Monkey Wrench

by Nancy Martin

  And, boy, could he sing! Not just the pop-tunes-in-the-shower repertoire, but real singing, like great opera baritones Susannah had heard on the radio. Joe’s voice rose from the kitchen and rumbled in the rafters. Susannah stopped fidgeting with her hair and stood very still, listening, transfixed.

  How could a man’s voice sound so poignant? So emotional? So wonderful?

  “Stop thinking like a star-struck teenager,” Susannah lectured herself. “He may be helpful, and he may sing like Placido Domingo, but he’s not your type at all.”

  No, Susannah Atkins only dated intellectuals. Or hard-driven executives. Or a combination of both. Most of the time, she dated Roger Selby, and he was a far cry from Joe Santori. Roger was very attractive—he kept fit on the racquetball court and was notoriously vigilant about his diet—but as Susannah fixed her hair, she found herself thinking that Roger was...well, kind of effete compared to Joe. Roger was witty and intelligent and a good conversationalist. But Joe seemed like a man’s man, capable of talking sports or sweeping a woman off her feet if he wanted to.

  He’s not going to sweep me, of course, she said silently to her reflection.

  Susannah was not the sweepable sort. She was a very levelheaded woman who knew what she wanted out of life. And the likes of Joe Santori did not fit into her plans at all.

  With that thought held firmly in her mind, Susannah calmly descended the stairs, fully dressed, combed and in control.

  She followed the heavenly scent of muffins to the kitchen. Rose Atkins’s kitchen was mostly pink and as frilly as a Victorian lady’s boudoir. Lace curtains were tied back from the windows by lengths of pink velvet ribbon. The round table was adorned by a pink tatted tablecloth, and a pot of poinsettias stood cheerily in the center. Small framed watercolors of assorted pink flowers hung on the walls, and the labels on the Mason jars that lined the shelves on one wall were pink and inscribed with Rose Atkins’s name and the preserving date.

  Big, rawboned Joe Santori looked very out of place.

  “I couldn’t resist,” said Joe when Susannah arrived in the kitchen. “The best thing to drink with fresh muffins is the famous Santori Sizzler, guaranteed to make you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I’m just whipping up a couple now.”

  He had taken off his parka and was moving around the kitchen in his flannel shirt and jeans, making himself completely at home with the refrigerator and the blender. He had pulled the muffin tray from the oven and prepared a basket with a fresh white napkin, now brimming with gently steaming muffins. Bemused by his efficiency, Susannah replied, “My tail is fine the way it is.”

  “I quite agree,” he retorted, making a show of pouring a frothy pink drink from the blender into two tall glasses. “But this will put a little more shine in your eyes, Miss Suzie. Here. Try it.”

  He thrust the icy glass into Susannah’s hand and lifted his own drink for a toast. “What shall we drink to?”

  “Mr. Santori—”

  “How about drinking to strong-willed women?”

  “What?”

  “Your grandmother, to be specific. She’s a lady I’m learning to respect. I was honestly afraid she might use that knife on me!”

  He was harmless and completely charming, a big man feigning fear of an elderly woman. Susannah felt a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She lifted her glass, and Joe smoothly wound his arm through hers so their elbows were linked and they faced each other with glasses raised. His liquid brown eyes melted into Susannah’s, and his voice was low and mellow. “To your grandmother. May all her wishes come true.”

  “Not all,” Susannah corrected with a laugh, lifting the glass to her lips as her small arm entwined with his larger, muscled one.

  The Santori Sizzler was a sweet, tangy breakfast drink upon first swallow, but the kick came a few seconds later as the alcohol let its presence be known.

  “Wow,” Susannah gasped, her eyes watering. “What’s in this thing?”

  He patted her back. “A little orange juice. A little soda. A few things I probably shouldn’t divulge—and Campari. Do you like it?”

  “Well, it’s not what I usually have for breakfast.”

  “Try it with a muffin.”

