“I thought we’d get a hotel like Minette and Hugo?”
“I ain’t staying in a hotel. I gotta stay here and work on the house.”
On his knees, he erected the metal supports. I stood in the bedroom door and watched. The two metal supports unfolded into four legs and metal straps that hooked onto eyes on each side of the bed. In ten minutes, he had the base built.
“Okay. Put the mattress on top. Open the plastic and it will expand by itself.”
“Oh no, that’ll never turn into a bed.”
“Help me,” he said grabbing one end. I got the other end, and we lay the tube across the straps. “Get back. I’m not sure how fast this thing will expand.”
With the box cutter, he carefully nicked a corner of the shrink wrap around the tube. Air hit the foam and Philly stood back. “Would you look at that?”
The foam expanded and grew; the ends flipped out and Philly grabbed hold, helping the mattress turn in the right direction. “Bunny, get the sheets.”
“What size is it?” My queen size deep pocket Sleep Number sheets would not fit.
“It said queen online.”
The foam sucked in air, expanding into a decent enough bed. I leaned against the doorjamb, making sure I stayed clear. If the foam didn’t stop growing, it would fill the tiny room. “I declare. It’s beautiful. Beats a blowup bed any day.”
“I’ll say.” Philly beamed. “Grab me a scotch.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Honeymoon
There’s nothing like a new bed to turn a man into a ro-man-tic. The deep foam mattress continued to expand for several hours. How do they compress those mattresses that much? I made supper. We had some precious alone time and ate Philly’s happy meal—frozen chicken fried steak, canned green beans canned, and powdered mashed potatoes. Like I said, he’s not a picky eater. Lucky me!
Since his retirement, he hadn’t had a mission, but the park model had given him a goal. He thought pickleball would give him a reason to live, but walls full of holes, murder weapons and plumbing plans had kick-started his engines.
After dinner, the park model held the kitchen heat, so we retired to the veranda.
“Did I tell you the FBI came out?”
He sipped his third scotch. “No? You didn’t.”
“Found ’em in the driveway.” Earlier, I laid the kid’s business card on the table and reached for it, handing Arnold’s card to him.
He held it a foot from his face. “Arnold, huh?”
“He was new. Sweating like a Turk. Moved here from the Bay.”
“Poor kid. He’ll get acclimated,” he said, putting down the card. “Oh yeah, I forgot.” He stood and went down the steps. “The box fan came, too.”
“You don’t say.” Diamonds might be a girl’s best friend, but here moving air was worth more than gold.
“Here,” he said, pushing the electrical plug through the iron railing. “Plug it in.”
Unboxed, I hadn’t even noticed the fan sitting next to the pile of debris in the carport. I got the plug and reached around behind me, plugged it in and the fan kicked on.
“Ah. That’s nice.” The breeze wasn’t near as nice as a bay breeze, but good enough.
“Here I did something for you.” He pointed at an invoice lying on the table—Bill’s AC Service, dated yesterday. I didn’t touch it, but the service call charge piqued my interest. By the time we finished overhauling and servicing Wanda’s ill kept house, we would be broke.
“Charged the gas. It’ll hold for a while. By next spring, we’ll need to replace.”
“Humph. You’re a charmer. So giving. Guess I missed Bill in the ruckus.”
“I aim to please.”
“Let’s call it a day.” Yawning, I laid my hand on his knobby knee.
The vampires were rustling in their golf carts. The lights over by the tennis courts lit the sky like a football stadium. Music played and the usual nighttime activities began. I wasn’t acclimated to the heat, staying up late at night or sleeping during the heat of the day.
“Okay. Let’s.” He winked, but I knew nothing would happen.
Before I cooked dinner, and we thought the bed had finished expanding, we made the bed together. We had made a bed together many times before, but tonight it felt extra special.
I know it sounds crazy, but there’s something sexy about a man making a bed. They look at you with sultry eyes while they smooth sheets and fluff the pillows, cooking up naughty ideas. After we finished making our new bed, he hugged me tight, and I adored the way he smelled sweet after working all day. My pheromones squeaked, feeling rusty, but I thought about things that wouldn’t happen. And it’s always the thought that counts—well… um… sometimes a good deed counts, too.
