by Ann Charles
“Not necessarily, Claire.” Mac crossed his arms. “Ruby’s burglar could’ve been a meth addict searching for easy money. You’re adding one and one and coming up with three.”
“Come on, Mac.” Claire slid up next to him, leaning back on the rail. “You know I’m onto something. If I can find the PIN to that safe, I bet I’ll have the proof Ruby needs.”
Ruby cleared her throat.
“What PIN to what safe?” Mac frowned. “Jesus, Claire. You haven’t broken into somebody’s house again, have you?”
“No! Not yet, anyway.”
“Claire, the sheriff said—”
Ruby cleared her throat again.
Claire and Mac looked at Ruby, who glanced behind them. Claire followed Ruby’s gaze and groaned. Manny and Chester were eavesdropping from the foot of the porch steps. She’d been so engrossed in arguing with Mac she hadn’t heard them walk up.
“What safe are you talking about, querida?” Manny asked.
“Proof for what?” Chester chimed in.
Chapter Six
An hour and another Corona later, Claire sat slumped at the card table in Ruby’s rec room, staring at the cards Chester had just dealt her—nines, tens, and the Queen of hearts. When it came to all-time shittiest Bid Euchre hand, hers earned the first runner-up sash.
She laid her cards face-down on the table.
Wispy contrails of cigar smoke drifted along the ceiling, swirling in the cool air blasting from the air conditioner, softening the flickering glare from the florescent lights.
Popping the lid off her third bottle of Corona, she squeezed a lemon wedge into it. She tore the last bit of lemon pulp from the rind with her teeth and glanced over her shoulder at the curtained doorway leading to the store.
The bell over the front door had jingled moments ago, and Ruby had gone to see if Deborah, Gramps, and Kate were back from the police station. Claire chuckled. She couldn’t wait to hear Kate’s account of her trip to Yuccaville’s version of Alcatraz.
Chester tapped his fingers on the table. “It’s your bid, Giggles Magoo. Can we finish this game before I’m worm food?”
Picking her cards back up, she said, “It’s called patience, Mr. Antsy Pants.” Chester had been growing pissier with each hand that she and Mac won. “Maybe you’ve read about it in the latest issue of Geezer’s Digest or Popular Geriatrics.”
Chester puffed on his cigar. “Bid, wiseass, or I’ll tell Harley all about that new scratch on Mabel’s front bumper.”
“Okay, no need to play dirty.” Trust Chester to be there to catch her stealing Mabel to run out for a pack of cigarettes. “Three.”
“Four.” Manny bid next, his smile wide, like he’d jammed a banana in his mouth sideways. He obviously had a hot date after the game, because he smelled as if he’d been marinated in Old Spice.
“Pass,” Mac said, watching Claire from where he sat across the table. His hazel eyes traveled down the front of her “Mister Magoo for President” T-shirt, lingering.
Claire fanned herself with her cards. When he stared at her that way, she got all steamy inside and out. She ran her bare foot up his inner calf, her toes rubbing over the inseam of his jeans.
They’d agreed to disagree about the burglar for the moment, calling a truce so that they could pair up for tonight’s segment of the Euchre tournament that Chester and Manny had organized as a pre-wedding gift to Gramps. Gramps had lived and breathed Bid Euchre until Ruby had come along. Now he just enjoyed a game any chance he got, and lately that had been every night.
Chester knocked on the table, indicating that he passed, too. He looked at Manny. “What’s trump, partner?”
“Spades.” Manny laid down the Ace of spades.
Claire glanced at the curtain again.
“All right, Señorita.” Manny tugged on Claire’s sleeve. “Now that Ruby is out of earshot, tell us whose house you’re going to break into.”
“I’m not planning to break into anyone’s place.” Claire turned back from the curtain to find three sets of eyes boring into her. The theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly whistled in her head.
Her foldout chair creaked as she shifted on the hard metal seat. “At least not yet.”
Mac groaned deep in his throat and shook his head. “You’re going to wind up in jail, just like your sister.” He tossed the ten of spades onto Manny’s card.
