All the Single Ladies (10 page)

Later on, after my shower, when I was dressing for work, I thought about how energized I felt. Endorphins. And, in addition to the challenge of solving the mystery of Kathy's furniture, it appeared that I had gained two new friends. On the way out of the house I looked for Pickle. I went from room to room, calling her name. Finally, I found her exhausted and fast asleep in her bed. She was snoring in tiny gusts. Running full throttle after birds was not the same thing as casually walking the neighborhood on her leash with me.

Sometimes, I told myself, change was good.

 

The next morning Pickle and I returned to the Isle of Palms to walk with Carrie and Suzanne as planned. From the moment we made eye contact, I could tell Suzanne was thoroughly annoyed. In fact, they both looked pretty serious. I put Pickle on the ground and hooked her leash to her collar. Then I pulled three yoga mats from the backseat of my car and went up to the porch where they stood.

“G'morning,” I said. “What's wrong?”

Suzanne pulled an envelope from her pocket and pushed it toward me. I took it and looked at it. It was a bill from Green Carolina, a landscaping company.

“Read it,” she said. “Open it and read it. You won't believe.”

“By the way, good morning,” Carrie said. “Steady yourself.”

“G'morning,” I said. I unfolded the statement, which was billed to Kathy Harper. “Two thousand fifty dollars and thirty-­eight cents? Are you kidding me? No way!”

“For work done at her landlady's house?” Carrie said. “It doesn't make any sense. Right?”

“Why would a tenant pay to landscape a rental property?” I said.

“My point exactly!” Suzanne said. “And the work was done after Kathy died?”

“First, it was the bracelets and then the furniture and now landscaping?” Carrie said.

“You've got to ask Wendy about this,” I said.

“I can't deal with her. She really kind of scares me. I'm
not
kidding,” Suzanne said. “She's a psycho.”

“Yep. She sure is,” Carrie said. “Who knows? She might stick a knife in between your ribs. That's the world we live in today, ladies. Sorry, but it's the truth.”

“Wait a minute. Everybody hold the phone here,” I said. I could feel my face getting hot. “I'm not afraid of that woman. Granted, she must be a little crazy to think she can get away with this. But, this is fraud. Fraud is a felony! She could go to jail.”

What was I saying? I was the biggest sissy in the world! If Wendy scared Suzanne she terrified me!

“Let's not do yoga. Let's just walk this morning,” Suzanne said. “I need to burn off some anxiety.”

“Leave the mats,” Carrie said.

“Sure!” I said, and we went downstairs to the sidewalk. “I only have about sixty of them at home.”

Pickle was pulling me toward the beach, so I followed her across the street. Carrie and Suzanne were right behind me. We didn't need to waste the morning standing around. In seconds, we were over the white dunes and on the beach. It was low tide again. I liberated Pickle from her leash, and in the blink of an eye she was flying down the sand, chasing a Yorkie terrier that was chasing a ball. It was a wonderful sight to see my dog in a state of near rapture. I looked at the backdrop of gorgeous sparkling blue water and hard-­packed silver sand. We began to power walk. Like yesterday, laughing seagulls swooped down, hopped a few steps, pecked at the shore for whatever critters lay there in hiding, and then lifted back into the sky cackling like mad. The closer we came to them, the faster they scattered. But happy dog, glistening water, and crazy birds aside, my mind was spinning about the landlady from hell. Was I choosing to do battle with a nut job?

“Suzanne?” Carrie said. “Lisa is right. This has to be dealt with. Psycho or not. That company is going to want their money.”

“Why don't we just pay her a little visit?” I said. “I'll go with you.”

“Me too,” Carrie said.

What was the matter with me? Since when was I so brave? What if the landlady really
was
a psycho? What if she—­I don't know—­started screaming or something? What if she sued us or called the police?

“Would you all do that?” Suzanne said. “I could just call her but I think it's better to face her.”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“You bet,” Carrie said.

I agreed wholeheartedly but the truth was that I hated confrontations of any kind. My stomach was already getting knots.

“Definitely,” Carrie said.

“You know, I told her to send me any mail that came in for Kathy and I'd deal with it. I'd see the bills got paid and so forth. And obviously, I'd notify the various ­people who needed to know that she was deceased. You know, like her cell-­phone company and the bank. I'm just so uneasy about this and I don't know why.”

“Because anyone who would do something like this is definitely off their rocker,” I said. “But take heart. I've dealt with all sorts of ­people who are confused about reality. It's part of my job.”

