Bet Your Bottom Dollar (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 1)

by Karin Gillespie

  “I know, Hank. But I thought you might pass these out to your customers for me.”

  “I’ll do it.” He flipped up the bill of his cap. “How’s Mavis holding up?”

  “She’s trying to put up a brave front, Hank. But she’s torn to shreds insides.” I sighed. “She didn’t even want to make up these fliers. She’s convinced that the Super Saver will put her out of business. She’s also put her sweet little house up for sale.”

  Hank nodded sadly. “I know. She told me. I’m sure going to miss that gal. I kinda wish...” He stopped short. “Well, I’m probably too old for that kind of nonsense.”

  I smiled knowingly. “Mavis loves that store, Hank. You should see how she frets over what’s going to go in the display window. She had it all dolled up with hearts and cupids for Valentine’s Day, and now she’s putting up leprechauns and shamrocks.”

  Hank heaved himself up from his chair. “She’s lucky she’s got you, Elizabeth. I’ll make sure anyone who comes in gets a coupon.”

  “Thanks, Hank.” I left the hardware store, deciding where I should go next. I glanced up Main Street. The sign outside the Rock of Ages Baptist Church said, “The fires of hell await for people who sleep in late. Come to church on Sundays.”

  There was a hint of spring in the air. The ginkgo trees swayed in the warm breeze, and folks on the street were rolling up their sleeves and flinging back their heads to bask in the sun.

  I poked my head into Boomer’s Butcher Shop and was greeted by the dank stink of a leaky freezer. My neighbor Burris, whom Boomer had hired on as a clerk, was in the back of the store.

  “Hey, Elizabeth!” he shouted, wiping his hands on his bloody apron. I didn’t want to go in the back where the meat counter was located. There’s certain parts of a pig I’d rather not see up close and personal.

  “Boomer said I could leave some fliers for the Bottom Dollar here at the cash register,” I said.

  “I’ll give them to everyone who comes in. By the way, we got a special today. Hot dogs are ninety-nine cents a pound,” he responded. I glanced at the freezer by the door, which had a sale sticker on the glass. The hot dogs were the bright-red kind that always turned the cooking water pink.

  “Maybe next time!” I left with a good-bye wave.

  After I left Boomer’s, I decided I’d check in with Matilda at the Methodist Church and see if she’d light a candle and start a prayer circle for the Bottom Dollar Emporium, come next Sunday. I’d grown up going to the Baptist Church, but as a little girl had been terrified of Reverend Hozey’s hellfire-and-damnation sermons. As soon as I was old enough to choose, I started attending the Methodist Church, which had a charismatic black woman named Matilda Long as its pastor.

  The Methodist Church was located at the end of Main Street in an empty brick building that used to be the apothecary. It had only been in Cayboo Creek for ten years or so and was still viewed with some suspicion by many townspeople because it was headed by a woman.

  I opened the door and saw Matilda in the fellowship room folding a stack of baby blankets on top of the old soda fountain. The congregation had collected them for several months and we were going to distribute them next Sunday.

  Matilda smiled at me. Her porcelain-like teeth seemed too fine for everyday jobs like biting into a Granny Smith apple or gnawing on a pork chop.

  “How are you this beautiful spring day, Elizabeth Polk?”

  Her cheekbones were so sharp they threatened to poke through her pecan-colored skin. If Matilda hadn’t chosen the ministry as a vocation, she could have easily been a fashion model in her younger days.

  Matilda noticed the fliers in my hand. “What have you got there?”

  I told her about the coupons, and she agreed to light candles for the Bottom Dollar and have everyone pray next Sunday for the best outcome.

  “There’s also something I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “If you have a minute.”

  Matilda smiled. “I got time. How about sitting in the gardens? There’s tea brewing. Would you like a cup?”

  I declined, but Matilda went to the hot plate and poured herself some tea. We walked behind the church, where she was trying to coax a garden from the red clay. A skinny bush had sprouted with a few yellow flags, but neither the flower beds nor the two bony dogwoods she had planted showed any signs of life.

