Rules of Lying (Jane Dough Series)

by Stephie Smith

  Or Jane, you aren’t going to keep eating like a pig when you have a butt like that, are you?

  “I don’t know how you can joke at a time like this. Mother is so upset,” Nicole said, striding back to the foyer. “She’s afraid to step outside for fear of running into a reporter.”

  “I’d believe that except she’s the one who’s always telling the reporters the embarrassing things about me,” I said. “No one would have bothered taking my picture if I hadn’t already been in the news, thanks to Mom. And I wouldn’t have had to jump out the window at all if everyone hadn’t recognized my name.”

  “You know she can’t help it. A reporter started asking all those questions, and you know what happens when Mom gets flustered.”

  I certainly did. Whenever Mom’s under stress, she exhibits Tourette’s syndrome without the cussing. No one has a clue what might come out of her mouth, not even Mom. But I didn’t think she should get away with that for an excuse. Considering that her mantra was “What isn’t changed is chosen,” it didn’t seem fair to give her a free ride for life.

  “And, Jane, please put some other toilet paper in your bathroom. If I hadn’t had tissues with me, I would have had to drip dry. Mom bought that cheap toilet paper with the lotion that you have in there, and it took us two weeks to get over the horrible blistery rash it caused.”

  Hmmm, I thought as I watched Nicole march to her car. Two weeks, eh? Not a worthless visit after all.

  *****

  I secured my hair in a ponytail and slathered sunscreen on my face, neck, and arms. I swiped on some mascara and added a touch of lipstick. I wouldn’t ordinarily wear make-up when working in the yard, but there was the possibility that Hank Tyler might stroll by. Not that I was looking to boink another one of my neighbors. The situation with Alberto would be a thorn in my side until one of us moved, though I couldn’t blame myself since he hadn’t been a neighbor when he asked me out.

  I had just finished pulling on shorts and a tank top when the doorbell rang.

  I slid my feet into flip-flops and eyed my visitor through the peephole. He had “husband applicant” written all over him. I really hadn’t expected anyone to show up without calling, but then, maybe he had called. Maybe he was one of the guys I’d put off with that yarn about the appointments being taken. I’d have to run that yarn by this guy again. But wait a minute …

  What had Sue said? That one of the guys might be perfect for me?

  If so, I doubted it would be this guy. On first peep he didn’t look my type. He was short with pale skin and scraggly white-blond hair. He was a bit over average build in his worn jeans, tight T-shirt, and sneakers. That bit extra didn’t look like muscle; it looked like too much pasta and beer.

  I was tempted to pretend I wasn’t home, but I thought again of Sue, so I opened the door. The guy introduced himself to my breasts. Since I hadn’t taught them how to speak, the conversation went downhill from there.

  He was just exiting the courtyard when a second guy bounded up the walk. This one was a hundred and eighty degrees from applicant number one. He was tall, tanned, and wearing nice jeans, a company shirt, boots, and a hard hat. He had dark blue eyes and when he removed his hat, his hair was thick, short, and golden brown. I tried to imagine myself married to him. It wasn’t completely off the radar. Maybe Sue was right.

  He didn’t spare my breasts a glance. Instead, his gaze went straight to the wall behind me. “Nice crown moulding,” he said, scribbling something on his clipboard. “How new are those wood floors?”

  He was eager to see my property, so I spent the next twenty minutes trying to explain what I wanted to do with my land while he kept interrupting me with questions about the age of the sprinkler system, the exterior paint, and the roof. He seemed interested in the age of everything except me; in fact, he didn’t appear to be interested in me at all. If I went into the house and sent out a zombie in my place, he’d never even notice.

  “Are you game for helping me turn this land into what I’ve described?” I asked just for the hell of it when we arrived back at my front door.

  He blinked and looked around, as though seeing the property for the first time. “It’ll take me about a week to level all this. Then we can sell and get our money out of it.”

