A Charmed Little Lie, Page 2

  I didn’t know what on earth I’d do with the house. It was old and creaky and probably full of problems—one being it was in Charmed and I was not. But it was home. And it had character and memories and laughter soaked into the walls. Aunt Ruby was there. I felt it. If that was intuition, then okay. I felt it there. But only there.

  So I’d probably keep it as a place to get away, and spend the next several months going back and forth on the weekends like I had right after she passed, cleaning out the fridge and things that were crucial. Mentally, I ticked off a list of the work that was about to begin. That was okay. Aunt Ruby was worth it.

  “How’s it going over there?” I asked.

  “Good, good,” Carmen said. “How’s California?”

  Oh yeah.

  “Fine,” I said. “You know. Sunshine and pretty people. All that.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. Where did I get this shit?

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said. “It’s been raining and muggy here for three days.”

  “Yeah,” I said, just to say something.

  “So the will has been probated,” Carmen said. “Everything’s ready to be read. I wanted to see when you’d be able to make it back to Charmed for that?”

  “Oh,” I said, slightly surprised. “I have to come in person?”

  “For the reading, yes,” she said. “You have to sign some paperwork and so do the other parties.”

  “Other parties?”

  “Yes—well, normally I don’t disclose that but you’re you, so…” she said on a chuckle. “The Clarks?” she said, her tone ending in question.

  “As in my cousins?” Really?

  “I was surprised too,” she said. “I don’t remember ever even hearing about them.”

  “Because I maybe saw them three times in my whole life,” I said. “They live in Denning. Or they did. I don’t think you ever met them.”

  “Hmm, okay.” Her tone sounded like she was checking off a list. “And you’ll need to bring some things with you.”

  “Things?”

  “Two, actually,” Carmen said, laughing. “Just like your aunt to make a will reading quirky. But they are easy. Just your marriage certificate—”

  “My what?”

  Carmen chuckled again, and I was feeling a little something in my throat too. Probably not of the same variety.

  “I know,” she said. “Goofy request, but I see some doozies all the time. Had a client once insist that his dog be present at the reading of the will. He left him almost everything. Knowing Aunt Ruby, there is some cosmic reason.”

  Uh-huh. She was messing with me.

  I swallowed hard, my mind reeling and already trying to figure out how I could fake a marriage certificate.

  “And the second thing?” I managed to push past the lump in my throat.

  “Easy peasy,” she said. “Your husband, of course.”

  “Men are like icing, Lanie. Sweet and tasty and good to look at, but kind of unnecessary without your favorite cake. Wait for the cake.”

  Chapter Two

  The paralysis that afflicted my vocal chords had a similar effect on my feet. I stopped dead in my tracks halfway around the counter, wet rag in hand to clean up where Ralph had left off.

  Bring my husband?

  Think fast.

  Laugh.

  I started chuckling, and it sounded something like gargling plastic so I stopped, then flipped my hair, which Carmen couldn’t see but it gave me the nonchalant I’m not lying air I needed.

  “Bring my husband?” I said, laughing again. “That’s crazy. He’s working.”

  “We didn’t decide on when,” Carmen said.

  “He’s always working.”

  “Wow, that can’t be an easy life,” Carmen said. “What does he do?”

  Right now, he was making me sweat. “He, um, well, he—” My gaze darted wildly for inspiration. Landed on a chair, a towel, a dark spot on the rug—ugh, focus, Lanie! Coming back to the kitchen, they stopped on pancakes. “He cooks!” I blurted.

  “Oh, he’s a chef?”

  “Yes! Well, no,” I amended, realizing I should make it more generic and less able to prove. “Not a chef, but he’s working on that. In a major restaurant.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “It’s local.”

  Oh God, please end this.

  “So—he travels for a local restaurant?” Carmen asked, and I nearly groaned out loud.

  “No, the travel is because—” Why? He’s a banker? Corporate lawyer? Snooze. Something hotter. Something— “He works construction.”

