“I just want what’s best for you,” Liz called after him.
“The words every son hates to hear,” he called back.
It was a good thing he loved his mother, he thought, as he walked down the Hill to the bookstore. If he didn’t, he’d have put her in a home for the politically deranged long ago. The problem was, she’d bought too far into the Tucker legacy. His dad had been hipped on it, but that was at least understandable since he’d been raised with a box of Tucker for Mayor: More of the Same posters as a booster seat. But Liz was a Yarnell. Hill people. She should have had some proportion on politics.
Except that she’d loved his father so very much. Phin slowed a little as he remembered them together, so wrapped up in each other and politics that they’d almost forgotten they had a son. He could remember a few times he’d had his parents’ full attention—like the day he’d told his kindergarten class he wanted to be a fireman; they’d spent hours with him that afternoon—but mostly it had been the two of them, together against the world.
And now she was alone. He turned to look back at her and was distracted by the water tower, thrusting through the trees behind the houses.
It was bright, bright red.
“Oh, Christ,” he said, and walked faster to the bookstore to find out what had gone wrong this time.
Chapter Four
“It looks like the Whore of Babylon,” Phin told Wes later that afternoon as they sat on the bookstore porch at closing time.
Wes said, “You should hear Stephen. He came into the station and told me Hildy had conspired with the Coreys to humiliate him.”
“Yeah, I can see Hildy meeting two high school kids in a dark alley just to give Stephen heart failure.” Phin sighed. “Which, unfortunately, he didn’t have.”
“Hey,” Wes said. “I told you. No death.”
“I don’t want him to die,” Phin said. “I just want him sick enough to resign from the council and take his rubber stamp of a wife with him. He’s still trying to block the new streetlights because they’re too expensive.”
“He’ll resign when they pry his cold dead hands from around his campaign posters,” Wes said. “Which will now read, Paint the Water Tower White and Buy Cheaper Streetlights.”
“Forget the campaign,” Phin said. “Tell me something new.”
“I watched Amy’s tape,” Wes said, and the way he said it made Phin pay attention. “There were a couple of interesting things on it.”
“I don’t need any more suspense in my life,” Phin said.
“The Garveys ran their stop sign, too,” Wes said. “Clear as day on the tape; they didn’t even do a rolling stop, just went right through.”
“And they hit the Dempseys, so Sophie had the right of way,” Phin said. “Although they both ran the signs, so fry them both, that’s my advice.”
“Well, there’s one other thing,” Wes said. “Stephen wasn’t driving, Virginia was.”
Phin frowned at him. “Why would they lie about a thing like that?”
“Don’t know,” Wes said. “I’m looking into it. But it’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want ‘interesting,’ ” Phin said. “I want boring and calm.” He looked away from Wes and caught sight of the water tower again, glowing like a bloodred bullet in the sun. “Why did the Coreys paint the tower red, anyway? I couldn’t find them to get any answers.”
“They’re out painting the Whipple farmhouse,” Wes said. “And they painted it red because Stephen gave them the cheap stuff the school buys in bulk for the athletic department, and the white wouldn’t cover.”
Phin leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the porch rail. “You know, I think I like it red. Perks the place right up. And it annoys Stephen. I can’t see a downside here.”
“Amy and Sophie are perking the place up, too,” Wes said, and Phin kept his face expressionless.
“Yeah, my mother thinks so. Have you got anything out of Amy yet?”
“I’m biding my time,” Wes said.
“I meant about the movie,” Phin said. “Your sex life is your business.”
“It appears to be a love story,” Wes said. “Frank seems to think he’s the lead.”
“And he’s not?”
“Judging from what I saw Amy shoot today, that would be Rob.”
Phin winced. “Frank’s going to be real unhappy about that.”
“Yeah,” Wes said. “The perfect start to your midlife crisis: Your son sleeps with the woman you always wanted and takes your part in the movie you’ve been waiting for all your life.”
“But are they shooting porn?”
