The Man She Married (8 page)

The Westerfield ladies had their noses pressed against the kitchen window eagerly awaiting Clay’s reaction. There was a collective gasp when he deep-sixed the basket and stomped into the apartment.

“Why did he do that?” Liza was the first to speak.

Yeah, why had he done that? Maizie wondered. Sure it was ugly, but it was the thought that counted, right? Besides, it had cost her fifty bucks.

“I think I’ll ask him exactly that.” Eleanor jerked open the back door, allowing noxious fumes to waft in. “Good Lord, what is that smell?” She waved her hands in an attempt to ward off the smell that was vaguely reminiscent of a sewer treatment plant.

In unison Maizie and Liza exclaimed, “Trina Carruthers!”

Oh, man,
this
had turned into a debacle.

Mama slammed the door shut. “You two make yourselves scarce. I’m going to take care of this.”

That scared Maizie spitless, but what other option did she have?

E
LEANOR HELD HER NOSE
as she tossed the basket into the side yard.

“Clayton dear, it’s Eleanor,” she yelled.

Clay had finally managed to calm down with the help of a cold beer and an inane television program. Right now the only thing he wanted to hear from his mother-in-law was an acknowledgment that her daughter was a certifiable lunatic.

He leaned over the railing and noticed she’d removed the evidence. “Hi, Eleanor, what can I do for you?”

“Have you had supper?” He didn’t see that one coming.

“I had nachos at the Dixie Draught.”

“Oh dear, that’s not enough. Give me an hour and then get yourself on down here. I’m going to fry up a chicken.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It was a good thing he’d only had the one beer. He’d need to be stone sober to handle Eleanor.

Bennett Westerfield was at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee when Clay joined them. At best, he looked embarrassed. At worst, it appeared he was about to jump and run. Clay could relate.

“Hey, Bennett. What’s up?”

Maizie’s dad studied the contents of his cup. “Not much. How about you?”

“Life’s kind of stinky.” Clay was proud that he could say that with a straight face.

Bennett smiled. “That’s what I hear.”

Eleanor gave Clay a swat. “Sit down. I’m whipping up some potatoes.”

Clay grabbed a drumstick from the platter Eleanor took from the warming oven, earning another smack in
the process. Even under these circumstances, he was as comfortable in the Westerfields’ kitchen as he was in his own.

“Here you go.” Eleanor put a steaming plate of food in front of him and then sat down. “Bennett has something to tell you about Maizie’s gift.”

Clay’s appetite disappeared. “She made it perfectly clear what she thinks of me.”

“This whole thing is a disaster. Not that it hasn’t had help from some folks who should know better.” Bennett shot his wife a telling look. “Maizie’s trying to make up with you. That’s was what the basket was all about. Unfortunately things got a little messed up.”

“Messed up?” That was a bit of an understatement.

“My baby girl bought that basket from Trina Carruthers and Trina’s not exactly fond of our daughter. I called her to see what she had to say.”

It was hard for Clay to think of his voluptuous Maizie as anyone’s baby girl, but he decided he’d better skip over that one.

“What did she say?” Clay had never known Trina well, but he was aware of the tension between her and Maizie, and it all went back to the prom.

“At first she didn’t want to talk to me, but I convinced her otherwise.” Bennett chuckled. “I can be persuasive, even if I do say so myself. Trina finally confessed that she was responsible for the stink bomb. It was designed to break open when it got jostled.” He threw up his hands. “You know the rest of the story.”

Clay waited to see how far Maizie’s parents would take this tell-all session. Even though he was relieved
that the stink bomb wasn’t Maizie’s handiwork, the fact of the matter was that Maizie didn’t trust him. And reconciliation without faith wasn’t possible.

The day after the beer basket fiasco, Maizie managed to stay busy at the Boudoir so the time passed quickly. Which was fortunate since she hadn’t heard anything from Clay, not a single, solitary word.

Last night she’d been tempted to do bodily harm to Trina Carruthers. Damn that woman’s hide! Thanks to Liza’s clear head—and her assurance that they’d eventually get even—Maizie was able to set aside her thirst for revenge, at least for the moment.

The overriding issue now was how to make amends for the latest calamity. Clay had every right to be even angrier than he was before.

Later that afternoon, Maizie was unpacking a box of new inventory when Kenni strolled into the storeroom.

“I heard what happened last night. Bummer. Trina Carruthers is a piece of work.”

Maizie continued to steam the wrinkles out of a skirt. “I think we should curse her with the fleas of a thousand camels. What do you think?”

“I say amen,” Kenni agreed. “By the way, I talked to Aunt Eleanor today.”

“What did she say?” Maizie couldn’t hide her curiosity.

