Chapter 4
Bull
There doesn’t seem to be anyone home at the Tucker house, so I take the unlocked front door as permission to enter and slowly open it, calling out to announce myself. Being in the funeral business as long as I have, I tend to brace myself before walking into an older person’s residence.
At this stage of my life, it’s a relief when I walk into a stranger’s home and don’t smell death or piss. Piss is definitely worse, but none of the scents that make my skin crawl assault me. Strange, since Tucker’s last wife hasn’t been dead six months.
Instead, I smell fresh baked goods and the faint scent of apple cider vinegar—probably used as a cleaning product. Rather than feeling nauseous, my stomach rumbles to remind me that I skipped lunch.
“Hello?” I yell again, just to make sure I don’t get shot.
Wiping my boots dry doesn’t seem to get me anywhere, so I kick them off to give myself a tour of the home.
It’s a pretty standard design and I quickly find myself in the kitchen, enjoying an oatmeal cookie that’s in a clear container on the counter. While things are a bit cluttered for my taste, I appreciate how clean everything looks.
I snort. Of course, things are cluttered, Tucker’s been married five times and if I remember correctly, all except his first wife lived in this house.
Looking into the bedroom on the first floor, it’s obvious that Tucker stays down here, so I head upstairs. All of the doors are closed, so I continue down the hallway until I enter the bonus room that sits over the garage.
Yep. This is what I wanted to see. It’s vibrant, like the woman staying here. While I’d guess that the furniture was all pulled from different rooms of the house, Margo’s made the long, rectangular room downright cozy.
Crossing to a desk that has a large mirror balanced on it, I pick up a tube of lipstick and write my number across the surface. Replaying our conversation in my head, I notice my smirk in the mirror, suddenly having an idea where I might find her.
The VFW hall is a cross between a warehouse and a log cabin. The facade gives the building a warm feel, until you drive further back into the parking lot and realize the budget didn’t stretch much further than the first ten feet along the side of the building.
I’m no sooner in the bar than Old Mae lets out a whistle. “You looking for a cougar, sweetheart?”
The bartender is nearly as old as the bar, but no one dared called her ‘old’ to her face until her granddaughter, also named Mae, started picking up shifts here a few years back.
I grin at her, having immediately clocked the room, and walk up, ordering a couple of pitchers of beer and reaching over to grab a few fresh glasses.
“My dad warned me about you,” I tease her, throwing her a wink that’s never let me down in the past.
She starts fanning her hand in front of her face, playing along, before cackling and leaning forward to show off her generous cleavage. “Your dad was always an ass man, and me? Well, you see where my appeal lays.”
I wink at her again before throwing a fifty down. “Always a pleasure, voluptuous Mae.”
“Next one’s on me…”
“Oh, no, I know for a fact I can’t afford that!” I easily get another laugh out of her.
Draft beer is sold at substantial discounts when compared to regular bars, hence the appeal to the older crowd, so even if she does send over another pitcher, she’ll still have a generous tip.
I’m careful to smile and nod at the appropriate people, they’re going to be my customers sooner rather than later, after all, but I don’t stop until I hit Tucker’s table.
His granddaughter’s back is to me, but as he didn’t clue her in to my impending arrival she jumps when I set the pitchers down. Without a word, I pull out the chair on her left and sit down, slinging an arm around her back after I top off everyone’s beer.
Tucker’s eyes shift between Margo and mine. Giving him a moment to digest my arrival, I look at the man sitting beside Tucker.
Teppy is undoubtedly the man that Margo referenced as having worked on the heater in the plow, and while he was the go-to mechanic back in the day, the squint that’s pointed in my direction explains away half of the problem. The flip phone in his shirt pocket provides the rest of the explanation.
You can’t fix what you can’t see. And considering he’s been retired for a number of years, technology has passed him by.
“Margo was pleased with the work you did on the plow,” I tell him, getting a big grin in return.
“I still got it, don’t I?” he replies. “Your daddy always trusted me with his bikes.”
My dad wasn’t stupid. He could do the work himself, or he could cozy up to the rich, politically connected town mechanic. Keeping any kin of the Teppy’s happy made all the difference when he was running drugs, weapons, and big rigs full of stolen goods through town.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your first name,” I admit and he takes it gracefully.
