Last Chance Book Club

by Hope Ramsay

  “Oh, I work for Mr. Dash up at the stables, when I’m not fishing or hunting.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m glad to hear you have a real job.”

  “You want to keep the cat?”

  Nita looked down at the calico. “I’ve been thinking about getting a cat. Did you know that?”

  Zeph smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She frowned at him again.

  “I mean Miz Nita,” he added hastily.

  “How did you know I was thinking about getting a cat?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but I saw that critter and I said to myself he was perfect for you.” He needed to change the subject and fast. He didn’t want anyone to know how the ghost was always telling him what to do with strays. It was kind of uncanny the way the strays always came to the ghost.

  He took a step back. “So, how did the ladies like Pride and Prejudice this Wednesday? If you want to know the truth, I liked Emma a whole lot better.”

  Her frown deepened. “You’ve read those books?”

  “Yes, Miz Nita. I read a lot of books. I get them down at the thrift shop, and when I finish them, I trade them in for more.” He backed up a little bit more. The ghost behind him was getting restless.

  “I need to go,” he said.

  “Zeph, if you like to read, you should come in to the library. Don’t you have a library card?”

  “No, Miz Nita.”

  “Well, you must get one. And if you like Jane Austen, why don’t you join the book club?”

  He shook his head as he backpedaled, “Oh, no, Miz Nita, I couldn’t do a thing like that. No, ma’am. I have too much to do in the evening.”

  Like walking the streets and keeping the ghost in line.

  CHAPTER 11

  On Saturday, Savannah put on her oldest jeans, a flannel shirt that had once belonged to Greg, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves.

  She opened the door to The Kismet and hauled in a load of cleaning supplies from the bed of Uncle Harry’s truck, which Dash had magnanimously loaned her for the day.

  Angel Development was going to have a check ready for her to deposit by the middle of next week, and she was scheduled to meet with several architects and contractors on Thursday. But in the meantime, she was antsy. She would have to hire a professional cleaning crew, but her goals today were simple. First, she wanted to see if any of the woodwork in the lobby could be salvaged. It would be a shame if she lost all that intricate carving on the columns and the candy counter. And second, she wanted to assess the state of the small apartment above the theater. She needed to figure out a plan to revive that, too.

  She stood in the middle of the lobby feeling overwhelmed. The place was falling down around her ears. It was ridiculous to think she could accomplish anything by herself.

  She pushed that negative thought to the side. She was trying not to listen to that little party pooper who lived in her head.

  She firmed her resolve and started by setting up a few humane mousetraps around the perimeter of the lobby, then she rolled up her shirtsleeves and headed to the janitor’s closet. She had spoken with the water company on Friday, and to her delight, there was cold water available in the old slop sink. She filled a bucket and dumped in some Murphy Oil Soap.

  She set to work wiping down the grime on the candy counter. She’d been at it for about twenty minutes when she became aware of a high-pitched squeaking sound.

  She soon discovered that the noise was coming from one of her traps. She stood there looking down at the cutest little gray mouse. He (or she?) had eaten the saltine cracker bait, and now the poor thing was caught in the green plastic box and wanted to get out.

  Uh-oh. Her humane trap posed some pretty big issues that she hadn’t considered before. If she released the mouse into a field outside town, would it find its way into some farmer’s barn only to be killed by a cat, or a hawk, or an owl?

  And what about the mouse? Did it have a mate? Little baby mice?

  Then there was the much more practical issue—to save the mouse’s life she would have to pick up that box—and do something with it. Eeeek.

  She closed her eyes and prayed for guidance.

  “Hey, princess.” Dash’s deep baritone pulled her right from her mouse-induced moral dilemma. She opened her eyes and turned toward him.

  In addition to his ball cap, white T-shirt, work boots, and faded jeans, the man had a serious-looking tool belt strapped across his lean hips.

  “Hey,” she said out of a suddenly dry mouth. He was devastatingly sexy.

