by Ann DeFee
Liza shrugged but didn’t say a word. Kenni wasn’t as restrained. “You two are as stubborn as a couple of mules. It’s way past time for this to be over. So anything we do is better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs.” Kenni slapped her hands together as if it was a fait accompli.
“Gee, thanks.” Maizie knew she was stubborn but she didn’t appreciate other people pointing it out. “Since when are you a philosopher?”
“I’m right and you know it,” Kenni retorted. “Humor is the solution to this standoff.”
When that girl was right, she was right. “Laughter has held our marriage together for years, so why go against a good thing?”
Chapter Eighteen
In the history of bad days, this one had been the worst. Clay and Harvey were heading back to their respective cars following a particularly harrowing meeting with their nemesis—the Department of Transportation planner.
When he and Harvey had bid on the engineering contract for a state highway interchange, they’d realized it would stretch their capabilities. But it had been too great an opportunity to pass up. Now halfway through the process the partners realized they’d made a gargantuan mistake.
There was one snafu after another. Clay should have recognized they were on shaky ground when he discovered they’d drawn the project manager from hell. In private, they called him a “banana”—an acronym for Build Absolutely Nothing Anywhere Near Anything. It was ironic considering his job was to facilitate the construction of highway projects.
His stringent demands were impossible to meet. Add to that an ill-timed spate of weather—an ice storm, torrential rains and a tornado—numerous delays in acquiring building materials, and it was impossible for the contractor to make the deadlines. And when the state started imposing penalties for noncompliance, it became painfully apparent that they were all going to be sucked into financial quicksand.
Harvey hit his remote locks. “What do you think will happen?”
Clay shook his head. Coming up with a solution would take a miracle.
“As long as we have that project manager, we’re at an impasse. The fact is he doesn’t want the interchange built and he plans to put up roadblocks at every turn.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.” Harvey opened his car door. “How long do you think we have before we go under?”
“Six months or so.” Clay unlocked his truck. “If we’re lucky.” Normally he was an optimist, but the way this situation was circling the drain, he wasn’t holding out much hope.
“Let’s meet tomorrow to see if we can come up with a way out of this mess.”
“Sure, I’ll be at the office around eight.” Clay wasn’t confident the situation was retrievable, but he was willing to try almost anything.
“I’d better get home. Sarah probably has dinner ready. I’ll be in trouble if I’m not there to eat it.”
Clay felt a stab of envy. His partner had a wife at home. What did he have to look forward to, other than bumming a meal off his in-laws? Eleanor hadn’t said she was tired of feeding him, but he couldn’t live off their charity forever.
With that depressing thought in mind, Clay stopped by the local drive-through to fill up on an artery-clogging meal of hamburger and fries. If he kept this up much longer his nickname was going to be Tubby.
Clay briefly considered driving through his neighborhood to catch a glimpse of Maizie. He loved her beyond reason. Nevertheless, he couldn’t get past the fact that she’d tossed him out. Even worse, she’d kicked him when he was down. What had happened to their “till death” pledge?
Clay trudged up the stairs to the Wester fields’ apartment knowing a cold beer and an empty bed was all that awaited him. A married man shouldn’t be living like this. But what could he do to change it? Pride was terribly destructive. In this case Clay wasn’t sure whether it was pride or hurt feelings that kept him from accepting Maizie’s overtures.
He was pondering that situation, and flipping through the channels looking for something mindless to watch, when he heard a noise outside. Clay hit the Mute button. There was that sound again. It sounded like a cross between an out-of-tune banjo and a cat fight.
When Clay went out on the porch, he almost busted a gut laughing. What he’d thought was an amorous Tom cat was actually a woman in full cowgirl regalia belting out a song, accompanied by a karaoke boom box.
It took him a couple of seconds to realize she was singing Brenda Lee’s “I’m Sorry.” She was well into the second chorus of “so sorry, please accept my apology” before Clay managed to control his hilarity.
