by Linz, Cathie
“Okay, ladies, are you ready to shake your stuff?”
The cinder-block walls of the Rock Creek community center ricocheted the sound of belly-dancing music for Skye’s Wednesday class.
“Wait,” Fanny Abernathy demanded. At eighty-two, she was the oldest one in the class. “Turn off the music a minute.”
Skye did so.
“Is it true you were arrested for indecent exposure yesterday?” Fanny asked.
“Of course not,” Nancy Crumpler answered on her behalf. “Hey, did I ever tell you all about the time I was a dancer in Vegas? Now there’s a story.”
Her comment surprised Skye. “But your sister is a nun.”
“Yeah, she’s the good sister. I’m the bad one,” Nancy said proudly.
“I can relate to that,” Skye said. “My sister Julia is the perfect one in the family.”
“The librarian from Serenity Falls? I heard she took off on the back of a Harley with some bad boy six months ago.”
“Her one attempt to out-bad me,” Skye scoffed. “Not that that was possible. It takes a certain something to be a bad girl, and Julia just doesn’t have it.”
“What kind of something?” Fanny asked.
“Bad girls make things happen,” Skye replied.
“That’s right,” Nancy agreed.
Skye swiveled her hips. “Bad girls have coast-to-coast confidence.”
“They’re cheeky. And some have great cheeks.” Nancy turned her back to everyone and cupped her firm bottom with her hands before giving them all a wiggle to demonstrate. “There’s a reason the sign on Crumpler’s Auto Parts says ‘We Have the Best Parts Around.’ This here”—she pointed to her derriere—“is definitely my best part.”
The entire class cracked up. Octogenarian Fanny giggled so hard, they almost had to do a Heimlich on her.
“They’re sassy and saucy,” Skye continued.
“Are you talking about bad girls or Nancy’s bottom?” Fanny demanded.
Skye grinned. “Both. Bad girls don’t have a plan for life. They only know what they want right now, and they go after it.”
“So what do you want right now?” Fanny asked.
“To get this class moving.”
“Have you heard when your sister is coming back?”
“No.”
“Do you think she knows about your being arrested?”
“I wasn’t actually arrested.”
“A lot of people saw you entering the police station in handcuffs.”
“Handcuffs were involved, yes.”
“You mean you and the sheriff were just having fun?” Fanny frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him. He’s not the type to have fun. You know his story, right?”
“I know he’s an uptight pain in the butt,” Skye said.
“It’s not polite to talk about an officer of the law that way.”
“She’s already told you she’s a bad girl,” Nancy said.
Fanny shook her head. “Even so . . . Do you know why Nathan is the way he is?”
“No,” Skye said. She didn’t want to know anything that might make Nathan more appealing. “And I don’t care.”
“It’s a tragic story, really. I can’t believe you’ve been in Rock Creek for several months and you haven’t heard about it.”
“Successful avoidance on my part,” Skye muttered.
Fanny pursed her lips. “But why would you want to do that?”
“Maybe tragedy makes her cry,” Nancy suggested. “It makes her mother cry.”
“Bad girls probably don’t cry, huh?” Fanny looked to Skye for the answer.
“Not unless they’re after something,” Skye said. “Okay, ladies, let’s get down to business here. Prepare to let your inner diva out.”
As Skye went through the familiar movements of her dance, she felt the stress gradually leave her body. She ordered thoughts of Studly Do-Right to depart as well, but being the stubborn sort . . . he refused.
So she imagined him posing nude for some calendar, figuring that should chase him out of her thoughts. No such luck. He made a mighty fine Mr. May.
“I’m home!” Skye called out later that afternoon as she walked into her apartment above the deserted Tivoli Theater.
The entire building had been for sale for over a year. No one wanted to buy it. So the once brilliant movie theater remained dark, as it had for quite a while apparently.
The realtor who was selling it was in one of Skye’s belly-dancing classes and had given her a very quick tour of the Tivoli when she first moved in. Red velvet seats baggy from thousands of patrons sitting in them. A deep blue ceiling painted with hundreds of faded gold stars. A screen bigger than those in the megaplexes so popular these days.
The reality was that too many businesses in Rock Creek were boarded up with FOR SALE or FOR LEASE signs stuck in their vacant windows. The downtown area along Barwell Street was three blocks long . . . well, only two and a half if you didn’t count the south end of town, where the library, village hall, and sheriff ’s department were all located.
Nearby was the Dairy Queen, and a block down was Angelo’s Pizza. These were the only two eating establishments in Rock Creek. No Indian curry places or Thai take-out here. No organic fusion bistros to satisfy Skye’s food cravings.
Crumpler’s Auto Parts was on the northern end of town. Next up were three empty retail spaces, where Chuck’s Meat Market was the most recent to close its doors. Leah’s Nail Salon had been around for a while and seemed to be doing okay. Nick’s Tavern was still open next to the VFW hall on the corner, and doing a good business.
Another place with plenty of customers was the Sisters of the Poor Charity Thrift Shop. Which was why Algee said he’d chosen the empty space beside it to open his second Cosmic Comics store.
