by Mary Alfort
Higgie, no doubt guessing he wouldn’t get a confession from either of them, and figuring he’d gotten his point across, heaved himself to his feet. “There’s no law against leaving your spouse, Selma. If you have any doubts about that, ask Laney. She’s come back home alone without a husband and no one’s accusing her of murder.”
I tried not to spew lemonade and barely succeeded.
“I’ll make this as clear as I can, ladies. This is your last warning. Stay away from Evelyn Blevins’s place. Otherwise, I’ll have to take you in. If something comes up on Stan, I’ll handle it.” He positioned his hat back on top of his balding head. “Laney.”
After Higgie left, I retreated to the office where I stayed for the rest of the afternoon, pretending to work. I was concerned about my aunts’ outrageous behavior. With an impending federal case hanging over their heads, how would I get them to cooperate and behave themselves? When I walked into the restaurant hours later, I found myself in the middle of what appeared to be the ladies’ bridge club.
Aunt Thelma was puffing on a cigarette.
A cigarette?
“What’s going on here?” I asked.
“Laney, come join us.” She smiled at me and patted the vacant chair next to her.
“Aunt Thelma, when did you start smoking?” I watched in amazement.
“Oh Laney, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. I only smoke on bridge night.”
The smell of cigarette smoke, mingled with her perfume, assaulted my senses and went to work on my stomach. I got to my feet and stumbled from the restaurant, gulping air.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the baby.” Thelma had followed me outside. “Selma’s opening up some windows. It will be safe to go back inside in a few minutes.”
I turned to stare at her in disbelief. “Aunt Thelma, what’s going on with you two? You’re staking out people’s houses. You’re smoking. It’s like I don’t even know you two anymore.”
She patted my hand gently. “We’re just having some fun--”
“I understand that you may be bored, but you’ve always been the one I could count on when everyone else in the world went crazy.”
Thelma studied me for a moment and then smiled. “You’re right. I know. I’ve always been the good one, and frankly, Laney, I’m sick of it.”
There was something in her smile that scared me. How well did I really know my stoic aunt? “Are you unhappy, Aunt Thelma?”
“Oh, no! Well, not most of the time, but when you get to be our age you realize there isn’t much time left. I don’t want to have any regrets.”
As I looked into the eyes that had always brought back memories of my father, I went into her open arms and held on tight. I might not fully understand this change in her, but she had the right to make her own choices. “It’s OK, Aunt Thelma. You go ahead and have some fun. It’ll always be OK with me.”
5
Just like a wound, a broken heart takes time to heal.
Maybe seeing the human side of the woman who’d always been rock solid had kept me distracted. Maybe I had just spent too many sleepless nights on stakeouts. Whatever the cause, I hadn’t thought about doing bodily harm to Tom in days. I’d actually managed to edit my latest Lois and Tim story into a more sanitized version. I was writing again—putting words on a page. It might not be romance, and at times, the words I wrote reflected all the bitterness inside me, but it was a beginning.
“Lois, what do you mean you want a divorce? I thought you agreed to take me back.” Tim asked his soon-to-be ex-wife, while his gaze never left her face.
“I did, but I’ve changed my mind. You see, I think I deserve better.” Lois turned on her heel and started for the door.
“Lois, wait. Please. You’re not thinking clearly. You don’t want to do this. You love me, remember? Think about the baby.”
“On the contrary, Tim, I’ve never been more lucid. In fact, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this a year ago, after your last little indiscretion with the ever-efficient Miss Marlin.” Lois turned from the door to smile sweetly at her husband. “Oh, and I’ve found someone else.”
“Lois, please. I was wrong. I realize now that I still love you.”
The sincerity in Tim’s eyes almost made her waver for a moment. Almost. But then she remembered Devon’s declaration of love, and she walked out the door without answering Tim, leaving behind the home she’d once loved.
“Lois... Please. Please, I can’t live without you.”
