A Dollar Short (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 2)

by Karin Gillespie

  It was a few minutes after noon, and street traffic was sparse. Many of the businesses in Cayboo Creek rolled up the sidewalks during the lunch hour.

  “Are you enjoying your sister’s visit?” Mavis asked, adjusting the temperature of the car heater.

  “She’s been a real help,” Chiffon said with a tight smile.

  “I haven’t seen her since she was a senior in high school. Hardly anyone has. Maybe I should throw together a little luncheon in her honor.”

  “Maybe,” Chiffon said, tapping her fingernails against the window.

  Truth was, Chenille was stepping on Chiffon’s last nerve. Yesterday she’d caught her sister sorting and folding all of Emily’s Barbie doll clothes.

  “They were cluttering up the Dream House,” Chenille had said in explanation.

  And the meals she cooked! Wheat loaf instead of meat loaf, tofu in place of turkey, and bulgur in lieu of biscuits. Chiffon had to smuggle cookies into her room after meals just to stay satisfied.

  And as if being a neat freak and a health nut weren’t enough to drive Chiffon crazy, her sister had undertaken a relentless campaign to cheer her. Chenille hummed “Zippity Do Da” as she went about her household chores, and on gray, dark mornings she flung open the curtains and exclaimed, “What a glorious day!” Frequently she left Post-it notes on Chiffon’s pillow with hackneyed words of encouragement such as “When life hands you lemons, make lemon bars” or “It takes more muscles to frown than to smile.”

  Chiffon knew her sister meant well, but it was hard to be cooped up all day with a cross between Mr. Clean, Dean Ornish, and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.

  Mavis turned off Main Street and headed toward Elizabeth’s house near the creek. As she reached the clapboard bungalow, she parked between Mrs. Tobias’s white Cadillac and Attalee’s elderly Buick Skylark.

  “Looks like everyone’s here except Birdie,” Mavis said as she opened the car door.

  The two of them scaled the stone steps leading up to the bungalow. Camellia bushes bursting with bright pink blossoms stirred in the breeze coming up from the creek. At the sound of their steps on the porch, Elizabeth’s dog, Maybelline, pressed her nose up against the window and started barking.

  The front door swung open and Timothy clomped down the front steps in work boots and a blue shirt with the words “Bait Box” embroidered on the pocket.

  “Hi, Mavis, Chiffon. Everyone is in the nursery admiring the new crib. Go on in.”

  “Are you going back to work?” Mavis said.

  “Elizabeth shooed me off,” he said, sweeping a hand through dark curly hair. “I hate to leave her when she’s so close to the delivery date. But she’s tired of me fussing over her all the time.”

  “I doubt that,” Mavis said with a wink.

  Timothy placed a sun-faded cap on his head and yanked it low on his forehead. “If she has even the slightest stitch or twitch, please call me. I don’t care if it’s a false alarm.”

  “Will do,” Mavis said, ruffling the neck of Maybelline, who’d ventured out to the porch and was sniffing the toe of her tennis shoe.

  Timothy ambled to his truck parked in the driveway, whistling Brahm’s Lullaby.

  “Timothy treats Elizabeth like a princess,” Mavis said. “He’ll be a top-notch father.”

  “Yeah, he’s sweet all right,” Chiffon said wistfully.

  “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t comparing—”

  Chiffon held up a hand. “Of course you weren’t. Come on. Let’s take a look at the new crib.”

  They passed through the airy living room, which had been thoroughly childproofed with window guards, corner bumpers, and outlet covers. As they walked down the hall to the nursery, Elizabeth motioned them inside.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said, bubbling over with excitement.

  The nursery was painted a pale yellow, bordered with a row of baby ducks. Lace curtains, tied back with satin ribbons, hung from the windows, and two oak rocking chairs sat on a rag rug near the crib.

  “His-and-hers rocking chairs,” Elizabeth said, touching the back of one of the chairs.

  Attalee and Mrs. Tobias hovered over a white-spindled crib with a yellow gingham bumper and dust ruffle.

  “I’ll have to get you more bedding, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Tobias said. “This crib doesn’t even have a pillow.”

