The Man She Married

by Ann DeFee

  Cora’s eyebrows shot straight into her hairline.

  Great. Maizie’s big mouth was getting her in trouble again. Tuba players didn’t exactly advertise in the phone book, so where was she going to find someone to play John Phillip Sousa? Aha! The high school band director’s wife was a regular customer, so maybe—

  “This is marvelous, simply marvelous.” Cora scribbled in her notebook. “You be sure to let me know when it’s going to happen, ya hear? The paper comes out on Wednesday and Saturday, so if you’ll call me the day before, I’m sure I can drum up an audience.” Cora poked the pencil back in her bun.

  An audience? That was almost as good as doing a marriage proposal on national TV—saying no was virtually impossible.

  Cora Lee was on her way out the door when she lobbed a parting shot. “I hear there’s a family betting pool.”

  A betting pool? Did she really say there was a betting pool? The nerve of it all.

  “PJ, you can come out now.” Maizie used her best syrupy-sweet voice to lure the poor insect into her spider’s web.

  Sure enough, it worked. PJ peeked around the corner. “Is she gone?”

  “She certainly is.” Maizie could do innocent with the best of them. “Come on out. Really now, would I lie?”

  PJ reluctantly made her way to the counter. “Ms. Tillington gives me the willies.”

  Maizie couldn’t agree more. Cora Tillington was definitely nervous-making. “She told me something interesting.”

  Maizie went to the front door and turned over the Closed sign.

  PJ took that as a signal to tally up the day’s receipts. “Really? What?”

  “Cora Lee said there’s a family betting pool—I assume on how soon Clay and I will get together.” Maizie leaned over the counter to get nose-to-nose with her employee. “What do you know about that?”

  At first PJ looked shocked, but then her expression changed to guilt. “Why would I know anything?”

  Maizie stepped back. More than likely, PJ was the family bookie.

  “Because you’re privy to everything that goes on around here?” Maizie knew full well that PJ was up to her cute little kneecaps in it.

  “Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” The assistant manager put her hands up in the air. “Your mom’s the ringleader.”

  “Mama? My mother organized a betting pool?”

  “Yep. Her money’s on twenty-eight days. I think she said something about you guys being mulish. Your aunt Anna Belle is much more optimistic. She went for a week.”

  Good going, Auntie Anna Belle. At least Kenni’s mother had faith.

  “What about my sister?” Maizie couldn’t wait to hear Liza’s take.

  “She’s got ten days. She thinks that after a couple more ‘visitations’—” PJ emphasized the word with finger quotes, “—he’ll scurry over to the bright side.”

  “Liza’s always been an optimist. What about you? I’m sure you plunked down your ante.”

  PJ had the chutzpah to giggle. “My guess is even longer than your mom’s. I work for you, remember?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It had been almost a week since the Brenda Lee incident and the fact that he hadn’t seen or heard from Maizie was making Clay nervous. In this case, no news wasn’t necessarily good news.

  But enough worrying about his errant wife—work was calling. Boy, was it ever.

  Clay was engrossed in deciphering a spreadsheet when Harvey appeared in his office doorway. “What’s up, partner?” Clay took his reading glasses off and laid them on his desk.

  “Have you seen the paper this morning?” Harvey whipped a copy of the Magnolia Bluffs Gazette out from behind his back.

  “No, why? Do they have a special on pot roasts at the Piggly Wiggly?” Clay thought he’d come up with a decent comeback, until he took a good look at his friend’s grin.

  Clay rounded the desk and snatched the newspaper out of Harvey’s hand.

  “Here’s a clue. Try Cora Lee’s page.” Uh-oh. His partner was smirking.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned. “Please tell me Maizie hasn’t completely lost her mind.”

  Harvey pointedly said nothing before he exited.

  An Invitation To A Two-Fer—A Brass Quartet Recital And Chapter Three Of The War Of The Walkers. That was the headline of the society section.