Tim’s pathetic pleading would have melted her heart a few weeks ago, and now she couldn’t even remember what she’d seen in him. Especially after looking into Devon’s eyes.
OK, so it certainly was a far cry from the fairytale romance stories I’d written in the past. With a satisfied sigh, I closed the laptop and patted Buster’s head. He in turn, gave me a little flick of his tail. After weeks of being at odds with each other we’d finally come to terms with our differences. This meant he didn’t pee on my computer, and I made room for him in my bed.
“See you tonight, buddy.”
His only answer was that flick of his tail that told me he’d come to accept my intrusion into his life.
****
I’d been in the office for more than an hour when I received a call from Blake Whitney, an experienced attorney who had a slew of tax cases under his belt.
Thank you, Elise, I mouthed silently.
“I did some checking before I called you today, Ms. Winters, and the government has a very strong case. Apparently, their star witness is naming names.”
“Do you think he’s accused my aunts of some crime?”
The length of time it took him to answer sent my fears into overdrive. “I’d say it’s likely he said whatever it took to try and reduce his own sentence. Consequently, I’d like to meet with you and your aunts as soon as possible. Would tomorrow afternoon work for you?”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Whitney. That would be wonderful.”
“Great. Do you know where my office is in Lufkin?”
In truth, I had no idea, but was pretty sure I’d manage to get there. “I’ll find it.”
“Good. Oh, and Ms. Winters, I need you to bring everything you can get your hands on regarding the sisters’ taxes and any records that Butch Peterson might have touched.”
****
I managed to hold on to a shred of hope until we met with Mr. Whitney the following day. I’d copied all the files on the diner’s computer and loaded up the back of the SUV with every piece of paper I could bring from the office. With Blake’s reassurance, I agreed to let him handle the first meeting with Agent Eanes. Afterwards, I couldn’t have been more discouraged, but at least my aunts were beginning to realize the dire state of affairs facing them.
“I still can’t believe Butchy would sell us out. I just can’t help but think there must be some mistake,” Thelma said, breaking the depressing silence that had enveloped us for miles.
“Thel, are you nuts? Of course, he sold us out. Dollars to donuts, we’re going to jail.”
“Aunt Selma, you don’t know that for sure, so stop scaring her,” I scolded, while praying her words wouldn’t prove prophetic. No court in the world would send these two old ladies to jail, would it?
“Laney, your father is going to kill us.” Thelma had begun weeping in the back seat.
My father? I glanced in the rearview mirror, then sideways at Selma, who made a circular motion around her ear as if she’d just had her point proven about her sister being nuts. Was this just Thelma’s stress talking or was there something more going on with my sweet aunt?
“Aunt Thelma, Daddy’s dead. Remember?”
She looked at me in confusion for a moment. “Why, of course he is, honey.”
“If you ask me, I think we ought to go to that jail and confront that Butchy,” Selma said.
I tried to keep my voice steady. “No. That’s the last thing you need to do. We’re in enough trouble, here. You are not to go t
o the jail under any circumstance.” I shot her a look to see if I’d gotten through. Her mutinous expression wasn’t comforting. “Under no circumstance.”
“Well, all right. Geez, Laney, you’d think you were our mother.”
“I’m only trying to help. You do realize how serious this is, don’t you?” I’d begun to wonder if anything had gotten through. “Aunt Thelma, you know you and Aunt Selma have to behave yourselves from here on out, until this is over.”
“Oh, Laney, for goodness sake. You’d think we were twelve. Now stop worrying so much.”
At her reassuring smile, my hands relaxed on the wheel. This was the woman I could always count on to be the voice of reason. Of course, she was right. I’d let myself get worked up over nothing.
Until I was introduced to the Tuesday Night Book Club.
6
Technically, breaking and entering can’t be considered exercise.
“Will you be joining us for the Tuesday Night Book Club meeting tonight?” Aunt Thelma smiled in an innocent way.