“Did you know your dad had a man-to-man talk with Clay last night? He told him it was all Trina’s doing.”

“What was Clay’s reaction?” Maizie couldn’t wait to hear what he’d had to say.

“Not much. Eleanor said he just kind of sat there.”

That wasn’t good. Clay almost always had an opinion, and didn’t often hold back.

“Liza and I discussed the situation this morning. We think it’s time to execute Operation: Brenda Lee.” Kenni flashed a cheeky grin.

Maizie turned off the steamer. “How do you goof-balls propose we do that?”

“I found us a Brenda.” Kenni danced with excitement. “She sings at the Roadhouse Inn.”

Her cousin was so proud of herself that Maizie almost hated to ask the next question, but she knew the Roadhouse Inn’s reputation. The place was a dive.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Roxy Ledbetter. She’s one of Win’s clients.”

“Win, as in your husband, the criminal defense attorney?” Maizie asked.

“One and the same.” Kenni had the gall to chuckle.

“Please tell me she’s not a stripper or even worse—”

“Nothing like that. Roxy’s a nice girl. She just has atrocious taste in men. Her skuzzy boyfriend implicated her in a case of grand theft auto and evading the cops. Win was able to get her out of it with nothing more than a fine, so she’s beholden to him.”

“Can she sing?”

“Of course.” Kenni put her hands on her almost nonexistent hips. “Do you think I’d recruit someone who couldn’t sing? Are you nuts? And the really good news is that she specializes in the oldies so she knows the song.”

Maizie wasn’t quite as sold on the whole idea as her cohorts seemed to be.

Kenni continued, clearly not picking up on Maizie’s lack of enthusiasm. “I talked to her today and told her we wanted a replay of the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene. Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

“That’s good, I guess.” Maizie really wished she was more on board with this. “How much is this going to cost?”

“That’s the best part. She’s doing it for free because she likes Win.”

“Free?”

“Yep, free as in no charge.”

“Oh, okay. What time?”

“She has to be at the Inn by nine, so we agreed on eight o’clock tonight.”

Maizie hugged her cousin. Even if the idea was goofy, she was touched by the effort. “You and Liza are the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. You guys have saved my bacon more than once.” Kenni grinned. “Do you think we can hide out in your mom’s kitchen and watch?”

“I can guarantee Mama’s gonna have a front row seat and I’m positive she’d loved the company.” Maizie pulled her cordless out from under a pile of jeans and punched in her sister’s number. “I’ll give Liza a buzz and see if she can join us.”

With luck this wouldn’t turn into another calamity.

T
YPICAL OF
M
AMA, SHE’D
laid out a cocktail party spread appropriate for royalty—chilled wine, gourmet hors d’oeuvres and Godiva chocolate.

“Do you guys really think this will work?” Maizie asked for the millionth time. Although she thought it had a miniscule chance of succeeding, she wouldn’t bet money on it.

Liza shrugged but didn’t say a word. Kenni wasn’t as restrained. “You two are as stubborn as a couple of mules. It’s way past time for this to be over. So anything we do is better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs.” Kenni slapped her hands together as if it was
a fait accompli.

“Gee, thanks.” Maizie knew she was stubborn but she didn’t appreciate other people pointing it out. “Since when are you a philosopher?”

“I’m right and you know it,” Kenni retorted. “Humor is the solution to this standoff.”

When that girl was right, she was right. “Laughter has held our marriage together for years, so why go against a good thing?”

In the history of bad days, this one had been the worst. Clay and Harvey were heading back to their respective cars following a particularly harrowing meeting with their nemesis—the Department of Transportation planner.

When he and Harvey had bid on the engineering contract for a state highway interchange, they’d realized it would stretch their capabilities. But it had been too great an opportunity to pass up. Now halfway through the process the partners realized they’d made a gargantuan mistake.

There was one snafu after another. Clay should have recognized they were on shaky ground when he discovered they’d drawn the project manager from hell. In private, they called him a “banana”—an acronym for Build Absolutely Nothing Anywhere Near Anything. It was ironic considering his job was to facilitate the construction of highway projects.

His stringent demands were impossible to meet. Add to that an ill-timed spate of weather—an ice storm, torrential rains and a tornado—numerous delays in acquiring building materials, and it was impossible for the
contractor to make the deadlines. And when the state started imposing penalties for noncompliance, it became painfully apparent that they were all going to be sucked into financial quicksand.

Harvey hit his remote locks. “What do you think will happen?”

Clay shook his head. Coming up with a solution would take a miracle.

“As long as we have that project manager, we’re at an impasse. The fact is he doesn’t want the interchange built and he plans to put up roadblocks at every turn.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Harvey opened his car door. “How long do you think we have before we go under?”