  Jeez. Typical man. He hadn’t listened to a word. I shook my head and walked into the house. When I checked the window a couple of minutes later, he was still standing out there, wearing a puzzled look.

  Prospect number three showed up as number two pulled out, and I was pretty sure he was homeless, mainly because he was on foot, his clothing was ragged, and he compared everything to food. The stucco reminded him of the fried okra his mother used to make, the red clematis climbing the courtyard wall could have been juicy tomatoes on the vine, and the color of the warm oak floor that he could see from the doorway brought back memories of toasted marshmallows. I fixed him a ham sandwich, which he inhaled, so I fixed him another, which he hid inside his shirt when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  He was genuinely distressed when I turned him down with the lie that I’d already found someone for the job. I felt bad as I watched him shuffle down the drive, so I ran after him, brandishing the few dollars of cash I had. After telling him that if he ever needed anything—and really, I meant food—he could stop by, I trudged back toward my house.

  *****

  “Don’t tell me you’re payin’ men to interview,” came Hank Tyler’s drawl from behind me.

  The heat of a blush crawled up my neck as I swung around to face him. He had shaved off his beard, leaving a smooth, square jaw in its place. The corners of his mouth twitched, and his eyes were lit up with a softness that told me he knew exactly what had transpired.

  “That’ll fetch him some dinner,” he added.

  “I hope so. I hope he won’t end up drinking it.”

  “No luck so far?”

  I shook my head. “A jerk, a jerk, and a frail, homeless guy.” For the briefest moment I had the urge to tell Hank the truth, that I hadn’t run an ad, that I’d only put the sign in my yard to piss off my family and now was stuck pretending to interview strangers. There was something about his eyes that made me want to trust him. But trusting some guy I’d met only two days earlier would be insane, and like I was constantly trying to convince my mother, I wasn’t.

  “Did you see the truck the other guy was drivin’?” Hank asked. “Davis Demolition. I’ll bet he was more interested in tearin’ the place down than fixin’ it up.”

  “You’d bet right. I told him all my hopes and dreams for this place … he might as well have been wearing ear plugs.”

  Hank lifted his cowboy hat and ran his hand over his head. His scalp was suspiciously darker than the last time I saw him. I was pretty sure he wasn’t bald after all.

  His gaze swept over my property, and I followed it, trying to guess what he saw. My property consisted of four of the original half-acre lots, sitting side by side. The only other lot on my side of the street was at the other end and it was vacant, without even a house. It had been cleared, though, a few months earlier, except for several large healthy oaks and a small pine grove. The new owner, whom I’d never met, kept the grass mowed and edged. The effect was a yard that was a little too tidy to be natural, but appeared serene nonetheless.

  My property was another story. My house sat in the middle of my first and second lots. This was nice for me since my front door didn’t face either Sheila’s house or Alberto’s but looked out instead at the privacy fence that ran between their properties. Running the length of their fence was a neatly landscaped and mulched area that extended out about fifteen feet. The landscaped area was bordered in the back by tall orange-red firecracker plants and in the front by low-creeping blue-green juniper, and filled in with flowering shrubs and tufts of lilies in shades of purplish blue and golden yellow. Red azalea peeked through in the spring, and pansies would pop out in the fall. I adored the view from my house.

  I doubted She
ila and Alberto felt the same. My yard was a disaster. An assortment of weeds had replaced what had no doubt been shrubbery around the house. The weeds had grown so profusely, they’d ended up choking each other to death and now stood lifeless and brown against the stucco walls. On the plus side, the house was fawn-colored; I wasn’t crazy about the color—I planned to repaint a pretty yellow or creamy white—but at least the weeds blended into the walls. On the minus side, nobody driving by would waste much time looking at the house when there was a wild tropical jungle around it to gaze upon instead. Or maybe that was another plus.