In our younger days, we made love like rabbits, every chance, everywhere and everywhen. We can’t do that anymore, but we remember making love. We cuddle, pet and kiss and get mushy, but that’s about as far as we get. It’s enough. That’s the special part about loving a man until death do us part.
I’m grateful he hadn’t killed me, it would have spoiled the evening.
Amelia’s nerve wouldn’t handle two murders in such a short time.
Our new neighbors wouldn’t fare well either. They hadn’t gotten over Wanda’s murder, and if someone else died in her house, I swear they’d sell out and move south.
There’s nothing south but Mexico.
Climbing into the bed was a new experience. I felt like a baby trying to learn to turn over. The foam sucked on me and I had to hold on to Philly, pull and turn over. We giggled getting accustomed to the change. It wasn’t a Sleep Number, but it would do in a pinch.
“It’s better than a motel bed.” I listened to my man’s slow methodical breathing.
He sounded worn out. “Huh-uh.”
The AC cycled on. Philly had set the thermostat on sixty-five. He was sweating.
I lay underneath his chin, fitting into his angles, he doesn’t have curves.
“Guess I’m gonna sell the Sleep Number?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Water Aerobics
Waking to the sound of hammers and laughter, I rolled out of bed a sweaty mess. The foam mattress felt hot. The gas in the AC unit had leaked out, and it blew hurricane strength hot tropical air. In the middle of the night, Philly brought in the box fan. It whirred dust devils and helped little.
Dressed for water aerobics, I stepped out onto the veranda carrying a steaming cup of coffee. It was too hot for coffee, but my body wouldn’t function without a dose of caffeine.
“Hey y’all.” I hollered.
Philly noticed his bride’s arrival. Two men who I didn’t recognize worked alongside him tipped their baseball caps. Wayne smiled, wearing his pencil behind his ear. He had changed into a sensible pair of work boots and wore long pants that looked far better than his pasty toothpick legs sticking out of cowboy boots. Despite all the rules and regulations, a dress code wasn’t part of the plans and obviously style was optional inside the Oasis.
“You had breakfast?”
“Nope,” he said. He wore his new hiking boots. Flip-flops and buzz saws weren’t compatible. He waved a professionally drawn diagram. “There’s the plan. Look it over and decide if you want anything changed.”
“Right this minute? I’m heading to water aerobics.”
Philly’s eyelids narrowed, and he flittered the paper at me.
“Oh, all right.” I took it from him and glanced at the plans which were far better than Wayne’s chicken scratched plans. Stack washer and dryer in the bathroom: Check. Extra shower: Check.
“Is all of this miniature?” I asked, twirling my pointing finger over the paper.
Philly stood across the carport and he glanced back glowering. I should know better than to ask. “I’m thinking you won’t be able to get in this bathroom. It’s seems tiny.”
I’m the smallest person under the carport. A good-sized fellow like him or heaven forbid, Wayn
e, wouldn’t fit in a shower that small.
“It’ll be your private bath. I’ll use the other one.” A blush crossed his checks, and I read his mind.
A few years back, I fell and broke my shoulder. For six weeks, wrapped like King Tut in a gunnysack, I showered with Philly. His dirty old man thoughts showed because he had enjoyed those showers entirely too much.
“Looks good.” I laid the schematics on the veranda table and weighted it with the empty highball glass.
I had my swim bag packed with sunscreen, sunglasses and a change of clothes. Wearing a wet swimming suit had almost done permanent damage to my derriere. I found my old floppy hat in a packing crate and donned it with my sunglasses, grabbed my bag and headed toward the golf cart—that wasn’t there.
“Where’s my wheels?”
He jerked his chin. “At Minette’s.”
“Oh, okay. They’re not home?”
“Nope.”
Wayne included himself in the conversation. “They went to visit friends until Wednesday. That’s as soon as they can install a new compressor. David’s gonna take down all their shades.”
