Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

what a good thing it was we were all doing, blah, blah, blah. And it was going good, and all of a sudden Paula just ended the session. We’re supposed to be there an hour, and it wasn’t even thirty minutes.”

Betsy was shaking her head. “How on earth did he find this woman? And if she’s obviously on drugs, like you say, why would he refer people to her?”

Wyatt glanced around the lobby and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you why, but you’re not gonna believe it. Because he’s in her pants.”

“Shhh!” Betsy yanked him up by the arm and hustled him out of the courthouse.

“Oww,” Wyatt winced and she loosened her clutch.

“In my car,” she said, making a beeline for the parking lot.

*   *   *

When they were in Betsy’s car, with the air conditioner blowing at full blast, he gave her the whole story. Or as much of it as his pride would allow.

“Wednesday night, after Paula let us leave early, we all went over to the Sandbox, like we always do.”

She gave him a fishy look. “Tell me that’s not a strip joint.”

“All those women? You know I’m the only guy, right? The Sandbox is a bar. In Cortez.”

“That dumpy little fishing village?”

“It’s not all that dumpy,” Wyatt said. “Anyway, the Sandbox is a classic dive bar. It’s even got an original Ms. Pac-Man. One of the women in the group, Grace, her mother owns it, which is why we go there.”

“Who’s we?”

“Everybody in the group. Me, Grace, Camryn, Ashleigh, and Suzanne. Like I said, I’m the only guy. At first I thought they were gonna scratch my eyes out, because they’ve all been shafted by their husbands, and they all hate men, but we’re cool now.”

“You were telling me about Stackpole being, as you indelicately put it, in your therapist’s pants? What makes you think that?”

“For one thing, you had to see them in the same room together. Paula was all giggly and flirty. And then, well, there was this other thing.”

“Tell me.” Betsy dug in her pocketbook, pulled out a stick of gum, offered it to her nephew, then took one for herself.

“Okay, but you’re not gonna like it,” he warned.

*   *   *

When he’d finished recounting his story, Betsy sighed. “You’re right. I reallllly don’t like what you guys did.”

“Do you happen to know where Stackpole lives?” Wyatt asked eagerly.

“I have no idea. But I would imagine he probably lives somewhere over on Longboat.”

“How about his car? Do you know what kind of car he drives? Like I said, this was a Lexus.”

“Stackpole is as conservative as it comes, so whatever he drives, I’d be willing to bet it’s a big American-made land yacht.”

“Hey!” A light came into Wyatt’s eyes. “Do judges have assigned parking spaces? Here at the courthouse?”

“Probably,” Betsy said. “God forbid a judge might have to drive around and hunt for a parking spot like the average Joe.”

She sighed. “I suppose you want me to swing through the county parking deck to check this out?”

Wyatt leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “Did I ever mention that you’re my favorite aunt?”

“I’m your only aunt,” Betsy said. But she started the car and went on the prowl.

29

Transformations and Dirty Laundry

Dear Readers: If you’ve managed to follow me over here to my new blog, TrueGrace, from my former blog, you know that my personal life has been dealt some, uh, “challenges” lately. My marriage came off the rails in a fairly spectacular way, I’ve left my husband and lost my home, and now my former blog has been co-opted by my estranged husband and my former assistant. It sounds like it should be a funny story, but unfortunately there’s no punch line.

Somebody—and I have a good guess who that is—has been sabotaging me professionally, wiping out my blog posts, leaving nasty comments falsely attributed to me on other blogs, and just generally smearing my good name in the blogosphere. I won’t make any accusations, but I would like to assure all my readers, and other bloggers, that I have never and would never engage in such scurrilous behavior.

On a positive note, my life these days is a clean slate. And I have an exciting new project to share with you! Over these next few weeks and months I hope you’ll follow along as I rehab, restore, and redecorate a wonderful original 1920s cottage.

Mandevilla Manor, as I call it, is a classic example of a vernacular Florida cracker cottage. Built of heart pine on a raised cinderblock foundation, it has the original pine board and batten walls, oak floors, and an airy screened porch.

I discovered this diamond in the rough when I was out for a morning run recently. I noticed a huge pile of trash sitting on a curb, which meant a house was being cleaned out. As I watched, a gentleman dragged a fabulous 1940s rattan sofa to the curb. When I struck up a conversation with Arthur, who turned out to be the landlord, I learned that his deadbeat tenants had vacated the house after thoroughly trashing it.

The house has been in Arthur’s family for three generations, and he was disheartened by all the work it would take to make it habitable again.

At Arthur’s invitation, I toured the house, and, although it was filthy and in terrible disrepair, I could easily see all the charm just waiting to be rediscovered. So Arthur and I worked out a deal. He has provided a tiny budget, and I will provide the vision—and the sweat—to bring Mandevilla Manor back to life.

This will be a true shoestring operation. I’ll be shopping at discount centers, thrift stores, and yard sales, and, yes, I’ll probably be doing some Dumpster diving and curb cruising. Since my budget is so small, I’ll be providing most of the girl power myself. As you can see from this first batch of before and “in process” photos, I’ve already torn down all the yellowing venetian blinds and ripped up all the nasty old carpet. The