The Merry Widow of Tanner's Ford (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  Max Gibson’s barely seen wink showed he knew they were playing to an audience.

  “Spanking women on the main street went out with the horse and buggy generation,” said Max.

  “And that’s a dang shame,” added Mr. Clarence.

  Max put his sunglasses back on. He shifted his feet and suddenly turned from friend into The Law. He looked at Marci, now peering from behind Lance.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d drop by my office after breakfast, Miss Meshevski,” he said. “You need to sign that new drivers’ license.”

  Marci’s fingers tightened on Lance’s arm. She nodded, eyes down.

  “We’ll be there, Sheriff,” said Lance.

  After tipping his hat to the women, Max left the diner. Marci slumped into the booth, all her sparkle gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “You could have this all wrong.”

  Marci, unable to talk through her tight throat, shook her head at Nikki. Her sister had hauled her into the bathroom right after Max left. Cheerful cats wearing cowboy hats, bandanas and boots roped mice all around the room. Ginny told her the men’s room had dogs roping calves. Neither made her feel any better.

  “Max doesn’t lie. He must have your new license.”

  Marci pressed the wet paper towels against her eyes. “But what else does he have. You saw his face go cold when he put those mirrored sunglasses back on. He’s just like the cops back East.”

  “But your license—”

  “Oh, I’m sure he has my license waiting,” said Marci bitterly. “What better reason to get me in there without letting on his real purpose.” She ran more cold water over the scratchy brown paper and pressed it against her sore eyeballs. “The wedding’s off. I can’t go through with it. I told them this would happen!”

  Nikki took the towels from her and tossed them in the trash. She took Marci into her arms.

  “Lance and Simon will help, and I’ve got money put away.” Nikki squeezed her, just like she used to when they were small. “I’d rather have you than money in the bank.”

  “The ranch is already deep in debt. I can’t ask them to help.”

  “Gal time’s up,” said a male voice outside the door. It was immediately followed by a harsh rapping. “Open the door.”

  “Go away!” yelled Marci. It sounded like Simon, but at this point she didn’t want to see any male.

  “Not happening. Open the door.”

  “No!”

  “I think that’s Lance,” said Nikki. “And he sounds angry.”

  “Too bad.” Marci slumped against the counter. She stuck her chin out. “He can wait until I’m good and ready.”

  “Open the door, Doctor Meshevski.”

  “Don’t!” squealed Marci.

  Nikki shook her head. “Sorry, but as the town doctor I have to set an example.

  Marci stared at Nikki. She looked around the tiny room. Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. And one door. No window, no other way out. She snorted a laugh, then shook her head at the ridiculousness of it. There was no lock on the door. At least, not from the inside. Lance could walk in anytime he wanted. But he wouldn’t go in because there was an outline of a female figure on the door.

  “It’s okay, Nik. I have to leave sometime. Open the door. At least I’m not the one giving in.”

  Nikki shot her a grateful look. She stepped close to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

  Two upset men, Lance and Simon, blocked the doorway. They parted to let Nikki through, then filled the space again.

  “I’m scared,” Marci whispered. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Do you doubt us already?” asked Lance gently. Neither he nor Simon came closer.

  “I just…when the sheriff looked at me…I…”

  Lance growled. Before she could gasp, he was pulling her tight against him.

  “You’re so cold,” he murmured. “Let me warm you up.”

  Simon shut the door and pressed in behind her. There was barely enough room in front of the sink for the three of them.

  “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together,” said Simon. “We can’t sell the ranch, but there’s nothing stopping us from selling all sorts of antiques.”

  “I can’t let you sell your things,” she protested, trying to push away.

  “They’re only things, Marci,” replied Simon. His warm breath stole down her neck. “I’d do far more to keep you out of jail.”

  “Nothing’s going to be sold, and no one’s going to jail,” said Lance. He lifted her face to meet his. “Let’s go find out what Max wants. None of us will be able to eat until we know.”

