by Ritter Ames
I dropped my head for a moment, and everyone went silent. Abby and Vonda left the stage, and I took a few seconds to focus. Then I raised my head and lifted my voice.
By the time I sang all four verses and began the final repeat of the first verse, slower this time, my fans were on their feet. The last note rang out, and the applause started. I’m not going to lie and say it didn’t feel great. Sure, every talent competition on reality television had a boatload of contestants who were all younger and better than I was, but this hometown crowd made me glad in this moment I’d convinced Dek we had to come home after Mac was born. We couldn’t keep trooping around Europe anymore carrying two little boys and all the trappings of parenthood. The boys needed roots. I needed to stop feeling like a pack mule.
Not that I’d hadn’t had second thoughts time and again.
Someone in the crowd yelled a karaoke favorite I didn’t want to hear.
“Sing ‘Don’t Stop Believing,’ Lissa!”
If I ever needed a song that explained why I’d originally run off to the vagabond life with Dek, dropped out of college, broke my grandma’s heart, and disappeared on a train to anywhere, that song summed it up with the opening line. And the next line may as well have been written for my husband, except he was running away from Baltimore instead of south Detroit. I started waving my hand and holstering the mic in the stand.
“Sorry, folks, this singer’s done for now.” I saw a tentative duo hedging their way the long route toward the stage. Pointing to the pair, I said, “I think Steve and Kaylie are ready to come up here and sing. Come on and cheer them on.” I clapped, and everyone followed suit. As I took the short steps down, the couple were waiting their turn, blushing furiously and grinning ear-to-ear.
A strange guy caught my arm as I headed for the table and Steve cued up the mic.
“Mrs. Eller?” The stranger asked.
I nodded and smiled but shook my arm free and continued moving toward Abby and our table. My drink was completely melted by now, but my throat needed some relief. Also, the guy had a vibe that made my teeth grind a little, and I wanted to get some backup around me.
He was in his late forties and dressed nicely enough, khaki slacks and a navy blazer that didn’t quite look like it would button over his belly. Brown hair a little too dark to look like it didn’t come out of a bottle in his bathroom. But there was something off-putting to me.
“I want to see about coming by to assess your house,” he said.
I stopped short. “What? What are you talking about?”
The music started up for “Don’t Stop Believing,” which threw me for an instant until I realized Steve and Kaylie must have thought they’d sing it since I wasn’t. My new friend leaned closer, so I could hear his words, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath when he said, “I’d like to see your house. Make an inspection.”
“Whatever for?”
“Why to make an offer to buy it, of course.”
I was floored. All I could do was stare at him and try to process this incredible statement. All with the music of Journey and the vocal harmonizing of Fred and Wilma Flintstone blasting around us and overstressing my brain. Finally, I motioned for him to follow me and we moved closer to the bar. Abby looked at me and frowned. I held up a finger to tell her I’d be there shortly.
“Another margarita, Lissa?”
“Sure, Billy,” I said without really thinking since I hadn’t even drunk my first one yet and I was simply agreeing. I’d only come there so we wouldn’t have to shout while I found out what this man was talking about. I turned to him. “My house is not up for sale, and is not open for inspection, Mr...”
“Carlisle. JC Carlisle,” he said, offering me a hand to shake.
I hated shaking hands, but it seemed too rude not to do so then. “Mr. Carlisle.”
“JC. And can I call you Lissa?”
“No, I think we need to leave things at Mr. Carlisle and Mrs. Eller,” I said. “I’m sorry, but you’re misinformed.”
He shook his head. “I’m very well informed, Mrs. Eller. And I’m very determined to buy your house.”
“But it isn’t for sale.”
“It’s on the list.”
“What list?” I asked.
He looked uncomfortable and hemmed and hawed a few times, then said, “Your credit has some problems, and I can get this sale closed in a week.”
I blew up. “My credit isn’t any shakier than the rest of the ninety-nine percent of hard-working Americans, and I’m telling you for the last time, Mr. Carlisle, you are very much mistaken because my house is not for sale!”
Billy arrived with my margarita right then and said, “Is there a problem here, Lissa? Is this man bothering you?”
“I’m sure there isn’t any mistake—” Carlisle began.
“Approaching someone in a very public place like this, to discuss something this sensitive is definitely a mistake, Mr. Carlisle. Especially when it isn’t true,” I said. “I guarantee that you’re mistaken about whether I am or am not selling my house. For the last time, my house is not for sale.”
“I have a list, and I’m determined to get all the houses on that list.”
I slammed my hand on the top of the bar. “I don’t want to hear more about your damned list. But if you show up at my door, you’re going to find yourself on a list, Mr. Carlisle, and I’m betting you won’t like it.”
As I whirled away from him, I waved for Abby and headed out the door. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the car, livid that I realized I’d left without paying Billy for the margarita I’d never wanted. Abby was on her way out of the hotel as I grabbed a couple of bills, intending to go back in and pay my tab. Until I saw khaki pants legging it out of the building behind my best friend. I twisted back in my seat and started the Honda, pulling out of the parking spot and hurrying over to pick up Abby before the annoying jerk had a chance to catch her.
I opened the passenger side door, and she jumped in. He made a grab for the door before it closed, but I floored the accelerator and left him in our dust.
If I ran over one of his feet, I would have been happy, too. But a glance out the rearview showed him standing still and pulling out his phone as we drove away.
“Shoot,” I said. “He isn’t hopping around hurt, so he must have kept his feet away from my tires. I’ll have to try again next time.”
“What did he do?”
“Told me he was buying my house in a quick sale because I don’t pay my bills.” I slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Right there in the hotel karaoke bar in front of Billy and everybody.”
“Are you having problems paying your bills?”
“No.” I looked at her, saw her nicely waxed eyebrows pulled together in concern and repeated, quieter, “No. We might get behind sometimes, but it’s nothing big. Just Dek’s checks don’t always come in time for some bills that are due. But we’re never in big trouble. Just a month here and there.”
“And now?”
I sighed. I’d just been fretting today over Dek’s expense account check, knowing he hadn’t turned it in yet and wouldn’t until he finally made it home. Late. I’d planned to cover all of that with him this weekend until the new assignment cropped up. “We’re fine. Dek needs to turn in an expense report, but we’ll catch up completely by the end of the month. Still, it burns me up to think he’d start a conversation like that with me in a public venue like karaoke night. Makes me wonder how many other people he’s blindsided the same way.”
“Why did he think your house was for sale?”
“Said it was on some list.” I shrugged. Then I began fuming again. “I told him he’d better stay away from my house or I’d put him on a list alright.”
Abby laughed. “No wonder he was following me out of the place. Between your laser look and razor-sharp tongue, he probably figured he’d better beg for mercy.”
“I have no mercy for the man. He ruined karaoke night,” I said, pulling in
to a McDonalds and parking. “We’re going to eat hamburgers and Cokes instead of potato skins and margaritas. Not my idea of a Saturday girls’ night out. He’s definitely on my list.”
I hope you’ve enjoyed this excerpt from my new cozy mystery series that will be out in late summer 2018. If you’d like to be notified about this release, or would like more news on me and my books, please sign up for my newsletter at http://smarturl.it/NewsltrSubcribe