  I gazed up at the Crayola-blue sky.

  “Have you ever heard that saying about how a fish and a bird can fall in love but it’s not practical, because they can’t make a home together?” I asked, sitting down at the picnic table.

  “Yes,” Matilda said, with a nod.

  “I’ve been seeing a man named Timothy who isn’t anything like any of the fellows I’ve ever dated.”

  Matilda blew on her tea. “I’ve heard rumors that you’ve keeping company with someone new. There are no secrets in this town.”

  A wren rested on the lip of the birdbath, and Matilda and I watched it consider the possibility of a dip.

  “I’m so in love with Timothy, I could care less about the differences between us,” I said. I lowered my voice. “I just hope I’m not being too impractical. I’d hate to get my heart broken again.”

  “This fellow of yours. How is he so different from you?” she asked.

  “It’s mainly a background difference. His father was a bigwig and I’m the daughter of...”

  Well, actually I wasn’t exactly sure who I was the daughter of, but there was no point in pulling up that rug just then.

  “I’m the daughter of a man who blows up ottomans on TV and who never misses a monster-truck rally,” I continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ashamed of my daddy or of how I grew up. I just know it was a lot different for Timothy when he was coming up.”

  “I know all about feelings of being born on the wrong side of the tracks,” Matilda said. “I don’t know if you know this, but my husband, Frank, came from a very wealthy family in Augusta, whereas I grew up here in Cayboo Creek. I fretted over marrying into such an intimidating family, but in the end I couldn’t help myself. Our hearts were like compasses whose needles were pointing in the same direction. That’s all that mattered in the long run.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “Does your Timothy seem troubled by the differences between you?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, not a bit.”

  “Then I wouldn’t worry.” She took a luxurious inhale of spring air. “Although, I could read your tea leaves, if you like.”

  “Would you?” Matilda’s tea-leaf readings were often chillingly accurate.

  Matilda handed me a cup of tea. “Sip it slowly and think about Timothy.”

  I tasted the tea, tinged with honey and lemon, and pictured Timothy as he looked just before he leaned over to kiss me. I shivered, even though the tea was warm.

  I handed the teacup back to Matilda, who swirled it clockwise three times and then peered into the cup.

  Matilda read the leaves according to whatever shape or picture they took in the bottom of the cup. A sword meant an argument was on the horizon, whereas a cat indicated a false friend. Once Matilda had seen an open purse in Reeky’s teacup, and the very next day Reeky won 250 dollars playing Red-Hot Cash in the South Carolina lottery.

  “Oh Lord,” Matilda said as she looked in the cup. “This is startling.” Then she swiftly dumped the tea leaves on the ground.

  “Why did you do that before I could look?” I asked. “You saw something terrible, didn’t you?”

  Two weeks ago Matilda had seen a witch in the bottom of Chiffon’s cup, which meant she was in for a strange occurrence. And the very next day, a sleepy Chiffon accidentally brushed her teeth with Lonnie’s hemorrhoid cream.

  “No, not at all,” said Matilda. She gave me a mysterious smile. “But there are certain things in life that shou
ld take you by surprise.”

  Seventeen

  I’m in Love a Capital ‘U’

  ~ Selection J-2 on the jukebox at the Tuff Luck Tavern

  George Jones was holding a concert in my bedroom. He wore his signature tinted sunglasses and my seat was so good I could have reached out and touched the cleft in his chin as he sang my all-time favorite love song, “He Stopped Loving Her Today.”

  I jerked awake. Nobody was in my bedroom except Maybelline, who was snoring softly beside me. But I could still hear George “The Possum” singing, “Put a wreath upon his door and soon they’ll carry him away.”

  My neighbor Burris must have his CD player up full blast, I thought, as I flicked bits of sleep from the corners of my eyes. I slid out of bed, pulled back the shade, and squinted in the darkness.

  I pushed open the window and leaned out. A jasmine-scented breeze stirred the curtains. “Timothy? What are you doing out there with a boom box?”

  “Elizabeth?” He yelled over the music.

