Promising to call with a full report once the meeting was over, Jolie grabbed her purse and the spinach quiche she'd made, then headed for the door. She didn't bother telling Chris good-bye. He was still in the shower and, since courtesy wasn't something he valued, she'd just as soon not waste her time.
Jolie had shared her new status in the Future Widows' Club with Sadie the minute she'd left the meeting last week. She'd been too pumped, jazzed and excited to wait and had driven straight over to her house the minute she'd left Meredith's.
Predictably, Sadie had jumped on board with gleeful enthusiasm. They'd pored over the handbook together, laughing at the darkly humorous instructions laid out by the founding members.
Things like, FINDING THE OUTFIT: The perfect ensemble for the funeral is simply a must. It puts you in the "widow" mind-set and gives you something to look forward to. The perfect veiled hat—to hide your tears of joy and small satisfied smirk—is particularly difficult to find. Start early!
And SHOW ME THE MONEY: Regardless of present insurance and assets, another half-mil is prudent. Contact your agent at once.
X MARKS THE SPOT: Think of a treasure map, and the will as your treasure. In this case, you don't want it to be a buried treasure that requires a long and possibly fruitless search. Make sure you're properly provided for—being sole beneficiary is best—and that the document is signed and stowed in a safe place.
PREPAY IS THE BEST WAY
: Planning a funeral nowadays before one kicks the bucket is completely acceptable, even deemed considerate, thoughtful, and prudent. Take advantage of this perk, ladies! Have fun with it! Pick a plot, pick a casket, pick a service. Graveside or chapel? Efficiency now will make your special day run more smoothly. Your un-dearly departed … may he never rest in peace.
Jolie shook her head and laughed, remembering. But Sadie had been right—she did have a lot to report. She'd embraced the idea of being a widow with the sort of single-minded tenacity of a person clinging for dear life to the side of a cliff. The group had given her a purpose beyond getting her mother's money back. Being able to secretly thwart Chris made her feel empowered and alive—proactive. Better than she had in months.
Now, when he trickled acidic sarcasm over her, she merely smiled and thought about the additional life insurance she'd just purchased on him. She hadn't been able to get as much as the handbook suggested—that would have required a physical—but she'd added another hundred grand to what they'd already had. Getting the signature was simple enough. She'd slipped it in with other business which had required his careless scrawl and he'd signed the form without looking at it.
In addition to the life insurance, she'd found The Outfit. A black, fitted dress with sharp lines that accentuated her waist. A pair of long, sleek gloves and a pair of killer stiletto heels. The hat that Meredith had told her about at Prim and Proper.
And she hadn't stopped there.
She'd also bought a black merry widow corset, with a blood red bud nestled between the cups, matching lacy undies, and a pair of micro-fishnet thigh-highs. The fact that she'd never actually wear it hadn't kept her from dropping a small fortune on the outfit, nor had it kept her from trying it on. She'd felt like a femme fatale Mob widow … and she'd looked damned good, too.
Once she'd gotten the outfit, it had only seemed fitting to swing by the funeral home and pick up some literature on burial plans, and she had to confess that leafing through the little brochure had engendered satisfying visions of herself standing on a windswept hillside in her sexy widow gear, a mound of freshly dug earth at her feet.
The whole process had been wickedly fun, and now instead of merely surviving her current hell, she could feel the cool breeze of freedom beginning to blow through her life. Even Chris had noted the difference.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he'd sneered earlier this afternoon. "What are you smiling about?"
The comment had pointed out two things. One, she'd been stunned to realize that she had been smiling—for no apparent reason, it would seem. And two, the fact that she'd been so miserable for months that he'd noticed a smile meant that things were definitely taking a turn for the better.
Jolie slowed to a stop outside of Meredith's house and eagerly anticipated the time she'd spend with these women tonight. It was ridiculous she knew, but she'd found it intensely comforting that an invitation into the Club meant life-time membership regardless of a woman's marital status. She'd worried that when she finally kicked Chris's worthless ass to the curb that she'd have to give up her membership.
