Last Call

by Paula Matter

“Maggie, JC just told me the dreadful news. Bless your heart. How horrible for you!”

  That was her way of saying, “How horrible to be you.” Something I’m sure she thought on a regular basis.

  “—and I told her that I would phone you. She wants to hear from you too. Of course. When I told her I was calling you, she immediately said she would also. It’s like she can’t think for herself, always doing what I do. I swear, if my son wasn’t married to her daughter …”

  I’d missed some of what Pam said, but I knew she was talking about Diane Reid, the Pam wannabe. Oh, how Diane envied Pam. Pam didn’t have to work; she was active in the community; her husband treated her like a queen, yadda yadda.

  “Maggie? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Pam. I’m listening.” Barely. Hurry up. I wanted to go to bed.

  “So, you’ll clean tomorrow as usual? I can expect you at ten?”

  “I’ll be there.” For fifty-five bucks, I’d polish her shoes. Maybe. Who was I kidding? I definitely would.

  “I have meetings all day tomorrow. I’ll leave the key in the usual place, and your payment on the gathering island.” Only Pam would call it a gathering island, such a fancy high-class term for a big chunk of butcher block.

  In a hurry to end the call, I said, “Sure, see you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone.

  Whoa. Wait a minute. What dreadful news?

  I reached for the phone to call her back and ask when the damn thing rang, scaring me. Probably Diane. Sorely tempted to not answer at first, I figured I may as well find out what I could from Diane. I picked up the receiver ready to hear her whiny voice.

  “Back off, bitch.” Click.

  Twelve

  The next morning I slept in until nine. I’d had trouble falling asleep after the phone call (fortunately no others had followed), but I had struggled trying to figure out who it could be. The husky voice wasn’t one I recognized, and I couldn’t tell if the caller was male or female, disguising it or not. I’d shrugged it off as a prank, but in my gut … well, I’d deal with it later. Now here it was later, and I was no closer to figuring out anything. I started to roll over and go back to sleep when I remembered I had to be at Pam’s at ten. I dashed around like a mad woman and ran down to the car. Which refused to start. Not even a little growl from the battery. Dammit. I slapped the steering wheel a few times.

  I hated to keep relying on him, but I needed Michael’s help again. Twenty minutes later he pulled up to Pam’s house. It usually takes me ten minutes to get to Pam’s, but he stopped at every damn yellow traffic light along the way. And there were a lot of them. Whatever. I was grateful to get a ride. Michael said to call when I was finished and he’d pick me up.

  Dodging fat raindrops, I unlocked the front door, slipped the key back under the mat, and quickly stepped inside. I went through the foyer, then the living room to the kitchen/family room. I tossed my purse on the leather couch.

  “Hello?” I hollered just in case someone was home. No answer. Good. I could get straight to work. I pulled the bin of cleaning supplies out from under the kitchen sink. A note was taped to an emery cloth. “PLEASE FOCUS ON FR FP TOOLS. YOU MISSED THEM LAST TIME.”

  Ma’am, yes, ma’am. FP of course stood for fireplace. They had two. One in the master bedroom, the other in the family room (FR). The first time I’d seen them I wondered who’d need one in Florida. That was before our first winter here when temperatures had dropped to 28 degrees. Fortunately, Rob and I had our fireplace cleaned and ready to use.

  Damn, Pam was right. I brushed away cobwebs from the poker, tongs, and andirons. Solid freakin’ brass, those tools were heavy. I used the emery cloth to polish them, remembering how casually Pam had mentioned what they’d cost. Rob had laughed when I told him. I smiled now, recalling how we had mimicked Pam and JC that night. We’d pretended our Hamburger Helper was prime rib, and we drank cheap beer out of champagne glasses. Rob had used the glass with the chip because he wanted only the best for his queen.

  Good times. Grateful for the many years I’d spent with Rob, I lifted my head to send up a silent prayer of thanks. I giggled at the skylight above me. Glad I didn’t do windows. A big old mess of bird poop was splattered on the glass.

