Something Old, Something Dead

by Misty Simon

  I pushed on the door to the renovated old house-turned-business building on Main Street and met resistance. Shouldn’t the office be open?

  I was momentarily distracted when I could have sworn I saw Doris driving down the street in a car I didn’t recognize. In the passenger seat was a man that was definitely not Horace—not enough yellow hair. Curiouser and curiouser. I tried to gauge whether or not I could run home, get my car, and follow them, but realized that was a pipe dream. Even if they went the prescribed twenty-five miles an hour in town, there was no way I’d catch up.

  So I decided to head back over to Martha’s to see if I could catch Horace alone and hopefully awake this time. Though at least he didn’t bother me as much in a coma-like state. The snoring wasn’t music to my ears, but it was better than his droning on and on about his accomplishments. According to him, despite how fabulous he was at everything he touched, they still had no money and he had to work his butt off to get where he was right now.

  I paused at the diner when from the front window I saw Martha cooking. She was still supposed to be home hanging out with my dad. Well, it gave me an excuse to get a little bite to eat before I went over and dealt with the bum.

  One grilled cheese, a plate of gravy-covered fries, and a bowl of tomato bisque later, I flagged down Martha and her coffeepot. “Hey, what are you doing here?” No, it didn’t take me long to scarf all that down, and Martha had been busy, so I hadn’t had a chance to get her attention before.

  “I couldn’t stand being in that house one more minute.” She punctuated each word with a swipe at the table with her dishrag. The poor Formica was going to rub off if she kept it up.

  “Where’s Dad?” I forked some of the remaining fries into my mouth and chewed while waiting for the steam to stop rising out of her ears.

  “I made him stay there with Horace and Doris. Someone needs to make sure they don’t take any of our stuff.” She huffed and sat down across from me. “Can you believe Horace thinks we should double his pay for the wedding, as combat pay? Combat pay! And he’s not kidding. He had the invoice ready and everything.” She tipped her head back, and I watched her swallow. When she came back up her eyes were glistening, and I felt terrible for her. I tried to give her some ammo to keep him at bay, at least.

  “Listen, I don’t know what he’s telling you or even what he’s doing, but I was in the bank yesterday, and he walked out all by himself with no help and no nursemaid. He did, however, have a fan of cash. It looked like eight stacks to me. I don’t know where he was going with the money, or what he was doing with it, but he looked awfully happy for someone who is so whiny and complaining when he’s at your house.”

  The steam erupted again. I think she would have gone and blasted Horace that very moment if I hadn’t gripped her arm. Even when I did have a grip on her, she still almost tore away.

  “Wait, wait!” I said, not wanting her to charge off like some avenging, white-haired angel. “Wait, Martha. Sit down for a second, and let’s talk about this before we jump to conclusions.”

  “The only conclusion I’m jumping to is that I am going to kick that man’s ass from here to Kingdom Come when I get home.”

  “And I totally understand how you feel, but let’s sit down for a minute and talk this over.”

  She glowered at me. I almost quelled under the dark look, but I straightened my spine and waited her out. Eventually she chuffed out a breath, seeming to slump in on herself. “All right, talk.”

  But then I didn’t really have anything to say. Damn. So, I ended up fumbling around for an explanation until I hit on something that made at least a little sense. “Maybe he’s lying about not having money and wants to yank your chain. Why don’t you give him enough of that chain to hang himself with?”

  She laughed a devilish laugh, twirling a piece of hair at her ear like it was a long sinister moustache from Saturday morning cartoons of yore. “You know what, Ivy? I think you are absolutely right. Yes, absolutely right. I’ll give him enough chain to hang himself, and then I won’t have to see him ever again. You are a very smart woman. I appreciate it.”

  And didn’t that make me feel like I’d won a medal? But I only said, “Well, I do try, Martha.”

  ****

  I did not want to be involved in Martha’s plan, whatever it was. I had enough on my plate, and I’d forgotten to ask her again about what was going on with all the hussies in town.