  So much more logical.

  “Oh!” Carmen said. I could hear the what-the-fucks ticking in her brain.

  “I mean, not just works construction,” I said, wondering when my mouth would surrender and stop digging this giant hole. Maybe I could get my cooking-construction-working husband to fill it in. “He has a team that he runs. They’re all over the place. All the time.”

  “I see,” Carmen said.

  “And I don’t know if I can take off any more time right now,” I said. “Maybe you can mail me the doc—”

  “Oh, it can be on a weekend,” she said quickly. “But no, unfortunately, it has to be in person. The pesky legal process.”

  “Yeah,” I said, staring at Ralph. Who stared back, his ears stuck out to the sides all Yoda-like. Give me some wisdom, Yoda. “So what would happen if I came alone?”

  “Well,” Carmen began. “Your part of the will would become null and void, I’m afraid.

  Sweating again. “What?”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s crazy, but some wills are just—unique like this.”

  “Unique?” I said. “Requiring my husband to be with me or nothing? That’s not unique. That’s bullshit.”

  “Actually, it’s your husband and the marriage decree,” Carmen reminded.

  And all the dots lit up and connected.

  “She didn’t believe me,” I said softly.

  “I’m sorry?” Carmen asked.

  “Aunt Ruby,” I said, clearing my throat. “She wants proof that I’m really married.”

  I heard a sigh. “Something like that.”

  “Or what?” I asked, the panic melting away as I unraveled my aunt’s diabolical plan. Unbelievable. I bit off a piece of pancake and proceeded to talk around it. “The house becomes a museum? Goes to charity? New library-slash-coffeehouse?”

  There was a pause that I distinctly felt my old friend enter. And another sigh. That was probably good.

  “I could so get disbarred for telling you this ahead of time,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “What?” I whispered, hunching my shoulders like a spy receiving a government secret.

  “If you can’t produce the proof,” Carmen said. “Then the house and the money go to the Clarks.”

  “Seriously?” I exclaimed, standing fully upright again.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “What was her reason? What would they do with it?”

  “I—” Another sigh. “I don’t know, Lanie. I just do what I’m paid to do. She didn’t confide in me.”

  I slapped a hand over my eyes. I wasn’t worried about money. Let them have whatever pennies were jingling around. But the thought of strangers—no not real strangers because oddly that would be better—but these people, who claimed to be family and yet never showed their faces when Aunt Ruby got sick. Never stepped up to help me out paying for nurses and hospice and all the other expenses.

  Hell, if they even knew. Honestly, I never asked because they never crossed my mind. They weren’t part of our lives. Were they even at the funeral? I couldn’t remember. And probably wouldn’t recognize them now if they had been.

  So why would she leave them our home?

  Our home.

  That was the kick of it.

  “I’ve—kind of heard a rumor,” Carm
en said, almost on a whisper. “But dear God, Lanie, you can’t say anything. Shit, I shouldn’t even—”

  “Tell me!” I yelled. Maybe too loudly. I cleared my throat. “I mean, come on, you can trust me.”

  She paused. “I don’t know if this has any merit, but I did hear some noise about a condo deal,” she said. “The older brother has connections or something. And he’s on his phone a lot.”

  “A condo—” My tongue stopped working and I had to stop and take a deep breath. “A condo deal? Like as in tear everything down?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I swear that’s all I heard. I don’t even know if it’s about the same thing.”

  Oh, it was about the same thing. Bryce Clark struck me as a weasel back in the day, and I was willing to bet he still slithered. Condos. Seriously. Over my dead body.

  “How’s this Saturday?” I said, tossing the remainder of my pancake to Ralph, who caught it in midair.

  “As in day after tomorrow?” Carmen asked, sounding surprised.

  “Very same.”

  There was the sound of a page turning. “Do you—don’t you need to check flights?”

  Oh yeah.

  “Yes. Let’s pencil in late afternoon, but I’ll confirm.”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “Let me know when, and I’ll pick y’all up at the airport.”