When he did, he leaned over the banister and bellowed, “Maizie Walker, get yourself out here. I want to talk to you.”
“OH, MAN. I AM SO BUSTED.” Hiding behind Mama’s kitchen curtains, Maizie looked to her co-conspirators for moral support. Should she show her face?
“Go speak to him.” Liza pushed her twin out the door, not giving her a chance to protest.
Maizie was about to make a U-turn when she heard the distinctive click of the dead bolt. Her sister had locked her out. With relatives like that, who needed enemies?
“What do you want?” She had to yell to be heard over the music. Good Lord, the entire neighborhood was being serenaded.
“What?” Clay put a hand to his ear, pantomiming that he couldn’t hear her.
“What do—Oh, shoot.” Maizie stomped over to “Brenda” and snapped off the boom box. “Thanks a million, Roxy. That was great.” Sometimes a white lie was better than the truth. “Win has said such nice things about you.”
The singer broke into a huge grin. “Mr. Whittaker is the greatest. He got me out of a mess of trouble, so I was glad to help.”
Throughout this exchange Maizie could feel Clay staring at her. Too bad, manners came before settling a score, or fixing a fight, or whatever.
“Would you like help loading your equipment?”
“No, thanks, Ms. Walker. I keep my trusty karaoke machine in my car, so I’m used to lugging it around. No telling when someone might want you to break into song.”
Maizie could honestly say that no one had ever asked her to sing.
Roxy stowed her microphone in her trunk and waved to Clay. “Hope you liked that, Mr. Walker. Have a great evening, now ya hear.”
She gave Maizie a wink before climbing into her car and pulling away.
Ooh-kay. Maizie felt like a minnow in a shark pool, what with Clay stomping down the stairs and all. Why was he frowning? Didn’t he appreciate the song?
“Mary Stuart, what is this all about?” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Roxy’s retreat.
“Uh.” Maizie didn’t know exactly what to say. She was hesitant to admit she was too chicken to talk to her own husband and had hired someone to do it for her. “I thought you might like some music?” She phrased her answer in the form of a question.
Clay gave her a long look before turning on his heel and walking back upstairs.
CLAY GRABBED ANOTHER BEER before plunking in front of the TV, finally letting out the chuckles he’d so carefully hidden from Maizie. How about that? Maizie had hired a Brenda Lee wannabe. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d come up with next.
They’d both said a ton of things they didn’t mean, but Clay was fairly confident they’d eventually reconcile. If Maizie was willing to make this big a fool of herself, she must still love him. Now it was time for him to show her he loved her, too.
Chapter Nineteen
Liza drove Maizie home following the ear-splitting serenade. “What did Clay say to you?”
“He asked what I thought I was doing.”
Liza shot her a glance. “Is that all?”
“I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think he was chuckling when he went upstairs.” Maizie was searching for something positive. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s wonderful.”
“I hope so. What do you suggest I do next?”
Liza squinted the way she always did whe
n she concentrated. “Let’s wait a couple of days and then hit him again. We need something dramatic, something that’ll knock his socks off.”
“Do you have anything specific in mind?” Maizie wasn’t convinced theatrics were the key, and that was unusual, given her proclivity for being over the top.
Liza pulled into Maizie’s driveway and cut the engine. “Let me think about it.” She leaned over the console and patted her sister’s knee. “Don’t worry, Clay will come around, you wait and see.”
Maizie tried to stay optimistic. Things were looking up—sort of. “Sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Good. I have meetings all morning but I’ll be in the office in the afternoon.” Liza looked in the rearview mirror and chewed her lip.
“Do you know who owns that car, the silver one parked down there?” She nodded toward the vehicle in question.
Maizie turned to see what Liza was talking about. “No. Why?”
“I’ve seen it in various places on your street and that’s kind of weird. Most people park in front of their house if they don’t have space in their driveway.”
