She parked her car in the parking lot behind the building and came in the back door that led straight into the lobby. She punched the elevator button, but when it didn’t immediately deliver, she headed for the stairs. Then she remembered her box of supplies and her laptop she’d left in the back seat of her car. Love was already messing with her brain. She ran back out of the building and to her car. She grabbed her box of things—mostly paper, pens and pencils, also a picture of her mother in younger days, as well as her laptop. She took the elevator up this time. She figured running upstairs with a box and her computer was not a good idea.
Jeb was in his office, leaning back in his chair with his boots on his desk. He had a cigar in his mouth but wasn’t smoking it. He waved at her while he talked on the phone. “I know how you feel, Tom, but I can’t run a story like that. I don’t think the general public would understand the need to zone an emu ranch right as they drive into town. Hell, most people probably don’t know squat about emus, much less want to eat one of their eggs. I’m telling you, people like regular ol’ chicken eggs. Remember that whole free-range chicken brouhaha we had a couple years back?”
Amy smiled to herself. Small town emu issues seemed so removed from the big, bad world out there. She set up her desk and entered in the Wi-Fi password that Jeb had taped to the inside of Amy’s desk drawer. She didn’t listen to the rest of the emu conversation.
Pulling out a pen and yellow legal pad, she started researching bingo—history of, interesting facts about, and tips on how to win. She wanted to at least have a working knowledge of the game. Besides, bingo research would keep her mind off what she’d “made happen.” She had kissed Parker and Parker had kissed her back. Amy let her mind wander to what was next—more deep kisses, her hands running down Parker’s stomach, reaching around to…
Jeb’s voice broke her daydream, “You look like you’re raring to go.”
“I thought I might throw in some interesting bingo history tidbits. What do you think?” Amy asked, hoping he liked the idea.
“Perfect. Most people don’t know much more than bopping the squares,” Jeb said.
“I’m going for a dry run with Millie tonight in preparation for the big event.”
“Good. On the big day, I’ll send Luke along to snap some photos of the winner. Got to have visuals to go with the story,” Jeb said. “Luke is my nephew. He’s good with a camera and he works cheap.”
“Sounds great,” Amy said.
“I’ll let you get some work done,” Jeb said. “I’m going to go out and see about that emu farm. This is what we call controversial in this town.” He grabbed his cowboy hat from the hat tree and sauntered his way out of the office.
Amy pulled up Wikipedia. She jotted down some of the more interesting facts. Bingo had originally been called beano because beans were used in place of chips or daubers. The first known form of the game was played in Italy. But the first time it was played in America was during county fairs in 1929.
Amy was surprised to find out there were many forms of bingo. There was anti-bingo. That was where you tried not to get bingo. Online bingo, drag queen bingo (that was self-explanatory), and roadkill bingo, which was played mostly on car trips.
There was a sharp rap on the office door. The door had a frosted glass window and through it, Amy saw what appeared to be a large, broad-shouldered man. She wondered if it was safe for her to open the door until she remembered this was Fenton and the odds were that he wasn’t a serial killer.
He rapped on the door twice more. Amy got up and opened the door.
A large, bearded man stood holding a bouquet of white jasmine flowers. “These are for Amy Warner,” he said in a deep voice that sounded more like it should belong to a lumberjack than a florist delivery man.
“You found me,” Amy said.
He handed her a clipboard. “Sign here, please.”
She signed and he handed over the flowers. “Enjoy,” he said and left.
Amy stuck her face in the bouquet and inhaled the sweet smell. She wondered who’d sent it. Perhaps Millie had done it—commemorating Amy’s first day of work. She set the flowers on her desk and pulled out the card. She opened it.
It read: We need to do that more often. Parker.
Amy’s heart did a double flip. She smelled their sweet, soft fragrance again.
Then her paranoid mind wondered why Parker hadn’t sent roses instead. Surely, the florist wasn’t out of roses. She sat down and Googled jasmine. She quickly found out that jasmine was symbolic of love, sensuality, and attachment.
