8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Brandy
I woke up with a plan. And the plan was this: if I could get enough businesses to commit to Summerween, decorated trunks, candy, costumes, the whole thing, then Nick Carson would have no choice but to acknowledge that Summerween was a good event to add to his week. And I knew exactly where to start.
Ruthie slid the three cellophane bags across the counter as soon as I told her who I was there for.
“Monster cookies,” she said. “Three kinds of chocolate. Trust me, that's what they like.”
“Did Jo tell you about the meeting?” I asked, handing her my debit card.
“Yes. She also told me about the chief's attitude towards it.” Ruthie's eyes went wide. “And about the fall. I bet that was embarrassing.”
“That’s a bet you would win. I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed in my life.”
She laughed. “I told Jo I was convinced if anyone was going to make Chief Carson change his mind, it would be you.”
“Thanks for the confidence and the cookie tip.”
Helen, Edith, and Fern, the Harris sisters, were exactly where I'd been told they would be.
Seated on stools behind the community center's front desk.
There wasn't a person who came in or out of the center that they couldn’t see from that vantage point.
What amazed me was the fact that they had gotten themselves onto those stools, given they looked like they had a combined age somewhere north of three hundred and two.
The sisters wore neon pink bowling shirts with black and white accents.
Each had reading glasses perched on their noses; chains connected to the glasses swung as the ladies swiveled their heads.
Their lipstick and blush colors varied from bright pink to brick red.
Fern's looked like it was applied with the cheerful enthusiasm of a woman who had stopped worrying about staying inside the lines sometime around nineteen eighty-seven.
All three of them looked up and honed in on me when I walked in.
As if they were one, they looked me over in a way that was so thorough I briefly wondered if I would be required to provide references.
No wonder people talk about them like they do.
“You're new, so either you're visiting family and want a day pass, or you must be the Community Ambassador,” Helen said. “And I’m guessing the latter because we saw you at the fire station.”
“Day passes are ten dollars,” Edith added.
Fern smiled at me with the open warmth of a woman who had decided she liked me before I'd said a word.
“You must be,” I nodded at each of them as I said their names. “Helen, Edith, and Fern. It's so nice to meet you. I'm Brandy Wilson.” I set a cookie in front of each of them. “I thought you might like a treat.”
Dead silence.
“Are you trying to win us over with chocolate?” Helen asked intently, eyeing me.
“Because it will work every time,” Edith laughed, grabbing her cookie. “Oh, our favorite.”
“Good job,” Fern smiled, already unwrapping hers with the focused joy of a child on Christmas morning. “We’re sisters, you know.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, dear, but I’m sure Ruthie told her.” Helen slid her cookie closer. “Now, Brandy Wilson, about you. Married?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?” Edith asked. “Was he unsatisfactory in bed?”
I blinked and decided that if this was how we were going to do this, then this was how we were going to do this. “He was a cheater. Several times with several women.”
“Oh.” Helen waved her cookie. “He's an ass then.”
“One of the biggest.”
“Is he pushing up daisies in your backyard?” Edith asked pleasantly.
I giggled. “No. Though sometimes I wish he was.”
“Sometimes?” Helen squinted.
“My husband would have been,” Edith said to Helen.
“Mine too.” Helen nodded firmly. “We lived on a farm, you know. Lots of places to hide a body on a farm.”
“Unfortunately, I lived in a big city,” I explained. “Too many neighbors asking questions.”
Helen and Edith looked at each other.
“Yeah, it would be harder to hide a body in a big city,” Edith nodded.
“Much harder,” Helen agreed. They both looked at me with something that might have been sympathy. “Shame.”
Fern patted my hand. “You're better off, dear. Some men are like bad teeth. The longer you wait to pull them, the worse it gets.”
I decided then and there that despite what I’d heard, I loved these women completely and without reservation. And I would bring them a cookie a week just to have conversations like this.
“Are those your bowling shirts? The color’s great.” I smiled. “I’ve heard good things about the senior bowling league.”
“It’s our lifeblood,” Helen nodded.
“Yeah, we beat them to a bloody pulp,” Fern smacked her fist into her palm.
“Dear, you really need to lay off those late-night movies.” Helen told Fern.
“Now,” Helen fiddled with her shirt. “Brandy Wilson, what are you here for?”
Movement across the lobby caught everyone's attention. Scott, in his department T-shirt, was quickly cutting through the community center heading toward the fire department door. He saw us and raised a hand.
“Morning, ladies.” He grinned.
Helen sat up two inches. Edith put her cookie down. Fern ran a hand through her hair.
“HI SCOTT!” All three of them, together, at full volume, waving at him.
I waved too; Scott waved again and kept briskly walking. All three of them leaned to the side, watching him go.
“That boy is a looker,” Edith said, leaning even more to maintain her sightline.
“Boy howdy, I’d say he is,” Helen nodded in agreement. “Both coming and going.”
“Good leg muscles,” Fern said, licking her lips. “That's important.”
I couldn't help but laugh. “You three are gems. I'm so glad I stopped.”
“Us too, dear,” Helen smiled. “Gives us something to talk about over lunch.”
“Well, I better go.” I took a step to the side. “I don't want to keep Chief McAllister waiting.”