  “Actually, less bedding is better for babies,” Elizabeth said gently. “That’s what the doctors say.”

  “It’s a baby wonderland in here,” Chiffon said, touching the plush foot of an oversize teddy bear on a shelf.

  “Chiffon, you’re the expert,” Elizabeth said. “Do I have everything I need?”

  Chiffon mentally inventoried the baby paraphernalia in the room: bassinet, plastic bath, changing table, Diaper Genie, and baby monitor.

  “Where’s the swing?” she said after a moment.

  “I don’t have one,” Elizabeth said. “Do I need one?”

  “Does a goat need briars?” Chiffon said.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Tobias said. “I raised twin daughters and they didn’t have any swings.”

  “Me either,” Attalee said as she tweaked a horn on the Busy Box hanging from the crib. “I reared eight young ‘uns and got no help from any contraptions.”

  “Oh really?” Chiffon said. “And what did you do when your babies cried bloody murder?”

  “It was so long ago, it’s hard to recall,” Mrs. Tobias said, laying an index finger on her cheek. Her eyes suddenly brightened. “I remember. Our driver, Heinz, got out the Packard and took the girls for a ride. Both found the noise of the engine soothing when they were infants. It had to be the Packard. For some reason the Olds wouldn’t do the trick.”

  “I gave the little nippers a dose of paregoric in their bottles,” Attalee said with a big, toothless grin. “Worked like a charm.”

  Chiffon crossed her arms over her chest. “Seeing how there isn’t a Packard in the driveway, and seeing how paregoric is illegal in every state, Elizabeth might want to give the swing a whirl.”

  “Paregoric is illegal?” Attalee asked in surprise. “What a load of hokum! Next they’ll say you shouldn’t take a switch to a young ‘un’s bottom. Then where will we all be?”

  The doorbell chimed and Maybelline yelped.

  “That’s probably Birdie,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t we go into the den and start?”

  As the meeting got under way, Elizabeth served blueberry buckle and coffee while the rest of the women brainstormed on money-making ideas for the Senior Center.

  “A bake sale is always profitable,” Birdie said from her perch on a wicker love seat. “The citizens of this town have fierce sweet tooths.”

  “Only thing is, with the holidays over, lots of people are watching their waistlines,” Mavis said, patting the soft bulge of her stomach. “I know I am.”

  “It’s too cold for a car wash,” Chiffon said. She gazed forlornly at the gray slate of sky visible from the bay window.

  “What about a craft fair?” Elizabeth asked. “They always bring out the crowds.”

  “Isn’t there enough macramé in this world already?” Attalee said with a yawn.

  “It’s just a suggestion, Attalee,” Elizabeth said. “But I suppose you have a much better idea.”

  “You bet your sweet bippy I do,” she replied.

  “Let’s hear it,” Mavis said.

  Attalee’s faded blue eyes danced as she spoke. “I was up all night thinking about it. My idea will make a whole pot of money for the Senior Center, but I’ll give you fair warning.” She lowered her voice and grinned. “It ain’t for the faint of heart. Elizabeth, you might want to have a bottle of sherry on standby.”

  “Land sakes alive, Attalee,” Birdie said. “Drop the dramatics and te
ll us your plan.”

  “On second thought, sherry’s too weak,” Attalee said. “You got any corn whiskey?”

  “Attalee!” Elizabeth said, “Just tell us.”

  “All right, ladies,” Attalee said, her bad eye flickering like a shorted light bulb. “Hang on to your corsets.”

  They listened as Attalee explained her plan for saving the struggling Senior Center. Her liver-spotted hands flew around her face in a frenzy as she spoke. The more she said, the more stunned her audience became. Mrs. Tobias clutched at the bit of lace around her throat; Mavis rubbed the newly bleached hair above her upper lip, and Birdie’s mouth dropped open so wide a parakeet could have flown inside.

  When Attalee finally finished speaking, she was met with stone-cold silence.

  “Don’t sit there like a bunch of glazed hams,” Attalee demanded. “Tell me what you think.”

  Mavis took a hasty gulp of coffee. “It’s outlandish,” she said.