  Five minutes later Marci carefully set her foot on the first step leading to jail. It was actually just the steps to the Sherriff’s office, and many people took the shortcut to get forms from the County Clerk, but to Marci, it was the beginning of the end. She could already hear the harsh clanging of cell doors shutting behind her. She loved to create food for the senses, using color and shape, and flavor. But from now on all she’d have was bland, mushy meals that never changed.

  She could see it already. Mashed potatoes from a box mixed with water rather than milk. A piece of overcooks cauliflower to one side and in the center, a small square of poached fish. White, white, and white, to match the chipped crockery plates.

  Or did they use stainless steel? She knew so little about prison, other than it was second only to being burned to death in her list of top three nightmares. Losing Nikki was next. Or, at least, it used to be. She’d have to make room for the men escorting her.

  With Simon on one side and Lance on the other, she should have felt safe. But friends and relatives, even husbands, could not protect her from The Law. Ever since learning of her neighbor’s life sentence, she’d thought of those words in capital letters.

  Nikki had wanted to come as well, but Marci wanted to keep her sister out of any trouble. She’d suggested Nikki drop by after breakfast if they hadn’t returned. Nikki had fretted, but agreed.

  Simon released Marci’s arm to run up the steps and open the wide wooden door for her. It didn’t creak as she’d expected. She squeezed Lance’s hand one last time and pushed him away. She would do this on her own. Yes, she’d agreed to marry them, but only if she could walk down those steps cleared of all suspicion.

  With head high and shoulders back, she strode into the small foyer of the Climax Police Station. It was an anticlimax as she realized the space served to break the wind and weather in the winter. Lance opened the next door and she finally stepped through into the office.

  Two battered wooden desks were in front, papers stacked neatly in wood boxes and a roller chair behind each. One had a well-bashed-up typewriter on it. A switchboard was to her right, the chair in front of it also empty. An office with a closed door. But what made her open her eyes wide was the color. Yes, the walls were institution gray and the furniture boring brown wood, but pink, yellow, mauve, and blue bunnies and chicks seemed to be everywhere.

  One fuzzy yellow chick peeked out from a pencil-filled coffee mug. The side facing her had “Happy Easter Mom” scrawled on it. Perhaps the other side had a tiny handprint. All the pencils were sharpened, and of different lengths, as if they were really used.

  Marci wrinkled her nose at the smell of coffee. All the cop shows on TV said the coffee in a police station was nasty, and the one she’d spent far too much time in back East was the same. But this stuff almost made her gag.

  A colorful flash of movement caught her eye. A short, busty woman with gray hair in a neat bun came out of the back room. Her black glasses had a sparkling turquoise chain attached, but it was her massive bosom that supported them. Red and purple swirls with large yellow polka dots covered her from neck to wrist to waist. The puffs on her shoulders were so large they almost dwarfed her head. Her stretchy pants matched dots. Her shoes were sturdy black ones, and her socks were white.

  “Help you?” she asked. She looked up and a wide smile
burst forth. “Why, if it isn’t Simon and Lance MacDougal. What brings you in here, boys?”

  “We need a marriage license, Mrs. Gibson,” said Simon. “I’m marrying Miss Meshevski, here.”

  Marci choked. Lance rested his hand on the small of her back. His touch felt reassuring rather than possessive.

  “Louise Elliott doesn’t come in for another hour. She’s the county clerk. I’ll just go get you one.” She looked Marci up and down. “After you introduce me to the lady. Are you really going to marry these disreputable scoundrels?”

  The last comment was directed at Marci. This was Brenda’s mother? “I was planning to,” she said.

  “Max in?” asked Lance before Marci could continue.

  Mrs. Gibson nodded. “He said he was expecting you, but a bit later.”

  “Well, we’re here now, ma’am. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “I know, I’m the one taking up your time.” The woman grumbled but she didn’t lose her smile. She turned to Marci. “I work here for a dollar an hour, but it’s better than being at home listening to my husbands and father-in-law bicker about everything under the sun.” She suddenly smiled. “You like my new outfit?”