  The plethora of plants was only part of the problem with my property though. The ground in the third lot was too low, and rain collected among the weeds. An army of mosquitoes swarmed there and now, in the middle of summer, it stank something fierce, no doubt from the thickening plant growth that turned the area into a swamp. Scrub brush surrounded the water. It would be a nightmare to clean up.

  And then there were the structures—two pergolas, three walking bridges, a gazebo, and several roofed benches had rotted beyond use. In some cases, the only things holding the structures together were the thick vines that covered them.

  Still, I loved every inch of my property because I could see the possibilities—if I ignored the swamp. The swamp I could have done without.

  I wondered if Hank saw the possibilities or if he only saw the mess. I got my answer when he pulled his gaze away from the scenery to fix it on me, his eyes dark with emotion.

  “That’s a beautiful magnolia tree,” he said, nodding in the direction of the healthy tree that boasted flowers the size of my hand. “And that pine grove running along the back of your property is peaceful looking. You got a lot of great trees and shrubs here. I like your property, so tell me. Tell me your hopes and dreams for this place. I’ll listen.”

  He was more than willing to listen. The problem was, I hadn’t much to say. Even after all that big talk about hopes and dreams, and not counting the bullshit I’d told applicant number two, I really had no idea what to do. I’d spent my time learning about home repairs and restoration so I could turn the inside into a home. I knew nothing about landscaping and nature. Sure, I knew I wanted trellises with flowers and I knew I wanted to do good things for wildlife, but my ideas were disappointingly vague.

  But a magical thing happened. Just having someone to really talk to about it, someone who listened and asked questions and offered suggestions, helped me figure it out. I didn’t even care that I’d forgotten to put on boots and a hat, that as we wended our way from one end of the property to the other, swamp muck oozed over my flip-flops, my hair fell half out of its ponytail, and Florida beggarweed seized the opportunity to deposit hundreds of sticky brown pods on my tank top and shorts.

  I didn’t care.

  During the thirty minutes I spent with Hank, I realized I wanted to naturescape rather than landscape, picking the right features for the right areas, keeping most of it natural for wildlife. As long as it was done properly, the homeowners’ association couldn’t complain. The hard part would be clearing out what I didn’t want to keep. It would be a backbreaking, dirty, and dangerous job. And that was if the wildlife left me alone.

  “You know,” Hank said as we circled back around to the front of my house, “I could help you out until you find your prospective husband. I’ve been reading up on Florida naturescaping; maybe I can put some of my reading to practical use. Besides, I’m gettin’ out of shape, so this’d be good for me.”

  I wasn’t fooled for a minute. There was nothing wrong with his shape and had there been, he didn’t need to slave away in ninety-eight degree heat to fix it. I smiled into his warm brown eyes, wondering what I’d done to be blessed with Hank coming into my life.

  “You don’t need to worry that I’ll say no,” I told him. “What kind of neighbor would I be if I kept you from staying in shape?”

  He barked out a laugh, settled his hat on his head, and said, “Later.”

  Chapter 6

  I had only been inside long enough to wash my hands when the doorbell rang. I took inventory of my appearance, grimacing at the sight of my grimy self, and then squinted out the peephole.

  Mr. Carlson, the president of the homeowners’ association and also of a local bank, stood on the stoop. Even though he couldn’t have been forty, I could only think of him as Mr. Carlson. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know his first name. That was okay because I’d never dare use it if I did.

  It was a scorching day, and he was wearing a dark suit and tie, white shirt, and shiny black shoes. His thinning salt and pepper hair was parted on the side and gelled into place. He had unremarkable features unless you counted his black button eyes and lack of a chin.

  For the second time that day, I considered pretending I wasn’t home. For one thing, it was just plain rude of Carlson to show up unannounced. He had my phone number; it wouldn’t have hurt him to use it. For another thing, the registered letter telling me I had ninety days to clean up my property or else be fined a humungous amount of money had only been delivered two weeks earlier, along with an offer from the homeowners’ association to buy me out. There was no reason for Carlson to be here now except to pressure me into selling. Perhaps the board thought I would always be trouble for them, so they might as well get rid of me now and spare themselves future aggravation.