  I dusted the knick-knacks and silk flowers on the mantel and moved on to the next task: the bathrooms. All three. Why the Nelsons needed a four-bedroom, three-bath home was beyond me. Scott was their only child, if you could consider him a child. I know from stories I’ve heard there are times he acts like a child instead of a man in his late twenties. Before he married one of the Reid girls, he’d been quite the rebel. From what I gathered, he’d straightened up and now worked nights in his father’s store full-time.

  Rob liked Scott, treated him like a younger brother. Rob had played on the VFW’s softball team with Scott, Pete, and Kevin. Scott had helped Rob with lots of work on the house, which reminded me I needed to thank him for helping Michael patch the roof.

  Fortunately, two of the bathrooms took little time, and I concentrated on the master bath. Not wanting any more notes written in all caps, I made sure it was spotless. Pam had more silk flowers in the bathrooms and I dusted them too. Maybe I could get some since I can’t be trusted with keeping live plants. I had to laugh when I thought back to the time I overwatered Diane’s plants. She has dozens of them and I think I killed half of them. She was pissed for a month.

  Dusting and vacuuming done, the kitchen was the last room to do. Since Pam used her kitchen as often as I used my own, I was finished in no time at all. I called Michael and he said he’d be right over.

  Crap. No envelope on the gathering island. The rich bitch was going to stiff me. I went through the kitchen drawers looking for it. Nothing. Her office maybe? I hadn’t seen it when I was cleaning in there earlier, but I’d check.

  Pam’s office was gorgeous and if I ever had one, I’d design it after hers. I snorted. Yeah, right. Her desk alone would probably pay off two of my creditors. Speaking of pay, no envelope in sight.

  Her briefcase leaned against the bottom desk drawer and I moved it. I rifled through the desk drawers, stacks of papers, and found nothing. Now I was pissed. I turned, ready to storm out, and promptly stubbed my toe on the stupid desk leg. Now I was pissed and in pain.

  I kicked Pam’s briefcase and sent it flying across the room. It landed by the door. Stupid desk. Stupid briefcase. Stupid Pam for not paying me. Stupid me for not looking for the envelope before doing all that work.

  Okay, breathe. Flipping out would get me nowhere. I strode over to the briefcase to put it back where it belonged. Something stuck out from behind the door. Pam’s tri-folded cardboard D.A.R.E. display.

  Pam Nelson had been instrumental in getting the police department to implement the D.A.R.E. program in the school system. She felt the county was behind the times and needed to “save our children from the dangers of drugs.” Pam was very vocal about her own history with drugs and she visited all of the schools to spread the word, carrying this display with her.

  I checked to make sure I hadn’t damaged it during my little tantrum. Crap. The doorknob must’ve hit and punctured one of the small baggies taped to the cardboard. A cloud of white powder poofed in the air. The label beneath the baggie read Cocaine.

  Really? I dipped a wet fingertip in the powder, tasted it, and waited for my tongue to go numb. Flour. Regular, ordinary flour. I quickly replaced it with a new baggie and buried the ripped one in the trash. Hopefully, Pam wouldn’t catch on to what I’d done.

  I heard a car horn and looked out the front window. Michael, my hero. I dodged raindrops as I sprinted to his car.

  “I want to swing by the school and pick up Chris,” he said as I buckled up. “I don’t want her walking from the bus stop in this rain.”

  “Sure, no problem.” I thanked him for coming to get me. “I really appreciate all the help you’re giving me, Michael.”r />
  “Glad to do it. Besides, I was starting to feel a little bored from not working. We’re helping each other out.” He backed out of the Nelsons’ driveway. “Oh, and Maggie, speaking of helping each other out—and don’t worry about paying me back—but I went ahead and got a new battery for your car.”

  Wow. All that in one breath. “I’ll start running a tab for what I owe you, okay? And thanks.”

  “There’s more,” he said. “The battery wasn’t dead, it was missing. Stolen.”

  “What? Stolen? Who would steal a battery? And why? And how?”

  “Probably no way to find the thief, for parts, and if you left your car unlocked, they simply released the hood. The mechanic said it didn’t look like the car had been broken into. Was it locked?”

