by Tracy Wolff
He’d stopped talking about her sister.
In Harmony’s opinion, that was the trouble with adulthood. You couldn’t just knee someone in the balls to make them shut up when they were being an asshole. And there had to be women working at the tabloids too, so a knee to the southern region would be awkward and not very satisfying. She supposed she could knee women in the boobs, but the physics involved seemed overly complicated. Which meant she was going to have to find another way to shut this thing down. It might not bother Lyric, but Harm had been fighting battles her sister didn’t know about their whole lives. She wasn’t about to stop now.
Lyric finally stopped typing and looked up. “So, what’s the deal with you and Dalton?”
Harm cringed at the name. “I hate him. He’s an asshole. End of story.”
Lyric studied her like she was trying to use X-ray vision to map the inside of Harmony’s brain. “Here’s the thing … I’m not sure I buy that, because you only get this mad when you’re interested in someone. Remember Lance Smith?”
“How could I forget my first love?” Harm sing-songed as she fanned herself. “I just knew we were destined to end up married with four kids. Soul mates whose eyes met across the wide expanse of the cafeteria on the first day of sixth grade. It was fate.”
“Until his eyes latched onto Brianna Winsor.” Lyric closed her laptop.
“The slut.” There wasn’t much heat to the insult, since Brianna Winsor-Smith had been one of her best friends to this day. “He only wanted her because of her early-developing C-cups.” She pointed to her own D-cups. “My boobs are so much better. And so are yours.” She thought about it for a second. “Now that I think about it, Brianna and Lance are married with four kids and did fall in love in middle school and never looked back. Now he’s an out-of-work mechanic who hangs Christmas lights for a living, drinks too much, and talks about his glory days in high school. Dodged a bullet there.”
The “great” thing about San Angelo was it was small enough that you got to keep tabs on all your old classmates—whether you wanted to or not.
“The point is, you were hurt and sad and glued his locker shut. When Sam Ellinger broke up with you, you started laughing because you didn’t care.” Lyric leaned back and crossed her arms. “And all I’m saying is, you were pretty mad when you got home this morning.”
“Dalton handcuffed me to a pole in his freakin’ office. Who does that?” Bastard—she could feel herself getting mad all over again.
“I gotta tell you, I didn’t think he had it in him. Where did he even get the handcuffs?” Lyric’s brow scrunched up. “Did he just pull them out of a drawer or something? I can’t see him just having handcuffs lying around.”
“Never mind where he got the handcuffs. That’s not the important part. The point is that he handcuffed me against my will and then left me there while he went off to some important meeting.” Harmony sighed. Sometimes Lyric just couldn’t see the big picture through the forest of minutiae.
“For no reason? I don’t know Dalton that well, but he doesn’t seem like the type who does anything for no reason.” Lyric thought about it for a minute. “Is there a type of person who handcuffs people for no reason?”
“I hope not.” Harm shook her head. “Anyway, he’s on my shit list. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.” The thought made her sad. She liked hanging out with Dalton. He wasn’t boring like most men.
“Wanna bet?” Lyric’s eyes gleamed in the overhead fluorescent lighting of the kitchen.
“No.” Harm had a feeling something was up. Lyric only wanted to bet when she knew she could win.
“Too bad for me.” Her sister reached for an apple from the fruit dish in the middle of the table. “He’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
Harm told herself the pitter-pat of her heart was just indigestion from the Taco Bell mad feast she’d eaten on her way back to Lyric’s house.
“Oh no he isn’t. He isn’t that brave. Or that stupid.”
“Oh yes he is. Brave, I mean. Not stupid. He seems like a pretty smart guy. Or at least he did, until he got on your shit list.”
“Exactly what I’m saying.” She’d get her chance to kill him after all. And it wouldn’t even have to be a messy affair. Poison was completely undetectable if you hid it in from-scratch brownies and then covered those brownies with strawberries and whipped cream. Or so she’d heard …
Now all she had to figure out was where to hide the body. She didn’t know Fort Worth that well, and a body-dump search wasn’t exactly what she wanted on her Google search history when Dalton went missing. Then again, Heath and Lyric had a huge backyard. They probably wouldn’t even notice if she dug up a corner.
“Wait, why is he coming to dinner? Are he and Heath best buddies now or something?” If they were, it would complicate her plan. People tended to get upset when their sisters-in-law killed their BFFs. Harmony had never really understood why, but that was the way of the world.
Maybe she’d misjudged Dalton’s relationship with Heath?
“No, this is the first time. He called Heath and invited himself over. I think he wants to apologize to you. He’s bringing dinner.” Lyric clamped a hand over her mouth. “Crap, I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Dalton wanted to surprise you.”
Harm had a feeling it was less about surprising her and more about making sure she was here for dinner. That was the kind of tricky thing he would pull. Of course, since her first thought was to disappear before he got here, it proved he knew her a little better than she wanted him to. Better than she wanted anyone to, if she was being honest.
