Lady Luck's a Loser (The Apple Orchard Series Book 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  After all, He was on the throne and in control. Oh, she’d been praying plenty already, but in the end, trusting Him was the best thing.

  Shortly, someone tapped on her door then Audrey peeked in. “Ready?”

  With one last look in the mirror, Marge grabbed her cape and followed her friend down the stairs.

  *  *

  One hundred and twenty miles east by southeast, the unseen member of their gaggle was also ready. Thanks to Jorje, his gang of hombres, and the boy wonder who looked twelve but was really twenty-three, Preston’s bedroom had been transformed into a command center worthy of an academy award winning spy thriller. Monitors filled every surface.

  Tiny hidden cameras with microphones everywhere the ladies would be that night, except their private rooms of course, would chronicle the evening. With a flick of a finger, he could see, hear, and record them through any of twenty-six hidden cameras. The City of Jefferson had let him tap into two of their new donated intersection feeds, and Friends of the Library couldn’t have been more accommodating after he offered to bestow the system to help keep the old Carnegie treasure safe and secure.

  The horse drawn carriage decorated with twinkling lights eased into place three minutes ahead of schedule. Preston flipped a switch and the image of the Hale House’s front porch blinked off its small monitor onto the big screen. Ah, a terrific view from across the street. Well, a leaf bobbed in and out on one corner, but that shouldn’t block anything. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

  Forty-five seconds later, the door swung open. Vicki led the way in her blue cape, then hot pink Natalie followed by Marge in emerald with Audrey the van guard in red. He loved seeing their excitement. Once in, the driver tapped the horse’s rump, and his ladies were off. Preston tracked them to the Library on the three street camera’s tiny monitors then switched the big screen to the camera focused on the double stairs leading to the second floor ball room.

  Heads turned as the four entered. Each signed the guest register then lingered a few feet inside the hall in a cluster. Less than a minute passed before two older gentlemen, both dressed as English Lords, inquired to their well being. Preston watched with detached interest as the women found seats, drinks, and fancy plates of goodies.

  The DJ struck up a lively tune, something from the seventies. Preston swept the other monitors. No one seemed to be heading in the ladies direction. Then all at once, three men stood at their table asking for a dance. Marge, Natalie, and Vicki accepted. Audrey seemed somewhat miffed, but one of the Lords from the greeting party stopped beside her. She beamed as he led her to the dance floor.

  For the next forty-five minutes, he tried seven cameras on the big screen with fourteen different angles on the picture-within-a-picture feature without ever getting one where he could see all four all the time. They all danced every dance, mostly with different men. Finally, the DJ took a break. Just watching wore Preston out.

  The cycle of fifteen minutes off and forty-five on repeated again, then judging time arrived. Preston quit playing with camera angle combinations and put the ladies’ table on the larger screen. The span of the room shot moved to one of the small picture spots. Every camera recorded separately, so he could review anything he wanted later.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The Master of Ceremonies spoke in a loud voice from the center of the dance floor. “The judges have made their decisions.”

  The room’s low rumble quieted to a stray cough.

  “Second runner up for the Most Original Costume.” He held the white card out, leaned back, and squinted. “Marge Winters for her Queen Esther.” He held up a white sash. She stood then strolled to the dance floor. The man draped the silky material over her shoulder. Preston clapped with the others, but was disappointed for her that she only got third.

  After her applause died down, the emcee called up one of the Lords, the one who’d been dancing with Audrey, as first runner-up.

  “And now for our winner in the Most Original category.” He held both hands up and quieted the murmurs. “Let’s give a round of applause to Audrey McLaudin for Betty Crocker.” The cook beamed as she hurried to accept her blue sash. She’d never looked more pleased. Well, maybe about the same as when he bragged on her culinary expertise.

  With both runner-ups named in the only other category - Most Authentic - Vicki and Natalie squirmed and fidgeted too much. He was almost certain Natalie’s princess wouldn’t win anything, about as certain as he was that his little girl would win for her Maid Marian. It could take Most Authentic.

  The winner was announced - a woman dressed to the nines as the Queen of Hearts. Obviously a local. He couldn’t help getting hot and wished he were there to tell Vicki what a travesty of justice had been perpetrated. It wasn’t right. She had worked hard, and her costume was better than good. She looked devastated.

  The emcee quieted the room again with a wave. “We have one more announcement. Please. Please, everyone. We still have our grand prize.” He held up a crystal bowl. “And this year, our Best in Show goes to Miss Vicki Truchard for her Maid Marian.”

  Vicki jumped to her feet squealing and ran onto the dance floor. Preston sprang up as well and gave her a standing ovation. “All right.” He’d forgotten about Best in Show. Of course it would be announced last.

  Once all the picture takers finished, the three winners returned to their table. At first, neither he nor the other ladies noticed Natalie’s absence. They seemed too busy oooing and ahhing over Vicki’s crystal bowl. But once they did, he’d already re-ran the tape. She slipped out as Vicki accepted her prize and applause.

  The other three hung around after the crowd thinned, but then the carriage came. He watched the Hale House’s front door, for better than an hour after the horses pulled away then shut down the monitors, but continued to record. He’d check the tape in the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Journal entry - June 28th

  I’ve got to figure a way out.