“I don’t know,” Wes said. “If they are, I hope they let me watch.”
“That’ll be a major consolation if Stephen uses that to throw me out of office,” Phin groused. “ ‘At least Wes got to watch,’ that’s what I’ll say.”
“You’re being irrational,” Wes said. “You haven’t even voted in the permit yet. And you said yourself, Sophie doesn’t look like the type.”
“I changed my mind,” Phin said. “Sophie is capable of anything except changing a fuse and reading. She’s obsessed with film. I don’t think she’s ever picked up a book.”
“The movie-quote thing? Amy says she does that when she gets nervous. It was a game they used to play when they were little.” Wes leaned back. “I get the feeling that they didn’t have a great childhood.”
“I can tell you that sometime during it, somebody like me did a job on Sophie,” Phin said. “She spits every time she sees me.”
“Maybe she just doesn’t like you,” Wes said, and Phin said, “Thank you. I’m sure that’s it.”
Wes stood up. “Got you mad, did I? Good. Let’s play pool. Maybe I can beat you, now that you’re distracted.”
“Don’t count on it.” Phin stood up. “You going to look into this Stephen thing?”
“Have to,” Wes said. “Insurance companies like to have the whole story. And so do I. I’m thorough. Which reminds me, we’re going to the Tavern tonight.”
“On a Friday?” Phin thought about the development crowd that came in on Fridays. He liked his bars quiet and dark. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re driving,” Wes said. “So you can leave and strand me there, and I can catch a ride home with Amy.”
Phin closed his eyes. “I have to go through this hell so you can get laid?”
“No,” Wes said. “I just want to get closer.”
“She’s leaving on Sunday,” Phin said.
“She’s just going back to Cincinnati,” Wes said. “I can drive an hour to make my move. Nine o’clock. You can tuck Dill in and then go play with Sophie.”
Sophie. “And I’d want to play with Sophie because she’s so warm and cuddly? No.”
“Just play with her until I hook up with Amy,” Wes said. “We’re buddies. You’re supposed to come through for me.”
Sophie. And that mouth. “I’ll pick you up at nine,” Phin said. “No earlier. There’s only so much Tavern and Sophie I can stand.”
When Rachel got home, her mother was sitting at their red-checked-plastic-covered kitchen table, snapping beans, waiting for her as always.
“Hello, baby,” Virginia said, “I ran into Georgia Lutz today,” and Rachel thought, Uh-oh. “She told me what a good job you were doing at the Whipple Farm. I’m not sure that’s a good place for you to be.” Rachel started to protest and Virginia added, “But your father seems to think it’s a good idea, so I guess it’s fine.”
“Daddy does?” That couldn’t be right.
“I called him after I talked to Georgia, and he said we should let you go out there. He seemed pleased.”
That definitely couldn’t be right.
“And that nice Sophie said they were going home on Sunday,” Virginia said. “So you won’t be out there that much anyway.”
Rachel eyed her mother and risked her next move. “Sophie’s going back to Cincinnati, but Amy’s not. I’m sort
of hoping Sophie might hire me to take Amy’s place in their video business.”
Virginia’s hands stilled over the beans, and Rachel rushed on. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, for me to get a job so close to home?” She had no intention of ever coming back to Temptation, but her mother didn’t have to know that.
“I don’t think so, dear.” Her mother smiled as she began to snap the ends off the beans again. “Your father wouldn’t let you go that far.”
I’m twenty, Rachel wanted to say. I can go wherever I want.
“And besides, he needs you at the store.” Virginia stopped to smile lovingly at her. “And I just don’t know what I’d do without my baby. I’d worry so much if you left. You don’t want me to worry, do you?”
Rachel felt a flush of resentment. “What if staying here makes me unhappy? You don’t want me to be unhappy, do you?”
“Your father and I know what’s best for you, Rachel. You’ve always wanted things that weren’t good for you. Remember when you used to ask for two cotton candies at the fair? And we never let you have two because we knew you’d get sick.”