  I settled into my couch with a bowl of popcorn and prepared myself to watch my very favorite, sexiest elf in the world. There is just something about those ears. And since Ben was out on an assignment tonight, and Martha and Dad had plans, I was all by my lonesome. It felt like Heaven.

  I was wrapped in war and boundless love of the elfin kind when a knock sounded on my door. I thought about ignoring it. Everyone had something to do tonight, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. But incessant knocking is like an endlessly ringing phone, and I couldn’t handle that either.

  Lumbering off the couch, I put my popcorn on the coffee table and went to the door. Looking out the glass, I saw a silhouette and got all tingly. Only one man made me feel that way, so I swept open the door with the naughtiest thoughts in my head giving me a feline-like smile, and came face to face with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I want to say “unfortunately” here, I really do. In fact, I should say “unfortunately” when I tell you it wasn’t the Ben kind of him. But something still tingled up my spine when I came face to face with the really handsome guy from the wedding reception. And me in my rattiest sweat pants and a hoodie two sizes too big. Argh!

  “Hello.” His deep voice rumbled through me across the three feet of space separating us. I suppressed the shiver waiting to work its way through me.

  I was in a committed relationship, even if half of that relationship was being a blind nitwit. And I couldn’t stand here all night ogling this man’s great chest, or looking to see if he had the kind of ears that could turn me to putty. Ahem.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t cringe when he told me he was from some new God’s church and wanted me to be a member, contributor, or concubine.

  “Actually, I need directions and thought I’d stop before I got completely lost.” His smile bloomed across his face, and it was a sight to behold. But all I could think was, Is this guy for real? He stopped to ask for directions? Directions!

  “Oh, um, I may not be the best person to ask, but I’ll certainly try. I’m still pretty new here. Where are you going?” Please, let me know the way.

  “I’m supposed to be at the Bubbling Brook Bed and Breakfast in ten minutes, but I seem to have made a wrong turn.”

  Admitting he was wrong? This guy was absolutely too good to true. If he’d had pointy ears I might have been forced to drag him to the ground and nibble. I cleared my throat, instead, and wished for a tall glass of cold water to dunk my fat head in. I was in a relationship with Ben! Pity I had to remind myself of that again.

  I gave him the directions he sought and ducked back into the house after he thanked me with a smile and a wink. Fanning myself, I didn’t know if going back to watch Legolas at this point was in my best interest. I might spontaneously combust on the spot. And wouldn’t that make a lovely picture in the morning when someone came looking for me because I hadn’t opened the shop to all the randy women in this town?

  ****

  I didn’t have to end up worrying about that at all, since a solicitor called ten minutes later, and I ended up fighting with some guy who was sure I had to have a credit card with their low APR. When I told him, “No, thank you,” in my politest voice, he told me that since I was the little woman of the house perhaps he should talk to the man of the house, to get a more informed answer.

  Oh, how wrong he was. I was master of my house and not a little woman. His ears were probably bleeding when he finally hung up on me and my tirade.

  So, here I was back at the shop the following morning, selling more l
ingerie than I thought I had stocked. A few riding crops crossed my counter, too, but I wasn’t going to think about that right now.

  And Mr. Hanks, my man of the banana hammocks, came strolling into The Masked Shoppe just as I despaired of finding anything else to think about. He strolled right up to the counter, a big smile on his face. His stomach greeted me first, and he trailed a couple of seconds later. Honestly, how he saw the bikini underwear he bought after he put them on was beyond me, but I was not one to point the finger when my own body was certainly nowhere near a single digit size.

  “Hi, Mr. Hanks.” I pulled a bin out from under the counter. I’d been anticipating his visit for the last few days because I’d told him about the new shipment I’d received.

  “Hey, Ivy. Ready for me?” He laughed and his belly shook.

