The Man She Married (9 page)

Liza drove Maizie home following the ear-splitting serenade. “What did Clay say to you?”

“He asked what I thought I was doing.”

Liza shot her a glance. “Is that all?”

“I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think he was chuckling when he went upstairs.” Maizie was searching for something positive. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“I hope so. What do you suggest I do next?”

Liza squinted the way she always did when she concentrated. “Let’s wait a couple of days and then hit him again. We need something dramatic, something that’ll knock his socks off.”

“Do you have anything specific in mind?” Maizie wasn’t convinced theatrics were the key, and that was unusual, given her proclivity for being over the top.

Liza pulled into Maizie’s driveway and cut the engine. “Let me think about it.” She leaned over the console and patted her sister’s knee. “Don’t worry, Clay will come around, you wait and see.”

Maizie tried to stay optimistic. Things were looking up—sort of. “Sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Good. I have meetings all morning but I’ll be in the office in the afternoon.” Liza looked in the rearview mirror and chewed her lip.

“Do you know who owns that car, the silver one parked down there?” She nodded toward the vehicle in question.

Maizie turned to see what Liza was talking about. “No. Why?”

“I’ve seen it in various places on your street and that’s kind of weird. Most people park in front of their house if they don’t have space in their driveway.”

“Have you noticed anyone sitting in it?” Could it be a police stakeout? She couldn’t think of anyone suspicious in her neighborhood, but these days you just never knew.

“The windows are tinted so you can’t see squat.”

Maize stuck her head out the window trying to get a better view. “What do you think that’s all about?”

“Beats me. It’s probably nothing.” Liza flipped the ignition and turned on her lights. “I’ll wait until you’re in the house.”

“Thanks.” Maizie unfolded her long legs from Liza’s sports car. Normally she loved being tall, but there were certain limitations.

Maizie waved to her sister as she unlocked her front door, then watched Liza’s car go around the corner before she took a good look at the car in question. It was unobtrusive and boring enough to be an undercover cop car—silver, tinted windows—nothing fancy or memorable. Or maybe someone in the neighborhood was
having a fling and wanted to keep it quiet. Stranger things had happened.

Maizie wandered inside wondering what to do until it was time for bed. Being single was the pits. She could watch television—no, her tolerance for reality shows was waning. She could take a bubble bath—hmm, that had possibilities. She could snack—whoa, stop right there. Her hips could
not
take another Snickers binge.

Her favorite time of the day used to be when she and Clay would sit on the porch swing and talk. Now she was reduced to talking to herself. And to be perfectly blunt, her own conversation wasn’t all that scintillating.

Chocolate. She needed some chocolate, and pretty darned quick. Maizie could almost hear the Häagen-Dazs mint chocolate-chip ice cream calling her name—to heck with her hips. She’d worry about it tomorrow.

Maizie rummaged through the freezer until she found a pint that wasn’t crystallized. This was her lucky day. That thought lasted until the phone rang.

“Hey, Maizie, this is Carol Templeton, your neighbor.” Carol had lived next door for almost fifteen years and she introduced herself every time she called. Did she really think Maizie would forget her?

“Hi, Carol, what’s up?” She slipped a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth delighting in the texture and taste.

“Tim and I were wondering if you have a guest.”

“No, why?” Carol was Laverne Hightower’s protégé.
Please God say she hadn’t noticed Clay’s absence.
The chances of that were slim—the woman had eagle eyes and the nose of a bloodhound.

“Lately we’ve noticed a strange car driving up and down the street. It was parked near the Thompsons and
now it’s sitting in front of your house,” she answered before yelling at the dog to get off the sofa.

“In front of
my
house?” Maizie asked. “
That’s
creepy.”

“That’s what we thought. It’s some sort of silver subcompact. Have you seen it?”

“Liza mentioned it tonight.” Maizie’s brain was racing a mile a minute.

Their neighborhood was usually peaceful—the only time they’d had trouble was when the Barker twins went wild with a roll of toilet paper.

“Don’t go out there!” For a second Maizie was confused, then she realized Carol was talking to her husband.

“Gotta go.” Her neighbor disconnected without bothering with the niceties.

Curiosity and Maizie had been good friends a long time, so of course she went out to see what was happening. She wasn’t being nosy, no way; she was simply doing her neighborly duty.

Tim was stalking across her lawn toward the vehicle and Carol was right behind him. Maizie got ready to duck—just in case someone decided to pull a gun.

