Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “I’ve explained this three times already, Ms Fox!”

  Lauren thought the man’s head was going to explode. Harry scrubbed his face with both his hands.

  “You’ve been accused of petty theft.” He enunciated the words as if he were speaking to an imbecile. “You must plead. You do not, however, have to plead guilty. If you plead not guilty, then you must return to Sterling to stand trial when a court date is set.”

  “But, see,” Dottie said, completely unruffled by the judge’s angry tone, “that won’t work for me. I’m on a quest. I’m driving to each—”

  “Yes, yes,” Judge Cramer said. “You’ve already told us about that. So do you want to plead guilty?”

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone knows that if you need toilet paper you go to a public restroom.”

  Cramer looked like he was about to pass out.

  “Your Honor, may I speak?” Lauren asked, fearing his volcanic wrath might finally erupt and spew a contempt charge all over her and her client. “I explained to Ms Fox, numerous times, how the court works. We went over the scenario of her pleading not guilty, and how the court would then set a date for her trial. Then bail would be set at somewhere around two hundred fifty dollars. Cash. I told her she’d then be free to go. She could drive away, visit another state or two, while she thinks about this matter. I also explained that she could come back to change her plea at any time before the trial begins.”

  Two hundred fifty dollars was the normal fine charged by the county for petty theft. No one in their right mind would expect this scheming little old lady to return to the Sterling to stand trial. If she were released, she’d drive out of Maryland like a NASCAR favorite, never to be seen again.

  Lauren had been in this business long enough to peg a con artist a mile away. She had realized it from the moment Dottie Fox had walked into her office. She’d agreed to offer her services if, and only if, she was paid up front and in cash. And Dottie had a wad of dough tucked between those pears of hers.

  The woman was guilty as sin. If Dottie pled guilty, she’d be fined and sent on her way. If she pled not guilty, she’d be set free on bail; and if she didn’t return to court for her hearing, the county would receive its due in the form of the forfeited bail money. But the woman had to plead one way or the other in order for the case to move forward, and this fiasco had already been going on for far too long. A cluster of lawyers and their clients were slowly filling the back of the courtroom, their cases waiting to be heard.

  “So is that what you want to do, Ms Fox?” the judge asked. “You want to plead not guilty?”

  “Well—” she blinked several times, an innocent look shifting the wrinkles on her face “—can I go with my original idea and just plead for mercy?”

  The whole courtroom wrenched with a collective groan.

  ~*~

  Twilight glowed through her office window, giving the tawny paint on the walls a pinkish hue. The five-inch-thick tome spread-eagled on Lauren’s desk captured every nuance of her attention as she studied Maryland case law for an upcoming court appearance.

  The desk light snapped on, startling her into sitting up straight.

  “You’re going to go blind,” Norma Jean warned.

  “Thanks.” Lauren took in the woman’s jacket and scarf. “You heading out?”

  Norma nodded. “I finished up the filing so I’m going home for some dinner. If you’re going to be here much longer, you should go next door and grab something to eat.”

  “Right. Dinner.” The springs of her chair squeaked as she pushed away from her desk. “My dad’s home alone.” She sighed. “I’ve got another hour of reading to do, but I guess I should go home.”

  Lauren stood and stretched. Then she yawned.

  “Tough day.” Norma shifted the stylish scarf hugging her neck.

  “Frustrating, mostly.”

  Judge Cramer had finally wrestled a not guilty plea from Dottie Fox. The woman posted bail and walked out of the courthouse. Lauren expected the elderly lady to make a wide berth around the entire state of Maryland for the rest of her life. And the state wouldn’t go looking for her. Chasing down petty criminals would cost tax payers too much money, especially since the court would eventually claim the cash Dottie had been forced to leave with the court clerk for bail.

  “How are things going with your dad?” Norma Jean asked.

  Lauren shrugged. “Not bad. It’s only been a few days, of course. One thing is certain; I sure did take my privacy for granted. It’s small things, really. Taking a bath, for instance. I used to soak in a hot tub with a glass of wine for as long as I wanted without giving it a thought. But now I can’t seem to relax enough to enjoy it.”

  Norma’s head tilted in commiseration. “I’m sure that will change in time.”

  “And the dinner thing,” Lauren said. “I haven’t cooked in...I can’t tell you how long. Now I feel like I have to plan meals and go to the grocery store.” She shook her head. “I’ve never been the homemaker type.”

  The pink shadows on the walls were quickly deepening to mauve.

  “Look, Lauren, I go right by your house on my way home.” Norma hitched the leather strap of her big, fashionable handbag higher on her shoulder. “If you’ve got work to do, I could pick up a sandwich from Nick’s next door and take it to your dad.”

  Nick’s Deli was a favored watering hole for both women.

  A mixture of relief and gratitude rounded Lauren’s shoulders. “That would be great, Norma Jean. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  The woman waved off her concern. “I’d love to. I haven’t seen your dad in ages.”

  Snatching up her purse, Lauren dug out a twenty and handed it over. “I appreciate this so much.”