  I was never ready for him if he was going to ask me to judge how he looked in any of these outfits, but I was prepared for other circumstances. I simply smiled at him, knowing that any answer wouldn’t be a good one.

  “What have you got for me today?”

  I fisted my hand into the bin and came out with an impressive array of bikini underwear for the discerning man. Oxymoron? Not for the check he always wrote me.

  “Oh, that is very nice, very nice indeed. Do you have a room available for me to change in?”

  As if I would let him change anywhere else. But I led him and his handful of sequined, feathered, colored, and furry bikinis to the one open dressing room. While there, I checked the other rooms to make sure everyone had what they needed. With all my customers settled and trying on clothes, and no one else out in the front room, I sat down to make a list of things I still needed to know. It wouldn’t do me any good. I didn’t have the faintest idea where to start, but I wrote it anyway.

  The top person I thought I needed to get in touch with was the trumpeter’s wife, or ex-wife, as the case may be. I’d have to ask Jared or Ben to get me his last name. I chose Jared, and when I picked up the phone to call him, I grasped the receiver very hard to keep from crying. This should have been a call to Ben and then we would have started sneaking around or ferreting out information together. That was the way these things worked, but this time I didn’t know if I could deal with him and the bevy of beauties that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

  I’d make time for him tonight. Although those kisses went a long way toward fixing things, I had to be honest with myself and admit that until we talked, things weren’t going to feel the same.

  ****

  On my way home that night, I walked along the frozen sidewalk, trying valiantly not to fall flat on my ass and become a casualty of the season. Wouldn’t the other women in town love that?

  I walked through the front door of my warm cozy house to hear the phone ringing. Against my better judgment I picked it up and ended up on a four-way call with Maggie, Daisy, and Rose. I won’t try to describe the conversation, since even I had a hard time keeping straight who was talking. The gist of the whole conversation was, they had all gotten home okay but had started talking about the diner and come to the conclusion I was in danger from some of the women in town.

  Me? In danger? I asked, naïve.

  Yes! They chorused as one voice across the line.

  Apparently, some of the floozies were not merely content with dumping iced tea on me or stitching my dress wrong—Rose confirmed this tidbit after eavesdropping on Michelle, assistant seamstress to Sarah—but had decided to come after me, pitchforks high, and run me out of town. Where on earth were they getting these ideas? Was it a collective-consciousness thing that made them all insane? Just because I would be gone didn’t mean Ben would want any of them.

  When I told the Bouquet this, they scoffed and told me to be careful.

  I laughed, but still grabbed my handy-dandy bottle of spray cooking oil (a very good weapon in a bind, don’t laugh) and sat down to think in the living room.

  “I’m done with thinking,” I yelled at the silent TV, since no one else was in the house and I felt like yelling. I was tired of all this uncertainty. Tired of talking to Ben until either I was blue in the face or he finally understood what was going on and took an active part in trying to stop all this madness.

  Plus, I needed him. Yeah, he was being obtuse (good word), willingly or not. And yes, that really nice-looking guy had turned my head for a brief moment, but that didn’t mean I was ready to give up all we’d worked for over the last few months. I trusted Ben with my life and with my heart. I wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  So I rose off the couch, a testament to righteousness and determination, and sailed out the door.

  Of course, what really happened is I hauled my butt off the couch, tripped over a magazine I’d let drop to the floor, then stumbled out the door after grabbing my jacket. But we won’t go there.

  I hopped into my freezing car and huddled against the cold until I could get the heater to give out anything but cold air. When I could finally uncurl my frozen fingers enough to grip the wheel, I punched the gas and headed to Ben’s apartment building. He should be there. If not, I was fully prepared to wait for him to come home. I’d even brought a package of Tastykakes to keep me occupied.

  The drive was a short one, as any drive in town pretty much was. I arrived at the apartments in time for the heater to rev up to the point where I was warm, and of course, now it was time to get out of the car and brave the cold once more.

