by Ann Charles
Claire’s mouth fell open. “What? Mac and I aren’t having problems.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were still in denial about that one.”
“What are you … we’re not … never mind about Mac and me. We’re just fine.”
Fine? Is that what she called Claire obviously not wanting to live at Mac’s place back in Tucson while Mac pleaded with her to return home with him every weekend? “If you say so.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Mom.”
Ronnie recoiled at the thought of their mother. Her constant badgering for Ronnie to get a real job and stop spending her nights at “that bar slurping down gin and tonics” had worn some thin spots on her few remaining nerves.
Besides, she didn’t slurp, damn it. “What about Mom?”
“She’s no longer single.”
“I know. She sometimes sleeps in Manny’s Airstream now.” Gramps’s old-time Army buddy had been taking one for the team for weeks, using good old sex to dull the edge of Deborah’s usually razor-sharp tongue.
“I’m not talking about sleepovers.” Claire slowed as they neared Jackrabbit Junction and the road leading to the R.V. park.
“What then? Just spit it out.”
“Okay. Mom’s married.”
“Not anymore.” Thank God for that, too. Deborah may still be a miserable bitch to her family, but she was tolerable now—at least when some gin and tonic were part of the scene.
“Ronnie,” Claire spared her a glance as she turned off the highway, “She’s married again.”
Crickets sounded in Ronnie’s ears. “What?”
“We have a new stepfather.”
“No.” Ronnie’s jaw hit her lap before bouncing back up again. “Please don’t tell me Manny actually married her!” Not the poor, wonderfully kind Don Juan wannabe. Deborah would tear his loving, over-sized heart into pieces and then grind them into the dirt with her pointy heels.
“He did, the poor sucker. Gramps told me last night. Mom had wanted to keep it a secret, but Manny insisted on telling Gramps.”
Ronnie shook her head in disbelief. “We’ll surely win the Most Dysfunctional Family award this year.” Her laughter was bitter with a dose of acid. “Does Katie know?”
“Not yet. But she will after you fill her in.”
“Why me?”
“Because she’s crazy and that’s right up your alley, litterbug.” Claire reached across the seat and poked Ronnie’s forearm. “Tag. You’re it.”
Chapter Three
Tuesday, November 6th
The General Store at the Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park was on fire this morning.
Literally.
Claire sniffed. The back of her throat felt scratchy after inhaling the acrid smell of burning electrical wires and wood paneling still thick in the air. Thankfully the store only needed the smoke cleared, not damaged goods.
The fire had started in the wall in Ruby’s rec room, which was on the other side of an ancient, musty smelling velvet curtain that divided the General Store from the rest of the house. The flames had crawled along a loose piece of paneling and licked at the velvet curtain until it had caught fire, too. By then the smoke detectors had screeched to life, scaring Claire and Ruby out of their breakfast time newspaper perusal.
Claire had stomped out flames while Ruby had hefted the fire extinguisher Gramps kept under the kitchen sink, covering everything with spray including the bottoms of Claire’s blue jeans and her flip-flops.
Claire surveyed the black foamy mess, burned fabric, and charred paneling wondering how to begin fixing what was left of the wall where the fire had started.
It was a good thing those smoke detector batteries had been fresh. Ruby’s store was too old to have sprinklers in the ceiling, so Gramps made a point of checking the detectors every week. His obsession with making sure the place was fire-alarm ready was ironic considering it was his fault the fire had started.
“There’s nothing like the sight of a flaming curtain to light a fire under my ass,” Claire told Ruby, who still held the extinguisher in case something sparked back to life.
Claire yanked down the tattered and burned fabric and hauled it out the front door, tossing it onto the gravel drive beyond the porch. Then she grabbed a hammer from the spare tool belt she kept tucked behind the store’s counter and used the claw to tear off the blackened paneling. Together she and Ruby piled the charred scraps of splintered paneling and molding on top of the curtain.