Fortunately it didn’t get that far. The driver of the car saw Tim coming and threw it in Reverse so fast he hit the fire hydrant, knocking it over. The pulsating geyser sprayed water all over the neighborhood.

The perp popped the car into Drive, hit the gas and sped away before anyone could jot down a license number. The way he skidded and screeched out of the neighborhood would have made Smokey and the Bandit proud.

“What do you think that was all about?” Maizie had to yell to be heard over the sound of gushing water.

“I don’t know,” Tim answered. “But I think it’s time for a meeting of our neighborhood watch. Hey, guys.” He whistled to get the attention of the small band of people who had emerged from their houses to investigate the commotion. “Let’s meet at our house tomorrow around seven to discuss this. We’ll get someone from the sheriff’s office to join us. Maizie, would you call your brother-in-law?”

“Certainly.” Personally she thought a meeting was overkill, but right now she’d do anything to keep the peace. The whole incident was probably nothing more than a horny high school kid trying to get a girl’s attention.

Ah, the nostalgia. Way back when, Maizie was in junior high, she’d had an “admirer” who’d lingered on her street for hours. Every time she went outside he’d scurry over to ask her for a date. That was before Daddy threatened him within an inch of his life.

Those were the days—thin thighs and a bevy of beaus.

The flow of customers at the Boudoir didn’t let up until late the following afternoon. If they’d been buyers that would have been great, but Maizie suspected they were browsers and curiosity hounds. A few were interested in the car hitting the hydrant, but since there were so few specifics about that, Maizie knew most were being drawn in by something even more spectacular.

It wasn’t until nearly closing time that her suspicion was confirmed.
Everyone
in town had heard about Brenda Lee.

“You know about the serenade, don’t you, PJ?” Maizie didn’t really want to hear the answer, but she couldn’t help herself.

Her friend responded with a giggle. Traitor.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Maizie slapped her hands on the top of her head. “The people who came in today wanted to gawk, didn’t they?”

“Probably.” If possible, PJ’s grin got even wider. “But think about it. You girls are becoming a legend. People can’t wait to see what you’ll do next. I think it’s way cool.”

“You do?” Maizie couldn’t imagine why making a
fool of one’s self would be considered cool, but different strokes and all that rot.

Before PJ could answer, the bell on the door tinkled announcing another customer—hopefully a paying one this time.

No such luck. The queen of all window shoppers would be better than the person who strolled in.

“Oh, boy. Color me gone,” PJ muttered, quickly retreating to the back room

Maizie was left to face Cora Lee Tillington, society editor for the
Magnolia Bluffs Gazette.
Cora was the same generation as Mama and Daddy and she knew everyone in town—except maybe the folks out in the trailer park, but even that wasn’t a sure bet.

What was it they said about soothing the savage breast? Speak with a comforting voice and show no fear. “Hey there, Cora Lee,” Maizie said, displaying her best beauty pageant smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Mary Stuart, honey, it’s more what I can do for you.” Cora Lee Tillington had obviously seen too many movies. With her outdated business suit and a pencil stuck in her graying bun, she looked like a female Social Security version of Bob Woodward.

“I give. What can you do for me?” Maizie couldn’t resist.

“The entire town is buzzing about what you girls are up to. So what’s next?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what you mean.” This situation definitely called for playing the blond bimbo card.

“Please. I’ve known you since you were in diapers. You can’t BS an old BS’er.”

Playing dumb hadn’t worked. Maybe distraction would. “Can I perhaps interest you in one of our wonderful bras?” Maizie pulled a lacy push-up off the rack. “Or a new sundress.” She headed straight for a strapless polished-cotton number more suitable for a teenager than one of Mama’s contemporaries.

Cora Lee retrieved a battered notebook from her voluminous purse. “I want the straight skinny and no more messin’ around. My readers are dying to know what’s coming up next. I hear you’re going to hire a brass band. Is that right?” She had her pencil poised to jot down Maizie’s answer.

A brass band—now that was an interesting idea.

Cora Lee interrupted Maizie’s ruminations. “If you can draw this thing out for a month, I’ll make it a regular column.” The
Gazette
came out twice a week and the dingbat wanted Maizie to come up with a show for each issue?

“That isn’t going to happen. Believe me.”

Cora Lee’s glasses slipped further down her nose. “Oh, well, it was merely a thought. At least give me an exclusive on your next shenanigan.”

