by Josie Belle
Maggie looked at her, and it took a few seconds for Ginger’s question to register. Her brain was buzzing not only with what Doc had told her this morning but also from her conversation with Sam. He still had feelings for her.
It made her dizzy to even think about it, and what was she supposed to say to Pete, who had been nothing but nice and charming? She had agreed to go to dinner with him. He didn’t deserve to be compared to some ghost from her past, even if the ghost was back and living in town again.
“Maggie.” Ginger snapped her fingers in front of Maggie’s face. “Where are you, girl? You are not listening to a word I say, and you’re wasting paint.”
Maggie shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You only have so much paint to cover this shop, and you’ve got that roller loaded. Your walls are going to get that stripy-blotchy look.”
Ginger took the roller out of Maggie’s hand and evened out the paint, then she handed it back. “Do you want to talk while you paint?” Ginger asked.
Maggie glanced over her shoulder at Joanne and Claire. They had plugged in a portable stereo and had Norah Jones blaring. Claire, who had a good voice, was singing along, and Joanne, who had a terrible voice, was singing even louder, which made Maggie smile.
Should she confide in the Good Buy Girls? Not about Doc—that wasn’t her story to tell—but about the mixed feelings she had for Pete and Sam. She felt ridiculous, like she had regressed back to junior high school. She glanced at Ginger, who was looking at her with concerned brown eyes. She had never told Ginger about Sam. Maybe it was time.
She leaned close to her friend, and said, “I dated Sam.”
“What?” Ginger asked, leaning closer. Joanne had just hit a particularly painful note, drowning out Maggie’s words.
“Back in high school, I dated Sam,” Maggie said.
Ginger shook her head and frowned. “What? Hey, Joanne, Claire! Zip it!”
“What?” Joanne yelled. She put her paintbrush down and turned down the volume on the stereo.
All three of them were staring expectantly at Maggie, and she gulped. Oh, she hadn’t seen it going this way. How could she tell them? What would they think?
The door opened, and in walked Pete Daniels, carrying two carafes of what smelled like coffee.
“I hope I’m not late,” he said. “I heard there was a painting party going on tonight.”
Maggie had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. She jumped up from her spot on the floor and hurried across the room, dripping paint as she went.
“Pete,” she said with a huge grin. “Come on in.”
His brown eyes crinkled in the corners, and his smile was warm, as if he had been unsure of his greeting but was now feeling equal parts relieved and happy.
“I brought some reinforcements,” he said. “If that’s okay?”
“The more the merrier,” Maggie said.
Pete opened the door and in trooped Ginger’s husband, Roger, and their four boys; Joanne’s husband, Michael, carrying two deli platters and bag full of hard rolls; and Max Button.
“Wow!” Maggie had to admit she was impressed. “You weren’t kidding when you said you brought backup.”
“Our pleasure,” Roger said as he kissed Ginger on the cheek.
“Indeed,” Michael said as he hugged Joanne close.
“Hi, Claire,” Max said. He gave her a warm smile, but there was no sign of the usual worship he showed when he was near the librarian.
Maggie had wondered if Max’s powerful crush on Claire was still in existence; apparently he was outgrowing it. Given that Claire had at least fourteen years on him, it was a good thing.
“Okay, everyone, eat up,” Michael ordered.
The men descended onto the food like locusts while the women stepped back and let them eat their fill.
“Come on,” Ginger said. “Let’s prep some paint trays. With this many hands we should be done in no time.”
Maggie pried off a lid, wiping her fingers on her paint-spotted jeans, while Ginger lined several metal paint trays with plastic liners.
“Just to clarify, you know, so I’m clear about things,” Ginger said while Maggie poured. “Did you say you dated Sam Collins?”
The paint can wobbled in Maggie’s hands. She glanced up quickly and saw Ginger watching her with a shrewd gaze.
Maggie heaved a sigh. There was no going back now. “Yeah, I did say that.”