“I think that’s the last of it,” Ruby said in her soft southern drawl. Her red hair stuck out every which way, reminding Claire of Lucille Ball after too many hits of Vitameatavegamin. Streaks of soot marked her freckle-spotted neck and forehead. Only a few years older than Claire’s mother, Ruby seemed more like a stepmom to Claire than a step-grandmother.
Claire followed Ruby back inside. “It’s a good thing Gramps already pulled up the shag carpet or it could’ve been much worse.”
Last week while Claire had been up in South Dakota, Gramps had been bit by the remodeling bug and had decided it was time to tear apart the rec room. Never mind that he was still recovering from breaking his leg back in September.
She’d arrived back at the campground to find the 1970s orange shag carpet ripped up and most of the wood paneling torn off. He’d left the piece of paneling around the doorway into the General Store still attached because the molding needed to be popped off and he’d run out of steam. From what Claire could tell, he must have jarred the receptacle when he pulled the paneling partway free and loosened some wires, which had sparked into a nice little wall-burner this morning.
Too bad Gramps was in Yuccaville, filling the back of his new Ford pickup with supplies for tomorrow’s journey north. He’d missed all of the excitement he’d caused.
“Maybe your grandfather and I should forget about headin’ out tomorrow.” Ruby handed Claire a cold bottle of Coca-Cola.
Ruby was anxious about leaving Claire behind to run the store and campground with a torn up house, but Claire was ready for Gramps to go away for a while. She loved her grandfather dearly, but after almost half a century of working with his hands, the seventy-plus-year-old couldn’t stand to lounge around and enjoy retirement. He was always starting one construction project or another and then dragging Claire in to help finish.
Take the new restrooms at the back of the R.V. park. He’d gotten as far as nailing up the wall studs before falling off a ladder and breaking his leg. Never mind that the broken leg was a little bit of Claire’s fault. If that damned dog of Gramps’s hadn’t been such a stubborn little … Anyway, Claire and her cousin Natalie had taken over building the restroom while Gramps had barked orders from his lawn chair in between chugging beers with his cronies, Chester and Manny. Claire had barely finished painting the restrooms before she and Kate had left for South Dakota.
Now she had a partially gutted rec room to put back together. Gramps had asked her last night to take over where he’d left off while he and Ruby were gone. Never mind that she’d be a teeny bit busy running an R.V. park at the same time. The damned man must think energy grew on creosote bushes down here. Or maybe he had her confused with Popeye after downing a can of spinach. As flattering as his confidence in her was, most days she felt more like Wimpy—hurting for cash and wanting nothing more than to dive into a stack of hamburgers. Better yet a box of MoonPies.
Claire washed the smoke out of her throat with several swallows of Coke. Then she set the bottle on the counter and went to work airing out the General Store.
It took two floor fans and about fifteen minutes to chase out the last of the smoke hovering up near the fluorescent bulbs. Ruby swept up the last of the ashes scattered across the varnished plank flooring and wiped down the burned wall with a wet rag.
“That’s as good as it’s gonna get,” Ruby said, dropping her rag into the bucket. “Finish your drink before it gets warm, darlin’, and I’ll go rinse out these rags in back.”
&nbs
p; Not a minute after Ruby had disappeared, Gramps pulled up in front of the store in his pickup.
Claire watched him step down out of the cab, whistling as he swung a Roadrunner Auto Parts plastic bag with each step. Who was this happy old Smurf and what had he done with Grumpy the dwarf?
Gramps took one look at the pile of burned offerings on the gravel and seemed to choke on his whistle.
“Ruby?” he yelled as he hustled up the steps and shoved aside a fan on his way into the store.
“She’s out back rinsing out some rags,” Claire told him from where she leaned against the counter, taking a couple more swallows of Coke.
His pale blue eyes hopped from her to the doorway where the curtain used to hang. “What in the hell happened in here? I was only gone for an hour.”
“Well, I’m no fire investigator, but my somewhat-educated guess is that you pulled a wire or two loose in the outlet when you were tearing off the paneling in the rec room.”