“This isn’t cotton candy,” Rachel said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “This is my life.”
“Why don’t you find something here in Temptation?” Virginia put the last of the beans in the bowl and stood up. “Let’s see, what could you do? Not something too demanding because you’ll be raising your own children soon.” She picked up the bowl, and Rachel revised her plan.
“I suppose it’s possible Sophie will stay here and work,” Rachel said, watching her mother from the corner of her eye. “Phin’s interested, you can tell, and if he decides he wants her, she’ll have to stay.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Virginia said, clutching the bowl to her breasts. “The two of you are practically engaged.”
“Mother.” Rachel took a deep breath. Now or never. “Look, Phin and I were never engaged, we never wanted to be engaged, and we’re never going to be engaged.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and Rachel backtracked fast. “And anyway, I’m sure he’s after Sophie now. He gets that look in his eye whenever she’s around. He never gets that look for me.” Thank God.
“That’s just physical,” Virginia said primly. “He made that mistake with that Diane but he won’t do it again. Liz’ll see to that. I’ll call her and tell her about this Sophie and she’ll put a stop to it.” She nodded at Rachel. “You’re the right one for him, and Liz knows it. The two of you have known each other forever. That’s a real foundation for a marriage. Now, come peel potatoes, and then you can do some weeding.”
“Fabulous,” Rachel said, more determined than ever to get out of town.
By nine, the Tavern was as bad as Phin had thought it would be: Too many people determined to have a good time if it killed them, and Billy Ray Cyrus on the jukebox. He and Wes took their beers back to one of the initial-scarred booths along the back wall; half an hour later, he had a second beer and a headache, and he was ready to strand Wes for real.
“It’s after nine,” he told Wes. “They’re not coming. Let’s go back to the store and play pool.”
Then Wes smiled past him, and he turned and saw Amy in a blue tube top.
And behind her was Sophie.
Sophie’s hair was in loose, dark ringlets on her shoulders, and her cheeks were flushed, and she was wearing a short pink dress that fit tightly under her breasts, and it wasn’t until Phin had taken it all in that he realized he had no idea what she’d been wearing the rest of the week. Something brown, he thought. Nothing like this.
He hadn’t even noticed she’d had breasts until this. Just what he needed, something else to think about besides her mouth.
“Now what?” she said, looking at him warily as he tried to keep his eyes on her face.
“Cute dress.” He slid over to make room for her since Amy had already taken a seat on the other side of the booth next to Wes.
“It is not cute.” Sophie slid in beside him and put her drink on the pitted table. “I am never cute. But thank you for the compliment anyway. I borrowed it from Clea. She wore it in high school.” Sophie stared down at herself doubtfully. “I think it was in style then.”
“If you don’t like being called cute, don’t wear pink.” Phin looked down the scoop neck of her dress. Excellent cleavage.
Sophie tugged up on the neck. “It’s not pink, it’s magenta. Or maybe watermelon.”
“It’s pink,” Phin said. “As is your bra, I see.”
“Those nine stitches didn’t teach you a thing, did they?” Sophie gave up on the neck of her dress and picked up her drink.
“What is that?” Phin said, fearing the worst.
“Rum and Diet Coke,” Sophie said. “And no cracks about what a wimpy drink it is. I like it.”
He was sitting next to a woman with such lousy taste in alcohol that she’d mix good rum with aspartame. He looked across the table at Wes, who shrugged and made a small motion with his head that said, You can go now. Amy was talking a mile a minute about lights and camera angles, and Wes went back to listening to everything she said, his arm draped behind her across the back of the booth. One happy police chief.
Sophie was looking around the bar as if it were a zoo. “‘No point in mentioning those bats,’ ” she said to Amy, and Phin frowned. Then she added, “ ‘The poor bastard will see them soon enough,’ ” and he said, “Oh. Hunter S. Thompson.”
Sophie frowned at him. “That’s Johnny Depp. Who’s Hunter S. Thompson?”
