by Tracy Ellen
“It was one of those moments, you know?” I replied vaguely. “When I called Mr. China, I acted as if I knew the details from the farmer, and threatened to expose his blackmail scheme to Interpol. Mr. China couldn’t talk fast enough after that. Oh yeah, other than your first name, Mr. China didn’t know yours or Tre’s identity.”
“That is such a relief! You are frickin’ awesome, Bel!” Jazy exclaimed. “I can’t wait to tell Tre.” She added bitterly, “Doesn’t it figure Gus would pay off a snitch, but not spend money on kibble for his own animals?”
I changed the subject and suggested she clue Tre in about her plans for Max Byrd. It only took a second for Jazy to agree. We hung up after arranging to speak later in the day.
Reaching for Mr. China’s pilfered business card, I tore it into tiny pieces while I closed my eyes and concentrated on sending out apologies and good wishes to thank the stranger for being my patsy. Then I quickly googled Interpol, relieved to see it still existed as an international police force, since that was an ad lib memory from an espionage novel I’d read years ago.
I despised the need to lie, especially to Jazy and Tre J, but there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do to protect them or any of my loved ones.
The millisecond I suspected the un-cousin’s scheme, I knew it was never about Jazy and Tre. It was a golden opportunity to get leverage on me through them, so that I would reverse my threat to maim her. Knowing a secret to hold over my head was the un-cousin’s driving motivation.
After thinking it through, I was almost convinced it was actually a mistake in the un-cousin’s planning that the farmer came home too soon. Not that I would put it past her to consider it a sick, fun side bonus if Jaz or Tre J got hurt, but they were of no use to the un-cousin dead. She also knew if something happened to someone in my family, I would never stop to find out the what, when, where, why, and most importantly, who had hurt them or caused their death.
No, it made no sense the un-cousin would take that gamble, but I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. After all, she was a crazy devil woman. That pathological need to have her own way was what made her so viciously dangerous. It was also why I wanted the war to stay between only us and not involve my siblings. I was fully aware of the un-cousin’s true nature. There was no learning curve; I was prepared to deal with her actions in a fitting manner. She would get no benefit of the doubt or second chances from me.
I was going to let my un-cousin make the first move. If she didn’t know I was at the farm last night, I wanted to keep that advantage.
It was that understanding of wanting to protect my sister that kept me from being too furious at Luke for what he had done to protect me. I was almost getting used to Luke’s way of thinking, not that I’d give up working on changing his perspective, inch by inch.
It was heart-warming he wanted to protect me, even if that included me having to run the gauntlet of public ridicule and the gossip mill spanking machine. Long term, it would be more beneficial for our ongoing relationship once he got it through his thick skull that I was a woman that could, and did, protect myself.
I was zipping my purse up to put it away when I noticed a plain white envelope addressed simply to “Anabel Axelrod” in handwriting that I didn’t recognize. It was stuck down into the outside pocket that had no clasp or zipper.
Puzzled, I pulled it out and hefted it. It felt like nothing but a piece of paper was inside. Carefully opening the unsealed flap, I unfolded the single piece of letterhead to scan it quickly in growing disbelief.
To Anabel Axelrod,
It is with regret that I am terminating our business partnership. I have enjoyed our association, but plan to explore opportunities in a different field to discover if I have uses for women besides plaything, business associate, or friend. Please accept this letter as my official two week notice of resignation.
Best regards,
James Nighthawk Byrd
“Well, crap,” I murmured, laughing a little in spite of my dismay. It looked like Luke’s plan to convince the world we split was working just dandy. Not sure how to handle James’ incorrect understanding that I was now fair game, I decided to think about my response. I folded the letter up, tucked it back in the envelope, and returned it to the side pocket of my purse.
Putting my personal problems aside, I got a solid hour of uninterrupted bookstore work in before opening. My store manager, Billy Carlson arrived about 9:45 a.m., along with Trent Christensen to open the Fare café, but I stayed working at my desk.