Meredith opened the door again and promptly handed over her hat. "Oh, good," she said darting a glance over Jolie's shoulder. "You beat Bitsy here—she's out test-driving one of those little mini-motorcycles I told you about last week. Anyway, she took a real shine to your hat last week—even went down to Prim and Proper Wednesday to buy one for herself, but someone had just bought the last one." Her eyes twinkled knowingly. "My sources say that you've been busy this past week."
Jolie grinned. Sources, eh? she thought. This was Moon Valley. Nobody needed a source—all you had to do was make an appointment at Sadie's, walk around the square, or make a trip to the local garden center. "I've gotten a pretty good bit done," she finally confessed.
Meredith smiled at her as though she were a failing student who'd just aced an exam. "Excellent," she said warmly. Her gaze dropped to the dish in Jolie's arms and she sniffed appreciatively. "That smells wonderful. You know the drill, hon. Put it on the table, fix your plate and find a seat. We'll get started soon."
Jolie found an empty spot for her quiche next to a plate of mini-muffins, chatted amiably with Gladys, the woman who'd talked her husband into investing in the pre-burial plan. "It went smashingly well," Gladys said, positively aquiver. "You'll hear all about it soon enough. What about you, dear? Make any progress?"
Jolie nodded. "Quite a bit."
Gladys poured them each a glass of lemonade. "That's wonderful. Good therapy, isn't it? I remember when Sophia, Meredith and Bitsy first approached me about joining." Her gaze focused inward, presumably on the memory, then she blinked and looked at Jolie. "It saved me," she said simply. "Gave me something to do besides being miserable. I look forward to these meetings all week, have made some great friends. It's good to be with people who understand." She smiled. "I suspect that's what you think, too, isn't it?"
Touched by the insight, Jolie nodded. "Yes, it is," she murmured softly. She followed Gladys into the parlor where more and more of the women were slowly beginning to congregate.
Bitsy and Meredith were bickering over the scooter again—from what Jolie could gather, Bitsy had nearly run Meredith down again. Jolie stifled a smile. Bitsy had tricked out her little ride with a sewing basket and a couple of racing flags. She'd just noticed that Sophia was absent when she heard the front door open. A cake plate full of petite fours, tote and purse in hand, Sophia, looking harried but elegant as always, quickly made her way into the dining room to deposit her dish. Bitsy fell immediately in behind her and quickly loaded her plate down with Sophia's little cakes.
With an exasperated look at Bitsy, Sophia breezed back into the room. "Good evening, ladies," she called gaily. She wore a red pantsuit and had donned her hat. "It's lovely to see all of you again. I hope you all had a good week and that you have a lot to report." Her gaze drifted significantly over Jolie and a touch of humor curled her lips. "Unless there's any new business, we can start." She waited a beat, and when no one spoke, she let go a little breath. "Okay, then. Gladys, how about it? How did your meeting at the funeral home go?"
Gladys set her plate aside and smiled at the room at large. "Fantastic!" she chortled. "We took care of everything and get this," she confided, leaning almost off the edge of her seat. "I'd planned on suggesting that we economize based on being practical—when you're dead what's the difference between a three-thousand-dollar casket and a five-thousand-dollar casket, right? Well, I didn't have to say a word. Robert took one look
at the price tag on those suckers and insisted that he be buried in the next best thing to a pine box. So not only did I get to plan his funeral, I saved several thousand dollars by letting him go with me."
A chorus of nods and praise for this accomplishment echoed around the room. "Just more for you, eh, Gladys?" Bitsy said. "Bank it for that cruise you're planning on taking."
"On the pretense of needing to 'get away', of course," Meredith chimed in with a sly smile.
"I will need to get away," Gladys said with a disgusted harrumph. She snorted. "God knows the old tight-wad has never let me go anywhere. When he's gone, I'm going to travel the world," she sighed dreamily. "I'm gonna go everywhere. See it all."
"I'm so glad that your trip to the funeral home exceeded your expectations, Gladys," Sophia told her. "I know you're thrilled."
Gladys sighed, patted her permed hair, then reached down and snagged a strawberry from her plate.
Sophia's twinkling gaze found Jolie's. "What about you, Jolie? I understand you've been very busy this week."
Jolie grinned. "I have been," she confirmed. "I've added one-hundred-thousand dollars worth of life insurance, found my outfit, and picked up one of those pre-burial plan packets from the funeral home."
