Chapter 8
EIGHT
Peggy Parker-Calhoun was absolutely the woman you talked to when the art supplies in the county ran out. But every Arbor Bay local worth their salt knew it was Marzipan Parker-Calhoun Junior, her Siberian Husky, who you really had to win over before getting near any of the goods.
Benny had only met Marzipan Junior once; he had been an avid fan of his father when he was younger. He just hoped that the two shared the same love for peanut butter biscuits from Paws & Tails.
Benny had one in his pocket and two in a baggy in his tote bag.
Jack had none.
The bartender had refused to hold them and, more annoyingly, had kicked up a fuss like some kind of child over going to Ms. Peggy's in the first place. Even now, standing on her front porch in the morning heat, he was straight-backed, arms-crossed, and frowning.
It was an intimidating look.
Also an admittedly stimulating one.
His five o'clock shadow had grown a bit more, and the effect paired nicely with his rough and tumble outfit of a worn tee and jeans.
Good looks or not, because of the disaster of a lunch the day before, Benny wasn't about to trust the man fully anymore. Even if his nipples—and other things—had hardened during the shower replay of the event the night before.
No.
Now things were serious.
Now they needed art supplies.
“She's a hoarder,” Jack complained. He leaned over and whispered just above Benny's ear—something that was seeming dangerously close to a habit—and he had to fight his eyes from fluttering.
“She's prepared,” Benny defended.
Jack scoffed.
“For what? The apocalypse of crêpe paper and chicken wire?”
Benny tilted his head at that. He gave the doorbell another press.
“I'm impressed you know what crêpe paper is.”
“Clearly you've never come to the bar around Valentine's Day,” Jack muttered. “It's the one holiday my Aunt Clara dives in deep with crêpe paper-everything. Streamers, random circles, twisted monstrosities, giant flowers. You name it, she's forced us to crêpe paper it.”
“And, clearly, it's scarred you.”
“It sure didn't enlighten me.”
Shuffling feet on the other side of the door preceded the sound of the deadbolt sliding. Benny put his hand in his pocket, fingers around the first biscuit, as the door opened.
Coiffed silver hair, cat-eye framed glasses, and a heaping dose of skepticism came into view. Benny readied to throw the biscuit as a peace offering to her, the dog, and God, when the woman’s expression went from get off my lawn to let me bake you a pie.
“Benny! Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!”
“Hey, Ms. Peggy.” Benny was enveloped in an invisible cloud of cinnamon and coffee, Ms. Peggy's long-standing, trademark scent, the biscuit in his pocket momentarily abandoned with a sigh of relief. “It's been a while.”
Ms. Peggy was no Missy Robertson. In fact, her existence acted like a countermeasure.
Where there was an affluent socialite who carried her perfect standing with poise and grace, there was a woman who loved her living room couch and who didn’t mind throwing a shoe at you for interrupting the experience.
Benny was relieved to see that Ms. Peggy didn’t seem to be going for her floral slippers at his sudden appearance.
“Boy, it’s been too long,” she drawled out, her accent still one of the most syrup-filled ones Benny had heard. “I just told your brother the other day that we were going to have to take a road trip if we ever wanted to see you again.”
She broke their embrace just as a fluffy face and wagging tail appeared at her side.
Benny freed his biscuit with a laugh and a kneel.
“Marzipan Junior, I don’t remember you being this big.”
The husky lapped at his face before turning his entire attention to the treat. Benny threaded his fingers into his fur while he munched.
Ms. Peggy dropped the smile she’d put on just for Benny. She eyed Jack coolly.
“I have to say, never thought I’d see you here, Mr. Knox. Last time you came to me, you were downright disrespectful.”
Benny popped up like a daisy in spring. He stared daggers at his fake date.
Jack No Biscuits Knox rolled his eyes.
“You’re getting your words mixed up there, ma’am. Cutting you off at the bar was responsible, not disrespectful,” he said. “It was also private. No one heard or saw me do it. I even had Santana drive you home afterwards.”
Ms. Peggy scoffed.
She fixed Benny with a look that clearly said Jack didn't know a damned thing.
“You'd think I drank an entire shelf the way this one is yammering on,” she mumbled. Then she elbowed Benny’s side. “Are you sure this is the fella you want to be attached to? You’ve always been sunny and he’s, well, kind of a grouch.”
Benny couldn’t help it.
He laughed.
“Even grouches need love, Ms. Peggy.” He cast a smile over his shoulder at said grouch. “Maybe even more so than us sun types.”
Marzipan Jr. stuck his nose into Benny's bag.
It reminded him why they were there in the first place.
