Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (15 page)

"Oh, hey Manny. I ran into your aunt Mo, and we were kind of catching up," I said.

His gaze went past me.

"'S'at right?" he asked. "How'd that go?"

"I'm still standing, aren't I?" I responded.

"Tressa and Mo had what you call a meeting of the minds, didn't we, Tressa? Aunt Mo thinks we understand each other pretty well, don't we, girlfriend?"

Oh, I understood Aunt Mo all right. She'd do anything to make sure her nephews were happy and apparently she still thought this cowgirl might still be the best candidate for the job when it came to the nephew towering over me.

Gulp.

"Tressa saw Mick at school. She wants his help on a story."

Manny's brows met in the middle.

"Help?" Oh He of Few Words said.

"Not help really. Just, you know, 'hey, give me a heads up if you hear anything' talk."

"Hear anything?" Manny frowned down at me.

"That's right! You never did tell Mo here what story you wanted Mick's help with."

"Oh I just thought maybe Mick might hear something about some of the stuff going on."

"Stuff?"

"The spray-painting. Vandalism. Thefts."

Manny's frown deepened.

"Thefts?"

"Oh, just some miscellaneous, er, lawn knickknacks," I said, not about to introduce Abigail Winegardner's gnome into the discussion. "We figure given the nature of the incidents, we're looking at a group of teens."

"We?"

I winced.

"My associates. My fellow reporter at the
Gazette
, my mom, my sister, me. You know. My posse."

One of Manny's lowered brows did a Mr. Spock move.

"Posse," he grunted.

"Tressa Jayne asked all kinds of questions about Jada Marie, too. Says she's interested in people. Just her nature, she says."

"Oh?"

Manny's brow went south again, forming a unibrow scowl.

"Well, would you look at the time?" I said, sensing Manny's displeasure like my pooches pick up the scent of the hated Hermione, my gammy's cat, after I've visited Gram. "I've got to run. Places to go. People to see. I'm so glad we had this little chat, Mo," I said. "You take care now, y'hear? Bye, bye, bye!" I made a beeline for the door.

"Yo. Barbie."

I stopped and turned.

"Barbie gonna pay for those?" Manny asked and pointed at my hands. I followed his look, mortified when I discovered the box of condoms clutched in my hand.

I shook my head.

"No. I don't believe I will," I said, placing the box on the checkout counter. "I sense the moment has passed."

Head down, I turned to the exit, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone.

"Shame." I heard Manny's voice soft and low as I walked out the door. "A damned shame."

His amused chuckle taunted me all the way out the door.

Cheeky devil!

"You got an extra napkin, Joe?" my gammy asked, grabbing the napkin from her new hubby's lap and sticking it in the collar of her peach blouse. "The coleslaw isn't as good as it used to be. Not enough mayo and sour cream. But the ribs are good, aren't they, Tressa?"

I nodded, securing my own paper towel bib.

"Very tasty," I said, gnawing on my final rib before putting it on my plate and sitting back. I sighed.

"I didn't think you were ever gonna come up for air there, Blondie," Joe said.

"Do you have a problem with women who enjoy their food, Joe?" I asked, sending a pointed look at his mate before settling on him.

"Do you, Joe?" Gammy asked. "You got a problem with that?"

Joe shook his head so ferociously I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd require a cervical adjustment.

"No, not at all! Not at all!" Politicians should have such convincing denials. "It's refreshing to see a woman enjoy her food with such gusto and relish."

Gram blinked.

"I'm not eating relish, Joe," she said. "Ribs with relish! Ugh."

I grinned.

My gammy is nothing if not literal.

"Isn't this nice?" she went on. "Double-dating with the grandkids."

"That's right. You're doing the dating scene," Joe said. "How many dates does this make?"

"Two," Rick said. "We had dinner with Brian and Kari the other night."

"They're newlyweds, too, aren't they?" Joe said. "Interesting. Very interesting."

I looked at my step-grandpappy.

"What do you mean, 'interesting'?"

He shrugged.

"Just that you've chosen to go out with newly married couples rather than singletons," he pointed out.

"And?"

"And that suggests an openness to that blissful state."

"What state?" Gram said. "Missouri? Minnesota? Arizona?"