The women all beamed at her, and Bitsy, Meredith and Sophia shared a proud look. "Oh, wonderful!" Sophia cried happily. "Wonderful, wonderful!" She laughed. "You certainly didn't waste any time."
Jolie poked her tongue in her cheek. "Yeah, well, I've wasted enough up until this point, haven't I?" she admitted.
"But you're making up for it now," Meredith replied. "And that's what's important."
"What are your plans for after your husband is gone, dear?" Bitsy wanted to know. "Anything you can share?"
Somewhat surprised by the question, Jolie tucked her hair behind her ear. "Er … yeah." She glanced nervously around the room. "I'm, uh … I'm looking at a little house on Lelia Street
and I'd like to start my own accounting business." It's the first time she'd said it aloud; she hadn't even shared her plan with Sadie yet. Like a secret gift, she'd been keeping it to herself, but actually lending voice to her agenda made it all the more real, made something light and happy expand in her chest.
"Oh, are you talking about Maudy Hawkins's old place?" Lois asked fondly. "White siding, green shutters, big weeping willow tree in the front yard?"
"That's the one," Jolie said.
Meredith's face blushed with pleasure. "Oh, that's a lovely old home. I can see you being very happy there."
She could, too, Jolie thought with an inward sigh. She could see herself happy anywhere away from Chris.
Sophia moved the meeting forward, asked several other Futures what they'd been doing this week to further their widow cause. Margaret was still slipping real eggs and milk into her husband's egg substitute and Lois had reported picking up a prescription of Viagra for her husband. Initially Jolie hadn't understood the importance of this move, but Gladys had quickly explained that men with heart conditions were warned against taking the drug. Apparently, Lois's husband was just a few slices of bacon away from a good coronary and therefore didn't have any business taking the sexual enhancement aid.
"Dr. Gibson generally gives out the prescription regardless," Gladys told her. "The last time he refused to dole out a free sample, his tires were slashed."
Jolie felt her eyes widen and chuckled softly.
"Let me tell you, women around here take that stuff seriously. My daughter's a pharmacist and boy, has she told me some stories," she shared with a grim laugh. "Most of those women anchoring the front pew down at the Baptist church have acted like regular heathens when she's run out."
"Has anyone not shared?" Sophia called above the lively din.
On the far side of the room a thin woman with eyes the color of coffee gone cold raised her hand and blinked back tears. "I haven't."
Sophia's smile softened. "Sorry, Cora," she said. "I didn't mean to overlook you."
Cora shook her head, fished a mangled napkin from her pocket and wiped her eyes. "It's all right, Sophia."
"Tell us what's wrong, dear," Meredith encouraged. The room had gone silent, their faces somber as they waited for Cora to share her story.
"Jed took the checkbook from me again," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He goes with me everywhere now—to the market, the gas station. Doesn't let me have so much as a nickel of my own," she said bitterly. "Doles it out like I'm too incompetent to be trusted with his hard-earned money."
Sophia and Bitsy shared a look. "Cora, there's only one solution for this, one that we've told you before. You've got to get a job. Make your own money."
Cora's shoulders sagged. "What am I supposed to do, Sophia? I've got no skills. I've been a housewife for thirty years. Aside from cooking and cleaning, what am I qualified to do in today's society?"
"Well, I don't know, but there's got to be something," Bitsy pointed out. "You make the best cakes this side of the Mississippi. You've taken first place at the county fair for as long as I can remember. That's certainly a skill."
"That's right," another lady pointed out. "Your fondant icing brought tears to the judge's eyes last year. 'Seamless,' he called it. Absolutely perfect.'"
"Why not see if Dilly's Bakery needs some help?" Jolie suggested. "She was covered up the last time I was in there. I can't imagine that she wouldn't welcome an extra pair of hands, and she certainly does enough business to support another employee."
Cora frowned thoughtfully, seemingly mulling it over and when she looked up at Jolie there was a hint of hope in her melancholy eyes that hadn't been there before. A tentative smile shaped her thin mouth. "I do know how to bake," Cora confessed rather shyly.