No, it wasn't. There was a vast and maybe even an immeasurable difference between helping a very nice but really old lady find her way to wherever she was headed and taking on a raging mental case with possible sociopathic tendencies.

“Okay,” Suzanne said. “Let's just take it up with her today after work and be done with it. I've got a crazy day ahead of me. Bridal showers and birthdays. And it's gonna be hot like hell. What time do you finish work, Lisa?”

Suzanne was so determined and this fueled my sudden but rarely seen burst of courage. That and a healthy distaste for the witch with the nice house on Wentworth Street who was stealing from the dead.

“Four,” I replied. “Want to get together after that? I can zoom home to walk my dog and then we can meet somewhere and ride over there together.”

“Sounds great,” Suzanne said. “We can park in the Bottles parking lot. It's huge.”

“That's settled,” Carrie said. “Let's pick up our pace, girls. We're dwaddling.”

“Is that even a word?” I asked, and moved a little faster to keep up.

“Probably not but my daddy used to say it all the time,” Carrie said.

Carrie was really moving quickly down the beach. I struggled to keep pace.

“Dwaddling? Really? I say bull dukey to that,” Suzanne said, catching up to us. “Boy, Carrie, you're on a mission today!”

Carrie's face was all red from exertion.

“I'm gonna be so thin y'all're gonna think I've been sick!” Carrie said, adding, “And excuse me. How come neither one of you asked about my hot date last night?”

“Oh! Sorry! I forgot! How was it?” I said.

“Sorry. I was a little distracted by the landscaping bill,” Suzanne said.

“Not so hot,” she said. “He was a lip licker. I hate that.”

“Ew,” Suzanne made a face. “That's worse than an eye roller.”

“But not as bad as a toupee,” I said. “I went out with a toupee once. He was really tall, so I couldn't tell it was a wig at first. But then, for some reason, it began to slide.”

“Oh Lord! What did you say to him?” Carrie asked, laughing.

“Well, it was awkward. I think I said something like ‘Honey, you might want to go to the men's room and make a small but critical adjustment.' He went to the men's room and I'm embarrassed to admit that I just sort of left. Really. My dating history is littered with moments I'm not proud of.”

“I would've slipped out too,” Carrie said. “Anyway, I've got another Mr. Possibility lined up for tonight. We're meeting at Cypress for a cocktail.”

“You're wasting no time there, sister,” Suzanne said, remarking on Carrie's pace.

“I don't have any time to waste,” Carrie said. “My assets are dwindling.”

“Oh Lord,” I said, and I meant it in a prayerful way, asking the Lord to be merciful to all of us. What becomes of girls like us? Really, what becomes of us?

Later on that morning at work, I was startled by the sound of jackhammers.

“What's all the ruckus about?” I asked Margaret.

“Like we don't have enough to do? Now we're building a neighborhood of group houses out back. It's a Green House Project model.”

“No kidding,” I said. “How many?” More residents might mean more work for me. That would be great.

“Two for now but the plan is for eight,” she said.

“Wow,” I said. “They're supposed to be terrific. I've been reading all about it.”

“Hey, you know we're on the cutting edge.”

I giggled and said, “If you say so. But how did I miss this?”

“I don't know but you should go out there and see what's going on.”

“Yeah, I might do that later.”

The Green House Project was designed to provide group housing for seniors who didn't want or need to live in a nursing home environment but for one reason or another had decided to make a change. Each house had up to ten bedrooms, private bathrooms, a common living and dining area, and outdoor porches and patios with gardens. There were windows everywhere, so that on nice days sunlight could flood the rooms. And there was no typical nurses' station but an open office where a Shahbaz or two kept records and watched a light board. A Shahbaz was a friendly certified nurse's assistant dressed in street clothes and thusly dubbed with the Persian word for “royal falcon.” If a light came on, it meant that a resident needed something and the royal falcon would sweep in to assist them. A registered nurse was also on staff. It was a far less exacting plan that allowed more independence for the residents and it encouraged social activity, which was especially good for those who had been lonely in their own homes. Loneliness was another curse of old age to add to the list.

Because I have too much time on my hands, I had been reading all about GHP online. Basically, it was the coolest trend in elder care out there. I just hoped it wouldn't prove to be one of those ideas that looked good on paper but in reality didn't make life one whit better for anyone. But having some Green House Project homes would make another level of care available for ­people considering life at Palmetto House. Why not? Here was one more option to deal with all the issues of aging.

