by Ann McMan
She looked back at Syd. “Please remind me later that that’s back there.”
Syd pulled her close again. “What’s in it for me?”
Maddie kissed her. “I’ll do my best to come up with something.”
Syd turned off the bedside lamp.
“Damn straight, Skippy.”
“I NEED TO discuss something with you, and I need for you to be serious.”
David looked up from his laptop.
“I’m always serious.”
Michael walked to the kitchen table and sat down. “Really?”
David nodded.
“What are you doing?”
David stared at him. The blue light from his laptop screen made his face look iridescent. “I’m working on the fundraising calendar.”
Michael sighed. “I thought so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Honey, we talked about this idea. Nobody in Jericho is going to buy those.”
David snapped the laptop shut. “You’re always so negative about any ideas I have.”
“Only when they stand a good chance of violating about twenty-five Commonwealth obscenity laws.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with this idea. It’s an innocent fundraiser, designed to help out with the storm recovery effort.”
They’d had this conversation before. Many times.
“Right. Having a bunch of beefy guys pose nude with cast-off car parts doesn’t strike you as being the tiniest bit inappropriate for a general audience?”
David looked offended now. “No. It does not. And all the car parts will be strategically placed so the photos will be entirely PG. Bruno assured me that it would all be very tasteful.”
“Bruno?”
David nodded.
Something about that name rang a bell. “Bruno Diaz, the porn star?”
“Former porn star. He’s retired. Now he runs a photo studio and tanning salon—totally legit. We connected on LinkedIn. He’s very committed to the artistic integrity of this project.”
Michael shook his head. “David. Three quarters of the population of this county is Southern Baptist. Believe me when I tell you that they are not going to want to hang a pinup calendar called The Full Monte Carlo up on their refrigerators—no matter who it benefits.”
David pouted. “You always rain on my parade.”
Michael patted him on the arm. “Buck up Fanny Brice. I’ve got something else for you to sink your teeth into. That’s why I said I wanted to have a serious conversation.”
“We’re already having a serious conversation.”
“No. I mean really serious.”
David looked back at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this about that guy at the tire store?”
“What guy at the tire store?”
“Because I knew there was something about him I didn’t trust.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The way he looked at you when we were in there on Tuesday. He was totally checking out your stuff.”
Michael was completely confused now. “What stuff?”
David waved his hand around in circles. “Your stuff—your package. I shoulda smelled a rat last week when you came home with that box of valve stems.”
“I repeat: what are you talking about?”
“Like you’d even know what to do with a valve stem.”
In frustration, Michael snapped his fingers in front of David’s face. “Hello? Anybody home in there? I picked those up for Maddie.”
David paused in his tirade. “For Maddie?” He still looked suspicious.
“Yes. For Maddie.”
“What the hell is she going to do with them?”
Michael shrugged. “How should I know? Some lesbionic thing, no doubt.”
“Oh. Well.” David sat back against his chair and crossed his legs. “That sounds about right.” He smiled. “So. You wanted to talk with me about something?”
Michael looked at him in wonder. “I honestly don’t know why I haven’t strangled you before now.”
David jerked his head toward the front parlor, where Maddie and Syd had already retired for the night. “I’m afraid you’d have to get in line.”
“Why?” Michael said with alarm. “What happened now?”
David sighed. “Well . . . it seems that Astrid found Barney.”
Michael was confused. “Barney?”
“Yeah . . . Barney. You know . . . our little purple—”
“Oh, my god! You’re not telling me that you brought that thing over here?”
David shrugged.
“I thought it disappeared more than a year ago? Where did you find it?”
“For your information, I didn’t find it. It must’ve been in Astrid’s toy box. It just came along when I packed up the rest of her stuff.”
Michael covered his face with his hands. “David . . . they have a child living here.”
“I know that.”
“He lowered his hands. “Well start acting like it. If you don’t, we’ll both end up on an amber alert list.”
“You don’t think I already heard this same lecture—twice—earlier tonight from Dr. Kildare?”
Michael sighed. “We’re going to have to find someplace else to stay.”
“Why?” David looked distressed.
“Because you’re supposed to be his surrogate uncle, not his Auntie Mame.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not kidding, David. You need to dial it back.”
David looked at him blankly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Michael sighed. “You know, it truly frightens me that you actually mean that.”
“I’m good for Henry.”