  He sauntered over and looked down at the frantic mouse. “Honey, why’d you buy one of those traps? You’d be better with poison. Although with poison, the critters crawl off into the walls and die and start stinking to high heaven. My own preference is the old-fashioned mousetrap that kills them dead.”

  She stared at him. He was teasing her, wasn’t he? Sometimes, with Dash, it was hard to tell. She decided not to rise to his bait this time. “I wanted to be humane.”

  His lopsided grin appeared. “Uh-huh. You know mouse droppings cause all kinds of disease.”

  “I’m just now realizing that humaneness is a complex issue.”

  He snorted a laugh as he picked up the box. He turned and strolled out of the theater. He returned two minutes later, without the box or the mouse.

  “I have a feeling I don’t want to know what you did with that mouse.”

  “You can rest assured that I took care of it.” He looked at the other mousetraps she’d set out. “These have to go. With these traps, you’d just be fighting a losing war.”

  He scooped all of them up and dumped them in the big plastic trash can that she’d brought for debris. “You need a cat,” he pronounced.

  “I already have a dog I don’t want.”

  “That dog isn’t yours. He’s Todd’s.”

  “Right, and when Todd forgets to take care of him, who is going to take him for walks?”

  “Well, so far, it’s been me. So I reckon Champ is closer to being my dog than yours. But we’re not talking about Todd’s dog, so don’t change the subject. You need a serious mouser for this theater. You get a cat and your mouse and snake problem will disappear. I seem to recall that your granddaddy had a long succession of theater cats.”

  “I don’t have a snake problem. You’re just trying to scare me, and I’ve decided not to behave like I did when I was ten. I’ve grown up some since then.”

  He swept his gaze over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She had seen that kind of look before, whenever she decided that her love life needed a boost and she went out to a bar with her girlfriends. That look was very close to an ogle. And for some reason, having Dash ogle her wasn’t bad. It was kind of okay, actually.

  “You sure have grown some,” he drawled, his gaze glued to her bustline.

  “That’s right, I have. I know we don’t have snakes in this theater.”

  He shrugged. “Have it your way, princess. You usually do. But in my opinion, you need a mouser.”

  He strolled over to the candy counter. “This old woodwork is real pretty, isn’t it?” He was clearly changing the subject. Good. She could chalk this round up to her being mature and recognizing when Dash was teasing… or ogling.

  “The wood’s damaged in places,” she said. “It needs to be refinished, and there are parts that need replacing. I have no idea where I’m going to find someone who can do it justice.”

  “Probably the same place as you’ll find the cat.”

  She turned and frowned. “Will you stop with the cat, please?”

  “Sorry, princess. I was just thinking that Zeph Gibbs might be the answer to your problems.”

  “Who is that?”

  He smiled. “He’s a little bit of a ghost.”

  “A ghost?”

  “Not really. He’s a little shy. He came back from Vietnam a changed man. I hired him as a hand at the stables and discovered that he’s a master carp
enter. He also has a thing for cats and has kept me supplied with excellent mousers. Because the last thing I want in my barns is a snake. I’ll talk to him about your woodwork and your mouse problem. If he decides he wants to help, you’ll save a lot of money, not to mention mouse aggravation.”

  “Thank you, but I’m sure I can find a real professional to do the work. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to help.”

  She stared at him for the longest moment.

  “What? You don’t think I’m capable of helping?” he asked.

  “I’m just surprised is all.” Except she wasn’t surprised. Dash had been amazingly helpful on so many fronts. And that tool belt looked good on him. It looked as if he knew how to use those tools, too.

  “I thought I could mosey up to the apartment and see what it needs.”

  “Ah, I get it. You’re looking forward to the day I move out.”

  He smiled. “Yes, ma’am, I am. I’m getting tired of having to wear a bathrobe every morning when I bump into you.”

  His eyes twinkled when he said that, and she realized that he was teasing her again. But before her addled brain could form a sexy comeback line, he turned and strode toward the grand staircase.