Gas4Less, a combo gas station/convenience store, was the only other really active business on that block.
Skye could see the thrift shop from her living room window. She’d gotten most of her furnishings from there, and from local garage sales. The lucky bamboo plant by the door was a gift from Angel, who dabbled in feng shui more than Skye did.
The spinning wheel in the corner of the living room was one of the few things Skye had brought with her from the West Coast. Angel was a better spinner than Skye, but Skye still enjoyed doing it when she had the time. Which wasn’t often these days. Not when she was scrambling to keep the bill collectors at bay.
Skye didn’t have the kind of spirit to fit into the mold of a regular nine-to-five job—not that there were many of those available these days in Rock Creek. Instead, she gave yoga and belly-dancing lessons. She also helped out Algee at the comic-book store on occasion, and her sister’s friend Pam at her bridal floral business if she needed an extra hand for an event. But those weren’t regular things.
Of course, Skye wasn’t into regular things. She was rather proud of that fact.
“Mommy!”
Skye was also proud of her daughter Toni. The kid was just like her. All attitude and cocky confidence.
Skye scooped her up into her arms, where Toni hung on to her like a little monkey—arms around her neck, legs around her waist.
“Who is this princess?” Skye demanded.
Toni straightened her crooked tiara. “I’m Cinderella. I’m making ’viron-mental good shoes with no leather.”
“Been telling her your version of the Cinderella story again, huh?” Skye said to Angel, who had joined them.
“Absolutely.”
“Cinderella is in the shoe business,” Toni recited. “But she’s not a capitalist pig even though she’s a princess.”
Skye smothered her with kisses before setting Toni free. “What kept you?” Angel said. “Usually you’re back from class before now.”
Skye shrugged. “I stopped at Gas4Less to get a few instant lottery tickets for Owen as a thank-you present. I hope I don’t lose them before I give them to him.”
“I don’t mind waiting if you want to run ove
r there now,” Angel said.
“Really? It’ll only take me a minute. And you know how I am about paperwork.”
“Go on, give them to him before you lose them.”
“I won’t be long. I’ll be right back,” Skye told her daughter before racing down the stairs and across the street to the stately building of the funeral home, where DRIVE SAFE. WE’ll WAIT was displayed on the sign out front.
Skye wasn’t good at either thing—playing it safe, or waiting. However, once inside, she did knock on Owen’s door and wait for his invitation to enter.
“Hi, Owen. I got you a surprise. Do you have a minute?”
He smiled at her. “For you, always.”
“I know how much you’re into the lottery, so I got you some of these cards.” She spread a handful of them on his desk.
“The Pennsylvania Lottery is the only one that uses the funds to benefit senior citizens, you know,” Owen told her.
“So you only participate to help seniors, huh?”
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Here.” He handed her a few of the cards. “Those are instant winners. Do me a favor and rub them with a coin for me.” He handed her a quarter. “My fingers are a little arthritic today.”
Skye felt badly for him. “I shouldn’t have gotten this kind, then. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. So what did you get?”
“I have no idea.” She held up the ticket to him.
“Not a winner. Try another one.”
“You do realize that the chances of your winning is probably something like one in a billion.”
“Actually, for this game, the odds are a little better.”
“You call this a game?” she scoffed. “Baseball is a game. This is a waste of time.”
“Let me see.”
Skye showed him.
“Not a winner. There’s one left,” he said.
“You know what you are?” After rubbing with the coin, Skye didn’t even bother looking at the card before showing it to him. “You’re an eternal optimist.”
“Son of a buck! You know what you are? You’re a winner!”
Chapter Four
“Right. It’s kind of you to say so, but I’ve got to go—”
“I’m not kidding!” Owen’s face was turning red with excitement. Or maybe he was having a stroke . . .
Great. She’d given him a gift that gave him heart trouble.
“Calm down,” she urged him. “Take a deep breath.”
“Are you listening to me? You’re a winner!”
“Here, sit down.” Skye hurried to his side and lowered Owen into the office chair.
He popped right back up. “I don’t need to sit down.”
“Okay, okay.” She was aiming for a soothing voice, but that wasn’t one she used very often. She sure didn’t want to sound bossy like her good-girl sister.
“You’re not hearing me.”
Skye tried to be sympathetic. “That’s a problem for a lot of people these days, the feeling that they’re not being heard. That their views and emotions aren’t valued.”
“I’m not talking about my views or emotions! I’m talking about the lottery!”
“Which you take seriously.” She patted his arm. “I get that. Really I do.”
“And do you get that this is a winning ticket?” He waved the card right in front of her nose, his arthritic knuckles almost hitting her. “An instant million-dollar winner!”
“Yeah, right. Very funny, Owen.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Let me see.” The way he was flapping that card around, she couldn’t read a word.
A second later, Owen was the one leading a shaken Skye to a chair. She jumped up a second later and hugged him. “I’m so glad for you!”
He blinked. “For me?”
“You’re a millionaire!”
“I was already a millionaire. A number of times over.”
“Well, now you’ve got even more.”
“It’s yours.” He held it out to her.