It was obvious that Cora wasn’t giving up—and Maizie had had enough for one day—so she decided to throw the reporter a bone.

“I don’t have a specific date, but yes, a brass band is in the works.”

Cora’s eyebrows shot straight into her hairline.

Great. Maizie’s big mouth was getting her in trouble again. Tuba players didn’t exactly advertise in the phone book, so where was she going to find someone to play John Phillip Sousa? Aha! The high school band director’s wife was a regular customer, so maybe—

“This is marvelous, simply marvelous.” Cora scribbled in her notebook. “You be sure to let me know when it’s going to happen, ya hear? The paper comes out on Wednesday and Saturday, so if you’ll call me the day before, I’m sure I can drum up an audience.” Cora poked the pencil back in her bun.

An audience? That was almost as good as doing a marriage proposal on national TV—saying no was virtually impossible.

Cora Lee was on her way out the door when she lobbed a parting shot. “I hear there’s a family betting pool.”

A betting pool? Did she really say there was a betting pool? The nerve of it all.

“PJ, you can come out now.” Maizie used her best syrupy-sweet voice to lure the poor insect into her spider’s web.

Sure enough, it worked. PJ peeked around the corner. “Is she gone?”

“She certainly is.” Maizie could do innocent with the best of them. “Come on out. Really now, would I lie?”

PJ reluctantly made her way to the counter. “Ms. Tillington gives me the willies.”

Maizie couldn’t agree more. Cora Tillington was definitely nervous-making. “She told me something interesting.”

Maizie went to the front door and turned over the Closed sign.

PJ took that as a signal to tally up the day’s receipts. “Really? What?”

“Cora Lee said there’s a family betting pool—I assume on how soon Clay and I will get together.” Maizie leaned over the counter to get nose-to-nose with her employee. “What do you know about that?”

At first PJ looked shocked, but then her expression changed to guilt. “Why would I know anything?”

Maizie stepped back. More than likely, PJ was the family bookie.

“Because you’re privy to everything that goes on around here?” Maizie knew full well that PJ was up to her cute little kneecaps in it.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” The assistant manager put her hands up in the air. “Your mom’s the ringleader.”

“Mama? My mother organized a betting pool?”

“Yep. Her money’s on twenty-eight days. I think she said something about you guys being mulish. Your aunt Anna Belle is much more optimistic. She went for a week.”

Good going, Auntie Anna Belle. At least Kenni’s mother had faith.

“What about my sister?” Maizie couldn’t wait to hear Liza’s take.

“She’s got ten days. She thinks that after a couple more ‘visitations’—” PJ emphasized the word with finger quotes, “—he’ll scurry over to the bright side.”

“Liza’s always been an optimist. What about you? I’m sure you plunked down your ante.”

PJ had the chutzpah to giggle. “My guess is even longer than your mom’s. I work for you, remember?”

It had been almost a week since the Brenda Lee incident and the fact that he hadn’t seen or heard from Maizie was making Clay nervous. In this case, no news wasn’t necessarily good news.

But enough worrying about his errant wife—work was calling. Boy, was it ever.

Clay was engrossed in deciphering a spreadsheet when Harvey appeared in his office doorway. “What’s up, partner?” Clay took his reading glasses off and laid them on his desk.

“Have you seen the paper this morning?” Harvey whipped a copy of the
Magnolia Bluffs Gazette
out from behind his back.

“No, why? Do they have a special on pot roasts at the Piggly Wiggly?” Clay thought he’d come up with a decent comeback, until he took a good look at his friend’s grin.

Clay rounded the desk and snatched the newspaper out of Harvey’s hand.

“Here’s a clue. Try Cora Lee’s page.” Uh-oh. His partner was smirking.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. “Please tell me Maizie hasn’t completely lost her mind.”

Harvey pointedly said nothing before he exited.

An Invitation To A Two-Fer—A Brass Quartet Recital And Chapter Three Of The War Of The Walkers.
That
was the headline of the society section.

“Harvey!” Clay was halfway down the hall before he noticed his staff. The women were giggling and the men were giving him their best “you poor sucker” looks.

“Harvey!” He stormed into his partner’s office waving the paper. “Did you know this was coming?”

Harvey’s eloquent shrug said it all.

Was the entire town conspiring against him? No sooner had that thought occurred to Clay than he heard music. It wasn’t ordinary music—au contraire—he distinctly heard a tuba.

“
What
is that?”