He cleared his throat and gave one decisive nod.
“So, I know it's been a while and I should have called but I was wondering—we were wondering-”
Ms. Peggy held up her hand, two of her colorful bangles she always wore clinking at the sudden movement, and interrupted his attempt at groveling.
“You’re wondering if you could browse my craft stash because everyone in town already bought up decorations for the festival six months ago and you don't want to spend your entire life savings by going to Mobile to get ’em. ’Specially since you have a party and a parade float to cover.”
Benny actually cackled.
“You’re a hoot, Ms. Peggy,” he said. “A hoot who knows her gossip. We only agreed to all of that yesterday.”
She shrugged.
“Which was a day longer than Missy Robertson needed to yap her mouth off. Honestly, I thought you’d come yesterday, but I guess you probably needed to decompress after being in that overblown little garden.”
She turned on her heel and motioned them to follow her into the house. Jack moved Benny ahead of him as a wave of cold air and the smell of cinnamon hit them. A comical amount of plastic bins lining one living room wall could already be seen.
Jack lowered his lips to Benny’s ear again to whisper.
“See? Hoarder.”
Benny used the hand that Marzipan Junior had just licked to push the man’s face away. He rolled his eyes.
Sure, Ms. Peggy had a lot of things, but that came down to a love of couponing and a knee-jerk reaction to the word Sale. Add in anything craft, funky wall decor, or gnomes, and there was an almost-guarantee that they were coming home with her.
But it wasn’t like she kept them all to herself like Gollum trying to keep the ring.
From time to time she’d been known to let others shop her personal inventory.
Or, at least, Benny and Callum.
She’d been a savior for both during Benny’s senior prom decorating committee snafu and Callum’s first trick-or-treating adventure with his girlfriend’s son.
She was less of a hoarder and more of a secret pop-up shop.
One that he was extremely grateful for when she walked them to her guest bedroom and revealed an organized wonderland of treasures. She went to a stack of bins with labels placed on the outside.
“I made out like a villain when that big-box craft store in Mobile went out of business last year.” She squinted at one of the labels, then tapped the bin.
“This one has metallic fringe out the wazoo in it and this one,” she moved to the one next to it, “has a lot of nautical items. I’m assuming this is the one we want to look at. ”
She turned to Jack and was back to skepticism.
“I'm also assuming you actually are going to decorate the bar for the party, right?” she asked.
Jack nodded and then grumbled deep.
“From what I've been told, I have no choice.”
And he didn’t.
Which is why Benny clapped his hands at a bin he’d just spotted.
“Is this thing filled with blue and green streamers?”
Ms. Peggy nodded.
“Wait until you see the pirate-themed box.”
“And why do you have all of this?” Jack asked.
His tone wasn't disrespectful, but it wasn't aboveboard, either.
Ms. Peggy put her hands on her hips and gave Jack another don't cross me look.
“Because we live in a town obsessed with the theme of pirates, mermaids, and sailors,” she responded. “I also like helping the people I like. And, you know what, Jack Knox? I’m not sure I like you.”
“Ms. Peggy,” Benny started.
The older woman raised her hand in a universal stop motion. She kept her gaze on Jack, who kept his mouth, thankfully, shut.
“But since I've been a fan of this boy here since he was a teen and he must think you're worth more than just that muscled snark, I'll make you a deal.” Ms. Peggy motioned to the room as a whole. “You can take whatever you need to decorate your bar and float if you do me a favor.”
“A favor,” Jack deadpanned.
She nodded.
“That’s right. One little ol' thing you can do, and then you can take whatever you need for free to help you and your precious bar.”
Jack might have been a grouch, a grump, and full of grumbling about visiting Ms. Peggy, but the word free had a way of sounding good to even the most dour.
He lifted his eyebrow.
“And what kind of favor exactly do you need from me?”
Ms. Peggy grinned.
Two hours later and Benny was finishing off his second glass of sweet tea, vibrating from all the sugar in it, and completely satisfied with the collection of plastic bins he'd organized in the middle of Ms. Peggy's living room.
“I can't thank you enough,” he told the older woman, meaning every word. “I can pay you back as soon as—”
Ms. Peggy interrupted him with a hush.
She waved one hand at him while the other held a half-eaten sugar cookie.
She’d been taking a while to finish it, distracted by what was happening in her front yard. The sound of a lawnmower had become a white noise machine while Benny had worked.
“You know your money is no good with me,” she added, still not glancing his way.
It made Benny curious, especially since not too long ago she’d been in active conversation with him. He left his treasures on the floor and walked over to her side.