Chapter 10 Mrs. Matthews
TEN
Mrs. Matthews
Mabel
“Let me guess,” I said to the window. “You called Mrs. Matthews.”
I looked up at him as he replied to the window, “Forgot to mention, David Ashbrook is coming tomorrow morning at eight to install your motion sensor lights.”
“That’s quite something to forget.”
When his brown eyes came down to mine, he didn’t have the grace even to look sheepish.
Tonks went wild when there was a knock at the door.
Then, get this, Hutch…Hutch… sauntered to the door and opened it like the man paid rent.
I followed him to see Mrs. Matthews staring up at him, blinking.
I also saw on her dome of short, gray, set curls, she was wearing a little black felt pillbox hat with a dent in it that was supposed to be there and a bunch of netting that didn’t look like it was.
My guess, vintage ’50s, maybe ’60s.
She was also wearing a big black wool overcoat with a wide glossy black fur lapel, which I would only forgive her for because that coat was no doubt made in the ’70s. It went to her ankles so she could show off her sensible black pumps.
She looked like the next errand on her schedule was to go back in time to attend JFK’s funeral.
It was chilly outside, though not that cold.
To each their own.
“Quiet,” Hutch ordered a still-howling Tonks with so much authority in his tone, even I was thinking I wouldn’t utter a word for the next two days.
For sure Tonks shut up and sat down.
“You have a pet?” Mrs. Matthews asked imperiously.
Oh dang.
I should probably have called her.
“Yes,” I told her. “Actually two. I also adopted a cat. I checked my rental agreement. There isn’t any stipulation against them, or deposit required.”
She moved forward, nearly bowling over Hutch, as she walked in like what was true: she owned the place.
Hutch was looking out the door.
I leaned in to see what caught his notice, and I saw Brooks, the grandson I’d met during my plumbing repair, wandering in the forest to the south of the property, with his brother, who I hadn’t officially met, doing the same several yards away.
Hutch and I pulled out of the door, he shut it, and we turned to Mrs. Matthews.
“Of course I don’t require a pet deposit,” she decreed when she got our attention.
“Pets are family. I wouldn’t require a deposit for a child.
” She said those last two words like doing such a thing should be added as the eighth deadly sin.
“And you paid a deposit. They do damage, you don’t get your deposit back. ”
“Right,” I whispered, attempting not to laugh, because this woman was one hilarious trip.
“Brooks and Ellis are checking to see if those Waco whackos are using my land to do their peeping Tom routine,” Mrs. Matthews announced.
Seemed Hutch had been more forthcoming than perhaps he needed to be.
Therefore, I screwed up my face and aimed it at Hutch.
He didn’t even look at me.
He told Mrs. Matthews, “They are.”
“Well!” Mrs. Matthews exclaimed, like they were peeping on her. She turned her focus to me. “I’ve approved David coming tomorrow to install the lights. I’ve spoken to him directly, and he’s also installing one of those doorbell camera doohickeys. One at the front and one in the car port.”
Before I could say anything, Hutch said, “Great idea.”
She squinted at him. “You that former SEAL who trains dogs?”
Wait.
He’d mentioned special forces.
But…
He was a SEAL?
“Yup,” he answered.
She wagged a black kid leather glove-encased finger between us. “You two an item?”
“No,” I said swiftly, at the same time Hutch said, “Nope.”
She brazenly looked Hutch up and down. She then did the same to me.
After that, she noted, “I don’t know which one of you to ask if you’re blind.”
“He’s training Tonks,” I told her, and as if Tonks’s name being said gave her permission to let loose—and in Tonks’s mind, it did—she trilled a woof and added a short howl.
Mrs. Matthews glanced at Tonks, stating, “If you say so.”
“He is,” I asserted.
She fluttered a hand in a line in front of her.
“Whatever.” Her hand dropped to her side.
“Now, those Waco whackos mess with you again, I want you to call me. I’ll send Mark, Brooks, Ellis, or all three of ’em out here to make a statement.
This cabin went unrented for a full eight months. Unacceptable!”
She said the last word loudly, and Tonks agreed with her by releasing a yodel.
“Everyone local knows all about them,” she carried on. “It took an out-of-towner who didn’t know those nutjobs were living over there to find a tenant.”
“You should have told Mabel,” Hutch said.
She gave him narrowed eyes. “This isn’t a required disclosure.”
“You still should have told her,” Hutch pushed.