  The creaking of the old hardwood floors brought Marge out of her uneasy sleep. She glanced at the bedside clock. Three forty-two. From the giggles and un-rhythmic steps, she figured Natalie to be more than tipsy. She wondered where she’d been, but certainly not enough to get up and ask. She rolled over and tried to find sleep again, but it wasn’t to be. She tossed and turned for half an hour then decided she rather greet the day sipping coffee than fighting pillows.

  She flipped the switch on the pot, scabbed a cup as soon as she thought it wouldn’t be too strong, then retreated to the gazebo. While she watched a squirrel scamper atop the picketed privacy fence on the north border, it struck her that in a few short hours, she’d be back at her daughter’s house and out of Preston’s life forever. She hated the thought, but didn’t see any other workable option.

  After another great breakfast, she called Stephanie before she walked out to the limo. Everything was set. She couldn’t back out now.

  Vicki bumped her knee against Marge’s. “So, what do you think his rules are going to be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Awe, come on. How about you, Audrey?” She scooted to the edge of her seat to lean into her mom and the cook. “I think us three winning a sash buys us another month.”

  Audrey smiled. “I think you’re right, but now on the other hand…” She nodded toward Natalie who slouched in the corner with her eyes closed. “Maybe it’s whoever drank the most or stayed out the latest gets to stay another month.”

  The Polynesian beauty moaned and stirred. “Don’t start in on me. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Vicki winked and scooted next to Natalie. “What we don’t know will hurt us.” She nudged Natalie’s knee with her own. “Give it up. Where’d you go, and what happened?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Back to Auntie Skinners. I only wanted to get myself a good stiff drink. That punch was the pits.” She sat up. “There was this guy on a sax. Totally awesome. And from the first note…” She closed
her eyes. “I’m here to tell you, ladies, he was killing me softly with his song. Telling my whole life…” She shook her head. “He did that and more with his music.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Don’t know.” She gave a quick apologetic grin. “Names never came up.”

  “So you stayed at Auntie’s then came home?”

  “Oh no. We left there and went over to one of his friends’. I almost didn’t come back at all, but it seemed there might be a scene, so...” She held out her hands. “Here I am.”

  Marge couldn’t help asking. “What were you giggling about this morning when you came in?”

  Natalie chuckled. “Oh, you know. The booze, the music, running out. I had some good loving, and it’d been so long.”

  Marge grimaced, but saved her sermon on casual sex. She hated it that young women these days thought so little of themselves or God’s Word. Instead, she scooted around and studied the countryside as the limo sped west. Soon Natalie snored softly in the corner, and the other two started a game of rummy. ‘If only’ echoed again in her heart, ‘what if’ tugged at her resolve, but the decision remained firm.

  Only thing left was to set the bridge on fire.

  *  *

  Preston had their return timed to the minute. With three to spare, he walked out to the patio. The gravel on his lane hadn’t been crunched so often since . . . since . . . well, since Nancy died he guessed, but he sure could get used to all this coming and going. He stopped almost at the exact spot he stood when they left. The limousine rolled in. Jorje burst through the door carrying a large cardboard box.

  “That all of it?”

  “Every bit, Boss.”

  The door opened, and he helped Vicki out. “Hi, Dub. Did you miss me?”

  “Sure, darlin’, but could you get on inside?” He eased her toward the house as Audrey stepped out closely followed by Marge. “Please, ladies, if you would, I need a minute alone with Natalie.”

  The three disappeared, and he leaned in and faced her.

  She waved and mouthed hi.

  “You’re fired.” He flipped her check onto the seat next to her. “No need to get out. The driver will take you wherever you want to go. Jorje packed up the rest of your things, and is loading them in the back as we speak.”

  “But, Dub. Why?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s just say I don’t care for you coming in at three forty-five in the morning. Never mind you could hardly stand up. No, for sure, you will not be the next Mrs. Preston.”

  She opened her mouth, but he slammed the door before she could say another word. Once Jorje closed the trunk and let the driver in on the skinny, Preston tapped the roof, and the limo pulled off. He turned around. Marge stood inside the door. He waved her out. “Have a good time?”

  She walked to meet him. “It was great.”

  “Good. Let’s go in.”

  “I can’t.” She stepped past him and walked toward her suitcase.

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head and stepped in front of Jorje who carried all the bags. She took hers from him. The Mexican looked to Preston. He nodded then Jorje continued inside with the others’ suitcases. She walked toward the lane carrying hers.

  Preston hurried in front of her. “What are you doing?”

  She stopped. “Leaving.”

  “What? But why? You don’t have to go.” He touched her elbow. “Is this about Natalie?”

  She refused to meet his eyes, and hers brimmed with tears. “Heavens, no. I just can’t play the game anymore. I’m sorry, Dub. Truly” A lone teardrop escaped and ran down her cheek. “And yes, I do have to go.”

  Up the lane, tires displaced thousands of tiny stones, but now the coming and going stabbed his heart. “But you won.”

  “No, not me.” She sniffled. “I’m not a lucky person, Dub.”

