by Mary Maxwell
The other girl muttered something in agreement. Then she asked again if I had anything to drop off or pickup.
“Actually, no,” I said. “The reason for my visit was to see if I could find out who the dry cleaning receipt belonged to.”
Melissa lightly poked the other girl in the side. “Don’t say her name again! Don’t say it!”
The other girl giggled. “Marla Soble! Marla Soble! Marla Soble!”
I put the copy of the receipt in my pocket. Then I thanked the duo for their time and made my way back outside. As the door closed behind me, I could still hear the singsong refrain.
“Marla Soble! Marla Soble! Marla Soble!”
I’d lived my entire thirty years without once hearing that name, and in the space of about two or three minutes it had peppered my ears nearly a dozen times. After getting back in the car, I sent a text to Trent: Do you anybody named Marla Soble?
What’s it worth to you? he replied.
I smiled. Package of that teriyaki beef jerky you love?
Deal, he wrote back. Marla Soble is Ira Pemberton’s on/off girlfriend.
I stared at my phone for a few seconds. Then I quickly asked the next logical question: Why do you know that?
Long story, Trent replied. Not enough time now, but ask me later.
I promised to remind him the next time we spoke. Then I dropped the phone on the passenger seat, started the car and headed for home.
CHAPTER 5
A few minutes after eight that night, I was sitting at a table in the Sky High dining room with my laptop, a pile of invoices and a spreadsheet that looked like someone had spilled red ink on an intricate network of black squiggles. I’d tried working in my office, but the windowless nook felt even more claustrophobic than usual. I decided the empty, expansive front room would be more conducive to finishing the bills before midnight.
“Well, Nana Reed,” I whispered to my beloved culinary mentor, “here I am, wearing my fuzzy slippers and drinking wine while I attempt to balance the books.”
The lights were dim, an old Bonnie Raitt CD was playing softly and I still had a few sips left in the glass of merlot that I’d brought downstairs from my apartment.
I was in such a relaxed state that I literally jumped out of my chair when the phone rang. I glanced at the display, picked up the noisemaker and tapped the screen.
“Ladies’ lingerie,” I said in a sultry tone. “Are you calling about the buy one, get one offer on strapless bras?”
My sister snorted. “What the heck is going on up there?”
“I passed the point of no return about half an hour ago.”
“Ah, so you’re doing the bookkeeping?”
I groaned. “Somebody has to. It’s a necessary evil of running a thriving family business.”
“Speaking of which,” Olivia said, “have you talked to mom and dad lately?”
“She called me this morning, but Julia and I were in the weeds. A busload of seniors had stopped on the way to Las Vegas. I hate to admit this, but I haven’t even listened to her message yet.”
“Well, there’s no need. I can tell you what she was calling about—dad’s getting a tattoo.”
I smiled. “And?”
“And she’s on the warpath,” my sister said. “He wants to have Taylor Swift’s face inked on his right bicep.”
“Taylor who?”
Olivia laughed. “Swift. As in, Taylor Swift the singer.”
“Is he a fan or something?”
“Apparently,” she answered. “They went to water aerobics a few days ago and a new instructor played a bunch of Taylor Swift songs. Dad went nuts, but mom suspects it was because the new woman had an hourglass figure, a string bikini and the ability to use her cleavage as a flotation device.”
“Fake breasts?”
“Very!” Olivia said. “Mom told me that the woman had so much plastic going on above and below the waist that she was one part Tupperware, one part Barbie.”
I laughed and asked if my mother had called earlier for my advice or support.
“Neither,” Olivia replied. “She started a petition to convince daddy that he’s having a midlife crisis and the tattoo is a terrible idea.”
“A midlife crisis?”
“You heard me. He’s suddenly obsessed with pop singers, skinny jeans and a water aerobics instructor named Gigi.”
I didn’t know what to say about my father’s newfound interests, so I kept quiet. My sister has never had a problem filling the spaces in a conversation, so I knew she’d keep going if I didn’t chime in.
“But I don’t see any problem with it,” Olivia continued a split second later. “I mean, mom’s been texting me about the new barista at the Starbucks near their condo. His name is Yoyo or something, and he—”
“Whoa! Hang on a sec. Did you say his name is Yoyo?”
She snickered. “Or Yolo or Nolo. I don’t really know for sure. She’s mentioned it a couple of times on the phone, but I wasn’t going to interrupt her jabbering for clarification. You know how she gets if you barge in before she makes her point.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And so, Yoyo’s in grad school or something. I think he’s studying—”
My incoming call tone sounded while she was revealing the coffee shop employee’s chosen educational path, but I didn’t want to ask her to repeat it. Instead, I took a small sip of my wine and listened while Olivia explained why our parents were entitled to pursue whatever flirtations and fantasies caught their eye.
“I mean, it’s not like they’re going to run off with an aerobics instructor or barista,” she said, coming to the end of her rant. “They’re too levelheaded for such dramatic changes this late in life.”
“Time will tell. And speaking of time, I hate to cut this short, but I have about a dozen more invoices to process before I can call it a night.”