  With a bite of one of her grandmother’s banana-and-pecan muffins, the drink was quite delicious.

  “Do you like it or not?”

  It was impossible to resist his grin. “Yes,” Susannah admitted, helping herself to another sip. “It’s very good.”

  His gaze was full of pleasure as he absorbed her smile. “Great. Shall we take the drinks with us while we look around the house?”

  “All right,” Susannah said gamely. “If my grandmother comes home and finds we haven’t accomplished anything, she’ll assume the worst.”

  “Or the best,” he said, laughing as he led the way out of the kitchen with his glass in one hand and a muffin in the other. “Shall we start in the attic or the basement?”

  “Attic.”

  “The attic it is.” Joe got right down to business by asking a string of questions, fired so rapidly at Susannah that she had no time to think about anything else. “Has your grandmother told you anything about leaking ceilings?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “How about squirrels or bats living on the third floor? Termites? Cracked plaster?”

  Susannah answered his questions as honestly and succinctly as she could. Joe pulled a tattered little notebook from his hip pocket, and after passing his empty glass to Susannah, began to make notes about the house.

  She had to admit, he seemed to know his business. And his inspection of the old Atkins house was very thorough. He climbed over assorted junk in the attic to peer into the eaves and under the insulation. He tapped beams and looked for signs of carpenter ants between floor joists with his flashlight. In the bedrooms, he poked at the ceilings and lit matches around all the windows to check for air leaks. Every visible inch of the old plumbing came under his scrutiny, and he even jumped up and down in the hallway to check for squeaky floorboards.

  And Susannah found herself fascinated. She responded to his questions and listened to him ramble—all for the simple pleasure of hearing Joe’s mellifluent baritone voice. The timbre gave her a surprisingly warm, trembly feeling inside. The tone was both vibrant and mellow.

  “We’ll skip the fireplace for now,” Joe told her when they returned to the first floor. “Judging by how bad the bricks look from outside, I think it’ll need some attention that’s more expert than mine. I have a friend I’ll send over in a few days. He’ll be able to tell us what needs to be done.”

  “All right,” said Susannah, amazed that she was allowing Joe to make decisions. What’s happening to me? Usually she made the tough decisions for the people around her, then Josie put them into motion. Here was Joe taking charge completely.

  “Now, the basement,” he said. “You want to leave these glasses in the kitchen before we go down there?”

  Susannah stared at the empty glasses in her hands and couldn’t remember drinking the rest of her Sizzler. But her glass was empty, and she felt a pleasant little buzz in her head. “Yes, I do.”

  He grinned a little. “Maybe you’d like another drink?”

  “Not so early in the morning,” Susannah protested. “I’m already feeling tipsy.”

  “Oh,” said Joe, smiling into her eyes. “Good.”

  Susannah showed him the basement door without further delay. He escorted her into the darkness, and while following him down the steps, Susannah found herself admiring the breadth of his shoulders and wondering how it might feel to run her palms across the muscled contour—thoughts highly inappropriate for a woman who normally had little time for noticing attractive men.

  Behave yourself, she thought.

  The basement was cool and dry, and Joe’s haunting voice echoed in the far reaches of the dark rooms. He shone his flashlight into the old coal bin, and Susannah watched the play of indirect light on his rugged face while he talked. It w
as not the face of a playboy, she thought. More like a slightly past-his-prime Roman god.

  Stop it, she ordered herself. You’ve got more important things on your mind.

  “So that’s about it,” Joe said, scribbling a few final notes in his little book. He was left-handed, Susannah realized, and he curled his hand around the pencil in a way that sent her imagination into action again. What else might that hand curl around so provocatively?

  This is ridiculous, she told herself, closing her eyes.

  “You okay?” Joe asked, pausing on the steps.

  Susannah’s eyes flew open. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You looked a little—”

  “I just realized I need to make a phone call, that’s all. My trip, you see. I should get in touch with some people.”