  A sedan pulled into view then skidded to a stop beside her. A young woman jumped out. She stared daggers.

  “Is this the infamous Stephanie?”

  “The one and only.” Marge waved at her daughter. “Hi, honey.” She gestured toward Preston. “Sweetheart, this is W.G. Preston.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Hello, Stephanie, pleased to meet you. Sure wish you’d tell your mother she’s making a mistake.”

  “Sorry. That’s not the way I see it.”

  He sat the bag in the back seat then opened the front door. “Well, I think you’re making a terrible gaffe, but I won’t stop you if you’re determined.”

  Marge slipped in, and he eased the door shut. Stephanie cranked the engine to life. He motioned for her to turn around in the drive then stepped across the lane. When the sedan circled and approached on its way out, he held up his hand. The car stopped, and Marge rolled down her window.

  He squatted to eye level. “I lied to you.”

  “You lied?” Her tears ran freely now. “When?”

  “You were the first one I hired, not the last.”

  She shook her head and swiped at her cheek. “Oh, for goodness sakes, why would you lie about that?”

  “Stay, please, and I’ll explain.”

  She glanced at her daughter then back. “No. No more games of luck and no more lies. Personally, I’m one who guards the truth. I never figured you for a liar, but what difference does it make now if I was hired first or last or in the middle?”

  For a split second she seemed to waiver then set her face forward. She wasn’t going to relent. He pushed himself up. “Have a safe trip. I’ll send your money.”

  She wiped at more tears, but waved for her daughter to drive on. Stephie shifted into gear and rolled down the lane. He stood there until the car disappeared with a rock growing in the pit of his stomach. A heavy weight settled on his chest and made it hard to breathe.

  Marge never turned around. How could she leave like that?

  He ran after her, but winded before he caught sight of the car again. What was he thinking? He should never have let her go. Once he got a couple of breaths, he walked to the end of the lane, but by then, the farm-to-market was empty.

  The cheerfully colored Gerber daisies in the bed she’d worked back to life mocked him. Why’d he let her leave? He waited there by the narrow black-top road until his heart stopped pounding, and he could breathe through his nose again. Then he stood there at least another thirty minutes.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  For lack of a better place, he trudged back to the house.

  Vicki and Audrey waited on the patio. Without a word, he herded them to the kitchen. “Well, now.” He stopped at the head of the table. “Seems to me I’ve never fired someone then had another one quit me back to back like that.”

  Neither of the ladies said a word.

  He dug in his shirt pocket and pulled out the one page of rules, glanced at it, then tossed it on the table. “Things didn’t work out like I planned, but there’s the rules if you’re interested.” He headed for the door.

  “What about the game?” He stopped midway and turned around. Vicki arched one eyebrow. “I thought you wanted a wife, and you said you’d decided to marry one of us. Looks to me like pickings are getting slim. So, unless Virginia’s coming back, maybe we should just flip a coin.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  *  *

  Ironically, Marge had told Stephanie the exact same thing almost as soon as her daughter pulled off Preston’s property, minus the chuckle and false bravado. Their conversation instead covered all the happenings of the last month with the kids and Wayne and most every other small-talk category. Then a silence settled over the little Maxima that lasted for miles.

  Apparently Stephanie thought once she reached sight of Dallas’ skyline, it was later enough. “You do know who he is, don’t you?”

  Marge pulled herself to the now. “What, dear?”

  “You did know that was the W.G. Preston you were working for?”

  “Yes, I know.”


  “He’s like the richest guy in Texas.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t have Gates’ kind of bucks, but I suppose he could buy a couple of small countries.”

  “And exactly what was it again you were doing there?”

  “That discussion is still off limits, covered under my word. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I don’t intend to start breaking my promises. You can surely appreciate that.” She smiled thinking of his please-don’t-call-me-Shirley line. A deep breath taken in and released failed to help her breaking heart. But she’d be alright. She’d get over him in time.

  “Well don’t tell me then. Let me guess, and you just nod or shake yes or no. So did anyone else stay there I would know? I mean anyone famous.”

  Marge smiled. She knew her daughter well, and until Stephanie uncovered the whole story, it would drive her crazy, but what could she do? “Sweetheart, I’m not going to tell you what I did, who I met, or anything about my time at the Apple Orchard Bed and Breakfast. It’s over. Let’s forget about it.”

  “Okay, fine. Then tell me why he wanted you to stay so bad?”

  “Stephanie, please.”

  “Oh, Mother. You know I can keep a secret.”

  Marge didn’t bother to respond. Exactly the opposite would be more true, but why rehash ancient history? Why indeed when there was so much else to think about—such as what to do with the rest of her life? She had time, and a good bankroll. Maybe she’d travel a bit, take a cruise.

  Hugging her grandchildren again and being in her old familiar room soothed her frazzled nerves, but that night, the pain in his eyes when she left tormented her. Deep into the night, her heart bled salty tears of ‘what if’ and ‘why’. If only her head could make her heart understand. A relationship could not be based on luck—or lies. Why would he lie about such a thing anyway?

  No, all her heart understood or cared about was that he no longer resided on the other side of the kitchen.