“In the sense that you sincerely care about him—yes, you are. But, honey,” he laid a hand on David’s leg, “Maddie and Syd have done an exceptional job for well more than a year now, diverting attention from their lifestyle as it relates to fostering a child here. Let’s do our part not to blow all that good effort to smithereens in less than a month.”
David’s brown eyes looked wounded. “I love Henry. I would never do anything to hurt him.”
“I know that. I feel the same way. And it’s up to us to protect him by not doing things that draw attention to his . . . eclectic home environment.”
“So you’re saying that I need to straighten up while we’re living here?” He made air quotes with his fingers.
“No,” Michael corrected. “I’m saying that you need to grow up while we’re living here. It’s not the same thing.”
David sighed. “I’ll try.”
Michael patted his leg. “I know you will.”
They sat there in silence for a moment. Somewhere inside the house a clock chimed.
“So, what was this other thing you wanted to talk with me about?” David asked. He started to pack up his laptop for the night.
“Oh, that.” Michael smiled. “Remember how we always said we wanted to find a way to tap into the local food culture, so our business wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on out-of-town traffic?”
David nodded.
“Well . . . I met a woman named Nadine Odell today, and I think she just might be the answer to our problem.”
David paused, mid cord-wrap. “Nadine Odell?”
Michael nodded.
“Nicorette’s mom?”
Michael’s jaw fell open. “You know her?”
David rolled his eyes. “Duh. Fabulous tattoos.”
Michael was bewildered. “How in the hell do you know her?”
David sighed. “Nicky plays clarinet in the school band. I play clarinet in Mamma’s obscene parody of a symphony? Syd has me work with the kids once a month?” He paused. “Any of this ring any bells for you, there, Inspector Clouseau?”
Michael shook his head. “I so do not believe this.”
“Believe it. Unlike you, I have my finger on the pulse of this county.”
Michae
l continued to look at him in amazement.
“Okay,” David said with exaggerated patience. “Let me try and clarify all of this for you. Nicky’s aunt Evelyn—Nadine’s sister—is married to Curtis Freemantle’s brother, Cletus. They live out near Troutdale in that apartment over the old Esso station—the one at the crossroads before you get to the turnoff for Ripshin Road? Cletus works at Junior’s—you know . . . where the infamous Camaro was parked before that damn tornado slung it around like a Roman battle mace? And he’s rumored to be the best dent man in five counties. He’s the one who fixed the passenger door on the Rover last August, after that damn, fatass B4 smacked into it at the low-water crossing. Cletus and Evelyn are taking care of Azalea—the Freemantle matriarch. Curtis says she’s got Alzheimer’s disease, but Edna says there’s nothing wrong with her memory, she’s just mean as a snake. I asked Maddie about that, but you know how she is. She won’t give up shit. But at the Methodist church chicken supper, Peggy Hawkes was overheard telling Muriel Greene that Azalea might have some drug-induced dementia because she keeps mixing brand name and generic forms of the same drugs—insisting that they’re different. This was right after Azalea threw that plate of slaw at Edna and started screaming that she was a whoring Jezebel. Azalea has never trusted Edna because her people were carpetbaggers who came to Virginia from Ohio after the War of Northern Aggression. That’s why Cletus and Evelyn have to take care of her now. Anyway . . . Nadine’s husband, Raymond Jackson, works as a dispatcher for one of the bigger Christmas tree farms over in Jefferson. He’s the one who hired Carlos Sanchez. Nadine never took his name—she’s always been independent like that. The Odell sisters have been running that little Midway Café for about five years now. Ever since the former owner, Travis Beeler, broke his neck after getting thrown from that mechanical bucking bull they used to have over at Bixby’s. He was running around with Deb Carlson then, and lots of people say that’s when her streak of bad luck started. Personally, I think that’s when Travis’s streak of bad luck started. He never should’ve taken up with her. Talk about your whoring Jezebels . . . that woman blows through men faster than a single-ply Kleenex.”
“Stop.” Michael held up both hands. “Please. I beg you to stop.”
David raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”
Michael just shook his head. “I have no idea what I’ve been doing with my time.”
David gave him a smug smile. “We each have our own special gifts, baby cakes.”
Michael was in a daze. “I feel like I’m married to Rona Barrett.”
“Rona Barrett?” David scoffed. “Puh-lease. With that hair helmet? I don’t think so.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Okay, then . . . Billy Bush.”
