Marcie was standing in the kitchen, staring out at the backyard, and Vivian was nowhere to be seen. Libby wasn't sure if she was still sleeping or if she was in hiding until Libby got back.
"There's an enormous anthill in the backyard, and Felicia is cowering in the corner," Marcie explained as Libby handed her a coffee she had picked up on the way back to the house.
Libby looked out the window. "You'd think something her size would simply smash the ants and move on."
"I don't blame her. I don't like those creepy crawly things. We'll have to get rid of it."
"Alright, do you want me to look up the exterminator's number?"
Marcie laughed. "What exterminator? The nearest exterminator is an hour away. We are the exterminators. Everyone around here takes care of their pest problems themselves. Helen had a mouse problem one year when she got yard chickens. She had to borrow the Berkshaw's cat. If there's a problem, people around here take care of it themselves. I once heard of someone with so much termite damage in their home it simply collapsed one day. I don't intend to let that anthill undermine the foundation."
Libby looked from Marcie to back out the window again. She wasn't sure what termite damage had to do with a single anthill, but she figured it was time to cut off Marcie's binge-watching the nature channel. Time to look up how to get rid of ants on the internet. Thank you, obscure bloggers who have pages dedicated to it.
"I'll help you get rid of them," Libby promised. "One minute, and I'll let you know what we need."
Marcie looked relieved that she wouldn't have to face the ants alone. "Sounds great. I'll run out to the garden shed and gather any tools we might need. Shovels and such."
"Okay, don't let Felicia catch you," Libby said, but she didn't glance at Marcie as she pulled out her phone to look up the best way to get rid of ants.
She discovered numerous homemade repellents to try. She wondered how much vinegar it would take to get rid of an entire anthill. If they bought a crate of essential oils, they might be able to keep the ants away from the house.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcie walking back from the garden shed, shovel in hand. She tapped the top of the anthill with the shovel.
Libby shook her head then looked up a new poison recipe. Who knew Borax could be so deadly? Since Libby didn't know what Borax was, she figured she'd better not use it. She glanced in the backyard, but Marcie had disappeared into the garden shed again.
She glanced out the back door to see Marcie was carrying a red can in her hand and was headed back to the mound.
Libby clicked on another recipe. Bleach. She knew they had some bleach under the kitchen sink. She turned back to her phone to read the directions. Bleach seemed the best route.
Marcie must have gone back into the garden shed, because Libby couldn't see her out there.
She put her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and opened the back door so she could tell Marcie about her poison discovery. She stopped short as she watched Marcie standing next to the small mound of dirt. She was leaning over and fiddling with something in her hands.
A small flame burst forth.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Libby yelled as she yanked open the back door.
Libby hadn't even made it halfway to her when the woman tossed the match and ran. The boom of the small fireball reverberated through Libby's body. It shook the ground with a tremor, and the heat billowed through the yard in a wave. In a panic, she looked around for Marcie.
Libby squeaked a sound of relief when she saw Marcie sitting on the far side of the garden shed with Felicia by her side. They both stared at the singed patch of grass with detached amusement.
Libby noticed Marcie still had her eyebrows. And when had that woman been able to move so fast? And why was Felicia standing there so nicely instead of attacking them like the maniac they all knew she was?
"I took care of the ant problem," Marcie said in a chipper voice.
"You also took care of the hair problem we had. We won't have to buy hairspray for several months, but we're going to run out of eyebrow pencil." Libby rubbed her eyebrows, trying to find out if there were any left.
Marcie waved her hand. "It wasn't that bad. Granted, I did get a little carried away with the gasoline. Maybe I shouldn't have used so much. But you have to admit it was more efficient to do it that way than to call an exterminator and wait several days before he got here. And those home remedies are usually better for prevention than cure."
Libby wished she could argue with the woman, but she couldn't.
Gasoline and matches were an unconventional way to deal with ants, but from the looks of the small crater in the ground, Marcie was right; it had been efficient. Libby wouldn't doubt if the woman emptied an entire five-gallon gas can onto the anthill before dropping a match.
"How did you get so far so fast?"
Marcie looked offended as she patted her round hips. "I'm not an invalid. I've still got a little speed in these bones." She sniffed and turned back to Felicia, who was strangely docile. "Maybe this bird is just a little scared of ants."
"Or she was scared you were going to blow her sky high."
Marcie waved her off. "Oh please, it was the quickest way. Now that they're gone, look at her. She's so calm standing here. She hasn't tried to kill me once."
"We could rent her to the exterminator as an ant-sniffing bird."
"If this bird can detect ants, I'm never getting rid of her."
"That's what I was afraid of," Libby groaned.
Marcie laughed, "You'll get used to her."
"I doubt it. I'd like Felicia a little more if she was in a zoo instead of the backyard."