Amy smile. Jasmine was indeed a good choice. “Leave it to Parker,” she muttered aloud. She sniffed the bouquet again and sighed. Then her cell phone danced across her desk. She had put it on vibrate as a matter of office decorum.
She picked up, hoping it was Parker. Instead, it was Steph who said, “What kind of flowers did you get?”
“How’d you know about that?” Amy asked, feeling her face grow hot. She was glad Jeb was out of the office.
“A little bird told me,” Steph said.
“Let me guess… the florist called you.” Amy was starting to understand the grapevine in small towns.
“Well, I do know the florist, but I drove by and saw Billy Joe’s van outside your building. I took a guess.”
“Boy, you can’t do anything in this town without everybody knowing about it,” Amy said.
“Best you remember that,” Steph said, teasing. “Spill.”
“It’s a long story,” Amy said, trying to deflect her.
“I’ve got time. I’m at work,” Steph said. “Unless we get a call,” she amended.
“Jasmine,” Amy said simply.
“Nice choice,” Steph said.
“I agree.”
“The big question is… why did she send them?” Steph asked. “You haven’t slept together yet.”
“How do you know that?”
“She would’ve sent roses,” Steph answered.
“You’re quite the detective. There’s an opening here at the paper for an investigative reporter,” Amy said.
“C’mon,” Steph said. “Why the flowers? If I don’t get the scoop, Rosa will kill me.”
“I got a piece of advice when I was visiting my mother,” Amy said.
“And?”
“Dena, the woman I met, told me that if she wanted to do something, she made it happen because you just never know how long...” Amy let that hang and then said, “I followed her advice. I went to the park, found Parker, kissed her, then I ran off because I had to get to work and I was scared,” Amy said, the words pouring out of her like a confession by a guilt-ridden criminal.
Amy heard a chuckle on the end of the line. “Why are you laughing?”
“It’s just so cute and romantic and weird.”
“Why’s it weird?” Amy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Back in the day, when I had the hots for a gal, I kissed her and then you know, we…”
“I know,” Amy interjected.
“In your case, you run out on a golf course, kiss your girl, and dash off. Then Parker sends jasmine and now you’re both stunned in love.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Amy said, unconsciously doodling hearts on her legal pad.
“Uh, how about you all have been hanging around each other for weeks and your first kiss is in a park, while she’s playing golf, and you’re late for work. I’m just sayin’ it’s odd. You’re as strange as Parker.”
“Then we’re well-matched,” Amy said. She heard the crackle of the radio in the background.
“I gotta go save a cat,” Steph suddenly announced.
“What happened?”
“Oh, it’s just old George. He’s got himself stuck in the “O” of Molly’s Bakery again. We’ll have to get the cherry-picker out and rescue his furry butt or he’ll be yowling all day. Molly says he affects business with all his caterwauling. It is pretty disturbing. He sounds a small child being tortured. It’s awful.
”
“You think he’d learn,” Amy said.
“He tries to get the birds who hang out there waiting for crumbs from below. I guess if I were a bird I’d do the same thing. Who would turn down donut crumbs? I’ll see ya, later,” She clicked off.
Amy went back to her research. When she thought she’d gotten enough background on bingo, she perused the old editions of the paper and checked out the tone of her predecessor’s human interest stories. They were witty, quirky, and fun. Amy found herself laughing out loud at some of them. All of Fenton seemed to be fair game. Amy figured she had a lot of leeway on what and how she could write her stories.
Around one o’clock, Jeb returned with two sub sandwiches. He set one down on Amy’s desk. “I figured you might need some sustenance. And if you didn’t, I’d eat it. Not that I should,” he said. “It’s a classic sub. Hard salami, ham, turkey, and cheese. You got to try the new deli down on Shelton Street. Not the best location, but word gets out and business will pick up. I thought I’d send Luke down there and let him write a food article. The kid’s a human garbage can. He also has,” Jeb did air quotes, “literary aspirations.”