"The state of matrimony," Joe said.

"That's a bit of a stretch," I said. "Kari happens to be my best friend, and Brian is a friend of your grandson. Your new wife is my grandmother, and you're Townsend's granddad. Naturally we socialize. The fact that both couples happen to be newlyweds is purely coincidental."

"I understand from Frankie that you have plans with Dixie and him tomorrow evening—an engaged couple if I'm not mistaken. Coincidence or something more?" Joe said, fixing me with an evil step-granddaddy look.

"Where do you get this stuff?" I said and looked over at Townsend. "Right?" I nudged his elbow. "I mean, seriously!"

"What exactly do you mean?" Rick said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"There's no big design or conspiracy behind our dating practices, right?"

"Dating practices?"

"We're just picking random couples to hang with, right? No grand plan. No specific intent. No secret agenda. Right?"

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"Well, would you look at that? If it ain't our snooty neighbor. I didn't know they let loose women in here."

"Gram!" I scolded. "People will hear you!"

"With that country music twanging away? No way! Look! Look! She's got her mustache with her."

My gut clenched, screaming out for the antacid tablets I'd gotten too flustered to buy, and then I remembered I'd already filled Ranger Rick in on the "mustache's" masculine masquerade.

"Abigail Winegardner carries a mustache?" Ranger Rick said, his expression similar to mine when I'd had a few too many cold ones and picked up a Sudoku to solve.

"Probably. But I'm talkin' about her mystery man," Gram said. "The mystery man who looks like he should be pushing a shopping cart."

"Gram!"

"Look, here they come. Act natural. Don't let 'em know we're watching."

I shook my head. The only way anyone could possibly be unaware of my gammy's scrutiny was if we were invisible and they were hearing-impaired.

I heard Townsend's quick intake of breath when Abigail and the gentleman who'd planted the kiss on his lips passed us on their way to a booth by the window, and the gentleman gave him an audacious wink.

"Big mistake," Gram said.

"What is?" I asked.

"Sitting by a window. Makes Abigail's wrinkles stand out like freckles on a redhead."

"Who do you suppose she's with?" Joe said, scratching his chin. "Maybe I should go over and—"

"Don't even think about it, Snoop Dogg," I warned, and three pairs of eyeballs zeroed in on me.

"What? Why shouldn't I go over and say hello?" Joe said.

"Yeah. Why shouldn't he?" Gram asked.

"That's right," Townsend said. "Why shouldn't he?"

Ah. So Ranger Rick was up to his old tricks.

"Why? Why? I would think that would be obvious," I blustered, giving Townsend a dirty look, trying to come up with a plausible reason why Joe should resist the temptation to approach the couple.

"Well?" Joe said.

I looked at Rick for assistance. He shrugged.

"Sorry. I got nothing," he said.

I shook my head.

"The reason you can't go over there, Joe, is because, well, you see, uh, Abigail could get the wrong idea. That's it! Abigail could get the idea that you're jealous—you know—of her admirer and, well, we already know she's carried a secret torch for you. Who can forget those sticky buns of hers, right, Gram?"

"Tressa Jayne's right, Joe," Gram said. "No use fanning the flame. What we need is to put out that ol' bag's torch, not light her fire."

Whew. Crisis averted.

"We'll follow 'em," Gram went on.

"Follow them?"

"Keep an eye on 'em. Where they go. What they do." She turned to give the Abigail's table another looky-see. "And that feller she's with? I know I've seen him somewhere. It'll come to me."

My stomach soured even more, and I winced.

"Something wrong, Blondie?" Joe asked, his eagle eye not missing a thing.

"Too much barbecue," I said.

Too much drama was more like it.

We finished our meals. When I declined dessert, Townsend looked over at me.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked. "We could beg off the movie and spend a nice, quiet evening at home, just the two of us. We could start a fire in the fire pit out back, open a couple of cold ones, toast some marshmallows, and you could tell me more about Abigail's mystery date who likes to kiss other men on the lips."

I blinked.

"Wait. You're inviting me to your place?" I asked. I'd only been to Townsend's place once. Well, by invitation that is. I'd been on his property a number of times since he purchased the fixer-upper in the middle of God's country. Why, you ask? I'd rather not get into it at this time, but the words
pranking, payback,
and
window peeking
may or may not apply.