They both headed back toward the house, laughing together.
Libby's phone started ringing. She pulled it out and saw Evan's name across the screen. He was trying to FaceTime her.
She swiped the screen. "Hey."
"Hey. I didn't text you early this morning."
"Thanks for that," Libby said as she used the screen to help her catch flyaway hairs and tuck them back into her ponytail. "Are you sitting in your car?"
"Yeah, I'm at the office, about to head inside for work. Just wanted to check in with you."
Libby combed furiously at her eyebrows that looked a little worse for the wear. She stepped into the living room and shut the door so Marcie couldn't hear. "It's your typical Wednesday morning here. Vivian and I slept in the bathtub, and then Marcie made a gasoline bomb. So you could say things are normal."
Evan snorted.
&
nbsp; "Don't you dare laugh. I almost lost my hair."
"That does sound serious. I like your hair. I might have been a little sad if you lost it."
"I guess we could have gone wig shopping. Do they make wigs for eyebrows? Because I think I'm missing a few." Libby zoomed the video in on her eyebrows.
"Wow. It's so close I could count them."
"Enough with the sass."
He smiled and used the camera to straighten his tie.
"Looking good, Evan. I don't think I've ever seen you wear a tie."
He raised his eyebrows. "You think so? You'll have to get the full effect next time I see you."
"I've never seen anyone wear a tie with shorts before."
"Now who's sassy?" He chuckled. "I've got to go; I'll call you later."
"Okay. Bye." Libby disconnected and stared at her phone.
She hadn't been lying. He looked good. There was just something about a guy in a tie that made him look even better. Libby glanced down at her t-shirt and shorts. She would probably never be accused of being a power dresser. Too bad she was going to have to buy some new outfits for her job. They'd probably frown upon an accountant that wore jean shorts to work.
Libby's thoughts were interrupted when she heard a pounding on the front door. She stepped into the hallway and closed the living room door.
The knocking continued.
"I'll get it," Libby called to Marcie as she opened the front door.
A young man wearing a fireman's uniform stood on the front porch. He had a grim look on his handsome face. That beautiful face seemed familiar, but Libby was too preoccupied with the uniform to place the face.
"Marcie! It's for you!" Libby decided she would make the lemonade, and Marcie could deal with the fireman who had no doubt seen the pillar of smoke that had emanated from the backyard.
She glanced him over. The blast hadn't singed him, so at least he didn't have a personal vendetta being there.
"Who is it?" Marcie called from the kitchen. "Invite them in!"
Libby opened her mouth but couldn't get any sound out. She felt guilty. She hadn't had anything to do with the explosion, but when faced with a person of some authority, she always felt guilty. She felt an inexplicable need to confess to things she hadn't done. She looked at the door and then at the man still standing there with a small smile on his face. She thought about slamming the door.
Before she had a chance to follow through with that thought, he stepped into the hall and brushed past her as if he had been there a million times. Libby trudged after him.
"Why, Dale, what are you doing back here?" Marcie exclaimed when the man walked into the kitchen.
Marcie held a lemon in each hand, but the tall man gave her a big hug anyway.
"Hi, Marcie."
"You're looking sharp in that uniform. How are you settling in?"
"Just fine, Marcie. Uncle Vince has shown me all the ropes and is just a phone call away. He's off on a retirement cruise right now with Aunt Patty — swears they're never getting off the ship."
"Why, that's wonderful. Those two deserve some time to themselves. Have you met my friend Libby? Libby, this is Dale, Brenna's brother. He went to high school here in Colter. He used to mow my yard for me."
Libby smiled and extended her hand toward him.
He grinned, flashing his dimples. "We've met. At Vince's retirement party. You were rolling by, if I remember right."
"Aha! You're the one who kept me from splitting my head against the wall. I didn't recognize you without the cape."
"The cape?"
"You know, your superhero cape?"
Dale chuckled, and Libby decided he had one of those nice natural laughs that didn't seem forced at all.
Right at that moment, Vivian stepped into the kitchen, her sleep mask still resting on her forehead, her giant t-shirt hiding her booty shorts, and her hair looking like it had met with a blender. Usually, she didn't appear until her hair and makeup were done entirely. It was a sure sign of a restless night spent in the bathtub. She looked around the room with a blank look. "I could have sworn the house was blowing up. It's crazy the stuff you dream, huh?"
Dale chewed the side of his cheek as he looked at Marcie.
Libby wanted to run from the room, but Marcie was laughing.
Maybe that meant he wasn't here for the Class C explosion, after all.
Vivian marched past Marcie and stopped in front of Dale as if she just now noticed him. "Who are you?"
His eyes roamed from her sleep mask down to her bare feet with purple painted toes. "Dale. Who are you?"