  A shaken Mrs. Tobias dabbed at her forehead with an embroidered hankie. “It’s scandalous.”

  Elizabeth, who was standing over the group holding a coffeepot, said, “It’s, it’s, it’s...”

  “What?” Attalee said anxiously. “Put it out there where the goats can get it.”

  Elizabeth slammed the pot on the table and clamped a hand to her belly. “It’s coming! My baby is coming!”

  “See what you’ve gone and done,” Birdie hissed. “You’ve driven the poor girl into labor.”

  “Get Timothy. Grab my suitcase! Help me out to the car!” wailed Elizabeth.

  Mrs. Tobias called Timothy at the Bait Box, and moments later he screeched into the driveway. He sprang out of his truck just as Mavis and Birdie were settling Elizabeth into the front seat of her mommy-mobile, a brand-new Ford Expedition.

  “Is she okay? Will we make it on time?” Timothy said.

  “Don’t get yourself all into a dither,” Attalee said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “This is her first young ‘un, so she’s liable to be in labor for a while. When I had my Posy, I was seized up for more than thirty hours.”

  “Thirty hours!” Elizabeth said, her eyes darting frantically. “I can’t last that long.”

  Mrs. Tobias squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, dear. She’s exaggerating. Women always subtract years from their age and add hours to their labor.”

  Elizabeth moaned and her body bucked with another contraction. “I don’t know,” she said as Timothy backed out of the driveway. “These contractions are right on top of each other.”

  As it turned out, Elizabeth’s labor didn’t last anywhere near thirty hours. In fact, it lasted scarcely thirty minutes. By the time Timothy pulled into the emergency room entrance of University Hospital in Augusta, Elizabeth was close to crowning.

  Chiffon, who’d ridden to the hospital with Timothy, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Tobias, couldn’t believe it when Elizabeth screamed, “The baby is coming right now!”

  As soon as Timothy came to a stop, Chiffon leaped out of the car and made tracks on her crutches to the entrance of the emergency room. She grabbed the sleeve of the first white-coated man she saw and said, “My best friend is having a baby in the car. Help her, please.”

  In moments, a stretcher was dispatched to the parking lot and a sweat-drenched Elizabeth was gingerly strapped aboard by a doctor and an orderly.

  Just as the mommy-to-be and her entourage disappeared into the emergency room entrance, Mavis’s car squealed into the parking area.

  “Where are they?” Mavis asked, with a slam of her car door. Attalee and Birdie scrambled onto the pavement.

  “They just took Elizabeth to delivery,” Chiffon rasped. “She’s having the baby this very second.”

  “Out like a ball from a cannon,” Attalee said. “Atta girl.”

  “Let’s find out what’s going on,” Birdie said.

  Five minutes later, Glenda Daisy Hollingsworth came into the world, weighing seven pounds, three ounces, and kicking mad. The baby girl was named after Elizabeth’s late grandmother, better known to everyone in Cayboo Creek as Meemaw. A beaming Timothy strutted into the maternity waiting room to deliver the news to the women.

  Just as everyone cheered in delight, baby Glenda’s other namesake, Daisy Hollingsworth, swept into the room. Timothy had called her on his cell phone.

  “Have I gotten here on time? How’s Elizabeth?” Daisy said, kissing her son on the cheek and eagerly listening as he announced his daughter’s birth.

  “I’m thrilled to the core. Imagine. Me as a grandmother,” Daisy said. She rushed to hug Mrs. Tobias. “And Mother, you’re a great-grandmother. Just think, we now have four generations of our family under this very roof.”

  Chiffon had only seen Elizabeth’s mother-in-law on a couple of occasions, but she was always awed by her presence. Daisy Hollingsworth lived on a sprawling estate in Augusta and carried herself like royalty. Today she wore a soft blue cashmere dress accessorized with a single strand of pearls. Her hair was up in a simple chignon, emphasizing the slender stem of her neck.

  Daisy addressed all of Elizabeth’s friends warmly. When asked about her ankle injury, Chiffon felt the urge to curtsy and kiss Daisy’s large sapphire ring.

  “I need to get back to Elizabeth and my daughter,” Timothy said with a face-splitting grin. “I know she’ll want to see all of you as soon as she catches her breath.”