“Key’s in it,” Philly said.
I trotted off but stopped. “Philly.” I shouted over the buzz of a straight saw cutting into old storage shed.
“What?” he yelled, pulling out his earplugs. He saw my mouth moving more than heard me.
“We going on that stupid alpaca hike? When is that?”
These days, I call everything I don’t trust stupid. That way if the event turns out terrible, I can tell Philly I told you so.
He puckered. “I dunno. Can’t remember.” He eyed the mess in the carport. “I suppose so.” Did he regret signing up for the event? I hope so.
“You write it on the calendar?”
I winced. “Forgot to buy a calendar.” It’s not like writing things on a calendar cemented our attendance. We didn’t need to go on an alpaca hiking trip.
Philly glanced at his new hiking boots and rolled out his ankles. “Might as well go, I got new boots. It’s kinda coolin’ off. Shouldn’t be too bad.”
I parked the cart next to the pool area and got out. My swim bag sat on the back seat, and I reached for it.
“Mrs. Winters?” I whirled nearly whacking Security Chief... Mack Riggs in the belly with my bag.
“Hey you.” I’m in trouble and cringed under his stare. How did I miss him when I parked? He must’ve been lurking in the shadows waiting to catch me.
“Where’s your patrol cart?” All security team members drive golf carts inside the park. A full-sized car wouldn’t fit between the houses.
“Have you taken your written driver’s test?” Mack asked, already knowing the answer.
Busted, I stuttered, “I... I... haven’t. Hey, how d’you know about that?”
He whipped out a notepad.
“Jason reports all unlicensed drivers to the security. It’s his job.”
“So much has been happening...” I yammered about the butcher knife in the wall and Philly’s demo plans, even the AC unit getting serviced, but by the look on Mack Riggs’ mug, I wasn’t getting anywhere.
“I’m giving you a verbal warning this time. If I catch you driving again, I’ll impound your golf cart and give you a ticket.”
“Don’t you mean a demerit?” I attempted a wink and a little flirtatious begging. “I can’t bear getting demerits.”
He scribbled on his notepad. Ah so, he had to make notes so he wouldn’t forget the Oasis criminals. “Very cute. Security doesn’t pass out demerits. Just because the streets are narrow doesn’t mean the state laws don’t apply. I’ll give you a ticket and you can either pay a fine or stand before a judge.”
Mack glared at my chest. “Ah woman. Where’s your photo ID?”
“I forgot it?” I dropped the girly tone, searching for my badge. No photo ID or driver’s license. Where was the driver’s handbook? Had I tossed it into the garbage? It’s got to be underneath something inside the house? Mentally, I scanned the kitchen and bathroom, but the ID wasn’t there.
“Get in the groove, would’ya? Lemme tell ya, the judge isn’t kind to women drivers with lapsed licenses. His jail's filled with women like you.”
“I bet.” I noticed Ann standing inside the pool’s wrought iron fencing giggling. I waved her off. I didn’t need an audience for Mack’s dressing down.
“Hey Bunny,” Ann called. Mack looked over his shoulder. “Yonna’s missing. Linda went to get her CD of Let’s Get Physical. We’re gonna wing class without her.”
“Okay.” I edged past Mack’s elbow, ready to run for it.
Mack rolled his eyes. “That Yonna. She’s a woman driver too. I wrote her a ticket last night. Speed demon.”
“She lives in the park?”
He stepped back to let me pass. “Yeah, doesn’t everyone?”
“You too?”
“You think I’d be here if I didn’t live in this... this Oasis?” He stuttered admitting he was a resident. He walked off, and I skedaddled toward the gate. “Oh, I forgot my ID badge. Come, open the gate.”
Ann pulled on a retractable lanyard draped around her neck. “You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you? You gotta get this thingy. Saves you from pinning that badge on different shirts. I always forgot mine until I got this doohickey.”
“I need one.” Stroke of genius—a lanyard. I adored pearl drop necklaces. A stretchy retractable lanyard might be as close to jewels as I would get until the remodel was complete.