It hadn’t occurred to Amy about other reporters for the paper. The Sentinel was small, but Jeb couldn’t write all the articles, could he? Amy unwrapped her sandwich. “Thank you. It smells delicious.”
Jeb handed her a sweet tea. He took a seat at the desk next to Amy’s and groaned. “I’m getting too old to go traipsing around an emu farm.”
“I thought he couldn’t get it zoned.”
“That never stopped Tom. He’s got three of the monsters already.” Jeb took a bite of his sandwich and mumbled, “Damn… good.”
“Jeb, does anyone other than you, me, and Luke work for the paper?” Amy took a bite of her sandwich. Jeb was right. It was good.
“Oh, sure, Sandy and Elliot Morton, the brother and sister team, cover most of the other articles. Local interest stuff. They’re on vacation in Denmark right now at the Hamlet Festival. They go every year.” He took another bite and when he’d finished chewing, he said, “I do the front page with the national news, which is damn easy these days, courtesy of the Internet. Only I stay away from the dark stuff. If folks want that they can get it on the boob tube.”
“Boob tube?” Amy asked.
“My old man used to call it that. I would sit and watch Saturday morning cartoons until he’d throw me out of the house. The TV was the tube and the boob was me.”
“I’ve never heard that before.” She sipped her sweet tea. It was good, too—the perfect amount of sweet.
Jeb stopped chewing and stared at her.
“What?” Amy asked.
“Boob tube,” he mused aloud. “You got me thinking about old expressions. We could have a column that had old slang and sayings. Wouldn’t have to be long, but I think the old timers would get a kick out of it. See, there’s one right there. Where did “get a kick out of it” come from?”
“I could do that.”
“Great, we’ll put it out beginning Friday. That ought to give you enough time to hammer out ten or so. Sprinkle in a little commentary and at the end ask for suggestions. That’ll spark some big interest. It’ll be the talk of the town, mark my words.” He slapped his hand on his desk. “There’s another one. Talk of the town.” He rolled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the waste can by the coffee counter. He held his hands up, “A three-pointer. Beat that.”
Amy wadded up her wrapper into a tight ball and shot for the waste can. It bounced off the wall behind the can, hurled itself across the room, and landed on Jeb’s desk. He picked it up, shot and hit the can for another three-pointer. “Amy for the assist!”
He walked away chuckling.
Amy sipped the last of her sweet tea and Googled “old sayings and their origins.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I thought we were going to the bingo place,” Amy said. She stood in Millie’s kitchen watching Millie squeeze lemons. There was a box of lemons sitting on the counter.
“The VFW,” Millie corrected.
“Right. Got it,” Amy said. She made a mental note. Her readers wouldn’t be impressed if she didn’t get the name of the venue correct. She could just see the letters to the editor complaining about her lack of knowledge.
“The VFW cancelled us. I’d reserved it for us to practice tonight, but Gladys, the scheduling secretary, messed up. The Annual Pancake Supper got slotted in instead of us.”
“How am I going to practice?” Amy asked, feeling panicky.
“No worries. I’ve invited Clara and Mabel over here for a mock-up,” Millie said.
“A mock-up?”
“We’ll use the dining room table. I’ve got practice cards, daubers, and pizza rolls.”
“Pizza rolls?”
“What are you, a parrot?” Millie asked.
“Sorry,” Amy said. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening is all.”
“Mabel is bringing fried Spam and pickles on a stick. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Clara is making her special brownies,” Millie said.
“I’ve never had Spam and pickles on a stick,” Amy said. What she really meant was “There’s no way in hell I’m eating Spam even if it is on a stick.”
“Clara makes the best brownies this side of the Mississippi,” Millie said. “They really pack a wallop.”
Amy pulled out her pocket notebook and began to write in its pages.
“What are you doing?” Millie asked.
“Jeb wants me to collect sayings and research their origins. Like ‘this side of the Mississippi.’ I wanted to try and keep them folksy so they’d pertain to us and not something that only a New Yorker or some other big city person would know.”
