Spruced Up (5 page)

I’d say I was a very rich woman.

“Quincy,” Lottie said as she sobbed.

“It’s Christmas, Lottie.  It’s a time for miracles, and it’s a time when people should remember to be generous.  It’s going to work out.”

And I knew that Dick was going to be disappointed because he’d never find out what happened with this case.

And although Lottie had to confess what she’d done to my parents, they’d never find out about my involvement.

I’d see to that.

Chapter Six

“…I’m sorry.”  Lottie was crying as she told me about her meeting with my parents.  “I handed them the check, and they wouldn’t take it.  They told me to donate the money to the clinic, and your mother said,
Lottie,
next time just ask
.  And then she told me that they’d try to set aside a certain amount for the clinic on a monthly basis.  And then she said
, Whatever you do don’t tell anyone
.” 

Lottie’s crying escalated.  “You won’t let me tell them, and she didn’t want me to tell you.  Your family is the most generous, amazing—”  She was crying to
o hard to continue.

“Lottie,” I said.  Other than her name, I didn’t know what else to say.

“Your. Mother. Said. Just.”  She hiccupped between a sob.  “What. I. Told. The. Clinic. She. Said. Don’t. Tell.”

I hugged her and let her cry it out.  Then I handed her the rest of my insurance reward.  “Between this and my parents’ help, the clinic should be solvent for a while.  And whatever you do, don’t tell them where the money came from.”

I hadn’t told anyone about the money, so no one would ever be the wiser.

Lottie gave me a funny look, then said, “I know you always felt your family wasn’t proud of you and that you were the black sheep.  But Quincy, you are a Mac to the core.  Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Lottie.”  I wanted to tell her how much her belief in me had meant all those years ago as I got on the plane, heading to Hollywood with a dream and a pair of star-shaped glasses.  I guess I was Mac-ish enough not to be able to put it together in words, so I simply hugged her again.

I think she knew.

Later that night my mother found me.  “About the missing supplies…” she started.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find who did it.  I know you believed in me,” I said.  “Let’s remember that solving those first two mysteries was more accident than skill.  Dick worries that I come off as ditzy in the script for
Steamed
, but I’m pushing to leave it the way I wrote it.  I maintain it’s more scared and confused with a comic twist than ditzy.”

My mother frowned.  I tried to tell myself I was rather used to disappointing her.  I knew her pride over my investigating avocation couldn’t last.  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Quincy, how long have you been friends with Lottie?” she asked.

“Practically all my life,” I answered.

“I think she’s proved to both of us something we’ve always known, that she follows her heart, even if it leads her down some sticky alleys.  She told me.”

I played dumb.  “Told you what?”

And then my mother—my very Mac-ish mother—hugged me.  “She told me everything.  There are no black sheep in this family, Quincy Mac.  I am so very proud of you.”

And that was the best Christmas present I’d ever received.

Epilogue

The next morning, my entire family had gathered at my parents’ house to unwrap gifts.

It was snowing outside.  The fire was blazing.  The tree was glowing.  But that’s not what made this Christmas so special.  My family did.  I looked at all of them and felt a sense of belonging that I’d never felt before.

The only fly in the ointment was they all kept looking at me…well, weirdly.

They looked at me as if they were waiting for something.  I wondered if my parents had a surprise planned.  “So.…”

My sentence faded on that one word as I realized everyone was looking toward the other side of the room.  I could hear the sound of footsteps on my mother’s hardwood staircase.  I did a mental headcount and knew everyone was accounted for.

“Who…” My sentence faded as first shoes, then legs, and finally Cal came into view.

Detective Caleb Parker. 

My boyfriend.

“Merry Christmas, Quincy,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” I echoed.  I started to get up to run to him, but he shook his head. 

“Quincy, I got in a while ago and went to your father first.  I wanted to ask his permission to…”  He came over to me and knelt on one knee.  He held out a Tiffany’s box. 

I may not have ever owned anything that came in a Tiffany’s box, but most women over twenty recognize one when they see it. 

I stared at it in my hand, then looked at Cal, who said, “Quincy Mac.  Will you marry me?”