The boys peeked their heads in around the corner of my door to say hi, took turns to mumble something supportive that it was a good thing I didn’t care about Luke Drake because he was a major dick, and then, loyalty firmly pledged, got to work.
The bad thing about small towns and gossip; many people personally knew you so there was no escaping the gossip in your shared, insular world. The good thing about small towns and gossip; people heard all the bad news, so they didn’t have to be told why you were in a crappy mood. They didn’t take it personally and generally left you alone.
On my way to unlock the doors to open for business, I had a text from Pam at ten on the dot.
Not accepting condo. Cooties.
Smiling, I texted back: You must. Then sell it for big $$.
Pam texted: Evil. I’ll do it for you.
I texted back: You’re a good friend.
My schedule was to work in the bookstore most of the day, serve the family dinner at five, and then join Stella and her friends to go shop at a holiday open house later in the evening in Minneapolis. My friend, Darcy Milton of Event Night fame, worked as a fortune-teller every year at the open house. It was held on a street of fun shops and restaurants in the neighborhood near where she lived with her husband and four little boys. We generally got together on this weekend for a whole day, but this year it hadn’t worked out. After shopping, I was meeting her for a glass of wine and an hour of girl talk.
Stella found me a few minutes later back in my office.
“I just heard!” The store was already getting busy with customers, so Stella simply gave me hug and with stricken blue eyes exclaimed, “I can’t believe Luke would do that!”
“It’s not pretty, but we were broken up so don’t hate him too much.” I sighed and patted her back, as I reassured, “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”
Stella stepped away and nodded distractedly, “Yeah, I know you’ll be fine, it’s not like you cared enough to marry him.” She sniffed a tear back. “It’s just that I can’t stand to think of him with Candy. It’s making me nauseous.” Her mind jumped to where it lived every minute these days. “My wedding! Oh no, Luke was supposed to stand up for us!”
“I’ll understand if you need to replace me as an attendant so your darling Luke can be there with his new girlfriend,” I muttered, not entirely kidding.
“Don’t ever call her that!” My niece shuddered in revulsion, but at least she laughed and smacked me, instead of bursting into tears before she left me in my office sanctuary. She might have badgered me more, but we were too busy.
Jazy hadn’t been exaggerating when she said I was a butterfly and nobody believed I’d marry Luke. Anybody that commented on my public dumping throughout the day was generally disapproving that Luke was with another woman so fast, especially a relative. The overall consensus was also that I was lucky because it wasn’t as if I had loved the man, or I would have wanted to marry him.
Of course, there were always the meanies. One irritatingly righteous customer with a notoriously philandering husband caught me on the way to grab a bottle of water from the employee kitchen fridge.
She twittered in her snide way, “Anabel, if you would have marched that boy down the aisle the minute he proposed, you wouldn’t be in this sorry state today.”
Was I was wrong to sweetly agree how disappointed I was to miss my chance to have a marriage just like hers?
I didn’t think so either. Not after she so honestly shared her opinion with me first.
The majority of women probably did think I deserved to be dumped for not snapping Luke up when he proposed. For those that didn’t, I had fanned the flames of gossip with an early morning phone call to my fake Godmother Jamie Wade. I complained to her that Luke had already moved on to another woman--my own cousin! As she bellowed her outrage, I smiled in contentment. Luke wanted our break up to be authentic and I loved pleasing my man. Plus, I didn’t want to hog all the attention away from Torquemada and the big-titted slut. They should get to share in the public fun wherever they showed their faces, too.
At the stroke of noon, Bat Girl texted pink heart emoticons to her Dark Prince at the secret phone number and then obediently deleted the text from her phone’s record. After that, I ducked out of the store to run a couple of errands that included buying a new phone battery and enduring more sad frowns from people that knew me.
The day passed in a busy, tired blur, but it was an ecstatic blur, although I had to act as if it was a depressed blur whenever I saw my employees. They gave me encouraging, brave smiles, but did not pry into my private grief at being a marked, publically dumped woman.