  “Harvey!” Clay was halfway down the hall before he noticed his staff. The women were giggling and the men were giving him their best “you poor sucker” looks.

  “Harvey!” He stormed into his partner’s office waving the paper. “Did you know this was coming?”

  Harvey’s eloquent shrug said it all.

  Was the entire town conspiring against him? No sooner had that thought occurred to Clay than he heard music. It wasn’t ordinary music—au contraire—he distinctly heard a tuba.

  “What is that?”

  “You’d better go check it out,” Harvey wheezed through his laughter. “We have a few visitors in the lobby.”

  Clay shot him a rude hand gesture as he hurried out to the lobby. A few people! Hell, there were people all over the reception area and spilling out the front door. Didn’t they have anything better to do than watch his humiliation?

  In the middle of the crowd was the local high school’s marching band—complete with uniforms and feathered hats. Great, now a bunch of teenagers were involved in what Cora Lee had dubbed the War of the Walkers. Oh, the joys of living in a small town.

  The tuba player was the first to spot him. “Hey, Mr. Walker. We came to play for you.” He turned to his fellow musicians. “Here we go. A one, a two and a three.” When he nodded, the music almost blasted Clay out of the room.

  Clay wasn’t too well-versed in brass band music, but the selection sounded vaguely familiar. “What was the name of that song?” he asked when the band quit playing.

  The trumpet player was the first to speak up. “It was Sousa’s version of the ‘Wedding March.’ Way buck, huh?”

  “Very buck,” Clay agreed, not having a clue what that meant. And clever. How in the world had Maizie pulled this off?

  “Here’s a message.” The trombone player pulled an envelope from his pocket. “It’s from your wife.”

  Clay couldn’t wait to see what she’d written so he opened the envelope right there in the lobby. It was an apology done Maizie style that made him laugh. That girl had a way about her. Sometimes he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or throttle her, and that’s what made their marriage so good. So why was he holding out? Could they regain the trust they once had? Maizie seemed to think so. Clay wasn’t quite so sure.

  Okay, Maizie and her buddies had had their last shot at theatrical comedy. The courting was going to begin in earnest. And this time he planned to do it right. No more burgers and drive-in movies. They’d start all over and see if they could get through this rough patch.

  MAIZIE AND LIZA HAD THEIR noses pressed against the tearoom window across the street from Clay’s office. Although it wasn’t exactly a ringside seat, they could see the crowd, and what a crowd it was. With the right incentive, Cora Lee could recruit a cast of thousands.

  “Do you see him?” Maizie asked. Her heart was beating a mile a minute wondering how Clay would react to the ruckus.

  “Over there!” Liza pointed to the side door of the engineering firm. She was literally bouncing in her chair.

  “Where?” Maizie scanned the area several times before she spotted him. He was tall, blond and handsome as all get-out—and he was holding a handmade sign that read, “Maizie Walker you’re a naughty girl. Give me a call.”

  Maizie didn’t know whether he could see her through the window, but a couple of minutes later Clay waved, did a thumbs-up and walked back into the office. Darn him—he thought he was in charge here. He wasn’t, was he?

  Maizie was so busy thinking about her husband’s request that she missed the fact someone had come up behind her and Liza.

  “Hello, ladies. May I join you?” It was Trip Fitzge
rald, looking as buff as ever.

  “Yeah, okay,” Liza answered, scooting over to make room for the newcomer.

  “Hi, Trip. I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been doing?” Although Maizie wasn’t at all interested in him—other than as a friend—that didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite.

  “A little of this, a little of that. Mostly working. Are you coming back to the club soon?” Trip grabbed a scone from the plate in the center of the table.

  “Probably not, I’m swamped at the boutique,” Maizie said with a shrug. “I thought I could make the time, but it hasn’t worked out.”

  “I can do a private lesson whenever you want. You name it and I’m yours.” He took a bite of the purloined scone.

  “That’s so sweet. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.” He turned to look out the window. “I presume you ladies are responsible for the excitement across the street?”

  “That’s right.” Liza said.