  Jesus.

  “Nah, we’ll get a car,” I said. “We’ll want to wander around later.”

  “What about your husband’s work schedule?” Carmen asked. “Michael, is it?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” I said.

  The first true thing I’d said to her since hello.

  I would figure it out. I wouldn’t lose my childhood home to Aunt Ruby’s little shenanigans. I just had to find a husband.

  * * *

  Benjamin—scratch.

  Neighbor guy—scratch. Freaky homicidal girlfriend.

  Dark-haired IT guy at work—scratch, scratch. No coworkers in this sketchy plan.

  Friend of Tilly’s? Maybe.

  He was brunette. Dark eyes. Tall. Nose a little big, and a little skinny for my taste, but I wasn’t actually marrying the guy. Just borrowing him. And he agreed for a measly fifty bucks, and he owned a suit. We had a plan for meeting up early Saturday morning so I could give him the scoop and we’d hit the road for the seven-hour drive. In a rental car. Ugh, this lie was getting expensive.

  So there I sat in the parking lot of Dollar General at seven-fifteen in the morning, with Ralph in my back seat (didn’t tell the rental place about him). Dressed in a black pencil skirt and my favorite blue silk blouse. Aunt Ruby always liked me in blue. Which felt ridiculous, like I was winning her over so she’d pick me. Really? Why on earth was I having to fight for my own home, and keep the walls that I knew Aunt Ruby still resided in? I wouldn’t have thought that to be a hard sell. But hey, that’s just me. There was an envelope lying neatly in my bag, containing what I prayed was the world’s best fake marriage license, printed out in color and copied over a few times like most people have to do when they don’t want to bring the original. A document bonding Michael McKnight and me forever in holy fraudulent matrimony.

  I was going to hell.

  When my phone rang, I knew without looking that he wasn’t coming. Why did I trust this flaky girl?

  “Hey, Tilly,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “I’m. So. So. Sorry,” she said.

  I just nodded. “I know.”

  “He—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, mentally waving good-bye to the house and wishing I could throw something at Aunt Ruby. “It’s not on you, Tilly, you tried. Thanks, anyway.”

  “So, how’s Ralph?”

  I could throw something at her too.

  “He’s fine,” I said. “He’s all seat-belted in, with a sippy cup.”

  There was the hair’s width of a pause. “Really?”

  “No, not really, dork,” I said. “He’s back there on a towel—” I turned to look. “Licking himself right now. I brought his leash and a bowl. I’ll stop every hour or so and give him some water and a pee break.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Sorry you’re having to do this alone.”

  I stared at the open highway in the distance as we hung up and then down at what had become the first descent into deception. The sparkly CZ “wedding” ring I’d bought to show Aunt Ruby. Her old eyes might have been going at the time, but she sure managed to notice that my left hand wasn’t in a state of bling.

  “Okay, Ralph, you up for this?” I threw over my shoulder.

  I got a snort. Well, that was more than my AWOL husband had to say.

  * * *

  Four pee stops later, and finally in Texas, I needed one myself. Hobbling over gravel and cigarette-butt-loaded pit stops in heels (should have thought out the shoe situation better) had my hair tumbling loose from its bun and the rest of me feeling very un-fresh. And hungry.

  A diner sporting a “We Dare You To Eat It All, Y’all!” sign looked like just the ticket. Ralph’s nose went to twitching.

  “I’ll crack the window, and get it to go, okay?” Glancing around the car for the dog abuse police. “I’m not leaving you in the car longer than fifteen minutes.”

  I opened my door and pointed a finger back at him. “Don’t pee on anything.”

  Okay, I was maybe a bit overdressed for this place. I realized that. But everyone stopping mid-chew to turn around and stare me down was a bit much. It wasn’t like I had Ralph with me. My heels clicked loudly on the sticky floor as I made my way up to the counter.

  “Can I see a menu?” I asked a blond ponytailed woman that rushed by.