  They were probably right. I hadn’t paid any attention to that contract clause about maintaining my two acres in a manner consistent with the rest of the neighborhood until they forced me to. There were probably other clauses I wasn’t paying attention to as well. Only time would tell.

  But the bottom line was that I would not be moving, though they offered a fair price.

  Buoyed by my determination, I wrenched open the door.

  “Mr. Carlson, so nice to see you again. To what do I owe this pleasure?” I smiled sweetly without opening the door too wide. He clearly wanted to step in out of the sun. I clearly wasn’t going to let him.

  He gave me a disdainful sweeping glance from head to foot. I gave him one back.

  “Jane, the association has asked me to stop by with this very generous offer to see if you will reconsider. You have to admit, we’ve been more than accommodating. We could have fined you long ago; you’ve lived here for nine months and done nothing about your yard. But now … the entire neighborhood is upset over your humiliating search for a husband, and they’ve been complaining in droves about the sign, the yard, everything. Otherwise, I’m certain this outrageous amount would not have been agreed upon.”

  He unfolded a piece of paper and pointed at the amount. I opened the door wider and leaned over to take a look.

  I was surprised, but I didn’t show it. They had upped the offer by fifty thousand dollars.

  “Who?” I asked.

  Mr. Carlson frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Who are the neighbors upset by my humiliating search for a husband? Which ones? I want names.”

  Mr. Carlson cleared his throat as his gaze skittered away from mine. “You certainly can’t expect me to betray confidences.”

  “I certainly can. Tell me the names of the neighbors who have complained, right now while you’re standing here and not after you’ve left and gone around to dredge some up.”

  He drew back in affront and his chin disappeared into his neck. “How dare you,” he said, glaring at me as though I’d called him a pig or worse. But I guess I was calling him worse. I was calling him a liar.

  “See here, Jane, you’re going to lose this property, and we’re trying to give you a way out. A more than fair way out, I might add. In less than ten weeks, you’ll have to pay us ten percent of your property value as a fine, and no one will give you a way out then. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I understand perfectly. And I’m telling you my property will be consistent with the rest of the neighborhood in ten weeks. Wasn’t that the term? Consistent?”

  Mr. Carlson’s beady eyes bu
gged out and he sputtered for words. “Well … you … Don’t think you can get all your neighbors to let their properties go wild too. That is not what the clause means!”

  Actually, I hadn’t thought of that. I wish I had, though it wouldn’t have mattered. Alberto would have insisted on an exchange of favors if I asked him to let his lot grow wild. Nothing could be worth that.

  “I have no intention of doing such an underhanded thing. I’m going to clean up the place. If I don’t get a prospective husband to help me, my new neighbor, Mr. Tyler, has offered to stand in. And he has a friend who owns a land clearing company. So there!”

  Mr. Carlson looked shocked, but no more than I must have. I hadn’t known I was going to lie until the words were out of my mouth.

  I told myself it was okay to lie because my lie lent credence to something I knew was true, and I probably wouldn’t be able to convince Carlson of that truth otherwise. That was one of the rules of lying. I knew I would get my yard in shape one way or another, and this little lie would convince Mr. Carlson of that too. So he wouldn’t worry. Hmmm. Maybe I could even add rule number one to this and say it was for his own good. Except he wasn’t looking very good.

  His red face turned purple and just as I panicked, thinking he might be having some kind of attack, I saw a movement behind him and caught a flash of gray and white. Little Boy.

  Little Boy was the name I’d given the stray cat. I’d spied him in the woods once when he was a kitten, but hadn’t been able to get within thirty feet of him. The next time I saw him was a few months later, and he had grown long but hadn’t filled out. I put a bowl of dry cat food out for him twice a day, and he started sneaking up to eat it. I was working my way up to catching him so I could get him neutered. He seemed to know what I was doing and stayed just out of reach.