  “Oh.” He leaned against the crooked hand railing. “You’re going to the beach after all, hmm?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. But I need to alert my traveling companion about the uncertainty of my plans.”

  “Traveling companion,” Joe repeated thoughtfully. “Last night your grandmother called him your boss. I guess he’s more than just the guy who signs your paycheck.”

  “He’s a friend,” Susannah corrected carefully. “We’re equals in the workplace, you could say.”

  “How about outside the workplace?”

  “Mr. Santori—”

  “You’d better call me Joe. I feel like a schoolteacher when you call me Mr. Santori.”

  “Joe, then. My relationship with my boss isn’t important right now—”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” Susannah protested, hearing the implication in Joe’s voice. “Roger and I are...we... Sometimes we take trips together.”

  “To talk about work,” Joe recalled. “You’re going to the beach to plan your program.”

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a relaxing vacation.”

  “For me, it’s very relaxing.”

  “You must love your work.”

  “I do,” she said truthfully. “It’s exciting and challenging and...well, I’m devoted to it.”

  “I like my work, too, but I’d never say I’m devoted to it.”

  “Look,” Susannah said patiently, “I know what you’re trying not to say. You think I’m obsessed with my job.”

  Joe smiled a little. “Are you?”

  “Maybe,” Susannah said steadily. “But I like it that way.”

  “And your grandmother?”

  “What about her?” Susannah asked, instantly on guard.

  “Everybody gets old,” Joe said, leaning back against the railing. “Someday, she’s going to need you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “How can you deny it?” Joe asked incredulously. “She’s more than eighty years old, right? You think she’s going to live forever?”

  “Of course not,” Susannah snapped. “But I can’t step in and take over her life, can I?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” Susannah cried. “Because she’s a living, breathing human being who has lived a very full life and knows exactly how she wants to keep on living it. I can’t march in here and boss her around!”

  “So you’re going off on a vacation—”

  “Look, Mr. Santori—Joe, if that’s what you’d like me to call you—maybe you’re used to bullying your loved ones, but I can’t do that. I respect my grandmother too much to interfere.”

  “And what happens if she freezes to death some night while you’re enjoying the weather down south?”

  “Then I have to assume that’s the way she wants things.”

  “Are you kidding?” Joe looked amazed. “I can’t believe you’d run off and leave her—”

  “She wants me to go! What am I supposed to do? Stay here and spoon-feed her baby food? She’s a vibrant woman! Where do I get off ordering her around?”

  “To save her life, you have the right to do a lot of things.”

  “I don’t feel that way,” Susannah said staunchly, wondering how she could have imagined Joe Santori was an attractive man. Five minutes ago, she’d been admiring his shoulders, but suddenly she saw a gigantic bully standing in front of her. “My grandmother’s life is hers to live, not mine.”

  “I suppose we should be grateful for small favors,” Joe muttered.

  “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing,” he retorted. “Except that your grandmother is obviously living a very full and happy life, while you’re only worried about the subject for your next program. It beats me how you ended up in the same family!”

  “It beats me,” she snapped, “how you ended up in the human race. You’re obviously a superior being—in your own mind, at least!”

  She stormed up the stairs.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “ROGER,” SUSANNAH SAID on the phone later that morning, “I’m truly sorry about this.”

  “Not to worry,” Roger soothed. “I’ll call my friend at the airline and change our tickets. I find my own schedule has heated up overnight, and I shouldn’t dash off today, either.”

  Susannah sighed. “Well, that’s a relief.”

  She plugged her other ear so she could hear Roger’s voice. She hadn’t been able to reach him by telephone earlier. When she’d finally hiked over to Marge’s Diner to find her grandmother, who was still there visiting, she tried again from the pay phone on the wall near the kitchen. The small restaurant was hopping with local townsfolk, all talking at the tops of their voices, it seemed.

  Roger said, “Just let me know what your plans are once you’ve taken your aunt to the doctor.”