  “Cora’s column called this the War of the Walkers. Is that correct?”

  “I wouldn’t believe everything that’s in the paper.” It was too embarrassing to talk about this with the man who was indirectly responsible for the argument with Clay, so Maizie changed the subject. “Would you like a cup of tea to go along with your pastry?”

  “Sure, do you have an extra mug?”

  Maizie motioned to the waitress, who brought one over.

  The three of them sat quietly for a few moments. Trip took a sip of his tea before he picked up Maizie’s hand. “I’m serious about the private lessons. Let me know if you change your mind. I’m available.” He put down his cup and strolled off, ignoring the admiring looks he was getting from various females.

  Liza waited until he was out the door before she said something. “Does he have a crush on you?”

  Maizie laughed thinking of all the times Trip had seen her soaked in sweat. Was she kidding? “Don’t be silly. We’re really good friends. He has size zeros fawning all over him, so there’s no way he’d be interested in a middle-aged married woman.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Can you believe Maizie was able to talk a brass quartet into playing for you?” Harvey buttered a piece of cornbread and stuffed it into his mouth. It was fried chicken night at the DeLite Diner.

  Clay had been chuckling ever since the last tuba note. “I’m going to marry that girl. That is, if we can ever get back on the right path.”

  Harvey gave him a strange look. “Please don’t tell me you guys aren’t married. That would shatter all my illusions of matrimony.” Harvey had been married twice and was intent on making sure the third time stuck.

  “What I meant is that I plan to court her. And after I win her over I’ll broach the subject of renewing our vows. We were so young when we started dating that all I could afford was an occasional Coke, and that wasn’t too often. This time around I’m going to pull out all the stops.”

  “That sounds like a plan to me.” Harvey quickly forgot his manners when the waitress delivered their food. “Do you know anything about romance?” he asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

  That was a good question. Clay wondered whether there was a Romance for Dummies book.

  “Not much,” he admitted. “I suppose the first thing I should do is make a reservation at a classy restaurant.”

  “With tablecloths,” Harvey added.

  “Tablecloths are definitely a plus, and it should have some expensive wines. We’ll make small talk and then I’ll hold her hand and look into her eyes. We’ll eat, but I won’t talk with my mouth full. I’ll surrender my credit card and that should do the trick. Is that about it?”

  “Sounds good to me, but what do I know? I popped the question to wife number two at the bowling alley.”

  “And how long did that one last?” Clay tempered his comment with a grin.

  “I see what you mean,” Harv admitted sheepishly.

  IT HAD BEEN A HIDEOUSLY long day. Both Liza and Mama were harassing Maizie to call Clay. But that wasn’t going to happen. It was his turn to take action. She’d already provided a stink bomb, an ersatz Brenda Lee and a brass band. What more did he want?

  Dinner was a reheated pot pie and a wilted salad. Clay was probably enjoying fried chicken and peach cobbler—courtesy of either her mother or the DeLite Diner. It wasn’t fair, but Maizie couldn’t blame anyone but herself.

  Pity parties were such a drag. So with a glass of wine in hand, she was getting ready to slip into a bubble bath when the phone rang. Hoping it was Clay and praying it wasn’t Mama, Maizie grabbed the cordless and chirped a greeting.

  “Mo-o-om,” Her daughter was the only person Maizie knew who could turn that one-syllable word into about three. “What’s going on at home? I went online to read the Gazette, just to check out what was happening and there it was in black and white. The War of the Walkers. What do you guys think you’re doing?”

  Hannah was in a snit. Hadn’t Maizie’s day sucked enough already?

  “Honey, everything’s fine. Your dad and I are having a little disagreement and the paper got involved. You know how it is around here. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  “Are you getting divorced?”

  “No way.” Please God let her be telling the truth. “It’s not that big a deal. I promise.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Honestly.”

  “I want to talk to Daddy.”

  What could Maizie say? “Well, uh, your dad is staying at Grammy’s house.”