Snickering, Chester threw the Queen of spades onto Mac’s ten. “Katie’s been telling sugar-coated tall tales since she was no bigger than a cricket.” He spoke around his cigar. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen her profile yet on some of those women in prison websites I poke around on.”
Claire grimaced at Chester. “You’ve been spending too much time on the Internet again.” She dropped the nine of hearts onto the pile of cards, grabbed her beer, and frowned at Mac. “You’re being overly cautious.”
“And you’re running around half-cocked again.” Mac shot back at her, his grin taking the sting out of his words.
“Speaking of half-cocked.” Chester laid his cigar in the ashtray. He wiggled his eyebrows at Manny. “How’d your skinny dipping date with lovely Miss Lilly go this morning? Did you pickle your hide or hide your pickle?”
Claire choked on the mouthful of beer she’d been about to swallow. Beer burned the inside of her nose.
Laughing, Manny patted her on the back. “Both.”
Mac raised his cards, hiding his face.
Between coughs, Claire said, “Haven’t you two ever heard of the saying, ‘gentlemen don’t kiss and tell’?”
“We’re too old to keep secrets.” Manny raked in the cards from the center of the table and threw out the Ace of clubs to start the next round.
Nodding, Chester added, “And I don’t have time to waste running the bases anymore. I need to know from the get-go if Lilly’s version of the backseat boogie ends with the horizontal bop. Viagra doesn’t come with a ‘pause’ button, ya know.”
“So you’ve mentioned before,” Mac said and dropped the Jack of clubs, second only to the Jack of spades in trump suit rank, on top of Manny’s Ace.
“Hey, that’s trump.” Chester slapped his King of clubs on the pile.
“I know my left bower from my right when it comes to Euchre.” Mac’s poker face gave away nothing.
Claire sat forward, wondering if Mac had something up his sleeve besides a nice bicep. She threw her nine of clubs on the table and grinned at Manny as Mac scooped up the cards and led the next round with the Ace of diamonds.
“Earlier on the porch, you two mentioned something about Ruby and finding some proof,” Manny said as Chester played the Jack of diamonds. “Is Ruby in some kind of trouble again?”
Claire’s gut told her to lie and she did so without hesitation. “No.”
If either Chester or Manny found out about that letter from the lawyer, they’d blab to Gramps, who would burn needless calories cussing and swearing, and then Claire’s mom would use her bionic ears to eavesdrop—and then all hell would break loose.
Laying her ten of diamonds on the stack, Claire floundered in the pool of alcohol saturating her synapses and tried to think of a believable tale she could float past these two old sharks. “Mac and I were just …” she trailed off, looking to Mac for help.
“I was just warning Claire not to go spelunking in Ruby’s mines on her own.”
“Then what was the proof you were referring to?” Chester’s tone said he wasn’t buying Mac’s story.
“Proof that the mines are dangerous.”
“You two have to be the worst liars this side of the Rio Grande.” Manny tossed the King of diamonds on Claire’s ten.
Chuckling, Mac collected the cards from the center of the table. He led the next round with the lowest trump card, the nine of spades, obviously fishing for trump.
Claire gulped some beer to keep from grinning broadly across the table. Judging from the lines wrinkling Manny’s forehead, things weren’t going as he’d pla
nned this hand.
“What about a PIN for a safe?” Chester asked. “Whose safe?”
These boys did not want to give up this bone.
“Ruby’s safe.” Claire tossed out her nine of diamonds.
Come first thing tomorrow morning, she was going to pay that safe another visit and start punching in some numbers.
Manny slammed down the Jack of spades, the leading trump card, and scraped the cards over to his win pile. He wore a wary frown as he led the next round with the Ace of hearts. “If it’s Ruby’s safe, why doesn’t she know her own code?”
“She forgot it.” Mac remained Fonzie-like cool. “You know how some women get when there are wedding bells ringing.” He threw down the King of spades, the last trump card floating around, and smiled wide.
Manny rattled out a stream of Spanish, swearing with both single and double rolled r’s.