My family was all starin
g at me.  Both Tanya and Marie were unabashedly crying.  And if I wasn’t mistaken, my mother brushed a tear from her eyes.

And Cal…Cal was waiting for my answer.

Part of me wanted to say
yes
.

I
loved him.  So yes seemed like it would be the appropriate answer.

But there was a part of me that worried it was too soon.  I’d only known
Cal since August when we’d met at Mr. Banning’s murder scene.

That worried part of me remembered the last time someone swept me off my feet.  That had been Jerome.  I’d said yes to his proposal, went on to have what I thought was a happy marriage, and three boys.  I put aside the dreams I’d taken with me to Hollywood. Then one day he’d divorced me.

“Can I see you in private?” I asked.

I saw a look of disappointment in his face, and it broke my heart.  He got off his knee and followed me into my old room. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I thought it would be romantic.  Your mom was excited and offered to help.  I shouldn’t have—”

I interrupted.  “Cal, with me and you, there are no
shouldn’t haves
.  I love you and I know you love me.  And that’s why I know you’ll understand when I say, I want to marry you.  I want to be engaged to you.  But not yet.  I need.…”

“It’s okay, Quince.  I get it.”

“You don’t.  I came home and found Lottie waiting for me with an Erie Times-News in her hand.  There was an article about me, about solving Mr. Banning’s murder, and then the painting heist. Dick called.  His agent wants to meet with me after the holidays.  The boys are almost on their own and.…”

I wasn’t sure how to explain it to him when I hardly understood it myself.  “I want to say yes. And I will say yes…but not yet.  I left Erie with dreams and plans.  I set them aside when I married Jerome and then had the boys.  Those dreams got pushed further behind me when I started the business with Tiny.  Finally, I have time to explore those dreams.  All three of the boys will be away at school soon, and I want to try it on my own.”

I shook my head and corrected myself.  “Not on my own.  I want you with me, but not.…”

He kissed me.  “Quincy, I get it.  You love me, but you want time.”

“I do.  I love you so much, Cal.  I couldn’t stand it if you thought—”

He kissed me again.  “I do know you love me, and I love you enough to give you that time.  You can give me my ring back.”

I looked at the Tiffany’s box and shook my head.  I mean, what woman in her right mind gives back something from Tiffany’s?  “I have a better idea.”

He smiled.  “You do?”

I walked over to my old jewelry box and pulled out a gold chain.  I slipped the gorgeous ring onto it and hooked it around my neck.  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll keep it and wear it here…we’ll be pre-engaged.”

“Pre-engaged?”  He shook his head and smiled.  “Only you.”

“Hey, a pre-engagement has perks.  Almost as many perks as an engagement, except I’m not planning a wedding, so I’m not insane.”  My friend Tiny had planned her wedding all through the summer and sanity had not been part of her planning.  “I just want some time on my own…on my own with you beside me if that makes sense.”

“Quincy, you can take all the time you need.  I’m not going anywhere.”

“Merry Christmas, Cal.”

“Merry Christmas, Quince.”

And then he kissed my Santa socks off.

Thank you for reading Spruced Up: A Maid in LA HolidayNovella! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this book:

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Watch for Quincy’s next adventure, Swept Up: A Maid in LA Mystery (4)

Quincy’s screenplay has been turned into a made (or maid
?) for TV movie on the HeartMark Channel.  She’s swept up in Hollywood’s glitz and glamour. After the Mortie Award ceremony, Quincy finds herself thrust in the middle of another life-and-death mystery.

Did you miss Quincy’s first adventure,
Steamed: A Maid in LA Mystery
?
 
Here’s an excerpt:

 When I moved to LA, I was an eighteen year old with stars in my eyes.  Well, not exactly in my eyes, but rather
on
my eyes.  My high school best friend bought me sunglasses with lenses shaped like stars for when I
Made It.
Lottie always said the words in such a way you just knew they were capitalized. 

 
Made It.

 
Yes, I graduated from high school and moved to LA.  I planned to be a famous actress.  Lottie made me promise I’d wear my star-shaped glasses on my first Oscar red carpet walk.  My goal was to take Hollywood by storm.