  I rushed to the front door, patting down my bed head on the way. There was Timothy, standing there under the yellow glow of the porch light. He cradled a bouquet of red roses in his arms and a hopeful smile trembled on his lips. “May I come in, please?”

  “It’s hard to turn down a fellow holding a dozen roses, even if it is after midnight.” I took the flowers from him and set them on the coffee table.

  “Two dozen, actually,” Timothy said, as he perched on the couch. “There would have been more, but the Kroger in Augusta is the only place that sells flowers in the middle of the night and I cleaned out their cooler.”

  I sat down beside him and smoothed my gown over my knees, grateful I was wearing my white eyelet instead of my Betty Boop nightshirt. Timothy was biting his lip. The light in the room seemed incredibly bright, exposing us both.

  “I know it’s crazy, my coming here in the middle of the night, but ever since Valentine’s Day, I haven’t been myself. I’m just—” He shook his head. “Crazy.”

  I nodded. I knew exactly how he felt.

  “That George Jones song is my all-time favorite,” I said, after a moment. “It makes me cry.”

  Timothy looked up. “I know. I remember you telling me that. And your favorite candy is Baby Ruth.” He glanced about. “I think I may have left the bag of candy I brought you in the car. Should I run out and get it?”

  “That’s okay. I generally don’t eat sweets after 9 p.m.”

  Timothy swallowed. “I can hardly sleep or eat. I don’t know what’s happening to me, Elizabeth.”

  I nodded and took his hand. I’d been feeling exactly the same way since the night of our first kiss.

  “My favorite candy, my favorite flowers, and my favorite song.” I sought out his eyes, which looked naked with love. I felt like I was peering straight into his heart. “Brought to me by my favorite person,” I whispered.

  He groped in his pocket and extracted a small, blue box.

  “I don’t know your favorite stone. But I hope it’s a diamond.”

  That night, as we drove to Edgefield, S.C., to get married in the Little Vegas Casino and Wedding Chapel, I knew that Matilda must have seen a ring in the bottom of my teacup.

  Timothy and I said our vows to a woman named Sister Shelia, who was as wide as a love seat. We passed on the Lucky Seven Package, which included the wedding ceremony and seven games of video poker. Instead we got the Precious Memory Package, which included a tape-recording of our wedding vows and a personalized license tag that read “Timothy and Elizabeth Forever,” which Timothy screwed on the front of his Volvo following the ceremony. When it was over, we stopped by Timothy’s house so he could pack a bag.

  The next morning I woke up to the sound of rain on my roof.

  I opened my eyes to see Timothy’s dark curls on my pillow and I felt like dancing around the room in my nightie. He stirred, looked at the alarm clock, and bolted out of bed.

  “Oh, no. I’m going to be late for work,” he said, and bent to kiss my grinning face. “I don’t know how I’m going to concentrate on business today.”

  I struggled to my feet. “I could make your lunch like a good wife is supposed to.”

  Timothy started dressing and I walked to the refrigerator and stuck my nose into it. “There’s nothing in here but a pickled egg and a bowl of leftover coleslaw.”

  “That’s okay.” Timothy gave his suspenders a snap. “I’ve got to take a lunch meeting today.” He fastened his top shirt button. “I guess you’re going to break the news to everyone at work?”

  I nodded. “They’re going to pitch a fit that they weren’t around to throw rice on me and scramble for my bouquet.”

  Timothy pecked my cheek. “We’ll have a ceremony for our friends and families later. I just couldn’t wait around that long.”

  “Me neither,” I said knowingly. We exchanged glances and I knew I had to change the subject quick or neither of us would make it to work for a while.

  “What about your mama?” I asked. “When are you going to tell her the news?”

  Timothy stiffened slightly. “Whenever she comes back from France. I’d prefer to tell her in person.”

  “Your grandmother’s at her time-share on Hilton Head. She won’t be back for another week at least. Did you want to call her?”

  “I think I’ll wait until she gets back from her vacation.” Timothy smoothed his tie. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. Grandma Gracie thinks the world of you.”

