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

women. I did the math. That’s 4,500 dollars. In one day. Do you make that kind of money in one day? I sure as hell don’t.”

It didn’t take long for that to sink in. “What do you want from me?” Grace asked.

“You said your lawyer went to law school with Stackpole? You trust her?”

“Yessss?” Grace said reluctantly.

“Talk to her. Ask her to sniff around. I’d ask my lawyer, but he’s a man. And he’s from Miami, went to law school down there. Balls of brass, great for negotiating your next contract at the station, but he’s definitely not in the local courthouse pipeline.”

Grace hesitated. “I’ll ask Mitzi what she can find out, but in the meantime I’ve got an idea of what we can do to help Paula. But I’ll need your help. The others, too.”

“You bleeding-heart liberals,” Camryn said. “What have you got in mind?”

“I’ll e-mail everybody else in the group, let them know the plan. Wednesday night, assuming Paula shows up, we ambush her. Do an old-school Betty Ford intervention.”

Camryn nodded thoughtfully. Put on her sunglasses, picked up the check. “I like it.” She pulled her straw hat down so that it put her face in deepest shade. “Don’t tell anybody else, but I like you, too, Grace Stanton.”

“Davenport,” Grace corrected. “It’s Davenport now.”

Grace watched while Camryn sped purposefully down the pier toward the parking lot. Had Camryn Nobles actually just befriended her? Were they in cahoots? Conspiring against Stackpole? Her life had just taken another unexpected turn. For the better, she hoped.

39

Grace took the outside stairs to the apartment two at a time. She let herself into her bedroom and set Sweetie on her bed. She knelt beside the bed and whispered into the dog’s silky ear. “I’ve got to take a shower and get ready for tonight. But you have to be really, really quiet, or the bad lady downstairs will kick us both out of here.”

Sweetie blinked, gave Grace’s nose a lick, then settled herself on one of Grace’s pillows, with her head on her paws. By the time Grace emerged from the shower, the dog was asleep. She dressed quietly, in a pair of blue and white seersucker shorts and a scoop-necked white T-shirt that she’d found for a total of five dollars at the Junior League thrift shop.

She found Rochelle downstairs, behind the bar, refereeing a hot argument about politics between two of her regulars.

“You look nice,” Rochelle said, raising an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

“I promised Wyatt I’d take dinner when I drop Sweetie off for the night,” Grace said.

Rochelle frowned. “Is that dog…”

“Sleeping in my room. Don’t get your panties in a wad. It’s just until I round up some food to take over there. He’s got Bo tonight. What do little boys like to eat?”

“I never had a little boy, so I wouldn’t know. But I can tell you what the big ones like. Meat. Fried things. Cheesey things. Anything with ketchup or barbecue sauce. Or jalapeños.”

“Well, it’s after five now, and I promised to have dinner there at six,” Grace said. “So I don’t have time to fix anything healthy from scratch. What are our specials tonight?”

“Wings. Crab burgers. Fried fish bites. Taco casserole.”

“God help me, but the taco casserole hits on all the major male food groups,” Grace said.

She went through the swinging doors into the kitchen and found the taco casserole on the steam table. Grace scooped up enough of the casserole to fit into a foil nine-by-twelve to-go tray and fitted it with a cardboard top. She was filling another foil tray with salad when Rochelle joined her.

“What about dessert?”

“Maybe just some fruit?”

Rochelle snorted. “If you’re ever gonna land another man you’ve got to get over this healthy fetish of yours.” She turned to one of the big walk-in coolers and lifted out a plastic-covered dish. “Never met a man or a kid yet who didn’t love my brownie pie,” she said, slicing off a huge slab and placing it in a large Styrofoam clamshell. Then she reached back into the cooler and handed her daughter a white can. “Whipped cream. You know what to do with this. Don’t you?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Grace said primly. She sorted everything into a large brown paper sack. “Thanks, Mom. This will be great.”

Rochelle raised one eyebrow. “Don’t forget the damned dog.”

*   *   *

Wyatt Keeler emerged from the shower to find the other male inhabitants of his home immersed in the Rays game. Nelson was stationed in his recliner command center, and Bo was sprawled on his belly on the floor, his face inches from the television. The room was a disaster. A mound of clean, unfolded laundry took up most of the sofa. Bo’s mud-grimed T-ball uniform, underpants, socks, cleats, and sweat-soaked cap were tossed on the floor. The wood laminate coffee table was littered with three days’ worth of newspapers; dirty dishes, including a half-eaten potpie; empty Coke cans; and the remains of their fast-food lunch.

“Hey, you guys,” Wyatt started, but then he felt his bare foot impaled with a piece of sharp plastic. He stooped over and held up a yellow Lego. “Ow!”

“Dad!” Bo protested. “You messed up my Mega-Bot.” He started to scoop up the scattered red, yellow, green, and blue blocks. “I’ve been working on this all day. Now I gotta start all over.”

“Now you gotta clean up this mess,” Wyatt told him. Nelson looked up from his chair.

“Both of you,” Wyatt said firmly. “We’ve got company coming in fifteen minutes, so I need all hands on deck here. Bo, pick up all your Legos and stash them in their basket, where they belong. Get your uniform and put it in the laundry room, then clean up all this trash on the coffee table. Dad? Didn’t you say you’d fold the laundry and put it away?”

“You said I’d fold the laundry,” Nelson muttered, bracing his hands on the recliner’s arms as he struggled to stand. “And what are you going to be doing