“Excuse me, son, but how was I supposed to know they actually were Waco whackos?” she returned.
“You probably shouldn’t call them that,” I said carefully.
“I’ll say whatever I want,” she shot back. “Though, I wouldn’t call them that if they didn’t pull that stunt with you.”
She had a point.
She glanced at Tonks. “You got the dog because of this?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“Smart girl,” she mumbled, and I had no idea why, but her words, her approval, made me feel amazing.
No, I did know why.
She was wild, I didn’t know her very well, but I liked her. I even admired her.
And one could say I was a girl who had not grown up with many positive affirmations.
Nor many people to admire.
“So!” she stated crisply. “You look okay. You know to phone me if something else should occur. You have a dog, and you’ll soon have lights and a camera. For now, I think that’s all we can do.”
With that, she swept our way, but I stopped her by asking, “Do you like sourdough bread?”
She halted on a low-heeled pump, looked to the bread, to my face, and asked, “Is that homemade?”
“Yes. I have a starter.”
With that, she turned to Hutch and declared, “Boy, I’m thinkin’ you’re just plain loco.”
Hutch said nothing.
She might not be young, but her hand came out faster than my eyes had the ability to see, and she snatched the bread out of my hold.
She tucked it under her arm like a football and proclaimed, “I’m leaving.”
For a second, I didn’t know why she proclaimed that since her trajectory to the door already did, until she stood immobile at said door.
I heard Hutch make a low noise in his throat that could be humor, or frustration (knowing him, I was betting on the latter), and he walked to the door and opened it for her.
She didn’t say thank you.
She just walked out.
Hutch and I stood at the door and watched her go down the steps and make her way over the damp earth to stand at the passenger side of the truck.
She allowed approximately two point five seconds to pass before she bellowed, “We’re going!”
Two goon-like young men loped out of the forest to the truck.
One opened the door for his grandma and helped her in, and when I say that, I mean he mostly scooped her up and deposited her in her seat.
He got in the back, Brooks got in the front, and before he pulled out, he peeled his four fingers from the wheel in a kind of wave to Hutch and me.
Hutch didn’t move.
I waved back.
They headed up the drive and disappeared.
“That woman is a bona fide hoot,” I said.
“I’m gone,” Hutch said, and he walked out onto the porch.
I quickly adjusted myself and the door so Tonks couldn’t make a run for it.
“See you tomorrow,” I called.
He didn’t look back, but he did lift a hand over his head and flick his finger out.
God, this guy.
I closed the door.
Tonks howled.
I looked up at the loft and wondered if it was time.
“Want to meet your sister?” I asked my dog.
Tonks glanced over her shoulder at the loft like she knew what I was talking about (she probably did, dogs had sensitive noses too), threw her head back and released a variety of husky trills I was hoping meant “yes.”
“All right,” I muttered nervously. “Let’s give this a go.”
I headed up the spiral staircase.
Tonks came with me.
We both went to the bathroom door.
And we gave it a go.
One couldn’t say I was sleeping.
I was too stressed out to sleep.
My dog was sleeping, draped over my feet.
Although the sister-sister introduction went well, as in, we hadn’t endured a chase scene, a single hiss or anything even resembling a growl, I was still anxious.
After some circling and sniffing, Tonks didn’t seem to have much interest in Moxie. And Moxie only had interest in reacquainting herself with the house.
But now was now.
I couldn’t keep an eye when I was asleep.
I should have put Moxie back in the bathroom.
On this thought, shit got real when I felt that distinctive sensation a bed had when a cat jumped on it.
I tensed.
I felt Tonks’s head come up.
I turned mine to the side and saw through the moonlight Moxie standing statue still, one paw up, staring at Tonks.
Tonks stared at Moxie.
I held my breath and braced to move.
After a while, Moxie looked to me and back to Tonks.
She then inched her way to Tonks.
I gulped in some oxygen then held my breath so hard, my lungs started hurting.
A quick sniff, that kind cats did where whatever touched their sensitive noses before they even got close made them jerk back before they went in.
Tonks didn’t move.
I didn’t move.
Moxie moved.
She curled against the fur on Tonks’s chest.
Tonks let her head drop with a plop.
I heard Moxie start purring.
I smiled into the dark.
Okay, maybe sometimes—rarely, but sometimes—life worked out for me.
I was glad, for all three of us, this was one of those times.
I listened to purrs for a while.
Then I closed my eyes and fell asleep.