Designer Genes (6 page)

“I can watch
my own baby,” Buffy said. “Besides, I’m only here till my car engine gets
rebuilt.”

“You should
stick around,” Zeppa said. “It’s a nice enough town, if you can tolerate a few
fools.”

A knock on the
screen door was followed by the entrance of yet another woman. Fortyish, with
her dark locks held back by two barrettes, the latest arrival sported a
hand-knit vest over a puff-sleeved blouse and a dirndl skirt. The ensemble
appeared itchy but well constructed, probably by the wearer, Buffy decided.

The woman
edged into the room, balancing a plastic tray topped with yellow gelatin.
Inside it floated some reddish strands, perhaps beets or rhubarb.

“I’m Finella
Weinbucket.” The woman smiled at Buffy, frowned at Mazeppa and set the tray on
the counter. “It’s a good thing I made an extra Spring Salad yesterday, isn’t
it? I want to welcome Carter’s guest to Nowhere Junction.”

“Thank you.”
Buffy hated to discourage such hospitality, but she had to correct the woman’s
mistaken impression. “However, I’m not Carter’s guest. I’m a customer whose car
broke down.”

“I know.”
Opening the refrigerator door, the woman surveyed the contents. “We heard all
about you at the school board meeting. Buffy, is it? You aren’t named after
that vampire-killer on television, are you? We don’t have vampires around here.”

“My mom named
me after a folk singer,” she said.

“I never heard
of any such person. What’s wrong with a name like Loretta or Patsy? Now, those
women knew how to sing.” The peasant skirt swished. “No offense but Buffy’s not
a proper sort of name unless you’re a cat.”

“She changed
her name to Toast.” Might as well get that out in the open.

“Besides,
Buffy’s no worse a name than Finella,” flared Zeppa, defending her new friend.

“You’re a fine
one to talk. Mazeppa sounds like a witch.” A jar of pickles, two cans of root
beer and a margarine tub got switched to a lower shelf, and in went the gelatin
mold. “Now, dear, that’s corned beef in the salad, so you can make a main meal
out of it if you like.”

 
“If you don’t barf first,” snipped the older
woman. “I’ll have you know that `Mazeppa’ is the title of an opera.”

“Just as I
figured—lots of shrieking involved.” Finella closed the refrigerator.

“Thank you for
the, uh, salad,” Buffy said. “What an unusual recipe.”

“Two years
ago, when lemon gelatin and corned beef went on sale at Gigi’s, I invented this
recipe so nothing would go to waste. It’s tasty and it’s thrifty.”

“Thrifty?”
roared Mazeppa. “Let me tell you, Buffy, you’ve never seen anything as cheap as
the people in this town. Too cheap to build themselves a new school, even
though the old one’s falling down around their heads.”

Finella faced
her tormentor squarely. “I voted in favor of a bond issue, you’ll recall. And I
proposed we hold a rodeo to raise money.”

“Five million
dollars? More likely we’d lose money.” Zeppa appeared to be working herself
into a snit. “Not to mention torturing a few animals in the process.”

“Rodeos are
part of the Western tradition,” Finella retorted.

“Bullfights
are part of the Spanish tradition. That doesn’t mean we have to stage one in
the center of town.”

Buffy decided
she’d better intervene before this argument got out of hand. “That’s an
interesting outfit you’re wearing, Finella,” she said. “Did you create that
yourself, too?”

“No, she flew
to the Swiss Alps and stole it off Heidi,” Mazeppa said.

Finella
ignored her. “Thank you, my dear. I make all my own clothes. Not that they
compare with what you can get in California.” The woman indicated Buffy’s
high-waisted slacks and silk
 
blouse.

They weren’t
Roger’s designs. She’d picked these out herself in the Los Angeles garment
district. Buffy had years of experience in shopping for expensive-looking
bargains.

How did
Finella know where she came from, anyway? Had she stopped in the garage to
check out the license plates? Buffy wondered if the woman had opened the glove
compartment and read her registration and proof of insurance, too.

“Thanks,” she
said. “I’m interested in the clothing business myself.”

When the front
door banged shut, she braced for yet another uninvited guest. Instead, Carter
marched into the kitchen. In his presence, Zeppa and Finella seemed to shrink.
So did the kitchen, but it sparkled, too, as if trying to please him.