  “It’s certainly bright and springlike,” replied Marci.

  Simon shook his head. “No wonder Max wears sunglasses. You must half blind him first thing in the morning.”

  Instead of being insulted, she preened. “A gal has to have some fun in this town. It drives my husbands almost as crazy as my son. That’s why I do it.” She gave Marci an exaggerated wink.

  The closed door opened. Max, still wearing the shades, emerged. “Mom, are you bothering the good citizens of Climax again?”

  “No, Maxie, I’m spilling state secrets.” She stuck her nose in the air and bustled out. Her son, the sheriff, sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

  “Allergies,” he said. He looked at the door his mother had gone through. “To loud clothing and impertinent mothers,” he added. Then he smiled and shook his head affectionately.

  Marci took a mental step back. He’d made a joke about his mom? The eight foot tall, four foot wide black-booted monster shrank into a man not that much bigger than Simon.

  “Thanks for coming by, Miss Meshevski. I’ve got your license in my office.” He sized up her escorts. “Though if they’re coming in with you, we’d best use the lunch room.”

  “We’re not leaving,” said Simon. It was the closest to a possessive growl Marci had heard from him.

  “Have at it. You know the way.”

  Max turned back to his office. Lance guided her toward the source of the smell. She backed away, shaking her head.

  “I can’t go in there,” she whispered. “That coffee stinks so bad, I’m already gagging.”

  Simon slipped past into the room. She heard liquid splash into a metal sink, then the pot being rinsed. The hiss of a spray brought relief as an unidentifiable flower scent replaced the acrid coffee. She swallowed bile and continued into the room.

  A scarred table filled most of the windowless room. It was long enough to hold the six hard wooden chairs with lots of elbow room. Opposite the door was a sink and countertop containing the coffeemaker, now empty thanks to Simon, and a microwave. Open cupboards above showed lots of mugs, plates, and the like, all mismatched. A few chicks and bunnies had crept in here as well.

  A white fridge, the top edges rounded, filled the rest of the short wall. The one to her right had traces of corkboard under the masses of papers, while the other held a blackboard and filing cabinets. Colorful chalk drawings filled the bottom third of the blackboard, obviously the work of children.

  “Water, Marci?”

  She gratefully took the red-and-green ceramic Christmas mug from Simon and sipped. One of the things she liked so much about living here was the quality of the water. Lance pulled out the middle chair, but she was not going to sit and give up her tiny bit of advantage. The sheriff closed the door behind himself. He sniffed, saw the coffeepot was upside down in the sink, and shot her a look she didn’t understand. She quickly dropped her eyes. He moved to the chair across from her and held out a small piece of paper and a pen.

  “I can’t sit until you do, ma’am,” he said. “I was on my feet half the night with the baby so I’d appreciate it if you’d take the chair Lance is holding out for you.”

  She plunked her bottom down. Max nodded his thanks and sat, followed by Lance and Simon.

  “I really do have your license.” Max placed it in front of her and held out the pen.

  She looked down. There was no mention of Ted’s name.

  “Am I allowed to go back to my maiden name right after my husband dies, or do I have to fill out a bunch of forms first?”

  “You can sign as Marci Meshevski if you’re not aiming to commit a crime or use it for false purposes,” said Max quietly.

  She exhaled through her nose, took the blue pen, and signed. When she was done, she set the pen down with a snap.

  “This isn’t the only reason I’m here, is it?”

  “No, ma’am. I’d appreciate you clearing a few things up for me.”

  “A few things,” she repeated. “Such as?” Those green eyes weren’t as cold as jade, but they weren’t like fuzzy spring leaves in sunshine, either.

  “The complete story of your husband’s death.”

  It was as if he’d plunged a fist into her gut. She cried out and bent forward, pressing her arm against her belly.