I was indulging in my latest craving. Cottage cheese and olives. Unusual cravings were typical for pregnant women, but this one was setting some kind of weird record. I stopped chewing long enough to study her. Aunt Thelma appeared to have forgotten all about Blake’s warnings. I was worried about the case, as well as Aunt Thelma’s mental state...and my own. I’d promised myself I’d start putting down roots, and I had a mental to-do list.
- Unpack my suitcase.
- Find another reason for moving to Down.
- Schedule an appointment with a new OB/GYN.
- Make friends with someone other than Buster.
So far, I hadn’t done any of those things.
“What book club meeting?” I asked with hope. Maybe this was just what I needed. A step in the right direction, so to speak.
“Why, our monthly Tuesday Night Christian Romantic Suspense Book Club meeting. Selma and I host the meeting right here at the diner the last Tuesday of every month.”
Still not fully taking it all in I asked, “Since when do you like mysteries?” Aunt Thelma had been my biggest fan for as long as I could remember. Or so I’d thought. I’d sent her every one of my books, and she proudly displayed them on the bookcase in the living room. I’d seen them there.
She gave a little noncommittal shrug. “Oh, you know. Selma’s been nagging me to read something more intriguing, not that your books aren’t intriguing, dear. Well, I finally gave in. Guess what? I fell in love with them.” She threw up her hands to bring home the point.
“I see.” I tried not to let the indifferent critique she’d just given my work get to me. Thelma would hate to think she’d hurt my feelings.
“We’d love to have the opinion of a famous author. That is, unless you have something else planned for tonight,” she added delicately. She’d stopped asking me how my writing was going after the first week.
I thought about all the things I should be doing, like writing the next segment in Lois’s and Tim’s story. And I still needed to put something else on the list of reasons why I was thankful I’d moved to Down. So what did I say?
“I’d love to.”
As it turned out reading the book wasn’t a requirement because discussing the ins and outs of the story was the last thing on these ladies’ minds. I soon learned they hadn’t really discussed a book in quite some time. An attractive man had moved into town recently and was the topic of every single woman’s speculation.
Counting Thelma and Selma, the book club consisted of six women ranging from the age of forty-nine—although I had my doubts about that one—to ninety.
“Anyone figure out yet what that handsome specimen of a man’s doing in a drip-water town like Down?” Millie Porter, the ninety-year-old, wizened woman croaked from her wheelchair the second she maneuvered through the door.
A hush fell on the group, a look of anticipation in every set of eyes as they turned to Selma, the natural-born leader.
“Now Millie, don’t you think we should at least discuss the book first?” Selma wasn’t fooling anyone. She’d been practically tapping her foot in eagerness all afternoon. I’d wondered what had gotten into her. Now I knew.
Millie appeared none too happy at being rebuffed by Selma, her junior. “That’d be a first, Selma McClanahan, and you know it. Stop puttin’ on airs.”
Selma was clearly gearing up to give Millie a piece of her mind when Thelma stepped in.
“Now Millie, you and Selma behave yourselves. Can’t we discuss an actual book for once? After all, we have a real writer with us tonight, my niece, Laney Winters.”
Millie spared me a glance. “I don’t care if we’ve got the pope himself here. I want to hear about the new man. Come on, Selma, ante up. He’s your neighbor. If anyone knows something, it’d be you.” She intercepted Thelma’s reproach. “Don’t you get all holier-than-thou, Thelma McClanahan. I didn’t join this group to talk about books. I want to hear about the boy. Come on, Selma. I ain’t got all night.”
With a heavy sigh, Thelma watched her sister unabashedly light up one of her dreaded cigars while everyone held their breath, waiting.
I thought about Millie’s words. Who was this man who had all the women of Down talking? And how exactly was he my aunts’ neighbor, when the only house for miles around was the Switzer place, and it had sat empty for years?
“His name is Jake Montgomery.” Selma announced very quietly. “As most of you know, he moved to town several months ago−”
“Good grief, Selma. I already knew that.” Millie exclaimed grumpily.