  “Don’t even think about,” Norma said, tucking the bill into her jacket pocket and turning toward the door. “Night.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  An hour or so later, Lauren leaned away from her computer and rubbed her eyes. She’d gone from combing through several volumes in her meager library to researching the myriad public records on-line. She should go home. The long day had exhausted her. But rather than packing up her files, she reached toward the keyboard and typed the URL of her favorite search engine.

  MERRY-GO-ROUND, she tapped the keywords and clicked ‘search.’

  The offerings were overwhelming. Amusement parks, circus museums, clown blogs, images galore. She even saw several YouTube hits. But none of the links were exactly what she was looking for, so she tried again.

  MERRY-GO-ROUND FOR SALE. She hit the enter key and waited.

  She was amazed to discover websites that acted like huge used car lots, only they sold second-hand amusement park rides. Who bought this stuff?

  Scanning the site, she found her answer; shopping malls, family entertainment centers, traveling carnivals.

  But all of these places would want the merry-go-round to come to them. Lauren wanted a buyer to come to her merry-go-round. Because she had an acre of ground to go with the ride.

  She sat back, resting her fists on the edge of her desk. She didn’t even know if the carousel worked. And all of these rides offered for sale were clean, their brass polished, their paint bright. It would be difficult enough to sell a piece of land out on Skeeter Neck Road; it would be impossible if it came with a dirty, worn, broken down carnival ride.

  Those fancy circus horses pranced through her brain. What little girl wouldn’t want one of those beauties in her bedroom?

  Of course, that would mean dismantling the merry-go-round and turning the faded, grimy horses into beauties. But that could be done with a little elbow grease and paint, couldn’t it?

  Her fingers flew as she punched in the keywords. CAROUSEL HORSES FOR SALE.

  Jackpot!

  There was a market for her horses. And the other animals, too. Then she gawked when she saw the price of some of them. They were being advertized at upwards of ten thousand dollars or more. She leane
d forward, looked closer. Each.

  Her heart pounded like a fist against her ribs. There must be twenty or thirty animals on that thing. Maybe more. She hadn’t taken the time to count them. She could become solvent again. She could recoup her losses and then some; she did a quick, mental calculation. Some? She could stand to gain nearly a quarter of a million dollars. And that wasn’t counting the acre of land. Good mercy, Ms Percy!

  She shoved her chair out into the middle of the floor and spun around in a circle, grinning like a monkey. A monkey that had just discovered a hidden treasure.

  Suddenly she sobered. She really couldn’t do anything until she had the deed in hand. When they’d moved her father on Saturday, Greg had promised to have it to her by Wednesday. Tomorrow she’d be a rich woman. Her chuckle reverberated off the walls of her office. Okay, nowhere near rich, maybe, but wealthier than she was today.

  An odd, dark emotion poked at her. Should she tell Greg? Did he know what he’d lost when the judge had taken the land from him? Lauren doubted it.

  Should she share the money with him?

  She slid her palms up and down her thighs.

  Legally, she had every right to keep whatever profits she earned from selling what was rightfully hers. But what were the ethical aspects of the situation?

  The man had no financial acumen whatsoever. He’d cost her a ton of money. Not to mention months and months of stress.

  She deserved this as payment for all her pain and suffering, didn’t she?

  Yes, she did.

  Lauren slid back to her desk and powered down her computer. Then she got up and started stuffing files into her briefcase, unable to shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong.

  She deserved this, she heard her ego whisper again.

  She shouldn’t worry about this any more. Greg had made his bed of nails; let him lie on it. She’d done everything she had been legally obligated to do. She was going to put it out of her head. In fact, she was going to go home, submerge herself in a steamy bath and enjoy a glass of wine.

  “I deserve this,” she said firmly as she flipped off the light in her office.

  So why did she feel like Dottie Fox with her station wagon full of toilet paper?

  Chapter 5

  Ah, yes, divorce...from the Latin word meaning to

  rip out a man’s genitals through his wallet.

  ~Robin Williams

  “I’m off to work, Dad,” Lauren called as she headed toward the kitchen. “Have a good day.” Bright sunshine set the room aglow. She pulled up short when she saw her father.

  “More coffee?” she asked. “You think you should have more caffeine? You know how it affects you.”

  “As long as I don’t drink any after noon, I’m fine. I want another cup of coffee.” He finished pouring a full pot of water into the reservoir without looking at her.

  “Another cup?”

  “Don’t mother hen me, Lauren.” He set the glass carafe on the burner, flipped on the switch and then turned to face her.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, backing off, even though she figured he’d probably call her this afternoon complaining that he’d developed a mean case of tinnitus.

  They’d been house buddies for nearly a week now, and she was doing her best to get along with him.

  “Have fun today.” She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “You, too.” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “Hadn’t you better get a move on? You’re going to be late.” He reached for the newspaper sitting on the counter and headed for a sunny spot at the kitchen table.

  She waggled her fingers at him as she left the room. On her way to the front door she stopped by the hall table and picked up the mail that had been piling there for a couple days. She stuffed it into the side pocket of her briefcase and locked the front door behind her.

