Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (13 page)

“An amazing coincidence.” The laugh lines deepened around
Manny’s eyes. “I’m sure Claire would be happy to clear some brush today.”

“Right, no problem.” It was supposed to top out at 105
degrees this afternoon. Claire jabbed him with her elbow. “I’ll roll around in
some zinc oxide and get right to work on that.”

“Wear a bikini.” Manny wiggled his eyebrows at Claire. “You’ll
look like a mud-wrestling ghost.”

Chuckling, Claire stole one of his V-8s. “You need to seek
counseling.”

“Without these here trees, loverboy, what would I do for a
privacy screen for these sites?” Ruby traced a circle around the small group of
tent-only camping sites clustered in the middle of the map next to the trees.

“Who cares?” Manny shrugged. “They are a waste of real
estate. When’s the last time you rented one?”

“Just last week.”

Manny waved Ruby’s answer aside. “They aren’t even lettered
right. All your other sites have an A or B in front of them. These have an I.
Makes no sense.”

“I agree, but Joe had the maps printed before I came along,
so until I have to order new ones, the tent sites stay.”

Ruby dropped onto the stool and crossed one leg over the
other, kicking her foot. “I have an idea, Manny. Why don’t Chester and you just
walk over and say ‘howdy’ instead of eyeballin’ my other campers through your
binoculars?”

Manny acted shocked—wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and all. “Those
are for bird watching.”

“Sure, darlin’. But if one of your little birds comes in
here squawkin’ about a certain skinny dipper and his peepers, I’m sending
Harley to take those bird-watchers away from y’all.”

The clock in the other room cuckooed to mark the half-hour.

Claire grabbed the small notepad next to the cash register.
She’d better get to work opening that safe before the pressure cooker whistle
blew outside. Weed-whacking under the noontime sun was about as fun as swimming
with electric eels.

“Ruby, do you mind if I take care of some business
downstairs before I get started today?”

“Sure thing, honey.”

“Take care of what?” Manny eyed the notepad suspiciously.

“Girl stuff.” Claire tucked the pad out of view.

“You know I love girl stuff.”

“Manny, mind your own business. Claire, take your time. Jess
can take over here if I need help.”

Claire slipped through the curtain and down the basement steps.
Flipping on the light, she locked the door behind her this time. The smell of
dust and cement greeted her. She pulled out the bookshelf and dropped onto the
hard floor in front of the small door.

She started pushing numbers at random, counting under her
breath as she went. When she punched in a ninth digit, the Error light glowed
red.

“Eight it is.” She hit the Clear button a couple of times.

Leaning the pad of paper against the door, she punched in
the first group of numbers she’d asked Ruby to write down—Joe’s birthday,
including four digits for the year—and held her breath.

Nothing happened. No click, no clunk. The door didn’t pop
open. She’d figured that was too easy, but she had to try.

Claire exhaled and punched in the next set, this time Ruby’s
birthday. Nothing again.

Next came Joe and Ruby’s wedding day, then Jess’s birthday,
then the date Joe officially retired. Still nothing, but she had a bunch more possibilities
to go, thanks to Ruby and her knack for remembering dates.

Thirty minutes later, Claire was ready to go out to the tool
shed and get the sledgehammer. She took off one of her thongs and threw it at
the safe. It hit with a soft thwap.

She’d tried every number on the list, then a few more she’d
made up. She’d ransacked Ruby’s desk, checking every nook and cranny.

She’d entered invoice numbers and dates of purchase for
everything from the novelty cannon pencil sharpener on his desk to the SL500
Roadster Convertible he’d totaled when he’d had his stroke.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Claire glanced around the room, frowning at the
mess she’d made.

“It’s Jess.” The girl’s voice was muffled by the slab of
pine between them. “Mom needs you upstairs.”

“Damn!” Claire closed the top desk drawer. “Tell her I’ll be
there in a couple of minutes.”

“What are you doing?” Jess’s voice came from the crack in
the bottom of the door this time.

“Nothing.” Claire scooped up a pile of doctor and lab
invoices and crammed them into one of the side drawers.

“Then why are there papers all over the place?” Jess would
have made a good Inquisitor General for the Spanish.

“Ummm, I dropped something.”

“Where’s your other shoe?”