But now that she knew what he was up to—and what he expected her to do—she couldn’t run. Partly because she wasn’t a coward and partly because there was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d won this round. Because he hadn’t. And he wasn’t going to. Since he was bringing dinner, she’d put herself in charge of making dessert. And just to prove she was a lady, she would leave the rat poison in the garage.
That didn’t mean she was taking this whole thing lying down. No freaking way. If Dalton didn’t want to have sex with her, she’d find someone who did. And she’d bring him to dinner.
Maybe all Dalton needed was a little healthy competition. Once he realized he wasn’t the only guy she was interested in, he’d step up to the plate. And she’d exact her revenge by hitting him in the balls with a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Now the only problem was figuring out where she could get a date on short notice. She didn’t know anyone in the Fort Worth area except her sister and her new husband and, well, Yoko the Okinawan hooker. Plus Rooster and BA, but she figured sometimes it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. Besides, she’d already been there and done that, and Dalton had come out on top. But how could she have known—how could anyone have known—that Heath’s general manager would be stepbrother to the head of one of the most dangerous biker gangs in Texas? The whole thing was absurd.
Which meant that this time she was going old school. If she was lucky, she could not only land a date that would make Dalton fume, she’d also get herself on the cover of the tabloids—taking Lyric’s place, once and for all, as the evil twin. Once that was complete, her reputation would be in tatters and Momma would—hopefully—wash her hands of the bakery once and for all.
Speaking of which …
“Has Heath come around about our vacation next week?” Harm still hadn’t cancelled their trip to Chile, because she really wanted to go. And because she was certain her powers of persuasion would be able to change Heath’s mind eventually.
“Nope. Heath is convinced I’ll break my legs, and he likes my legs just the way they are.” Lyric bit into the apple.
“That’s right.” Heath walked in with a football in one hand and a phone in the other. “If Lyric breaks her legs, she can’t put her ankles on my shoulders.” His grin practically swallowed his face. “And I really like having her ankles on
my shoulders.”
“Apparently. I heard y’all last night and this morning. You two make a lot of noise.” Harmony looked around the room. “You’d think a house this nice would have soundproofing. It’s not like my room is anywhere close to yours.”
“Oh no, you didn’t hear us. You heard him.” Lyric pointed to Heath. “He’s so loud, I’m not sure soundproofing would do much good.”
“It’s not that I’m loud, darlin’.” Heath put his hand over his heart. “It’s just that I’m enthusiastic. It’s your fault for being so bendy. It gives a guy ideas.”
Lyric’s smile was a little sultry as she eyed her husband. “I like it when you have ideas.”
“Believe me, the feeling is mutual. Especially when you get an idea like you had last night.” He turned back to Harmony. “Lyric was playing the part of very expensive call girl and well … I really got into it.”
“You sure did. I made two grand and had a whole lot of fun doing it.” Lyric grinned. It was obvious that she loved her husband and the life they were making together.
“Speaking of hookers, can Lyric borrow your thigh-high boots from the other night? It’s so cool y’all wear the same size. She would look spectacular in those boots.” His eyes glazed over like he was already imagining his wife in them.
“Cool down, lover boy. Remember, Dalton’s coming to dinner and—”
“We have a couple of hours.” Heath kissed Lyric and then turned to Harm. “Boots.”
“My room in the closet. I’ll be here in the kitchen with my music turned up extra loud. Feel free to defile my sister. At least one of us is getting laid. God knows my lady parts haven’t played with any boy parts in a very long time.”
“Don’t say things like that.” Heath gagged and spit into the trash. “Sorry, I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. Don’t you know sisters-in-law aren’t supposed to have lady parts?”
Before she could answer, he scooped Lyric up Rhett Butler style and headed for their room. She could hear Lyric giggling the whole way.
“I would lend you my handcuffs but Dalton stole them,” Harm called after him. She loved making Heath uncomfortable.
“Something else I didn’t want to know about you,” Heath called back, right before a door slammed.
Harm grabbed her smartphone and stuck it on the charging dock/speaker on the expansive gray marble bar top. She scrolled until she found her baking playlist number five—for when she was feeling really mean—and Megadeath blasted out. Then she closed the door to the kitchen and turned up the sound to drown out whatever noise might come from the other side of the house.
As she started on the triple-chocolate-chunk brownies—without arsenic—she started plotting how she could get a date in the next two hours.
She put butter, sugar, and a bit of water in a saucepan and set it to boil. In a small mixing bowl, she combined the flour, baking soda, espresso powder, and just a hint of cayenne pepper. While she waited for the butter and sugar mixture to boil, she made a mental list of any male she knew who lived close enough to play her dinner date.
JJ Meuler had moved to Plano last year, but he’d moved in with his boyfriend.
Eric Peterson lived in Arlington, but his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired.
Terrence Shuck had moved to Dallas, but his wife Arlene probably wouldn’t like him going out on a date with Harmony. She’d always been the jealous sort.
The butter mixture was bubbling, so Harm took it off the heat and added two cups of sixty percent Callebaut chocolate chips, then set the mixture aside to cool.