  “You don’t have to wear a robe,” she said to his back.

  He didn’t react. He just kept walking away, giving her a great view of his Wrangler-clad butt. It was official, Dash Randall’s backside was hot. Real hot. And she hoped he quit wearing his bathrobe so she could get an even better look at it.

  She turned back to her sponge, but her equilibrium had been disturbed. It was shattered completely five minutes later when her scrubbing was interrupted by a loud crash. Followed by the sound of Dash cussing in two languages. No doubt he’d learned those Spanish words from his Latin teammates over the years.

  “Dash, are you okay?” she yelled, her heart suddenly in her throat.

  She dropped her sponge and stripped off the rubber gloves. She got as far as the landing when Dash came barreling down the stairs in the opposite direction. “Honey, there are rattlesnakes up in the projection room. I don’t know how many. After I freaked out, I shut the door on ’em and called animal control, but we need to get out of here. I don’t know how many more might be lurking around.”

  She blinked, her heart rate returning to normal. “Dash, come on. I’m not falling for this a second or a third time. So you can just quit. If you came here to play some kind of practical joke on me, I—”

  She never finished her sentence because Dash picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, thereby giving her the close-up-and-personal view of his Wrangler-clad backside that she had just been wishing for. Unfortunately she was so furious with him that she couldn’t entirely enjoy the moment.

  “Dash, put me down.”

  She got no response. Instead he marched down the stairs oblivious to her demands or even the fists she used to pummel his sexy derriere.

  She was still hollering when he finally set her down on the sidewalk outside the theater.

  “You overbearing, annoying, cowboy-hat-wearing, practical-joke-playing ass—” She took a big swing at his face, but he caught her fist before she got anywhere close to his jaw.

  “You know, princess, you always did have one heck of a temper.”

  “There aren’t any snakes up there. You just came here to make me feel—” She bit off the end of her words because right then a big van bearing the words “Allenberg County Animal Control” rolled to the curb.

  About this time, Pat Canaday and two of her customers came piling out of The Knit & Stitch, across the street. “Hey Savannah, is Dash giving you a hard time, honey? Should I call Bill Ellis?” she hollered.

  “Oh, brother,” Dash muttered, turning away to greet the uniformed man in the van.

  At the same moment, a police vehicle pulled up, and Damian Easley, the Last Chance chief of police, rolled down his window. “I got a call from dispatch. What’s this about snakes in the theater?” he asked just as a big, red, shiny fire truck arrived on the scene, blocking one lane of traffic. At least half a dozen big guys in raincoats and fire hats and big rubber boots started jumping off the truck.

  Within minutes, shop owners and Saturday shoppers started gathering on the sidewalks. And for the first time in Savannah’s memories of Last Chance, there was a traffic jam on Palmetto Avenue.

  “Hey, princess, you believe me now?” Dash asked.

  She found herself looking up into his ball-cap-shaded eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a tiny voice.

  He cocked his head. “Say it louder.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  He smiled. And that full-mouthed grin was devastating. “I accept your apology.”

  He didn’t even offer to apologize for the way he carried her out of the building. But for some reason, she didn’t mind. He probably considered it a rescue.

  “Dash, honey, did I hear you say snakes. As in more than one?” Pat yelled from across the street.

  “Yes, ma’am. And I’m curious about how they got there. I mean rattlers are kind of rare, and the last time I checked that room it was snake-free,” Dash yelled back.

  “You think someone put ’em up there?”

  He shrugged. “It’s mighty strange.”

  Pat and her customers began to speculate among themselves. Meanwhile a little farther up the block, Clay Rhodes set out a folding chair for Arlene Whitaker in front of Lovett’s Hardware, and across the street it looked like Lessie Anderson was standing on the sidewalk outside the Cut ’n Curl with permanent rollers in her hair.

  Pat sauntered across the street. “I declare this is fun. We haven’t had such a ruckus since last summer when Rocky Rhodes told everyone off and then allowed Hugh deBracy to carry her off in his rented Mustang.”