Christ! “I had an itch.”

“Are you looking for my money?” Jess whispered loudly.

Claire paused in the midst of trying to close a stuck
drawer. Jess was going to have to get off this kick about the money being hers.
True or not, she didn’t need to be throwing news about Ruby’s money around like
rice at a reception. It would only attract unwanted attention.

“No.” Claire gave up on the drawer and grabbed her thong.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to see Jess with her cheek
pressed against the floor.

Rising to her feet, Jess smiled sheepishly at Claire.

“Let’s go.” Nodding toward the steps, Claire waited for Jess
to lead the way.

As she crested the top step, Claire hesitated at the sound
of Deborah’s voice coming from the other side of the green curtain. After last
night’s rant, she’d vowed to avoid her mother today.

“You didn’t tell me my mom was here.”

Jess paused halfway across the rec room shag. “Kate’s here
too.”

Taking a deep breath, Claire followed Jess through the
curtain.

“There she is!” Kate stood behind the counter, her smile flashbulb
bright, her eyes fifty-cent pieces. She looked like she’d slammed three
espressos in a row.

Deborah looked up from the latest issue of Vogue long enough
to give Claire a frown-filled once over, then returned to flipping through the
pages.

Approaching the counter slowly, Claire glanced around. “Where’s
Ruby?”

Had Deborah eaten her already?

“She’s getting her keys.” Her mother brushed a nonexistent
piece of lint from her peach silk blouse.

“Is she going somewhere?” Running as far from Gramps’s
family as a tank of gas would take her sounded great to Claire.

“Mom and Ruby are going to Yuccaville.” Kate was still
grinning as if she’d slept with a coat hanger in her mouth. Her frozen
jack-in-the-box expression was starting to give Claire the willies.

“They’re going to go shopping.” Jess sounded a bit wistful. “And
have their nails done.”

Claire leaned against the counter. “I don’t think that’s a
good idea, Mom.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, young lady.”
Deborah’s pale blue eyes challenged Claire.

Ruby came swooshing through the curtain, her purse in one
hand and her pickup keys jingling in the other. “Sorry to bother you, Claire,
but your mom insists on kidnapping me for the day.”

“Ruby could use some pre-wedding pampering.” Deborah’s smile
was a total forgery. “Coddling for the bride-to-be.”

Claire glared at her mom. More like strangling for the
bride-to-be if Deborah was allowed to spend the day alone with Ruby. An idea
flitted into Claire’s head. “You’re right, Mom.”

“I am?” Deborah did a double-take. “I mean, I know I am.”

“And since Jess is the maid-of-honor, she should go with you
guys and enjoy the pampering, too. It will be a little event just for the
bridal party.”

Jess’s gaze whipped to Ruby, her mouth open in a half-grin,
her eyes sparkling. “Oh, can I, Mom? Please?”

Deborah scowled at Claire, thunder rumbling over her brows.

“That’s not up to me, honey.” Ruby looked at Deborah.

In a heartbeat, Deborah was all teeth and titters. “Of
course you can go, Jessica. It will be fun.”

Jess squealed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She
skipped to the door behind her mom and Deborah. “This is going to be so cool.”

Claire and Kate followed them out onto the porch.

“Do you realize that we’re going to be sisters soon?” Jess
asked Deborah as she hopped down the steps. “I’ve always wanted a sister. I
mean, you’re a lot older than I wanted, but it’s not like you’re going to die
tomorrow.”

Claire laughed under her breath at the visible tightening of
her mother’s shoulders.

“Oh, Claire.” Ruby paused as she opened the driver’s side
door of the old Ford pickup and let Jess slide into the middle of the bench
seat. “I forgot to tell you that the toilet in the men’s restroom down by site
B23 is plugged again.”

“Crap!” Claire growled in her throat.

Kate snickered. “Literally.”

Ruby shut her door and started the truck. She leaned out her
open window. “We’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Have a good time.” Claire waved at Jess and Ruby, avoiding
her mother’s furious gaze.

As the pickup rattled off down the drive and over the
bridge, Kate sighed. “That was close. Quick thinking on your part. I’m
impressed.”

“You should be. I haven’t even had any caffeine yet.” The
ringing of the phone caught Claire’s ear. She rushed inside and picked up the receiver.
“Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park.”