“I heard he came from New York City,” the dubiously forty-nine-year-old Blanche Thomas whispered, as if the boy might be listening in.
A gasp of disbelief came from the fifth member of the group, a rail-thin woman with jet-black, obviously color-treated hair. “Oh, my dear word.”
“We don’t have a new neighbor. What are you talking about?” I directed my question to Thelma, the less intimidating twin.
“Are you daft?” Millie demanded. “He’s been here for months, and he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread. Some writer you are, still asking what we’re talking about. Try to keep up with the conversation, will ya?”
“Well, what’s he doing at the Switzer place, anyway?” I blurted out defensively, and then was shamed into silence by six sets of eyes.
“Now that’s the important question, Miss Writer,” Millie practically snarled at me.
Aunt Thelma threw Millie a warning glance. “Laney, what Millie means is we haven’t been able to find out what his connection to the Switzers is. The house has been tied up with legal problems for years and then, of course, the Switzers didn’t have any children, so no one knows. He claims to own the place.”
At this point, Selma all but snorted. “Yeah, that’s a flat-out fib.”
“So what are you doing about it, Selma McClanahan?” Millie demanded. “He could be a murderer or worse. He’s been here for weeks now, and you haven’t found out anything more than you did the first week. You gettin’ soft?”
“Millie, honestly.” This came from the sixth and final member of the group, Bernice Kelly. I’d begun to think she’d fallen asleep somewhere after Millie’s initial comments.
“I’m just biding my time, luring him into a false sense of security. Making him think he’s my friend. But Thelma and I’ve been watching his place from the roof.”
At this point, someone…me…gasped. Had I heard right?
Did Selma actually just admit to spying on her neighbor from the rooftop?
“He does a whole lot of coming and going at night,” Selma informed the group. “I think he’s up to no good and I intend to find out.” When she turned to me, the twinkle in her eye warned of trouble to come. “You feel up to a little B and E tonight?”
Floored by Selma’s question, I turned to Thelma, only to find her smiling sweetly, waiting for my answer. Where was that voice of reason I’d counted on through the year
s? I was beginning to think she’d never existed.
The only good thing about the evening was the fact that most of the women at the book club had no idea what Selma was talking about. B and E, indeed. That was further proof positive they hadn’t been reading the books they supposedly came to discuss.
Somehow, I made it through the rest of the evening, which consisted mostly of talk about the mystery man’s many assets. I found myself wondering where all the men in these women’s lives were. But then, who was I to judge? Maybe I’d in be their shoes after a few years in Down.
Once the group filed out, I decided not to bring up the subject of illegal activities. It was best not to encourage those two. I gathered my stuff and was ready to kiss them and tell them I’d see them at home when Selma spotted the car keys in my hand.
“Good idea. He won’t recognize that fancy-smantzy car of yours.”
“What...no. No, Aunt Selma,” I protested.
Her grin widened, she took my arm, and all but dragged me out the door. “Come on, you can drive if you want.” She tossed the diner’s keys to Thelma. “Lock up, Thel, will ya?”
Before I knew what had hit me, I found myself in the driver’s seat with Selma riding shotgun and Thelma in the back seat.
“You remember the old Switzer place don’t you, Laney?” Thelma questioned.
“Aunt Thelma...” I mentally ran down a list of different reasonable explanations why we couldn’t go around breaking into people’s houses. I started the engine without thinking.
“Stop thinking about it and drive. He’ll be home in a few hours.” Selma blurted.
“Who?” I asked while pointedly not putting the car in gear.
“Jake Montgomery. Who’d you think we were talking about? Weren’t you paying attention in there?” Selma lit a cigar and forced the SUV into drive. I swerved, barely managing to avoid a head-on collision with a trash can.
“Aunt Selma, I’m not helping you break into a man’s house. No way. Forget it. And put that thing out unless you want me to be sick right here in the car.” I tried to sound convincing as I nonetheless drove past our house and down the county road that would eventually dead end at the Switzer place.