  “Well, if y’all will excuse me, I’m a member of the volunteer fire department,” Dash said. He turned and headed back into the building along with the other firemen, dog catcher, and chief of police. A moment later, Bubba Lockheart came huffing up the street carrying a lawn chair and a video camera.

  He handed the chair to Savannah. “Clay Rhodes sent this up from the hardware store. You just sit tight, Miz Savannah, and we’ll take care of everything.” He held up his camera. “I’m going to tape this. I’m thinking we could get an eyewitness video on the news tonight. And that would be good for business.” He hurried into the theater while Savannah sank down into the chair.

  “It’s a shame you didn’t have a gator. I think gators are way more dramatic than snakes. I can’t believe how much free publicity this is going to get you,” Pat said.

  “You mean negative publicity, right?”

  Pat shrugged. “People love a good snake story. Just look at that movie about snakes on a plane. You know, you might think about showing that movie at your grand opening.”

  “Right. I hated that movie. I hate snakes.”

  Pat patted Savannah’s shoulder. “Honey, you live here long enough and you get used to them.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the men marched back out of the theater bearing a big wooden box that was making a very unsettling noise.

  Damian Easley was grinning from ear to ear. “I declare, Savannah, your cousin is one hell of a snake wrangler. I knew he was good with horses and kids, but I swear, it was kind of amazing to watch him. I’m thinking we should put him on call with the animal control unit.”

  He tipped his Stetson and got back into his cruiser. The firemen got back on their truck and drove away. The crate of hissing and rattling snakes was loaded into the animal control van.

  Dash and Bubba came out of the theater.

  “Oh, boy,” Bubba said, “wait until WLTX sees this footage. We’re going to make the evening news, I’m sure. Especially since Dash did most of the work, and he’s a former big-league baseball star.” Bubba ran up the street, headed for Bill’s Grease Pit.

  “You’re all clear,” Dash said. “But, ho
ney, you need a cat.”

  “Don’t snakes eat cats? I wouldn’t want to put a cat in danger,” she replied. “I like furry animals better than scaly ones.”

  “I figured that when I saw those humane mousetraps. You will be happy to know that we didn’t kill any snakes today, because rattlers are practically an endangered species in these parts. But, princess, snakes and cats both eat mice. And without a cat to eat the mice, you can get snakes. Usually just black snakes, which are harmless. But I’m telling you, you need a cat.”

  There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He’d had a lot of fun catching those snakes. She could tell. And that made her want to laugh for some reason. Despite the scary nature of this problem, she found herself looking up into his bright blue eyes and feeling lighter than air.

  “Well, c’mon,” he said, “we made a full sweep of the place. It’s snake-free, but I can’t say the same for the rodents. Let’s get back to work. The excitement is over.”

  He offered her his hand, and she let him pull her up out of the lawn chair. That was a big mistake. His hand was huge, and warm, and obviously competent. Not only had he played baseball with those hands, but he also fixed broken porch steps, played Ultimate Frisbee, and wrangled snakes. Her libido woke up and made a number of urgent demands. This time the fluttery, hot feelings in her middle weren’t entirely unwanted.

  A girl could get used to a guy like this. He wasn’t Superman. He couldn’t fly, but he was doing a real impersonation of a hero.

  Dash was wrestling with a bunch of vet bills in his office at the Painted Corner Stables on Monday morning when Stone Rhodes, the sheriff of Allenberg County, paid him a visit.

  “I guess you’re here to talk about Lizzy,” Dash said.

  “Uh, well, no, not exactly,” the sheriff said.

  “What’s up?”

  Stone sat down in the chair facing Dash’s desk. “It’s about those snakes you found in the theater.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re western diamondbacks. According to the herpetologist up in Orangeburg, they aren’t native to South Carolina.

  Stone leaned back in his chair. “We’re working on the assumption that those snakes were put there on purpose. Do you have any idea of who might want to sabotage Savannah’s theater renovation?”