Edith's head swiveled. “You have business with the Chief?”
The way she said business made me think that would become the main topic of lunch, whether I liked it or not.
I put my hand up. “Nothing more than normal city business,” I said.
Helen's face fell, and she puffed out a breath. “How boring.”
Fern looked mildly hopeful. “Thank you for the cookie.”
I picked up my purse. “Thank you for the conversation.”
“Come again,” Edith said.
“Yes, come back,” Helen said, more as a command than a request. “And you’re welcome at bowling.”
“Thank you, have a wonderful day, ladies.” I headed to the door that led to the police station.
The officer at the front desk told me to go right in, that Chief McAllister was expecting me.
I knocked anyway out of respect and old habits.
“Come in!”
I opened the door, took a half step, and stopped.
Hank McAllister was standing in the middle of his office wearing his police uniform shirt, his utility belt, and a pair of bright red Santa pants.
A woman was crouched at his feet with a pincushion on her wrist, working on the hem.
“I'm so sorry,” I said, already backing up. “I can come back.”
“Nonsense, come in!” Hank waved me in. “Carrie's almost done. You must be Brandy Wilson.” He stuck out his hand and gave mine a shake that meant it. “Hank McAllister. Call me Hank.”
“Stop moving,” Carrie said, “or I'll pin these to your leg.”
“Are those Santa pants?” I asked, eyeing the vibrant red pants with white, fluffy hems.
Hank stood up straighter. “Why, yes, they are. I'm Santa, you know.”
From my facial expression, he could clearly tell that I clearly did not know.
“The big fundraiser. In July. For the children's wing of the hospital.” He waited a split second to see if I said anything. When I didn’t, he gestured broadly at the wall on the opposite side of the room.
I turned and saw several pictures of Santa sitting in an oversized chair with kids around him.
“The whole community center turns into a winter wonderland. We call it Christmas in July. See, we tell the kids Santa heard what a great cause it was and came just to help out.” He nodded. “They buy it.”
“Everyone loves it,” Carrie said from the floor. “Hi, I'm Carrie.” She offered her hand up without looking up from her pins. “And someone mysteriously ripped his pants last year, so now I have to hem the new ones. And I want to get it done.”
“Hey, accidents happen,” Hank said to the ceiling. “I like this pair better, anyway. More room in the waist.” He pulled the pants' waistband out.
Carrie paused her pinning and raised her head. “That's because it's a bigger size.”
Hank looked down at the pants as if seeing them for the first time. “Is that so?” He considered this. “I thought I'd lost some weight.”
“Sure,” Carrie said, going back to her pins. “That's it.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from snickering. During which I took a moment to actually look at Hank McAllister. Thick-chested. A little shorter than Nick, with silver-black hair, steel-blue eyes, and a jawline that could slice wrapping paper.
What was it with the men in this town and their jawlines?
I took my small notebook out of my purse. “Who heads up the Christmas in July event?”
“Steph Kowalski,” Hank and Carrie said together.
“She runs the community center,” Carrie added.
“I'll stop by and introduce myself. I'd love to help.”
“Good.” Hank nodded. “We can always use the help.” He looked at my notebook. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
I told him I wanted to introduce myself and then about Summerween, the trunk-or-treat, the parking lot, the businesses, and decorating the cars. I told him it would be great to have a police presence, and if they could, I'd love a decorated car from the police department.
“When is it?”
I told him.
Hank's eyes sharpened. “Isn't that Safety Week?”
“The last night of it, yes.”
A slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. “And you want a police car in the lineup.”
“I thought it would be great for the community.”
“Oh, girl.” He laughed, building from a chuckle into something that came from considerably deeper.
“I have been trying to get in on Carson's precious Safety Week for YEARS.” He dropped his voice two registers.
“It's a firefighters-only event, Hank.” Back to normal.
“HA!” He pointed at me. “Put us in for TWO cars. An SUV and a squad car.” He clapped his hands together.
“That will put a bee in his traditions bonnet.”
“Ah—” I started to point out that upsetting Chief Carson wasn't my plan; in fact, it was the complete opposite of my plan. But Carrie interrupted me.
“Finished,” Carrie announced, sitting back on her heels. Hank held out a hand and helped her up. “Thanks, now give me the pants.”
Hank undid his belt without ceremony and dropped his Santa pants right there. He side-eyed me, grinning. Thank goodness he had basketball shorts underneath.
“Gotta love a man who drops his pants on command,” I chuckled.
Hank let out a laugh so big it probably rattled the windows in the fire department across the community center. “Shit, Brandy.” He shook his head, stepping out of the Santa pants. “You are going to fit right in around here.”
“It was nice to meet you, Brandy.” Carrie grabbed the pants. “You lay off the beer. These have to fit in July, you know,” she pointed at Hank from the doorway.
“Thank you, you too.”
“Now, Brandy, let me change my britches and I'll show you around our lovely police station.” Hank picked up his uniform pants as he followed Carrie out of the office.
I nodded and took a seat. That was a great move.
Was Nick going to wig out that I invited the police?
I looked at the ceiling. You know what, too bad.
If Nick Carson got a little razzing from Hank, then so be it.
Mr. Crabby deserves it. I meant what I said, Nick was going to love this event or else.