  “Of course it was. I always lock—well, I think I did.” I vaguely remembered having my hands full the night before. “I was carrying the grocery bag with the lasagna and … well, crap, I don’t remember locking the car door. Damn.” Could last night’s prank phone call be connected? I hadn’t told Michael yet about the call, and now wasn’t the time as we got closer to the school.

  Michael pulled into the long line of waiting cars outside the elementary school. The kids were just coming out. Michael jumped out of the car. He whistled and Chris came running over, sliding into the backseat.

  “Hi, Chris,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I turned and looked at her. I repeated my greeting. Still nothing.

  “Chris, Maggie’s talking to you.”

  “Hi,” she mumbled, her head turned toward the window.

  I had no children, but I recognized a pissed-off kid. And I was looking right at one. I shrugged it off, figuring even ten-year-olds can have bad days.

  Michael dropped me off in front of the house and I ran up to the porch while he pulled into the driveway. I reached into my mailbox and pulled out a stack of envelopes. Even with the newly patched porch roof, the soaked doormat wasn’t up to its purpose, but I made it inside without tracking in wet leaves or mud.

  Only one new message on my answering machine. Maybe it was Pam apologizing for forgetting to pay me. I pushed the button and heard Sam’s voice.

  When would I learn to stop listening to my messages? This must’ve been the dreadful news Pam had been talking about last night.

  Thirteen

  Suspended for five days. Then a meeting to determine my future with the VFW scheduled later. Meanwhile, they wanted my keys ASAP.

  Oh, and no pay while on suspension, of course. Rat bastards.

  Sam’s voice was so curt I figured someone was standing nearby while he made the phone call. Otherwise, I’m sure he would’ve been more gentle, sympathetic.

  Yeah, right. A quick picture of him running to the kitchen to get that damn baggie for Bobby Lee reminded me how loyal Sam was. What could I expect, really? Sam was only looking out for himself. Hell, he needed his job.

  Yeah, and so did I.

  Whoa. Enough of this. All this back and forth garbage berating then defending Sam was making my headache come back.

  I rubbed my temples and started to go upstairs when someone knocked on the front door. I peered through the peephole, saw Chris, and opened the door.

  “Hi, Maggie, I apologize for my rude behavior earlier. It’ll never happen again. I promise.”

  Wow. Nothing like a rehearsed grown-up apology. I smiled at her and said, “So, what’s up? Still mad at me for whatever reason?”

  Chris bit her bottom lip, tears welling up. Oh, man. Now what? I am so not used to kids. I wanted to give her candy or ice cream or anything to make her not cry. Totally out of my element. Normally I’d tell a joke to defuse an awkward situation. For the life of me I couldn’t think of one clean enough to tell Chris. I ended up just hugging her.

  “I really am sorry,” she mumbled against my shoulder. “I’m not mad at you. It’s just—just that …” She pulled away from me. Her little face was red and wet from tears. “Somebody at school called me a liar ’cause she didn’t believe me when I told them about your treasure.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. What can I do?”

  Chris shook her head. “I dunno. But I’m not a liar.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” I said. “Hey, go ask your dad if you can come in for a while to visit. I bet I could find some ice cream. That always cheers me up.”

  “Okay! I’ll be right back.”

  After quickly getting out of my damp jeans, I prayed I had some ice cream in the freezer. Sure enough. I scraped enough to fill two small bowls when Chris came up.

  “Hope you like strawberry.” I pushed a bowl toward her and we sat at my kitchen table.

  “It’s my third favorite after Rocky Road and Moose Tracks.” She grabbed her spoon and dug in. I followed suit, concentrating on eating because I sure didn’t know what to talk about with a ten-year-old.

  I needn’t have worried. Once she started talking about school, her classes, and friends, there was no stopping her if I’d wanted. I learned all about her best friend, her favorite teacher, and more.

  A lot more. Stuff I’m sure Michael wouldn’t want her talking about. How he and her mom still fight over the phone, why they moved to North DeSoto, and how much she missed her mother. As curious as I was, I knew I had to be the grown-up and change the subject.