Amy stopped. Had she really said “us” when speaking of Fenton? Was that really how she felt? She identified with Fenton and not New York City? She checked Millie’s face. If she had heard the use of “us” she wasn’t letting on.
Amy changed the subject. “Where’d you get all the lemons?” she asked.
“Gladys gave them to me. I guess she felt bad about the scheduling mix-up. But really, I think she needed a way to unload them. Her son lives in Arizona. When he bought his house he planted a buttload of citrus trees. They’ve matured, and now he has a citrus problem. About every four months or so he drives up to visit Gladys and brings boxfuls of fruit. I got the lemons, so we’re having lemonade. I’m going to pawn some of them off on Clara. She’ll find something to do with them.”
Amy couldn’t figure out what you could do with that many lemons. She peered into the box. “There sure are a lot.”
“Well, thank goodness making lemonade takes a lot of lemons. Not to mention sugar,” Millie said.
Amy involuntarily shivered when she saw the ten-pound bag of sugar on the counter. That much sugar should come with its own dose of insulin.
“We’ll be buzzing around that bingo table,” Amy said. “Speaking of which, where are we going to put all our cards? Are we going to just use one card instead?” She secretly hoped they were. She was already suffering from performance anxiety.
“Phish, that’s no way to play bingo. We’re putting the leaf in the dining room table and loading it up. We’ll eat and play. That’s the sure sign of a professional. It’s part of the reason we’re having finger food.”
Amy imagined herself getting things mixed-up. She’d be stabbing the bingo card with a stick of Spam and eating the dauber.
“You’ll be a professional by the time we’re through with you,” Millie said. “Now, you better get changed. I put your onesie on your bed. It came in this morning.”
Amy cocked her head and asked, “My what?”
“Go change. It’ll explain itself,” Millie said, pouring two cups of sugar into the pitcher.
Amy went to her bedroom and stared down at the one-piece costume. It looked like footie children’s pajamas, but made in an adult size. She had no idea they made footie
pajamas for grownups. She also had no idea why she should be putting it on to play bingo.
Amy picked it up. It was a Wonder Woman onesie. She held it up to her body and looked in the mirror.
Millie asked from the doorway, “What d’ya think?”
“Why?” was the first thing that popped out of Amy’s mouth.
“So you’ll be part of the team. In case you didn’t know, bingo is very competitive. It’s necessary to have team spirit. We share things, we support each other, we do the double checks, and, in general, make sure we get safely out of the bingo hall with our winnings. Mabel is a great shot with her thirty-eight special. She’s serious about it. She won’t buy a purse if her gun won’t fit in it. In fact, she wouldn’t even carry a purse if it wasn’t for her gun, but she feels it’s her civic duty to protect those in need.”
“I don’t understand. Is this onesie designed to stop bullets?”
“No. But that is a good idea.”
“Has Mabel ever shot anyone?” Amy asked.
“Only her first husband, but he deserved it.”
“Did she get arrested?”
“No, he came at her with an axe. It was self-defense. Besides she only shot him in the foot. They got divorced. His second wife is doing ten for killing him. She shot his balls off. He bled out before the ambulance got there,” Millie said.
Amy didn’t want to know more. “Is it imperative I wear this?” she asked, holding up the onesie.
“Yes, it is. We all wear onesies. Now get dressed. They’ll be here soon and we’ve still got to put the extra leaf in the table.”
Amy did as she was told. She felt ridiculous, but when she saw Millie in a Superman onesie she felt a lesser degree of weirdness. She was, however, glad nobody could see her.
Millie clapped her hands, “You look great! Now, if Mabel goes on about you getting to be Wonder Woman, you just ignore her. She’s peeved that she’s the Green Lantern but there’s no changing it up now. The Green Lantern had the only size that would fit her and now she can’t change it up because we have our identities set. She’s never gotten over it, so pay her no mind.”
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