So what the hell was she going to do? She needed to find a date and fast. She thought about a Tinder hookup, but she didn’t even have a profile yet. She was pretty sure two and a half hours wasn’t enough time to make a profile, get a date, and also get him over here to rub in Dalton’s face. Fort Worth traffic was a bitch, after all.
It was definitely time to go old school … like lemonade-stand old school. All she needed was a gold-lamé bikini, some poster board, a chaise lounge, and a can-do attitude. And lucky for her, she had all of the above except for the poster board. Which she figured could be remedied easily enough.
The chocolate mixture had finally cooled, so she stirred in a couple of eggs and then added the dry ingredients. She poured the batter into a baking pan, added more chocolate chips, and put it in the oven to bake for half an hour.
With that taken care of, she headed to her room to dress for Operation Quick Date. Or undress, as the case may be.
Thirty minutes later, the brownies were cooling on the stove top and she was out in the front yard wearing her favorite gold-lamé bikini and holding a sign that read, “I NEED A DATE for dinner tonight, are you in?”
She’d dragged one of the chaise lounges and a side table from around the pool to the front yard so she could be comfortable while she panhandled for a date. She didn’t think it would take that long, but she’d brought a big glass of lemonade out with her, just in case.
This was Texas, and it was always good to stay hydrated.
Ten minutes went by and there were no takers. Then again, nobody had even driven by. Stupid gated golf course community.
Maybe if she walked around and strutted her stuff a little the neighbors would call all of their single friends and she’d be set. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to test the plan out, Harm stood on her six-inch Christian Louboutin gold spiked platforms and took a lap around the front yard.
As she did, she twirled her white poster board like she was standing on the corner of a busy highway holding a furniture store going-out-of-business sign. At this point, subtlety wasn’t an option. She was going for as much attention as possible as quickly as possible.
About two minutes later, a pimply-faced teenaged boy rolled up on a dark-blue Schwinn. “You really need a date?”
“Depends.” Maybe she should have put a minimum age on her sign. “Are you legal?”
“Had my bar mitzvah last week. My dad says I’m a man now.” He pulled out his smartphone and snapped several pictures of her.
Harmony didn’t want to know what he planned on doing with them.
“I don’t think the cops accept Jewish law as proof of age.” She shook her head. “Move along, I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Can I take a selfie with you?” He hopped off the bike, leaving it in the middle of the road, and ran over to her. “Or, I could take a video of you running around the front yard and post it on YouTube with your address. You could probably drum up business that way.”
It was a good idea and she almost went with it, but Lyric and Heath would kill her if she broadcasted their address over the Internet.
So instead she pointed in the direction bar mitzvah boy had come from. “Kid, get back on your bicycle and go home. I don’t have time for this.”
“Just trying to help you out.” He shoved his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “I live four doors down on the left if you change your mind.”
Harmony grabbed the black Sharpie she’d used to make the sign from the table and added an asterisk at the bottom of her sign, along with, “Must be over twenty-one.”
Five minutes later, a golf cart pulled up in front of the house.
The man driving the golf cart waved. “Still need a date?” Slowly, he turned around and pulled a walker out of the backseat. It took him three tries, but he finally stood and climbed out of the golf cart. Then he shuffled up the sidewalk toward her at a rate of one millimeter per minute. He looked like a sweet old guy and she didn’t want him to trip on the curb and break something, so she went to him.
She opened her mouth to tell him that yes, she still needed a date, but closed it when he started talking.
“I’m Elroy McTavish.” He grinned and stuck out his hand for her to shake. She shook his hand and tried to pull her hand away, but he held it. “The pharmacy just delivered my new prescription,” his furry eyebrows waggled up and down, “if you know what I mean. Which means, if you give me an
hour, I can rock your world, Cutie Pie. Only—if we’re going out, you have to drive. I lost my license on account of that liquor store I accidentally drove through.”
She really hadn’t thought this out.
“I’m going to have to pass.” She tried to think of a reason that didn’t make her sound ageist but couldn’t come up with anything. “Do you have a heart condition?”
“Just a little one.” He puckered up. “Give me a kiss.”
She twisted her hand free and stepped back. “Sorry, I’m like those roller coaster rides at Six Flags. You have to be at least this tall,” she held her hand just over his hunched shoulders, “and can’t have a heart condition to ride this ride.”
“I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
“Elroy McTavish, you get in this house right now.” It was a mad female voice from across the street.
“Damn, I’m busted. That’s my wife. Quick, pretend you’re choking.” He waved at his wife. “Gloria, this young woman was choking and I stopped to help her.”
Gloria, wearing a pale-pink tracksuit, garish orange hair, and an excessive amount of blue eye shadow, stomped down the front walkway wielding a cast-iron frying pan. “Hussy, you better stay away from my husband. Elroy, you stay away from her. She’s a fallen woman. Jesus hasn’t forgotten about that liquor store you wrecked. You’ve got a heart condition, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and constipation. Your days are numbered. I’d hate for Jesus to kick you out of heaven on account of being around a loose woman. I told you there’d be trouble when those sports people moved in across the street. Now get in this house right now.”