 
These days, those glasses are in a drawer in my bedroom and I have two much smaller goals.  One is that I want to wear my jeans without a muffin-top.  After three kids, I’d developed a bit of a baby-pooch that wants to creep out above the waistband of my jeans.  I longed for the days when pants had waistbands that were higher.  Back then you could tuck your baby-pooch in.  These days your options are exercise, wear Spanx, or learn to suck it in.

 
I tend to suck it in…when I remember.

 
My second goal is an empty nest.

 
It’s not that I don’t love my boys.  I do.  I have three sons—Hunter, Miles and Eli.  They are eighteen, seventeen and sixteen.  I’ve been a parent practically my entire adult life.  I’m ready for a time when I simply have to worry about me and no one else. 

 
This summer is my trial empty-nest. 

 
The boys left last night to spend four weeks in the Bahamas with their father and his most recent wife, Peri. 

 
Now, my place isn’t exactly a dump, but compared to their dad’s house, my three bedroom bungalow in the out-of-the-way neighborhood of Van George is a cardboard box in some alley.

 
And while thirty-eight isn’t exactly over-the-hill, next to Peri, the twenty-year-old, I am ancient.

 
I miss my boys (and I realize the irony in longing for an empty nest, but missing them when they’re on vacation).  I try not to mind when my ex takes the boys on fabulous vacations—and most of the time I don’t mind—but getting ready for work in a quiet house, I minded.

 
My ex, movie producer Jerome Smith, is a nice guy...a nice guy with a taste for younger women.  Specifically women between the ages of twenty and twenty-five.  The exact ages I married, then divorced him.  Or rather, he divorced me.

 
Jerome had two marriages before me, and three marriages since, all within those same parameters.  His current wife’s my favorite.  I really like Peri despite the way her breasts perk and mine just sort of...well, hang loosely if they’re not strapped down.  I think Peri sort of appeals to my maternal instincts.  I don’t have a daughter.

 
Maybe I’ll adopt her when Jerome divorces her.

 
TGIF, I told myself.  I’m thirty-eight, and until the boys come home from their summer visit with their father, I’m footloose and fancy-free.

 
Maybe it isn’t exactly the life I’d dreamed of when I moved to LA, but it’s a good life.

 
Oh, sometimes I still wish that I was starring in some movie of the week instead of heading into Mac’Cleaners.

 
Yes, that’s right—I no longer have stars in or on my eyes.  Rather than achieving stardom, I have three sons and clean houses for a living.  It’s honest work, and it’s flexible enough that when I was younger I could take time off and go on auditions.  Now that I’m part owner and thirty-eight, I don’t go to many auditions. 

 
Okay, so I haven’t been on an audition in five years—I’ve discovered that I’m a size twelve girl in a size two world.

 
I missed the fame and fortune boat.

 
Okay, so I could live without fame or fortune, if only I could figure out what I wanted to do with my life sometime before menopause hit.  Owning a business keeps the boys and me afloat financially but lately, I’d had a feeling that it was time for a change.  The kids weren’t such kids anymore. Hunter would start college in the fall.

 
That empty nest is just around the bend.  Soon I’ll be able to live my own life.

 
And I know I want something more.

 
I’d said I wanted to act since I was six.  I never gave any thought to doing something else.  But it’s clear that acting isn’t going to be my ultimate career.

 
So while I wait to figure out what I want to do, I clean houses.  I need to figure out soon because I’ll be turning forty in a couple years.  Forty sounds so very grown up, and grown-ups should have some idea about the direction they want their lives to take.

 
But I wasn’t going to think about direction today.

 
Today, I was going to get my work done and then go do something decadent.

 
I’d like to say I was planning to go to a bar and pick up guys—well at least pick up a guy—but I’ll probably end up going to the store and picking up Ben and Jerry’s, then head home and try and catch up on all the chick-flicks the boys make me miss.

 
Feeling a bit better, I walked into the small brick storefront that was only a mile from my house.  It proudly proclaimed Mac’Cleaners on the plate glass window with a tartan weaving through the letters.  I walked through the small reception room and back to my partner, Tiny’s office.