  There was a long pause before Hannah wailed. “He’s not living with you?”

  “No,” Maizie admitted.

  “That does it! I’m coming home.”

  “Please don’t. You have to go to class. We’re fine, honestly we are.” Hannah was a bigger drama queen than Maizie and they truly didn’t need any more hysteria. “Call your daddy. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

  “Okay, but if I get any bad vibes I’m coming home.”

  Maizie couldn’t argue with that. And she wasn’t worried. Even when Hannah was a baby Clay could calm her.

  “I love you, sweetie. Don’t worry about us.” Maizie was doing enough of that on her own. “We’re fine.”

  “I love you, too, Mama.” Hannah didn’t call her mama unless she was really upset.

  “Get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Okay. But I’m serious—if I hear anything else I’ll be home like a shot.”

  “That’s fair enough.” If Cora Tillington dared mentioned the name Walker in that rag again, Maizie would sue her sweet buns.

  After a few more minutes of reassuring her daughter, Maizie placed the cordless on the bathroom vanity in anticipation of hopping in the tub. That fantasy evaporated when she heard a loud crash downstairs. It didn’t sound like breaking glass. Maybe one of the neighbors’ cats had knocked something off the porch. She shook her head, determined not to worry.

  Maizie had one toe in the suds before she decided to check, just in case. She grabbed her bathrobe and the phone before tiptoeing downstairs. Sneaky was her middle name.

  Using every ounce of stealth she could muster, Maizie went out the back door and quietly made her way toward the front yard. Damn, it was dark!

  Taking one step at a time she crept along the side of the house. Wow, she was good at this covert ops stuff. That thought pinged through her brain right before she stubbed her toe, sending pain shooting straight to the top of her head. Don’t cuss, don’t scream and for God’s sake, don’t even whimper.

  Maizie was almost to the edge of the house when she heard muttering. Nope, that wasn’t a cat. Think—what were her options? Take the creep out with a brilliant kung-fu maneuver? Call 911? That was the winner.

  As Maizie punched in the numbers she carefully peeked around the corner. She must have made a noise because the man peering in her front window turned, looked around wildly and then ran full-tilt toward the end of the porch.

  Maizie sho
uld have been relieved he was hauling ass—too bad he was on a collision course with the spot where she was hunkered down. She had no more than a second to brace herself before the intruder leaped over the porch rail, crashed through an azalea and landed smack-dab on top of her.

  The breath whooshed out of her lungs and she immediately saw a whole galaxy of stars. Scream! Oh, yeah. She’d do that as soon as she could breathe.

  Even in her state of sheer terror Maizie noticed a few things about her attacker: he wasn’t waving a knife, he was dressed all in black including a ski mask, and he appeared to be almost as discombobulated as she was. How about that, an incompetent burglar.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” The tinny voice coming from the phone Maizie still clutched kept repeating the question.

  When the intruder heard that, he jumped up and ran off. Not fond of cops, huh?

  “Uh.” Maizie finally managed to at least groan.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” Too bad she still couldn’t quite speak. “Ma’am? I’m sending a unit to your home. Stay on the line until they get there.”

  “Uh-huh.” That was the extent of Maizie’s conversational skills.

  Five minutes later two police cars arrived, lights blazing and sirens wailing. That was when Maizie realized she was wearing nothing but a threadbare chenille bathrobe. Holy catfish! Talk about adding insult to injury.

  “Maizie, what happened? Are you all right?” She should’ve guessed her brother-in-law would be one of the respondents. “I heard your address on the scanner and I came right over.”

  “I’m okay, I think, although I do need to get dressed.”

  Maizie cinched the belt of the robe. “I thought I had an intruder so I came out to see what was going on. I was at the end of the porch when he jumped off and landed on me.” She paused for a second, afraid she might pass out. “He scared me silly and knocked the breath out of me, but I’m okay.”

  “These nice folks are here to check you out.” Zack turned to the two young paramedics. “This is my sister-in-law, take good care of her.”