“Have you noticed anyone sitting in it?” Could it be a police stakeout? She couldn’t think of anyone suspicious in her neighborhood, but these days you just never knew.
“The windows are tinted so you can’t see squat.”
Maize stuck her head out the window trying to get a better view. “What do you think that’s all about?”
“Beats me. It’s probably nothing.” Liza flipped the ignition and turned on her lights. “I’ll wait until you’re in the house.”
“Thanks.” Maizie unfolded her long legs from Liza’s sports car. Normally she loved being tall, but there were certain limitations.
Maizie waved to her sister as she unlocked her front door, then watched Liza’s car go around the corner before she took a good look at the car in question. It was unobtrusive and boring enough to be an undercover cop car—silver, tinted windows—nothing fancy or memorable. Or maybe someone in the neighborhood was having a fling and wanted to keep it quiet. Stranger things had happened.
Maizie wandered inside wondering what to do until it was time for bed. Being single was the pits. She could watch television—no, her tolerance for reality shows was waning. She could take a bubble bath—hmm, that had possibilities. She could snack—whoa, stop right there. Her hips could not take another Snickers binge.
Her favorite time of the day used to be when she and Clay would sit on the porch swing and talk. Now she was reduced to talking to herself. And to be perfectly blunt, her own conversation wasn’t all that scintillating.
Chocolate. She needed some chocolate, and pretty darned quick. Maizie could almost hear the Häagen-Dazs mint chocolate-chip ice cream calling her name—to heck with her hips. She’d worry about it tomorrow.
Maizie rummaged through the freezer until she found a pint that wasn’t crystallized. This was her lucky day. That thought lasted until the phone rang.
“Hey, Maizie, this is Carol Templeton, your neighbor.” Carol had lived next door for almost fifteen years and she introduced herself every time she called. Did she really think Maizie would forget her?
“Hi, Carol, what’s up?” She slipped a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth delighting in the texture and taste.
“Tim and I were wondering if you have a guest.”
“No, why?” Carol was Laverne Hightower’s protégé. Please God say she hadn’t noticed Clay’s absence. The chances of that were slim—the woman had eagle eyes and the nose of a bloodhound.
“Lately we’ve noticed a strange car driving up and down the street. It was parked near the Thompsons and now it’s sitting in front of your house,” she answered before yelling at the dog to get off the sofa.
“In front of my house?” Maizie asked. “That’s creepy.”
“That’s what we thought. It’s some sort of silver subcompact. Have you seen it?”
“Liza mentioned it tonight.” Maizie’s brain was racing a mile a minute.
Their neighborhood was usually peaceful—the only time they’d had trouble was when the Barker twins went wild with a roll of toilet paper.
“Don’t go out there!” For a second Maizie was confused, then she realized Carol was talking to her husband.
“Gotta go.” Her neighbor disconnected without bothering with the niceties.
Curiosity and Maizie had been good friends a long time, so of course she went out to see what was happening. She wasn’t being nosy, no way; she was simply doing her neighborly duty.
Tim was stalking across her lawn toward the vehicle and Carol was right behind him. Maizie got ready to duck—just in case someone decided to pull a gun.
Fortunately it didn’t get that far. The driver of the car saw Tim coming and threw it in Reverse so fast he hit the fire hydrant, knocking it over. The pulsating geyser sprayed water all over the neighborhood.
The perp popped the car into Drive, hit the gas and sped away before anyone could jot down a license number. The way he skidded and screeched out of the neighborhood would have made Smokey and the Bandit proud.
“What do you think that was all about?” Maizie had to yell to be heard over the sound of gushing water.
“I don’t know,” Tim answered. “But I think it’s time for a meeting of our neighborhood watch. Hey, guys.” He whistled to get the attention of the small band of people who had emerged from their houses to investigate the commotion. “Let’s meet at our house tomorrow around seven to discuss this. We’ll get someone from the sheriff’s office to join us. Maizie, would you call your brother-in-law?”