  Twisting to watch where she was going, she backed the car out of the drive way, her mind focused on the appointments that were lined up for her today. Two new clients were coming in this morning. And she would spend a better part of the afternoon in court. Then she had an intimidating letter to write on a client’s behalf; sometimes a well-worded threat to sue provoked action and saved time and money for the people she worked for.

  By the time she’d registered that she’d seen Greg, he’d already passed her on his way, she guessed, to her house. She glanced at the rearview mirror and watched him pull into the driveway.

  No wonder her dad was making a pot of coffee rather than just a cup. She thought it odd though that, if he had been expecting Greg to come for a visit, why hadn’t he just said so? Why hide it?

  It wasn’t as if she expected her father to stop speaking to Greg because she was divorcing the man. But maybe he thought she’d be upset at the thought of Greg visiting him at the house? Maybe he, too, was doing his best to keep the peace now that they were living under the same roof.

  Snapping on the radio, she listened to the national news for the few minutes it took to drive to the office.

  The deadbolt on the door thunked as she turned the key. She opened the blinds on the large front window and turned up the thermostat to take the autumn chill out of the air. She usually arrived at the office before Norma Jean because she liked to spend a few minutes getting settled before the phones started ringing and clients arrived.

  After plugging in the electric kettle and plopping a tea bag into a mug, she went into her office and sat at her desk. She sorted through the mail she’d pulled from her briefcase. Bills and correspondence in one pile, sales brochures in another, junk mail headed for the garbage can in a third.

  The large, white envelope was tucked between a couple thick sales flyers. The return address on the front made her heart skitter. She ripped into it like a child with a long-awaited, gaily-wrapped birthday present.

  She grasped the document inside the envelope, slowly pulled it into the light of day, placed it in front of her with something akin to reverence and leaned back. The official decree sat on the desk top, and she just stared.

  It was official. She was a divorced woman. She was free. She was single.

  An odd feeling swept over her.

  Before the papers arrived, she had imagined this moment many times over. In fact, imagining this moment had gotten her through some of the roughest times over the past year or so. She had envisioned herself running to the liquor store to buy a bottle of expensive champagne. She’d fantasized about celebrating her divorce by painting Sterling bright red, drinking and dancing from one hot spot to another, showing everyone the papers that made her a free woman.

  But she simply sat and stared.

  What was wrong with her? She’d thought once her ties to Greg had been well and truly severed she’d feel as if a huge weight had been lifted off her. She had thought she would feel...lighter...happier...something.

  But she felt nothing.

  No, not nothing. There was emotion churning behind her solar plexus. But what was it exactly?

  The whistling kettle had her on her feet and padding to the office’s small efficiency kitchen. She poured steaming water over the tea bag and watched it turn a golden brown.

  She should be snapping her fingers, swiveling her hips and dancing the jitterbug around her desk. Not that she knew how to jitterbug. She would if she’d let her parents teach her when they’d wanted to all those years ago; however, she’d been content to sit on the staircase and watch through the railings while they twisted and shook and swung each other around the living room floor.

  Lauren contemplatively stirred honey into her tea.

  Divorce wasn’t something to be taken lightly. And she hadn’t.

  She and Greg had shared some wonderful times. But the final year they’d been together had shown such a bright light on their differences that she could no longer avoid seeing them.

  She carried her mug back into her office and settled at her desk.

  Separating herself from him had been the right thing to do
. For her, at least.

  He’d fought her tooth and nail. He’d suggested a host of remedies: a romantic vacation (who could afford to fly off to the Bahamas when a business was going under?), separate bank accounts (too late), counseling (no way was she going to chance some professional talking her into seeing Greg’s point of view).

  During those last months of the marriage, she’d felt as if she’d been swept up into some financial whirlpool that would surely suck her bank account and her bones completely dry. And that was nearly what had happened. Not only that, but before it was all over her emotions had been as spent as her checking account.

  Every time she thought about what had happened, she became so ticked off she could barely speak, and that anger overrode everything else. Even the strange, heavy feeling that sprouted in the pit of her belly right now upon seeing the official divorce papers. She set down the mug with more force than she meant to. Tea sloshed onto the postcard advert for a local pizza joint and one, wide corner of a white, business-size envelope sticking out from beneath the unsorted pile of mail.

  Lauren tossed the postcard into the wire wastebasket, and then reached for the envelope, grabbing a tissue from the box on her desk at the same time. As she blotted off the worst of the mess, she noticed Greg’s name neatly printed in the upper left corner.

  She slid her thumbnail under the flap and ripped the paper with short, jerky tugs. The deed to the Skeeter Neck property was tucked inside. Lauren placed the document next to the divorce decree.

  The front door of the office whispered open and she heaved a deep breath.

  “Morning,” she called out to Norma Jean. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk about the vast contradiction of good and evil sitting on my desk.”

  She got up, grinning at her joke, and made for the door leading to the reception area... where she nearly bumped into a good-looking, sandy-haired, blue-eyed man.