I was a tragic figure out in the store, but behind my closed office door, I hummed to music and danced in my seat while I energetically caught up on all my paperwork. It was the best day at work in a long time.
Around four, I repeated the routine of text and erase to Luke and called it a day at Bel’s to go prepare Sunday’s dinner.
Kenna had sent me a text cursing Stinky; he was naughty boy with bathroom issues. She threatened to bring him to my apartment next Sunday, but thought she should stay home and guard her house tonight. Since it was accompanied by a selfie of the two of them hugging, it must be a love-hate relationship.
Stella called me from downstairs and said Chief Jack had stopped by to say he couldn’t make it for dinner, but I was supposed to save him a few slices of meatloaf or else.
Mia texted she had to pass, too. She was taking over a shift for an ill employee.
I was relieved to receive James’ text that he wasn’t coming, but a little surprised after reading his letter of resignation that he wasn’t pursuing me. Then it dawned that I was being dense again. James was a smexy superstud who knew his way around a woman’s psyche. I was being ignored to get my attention.
I had decided to handle his letter by doing nothing for now.
It was a low key meal with Mac, Diego, Stella, Tre, Crookie, Blanca, Max Byrd, and me. There was a lot of laughter and storytelling, but no high drama. Hoping I hadn’t dashed Max’s expectations too badly, it was still a welcome respite for me after the last few family dinners.
In the kitchen, Tre and Blanca assisted me with serving the food to the group gathered around the huge table in the dining room. Mac could usually be counted on to help, but she was attached to Diego’s side like they were a couple of horny Siamese twins.
Blanca left to carry in the dinner rolls, so I took the opportunity to say in a low voice to Tre, “I think I should know who the third person is in the triad.”
Tre didn’t hesitate, but nodded her head towards the dining room.
“Mac?” I whispered in surprise. She would be a big supporter against any kind of animal abuse, but I couldn’t see her routinely breaking the law--not without popping handfuls of Xanax--and she was much too lively these days for that to be true.
Tre rolled her eyes and shook her head no, then pointed again with her chin this time.
“Ah, Stella.” That made more sense and explained her absence last night.
Tre quickly shook her head again, and widened her eyes and tilted her head towards the group yet again.
After a quick glance around the table, I threatened Tre with the spatula in my hand and hissed with a laugh, “Just say the damn name!”
“Max!” She hissed back.
“Thank you. Was that so hard?” Then I stared up at the tall blonde for a second without blinking. “Holy Hannah, have you guys known Max for over two years?”
She shrugged and whispered, “I guess so. I don’t see him much, except on runs. He and Jazy are the ones that work closely together.”
Chuckling quietly, I shook my head in disbelief and started lifting slices of meatloaf onto the serving platter.
Tre smiled, but asked, “What’s so strange about that, Bel?”
“Geez, Tre,” I glanced over to make sure nobody was paying attention, “that means Jazy has wanted to screw him all this time, but hasn’t touched him. Yet it took two years, TWO YEARS, for her to admit she likes the guy.” I put a hand on my chest. “And I’m the commitment-phobe in the family?”
Tre’s eyes widened and then she began chuckling. Soon we were snorting uncontrollably at the mind-boggling concept of Jazy circling around Max for so long.
Max was a big hit at dinner, and so was the company meatloaf. I definitely liked him for coming to the apartment even knowing Jazy wouldn’t be there. When I texted Jazy from the bathroom, we agreed that meant he cared to get to know her family and friends because the dude didn’t lack in the social invite department.
Tre started the ball rolling and told Max a cute story about Jazy from when they were little. My contribution was the Celtic Cursing story. He was amused, not scared, but that was okay. Max had nothing to be scared of as long as he never messed with Jazy.
When it was time for Stella and me to leave for the open house, Tre threw me a wink on her way out of the apartment with Crookie and Max Byrd.
The last to leave, they had been gathering their jackets a few minutes before when Tre said to me that Jazy was super excited about her big date. Tre gushed a little over Jazy’s choice of a sexy, short black dress while I wondered if she was wearing stockings. Tre then casually announced she was expecting a call from Jazy any minute to fill her in on how the big date was going.