“And you never told me?” Ginger hissed. “When was this?”
“Twenty some odd years ago,” Maggie said. “It was the summer after our junior year of high school.”
“How—why—?” Ginger spluttered, obviously losing her powers of speech.
“You were away at band camp when it started,” Maggie said. “And when you got back, well, you knew how much I hated him growing up. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”
“What do you mean you didn’t know how to tell me?” Ginger hissed. “I’m your best friend.”
“I know,” Maggie cringed.
She’d had a feeling Ginger would take it badly. There was no comfort in being right.
Ginger reached up and pulled the knot on the scarf she’d tied around her head even tighter. Maggie wondered if it was to keep her temper in.
“Ginger, I’m sorry,” Maggie said. She put her arm around Ginger and gave her a half hug, but there was no answering half hug in return.
“All these years, and you never said a word,” Ginger said. She sounded stunned.
“Well, once he left for college, he never really came back except for short weekend visits with his parents, so it seemed kind of pointless,” Maggie said.
“When he came back to town a few months ago, you might have worked it into the conversation, don’t you think?” Ginger asked. She sounded hurt, and Maggie felt extremely guilty.
“Well, ‘I once slept with the sheriff’ is not as easy to work into conversation as you might think,” Maggie retorted.
The sound of a splash as a plastic cup hit the floor behind them spun both Maggie and Ginger around. Claire stood there with her eyes wide behind her black-frame glasses, and Joanne stood beside her with her mouth in the shape of an O.
“I’m sorry,” Joanne said. “I didn’t mean to listen in.”
“Me neither,” said Claire.
The men were deep in football talk, with Ginger’s boys animatedly discussing how St. Stanley was going to pound rival Rosemont on Thanksgiving. Maggie waved Joanne and Claire in, and the women formed a tight circle over the paint can.
“It’s okay,” Maggie said.
“It most certainly is not okay,” Ginger snapped.
“Ginger, I’ve known you since we were two. Are we really going to have a problem over this?” Maggie asked.
“I was matron of honor at your wedding to Charlie. We raised our babies together,” Ginger said. “You know all of my secrets, every last one, and I thought I knew all of yours.”
“She’s right,” Claire said. “You know all of my secrets, too.”
They all looked at Claire. Given that she had been arrested for murder a few months ago, it was not surprising all of her dirty laundry had been aired out.
“I don’t have any secrets,” Joanne said quickly.
“That’s because you’re honest,” Ginger said. “Unlike some people.”
“Oh my god, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you when he came back. I knew you would take it badly,” Maggie said.
“Of course I’m taking it badly,” Ginger said. “Here I’ve been badgering Roger to push the two of you together, and now you tell me you’ve already seen him in his altogether.”
“He’s cute when he’s naked, isn’t he?” Claire asked.
The other three turned to look at her.
“What? I had a lot of time to contemplate his attributes while I was incarcerated,” Claire said. “He was very nice to me.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to share that with someone who has just confessed t
o being in love with him,” Joanne said to Claire.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Maggie said. “Hold the phone, back away from the crazy talk. I never said I was in love with him.”
“Well, you must have been at one time, right?” Joanne asked.
All three of them turned to look at Maggie, and she squirmed. What was she supposed to say? Sam had been her first love, her first everything. She couldn’t admit to that now. She was still trying to wrap her head around what he had said to her earlier.
“Ladies, are we in a huddle for a reason?” Roger asked as he approached the group.
Ginger rose up on tiptoe and peered over the heads of the others.
“Girl talk,” she said.
“Oh.” Roger froze in mid-step, obviously afraid of what sort of topics the umbrella of girl talk covered.
Maggie was not about to let her escape hatch shut, however.
“We’re done now,” she said, and she broke ranks. “Paint’s drying. We’d better get moving.”
Ginger looped her arm through Maggie’s, preventing a clean getaway. “I see a long chat in our future with a lot of groveling on your part.”