  After Timothy left, the group settled themselves on the vinyl-cushioned chairs in the waiting room. Attalee drummed her fingers on her knee.

  “So, now that the dust is settled, what did you think of my idea for saving the Senior Center?” she asked.

  “Attalee, this isn’t the time or the place,” Birdie said with a brittle smile. She adjusted her reading glasses on her nose and picked up a copy of Modern Maturity from the stack of magazines on the glass table.

  “I think it’s the perfect time,” Attalee said. “We’re just sitting here, twiddling our thumbs. Maybe Mrs. Hollingsworth can toss in her two cents. Don’t you got some experience with fundraising, ma’am?”

  Daisy Hollingsworth smiled brightly. “Why, yes, I do, and I’d be delighted to hear your—”

  “No!” Mavis shouted, startling everyone. “What I mean to say is...Attalee’s idea is...off the beaten track.”

  “Those are often the best kind,” Daisy said.

  “So true,” Birdie said. “But not only is Attalee’s idea bizarre, it’s also somewhat...” She swallowed hard and blushed. “Indecent.”

  “Obscene is the word I’d use,” Mrs. Tobias said with a sniff.

  Daisy arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You’ve aroused my curiosity. I have to hear this idea of yours, Attalee.”

  Before anyone could stop her, Attalee rattled off her entire plan for the Senior Center. The others listened with white-faced dread. When she finished, Attalee chuckled and said, “Ain’t that a doozy?”

  Mavis cleared her throat. “Here’s the thing about Attalee, she’s a little—”

  “Senile!” Birdie interjected. “Dotty. Daft.”

  “Infirm,” Chiffon said with a sad nod.

  “Brilliant,” Daisy said softly. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  “What did you say, Daisy?” Mrs. Tobias asked.

  “Attalee’s idea is sheer genius,” Daisy said. “You’ll make a mint for the Senior Center.”

  The women looked at one another in disbelief, but no one dared object, not even Mrs. Tobias. After all, Daisy Hollingsworth was the most well-regarded socialite in Augusta.

  If she thought Attalee’s fundraising idea was respectable, who were they to argue? While the women discussed Attalee’s plan, Chiffon borrowed Birdie’s cell phone to tell her sister she’d be later than expected.

  “That’s fine. But I should warn you,” C
henille said in a strained voice. “There’s people hanging around outside.”

  “Good,” Chiffon said. “Tell them I’ll be back in about an hour and a half. If any of them have cash in hand and want to buy now, go ahead and let them. Just don’t stand for any dickering. My prices are firm.”

  “Actually, they aren’t here to buy Lonnie’s stuff,” Chenille said, clearing her throat. “They want something else.”

  “What do you mean? What people are you talking about?” Chiffon asked.

  “ABC, NBC, People, Hollywood Hijinks, US, and a bunch of tabloids.”

  “Who do they want to see?” Chiffon said in bewilderment.

  Chenille paused for a moment. “You, Chiffon. They want to see you.”

  Fourteen

  I get enough exercise just pushing my luck.

  ~ Graffiti in the ladies’ room at the Tuff Luck Tavern

  As Mavis turned down Chiffon’s street to drop her off, they counted four vans and five cars clustered near the little purple house.

  “Mavis. What am I going to do?” Chiffon said. “I don’t have anything to say to those people.”

  Mavis took a moment to assess the situation. “How about if I drop you off at the package shop behind your house?” she said. “Then I’ll pull up in the drive to distract them. You can sneak through the back and get into the house through the kitchen door.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s do it,” Chiffon said, ducking low in her seat.

  Mavis turned the car around and motored along Chickasaw Drive, which ran behind Chiffon’s street. Parking in front of the liquor store, Mavis turned off the ignition and looked at Chiffon. “Are you going to be able to manage on those crutches? You’ll have to maneuver your way through some brush and bramble.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Chiffon opened the passenger door and placed the tips of her crutches on the asphalt. “Here goes nothing!” she said as she hefted her weight out of the car.

  “I’ll call you later.” Mavis blew her a kiss. “Don’t forget to give me time to get back to your house.”