“Certainly.” Personally she thought a meeting was overkill, but right now she’d do anything to keep the peace. The whole incident was probably nothing more than a horny high school kid trying to get a girl’s attention.
Ah, the nostalgia. Way back when, Maizie was in junior high, she’d had an “admirer” who’d lingered on her street for hours. Every time she went outside he’d scurry over to ask her for a date. That was before Daddy threatened him within an inch of his life.
Those were the days—thin thighs and a bevy of beaus.
Chapter Twenty
The flow of customers at the Boudoir didn’t let up until late the following afternoon. If they’d been buyers that would have been great, but Maizie suspected they were browsers and curiosity hounds. A few were interested in the car hitting the hydrant, but since there were so few specifics about that, Maizie knew most were being drawn in by something even more spectacular.
It wasn’t until nearly closing time that her suspicion was confirmed. Everyone in town had heard about Brenda Lee.
“You know about the serenade, don’t you, PJ?” Maizie didn’t really want to hear the answer, but she couldn’t help herself.
Her friend responded with a giggle. Traitor.
“I’m so embarrassed.” Maizie slapped her hands on the top of her head. “The people who came in today wanted to gawk, didn’t they?”
“Probably.” If possible, PJ’s grin got even wider. “But think about it. You girls are becoming a legend. People can’t wait to see what you’ll do next. I think it’s way cool.”
“You do?” Maizie couldn’t imagine why making a fool of one’s self would be considered cool, but different strokes and all that rot.
Before PJ could answer, the bell on the door tinkled announcing another customer—hopefully a paying one this time.
No such luck. The queen of all window shoppers would be better than the person who strolled in.
“Oh, boy. Color me gone,” PJ muttered, quickly retreating to the back room
Maizie was left to face Cora Lee Tillington, society editor for the Magnolia Bluffs Gazette. Cora was the same generation as Mama and Daddy and she knew everyone in town—except maybe the folks out in the trailer park, but even that wasn’t a sure bet.
What was it they said about soothing the savage breast? Speak with a comforting voice and show no fear. “Hey the
re, Cora Lee,” Maizie said, displaying her best beauty pageant smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Mary Stuart, honey, it’s more what I can do for you.” Cora Lee Tillington had obviously seen too many movies. With her outdated business suit and a pencil stuck in her graying bun, she looked like a female Social Security version of Bob Woodward.
“I give. What can you do for me?” Maizie couldn’t resist.
“The entire town is buzzing about what you girls are up to. So what’s next?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what you mean.” This situation definitely called for playing the blond bimbo card.
“Please. I’ve known you since you were in diapers. You can’t BS an old BS’er.”
Playing dumb hadn’t worked. Maybe distraction would. “Can I perhaps interest you in one of our wonderful bras?” Maizie pulled a lacy push-up off the rack. “Or a new sundress.” She headed straight for a strapless polished-cotton number more suitable for a teenager than one of Mama’s contemporaries.
Cora Lee retrieved a battered notebook from her voluminous purse. “I want the straight skinny and no more messin’ around. My readers are dying to know what’s coming up next. I hear you’re going to hire a brass band. Is that right?” She had her pencil poised to jot down Maizie’s answer.
A brass band—now that was an interesting idea.
Cora Lee interrupted Maizie’s ruminations. “If you can draw this thing out for a month, I’ll make it a regular column.” The Gazette came out twice a week and the dingbat wanted Maizie to come up with a show for each issue?
“That isn’t going to happen. Believe me.”
Cora Lee’s glasses slipped further down her nose. “Oh, well, it was merely a thought. At least give me an exclusive on your next shenanigan.”
It was obvious that Cora wasn’t giving up—and Maizie had had enough for one day—so she decided to throw the reporter a bone.
“I don’t have a specific date, but yes, a brass band is in the works.”