"Hm, okay. That makes sense. I'm Vivian." She looked him up and down so blatantly that Libby wanted to melt into the floor herself. She lived with a bunch of crazies. First, one of them tries to blow up the town, and then the next one is looking to get charged with sexual harassment of the city's fire chief. At least the interest seemed mutual.
Dale ignored Vivian and turned back to Marcie. "What was all that smoke coming from your backyard? I got a call from Monty saying, and I quote, ‘a bomb went off in the neighborhood.’ He wasn't exactly calm about that fact, either. Care to explain?"
Marcie snapped her fingers at Libby. "Add Monty to the list."
"I'm not adding Monty to the list."
"Marcie." Dale drew their attention back to him.
He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped a finger against his bicep. She had thought Brenna was tall, but her brother had her beat by several inches and about a hundred pounds.
Marcie waved him off. "I was taking care of a little ant problem we had. I simply got a little carried away."
Libby mumbled under her breath, "With a gas can."
Dale looked at Libby quickly. "What did she do to them?"
Libby's eyes widened, and she raised her hands like she didn't know.
"I simply poured a little gas on the anthill and lit a match. It seemed harmless enough."
His arms unfolded from his chest and moved to rest on his hips. "Show me."
"Nothing is on fire anymore," Marcie explained as she set the lemons down on the counter next to a bowl of sugar.
Dale let out an impatient huff. "Marcie, just show me where you set the ants on fire and I can be out of your way."
"Fine, but then we'll come back in and have lemonade. You can tell me all about the family and what you've been up to these last few years."
"Deal."
With that, Marcie led the way as they filed outside onto the back porch. Felicia peered over the side fence at the neighbors and didn't bother to look at them as they surrounded the used-to-be anthill.
Evan: Larson wants your address to send an invite to his wedding.
Libby: Tell him I've fled the country.
Evan: I hope you've picked somewhere lovely to visit.
Libby tried not to smile as she discreetly held her phone at waist height and snapped a picture of Dale's profile where he stood lecturing Marcie about the dangers of fire and gasoline mixed. She sent the picture of Dale.
Libby: I found some great scenery.
Libby smiled as she realized what a friend she was being. Friends texted friends about good-looking guys. Maybe she could salvage a piece of her and Evan's friendship by playing it cool. She just needed to keep lying to herself and saying she didn't want more with Evan.
Evan texted back the eye-roll emoji.
Evan: Another one bites the dust.
Libby: It's some good-looking dust.
Evan: Dale and his line of broken hearts. How's the resident murderer?
Libby: The victim list is getting longer, but she hasn't blown anything up for the last hour, so we're making progress.
Evan: Do you think she's getting frail? She was hacking up a lung last time she called me.
Libby debated how to answer him. There wasn't a good way to say, "Hey, I think your grandma needs your attention." Nobody likes to hear that they are neglecting their loved ones — no matter how true it is.
M
arcie was doing an excellent job of making Libby feel wanted, but Libby knew that she couldn't replace the love Marcie had for her grandson and the desire she had to see him and spend time with him. Marcie didn't seem forgetful in the slightest.
She texted him back.
Libby: She's been writing a lot. I think she's serious about this book. She's even staying home from bingo on Friday night to finish her rough draft.
Evan: You going to play in her place?
Libby: Nope, got a hot date.
Libby didn't hear back from him after that, so she put her phone away and tried to politely answer Dale's questions while pulling Vivian farther from him. She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally left with a stern warning about using gasoline, matches, and emus to create explosions.
Libby and Marcie pretended to be remorseful while Vivian claimed full innocence and helped Dale with the scolding.
"Hi, Grandma."
"She's making green stuff again.”
"Grandma.”
"She's making a spinach salad for lunch. Spinach, Evan." Marcie leaned back in her desk chair. She was upstairs in her office while Vivian and Libby made lunch. They told her she had a half an hour to do some writing before they ate.
"That does sound terrible, Grandma. I mean, it's pretty awful to live with someone who puts up with all your crazy and tries to help you stay healthy. I mean, it sounds like pure torture."
"Who taught you to use all that sarcasm?"
"You did."
Marcie chuckled. "Are you still coming down Friday? Libby has a date, you know."
Evan sighed. "Yes, I know. She told me. Who is it?"
"No one you know."
"She's going on a date with a stranger? Is this a blind date? Did she meet him online?"
"Calm down. Of course it's not a stranger. Do you know everyone in the world, Evan? Can't I know some people?" Marcie grabbed the papers from the printer and started straightening them.
"So you introduced them?"
"It's obvious no one else was going to ask her out," Marcie pointed out.
"Grandma, I'm getting around to it. I have a plan. I can't rush it."
"Well, sweetheart, you better rush it, because that girl is kind, pretty, and available. Other men aren't going to wait around ‘not rushing it.’"
The Perfect Plan Page 19