  “She’s my grandmother, Roger.”

  “Right, right.” Roger laughed. “I’m an idiot sometimes. Give me a call, okay? Thanks, Susannah. Bye.”

  “Bye,” Susannah said to the dial tone.

  “Well?” Rose asked when Susannah returned to their table. “How’s Roger?”

  “Fine.” Susannah distractedly slid into their booth. “He sends you his love.”

  Rose snorted. “I’ll bet. Did anything happen at the house after I left?”

  Susannah sat back in the cushioned seat and folded her arms across her chest. “You know very well what happened, Granny Rose. Your charming friend Joe showed up.”

  Rose did a bad imitation of a much-surprised woman. “Oh, I forgot all about that! How did he look?”

  “It doesn’t matter how he looked, Granny Rose. I’m not going to fall in love with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s an opinionated, pushy...”

  “But he’s very handsome, don’t you think? And wait until you hear him sing! He’s got a magnificent voice! The Methodist choir director swears she’s going to kidnap him someday soon.”

  “Let’s not talk about Joe, all right, Granny Rose? It’s clear we have different opinions about the man.”

  “Whatever you say, dear. Here, let me warm up your coffee. Marge left us a pot, and there’s still some left.”

  Rose poured more coffee into Susannah’s mug and wondered if something had happened between her granddaughter and Joe while they had been alone at the house. She felt sure nothing bad had happened. Joe was a gentleman, of course. But Susannah had her prickly side, and Joe had a few rough edges, too.

  Perhaps, Rose thought, they’d had words.

  “Did Joe give you an estimate on the repair work?”

  She heard Susannah sigh. Then the younger woman said, “No, he had to go home and write up a few things. I believe he said he’d drop off some paperwork later today.”

  Rose nodded. “He’s very efficient, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I have no doubts about his efficiency.”

  “Then what’s bothering you, Suzie? Don’t you like Joe?”

  Susannah put down her mug and thought the question over. The noise of Marge’s Diner swirled around them. The small restaurant was tucked on
a side street just off the main square of Tyler, and for many years it had been one of the town’s busiest spots. A hotbed of gossip and local news, the diner was packed with patrons on that bright winter morning. Christmas carols were playing on the radio, the smell of hot coffee filled the air, and Marge and the waitress both sported little sprigs of holly on their blouses.

  Most of Marge’s customers seemed very happy to be in the warm restaurant on such a cold morning. Hopping back and forth between tables or waving across the crowded room, everyone seemed to be spending as much attention on their neighbors as on breakfast. There was a lot of laughter and loud talk.

  And a great many Tyler citizens came over to the table by the window to greet Susannah.

  “It’s wonderful to have someone famous in Tyler,” Marge said, once everyone was finally allowing the Atkins ladies to enjoy their coffee in peace. Marge poured more coffee into their mugs and added, “Will you be filming your program from Tyler now and then, Susannah?”

  “No,” Susannah replied. “I doubt it. It’s much more convenient to work in the city.”

  “But you’re missing life in Tyler, you know. We may not have the same amusements you find in Milwaukee,” Marge said with a grin, “but there’s a lot of wonderful stuff here, right under your nose.”

  “But my work is in Milwaukee.”

  “Oh, work!” Marge scoffed. “There’re more important things in life than work!”

  Susannah smiled and said nothing, but afterward she looked squarely at Rose and said, “I had the same conversation with Joe a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh?” Rose asked.

  “He intimated that I wasn’t living a very full life, either.” Susannah leaned forward. “How about you, Granny Rose? Do you think I’m wasting my life?” At her grandmother’s searching look, she went on, “I just don’t know sometimes. I love my work, I really do, but...well, you’ve been very happy here in Tyler, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but I raised a family—two, in fact, if you consider I raised your father first, then you after your parents died. And I kept myself busy, but I certainly never had what you’d call a big career. It’s a question of choices, I suppose. And my choices were different than yours.”