“No, it’s not.” She gently pushed against his hand. “I gave you the lottery ticket as a gift.”
“And I’m giving you the million dollars as a gift.”
“That hardly seems a fair exchange.”
“Skye, you need the money much more than I do. I’ve got no family left, aside from my pain-in-the-behind nephew, Milton. And heaven knows I don’t want him to have this. Think of what you could do with a million dollars.”
She shook her head. Money had never been important to her. She’d never bothered worrying about it. Somehow, some way, something always came through.
“Don’t you have a dream that you’d like to see come true?”
“Plenty of them,” she replied. “But a million dollars won’t bring world peace or end poverty or cure cancer.”
“What about a personal dream? One that only you would have. Not a charitable idea or hope, but something that seemed impossible for you to attain before.”
She stared at the ticket as if mesmerized before putting out a hand to ward off temptation. “You should donate the money to charity if you don’t want it for yourself. A million dollars might not cure cancer, but it would help fund more research.”
What kind of bad girl, are you? her inner voice mocked. Whoever heard of an altruistic bad girl?
“What are you afraid of?” Owen said.
Now those were fighting words, as far as Skye was concerned. Fear was not an emotion she allowed in her vocabulary. “Nothing!”
“And you expect me to believe that you couldn’t do a thing with an extra million dollars?”
“Extra suggests I had another million stockpiled someplace,” she noted dryly. “Which is definitely not the case.”
“You could start a college fund for your daughter. Or start a 401K retirement fund for yourself.”
“I’m only twenty-five and Toni is only four.”
“It’s never too soon to start planning for the future.”
“I’m more a dreamer than a planner.”
“Exactly.” Owen pounced on her words. “So dream big.” He spread his hands wide. “You could buy whatever you wanted just about. A huge house. New cars. Stocks and bonds.”
“Or the Tivoli Theater.”
“Or the Tivoli . . .” Owen paused as her words sank in. “The theater? You want to buy the theater? It’s been closed for years now.”
“I know. I live right above it, remember? And I got to take a look around when I first rented the apartment. The real estate agent let me in for a peek. It’s incredible inside. Tattered and bruised after being neglected. But, Owen, those walls talked to me.”
“It was one of the first theaters built for ‘talkies.’ ”
Noting the fondness in his voice, she said, “Why don’t you buy it, Owen?”
“I’ve got enough on my hands running the funeral home. I don’t need another business. But you could buy it.”
“I’m not a businessperson.”
“You’ve got passion and drive and a big dream. You can learn the rest.”
“No way.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I’m not practical.”
“Who says you have to be?”
Skye frowned. “I thought business owners had to be practical.”
“Depends.”
“You’re practical.”
“Yet here I am, handing over a million-dollar lottery ticket to you to buy the Tivoli Theater.”
He had her there. “Sounds pretty crazy,” she admitted.
“Anything wrong with that?”
“You are definitely asking the wrong person. I’m not exactly the traditional type.”
“Which is why you can dream big. You’re always talking about karma. You bought the ticket. It’s karma that you be the winner.”
“It seems more likely that you’ve earned the good karma by doing such good deeds, like paying off my speeding tickets.”
“You
’d do the same for me.”
“Yeah, I would,” Skye agreed. “The difference is that you’d never have a bunch of unpaid tickets.”
“Are you gonna hold that against me?”
“Of course not.”
“Then take the ticket. It’s yours. Please.” His voice softened. “It’s really what I want.”
“Maybe you should sleep on it . . .”
“Skye, I haven’t reached the ripe old age of seventy-three without knowing that I want. And I want you to have this. Karma and I want you to have this. So take it and make an old man happy.” He pressed the card into her hand.
“If you should change your mind . . .”
“I won’t.”
“But if you should . . .”
“I won’t.”
She’d never heard him speak so emphatically.
“The Tivoli Theater needs you,” he added with a twinkle in his light blue eyes. When she’d first met him, his eyes reminded her of Santa’s, in a poster she’d seen as a kid. They were the sort of eyes that drew you in, that radiated kindness and positive energy.
She hugged him fiercely. “When I reopen it, you’ve got a lifetime free pass.”
“That works for me.”
Skye blinked away a sudden wave of tears. She’d never been the weepy type. She was definitely emotional, but more passionate in nature than vulnerable.
Stepping away from her, Owen reached for a Kleenex from the box on his desk. “Now don’t get me started or we’ll both end up bawling,” he teased her.
“There’s no crying in baseball . . . ” she began.
“Or funeral directing,” he said, completing his favorite saying. “Now go on home and celebrate!”
Angel was cooking angel-hair pasta when Skye burst into the apartment.
“That took a while.” Angel’s attention remained on the marinara sauce she was creating on the stove.
“Yeah, well, I went over there broke and came back . . . a millionaire!” Skye danced Angel around the tiny kitchen.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t borrow more money from Owen, did you?”
“Of course not. In fact, I’m now in a position to pay him back.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of those lottery tickets I got him—turns out it was an instant winner.” Skye waved the ticket at Angel, much the way Owen had waved it at her.