They’d set the boys, sending them backwards four points and winning the game. Claire leaned across the table, grabbed Mac by the cheeks, and planted a big, wet kiss on his mouth.
“Knock it off, horny toads.” Chester grunted and scooted back from the table. “Just because Mac said he loves you doesn’t mean you need to give us a demonstration.”
Sirens pealed in Claire’s head. She fell back onto her chair, her gaze frozen on Mac. As she watched, his jaw clenched, and then a vein began to pulse above his left eye.
“You’re just jealous,” Manny said, seemingly unaware that Claire’s happy-go-lucky world had just been flipped.
“Who’s jealous?” asked Gramps as he stepped through the curtain. Ruby followed, her cheeks flushed and her hair a little messier than before.
Mac pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, his lips now thin and tight.
“Mac.” Claire scrambled to her feet. “I didn’t …” she didn’t know how to finish. Damn Kate and her big-ass mouth! Gramps would have kept this to himself, understanding men much more than her freaking sister.
“Apparently, you must have,” Mac said. “Because now it’s public knowledge.”
Manny grinned at Gramps. “Where’s the jailbird?”
“I dropped her and her mom off at my R.V. Deborah was giving Kate the third degree, and I was tired of hearing it.”
“So, who won?” Ruby asked Mac, sliding up next to him.
“We did.” He turned his back to Claire. “I’m going to hit the sack,” he told Ruby, dropped a peck on her cheek, and left, taking the steps two at a time.
“Who plays next?” Gramps took Mac’s empty seat.
Claire didn’t wait around to hear Chester or Manny’s answer. She chased after Mac, catching up with him outside the spare bedroom.
“Mac, wait.” She huffed, slightly breathless from racing up the steps with a belly full of beer and pretzels.
He paused in the dark doorway, not looking back.
“It’s not like it seems.” Reaching out, she tentatively touched his back.
His muscles tightened under her fingers. “Really? So you didn’t tell somebody else what I said to you the other morning in the privacy of our bedroom?”
“Well, yes, but …” Her cheeks burned with guilt. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Jess was lurking around the corner. “Listen, can we go in the bedroom and discuss this behind a closed door?”
There were too many ears around this place, and Claire was already zero for three on keeping secrets.
Mac’s eyes were shrouded when he turned to her. Shadows defined his cheekbones. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have a way of distracting me, especially when you start removing your clothes. Maybe it’d be best if you spent another night in the R.V. with your mom and sister.” He flicked on the light and backed into the room. “Sleep tight, Claire. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Mac, come on.”
“Or your mother.” With his lips flat-lined, he shut the door.
* * *
Kate rubbed her eyes and dropped onto the couch. She wanted nothing more than to nestle all snug in her bed while visions of cell bars slipped from her head.
The R.V. smelled like baked plastic. The heat that had built up during the day seeped slowly out through the windows Kate had opened after Gramps had dropped her off. She could hear the tinkling of Manny’s wind chimes every now and then above the racket the frogs were making down by the creek.
Ten minutes under Gramps’s shower had washed the musty, locker room smell of the police station from her skin and hair, but no amount of water could rinse off the layer of shame and humiliation that now coated her from head to toe. If Kate ever saw Butch again, she’d run and hide under the nearest cactus.
Henry finished chomping down his dinner and walked over to her. He rubbed his snout against her leg and whined quietly.
Smiling, she patted his head. At least someone still liked her. With a grunt, he dropped onto his belly at her feet.
Kicking off her old Snoopy slippers, she fell back onto her pillow. The soft cotton sheet underneath her felt cool against the back of her legs. Kate hummed softly, trying to block out the sound of her mom brushing her teeth in the bathroom.
If she heard one more peep out of Deborah about how embarrassing it’d been to walk into that police station in broad daylight, Kate was going to shave her eyebrows and join a cult.
But worse than the lecture Deborah had been cramming down Kate’s throat was the lack of comment from Gramps. The few looks he’d shot her in the rearview mirror on the way home had made her feel nine years old—fresh from the principal’s office after fighting on the school bus. With each passing milepost, she had slumped deeper into Mabel’s leather embrace, wishing she could slip down between the seats and curl into a ball in the trunk.