“Good morning.” A familiar male voice she couldn’t quite
place came through the line. “Is Kate Morgan there?”

Claire glanced at her sister, who was chewing on her lower
lip while staring at the rack of granola bars. “May I tell her who’s calling?”

“Porter Banks.”

* * *

The late afternoon sunshine reflected off the front window
of a shiny blue Ford F250 pickup parked in front of the General Store.

Claire looked across the valley at the violet rain veil that
dangled from thick, dark clouds; the whole mess aiming for the Rabo de Gallo Mountains
in the distance. Jackrabbit Junction had escaped the apocalypse—this time.

Noticing Mabel’s polished black hood as she walked by the
old Mercury, Claire wiped her forehead and then grimaced at the coat of grit
and sweat on her skin.

Her shoulders drooped after a day of rolling with the
punches.

First, she hadn’t been able to crack the safe.

Then that damned toilet won round two, at least until she
could make a trip to Yuccaville for some plumbing parts.

Next, one of the washing machines choked on a sock and
proceeded to leak all over the floor in the laundry room when Claire performed
a modified version of the Heimlich on it.

Then, the grand finale—while weed-whacking around the tool
shed, a rattlesnake shot out of the knee-high grass, rattled and hissed, and
chased Claire up onto a picnic table. For thirty minutes, she baked in the
sunshine at what felt close to 450 degrees, and squished roving harvester ants
for entertainment until the snake finished sunning itself and slithered away.

She loosened her tool belt and let it hang low on her hips
as she climbed the porch steps. A storm-fresh breeze swirled past, tickling the
nape of her neck with tendrils of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. With
one last glance at the receding squall, she pulled open the door.

The cardboard version of Elvis stood at the end of the chips
and pretzels aisle as usual, offering Claire his can of Diet Coke. She tapped
him on the nose as she passed by. “Where is everyone, Elvis the Pelvis?”

She grabbed a Hostess Cherry Pie from the shelf and tossed a
dollar bill onto the counter. A brochure for Sam’s Town Hotel and Casino lay
next to the spare change dish. On the radio, Randy Travis sang about being too
gone for too long. Claire wished he were singing about her.

Lumbering toward the green curtain, she tore open the
wrapper, crammed a third of the pie in her mouth, and groaned as the sweet
cherry filling and glazed pastry dough spread over every taste bud.

All she wanted to do was crawl into a tub of cool water and
soak her bones, a margarita in one hand and pastrami on rye in the other. Maybe
Mac could peel some grapes for her, run a sponge over her back, hand wash her …

As she stepped through the curtain, two things hit her at
once.

First, the aroma of vanilla and cedar.

Second, the urge to run.

Across the rec room, Deborah sat on the couch, her back
straight, her hands folded and resting on one knee—a Norman Rockwell picture of
Ms. Prim and Proper, except for the gape-jawed stare she was giving Claire.
Next to Deborah, Porter Banks leaned back against the cushions, looking like he’d
just finished shooting a Stetson-for-Men commercial and forgotten to shuck the
ostrich-skin boots and cowboy hat.

“Claire!” Deborah’s tone was high and screechy.

Claire winced. She’d heard similar sounding shrieks coming
from the baboon cage at the Rapid City Zoo last summer. She swallowed the lump
of cherry pastry in her throat and waved, struggling to smile politely at the
romance novel cover-model now rising to his feet.

“Hello, Claire.” Porter’s extra white teeth nearly blinded
her. His green eyes flirted as his gaze traveled down over Daffy Duck to her
grease-smeared jeans.

Kate flounced into the room from the hallway leading back to
Ruby and Gramps’s bedroom. “Thanks for waiting, Porter.”

Her hips swished more than usual under her paisley,
sarong-style skirt. Her blonde curls bounced with every step. A sweet-smelling,
fruity cloud of Angel perfume followed her into the room.

When Kate saw Claire, a squawk of laughter burst from her
mouth, which she quickly covered with her hand. Her shoulders shook under her
mint green tank top.

“Oh, can it!” Claire took another bite of her cherry pie. So
she was a little dirty, what was the big deal? There hadn’t been time to run
for cover when that dust devil had swirled along the drive, coating her with
sand and dust.