2 On the Nickel (2 page)

Bottom line, he scrambled my
circuits. The sizzling attraction took my breath away. It thrilled me. And it frightened the daylights out of me.

“You’re strangling that putter,”
Jonette said. “Loosen your grip. Don’t be so uptight.”

Easy for her to say. Holding on
tight helped me keep my mind on the game. As long as I gripped a club, I stayed
in the here and now. I had all of next week to replay the wild shots and near
misses in my head. I didn’t need them haunting me during play.

I shot Jonette my patented death
glare, and she giggled. She, of course, had only used three strokes to reach
the ninth green. Her tap-in putt gave her a par for the hole.

I dreamed about pars.

Birdies and eagles too.

They were endangered species in
my double-bogey world.

I squeezed my eyes shut and
contemplated the trek to the cart to get my stupid seven iron. I didn’t want to
expend the effort. Golf was angles and loft, numbers basically. As an
accountant, numbers were my forte. I should be able to make my putter into a
wedge if I got the contact angle right. I moved the ball up in my address to
add loft to my flat-faced putter. The ball needed to fly over the long tufts of
grass between it and the green so that its direction stayed true.

Ignoring the doubts in my head, I
whacked the ball. It sailed over the apron as planned and trickled to a stop
six inches from the hole. Satisfaction hummed in my veins.

“Nice up,” Jonette said.

“Thanks.” I tapped in for an
eight, wishing I’d turned my brain on nine holes ago. I bagged my putter and
plopped into the passenger side of the golf cart.

Jonette drove us toward the pro
shop, where we would turn in our score card. The pro shop. Rafe was in there. I
snatched off my red Titleist ball cap and tried to fluff my hat-flattened hair.
Why didn’t golf carts come with vanity mirrors?

“What’s the damage?” I asked, not
really wanting to know my golf score but needing closure on this round of golf.

“Not bad, not bad.” Jonette
whipped our score card off the steering wheel and waved it in my face. “Double-check
my math. Looks like forty-five for me and sixty-two for you.”

I reviewed the scores, summed the numbers in my head, and signed the edge of the card to attest the scoring. “These check
out.” My heart sank at the total, even though a sixty-two was eight strokes
better than my score had been earlier this summer. I crushed my hat in my
hands.

In my wildest dreams I’d never
imagined a handsome, sought-after hunk like Rafe Golden would be attracted to a
small-town woman like me. While we weren’t professing our undying love for each
other, the “L” word lurked in the back of my mind. Scary thing that, especially
when I didn’t know if the feeling was mutual.

Jonette veered off the sunny cart
path into the shade of the leafy Ligustrum hedge between the course and the pro
shop. She hit the brakes and shot me a razor-sharp glance. “You gonna tell me what’s eating you, or do I have to wring it out of you?”

“It’s Mama,” I admitted flatly.
My conscience warned me to keep my mouth shut, that this might blow over. Then
again, it might not. But if I kept this worry inside, I would surely end up in
the nuthouse. I needed to tell Jonette. “She got into a fight with Erica Hodges
at Ladies Outreach meeting two days ago.”

Jonette’s jaw dropped, forming a
perfect O in her heart-shaped face. “Your mom beat up that old biddy? And you
didn’t call me?”

“It didn’t come to blows, but they were inches from it.” Now that I’d opened the floodgates, words bubbled
out. “Mama moped around Monday afternoon and Tuesday, too. She didn’t watch her
soaps, and she hasn’t said a word about the food I’ve served. She went straight
to bed after her hospitality meeting last night. It’s like someone reached inside and turned Mama off. I’m worried.”

Jonette’s amber-flecked eyes
rounded. “I see what you mean. Ordinarily, Delilah would be breathing fire and
plotting ways to get back at Erica by now. Shutting down isn’t her style.”

My head pounded something fierce. Using the heels of my hands, I massaged my throbbing temples. “If that isn’t
enough to worry about, Charlie has been helpful lately. He drove both girls to
the office supply store and endured their back-to-school shopping without
complaint.”

It took me two years to put my
life back together after my divorce from Charlie Jones. I’d finally come to terms with my new existence. But the rules of life kept changing on me. I didn’t know how
to handle a nice Charlie or a quiet Mama.

Jonette inhaled sharply and went
statue still. “What’s he up to?”

