Kill the Competition

by Stephanie Bond

  Wade Alexander stuck his head in. “Maybe I should come back later?”

  “No,” Rosemary said quickly. “We were just leaving.”

  Libby frowned. “But—”

  “Come on, Libby.” Rosemary winked at Belinda and reached forward to squeeze her hand. “I have one for your book, Belinda.”

  “What?”

  “DO hold out for your happy ending.”

  Belinda squeezed back. “Someday, Rosemary. Thank you.”

  The girls shuffled out, smuggling Downey with them. Wade waited until they were clear of the door before he entered. He was off-duty, wearing dark jeans and a pale blue dress shirt, carrying a sheath of wildflowers.

  She was sure she looked like two kinds of hell and vacillated between wanting to touch him and wanting to become invisible.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello.” She played with the hem of the sheet. “I don’t know how I can thank you for…everything.”

  “I was just—”

  “Doing your job,” she finished. “I know. But you helped me through this nightmare, and saved my life at least twice, so let me say thank you.”

  He nodded. “You’re welcome.” He looked at the flowers around her. “I brought you these, but it doesn’t look like you need them.”

  She reached for them and inhaled their light scent. “They’re lovely. Will you sit for a few minutes? But I warn you, it’s ten minutes until Jell-O, and I never miss Jell-O.”

  He gave her a little smile and sat on the edge of the chair next to her bed. “You’re feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine, everything is going to be…fine. Really.”

  “Where will you be staying?”

  She shrugged. “I was thinking about getting a place ITP if I can afford it, cut down on the commute.”

  “Inside the perimeter, huh? By the way, you should have your car back in about a week.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah.”

  She sighed and he shifted, and the silence was sticky.

  “I came to apologize,” he said finally.

  “For what?”

  “For the way things…ended.”

  Ended. “No reason to apologize.”

  “You were partially right,” he said, clasping his hands together. “I was convinced Hardeman was guilty. I let my prejudice get in the way.”

  “You had good reason to believe he was guilty.”

  He inhaled. “But you were wrong about the reason I…stayed last night.”

  She toyed with the flowers. “It’s okay, Wade. I’m not looking for a relationship, and neither are you. I’m still trying to…acclimate. We got caught up in the moment, and it was fun. End of story.”

  “End of story?”

  She angled her head. “Don’t make this any more awkward than it has to be. We’re both adults. Let’s just chalk it up to the drama and part as friends.”

  He pursed his mouth. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood. “Okay then.”

  “Okay.”

  “Stay out of trouble.”

  She smiled. “I’m reformed.”

  He smiled back, then walked to the door and looked back. “Call me if…anything.”

  “I will.” She smiled until the door closed behind him, then turned over and snuggled against her pillow. Things were good…considering.

  Chapter 33

  “It’s a great day in Hotlanta, folks—unless you’re drivin’. The connector is backed up due to a wreck in the center lane and it’s causin’ fits for the HERO units. I-285 eastbound is a parkin’ lot because a water main break at the Ashford-Dunwoody exit left about six inches of water standin’ on the road. The two leftmost lanes of southbound I-75 are closed for repavin’ from Windy Hill all the way to North Avenue—whew, it’s ugly out there. This is Talkin’ Tom Trainer for MIXX 100 FM traffic.”

  Belinda turned down the volume on her headphones and smiled as the MARTA train slowed at her stop. Julian was in good form today after being off the air for eight weeks. And he sounded rejuvenated—she hoped he had put his demons to rest. It seemed that no one, not even a smooth-talking celebrity, was immune to the torture of unrequited love.

  When the train doors slid open, she exited onto the platform along with dozens of other in-town commuters and set off walking toward the city hall building, where she would pay the fines for her tickets and put that part of her life behind her.

  Her driving life, that is. Oh, she had obtained her Georgia driver’s license for emergencies (with requisite dreadful picture), but when her Civic had been returned to her, she’d realized she didn’t want to drive around the car that had once held her boss’s body. So she’d sold the car through the want ads and bought a scooter. Very chic. Very in-town. Very slow.

  And perfect for her twelve-block commute to Archer on the days she didn’t walk or ride MARTA. She missed the car pool companionship, but her one-bedroom apartment in Midtown provided a walking lifestyle that made her feel much more connected to the city. (Once a week she stopped at the corner of Peachtree and 13th Street and left a flower in the memory of a wonderfully creative writer and her untimely end.) And besides seeing the girls every day at the office, they all met for lunch at least twice a week to dish about life in general and to work on the book.

  Her cell phone rang. At this time of day, it could only be a wrong number or an emergency. She withdrew the phone from her bag and answered, “Hello?”

  “Belinda, dear, it’s Mother.”

  Or her mother. “Hi, Mom.”

  “I called your office, but your assistant Brita said you had taken the morning off.”

  She smiled. “I had to run some errands. Is something wrong?”

  Her mother made fretting noises. “Well, I just heard something very upsetting. Mrs. Lakes in my garden club—you remember her, she used to teach Sunday school.”

  “Yes,” Belinda said, wondering where this was going.