“Okay,” Maggie said. She hung her head.
Now Maggie knew how Ginger’s four boys felt being on the receiving end of her bad face. Maggie was pretty sure she’d do anything to get back into Ginger’s good graces.
She couldn’t help but notice, however, as everyone chose a wall and started painting, that it felt good to finally have the information about her and Sam out there. The heartbreak she had kept to herself for so long felt lighter now that she had shared it with the others.
Amazingly, with eleven of them working all at once, it only took a little over an hour for the entire shop to be painted. Maggie had to crack the windows and open the front door to keep them all from being asphyxiated by the smell, but as they packed up the empty paint cans and bagged the used rollers, she had to admit the shop looked fantastic. Just as Sam had said, the colors were classy and gave the place an elegant aesthetic, not that his opinion really mattered, of course.
She could feel a zip of excitement race through her. She could just picture the racks of clothes and the shoe shelves—oh, and she really liked the idea of adding the odd bit of furniture for sale.
“You look happy,” Pete said. He stood beside her while they surveyed the shop.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “Bringing everyone here and getting this done. I’ve been a little overwhelmed.”
“Owning your own place is like that,” he said. “It’s all hit or miss until you find your stride. You’ll be all right.”
The Lancaster boys were leaving en masse, and they all turned to wave at Maggie and the others before they headed out. Aaron, the oldest, was driving his brothers home so they could finish up their homework before calling it a day.
Ginger and Roger followed their brood. Maggie noticed that Ginger gave Pete a considering look before she yelled good night across the shop. She did not come over and hug Maggie.
“She’ll get over it,” Joanne said as she did stop to hug Maggie.
“Get over what?” Michael asked as he shook Pete’s hand and gave Maggie a hug.
“Oh, Maggie scored at a half-price sale that she forgot to tell Ginger about,” Joanne said.
“You ladies and your sales,” Michael said with a chuckle. “It’s like Mortal Kombat for you gals.”
“It will be if Maggie ever keeps a secret like that again,” Claire said. She was not a hugger, so she patted Maggie on the shoulder. “Max, I’m headed your way. Do you want a lift?”
“That’d be great. Thanks,” he said. And the two left the shop, looking like old friends.
Max closed the door behind him, and Maggie realized that she was alone with Pete. She supposed it wouldn’t have been awkward if they didn’t have a date looming in a couple of days. Then she thought about what Max had said about how even if Pete said it was just as friends, for him it wouldn’t be just as friends.
Her throat felt dry, and she began bagging up the remains from dinner and getting ready to haul them out to the Dumpster in the back of the shop.
“Here, I’ll take care of that for you,” Pete said. He took the bag out of Maggie’s hands and began to tie it.
“Oh, thanks,” she said. She tidied up what was left, and when Pete came back she said, “Well, we should probably give our lungs a break from the fumes.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.
She locked up the shop behind them, leaving the windows open just enough to ventilate the large room. Pete ambled along beside her as they headed toward her Volvo. Maggie didn’t know what to say. Pete had been such a huge help, and she wasn’t used to having anyone—well, specifically a man—help her like that.
“So, are you like the nicest guy ever?” she asked, feeling the need to fill the quiet and let him know how grateful she was.
Pete rubbed his chin as he considered her question. “Yes, I think I am.”
Maggie laughed, and he did, too. The awkwardness disappeared just like their puffs of warm breath on the cold night air.
“Oh, hey, don’t move.” Pete leaned in close and touched her cheek very gently with his index finger.
“What is it?” Maggie asked.
“I’m not sure.” Pete frowned. “But I’m guessing you’ve broken out in a severe case of Aqua Chiffon freckles.”
“Oh no,” she said. She put her hand to her face. “Sure enough she could feel the hardened spots of paint on her skin. “Oh man, because my regular freckles aren’t bad enough.”
Pete leaned in close, and whispered, “I like your freckles.”