“I just wanted to give you a quick buzz to see if mom had cajoled you into signing the petition.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “I’ll call her tomorrow, but I won’t let her know that we talked tonight.”
“Okay, but don’t call between nine and noon their time,” Olivia advised.
“Why not?”
“Water aerobics runs from nine to ten,” she said. “And then mom meets her girlfriends for morning coffee at ten-thirty.”
“Well, why can’t I call her while dad’s in his aerobics class?”
My sister heaved a sigh. “Because she’s now taking the class, too. I guess she figured that he wouldn’t do anything too shameless if she was bobbing in the pool beside him.”
CHAPTER 6
By ten o’clock that night, I was in bed watching The Notebook for the six millionth time surrounded by a few of my favorite things: a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream from Scoops of Joy, a half dozen mini chocolate chip cookies and a reasonable number of peanut M&Ms. There were only a few more minutes left in the movie when my phone rang. I considered burying it under the blankets, but took a quick glance and saw the only name that could tear me away from the heartwarming story of Noah and Allie.
“Zack!” I said. “How are you, handsome man?”
“I’m fine.” He laughed tenderly. “You sound pretty wound up.”
“It might be the sugar,” I confessed.
“Oh, babe. This late? How are you ever going to get to sleep?”
I giggled. “Well, if you were here…” I let him fill in the rest.
“Wish I was,” Zack said. “This hotel room is amazing, but it’s kind of lonely with only me in it.”
“Should I catch the first flight out in the morning?”
“Don’t tease me like that.”
“Okay,” I said, lowering my voice to a smoky rasp. “There are plenty of other ways to get the job done.”
He laughed again. “Come on, Katie! You’re not making this any easier.”
“I’m sorry, gorgeous. I am pretty wound up tonight. It was a really crazy day here.”
&
nbsp; “I heard about your morning adventure,” he said. “If that’s what you’re talking about.”
“What did you hear?”
“Ellie Sharp had a meeting with my boss today,” he said. “She told Gretchen about stopping at your place for breakfast this morning, and Gretchen told me.” He chuckled again. “Actually, she told everyone on the conference call this afternoon, so don’t be surprised if a few people in town mention the drunk guy ordering a scotch at Sky High.”
“Uh-huh,” I said sarcastically. “I can see the appeal. It’s such a hilarious story.”
“Don’t be mad, babe. It is pretty memorable.”
“I suppose so,” I said. “But it’s also kind of sad and tragic. Boris Hertel’s a really sweet man.”
“Yeah? I haven’t met him, but I also heard that his next stop after Sky High was Tipton’s Liquor Mart where he proceeded to steal a—”
“Jeez! Did Gretchen blab that on the conference call, too?”
“No, I heard that bit of news from one of the Gazette reporters. He and I are working on a special feature for the paper. We had a quick call today with the graphic artist and Joe mentioned that he was…” Zack stopped and cleared his throat. “You know what, babe? I didn’t call to talk about Crescent Creek gossip. I called to hear your beautiful voice.”
“Ah…that’s sweet. Thank you, handsome.”
“You’re welcome. So…tell me something in your beautiful voice.”
I smiled. “What do you want to hear?”
“Hmmmm…maybe you could do that sexy French accent again and talk about all the ways you can tease me when I get home.”
I purred like a kitten. Then I told him a few ideas. And then we talked about how much we missed one another when he traveled for work. After an interlude during which he described the enormous Jacuzzi tub in his hotel room and explained a few things that two consenting adults could do in it, I started giggling uncontrollably.
“What’s so funny?” Zack asked.
“You.”
“What?” he said. “What did I do now?”
“You didn’t do anything, sweetie. I just…well, actually you did do something, but it’s totally wonderful.”
He rumbled a few more things about the Jacuzzi. Then he apologized and said he had to cut short the call because he was meeting an old college buddy in the bar at the hotel.
“Oh, that’s nice. Have I heard about him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s his name?”
“Alice,” Zack said.
“That’s a strange name for an old college buddy.”
“Not really. We were good friends when we were in school. She and her husband live out here now, so they’re meeting me for a nightcap.”
“Oh, her husband, too?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Katie. Her husband, too.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Otherwise, I’d have to worry about you and your old college buddy taking that big Jacuzzi out for a spin.”
“No, you most definitely would not!” he said firmly. “I’m a one-woman man, Katie. And that woman is you.”
I closed my eyes, fell back into the pillows and felt the bowl of M&Ms cascade all around me under the covers.
“I’m so glad to hear that news,” I said, scooping up the runaway candy. “And I better let you go, babe. I just spilled M&Ms all over the bed.”
He laughed, told me that he loved me and whispered one more sweet nothing before hanging up.
CHAPTER 7
Julia and I were working on a large breakfast order in the Sky High kitchen the next morning when Harper appeared in the pass window.
“How’re we doing on that food?” she asked. “The threadheads are getting restless.”
“Threadheads?” Julia said.
Harper bobbed her head toward the dining room. “Camille Gribben and her band of quilters. They haven’t eaten much since yesterday at noon.”
“Why on earth not?” I asked.