“Six months or so.” Clay unlocked his truck. “If we’re lucky.” Normally he was an optimist, but the way this situation was circling the drain, he wasn’t holding out much hope.

“Let’s meet tomorrow to see if we can come up with a way out of this mess.”

“Sure, I’ll be at the office around eight.” Clay wasn’t confident the situation was retrievable, but he was willing to try almost anything.

“I’d better get home. Sarah probably has dinner ready. I’ll be in trouble if I’m not there to eat it.”

Clay felt a stab of envy. His partner had a wife at home. What did he have to look forward to, other than bumming a meal off his in-laws? Eleanor hadn’t said she was tired of feeding him, but he couldn’t live off their charity forever.

With that depressing thought in mind, Clay stopped by the local drive-through to fill up on an artery-
clogging meal of hamburger and fries. If he kept this up much longer his nickname was going to be Tubby.

Clay briefly considered driving through his neighborhood to catch a glimpse of Maizie. He loved her beyond reason. Nevertheless, he couldn’t get past the fact that she’d tossed him out. Even worse, she’d kicked him when he was down. What had happened to their “till death” pledge?

Clay trudged up the stairs to the Wester fields’ apartment knowing a cold beer and an empty bed was all that awaited him. A married man shouldn’t be living like this. But what could he do to change it? Pride was terribly destructive. In this case Clay wasn’t sure whether it was pride or hurt feelings that kept him from accepting Maizie’s overtures.

He was pondering that situation, and flipping through the channels looking for something mindless to watch, when he heard a noise outside. Clay hit the Mute button. There was that sound again. It sounded like a cross between an out-of-tune banjo and a cat fight.

When Clay went out on the porch, he almost busted a gut laughing. What he’d thought was an amorous Tom cat was actually a woman in full cowgirl regalia belting out a song, accompanied by a karaoke boom box.

It took him a couple of seconds to realize she was singing Brenda Lee’s “I’m Sorry.” She was well into the second chorus of “so sorry, please accept my apology” before Clay managed to control his hilarity.

When he did, he leaned over the banister and bellowed, “Maizie Walker, get yourself out here. I want to talk to you.”

“O
H, MAN
. I
AM SO BUSTED
.” Hiding behind Mama’s kitchen curtains, Maizie looked to her co-conspirators for moral support. Should she show her face?

“Go speak to him.” Liza pushed her twin out the door, not giving her a chance to protest.

Maizie was about to make a U-turn when she heard the distinctive click of the dead bolt. Her sister had locked her out. With relatives like that, who needed enemies?

“What do you want?” She had to yell to be heard over the music. Good Lord, the entire neighborhood was being serenaded.

“What?” Clay put a hand to his ear, pantomiming that he couldn’t hear her.

“What do—Oh, shoot.” Maizie stomped over to “Brenda” and snapped off the boom box. “Thanks a million, Roxy. That was great.” Sometimes a white lie was better than the truth. “Win has said such nice things about you.”

The singer broke into a huge grin. “Mr. Whittaker is the greatest. He got me out of a mess of trouble, so I was glad to help.”

Throughout this exchange Maizie could feel Clay staring at her. Too bad, manners came before settling a score, or fixing a fight, or whatever.

“Would you like help loading your equipment?”

“No, thanks, Ms. Walker. I keep my trusty karaoke machine in my car, so I’m used to lugging it around. No telling when someone might want you to break into song.”

Maizie could honestly say that no one had ever asked her to sing.

Roxy stowed her microphone in her trunk and
waved to Clay. “Hope you liked that, Mr. Walker. Have a great evening, now ya hear.”

She gave Maizie a wink before climbing into her car and pulling away.

Ooh-kay. Maizie felt like a minnow in a shark pool, what with Clay stomping down the stairs and all. Why was
he
frowning? Didn’t he appreciate the song?

“Mary Stuart, what is this all about?” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Roxy’s retreat.

“Uh.” Maizie didn’t know exactly what to say. She was hesitant to admit she was too chicken to talk to her own husband and had hired someone to do it for her. “I thought you might like some music?” She phrased her answer in the form of a question.

Clay gave her a long look before turning on his heel and walking back upstairs.

C
LAY GRABBED ANOTHER BEER
before plunking in front of the TV, finally letting out the chuckles he’d so carefully hidden from Maizie. How about that? Maizie had hired a Brenda Lee wannabe. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d come up with next.

They’d both said a ton of things they didn’t mean, but Clay was fairly confident they’d eventually reconcile. If Maizie was willing to make this big a fool of herself, she must still love him. Now it was time for him to show her he loved her, too.