“Ah, hell.” He dropped his bag on the counter and crossed into the rec room, checking out the fire damage with a grimace that deepened as he followed the burn marks clear up to the ceiling. “I knew those wires were trouble. I’ll have to cap them until I get back.”
“They’re already capped.” Claire had taken that precaution, disassembling the guilty outlet as soon as the wires were cool enough to touch.
“Good thinking, girl.”
She joined him in the rec room. “I was taught by the master.”
“Yeah, well the master should have known better and checked the wires before taking a break from his project.” He ran his hand over his bald head. “Jesus, I could’ve burned the whole damned place down with you guys in it.”
Claire patted his shoulder. “Thanks to your weekly smoke alarm inspection, the place is still standing, so don’t beat yourself up too bad.”
He grunted. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave tomorrow.”
“No!” she said with more emphasis than she meant to. “This trip will be good for both of you. With Mom and us girls all living down here now, and Jessica’s dad constantly adding to the stress level, Ruby needs a break. The Black Hills are a great place to relax, especially now that the summer tourists are gone and the winter skiers and snowmobilers aren’t there yet.”
“That’s true. Ruby sure could use a vacation. The poor woman has been baking every damned day lately.”
Baking heavenly but fattening goodies was Ruby’s method of de-stressing. Unfortunately, eating those heavenly but fattening carbohydrates was Claire’s way of dealing with her own stolen-treasure worries and mother-caused angst. Ruby needed to leave town so Claire could drop ten pounds and no longer have to shoehorn her butt into her jeans.
“I don’t like leaving you with this mess, though.”
“Ehh.” Claire waved away his concern. “It’ll keep me busy. Plus this will keep Chester entertained until you return. Manny, too, when he gets back.”
Gramps’s old Army buddies thoroughly enjoyed heckling Claire while she worked around the R.V. park. They reminded her of the two old guys in the balcony on the Muppet Show, always making smartass remarks and cackling at their own jokes.
“But you’re not so good at wiring.”
“I’ll call Natalie and have her walk me through anything that I’m not certain about.” Claire’s cousin was a real chip off Gramps’s block. Nat’s skills at wiring rivaled his these days, whereas Claire’s expertise was in plumbing, where soldering a joint very rarely involved possible electrocution.
“I don’t know,” Gramps headed back into the General Store. “Wiring can be tricky, especially in these old houses.”
“Wait. Didn’t you tell me back before I called Nat to come down and help with building the restrooms that Chester knows his way around wiring, too?”
Gramps shrugged. “He claims to have worked as an electrician once or twice in his younger years.”
“See, no problem. Chester and I will take care of it, and we’ll bug Natalie, if needed.”
“Call me if you need help, not your cousin.”
“No. You and Ruby are escaping. Take her up to Nemo and let her soak up the hills in all their snowy beauty.”
“There’s no snow there yet.”
“I know that, Negative Nelly, but there will be after this weekend. You better get up there before this big storm they’re calling for hits and snows you out instead of in.”
The General Store’s screen door slammed shut.
“Where’s the fire?” Chester Thomas called out.
“In the rec room.” Claire hollered back.
Chester’s bowlegged scuffle drew closer. He paused in the doorway, his usual shit-eating grin in place around the unlit cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. His silver hair looked extra bristly this morning, along with his unshaven jaw and the sprigs of hair sticking up out of his shirt collar.
“Dammit, Claire,” he said with his eyes sparking. “You’re supposed to answer, ‘In my pants,’ and then I reply with, ‘I got just the right hose to put out hot babes like you.’”
“Your hose would definitely put me out, Chester. Right out the front door and ten miles down the road, screaming all the way.”
“Keep your pants on around my granddaughter, Thomas.”
“Relax, you old crab.” Chester took out his cigar and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “I’m just trying to educate Claire on some of the finer things in life.”
Gramps snorted. “She’s had enough education to get her Ph.D. She doesn’t need any more.”