He didn’t say
anything. He simply folded his arms and glared at the two newcomers.

“I brought
your guest some of my Spring Salad,” Finella said defensively. “There’s no harm
in that.” She cleared her throat as if to say more, then thought better of it
and scurried out.

Mazeppa carted
her empty dishes to the sink and rinsed them. “I guess you’re kicking me out.
Well, I’ll be back, Carter. I don’t mind the broken roof while the good weather
holds. If it isn’t fixed before the next rainstorm, I’ll move into your
bedroom.”

“You’re not
staying on the porch,” he said. “You can use the tornado shelter.”

“Tornado
shelter?” Buffy asked.

“It’s in the
back. Underground,” Carter said. “Nice and cool and the roof never leaks.” When
Zeppa’s mouth opened to protest, he cut her off. “If you don’t like it, you can
park your shopping cart on somebody else’s property.”

She snapped
her mouth shut and stalked out. “Is Zeppa renting from you?” Buffy inquired. It
seemed an odd arrangement.

Instead of
answering, he responded with a question. “How’d you get her permission to call
her by a nickname?”

“It was her
idea.”

“She must like
you.” He watched the screen door as if afraid the woman might storm back in.
“As for renting, she’s homeless. She’s related to someone in town, so we take
turns putting up with her. Were she and Finella driving you crazy?”

“They were
entertaining me.” And distracting me, she added silently. Buffy hated to admit
it, but without the visitors, Carter’s presence was having even more of an
impact than last night.

No longer
tired and hungry, her body teased her with stirrings of a dangerous sort. It
had been a year and a half since she and Roger made love, and his lovemaking
had always been too self-centered to be very satisfying.

Now, with
Carter... No, not with Carter!

Why was she
thinking sexy, shivery thoughts about a guy who couldn’t be more wrong for her?
So what if they had something urgent in common? That didn’t mean Buffy had to
take leave of her senses.

The sooner she
got out of Dodge City, or Nowhere Junction, the better. “What’s the status of
my car?” she asked.

He took off
his baseball cap, let his cowlick come up for air and then put the hat back on.
His hands, she noticed, were etched with dark stains.

“Come out in
the garage and I’ll show you,” he said.

Buffy balanced
Allie on her hip as she accompanied him. She didn’t know the underside of a
hood from the dark side of the moon, but if it made Carter feel better, she
would pretend to understand.

The little
sports car sat agape on the cement floor. Even after so many hours, it gave off
a faint charbroiled scent.

“Let me show
you the work sheet.” Carter picked up a wide form covered with computer
printing. “We have to replace the entire...”

He began
speaking in white noise. The only word that made sense was the one he’d used
last night. “Fried.” When he reached the bottom of the sheet, he said, “Did you
get all that?”

“Toast,” she
said.

“Exactly.”

“How long is
this going to take?” she asked.

“Like I said,
it depends on how soon I can get the parts,” he told her. “A week, possibly
two.”

Too long and
too risky for her emotional health. “I don’t suppose there’s someplace around
here I can rent a car?”

“No, but
somebody in town might be persuaded to loan or sell you one,” he answered with
a puzzled expression. What had she done wrong? Buffy wondered. Surely even in
Nowhere Junction, people rented cars.

“Did I say
something stupid?” she asked.

Carter let out
a long breath. “It’s just that most people would be concerned about how much
this is going to cost.”

“Oh, that.”
She waved her free hand airily. “Okay, how much is it?”

“With parts
and labor, $4,527.53,” he said.

She repeated
the amount to make sure she had it right. “Do you take credit cards?”

“Sure.”

She fished in
her pocket where she’d tucked her wallet. Buffy had abandoned her purse for a
diaper bag since setting off on this trip.

Carter accepted
the card and crossed to his office. When she followed, she was surprised to see
an up-to-date computer. “Your business is a lot more current than your
kitchen.”

“I don’t earn
a living in my kitchen.” He scanned her card. “Besides, I nearly went broke
accepting cards without verification.”

“You mean
people try to use stolen cards in a little town like this?”