  “Well, Mrs. Lakes has a nephew in Atlanta who was here to attend a Reds game—he’s a pharmaceutical sales rep—and he said he saw something in the Atlanta paper a few weeks ago about a woman named Belinda Hennessey being mixed up with two murders, and said it had something to do with a furniture company, too. Isn’t that strange?”

  Belinda swallowed hard. “Yes, that’s very strange.”

  “Well, I told Mrs. Lakes that it simply couldn’t be you…could it?”

  Dredging up all the terrible things that had happened would serve no useful purpose, and it would only give her mother nightmares. Besides, she didn’t even feel like the same person who had come to Atlanta in the spring, afraid of herself and emotionally inaccessible.

  “Atlanta is a big city, Mom. It must have been a different Belinda Hennessey.”

  Barbara Hennessey emitted a musical sigh of relief. “Of course it was. I’ll call Mrs. Lakes and let her know. Are you looking forward to Suzanne’s visit?”

  “Yes, I have all kinds of things planned for us to do.” She was pleased that Suzanne had responded so warmly to her e-mail messages and phone calls. The women had developed a stronger bond through correspondence than they’d had when they had both lived and worked in Cincy. Suzanne promised she was bringing the silver candlesticks as a housewarming gift for Belinda’s new place.

  “Have you seen that handyman lately?”

  Belinda’s heart strummed. “Um, no, Mom, I haven’t. We were just…friends.”

  “I could give your number to Mrs. Lakes to pass along to her nephew.”

  “Um, no, Mom, thanks anyway.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll let you get to your errands. Your father says hello.”

  “Give him my love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Belinda hung up and heaved a sigh of relief. That was close. At least the phone call had taken her nearly to the steps of City Hall. A few minutes later, she entered the double doors and stopped at the information desk for directions to the courtroom where she was scheduled to appear. I
t was more like a classroom, the woman explained to her, nothing to be nervous about. She would show her driver’s license and pay her fines and would once again be in good standing with the city of Atlanta.

  Belinda couldn’t very well explain she wasn’t nervous because of the courtroom, she was nervous because the ticket resurrected memories she didn’t want to revisit. Wade Alexander had certainly forgotten all about her, had moved on to other damsels in distress. The reason she still thought about him at night wasn’t that she had fallen for him, but that she was so grateful for all he had done for her.

  And to her.

  Because it was nice to know that she had the capacity to evoke and experience that kind of passion with a man. But if she allowed herself to be lulled into the belief that it could happen only with Wade Alexander, well, then she would be, as Libby would say, “in a bad way.”

  She found the courtroom, where she sat on a folding chair with dozens of other traffic violators. She had come armed with reading material, though—the first complete draft of the DOs and DON’Ts manuscript that Libby had finished. And it was actually very good—entertaining, insightful, hopeful. Libby had begrudgingly conceded to Rosemary’s traditional outlook by devoting the last chapter to “DO hold out for your happy ending.”

  Almost two hours later, her name was called. As she approached the podium and the tiny microphone, she remembered Julian’s offer to have the tickets taken care of, and for a split second, she wished she had taken him up on it. At the podium, she stood while the lady judge read the violations.

  “Is the ticketing officer in the room?” the judge asked. “A Lieutenant Alexander?”

  Belinda’s heart jumped to her throat—she hadn’t realized he would be here. She glanced surreptitiously to the left and right but didn’t see him.

  Apparently, the judge didn’t see him either. “No?”

  A sharp pain stabbed her chest. He hadn’t wanted to see her.

  “Do we have a written statement from the lieutenant? No? Ms. Hennessey, do you now have a valid Georgia driver’s license?”

  Belinda presented her license to the bailiff, who then nodded at the judge.

  “Then the ticket for driving without a valid state operating license is hereby voided, and I’m going to throw out the other two tickets because the officer didn’t bother to do the paperwork.” The woman smiled at Belinda. “It’s your lucky day, Ms. Hennessey.”

  Belinda conjured up a smile and left the courtroom. It was nearly noon, so she was in good shape to get to Archer by 1:00 for the board of directors presentation. A new and improved deal to acquire Payton Manufacturing, this one reflecting the lower purchase price indicative of the financial problems she and Jim Newberry had uncovered. She didn’t want to be late for this meeting. Not again.

  She had exited the building and was walking down the ancient stone steps to the sidewalk when something made her look up.

  Yilk.

  Wade Alexander stood at the bottom of the steps, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. He looked like someone she wanted to let in.

  If he wanted in.

  “Hello,” she said, pulse thumping.

  “Hi.”

  “The judge was upset because you didn’t submit any paperwork.”

  He smiled. “I figured you’d been through enough. Besides, I was distracted that day you hit—I mean, the day we hit. It could have been partly my fault.”

  “Thank you.” She indicated his clothing. “You’re not working today?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. This is what detectives have to wear.”

  She grinned. “Congratulations.”

  He grinned back, and her heart caved. Wow, she had it bad for this man.

  “You didn’t call,” he said.

  “Hm?”

  “I asked you to call me if—”

  “If anything. I remember.”