“That was always a problem when I was growing up. Too many Teppys’ running around, no one wanted to keep track of all of us.
I’m Clem,” he says, reaching a hand across the table.
“Thank you for the beer, Stryker. Most of the young guys who grace us old-timers with their presence weren’t taught right. ”
“You’re more than welcome, although I have to admit I came in here a little hot tonight,” I reply, finally shifting my eyes down to Margo’s. She’s staring up at me, her blue eyes full of curiosity. “You see I got this bill today for having my truck towed out of a ditch yesterday.”
“It’s highway robbery, the rate they passed at the last meeting,” Clem instantly agrees with me, slamming his palm on the table.
“Now, I understand it’s a service, but my problem with it was that I wasn’t informed about the charge.”
If I wasn’t still locked in a staring contest with Margo, I would have said more, but it occurs to me that if I tell the mayor’s uncle that she didn’t have the first clue how to pull me out of the ditch, she could lose her job.
It also occurs to me that all the mailboxes in the county would be safer if she got canned.
She flares her nostrils and I blink.
It’s so fucking cute. Like an angry bunny kind of cute.
I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing while taking a moment to slowly run my eyes down her body.
Jesus fucking Christ. Just how many layers did she have on to straighten out all of these curves yesterday?
Looking across the table, I see that Tucker has noticed my interest and his nostrils are now flared in my direction, but he’s not nearly as cute as his granddaughter, so I look back to Clem.
“Excuse me?” I realize I missed something he said.
“There’s a form you should have had to sign. Margo, did you give him the form?” he asks, looking between us, seemingly oblivious to the subtext that Margo’s grandfather has caught.
“Yes, he signed off on the form,” she quickly assures him.
“Ah, well, you should have read it, Stryker,” Clem informs me, shaking his head to reinforce the error I made. “Are you staying for music bingo? My lady friend wasn’t up for joining us this evening, so we have a spot on our team.”
“Music team bingo?” I ask, thrown off by the change in topics but grin when I see Margo frantically shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. “What kind of music?”
“Well, there are all different categories, you see, like ‘movies’ or songs with weather in the title and it’s anything from the sixties through the eighties.
Margo here is our ringer,” Clem prattles on, to the point that I think he’s just needling the Tuckers.
There’s no way he hasn’t noticed the silence nor the glares from George and Margo.
“Sounds like fun,” I drawl out my agreement, looking at each of them in turn.
“What are you doing?” Margo hisses when Clem and Tucker start talking about whether or not ‘lady friend’ is the right term for Clem’s love interest.
“Enjoying a night with people I’ve known my entire life. And taking the opportunity to get reacquainted with you,” I smoothly answer, sounding as innocent as possible. “Hey, I don’t suppose there are prizes, are there?”
“If you’re looking to recoup the tow fee, I’d happily pay you half to be on your way! And we were never acquainted.”
“Oh, no. This is going to be fun. Besides, I can pull my weight. You might need me,” I tease her back, signaling to the announcer that I need a Bingo card.
George explains that over the years, the organizer gave into the fact that friends were sharing answers so allowed teams of up to four people; with the size of the prizes increasing as the four rounds progressed.
“Now it’s set up, so the actual winner gets a gift card and the table gets a coupon for a free draft beer or hot dog. ”
“I know it’s been a difficult time for you, George. How are you holding up?” I ask him, changing the topic to the one we usually seem to be discussing.
“It’s no secret that the town’s betting on whether I’ll get married again,” he replies, suddenly looking a decade older. “But I really thought Ginny would be burying me. I can’t imagine going through this again.”
“I bet you’re thankful Margo could join you,” I comment, feeling the woman next to me tensing up.
“She’s my favorite grandchild, always has been,” he replies, smiling fondly in her direction. “And the timing couldn’t have been better for her.”
With his last sentence, Margo sucks in her breath and I wonder what I’m missing.
“Where are you from, Margo?” I ask, suddenly realizing how little I know about her. I remember hearing that her dad spent most of his life in Oklahoma, but that could mean anything from a good-sized city to a farm community.
“South.” She succinctly answers my question.
“Most of the country is south of here, any place more specific?”
My words are drowned out as the announcer comes on and kicks off the game. For the next couple of hours, Margo proves Clem right as far as being the ringer—with the exception of heavy metal, so I’m able to help out a bit.