There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) (11 page)

Twenty minutes later, I was changing the sheets of my double bed when Gram came in and set a juice glass on my nightstand.

“What’s with the juice?” When I wanted to mainline sugar I preferred it in a chewy, gooey form, not some insidious nectar with the potential of going supernova in my bloodstream and giving me cravings for cookies for the rest of the day.

“It’s not juice. It’s that expensive chardonnay your mother likes. I opened a bottle to let it
breathe
,” Gram said, a smirk firmly planted at the corner of her mouth. “We’ll have it with lunch, and as long as it was open….”

“A little early, don’t you think?”

“Your mom told me on the phone that she wants our help with the wedding.”

Swell.
My mother had never solicited my advice or assistance for her first three weddings. Given the fact that she managed to get swept up in a whirlwind romance with my high school biology teacher the second her divorce papers were dry, I saw no reason for her track record to change.

Gram grabbed a corner of my quilted comforter and helped me smooth it over the bed. “She also mentioned that she plans to be in town for two weeks while they don’t need her on location.”

“Two weeks!” That meant two long weeks of Marietta commandeering my bedroom, and me having to act like the nice, accommodating girl Estelle thought me to be.

The way my last couple of days had gone I didn’t know if I had that much
nice
left in me.

“It’s after five somewhere,” I said, reaching for the glass.

“I thought you might see it that way.” She pointed at my closet. “Be sure to make some space for your mother. You know how she tends to over-pack.”

“Yeah.” She tended to overdo lots of things. I could only hope that the next wedding in her future wouldn’t be one of them.

After I pulled a few outfits for the work week from the closet and grabbed my black jeans and favorite slouch sweater, I was downstairs at the door to the study when I caught a whiff of my mother’s signature musky jasmine scent.

“There’s my girl!” she exclaimed, prancing toward me in a pair of spiky black boots worthy of Catwoman that made her long, shapely legs look even longer and gave her a two-inch height advantage over me.

Marietta crushed me to her double-D’s, and then frowned at the clothes in my arms. “Oh, Chah-maine. Ah do hate putting you out.”

Not enough to stay at a hotel, especially if a five-star resort wasn’t attached to it.

I looked at Barry Ferris, my former biology teacher, standing behind her.

He gave his head a little shake.

I interpreted it as another failed attempt on his part to convince her to stay at his house—something my image-conscious mother refused to do prior to tying the knot. As evidenced by the continued use of the fake Southern accent she’d adopted when she was cast in a Georgia-based
Charlie’s Angels
clone, maintaining her genteel image had become as fundamental to her as breathing. Plus, I didn’t think she wanted Mr. Ferris to see her first thing in the morning without makeup.

“It’s not a problem.” But the perfume assailing my sinuses was. So was waking up in the middle of the night because of a hide-a-bed spring that had a nasty habit of poking me in the butt.

Yep, I would have two long, sleepless weeks of jasmine-infused wedding planning ahead of me unless I came up with an escape plan, and fast.

I opened the front door to see if my sex buddy with the spare bed was home. Not that I was eager to test Steve at his word about wanting me in his bed, but since I already spent half of my evenings over at his house, maybe it wasn’t a stretch to make it one hundred percent.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, welcoming not only the fresh air but the sight of Steve’s truck parked in his driveway.

“Back? Chah-maine, where’re you goin’?”

“To ask Steve to join us for lunch after I drop my clothes off.”

Marietta sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re staying with Steve?”

“In his guest room.” If she could play the propriety game, so could I.

She stepped off the front porch and grasped my arm. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I’m not trying to keep our relationship a secret anymore. It’s fine.”

She frowned with as much disapproval as her Botox-treated brow would allow. “I don’t know that I think it’s so
fine
.”

Mary Jo Digby had given up the right to give me parental attitude when Marietta Moreau got cast in her first featured movie role and dumped me off at my grandparents’ house the next day.

“In fact,” she added without a trace of her trademark accent, “maybe I should stay over there instead of you. I can’t imagine that Steve would mind.”

Oh, he’d mind, and I’d never stop hearing about how much he minded. “No, you’ll be more comfortable at Gram’s.”

“But—”

“Trust me.”

“I do, but I feel like I’m chasing you away and into a situation that could be misconstrued.”

I was in no mood to debate the consequences of this decision with her. “You’re not,” I said, turning so I didn’t have to lie to her face. “I’ll be right back to help Gram with lunch.”

Seconds later, Steve stood at his door, surveying the pile of clothing draped over my arm. “Are you running away from home?”

“My mother’s in town for the next two weeks. Is it okay if I camp out in your guest room?”

“My
guest
room?” He took my clothes from me. “No, that’s not okay.”

I followed him to his bedroom and watched him push aside the slacks and polo shirts I’d seen him wear dozens of times to make room for my things.

It seemed a little too familiar to see one of my shirts touch his. Was coming over here too much too soon? I’d never spent an entire night with Steve before.

Having no prior experience with this
friends with benefits
thing I felt like I might just have made a big mistake, and the apprehension swelling inside my chest did nothing to convince me otherwise. Not that I’d ever admit that to my mother. “I…I wonder if the guest room wouldn’t be a better idea.”

He closed the distance between us and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Are you trying to tell me that you’d rather sleep in there?”

“Maybe.” If sleep were the only thing we were talking about.

The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes tightened. “I’ve seen you without makeup. You’re not that scary.”