  I trudged through about a foot of snow. Okay it was barely two inches, but it felt like a foot. When I arrived at the main door, I looked up at the third set of windows on the right to make sure light shone through. I hadn’t called because I had a full head of steam going and I wanted time to calm down a little before I said anything.

  Blessed heat poured out from the hallway when I opened the door. I admit I basked for a moment and let my toes thaw before huffing up the stairs to Ben’s door. Maybe, in a few minutes, I would let Ben warm up the rest of me. The thought felt so good I shivered a little.

  I wanted so badly to get back on an even keel with the man of my dreams. This being on the outs sucked. I wanted his strong arms back around me and the whispering-in-the-ear thing to work its magic again.

  I figured I could knock on the door and announce my arrival. Or I could sneak in and hope he was in the shower, where I could molest him as he’d never been molested before.

  Yeah, I chose the molesting.

  I couldn’t hear anything going on behind the door. The worst that could happen was that I would scare the bejesus out of him while he watched TV. Then I could calm his nerves and work him into a frenzy by stripping naked and taking care of him. As long as it was as warm in his apartment as it was out in this hallway.

  I tried the door and found that it was indeed unlocked. Gotta love these small towns. Inching the door open, I peeked inside. And got the shock of my life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What the heck are you doing on the couch nearly naked with the door unlocked?” I yelled it, I’m not ashamed to admit. With all the crazy hussies on the loose, any one of them could have walked in and had her way with him before he even realized what was happening. “Must I watch you every minute of every day?”

  For his part, Ben turned his head lazily my way and gave me the half-cocked smile that melted my knees to liquid butter. It worked this time, too.

  “Why don’t you come on over here, Ivy, and I’ll tell you what I’m doing in the near buff with the door unlocked.”

  That was a lot of words for him to say, since I had made it to the couch by the word “come” and was draped across his lap sans jacket and boots at “buff.”

  “Eager?”

  “Mm-hmmm.” I was busy exploring his chest and had no time for actually forming whole words. Forget about talking when faced with all that lovely, naked flesh.

  “I’m eager, too,” he said, and I could tell from the intriguing way parts of him were nudging parts of me.

  It was the best spen
t night in ages. There were no elbows to the eye or falling off the couch, though I did maybe scratch a little too hard at one pretty intense moment and had to get him a small bandage after I could move again.

  I even got to sleep in his arms all night. It was exactly what I needed and sent thoughts of the other guy—Chocolate Eyes—flying up into the ether. I had all I needed, and all I needed had me. Twice.

  Was I going to let some local women screw up the best relationship I’d ever had? Absolutely not. Was I going to be blind when he was done doing the thing he did with his tongue? Probably. So I sat back and let it happen while I hummed with happiness.

  ****

  “Hey, babe,” Ben whispered in my ear, caressing my side as he slid his leg along mine under the covers.

  “Morning breath,” I murmured.

  “I don’t care.”

  Do you see now why I love him? “Okay, but don’t get mad at me if I don’t kiss you.”

  “You don’t have to kiss me to do this.”

  And he proceeded to make my head spin all over again.

  When I finally came back down to planet earth, I figured the least I could do was cook him some breakfast. I’d cooked for my dad for years and had most of the basics mastered. Beef Stroganoff? I was your woman. Eggs Benedict? I could do that, too. But since Ben appeared to have only one egg, two pieces of toast, and a full box of Pop-Tarts, even I was a little stymied.

  I racked my brain for ideas while we stood in the kitchen. As long as we were in here and not doing much else, I decided to broach the subject I hadn’t attempted last night.

  “Am I enough for you?” I asked with my head in the refrigerator. I peeked over the top of the fridge door to gauge his reaction.

  His expression resembled someone who had been pole-axed. “What?”

  “Did you really not hear me, or are you playing deaf?” I stood up taller, deciding I would have this conversation with actual eye contact.

  “I heard you, I guess. I just don’t understand where the question is coming from.” He leaned back against his counter and crossed his arms over his chest.