“Stolen,
canceled, you name it.” As he waited for the results, he added, “Like I said
before, we don’t see too many strangers lingering in Nowhere Junction, but the
ones we do are usually here because of car trouble. Getting stiffed for labor
is bad enough. The worst is when I don’t get reimbursed for those spare
parts—they eat a hole in my pocket.”

He frowned at
the screen, then scanned her card again.

Apparently he
didn’t like the results this time, either. “Do you have another card?” he
asked.

“I’m afraid
not.” An abyss formed at the bottom of Buffy’s stomach. What could the problem
be? She was nowhere near her credit limit.

“How about a
checkbook?”

“No.” She
hardly recalled what a checkbook looked like. “Why?” She hoped desperately,
against all reason, that he was about to reply that he’d made a mistake.

Instead Carter
handed back the piece of plastic with a sorrowful expression. “Because your card’s
been canceled,” he said.

It bothered
him to see tears glimmer in Buffy’s big green eyes. This lady was rich as well
as beautiful. Why should a minor misunderstanding over a credit card have such
an impact?

A man who
diagnoses cars for a living, however, knows that you can’t hear the engine ping
if you have the radio turned on full blast. So Carter quit listening to the
incessant promptings of his libido and took a quiet look at his out-of-town
guest and her situation.

It was true that
she drove an expensive car and wore big-city clothes. On the other hand, she
clearly hadn’t paid for maintenance in a long time.

As to her
appearance, the striking hair and toned figure bespoke the cost of a beauty
shop and a health spa. But that could be deceptive. Maybe she colored her own
hair and exercised at home.

As for
jewelry, she wore enamel earrings and a bracelet with an ABC block motif. They
were appropriate for a new mother. They were also inexpensive.

He had jumped
to the conclusion that she must be rich. Maybe she had been when she bought
this car, but apparently her circumstances had changed.

“Your
ex-husband wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would he?” Carter asked.

Glumly Buffy
nodded. “The card’s in his name. But he’s still supposed to be paying my
bills.”

“He promised?”
Carter didn’t put much store in the promises of a man who’d let his wife, ex-
or otherwise, drive alone cross-country with a baby.

“It was part
of our agreement.” She seemed to wilt.

“What about a
debit card?”

“No bank
account for it to draw on.” If she shrank any further, tomorrow morning she’d
be nose-to-nose with the other Buffy. Or, rather, with Toast.

Surely she had
options. Nobody expected to live on one credit card. “Don’t you have anything
you could transfer to the bank here?”

She shook her
head, which made the ABC earrings swing. The baby grabbed one and popped it
off. “Hey!” Carter pried it from those tiny fingers. “You could choke on that.”

He expected
the baby to fuss. Instead she regarded him with a steady gaze. “Da?” she said.

Buffy’s cheeks
flushed. “Allie, hush!”

“What does Da
mean in baby talk?” Carter dropped the earring into the lady’s hand.

“It means, uh,
hello.”

He chuckled.
“Well, I hope nobody thinks it’s ‘Da’ as in Daddy.”

The color
intensified to bright red. “It’s just gibberish.”

He hadn’t
meant to embarrass her. “I know that,” Carter said. “I’m sorry. I guess this
isn’t the best time to make a joke.”

“My nerves are
kind of... fried,” she conceded. “I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into my personal
mess. Without that credit card. I’m on a financial par with Mazeppa. It isn’t
your problem. I need to figure out what to do next.”

“Call your
lawyer.”

“His
receptionist keeps putting me on hold. One time she slipped up and I heard him
call me that lady with the messy life.” Buffy heaved a sigh. “The sad part is,
it’s true.”

Carter
experienced a sudden Galahadian urge to ride to her rescue. It went against his
better judgment to act on impulse, however. The best course was to proceed in a
steady, logical manner.

“I’ll start
tracking down these parts,” he offered. “One way or another, you need a car. In
the meantime, try that lawyer again. He has an obligation to help you.”
Actually, Carter wasn’t sure about that, especially if the lawyer hadn’t been
paid recently. However, the man
ought
to stand by his client.

“Okay, I will.
His name’s Boyd Fringo and mostly he’s a good lawyer.” She lifted her chin. “I
want you to know, Mr. Murchison, that even if it takes a while, I intend to pay
you for whatever work you do.”