  I sat cross-legged on the bed, inhaling the crisp scent of his aftershave. “I don’t know. She likes me pretty well as a friend, but I’m not sure how she’ll feel about me as a relative.”

  “She’ll be ecstatic.” He kissed my cheek. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

  Eighteen

  Jesus is the quicker picker-upper.

  ~ Sign outside the Rock of Ages Baptist Church

  Attalee was sitting in the break area, reading the newspaper and taking noisy slurps of her coffee when I walked out of the rain and into the Bottom Dollar Emporium.

  “It says here in my horoscope that my day is going to be a five,” she said to Mavis. “As I recollect, Scorpio has been stuck on five for near two weeks.”

  She glared at me as I fastened my name tag to my smock. “You’re fifteen minutes late,” she snapped.

  “Sorry. Morning, Mavis.” I noticed a wrapped package with a red satin bow on my break chair. “Who is this for?”

  Attalee glanced back at her paper. “Today’s the grand opening of the Winn-Dixie in the old Pig store. To celebrate they’re offering spiral sliced ham for $2.99 a pound.” She directed her comments at Mavis and refused to look at me.

  “I’m sorry I was late, y’all, but you’re hardly swamped with customers,” I said.

  Attalee’s lips pulled into a pout. “Will you tell Miss Polk that when I got to the door this morning, the place was locked up tighter than a vault and that I had to wait an entire seven minutes in the rain?”

  “I think she heard you pretty clearly, Attalee. I don’t see any need to repeat it,” Mavis said.

  “I’m so sorry, Attalee. I thought Mavis would be here to let you in.”

  Mavis was uncharacteristically avoiding eye contact.

  “You may want to tell our Miss Polk that this is the morning when you have your prayer breakfast at the church,” Attalee said. “Also, why don’t you tell Miss Polk what we were discussing before she breezed in here with her flimsy apology?”

  Mavis was staring out at the rain that lashed the windows of the Bottom Dollar. “Well, it was more you, Attalee, than me. I listened, mostly.”

  Someone was definitely worked up about something.

  “Mavis? Is there anything you’d like to say to me?” I asked.

&nb
sp; “Maybe you’d like to ask her what’s so special about today?” Attalee said.

  Mavis whirled around. “Now, Attalee, it isn’t that important. It’s silly, really. It’s just an anniversary. Don’t you worry about it, Elizabeth.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh my gosh. How could I have forgotten? We’ve been working together for ten years today. Mavis, I am so sorry. It completely slipped my mind.”

  Mavis’s gray eyes were downcast. “Who could blame you? You got yourself a new fellow. These things happen,” she said.

  I touched the gaily wrapped present on my chair. “I bet this beautiful gift is from you to me. May I open it?”

  For the first time that morning, Mavis looked up at me. I could tell I’d been forgiven.

  “It isn’t much of anything. Just a little something that made me think, ‘I bet Elizabeth could use that.’”

  I put the package on my lap and tore the wrapping paper off a book called Thirty Days to a Better Vocabulary.

  “Oh Mavis, thank you so much, you know how I love to learn new words.”

  Attalee stood on tiptoes for a look at the book. She looked like a wrinkled baby with her rain bonnet still tied under her chin.

  “I was with her over at Reeky’s place when she got it. It’s a hardcover and she didn’t even get if off the bargain table. She paid top-dollar.”

  “I can’t wait to use it,” I said.

  “Why wait?” demanded Attalee. “Why not give us one of those thousand-dollar words right now?”

  “That’s an excellent idea.” I opened the book and picked a page at random. “Ah, here’s a good one. ‘Iconoclast,’” I said.

  Attalee’s eye twitched. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means a person who doesn’t bow to convention,” I said.

  “And what’s that mean?” Attalee asked.

  “Well, Attalee, you know when you go to your bingo game, and people have their good-luck charms all around them, like rabbit foots and fuzzy dice and their child’s first baby tooth?” I said. “And how you refuse to do that because you think it looks stupid? Well, you’re an iconoclast. You don’t want to go along with the crowd.”