  I was saved by the bell—literally—when Michael called for Chris to come home. We hugged again and she thanked me. I set the bowls in the sink with the other few dishes I’d let pile up, and wondered what to do with myself. This time of day I’d usually be on my way to the club.

  Five more days without work. And then what? No guarantee I’d have a job after their meeting. Why were they waiting anyway? Why not hold the meeting now, get it over with?

  What the hell was I going to do? Maybe there was another job out there for me. Considering it a luxury I couldn’t afford, I’d dropped my newspaper subscription months ago. The online edition did just fine.

  While waiting for the computer to boot, I went to my bedroom closet and searched for something to wear for a job interview, should I get lucky. Finally I came across a black blazer that would go with my black slacks and gray sweater. I could wear the outfit to Jack’s funeral too. I set the blazer aside and went back to read the classifieds. Nothing suitable. Damn.

  Damn Pam. More than ever, I needed the fify-five bucks she owed me. I knew I’d find her at the club, and I was supposed to turn in my keys, but … I dreaded going in that place. Plus, let the bastards wait for their keys. But I needed money. This wishy-washiness was driving me nuts. My head felt like it was about to explode. Or would that be implode? I needed to do something constructive.

  I decided to catch up on figuring which lucky creditors would get money from me this month. Two deposited paychecks—measly as they were—and half my tips would pay the cemetery, plus the phone and electric companies. Visa and the water company were paid last month, so I skipped them this time around. I felt like a friggin’ juggler. The rest of my tips would get me some food and my monthly box of wine. Not having a job to drive to would save on gas money. Oh, joy.

  I played a game of Solitaire, then Free Cell. I switched over to Hearts, changed the players’ names to JC, Dick, and Bobby Lee and slammed their asses. This passive-aggressive side of me was starting to be fun.

  It also wasn’t getting me anywhere. I needed to go in there, demand my money from Pam, and throw the keys down on the bar. Yeah!

  Yeah, right. What I needed was for Michael to go in there with me, interrogate the hell out of everybody, find out who’s framing me, and get my job back. I pushed the chair away from the desk and headed toward the phone to call Michael. After a few minutes of talking to him, I felt better. I told him I’d appreciate his moral support because I had a bad feeling. We agreed to meet at his car at six, drop Chris off at her friend’s, and then go to the club.
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  An hour later, Chris lugged her backpack into the backseat while Michael explained that she had another study date with her friend Heather. We’d have a couple of hours to spend at the club before Heather’s mom brought her home.

  Oh, right, good old Terri. Stop, I told myself.

  “Looks like most of the regulars are here,” I told Michael when he pulled into the VFW parking lot. “Pete will be on the road, and Scott works nights at the hardware store, but it looks like everyone else is accounted for.”

  We were greeted with a loud chorus of “Hey, Maggie’s here!” Word of my definitely being suspended had apparently gotten around because no one asked about it. I wondered about the ratio of truth to bullshit in the rumors going around. I was once again amazed how fast news traveled in this place.

  Michael and I walked through the dining room to get to the bar, passing Dick, Diane, and one of their daughters sitting at a table with JC. Terrific. Where the hell was Pam? She was the one I really wanted to see. They all nodded in greeting. I nodded back. I’d make nice as long as they did too. I stopped to hug Kevin and sign the daily book, then we grabbed a couple of empty stools at the bar.

  Sam came right over and took our order. Michael stuck to his usual soda since he was driving. Sam brought it and my beer over and set them down in front of us. “On me,” he said, pushing my money back to me. “How are you, Maggie? Been worried about you.”

  “I’m just hunky dory, Sam.” I met his eyes. He might care, but I wasn’t handing over the damn keys until he asked for them.

  “Good, good,” he answered.

  Michael said, “I suppose you’ll be working a lot of extra hours? Late nights, early days.”

  “Yeah, well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I’ll probably close up early tonight.”

  I took a quick gulp of my beer to keep myself from commenting. Yeah, sure, now that it wasn’t me back there, they could go ahead and close early. Do whatever the hell they wanted and not get in any trouble for it. Must be nice. I sipped more beer.