  “Max, if you hurt her, I’ll—”

  “Back off, Simon. I want to know what happened to your lady in case someone official calls and I have to answer questions. I got suspicious vibes when I phoned to find out why the widow of a rich man was suddenly living in my town, broke, with a recent knife slash to the face. If the lady explains the whole story, I’ll be able to provide the best answers.”

  “Best for Marci,” said Simon. Max nodded.

  “Drink. You’ve got nothing in your stomach.” Lance held out the cup for her to sip. “You got any plain crackers, Max?”

  The stony silence lasted only a second. “Mom should have some. There’s some ginger ale in the fridge. The sugar and ginger will be good.”

  “Max is trying to help,” said Simon as soon as the big man left. He went to the fridge and took out a soda. He poured it into a tall glass.

  “He’s right,” said Lance. “If the sheriff knows everything, he can steer the answers in the right direction depending on what’s needed.”

  “I didn’t kill Ted!” she said, quietly determined. “If I could have, I’d have done it years before, after he humiliated me for months and then boasted about the vasectomy.” She realized Max had heard when the door clicked softly behind her.

  Simon slid a glass of golden bubbles under her nose. They tickled, and she raised her head to avoid them. Three packets of crackers appeared by the glass. Max handed the fourth to her already opened.

  “My wife always said these help,” he said.

  He sat, crossing his arms and glaring at Simon. She nibbled at the saltines, then sipped. The sweet ginger and salty bland crackers went down well, so she opened another pack.

  Max looked tired, but she saw none of the aggressive we-know-you’re-guilty signs that almost flashed in Technicolor from the other police she’d had to deal with. This was it. The end of the line. She wanted to marry Simon and Lance, wanted to have their children, wanted to spend the rest of her life on a ranch in Tanner’s Ford valley.

  Only an unburdened soul could fly free. She wanted to fly, to love, to live her life facing forward in joy, not backward in fear.

  “I’m ready,” she said to Max, though her hands trembled.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said. “Don’t leave out one detail. Start with the first time you saw Ted Grant.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Nikki had rushed in just as Marci started her story. She’d tried waiting in the diner, letting Marci’s future husbands care for
her, but she’d been taking care of her sister all her life. Until the three of them were legally married, they’d have to put up with her butting in. After what felt like hours, it was over.

  “And so Nikki brought me to the clinic, where I met Simon MacDougal,” said Marci. “Now you know it all.” She clutched the empty soda can between both hands.

  Max continued to balance on the back two legs of the wooden chair, a blue pen between his index fingers. He’d stared at it for the last fifteen minutes as if it held the meaning of life.

  “Who’s Billie Rose?”

  Marci, caught swallowing, choked. Simon patted her back while Lance offered her water.

  “She was a neighbor we had for a while in the trailer park,” replied Nikki, since Marci still couldn’t talk. “How do you know about her?”

  Max twirled his pen between his fingers. “An insurance adjuster telephoned Nikki's apartment and asked to talk to Mrs. Ted Grant. Someone who said she was Billie Rose insisted no one with that name lived in Climax,” he said in that bored, give-nothing-away official voice, “but if she could find her, she’d use the thousand dollar reward money to go to Vegas. At least, that’s what the man figured she said. Her accent was a bit difficult for a Yankee to understand.”

  “That would be Billie Rose, all right,” said Nikki, thinking back. “She was sure she’d find herself a high roller who’d take one look at her assets and marry her that night. Then she’d never be hungry again.”

  “Thank you for clearing that up,” said Max, and leaned forward. His chair legs hit the floor with a thump. Marci jumped. Max checked his watch, then looked at Marci. “You’ve got a phone call to make. Would you like to use my office?”

  Marci crumpled the can in her fist. Lance set his hand on hers. If he hadn’t, Nikki thought Marci might have hurled the can at the sheriff. Seeing her sister show anger was a good sign, better than fear, depression, or bitter resentment.

  “What now!”

  “Edgar Jones is very upset. He said he’s been trying to reach you for weeks,” said Max. “The police put me in touch with him when I called. He’s the one you spoke to.”