“He’s sucking up to me. To make me think he’s changed.”

My friend’s hand went to her
throat. “You’re not buying his con job, are you?”

A twosome from our golf league
whizzed past. I leaned close to Jonette. “Get this. He paid his child support
check a week early this month. I didn’t have to remind him about it.”

“Something is definitely up with
him. Watch your back and your front, too.” Jonette frowned. “Are the girls
okay?”

“Charla and Lexy are fine. They
love this extra parental attention. Charla talks nonstop about getting her
driver’s license in a few months, and Lexy plans to join the high school
yearbook staff.”

“How’s Madonna?”

I inherited my very pregnant,
short-haired Saint Bernard from a friend who’d been murdered. “She’s rounding
out. Sleeping all the time. I still can’t believe we’re having puppies.”

“I can hardly wait.”

Jonette wanted one of the
puppies, but I had no idea what to do with the rest of the batch. “Sell them,”
the vet had said. My immediate reaction had been: No way! Making a profit on
Madonna’s offspring was coldly wrong. Especially since she’d saved my life.

“What about the hot affair?”
Jonette asked. “What’s the word on that?”

Heat streamed from my cheeks. “A
few scheduling problems, but hot just the same.”

A big grin lit Jonette’s face. “All
that sneaking around put pep in your step this summer. And the man absolutely
lights up when he sees you. I wish Dean reacted the same way to me.”

Dean was Jonette’s sixth try at
finding true love. It tore me up that she was unhappy again. When was it going
to be her turn? “I thought things were better between you two.”

Jonette’s expressive face fell.
She seemed fascinated with the card clip on the steering wheel. “I’m thinking
about leaving Dean, but I can’t afford to lose my job, too.”

Dean owned the Tavern, where
Jonette worked as a barmaid. If Dean couldn’t see how special Jonette was, he
was toast as far as I was concerned. “Ouch. Tough call there.”

“No kidding. But, it’s not like
either one of us is interested in someone else. Dean and I are comfortable
together, like a pair of old shoes.”

Another cart of lady golfers
motored past on the sun-dappled cart path. I wished I knew what to tell
Jonette. My experience with males was limited to two men, Charlie and Rafe.
Charlie was oatmeal to Rafe’s Belgian waffle. Inspiration struck.

Maybe Dean was oatmeal, too. “You deserve new shoes. If Dean isn’t up to par, you need to go shopping.”

“Good morning, ladies. What are
we shopping for?”

My head whipped around to the
source of that deep voice. Built like a fireplug, Detective Britt Radcliff gave
the impression bad guys didn’t stand a chance against the mighty forces of law
and order. His thunderstorm-gray eyes danced with laughter.

“Shoes,” I said, chewing my
bottom lip.

“Definitely shoes,” Jonette
echoed with mock solemnity.

“Right.” Britt’s grin faded. But
his cop face didn’t scare me. He’d been my Sunday school teacher and
self-proclaimed protector ever since I could remember. “I need to talk to you,
Cleo.”

My throat constricted as possible
implications of a visit from a cop leaped into my head. I had visions of
twisted metal and precious blood spilled. I jumped out of the golf cart in
alarm, my red Titleist cap tumbling to the ground. “My kids!”

I’d moved too fast, and the world
went dark. Temporary blackouts were an annoying side effect of low blood
pressure. I clawed my way out of darkness to find Britt holding me by my forearms and Jonette at my side.

“Your kids are fine.” Britt’s
scowling face filled my field of vision. “You sure you’re not in a family way?”

Giddy relief flooded my foggy
brain. My daughters were safe. I pushed at the strong, capable hands that
supported me. “I’m not pregnant. Why did you scare me like that?”

“But she could be.” Jonette poked
me in the ribs with her elbow. “She has an active sex life these days.”

“Shush, Jonette.” I stepped out
of Britt’s reach, leaned against the cart, and hugged my arms to my chest. “If
it’s not the girls, is it Mama?”

“Delilah is fine, as far as I
know.” Britt shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks. “I’m here
because of the trouble at the Ladies Outreach Committee meeting on Monday.”

My stomach clenched and my breath
hitched. “I don’t understand. Is there an official complaint against Mama?”

“I’m afraid so. Erica Hodges
filed an incident report yesterday. Two witnesses confirmed that Delilah
threatened Erica during the meeting. Do you know what’s going on?”