Gramps wasn’t exaggerating about that. Claire had taken enough college classes over the years to be a doctor; unfortunately she couldn’t settle on one major so all her schooling amounted to a doctorate in absolutely nothing, which her mother liked to remind Claire of often.
“What’s got your pecker in a knot today?” Chester asked Gramps. “We always joke in front of Claire. She’s one of the boys.”
Unfortunately, that was also true. Since Claire had joined Gramps and his Army vet buddies down here last spring, Chester hadn’t once worried about what came out of his mouth in front of her—and out of his other end, too, which was unfortunate since most mornings he loved to eat chili con carne straight from the can.
“My granddaughter is a respectable girl.”
“Thanks, Gramps.”
“She just doesn’t dress like it.”
She resembled that remark this morning, damn it, with her torn jeans and stained T-shirt. “Hey! Clothing doesn’t make a woman.”
Chester snickered. “No, but a lack of clothing sure does separate the wheat from the chaff. Take that cute little snowbird who rolled into the park yesterday afternoon in her sleek new Airstream.”
“What’s your snowbird have to do with Claire?”
“Not a single damned thing. I just want to take that sexy bird, especially after I saw her out drinking coffee this morning wearing a short silky robe and fur-lined, high-heeled slippers.” Chester winked at Claire. “I bet she has a pair of fur-lined handcuffs that came with that outfit.”
Jeez-o-petes, it wasn’t even nooner-time yet. “Did you confuse Viagra for your allergy pill again this morning?”
Gramps squeezed her shoulder. “Stay away from Chester while I’m gone.”
“Take it easy, Ford. Claire and I ain’t gonna elope while you’re gone.”
She pointed at Chester. “What he said.”
“Claire’s a real peach, but a bit too green for me. I like my peaches soft, round, and sweet-smelling with plenty of juice when I bite into ‘em.”
Claire wrinkled her nose. She’d never look at peaches the same way again.
“Besides,” Chester continued, elbowing Claire in jest, “we both know good ol’ Sweet Buns has Claire wrapped around his totem pole.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Claire rolled her eyes and headed toward the General Store. “I’m gonna go get the mail.”
By the time she got back from the mailbox, Ruby had joined G
ramps and Chester, all three leaning against the long, saloon-era bar in the rec room like a trio of cowpokes. All that was missing was a player piano and a spittoon. Claire handed Ruby the mail and detoured into the kitchen to put away the breakfast dishes she’d left in her haste to put out the fire. But the table had already been cleared, so she returned to the rec room.
“Harley,” Ruby said, frowning down at a letter. “What do ya make of this?”
Gramps took the paper she held out. He scanned it, turned it over and then upright. “What’s the return address on the envelope?”
“It’s ours.”
“No, the return address.”
She held out the envelope for him to see. “Ours. The sender put our address in both places.”
Claire joined them, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What is it?”
She took the paper Gramps offered and read the one sentence typed on it:
You are the proud owner of Humdigger mine.
“Humdigger?” Chester said from where he was reading over her shoulder. “Is that supposed to be Humdinger?”
“Can you read the city on the postage meter stamp?” Claire asked Ruby.
“Not without my reading glasses.” She handed the envelope to Claire.
“It says Yuccaville.” Claire gave Ruby back the letter and envelope. “Have you ever heard of this Humdigger mine?”
“Nope, but I’ve had my nose buried in this R.V. park since I moved here.”
Ruby’s deceased husband, Joe, had bought her the Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park as a wedding gift and then had left her alone to fix it up and keep it afloat while he went on his so-called weekly sales trips. Unfortunately, while Ruby might be decent at bookkeeping and running the store, she stumbled when it came to the park’s upkeep and regular maintenance. By the time Joe had his stroke, she was hip deep in debt quicksand from maintenance bills and sinking fast.
“You should call Mac,” Harley suggested.
Ruby and Claire both blinked at each other in surprise, and then nailed Gramps with a matching set of frowns. Gramps had pawed at the ground last month and snorted fire about Mac playing the white knight too often, especially when it came to helping his aunt.