I'll leave it to your imagination.

"Why not?" Rick asked.

"You've just never asked before," I said.

He shook his head.

"I asked. You just blew me off."

Probably because I never thought he was serious before.

"I suppose—"

"They're leavin'! Hurry up! We gotta go!" Gram said.

"Gram?"

"Come on! Abigail and her lover are leavin'! Shake a leg or we'll lose 'em!"

I gave Townsend a "they won't be around forever, you know" look, and he smiled and shook his head.

"You go on out to the truck, and I'll pay the tab and meet you out there."

I nodded and herded the seniors to the big red truck. I crawled into the back of the crew cab while Joe helped Gram into the front and then joined me.

"Here they come!" Gram said, watching the other seniors leave the restaurant and walk to a Subaru Outback.

"They're getting in Abigail's car!" Gram said. "Where's that boyfriend of yours? We're gonna lose 'em!"

"He's coming, Gram. He's coming."

Townsend opened the door and slid behind the wheel.

"What's the plan?" he asked, the look on his face saying he didn't really want to know the answer.

"We're waiting for Abigail and lover boy to leave. Then we follow 'em," Gram said.

"And why are we doing this again?" Rick asked.

"'Cause we can, of course," Gram said. "There they go. Step on it!"

Townsend sighed but complied.

"Don't lose 'em now!" Gram said.

"I got it, Hannah," he said. "I've followed more than my share of poachers, you know."

"Well, I don't figure on letting Abigail poach anything of mine," she said. "There they go! Well, whatdya know? They're seein' a flick, too!" Gram announced the obvious when the Subaru pulled into the Starbright Theater and parked. "You can let us out here and park," she told Townsend. "We'll go in and get our tickets and see where they sit."

"
Oo
kay," Townsend said, and he met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "I guess I'll see you inside."

"You better," I mouthed, and he smiled.

Once inside the theater, Joe purchased our tickets (I was a wee bit low on funds, I told him) while Gram kept an eye on her targets, and I stewed over what would happen if or when she discovered Abigail's mustached man was none other than her sister, Eunice.

"They're sitting down near the front. Huh. And I thought old bats could see in the dark."

"Gram! That's not nice."

"You takin' her side again?"

Joe joined us.

"They're down front," Gram said. "We'll sit up in the balcony. That way we can keep an eye on 'em and see if they fool around."

Oh, God. I was gonna hurl.

I texted Townsend our location.

"Welcome to the peanut gallery," I told him when he joined us.

"What? No popcorn?" was Joe's greeting.

"Welcome back," I said, when Rick returned with two jumbo buttered popcorns and sodas.

"What? No M&M'S?" I teased when Townsend took a seat beside me.

"Nice," he said. "Anything new on the mustache front?"

"Twenty hundred hours and all is well!" I droned.

Rick chuckled. "That's what you think. I'm still traumatized by that kiss. I think I'm ready for a good revenge movie."

I nodded. I could certainly do with a little payback right about now.

The previews ended, and the feature began.

Soft music filled the theater. I frowned. This was a novel opening to your traditional die-dirtbag-thug-kidnapper-criminal movie. Within the first two minutes, it was apparent this wasn't your traditional die-dirtbag-thug-kidnapper-criminal movie at all.

It was a die-you-poor-terminally-ill-young-man story.

"What's the big idea?" Joe asked. "What kind of movie is this?"

"It's based on a book about a young writer who has this serious illness and loves this girl who promises to finish his book when he dies," I said.

The man in front of us suddenly turned around.

"Gee, thanks," he said.

I frowned. "For what?"

"For the spoiler. I really was looking forward to finding out for myself, but you saved me all that time."

"Sorry," I said.

"Wait a minute," Joe said. "You're telling me that someone dies in this movie, but it's not due to head trauma or a gunshot wound or inflicted by knife, crow bar, or pitch fork? Not interested." He started to stand, but Gram grabbed hold of his arm.

"We can't leave until Abigail does!" she insisted.

I was about to concur with Joe and suggest we exchange our tickets when the phone in my pocket began to vibrate. I pulled it out.