Fire brimmed in my veins. But
before I could get a word out, Jonette beat me to it. “I’ll tell you what’s
going on,” she said. “Erica Hodges is a trumped-up, royal pain in the ass,
that’s what. She lords her blue-blooded heritage over the rest of us peons. If
Delilah threatened her, she deserved it.”

I tried to breathe normally. The
girls were okay. Mama was okay. Erica was a puke, but that was old news.
Bending down, I picked my cap off the grass and snugged it on my head. “I was
there and overheard the exchange. Mama didn’t threaten Erica. She suggested
Erica should mend her ways. Mama was upset because Erica ruined the circus outing
they’d spent months planning. For sick children.”

“Upset or not, Delilah can’t go
around issuing terroristic threats. Can you talk some sense into her?”

I managed a choking laugh. “Mama
is practically a force of nature. She marches to her own beat.”

“She better watch what she says.
Erica is pretty stirred up about this.” He studied me for a long moment. “Those guns still under your bed?”

My breath caught in my throat. “How
do you know about that?”

“It’s my business to know these
things. Keep the guns away from Delilah until this settles down. Let’s be smart
about this.”

The guns weren’t the problem.
Mama was. She didn’t take direction well. Never had. Never would. “I’ll see
what I can do.”

“Be assertive. And nosy,” he
said.

A short blast of air puffed out
of my nostrils. “You didn’t think my nosiness was good a few months ago. You
told me to keep my nose out of police business.”

Britt’s weight shifted onto the
balls of his feet, his shoulders went back, and his arms tensed. His police
detective eyes pinned me to the golf cart. Potential energy hummed in the air. “Should I take Erica’s complaint seriously?”

A deep chasm opened between us
with that question. I respected law and order, but family loyalty put me squarely in Mama’s corner. If Britt came after Mama, he’d be coming after me, too.

Dread constricted my chest. I
hated being on the wrong side of the law. But I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Neither had Mama. Unless you counted her shooting her mouth off, which was an
everyday occurrence.

“Of course not.” I blinked
furiously. “Jonette’s right. Erica’s a bully. She participated in the argument one hundred percent.”

He held my gaze until I squirmed. Britt trusted me to tell him the truth. Every accountant knew that increasing the number of
data points increased precision and accuracy. I didn’t have enough data points
for this conflict between Mama and Erica. All I had was the sinking feeling
that my life was about to get messy again.

In the sudden silence, Britt’s
radio on his hip squawked. I startled at the burst of noise. Britt’s focus
shifted as he responded. I leaned forward, straining to decipher the
abbreviated police jargon. Britt uttered a terse response and turned to face us
again. Waves of tension radiated from him. Harsh lines etched into his rugged
face.

“What is it? What happened?” I
asked.

“Police business downtown. Go home and stay out of trouble.” Britt fixed me with another stern glare and hurried away.

Reasons for Britt’s urgent
summons tumbled through my head, none of them good. The possibility of more
mayhem in Hogan’s Glen sent my stomach on a terrifying roller-coaster ride. Flying
too fast. Free-falling too long.

Nervous heat poured off my body.
Cold sweat beaded in my hairline, pooled down the rigid channel of my spine.

“You all right?” Jonette asked,
touching my shoulder.

“Not exactly.”

“You look like you’ve had a
terrible shock.”

“Gee, thanks.” I studied my
two-toned shoes. “The police radio. That sound of electronic static.” I took
three deep breaths. “I feel like I’m standing outside in that moment before a storm when the light thins. That twilight moment is upon me.”

“Wow. That’s deep. I never
thought about a storm that way before.”

“I can’t shake this feeling. It
feels like . . . you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

Jonette implored me to continue with a wave of her hand.

I hated this helpless, skittering
feeling. I tossed my hat back into the cart. My fingers sought a hank of hair
and held on tight. “I can’t shake this awful feeling in my gut. That call Britt
just got, I can’t stop thinking about it. What if that call is something terrible?” I met Jonette’s anxious gaze. “Britt was headed downtown. Did you hear
anything else?”

Her face scrunched. “Something about the Episcopal church.”

The pounding in my head turned to
thunder. My family belonged to Trinity Episcopal. Worse, Mama, Francine, and
Muriel were meeting at the church this morning to plan the Sunday school
hostess schedule for the fall.