“Some kind of crazy competition,” Harper explained. “The president of the quilting guild in Cortez sent out a challenge to everyone on her email list. She dared them to finish a full-size quilt in twenty-four hours. They’re going to raffle the results off for a group that helps vets.”
Julia laughed as she folded crisp bacon bits into an order of scrambled eggs.
“Didn’t they stop to eat at all?” I asked.
Harper shrugged. “Diet Coke, Tic Tacs and Slim Jims. Not exactly a healthy, balanced diet.”
“Well, it was only for one night,” I said with a smile. “And it sounds like it was for a good cause.”
The bell on the front door chimed. I looked through the pass window across the dining room as Dee Whitaker waved and motioned for me to come out of the kitchen. A married mother of three, Dee was a 45-year-old chatterbox who worked as the executive assistant to Mayor Washington. Her position at City Hall afforded her the inside scoop on matters both large and small. The look on her face suggested that she hadn’t stopped by to order cookies for an upcoming meeting.
“Can you handle it from here?” I asked Julia.
She rolled her eyes. “You should know by now that I can handle anything, Katie.”
I squeezed her shoulder, gave Harper an estimate on the order for Camille Gribben’s group and then made my way out of the kitchen. Dee was waiting for me just inside the front door, glancing furtively around the dining room and gripping her purse straps with both hands.
“Hi, Katie,” she said quietly. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Other than right here?”
She frowned. “It’s about the hit list,” she whispered. “I want to be discreet.”
“Hit list?”
She pressed one finger to her lips. “Hush! Let’s go somewhere private.”
As soon as I closed the office door a moment later, Dee opened her purse and pulled out a sheet of yellow paper. I noticed a large coffee stain along the bottom of the creased page as she opened it and eased slowly into one of the chairs by my desk.
“I took notes,” she said. “Mainly because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.”
I walked behind the desk and sat down. Then I asked her to tell me what she’d heard.
“Marla Soble,” she said. “Do you know her?”
I smiled. “Not really, but the name’s been coming up a lot lately.”
Dee sneered at my comment. “Lately?” she said. “Marla’s name has been coming up for years. And it’s never been anything good.”
Since I didn’t have personal experience with Marla Soble and I needed to get back to the kitchen, I decided not to debate the point. Instead, I suggested that Dee enlighten me on the most recent gossip.
“Well, first of all, have you seen the woman’s skirts?”
I shook my head.
“They’re like the size of a postage stamp!” Dee said. “Teeny, tiny scraps that leave nothing to the imagination.”
“Well, if Marla’s in really good shape maybe she’s proud of her body.”
“Proud?” Dee’s voice had more sizzle than a skillet filled with frying bacon. “It’s gratuitous and naughty and…” She stopped to take a breath. Her face was pink and one side of her mouth was quivering uncontrollably. “Did you hear about the time she was wearing one of those scraps and the wind came up?”
“Must’ve been shocking,” I said, trying not to grin.
“Shocking! The whole world got a look at her caboose! And her tattoo!”
I waited again while Dee calmed down. Then I asked if she’d come by to discuss Marla’s wardrobe choices and ink-bedecked backside or another subject.
“I wanted to tell you about the hit list!” Dee gushed. “I overheard Marla and Ira talking about it at Smitty’s Cash & Carry last night.”
“Ira Pemberton?”
“Well, of course, Katie! Is there another Ira in town?”
I shrugged. “Just trying to keep the facts straight.”
She licked her lips anxiously. “I know. And I’m sorry. This is…well, the really strange thing is that I’d already heard about the list from Boris Hertel’s son.” She smiled. “I should clarify that to be as accurate as possible. Kevin Hertel came to see the mayor about a new business he plans to open in town. But then he mentioned that he’d received some type of threatening note. I suppose he was looking for advice about how to handle the situation. Anyway, Kevin and Mayor Washington were discussing things and I happened to be right outside the mayor’s door at the time.”
I nodded. “What did Kevin share with the mayor?”
“Well, it was really kind of strange,” Dee said. “And I couldn’t quite catch everything because Kevin’s voice kept getting softer and louder, softer and louder. But the first thing I could understand was something about dog biscuits or dog toys or something.”
“Minty Dog Chews?”
She looked at me through a jittery smirk. “Minty what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Go on with your story.”
“Okay, so…” She adjusted her position in the chair. “…the mayor was most interested in what Kevin was saying about death threats. He asked a bunch of questions, and the next thing I heard was three names: Ira Pemberton, some woman and a guy named Carver.”
“Could it have been Carter Devane?”
She frowned. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sounded like Carver to me, but there were a few other people in the hall right about then. Made it kind of hard to hear very well.”
“Sure,” I said with a wink. “Not to mention that they interrupted your eavesdropping.”
She finally relaxed enough to smile. “I know, right? Don’t you just hate that?”
“Completely. So…back to what you heard.”
“Well, Mayor Washington told Kevin that he’d check with somebody over at the CCPD. But then Kevin said maybe they shouldn’t because he’d run into Marla at Scoops of Joy and they got to talking about the hit list and she told Kevin not to tell a soul or—”
“Sorry, Dee. Can you slow down a bit? You’re getting kind of worked up and I don’t want to miss the finer points of what you’re saying.”