  She pointed at a chalkboard behind her and kept going.

  “Okie-dokie,” I said under my breath, perusing the colored chalked choices.

  Chopped beef. Pulled pork. Grilled chicken. Cheeseburgers. Any variety of the above served fried or barbecued, and slathered in your choice of sauce. Another sign above that one offered a ten-pound burger for free for anyone who could eat it all on the spot.

  “Can I get it to go, do you know?” I asked a man on a stool.

  He was devouring a barbecued chopped beef sandwich and fries like it was his last meal. Sauce was everywhere.

  “I assume so,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I never have, but I would think.”

  “Ma’am?” I called out as the busy waitress hurried by, yelling at the cook in the window to speed it up. “Can I order something to go?”

  The woman leaned over while never missing a step and pulled out a Styrofoam container. “With you in a sec!”

  “I recommend the barbecue,” the man next to me said around another bite. “Outta this world.”

  It did look and smell good, as long as I didn’t look too closely at the mangled mess rolling around his mouth. One look down at my silk blouse, however, told me I’d be wearing it, and blue didn’t go with reddish brown.

  “Nick!” yelled the woman again, making me jump. “This isn’t the Ritz, come on already. I need these orders!”

  “Quit your damn yelling at me!” Nick called back through the window. “You want super speed, go to McDonalds. You want good? You can wait an extra damn thirty seconds.”

  The dark head poking through the window with the impossibly dark eyes and chiseled everything certainly convinced me. The slight Cajun lilt to his words didn’t hurt, either. Extra thirty seconds? I was good with that. Ralph was good. If I could just maybe get it started.

  “Can I—” I held out a hand.

  “What?” Blondie said, turning on me.

  “Um,” I stammered, a little taken aback. “To go order?”

  “I gathered,” she said, holding up the Styrofoam container.

  “Jesus, Brenda,” the guy in the window presumably named Nick muttered. “Screaming at me, rude to customers—”

  “You don’t talk to her that way,” growled an
other older-sounding guy out of sight, somewhere behind Nick. “You’re expendable, you know.”

  “Of course I know, you never stop telling me,” Nick said, putting the most beautiful burger I’d ever seen in the window, perfectly framed by sizzling golden crisp tater tots.

  He hit the bell and my mouth watered on command.

  “I want that,” I said, pointing. “Just like that.”

  The waitress rolled her eyes. “Another solid cow all the way with tots. To go.”

  “Solid cow?” I said. “Burger was too simple?”

  An icy pair of overworked blue eyes locked on mine.

  “That’ll be five-fifty,” she said.

  I smiled and pulled out a ten. “Keep the change.”

  Nick’s eyes landed on me, and I could swear there was appreciation there. Or amusement.

  “Restrooms?”

  She pointed again, this time to a sign over a hall off to the side.

  I nodded. “Thanks,” I whispered.

  She did a fluttery thing with her overdone eyelashes again, and huffed as she turned around.

  “Do me a favor and make sure she doesn’t spit in my food while I’m gone,” I said under my breath to barbecue-guy.

  “You got it,” he said.

  I’d barely gotten my skirt hiked up, however, before I heard all hell break loose. There was a loud growling yell—had to be Gripey-Older-Guy. Blond Brenda’s voice went on high-pitched bitch mode at chipmunk speed. And tone-ala-Nick was interspersed in clips among all of it. I couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t sound good. And by the time I made it back out, Brenda was flinging her arms around, Older Guy was slamming something metal around, and Nick was storming out the door.

  “Wait!” I exclaimed, my head on a swivel between retreating Nick and really ugly sweating Older Guy now taking up bulk space in the window. “What about my order?”

  “Not my problem,” Nick said, giving me a what-the-fuck look.

  Which was technically true, but I’d seen that other burger and I wanted it. “Hang—” I began, but he was already out the door. Damn it. “Balls.”

  My feet had me out the door after him. To what? Make him fry me a burger on the hood of my car? What was I doing?