"Well, of course, you do," Meredith told her. "If you think the fact that you're married to a tight-assed old bastard was the sole reason we invited you into the Club, then you'd better think again," she teased. "We wanted your baked goods."
Startled, Cora chuckled.
"You did bring a cake, didn't you, Cora?" Sophia asked, her keen gaze zeroing in on the dining room table.
"I did," Cora said with a wavery smile. "But it's all gone."
Sophia's shoulders fell and she let out a heavy, lamenting sigh. "Five minutes late and I missed it." She grinned warmly at Cora. "Now that's a marketable skill. Do as Jolie suggested and check with Mary Dilly." She nodded succinctly. "Dollars to donuts she puts you to work. Then you'll have your own money and you can tell that stingy husband of yours to shove it up his ass."
"Won't be easy, though," someone pointed out. "It's too damned tight."
The remark drew a hearty laugh from around the room and the pleasant sensation of being able to help another person settled warmly over Jolie's heart. Poor Cora. She couldn't imagine being that dependent on another person. Chris may have stolen money from her mother and their investors, but she still earned a salary at Marshall Inc. Still had her own money.
Sophia cleared her throat. "Well, ladies, we should probably wrap things up for tonight. We'll see you all again next week. Until then." Her lips twitched. "Your un-dearly departed—"
Jolie grinned. She was ready this time, lent her voice to the mantra.
"—may he never rest in peace."
CHAPTER TEN
Sophia waited until the last member walked out before turning to Meredith and Bitsy, and grinned. "She's coming along well, isn't she?"
Meredith nodded and her eyes twinkled with humor. "She certainly is. Jumped right in and started getting things done."
"Just showed how much she needed us," Bitsy said. She pulled a face. "I heard a little more about that husband of hers this week." They made their way into the dining room and took their seats around the table.
Arching a brow, Meredith dragged a cracker through a cheese ball. "Oh, really? Do tell."
Bitsy chewed the inside of her cheek, then shot them both a you're-not-going-to-believe-this look. "Suffice it to say that he's been seen com
ing in and out of the Sheriff's house."
Sophia and Meredith frowned.
"When the Sheriff's not at home," Bitsy said meaningfully, playing her trump card.
Sophia's mouth dropped open and Meredith gasped sharply. "He's sleeping with Sheriff Dean's wife?" she asked incredulously.
Bitsy nodded, pursing her lips. She selected a tea cake. "That's what I've heard."
"He must enjoy pain," Sophia said, struggling to comprehend that sort of stupidity, a wedge of cantaloupe virtually forgotten in her hand. "If Dean finds out, he'll tear him apart."
"Yeah, and Chris has already gotten his nose broken this week," Bitsy said. She waggled her brows. "I overheard a little talk down at The Spa. Jake Malone accidentally-on-purpose opened a door into his face."
Sophia nodded and smiled. She'd heard about it from Fran, who'd been eternally grateful to Jolie's old boyfriend for quietly coming to her daughter's defense.
"Jake Malone?" Meredith asked, evidently baffled. "Who's he? Somebody else's husband?"
Sophia shook her head. "No, he's Jolie's old boyfriend. He's a detective with the Sheriff's department. They were together for years—since third grade according to Fran—but things went bad after her dad died. Her mother's not altogether sure why—Jolie's never really talked to her about it—but she's hoping that they'll eventually get back together."
"Well, they can't until that vermin she's married to is out of the picture," Meredith pointed out.
Bitsy popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. "Heard a little more about that, too. Three months."
Meredith's brow folded. "Three months until what?"
"Until she's got her mother's money back and files for divorce."
Impressed, Sophia cocked her head. "How do you find these things out?"
Bitsy just grinned. "I have my ways."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
With every inch that put her closer to home, Jolie felt the dread of her return sucking at her, dragging at her spirits and generally making her miserable but she'd put if off as long as she could. After leaving Meredith's, she'd gone to Sadie's. Rob had been pulling a double shift at the steel mill, so it had been just her friend and the girls at home. They'd had the television in the kitchen tuned into Emeril Lagasse, icing cupcakes and screaming "Bam!" at the top of their wee little lungs.
THE FUTURE WIDOW'S CLUB Page 7