Equally casual, Max said to Crookie, “Can I buy you and Tre a nightcap? It’s early yet, and I’ve always wanted to stop in and check out the Contented Cow.”
Crooks thought it over long enough that the silence got awkward before he replied, “I rarely drink on a work night, thanks but...”
Tre interrupted, “But yes, we’d love a nightcap.”
Year Two, Day Two of Jazy’s Circus Freak Dating Plan was right on schedule.
Chapter XV
“Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves” by Cher
Sunday 12/16
7:15 PM
Stella and her girlfriends, Sammy and Kate, drove separate from me to Minneapolis. I lucked out and parked my jeep, Lady Liberty, on 48th Street only a half a block away from the shops lining Chicago Avenue. It seemed like I was being stalked by that city this weekend, but I didn’t let it didn’t dampen my good mood in the anticipation of finding a few little trinkets for Christmas presents. All the shops and restaurants were unique, not mass chain operations found in malls. It was my favorite kind of shopping.
“Maybe I’ll find a treasure for me, too, since ‘I’m too much work’ to deserve a birthday party,” I mimicked a loud.
I also didn’t let thoughts of my lazy, selfish family and no-good friends bring down my happy mood, or the fact that having a birthday near Christmas sucked ass.
Maybe it was just as well I would have no celebration this year. After twenty-eight years, I was sick to death of getting birthday cakes decorated with stupid red poinsettia flowers outlined in disgusting gel, instead of beautiful pastel buttercream roses spring birthday girls took for granted.
I practiced my Krav Maga back kick on an icicle. I couldn’t resist. It dangled like low hanging fruit from the end of a drain pipe snaking down the side of the building I was walking beside. The icicle went flying with a satisfying crunch to shatter on the cement.
“Yeah! That’s what I’m sayin’, birthdays.”
I heard an eerily familiar high-pitched, braying laugh that abruptly cut off when I spun around. Hand in my purse’s special side pocket, I peered closely down the street behind me. Under the occasional street
lamp, the block was lined with dark parked cars, but nobody was walking on the sidewalk. I shivered, feeling like maybe somebody had walked across my grave.
I relaxed when a group of people emerged from an alleyway directly across the narrow street. My guess was they were a family, since the adults were laughing while reproving the two shrieking, giggling young girls that were tormenting the third little kid, a boy. The whole bunch wore knit stocking caps that looked like goofy animal heads, complete with ears and tails.
For a second there, I almost believed that my bat-like hearing had crossed the veil and tuned into the ghost laughter of a dead Dickie Webster. A little rattled, I also refused to let thoughts of his unsolved murder dampen my spirits.
I caught the spicy smells of cinnamon, clove, and orange that signified hot apple cider was brewing somewhere nearby. Hot apple cider was my favorite winter drink.
The two blocks of Chicago Avenue in front of the shops were cordoned off from car traffic. The storefronts were decorated beautifully for the holidays, and in addition, vendors displayed their wares in kiosks on the sidewalks and streets. Bundled up people freely strolled back and forth, most with shopping bags in one hand, a steaming Styrofoam cup in the other.
It was a cold, still night. Big, fluffy snowflakes had started to swirl down--the kind that begged to be captured to melt on the tip of the tongue. I smiled to see a gang of toddlers attempting to do just that while waving their stubby little arms.
I met up with Stella. Her friends were bent over a jewelry case at a kiosk. My niece put her arm through mine, and watched the little kids’ attempts to jump in the air, too.
She gulped and moaned alarmingly. “We’re going to have one of those running around in the bookstore in a few months.”
Cheeks rosy red from the cold and eyes shining, Stella’s voice was part awe-struck, part terror-struck, but it appeared the terror was winning.
I hugged her arm close and whispered back reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Stell. Even under the best case scenario where the little tater tot gets her coordination from your favorite auntie, she won’t walk at birth.” Stella glanced at me and I nodded sagely. “You’ve got a good eighteen months from now before she takes a runner.”