Kate couldn’t wait to close her eyes and make it all go away. She clapped her hands twice, and the overhead light turned off. Ah, sweet, nonjudgmental darkness.
She heard her mother emerge from the bathroom and shut the bedroom door behind her. Apparently, there’d be no “goodnight, dear” from her mom tonight. Thank God for the silent treatment.
Breathing deeply, Kate focused on relaxing her legs, then her lower back, her arms, her fing …
The front door banged open. The smack of the aluminum into the wall triggered the Clapper.
Kate popped up like a whack-a-mole, blinking in the light.
Henry jumped up, growling.
Claire stood just inside the threshold, her face stony, eyes flaming.
“Christ, Claire.” Kate sank back against cushions. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Good!” Claire shut the door so hard that Gramps’s singing bass fish fell off the wall and crashed to the floor. The lights went off again.
“What the hell is your problem?” Kate clapped the lights back on. She was the one who’d sat in the Mayberry jail all afternoon while Deputy Dipshit dug the dirt and sock lint out from under his toenails.
“My problem,” Claire kicked off her flip-flops, “is your freakin’ mouth.”
Kate’s neck and cheeks warmed. She’d already caught plenty of fire and brimstone from her mom about her fictitious accident report. She didn’t need Claire jumping on that bandwagon, too.
“Well, take a number and get in line, because today you’re one of many. And while you’re waiting, you can kiss my ass.” Kate flopped onto her pillow and rolled over, turning her back to Claire. She clapped twice. Darkness surrounded her again.
A pillow hit her in the back.
“Knock it off, Claire. I still owe you for this morning.”
One of the rectangular foam cushions from the bench seats smacked her on the hip.
“Don’t make me get off this couch and kick your butt.”
A balled up dish towel whopped her in the back of the head.
“Damn it, Claire!” Kate grabbed the towel and whipped it back at her sister. “Go sleep with Mac.”
“I’d love to, but you screwed that up by
flapping your lips.”
Kate flipped onto her back, frowning up at the shadows flickering across the ceiling. “How exactly did trying to lie my way out of getting a ticket after slamming my car into Butch’s truck interfere with your stupid love life?”
“This isn’t about your accident. I’m talking about you blabbing to Chester and Manny that Mac said he loves me.”
“And when did I have time to do that?” She looked over at Claire, who sat on the table, her eyes reflecting the light seeping in through the closed mini-blinds. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was sitting on a piss-stained mattress behind bars most of the afternoon. What do you think? I used my one quarter to call Manny and gab about Mac and you?”
“Well, when you put it that way, no.” The fire had fizzled from Claire’s tone. Now she just sounded tired. The table creaked. “Damn Gramps. How am I going to fix this mess?”
“Welcome to my world.” Kate rubbed her temples. “Hang up your saddle and roll a smoke with me, why don’t ya?”
“God, I’d sell a kidney right now for a cigarette.” The table creaked again in the darkness. “So what’s the story with your car being listed as stolen?”
“Apparently, my ex, Gary—you remember him, the one who tried to shoplift a tennis racket and told the clerk that he wasn’t stealing, he was just happy to see her?”
“Yeah, I remember Gary.” Claire chuckled. “He five-fingered my snow globe of the Mitchell Corn Palace and super-glued it to the dashboard of his 1975 Pinto to up its resale value.”
“Well, he got stopped for speeding while driving my car about nine months ago, but apparently he couldn’t find the registration in the glove box. Even though he was let off with just a ticket, the cop listed my car as stolen. Gary was supposed to take my registration in and have the flag removed, but he never did, and he never told me about any of this either.”
Claire scoffed. “It took six hours to figure that out?”
“Yep. Between miscommunication, no communication, and then an overload of convoluted communication, the sheriff wouldn’t let me go until everything came out spot-free. It seems they had some problems with stolen vehicles in the last few months, and now they like to use a magnifying glass when a pair of bifocals would work fine.”