  He moved his mountainous shoulders with a little shrug. “So I guess I should give up on the…anything? I mean, I know you don’t like pesky guys, but I thought I’d check.”

  Her heart jerked sideways. He did want in.

  He cleared his throat and looked adorably unsure of himself. “I was hoping I could take you to lunch.”

  She pursed her mouth and considered his invitation for long seconds, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes, but he recovered. “Oh. Okay.”

  A perfect, perfect joy filled her heart. She tapped her watch. “I have a meeting in a few minutes. I only have time for a Coke.” A smile curved her mouth.

  He laughed and pulled her hand between both of his, then kissed her fingers. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, easing into him. Belinda realized she was going to have to renege on her promise to herself and break one more rule—that pesky “men are unnecessary” rule.

  Here lies Belinda Hennessey. She was imperfect. And happy.

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  Mother of the Bride Keeps Sanity But Loses Heart to Ex-Spouse in Wedding Gone Awry

  Once Upon a Wedding

  by Kathleen Eagle

  September 2003

  [Minneapolis, MN] What was Camille thinking? Her determination to make her daughter’s wedding a day to remember has gone completely out of control. It’s simply too much for one woman to handle! And to make matters somehow worse, Camille’s ex-husband, Creed, returns to town, suddenly longing to make up for lost time. Not only does he want to do “the father thing,” he’s ready, willing, and able to tempt her back into his arms.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. It was a rude way to greet the man, even though he had no business messing in her kitchen anymore.

  He didn’t appear to take offense. He went right on putting cream and sugar in her old “Favorite Teacher” mug. But he’d always taken his coffee straight.

  “You haven’t had your coffee yet this morning, have you? You still buy the best. I still make the best.” He handed her coffee with that same old sloe-eyed, sleepy morning smile. “My daughter lives here.”

  “Is that how you got in?”

  He sipped his own coffee. “She says she’s getting married. She’s not old enough, is she?”

  “How old should she be?”

  “Older than my little girl.” He boosted himself up the few inches that it took him to seat himself on the counter. His long legs dangled nearly to the floor. “I always liked Jamie. I thought he was really going to make something of himself. Pick up a couple of instruments, put a band together. He couldn’t sing, but he had a good ear.”

  She let the “make something of himself” jibe sail past her ear.

  “How did you get here? I didn’t see a strange vehicle in the driveway.”

  “And you don’t see a strange man in your kitchen. You know us both. I’m still driving the same pickup, the one I left here with.”

  “How old is that thing now?”

  “I’ve lost track. But she had zero miles on her when I got her.” He gave his signature wink. “Just like you.”

  “What a flattering comparison.”

  “More than you know. That pickup is the only thing I have left that I don’t share, but Jordan needed it to haul some stuff.” His eyes went soft, as though resting them on her felt good to him. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Not so fine.” She tried to remember what had been going on in her life when she’d last heard from him. “You know she has cancer.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” He wagged his head sadly. “Jordan said she’d moved back, but she didn’t say why. How’s she doing with
it?”

  “Jordan, or my mother? Coping, both of them.” She took her mothering stance, arms folded. “You haven’t given me one straight answer so far. Why are you here, Creed?”

  “Jordan called to tell me she was getting married. Actually, she left a message on my new answering machine.” He grinned proudly. “I can call from anywhere and check in. So I got this message from her saying she had some news. I was coming into town anyway, so I…”

  Her undeniable curiosity must have shown, because he was quick to explain. “I’ve got a gig. Haven’t had one here in a long time.” His smile seemed almost apologetic. “Yeah, I’m still at it. And, yeah, I still work construction to pay the bills.”

  “So why are you here,” she repeated with exaggerated patience, “in this house?”

  “Like I said, Jordan called. Talked to her last night. She called again this morning, wanting to use the pickup. She said you were gone with the van.”

  “That’s right,” Camille recalled. “She told me she needed it today.”

  “Said you’d been gone all night.” He shrugged diffidently. “ ’Course, we weren’t worried.”

  “I left—”

  “I haven’t seen the boy yet. What’s he like now? Still smart? Still…” A trace of the worry he’d disclaimed appeared in his eyes. “I know he’s not a boy, and I know I missed my chance to send the bad ones packing and give the good ones fair warning. I left it all to you. He’ll treat her right, won’t he?”

  “I hope so,” she said with a sigh. “What am I saying? If he doesn’t, she’s outta there.” Another double take. “What am I saying? They’ll treat each other right.”

  “Like partners?”

  “They’ll make it, Creed.”

  “They haven’t yet?” He gave a nervous laugh. “Just kidding. I don’t want to know. I’d have to break his neck, and I don’t think that would look too good. A neck brace with a tux.” Hunkering down, he propped his elbows on his knees and cradled his coffee between his hands. “She’s got her heart set on a fancy wedding, huh?”

  “Fancier than ours was, I guess.”

  “A ten-dollar chapel in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator would be fancier than ours was.” His eyes smiled for hers, hauling her into their private memory. “But the wedding night was a different story, wasn’t it?”