“You’d better go check it out,” Harvey wheezed through his laughter. “We have a few visitors in the lobby.”

Clay shot him a rude hand gesture as he hurried out to the lobby. A few people! Hell, there were people all over the reception area and spilling out the front door. Didn’t they have anything better to do than watch his humiliation?

In the middle of the crowd was the local high school’s marching band—complete with uniforms and feathered hats. Great, now a bunch of teenagers were involved in what Cora Lee had dubbed the War of the Walkers. Oh, the joys of living in a small town.

The tuba player was the first to spot him. “Hey, Mr. Walker. We came to play for you.” He turned to his fellow musicians. “Here we go. A one, a two and
a three.” When he nodded, the music almost blasted Clay out of the room.

Clay wasn’t too well-versed in brass band music, but the selection sounded vaguely familiar. “What was the name of that song?” he asked when the band quit playing.

The trumpet player was the first to speak up. “It was Sousa’s version of the ‘Wedding March.’ Way buck, huh?”

“Very buck,” Clay agreed, not having a clue what that meant. And clever. How in the world had Maizie pulled this off?

“Here’s a message.” The trombone player pulled an envelope from his pocket. “It’s from your wife.”

Clay couldn’t wait to see what she’d written so he opened the envelope right there in the lobby. It was an apology done Maizie style that made him laugh. That girl had a way about her. Sometimes he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or throttle her, and that’s what made their marriage so good. So why was he holding out? Could they regain the trust they once had? Maizie seemed to think so. Clay wasn’t quite so sure.

Okay, Maizie and her buddies had had their last shot at theatrical comedy. The courting was going to begin in earnest. And this time he planned to do it right. No more burgers and drive-in movies. They’d start all over and see if they could get through this rough patch.

M
AIZIE AND
L
IZA HAD THEIR
noses pressed against the tearoom window across the street from Clay’s office. Although it wasn’t exactly a ringside seat, they could see the crowd, and what a crowd it was. With the right incentive, Cora Lee could recruit a cast of thousands.

“Do you see him?” Maizie asked. Her heart was beating a mile a minute wondering how Clay would react to the ruckus.

“Over there!” Liza pointed to the side door of the engineering firm. She was literally bouncing in her chair.

“Where?” Maizie scanned the area several times before she spotted him. He was tall, blond and handsome as all get-out—and he was holding a handmade sign that read, “Maizie Walker you’re a naughty girl. Give me a call.”

Maizie didn’t know whether he could see her through the window, but a couple of minutes later Clay waved, did a thumbs-up and walked back into the office. Darn him—he thought he was in charge here. He wasn’t, was he?

Maizie was so busy thinking about her husband’s request that she missed the fact someone had come up behind her and Liza.

“Hello, ladies. May I join you?” It was Trip Fitzgerald, looking as buff as ever.

“Yeah, okay,” Liza answered, scooting over to make room for the newcomer.

“Hi, Trip. I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been doing?” Although Maizie wasn’t at all interested in him—other than as a friend—that didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite.

“A little of this, a little of that. Mostly working. Are you coming back to the club soon?” Trip grabbed a scone from the plate in the center of the table.

“Probably not, I’m swamped at the boutique,” Maizie said with a shrug. “I thought I could make the time, but it hasn’t worked out.”

“I can do a private lesson whenever you want. You name it and I’m yours.” He took a bite of the purloined scone.

“That’s so sweet. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.” He turned to look out the window. “I presume you ladies are responsible for the excitement across the street?”

“That’s right.” Liza said.

“Cora’s column called this the War of the Walkers. Is that correct?”

“I wouldn’t believe everything that’s in the paper.” It was too embarrassing to talk about this with the man who was indirectly responsible for the argument with Clay, so Maizie changed the subject. “Would you like a cup of tea to go along with your pastry?”

“Sure, do you have an extra mug?”

Maizie motioned to the waitress, who brought one over.

The three of them sat quietly for a few moments. Trip took a sip of his tea before he picked up Maizie’s hand. “I’m serious about the private lessons. Let me know if you change your mind. I’m available.” He put down his cup and strolled off, ignoring the admiring looks he was getting from various females.

Liza waited until he was out the door before she said something. “Does he have a crush on you?”

Maizie laughed thinking of all the times Trip had seen her soaked in sweat. Was she kidding? “Don’t be silly. We’re really good friends. He has size zeros fawning all over him, so there’s no way he’d be interested in a middle-aged married woman.”