He voice was so genuine and his smile so warm, Maggie couldn’t help but feel a flutter of attraction for him. Judging by the way his smile widened, he felt it, too.
A honk sounded, and both Maggie and Pete jumped. She turned to see a squad car slowly rolling up to them. Maggie glared at the window. If this was Sam trying to make her feel like an idiot, she was going to blast him.
The window on the passenger side rolled down, and Deputy Dot Wilson leaned over to look at them.
“Maggie, we just got a report of a domestic disturbance over at Dr. Franklin’s,” Dot said. Her tone was grim. “When I saw you, I thought you’d want to know.”
Chapter 23
“What kind of disturbance?” Maggie asked. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was terrified that something had happened to Doc or Alice.
“I don’t know. Sam’s already there, and I’m on my way there now,” Dot said.
“Can I have a lift?” Maggie asked.
“Get in,” Dot said.
“Sorry, Pete,” she said as she pulled open the passenger door. “I have to go.”
“No worries,” he said. “Call me if you need me.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Before she stepped into the car, Pete cupped her face and planted a swift kiss on her lips. Maggie was stunned as she slid into the car and he shut the door behind her.
Dot peeled away from the curb, giving Maggie a sideways look.
“Do not speak of this,” Maggie said.
They were both silent while Dot turned the corner toward the Franklins’ neighborhood.
“So, Pete Daniels, huh?” Dot asked. “I heard a rumor that you two had a hot date coming up.”
“I thought we weren’t speaking of this,” Maggie said.
“You may not be, but I sure am.” Dot chuckled. “Good kisser? That looked like a good one.”
“Ugh,” Maggie groaned. “He caught me off guard. I don’t know. Maybe. Yes. Ugh.”
Maggie had to admit that Pete’s kiss had been swift, but it had packed a lot of punch. Good grief! The date that was supposed to be just as friends was now looming up at her like something a whole lot more.
“You have blue paint on your face,” Dot said. She pulled in behind a squad car that was already parked in front of Doc’s house.
&nb
sp; Maggie sighed. “Please do not mention the kiss to Sam. He will tease me endlessly.”
They both got out of the car, and Dot looked at Maggie over the roof. “Like I’m really going to tell my boss that the girl he has his eye on was kissing another man. Do I look like the type who is stupid enough to commit career suicide?”
Dot stomped up to the house, and Maggie fell in behind her, wondering how her life had suddenly become so complicated.
Sam was standing on the Franklins’ front porch with Alice. She was hunched over and shivering, although Maggie noted that she had Sam’s heavy police jacket draped over her shoulders.
“Alice, are you all right?” Maggie rushed forward. “Where’s Doc? What’s going on?”
Alice glanced up at Maggie and began to weep.
“Dot, take Mrs. Franklin down to the station,” Sam said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“But what’s happening?” Maggie asked.
“Why are you here?” Sam asked. “And what’s on your face?”
“Paint,” Maggie said.
“It’s blue,” Sam said, frowning.
“Really, I was unaware,” she said.
Maggie turned away from him and rubbed her face with the end of her sleeve, trying to get the paint off. She gave Dot a warning glance not to mention anything else that may have been on her face, like Pete’s lips. Dot rolled her eyes.
“I saw her when I was on my way over,” Dot said. “Given her relationship with the Franklins, I thought she might be able to help.”
Sam heaved a sigh as if he conceded the point but didn’t want to admit it.
“If you’ll follow me, Mrs. Franklin,” Dot said gently. “Let’s go down to the station, where we can get you a hot cup of coffee and have a talk.”
Maggie watched as Dot helped Alice into the back of her squad car. She was not getting to ride like a passenger. Maggie looked at Sam, expecting an explanation. She got none.
Instead, he looked at her and said, “I think Dot is right. You might be able to help us. Lord knows I’m not getting anywhere with these people.”
“Sam, I don’t understand, what kind of domestic dispute could have happened here?” she asked. “These are the Franklins, the nicest people in town.”