When my shift ended at four I walked outside intending to take a look at the construction site. There were trucks everywhere and at least a dozen men in hard hats milling around, a few of them taping off areas like a crime scene and others using noisy chain saws that screamed and whined, cutting down a skimpy population of twiggy pine trees. In our neck of the woods, pine trees popped up and grew like weeds right in their own shadows.

Two tanned men in jeans with remarkable biceps were consulting with a third man in khakis and a knit shirt. They were looking over architectural drawings on the bed of a pickup truck. The guy in khakis looked familiar. I walked over toward them.

“Paul?” I said. Since when was I so brazen?

He turned around and smiled when he recognized me.

“Hey! I remember you,” he said, walking toward me. “You were at Kathy's funeral, right?”

“Yes.” I pushed my sunglasses up and let them act as a headband.

He took off his sunglasses, tortoiseshell Ray-­Bans, for the record, and ran his hand through his hair. Was it my imagination or was he just one helluva lot better looking than the last time I saw him? But then, who looks good at a funeral?

“Funny meeting you here,” he said, and paused, squinting in the brutal sun. “Um, you work here, I guess?”

“Yes, I'm a nurse. I've been here off and on for a few years now. So, you must be the architect?”

“Yep. That's me. This is going to be a Green Ho—­”

“Green House Project,” I said. “I actually know quite a lot about the whole deal. You know, ADA compliance and all that.”

He had nice eyes. Brown. And warm. I've always liked brown eyes, for some reason. Especially if they're warm. And for no good reason in this entire world I felt myself wanting to take a short swim in them. Just a few laps around the chocolate pool. How stupid.

“You do, huh? I'm sorry. What's your name?” he said.

“Oh!” I said. “Sorry! I'm Lisa. Lisa St. Clair. Well, it was Barnebey, but after my divorce I started using my maiden name again. My daughter, Marianne, uses Barnebey, which she should since it's her name. At least I think she does. I haven't spoken to her in six months. She doesn't call much.”

He was just looking at me, smiling. He wasn't smiling at me like I was a lunatic but it was a kind expression, so kind it made me want to tell him everything. But now he knew my name, that I was divorced, had one child, and that she was grown and probably not a burden. What in the hell was happening here?

“Why am I telling you all of this?” I laughed and shook my head.

“I don't know, Lisa St. Clair. Why are you?”

He was grinning from ear to ear like big cats do when they've got the little mouse cornered. He was going to taunt me and run me around before he ate my soul. I knew how this game worked. I didn't know how I got so off-­kilter but I knew I had to get in my car and drive away from him or I was going to say something really stupid and then he would know what an idiot I really was.

“I just came out here to see what the jackhammers were doing. That's all.”

Another pearl from me. Yeah, boy, those jackhammers are wild things.

“They're tearing up unnecessary macadam.”

“Right. So, right, well, I gotta go. I gotta go meet some friends and solve a mystery.” I was babbling like the proverbial brook. “Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too,” he said. “Come back and visit. Maybe you could consult?”

“Oh, right. Very funny. But I would like to see how this progresses. The whole concept is . . . well, I think it's great. So I'll be around.”

“Great!” he said, and gave me a little wave as I turned to scurry to my car as fast as humanly possible without seeming like I was rushing from a crime scene.

Oh yeah, I'll come back and I'll bring donuts, I thought with glee, and then quickly realized I was in a situation. I was in a situation because for the first time in at least ten years I felt a powerful twitch south of the Mason-­Dixon Line in my personal Lowcountry. That twitch was a profound warning. Part of my brain, the seductress cells that had been in mothballs for a decade, suddenly sang an aria and wanted to lure a man with food, decadent food. Sugar. Caramel. Chocolate. I was on the edge of falling right into a mine shaft of carnal desire. How shocking! But every experience I'd ever had with an adult male had proven to me that love, or whatever it really was, pheromones maybe, wasn't worth the trouble. I was going to get a grip on myself, and the next time I saw him, I'd be cool. Serene like Grace Kelly in a film with Cary Grant. That's who I'd be. Grace Kelly. Maybe I'd have a friendship with him. Nothing dangerous or too personal. Sure. Just friends. It might be interesting to see if I could have something platonic with a man. It would be a first. But I was older now. I could manage it. I could control myself. For heaven's sake, I could control myself.