“I’ll order you one online. It’ll be here tomorrow.”
She reached through the gate’s iron bars and swiped her badge.
It buzzed too loudly reminding me of the Oasis’ heavy security. Feeling safe was a good thing, but the Oasis had security overload.
“We’re all prisoners here of our own devices,” I singsonged. Once you check into the Oasis, you can’t ever leave, unless, you’re hacked to pieces with a butcher knife and go out in a body bag.
“Yep, that describes the Oasis. Get in here before you freeze to death on the outside.” Ann chuckled, holding open the heavy gate.
A tinny CD player spewed fast music. Everyone who was at the last water aerobics class wadded into the shallow end. Unfamiliar bodies bounced to the beat, and I remembered no one much less their names.
“Hey y’all, I’m late.” I kicked off my flip-flops heading for the pool steps. “Anybody check the deep end?”
“Hilarious.” Madonna said, swimming off poolside “What took you so long?”
“Oh, heck. I overslept. Philly bought a foam bed. Had to crawl out the thing.” I chuckled adding a little shrug, but it wasn’t enough, I added a wink. It didn’t hurt to spread an innuendo about the possibility of last night’s thoughts of hanky-panky. We had thoughts, but after Philly turned over and snored, my designs became pie in the sky.
“I saw the contractors arrive.” Madonna squatted, sinking in the cool water to her shoulders.
“Yeah, I hope they work fast. Philly showed me the plans. I’m getting my laundry room with a girl size standup shower.”
“Mornin’” Gale said squatting, duck walking along the pool bottom.
Madonna and I nodded, but Gale asked. “You done any readings lately? I got a friend that needs to talk to a psychic.”
I splashed water at Gale. “Don’t joke. You know I don’t do readings.”
“But I thought?” Gale grinned. “I bet you’re psychic. Just haven’t honed your inner intuitive brain.”
“I got to get deeper,” Madonna said moving away. Which meant she wanted to get away from Gale.
“Pfft. Get back in line.”
“Seriously, my friend Lulu was Wanda’s friend. Long time ago. She thinks Wanda’s been trying to contact her. She said she knocked on her door night before last.”
Lulu? Wasn’t that who Minette said was friends with Wanda and her very own mother?
Pretending to ignore Gale’s statement, I stretched my arms over my head, did
side bends and twirled my arms. “Oh bull. She’s dead. She can’t knock on doors.”
I wanted to be limber, in case I froze from fright.
Had I told someone about Wanda’s visit and forgot? If I had blabbed, did they tell Gale and now she’s chiding me because of the plain old silliness of seeing Wanda?
“Lulu’s very credible. If she says she knocked on her door, I believe her.”
Now I’m scared. Wanda has free reign over the Oasis. She’s stirring up trouble, looking for answers and messing with my feeble brain. Why did she pick me?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, swim-walking away from Gale.
One woman took the lead, punched the CD player and restarted the music. “Ready? Let’s boogie. One... two... three.”
We all kicked, twirled and dunked, splashing in the swallow end. I stumbled, my arms flailed, my hips went the opposite directions from everyone else’s. Water aerobics wasn’t fun because I fretted over Wanda.
Five minutes in, I felt winded unable to keep beat with the music. Since I stood in back, splashing pretending to dance, half floating because the bottom slopped sharply into the deep end. Since I have little fat, I don’t float well. With her built-in life preservers, Wanda would be a good floater.
From my good vantage point and since I was only lallygagging, I spotted Yonna first.
I stopped mid-beat. She wasn’t acting normal. In fact, she looked—oh my word, what was she doing? Buck naked, Yonna staggered toward the deep end.
“Hey y’all.” I called, but not one of those dancing fools heard me.
Not only did Yonna act drunk—seeing how she was naked at this time of the morning, drink could only explain her lack of clothes—she had an exercise weight tied around her neck.
“Hey y’all.” That time I hollered. Yonna’s face blossomed ugly red. The weight around her neck had cut off her air, but she staggered on, heading for the pool’s edge.
Alpaca My Bags Page 15