“Author,” Phin said. “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Great book. Who’s Johnny Depp?”
“Actor,” Sophie said. “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Mediocre movie.”
“So you’re nervous,” Phin said, and tried not to watch while Sophie wet her lips with her tongue.
“Me? What do I have to be nervous about?” Sophie said, and spilled some of her drink.
Phin pulled a wad of napkins from the holder and dropped them on the spill, just as Wes patted his shirt pocket and said to Amy, “I’ve got something for you.” He pulled out a glasses case and gave it to her.
She opened it and said, “My sunglasses,” the way another, less interesting woman might have said, “My diamonds.”
“I found them on the dashboard,” Wes said. “Seemed like the least we could do to make up for such a lousy welcome.”
“You’re kidding,” Sophie said, as she mopped up the last of her drink.
Amy put the glasses on. They were bizarre: thick pink plastic cat’s-eye frames studded with rhinestones in the corners. Even the lenses were pink.
“You got pink lenses!” Amy was so delighted she was almost in Wes’s lap.
He looked pretty delighted, too. “I couldn’t tell what color the old ones were,” he told her. “But Mindy at the optometrist’s said pink would be best.”
“Mindy is a genius,” Amy said from behind her glasses. “These lenses are much better than the old ones.”
“Got those turned around pretty fast, didn’t you?” Phin said quietly to Wes as Sophie leaned forward to see the glasses better.
“I sent Duane to Cincinnati to one of those one-hour places,” Wes said, not taking his eyes off Amy.
“You sent your deputy to Cincinnati so you could get—ouch!” Phin rubbed his shin as Sophie leaned back and smiled at Wes.
“You are obviously one of the good ones,” she told him. “We’re very impressed here.”
“We certainly are,” Amy said. “These are great.”
Phin’s work as a best friend was done. A smart man would leave. He turned to ask Sophie to scoot over so he could go, and look down her dress again.
On the other hand, if he left too soon, the whole setup would look as contrived as it was. It wouldn’t kill him to stay a couple of minutes longer so Amy wouldn’t catch on. “So how’s the movie going?” he asked Sophie over the din, and she shot him a suspicious glance.
“Just fine, thank you,” she said, and sippe
d her disgusting drink.
“You never did tell me what it’s called.”
“Return to Temptation.”
“Catchy title. I don’t suppose I could talk you out of using the name of the town.”
Sophie shook her head as she looked out over the crowd, and he watched the way her curls bounced on her shoulders. “I don’t think so. Who are all these people?”
“People who live in Temptation,” Phin said. “What did you think, we bus them in on Fridays?”
“I didn’t think there were this many people in Temptation.”
“Over two thousand,” Phin said. “And every one of them contrary and stubborn as mules.”
“And you know them all,” Sophie said. “Who’s the cute guy in the green windbreaker over there, talking to Georgia?”
Phin bent closer to her to see where she was pointing, trying to ignore how her hair smelled like lavender. “Pete Alcott. He’s part of their theater group. He moves a lot of scenery.”
“I can understand that. He looks really strong.”
“Not that strong.”
“He’s built very well.”
“He can’t play pool worth a damn. No position play at all. Fixates on whatever ball is in front of him.” Phin looked down to see her frowning at him. “Sorry. Of course you don’t know pool. Amateurs just knock the balls in one at a time. Pros use position play which means they always know not only how they’re going to play the ball in front of them, but how they’re going to play the next two or three balls, too. That way every shot they take positions them for the next one.”
“And Pete Whatsis takes it one ball at a time.” Sophie nodded at him, her eyes wide. “That’s very interesting. Thank you.”
She smiled at him, full wattage, and every political instinct he had went on alert. He looked down into her big brown eyes and said, “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” She nodded over to where Frank stood at the bar with his back to his wife and his front to Clea. “How’s Frank play?”
“He likes trick shots,” Phin said, still wary. “Bank shots, combination shots. Frank plays in the moment. He thinks pool is a performance. And he loses a lot.”
Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me Page 8