“Very reassuring.”

He gave me a peck on the lips. “You can always count on me.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t think I was trying to stake any permanent claims on his personal space.

“Good because I could use an ally across the street. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No, I was going to go to the store and—”

“You can go to the store later.” I looked down at his bare feet. “Put some shoes on. You’re coming to lunch.”

His mouth flatlined. “This doesn’t sound like it’s optional.”

“If you want me in your bed,” I said, heading for the door, “choose wisely!”

∗ ∗ ∗

An hour later, Marietta sat at the dining room table, staring across at Steve over her wine glass.

He shot me a sideways glance.

“So,” I said, getting his none-too-subtle hint to offer up a distraction. “Can I get anyone anything? More fruit salad, Barry?”

He smiled politely. “No, thanks. I had plenty.”

Gram dabbed her napkin at her lips. “I’m sorry that I can’t offer you any dessert. If I’d known you were coming, I would have baked a cake.”

Or I would have yesterday.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Marietta said, patting Barry’s hand.

Grinning, he shook his head. “You surprised me, all right.”

“So, you didn’t know she was coming either?” Gram asked.

He wrapped his hand over my mother’s. “She’d told me about coming up after the reunion appearance she and her co-stars were making at the convention down in Portland, but she didn’t say a word about the DeLorean.”

Marietta giggled like a school girl. “That would have ruined the surprise!”

Gram turned to me like she needed a translator. “I’m confused.”

“Me, too. Last I heard you had started filming on location in Baton Rouge.”

“Just two scenes this last week,” Marietta said. “They won’t need me again until mid-October, which worked out beautifully because I had the other commitment in Portland.”

My mother was losing me again, and I had a bad feeling that I should have been listening more closely the last time she told me about her appearance schedule. “A reunion commitment?”

She gave me a chemically minimized frown. “The last stop on the thirtieth anniversary tour of
The Peachtree Girls
. We wrapped up last night, then I arranged to ship the DeLorean to Barry’s house and caught the first flight out this morning so that I could be here when it arrived.”

Gram reached for her wine glass. “That car you always drove on your show? It still runs?”

“Not as well as it should. My ex…someone I know who was into cars says it needs to be driven more.” Marietta cocked her head toward Barry. “And I know just the man who should drive it.”

“I still can’t believe that car’s sitting in my driveway.” His eyes beamed as he looked at her. “You are single-handedly upping my cool factor with the kids at school.”

A smile of satisfaction tugged at her lips. “It was only going to rust at my house.”

“It can’t rust,” Steve stated. “It’s stainless steel.”

Marietta narrowed her kohl-lined green eyes at him. “Whatever.”

In stilted silence he poured the last of the wine into her glass as if he hoped it would improve her mood and then directed his attention to our former biology teacher. “Have you taken it for a spin yet?”

“Just a short one. It was running pretty rough so we should probably have a mechanic take a look at it.”

I looked at Steve. “Little Dog would slobber all over himself to work on a DeLorean.”

He smirked. “Probably.”

Marietta’s gaze intensified. “I don’t know that I want someone named
Little Dog
working on my car.”

“You do if you want the best mechanic in town,” Steve said flatly.

“Mom, it’s George Jr. You’ve met him. A big redhead? He’s the head mechanic for his dad over at Bassett Motor Works.” He was also a huge fan. There would definitely be slobber.

Shaking her head, she shrugged a slender shoulder.

Obviously, none of that rang any bells. “He’ll probably give you a discount for the bragging rights of working on your car.”

Marietta, always on lookout for a bargain now that the movie offers were few and far between, perked up. “Oh, alrighty then. We might give him a try.”

Steve pulled out his cell phone and gave her Little Dog’s contact information. He then turned to me and thumbed in the direction of the kitchen.

No doubt he’d had enough of my mother for one day. I certainly was approaching my fill limit. “I’ll take care of the dishes and get the coffee started.”

“No coffee for me. I need to get going.” Steve scooted out of his chair and bussed his dishes to the kitchen.

I followed his lead. Unfortunately, so did Marietta.

“I can take care of everything in the kitchen,” I said to head her off at the pass.

She gave Steve a sideways glance.  “I’m sure you can.”

I sighed, inching ever closer to that fill limit.

Steve pressed my hand with his. “I’ll go in and say goodbye to your grandmother.”

Standing at the kitchen doorway, I smiled at the way Gram brightened up when he kissed her cheek, but I sensed some raised hackles in Catwoman behind me. Clearly, she needed to finish her chardonnay and chill. Maybe even bask in the glow of the emerald-cut diamond ring on her finger.

After Steve said goodbye to Barry, he headed for the front door.

“I’ll walk you out,” I said, turning to see that Marietta was blocking my path.

Using the advantage her four-inch boot heels gave her, she leveled her gaze at me. “
I’ll
walk him out.”

Good grief.
What was she up to?

Following the two of them to the entry, I watched with dismay as she linked arms with Steve and shut the door in my face.

I added another item to the growing list of things I wished I could undo this weekend: this miserable lunch.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I said, looking at Steve’s reflection in his bathroom mirror as I put away my plastic grocery sack of toiletries.

He leaned against the door jamb, his arms folded across his chest. “Your mom wanted to know my intentions.”

I inwardly cringed as the band of tension that had been squeezing my temples since her arrival cinched a little tighter. “Sorry. That mother role that she was cast in must be rubbing off on her.”