“That’s more like it.” David smiled at him. “So, you wanted to talk with me about working out some kind of reciprocal arrangement with the Odell sisters? I think that’s a great idea. I’ve always wanted to get my mitts on that quaint little café. With a dash of imagination, some track lighting, a few potted plants, and a bolt of the right fabric—we can gay that joint right up. And it’s perfect timing, since the Inn will be offline for at least the next month or two.”
Michael slowly got up from his chair. “I need a drink.”
“Ooohhh,” David cooed. “Me, too. Fix us a couple of mojitos—and I’ll start working on the sketches.”
Chapter 8
MADDIE HAD FINISHED seeing patients for the day and was in her office, transcribing some notes when her phone rang. She answered it without checking the caller I.D.
“This is Dr. Stevenson.”
“This is Dr. Heller,” the voice on the phone said.
Maddie smiled and sat back in her chair. “Well, hello, Mom. This is a nice surprise.”
“Hello to you, too,” Celine said. “I was hoping I could catch you before you left for the day.”
Maddie laughed. “You know how that goes. If I don’t get my notes entered before I leave, it’s not going to happen.”
“I remember,” Celine said. “I was lucky if your father walked in the door before you were in your pajamas.”
“I know. I try to be very diligent about making it home in time to have dinner with Henry.” She smiled. “Syd would hand me my ass if I didn’t.”
Celine chuckled. “How is your whole extended-family arrangement working out?”
Maddie sighed. “Mostly okay. We’ve had a few . . . infractions . . . related to some of David’s eccentricities.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Believe when I tell you that you probably can’t.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Precisely.”
“Well. I was wondering if you’d be able to provide accommodations for one more lodger—temporarily.”
Maddie sat up. “Really? Of course. Where are you?”
“I’m in Baltimore—at Hopkins.”
“You are? I didn’t know you were coming east.”
“It wasn’t planned. The Kimmel Center is doing a seminar on neurodegeneration in Parkinson’s disease, and one of their panel participants had to cancel at the last minute. They needed a toxicologist, and I needed an excuse to come and see my surrogate grandson.”
Maddie smiled. “You don’t need an excuse for that, Mom.”
“I didn’t want to presume—especially with Syd’s injury. How is she, by the way?”
“Oh, she’s about ready to run a half marathon. Two more weeks, then we’ll transition her to a soft-cast boot. I’m threatening to tie an anchor to her shirttail if she doesn’t slow down.”
“I’m anxious to see her. I actually had lunch with her uncle yesterday.”
“Marsh?”
“Um hm. GSK was well-represented at the conference. It was good to see him. He’s done very well.”
Maddie smiled. “He had a great teacher.”
Celine was quiet for a moment. “I had to fight an impulse to disagree with you.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“We learn by doing.”
“That we do.”
“Well,” Celine changed the subject, “I should be able to shake free up here by early Friday afternoon. I can look into renting a car, or see what flights I can get into Roanoke.”
Maddie thought about that. “I’ve got a better idea. How about you cash in some of those unused frequent flier miles on Stevenson Air, and let me come pick you up?”
“Oh, no. You know I hate riding in that thing.”
“Mom,” Maddie corrected. “You’ve never ridden in this thing. Trust me. It’s a far cry from that puddle-jumper Dad had a hundred years ago. I’ll even bring along some in-flight entertainment.”
“I’m afraid to even ask what that means,” Celine said.
“It means I’ll bring Henry. He’ll be ecstatic about seeing you, and the trip will thrill him.”
“Oh, now that’s just playing dirty, Maddoe.”
“Come on . . . it’s a short flight, and we can have you back here in time for a late supper.” She paused for effect. “You don’t want to miss that. Michael cooks, Henry accidentally feeds any vegetables he doesn’t recognize to Pete, and David wears one of the two-dozen dinner jackets the tornado chose not to take. In case you were curious, the puce one is his current favorite.”
Celine laughed.
“What do you say?”
“How about you check this out with Syd, then let me know if, when, and where to meet you?”
Maddie smiled. “How about I do that and call you back in about ten seconds?”
“It’s a deal.”
“How long can you stay?”
“I’m thinking it will only be a few days—unless I can convince Laszlow to cover the last session of my toxicology seminar—then I might be able to extend my stay a bit.”
“Really? By how much?”
“Maybe as long as a week, or a week or two, even. But I have to be back in California by the first of the month at the latest.”
Maddie tho
ught about that. “Can you take David with you?”