IN FOR A PENNY (The Granny Series) (3 page)

“I have a son,” Warner said.

Nash’s heart flipped. His dad appeared to be searching for the name, and it pained Nash to sit there and not jump in and fill in the blank.

“My boy is smart. He’s good-looking, hardworking and has a really big heart.” Dad smiled and shook his head. “He’s got this little thing about washing his hands, but it doesn’t do anyone any harm. You’d like him. He’s a good man.”

Nash stared over his dad’s shoulder so he didn’t have to see the hope and pride there, because he wasn’t so sure how he liked Warner Talley’s son right about now.

Chapter Three

Bolt cutter in hand, Maggie Rawls stood on Summer Haven’s sagging side porch and eyed the carriage house. It was a tiny space compared to the glory of Lillian’s family estate. Or the grand place it used to be anyway.

Maggie took a breath of early summer air, felt its humid weight in her lungs, and strode down the garden path.

She stood in front of the old building feeling guilty as all get-out for what she was about to do.
It’s for your own good, Lil.

The heavy padlock hanging from the hasp was big enough to weigh down an elephant. Now what in heck was so precious Lil needed the likes of that honkin’ thing to protect it?

Maggie hated to cut the lock. If it was one thing she knew after all those years running the hardware store with George, it was hardware and tools. Big as that thing was, it had to have cost close to a hundred dollars, but enough was enough.

At one time, this building housed horse carriages, as the bronze historical plaque near the door stated. The history of every building on this property
was recorded, and Lillian loved Summer Haven like a family member.

In the scheme of things, the carriage house seemed the least significant part of the estate. Yes, it had been Harlan’s man cave, but he’d been gone a good five years now. George hadn’t been gone but a few months before Maggie had toted all his old stuff down to the thrift shop for someone to give his socket collection and fly fishing lures a new life.

Time to move on, Lil.

Today, Maggie was going to open that lock one way or another. If Lillian wanted her to stay here at Summer Haven, she would have to let Maggie clean out and move into the carriage house. Sure, there was plenty of room for both of them in the big house, but living there with her best friend felt a little too much like charity.

Like pity.

And after George died a year ago, Maggie had vowed never to let someone take over her life the way her husband had. George had been a good man. But he was big.
Big body. Big voice. Big personality.

Which meant Maggie’s only choice had been to stay small.
Stay on the sidelines.

No more.

George’s passing had left a big old hole in her heart. But she wouldn’t fall into the same trap of wrapping her life so tightly around someone else again.
She was responsible for her own happiness. She needed to stand up and take charge.

As much as she loved her best friend, if Maggie wasn’t careful, Lillian’s steel would set her right back into a comfortable supporting role. She couldn’t let that happen.

Maggie tiptoed into the flowerbed and peeked into the carriage house window. It was either smeared with dirt inside or Lillian had covered it with some kind of tint. Trying to get a closer look, she pressed against the window trim, only to feel it give beneath her palms. One thing wood should never be was spongy. She knelt and probed it with her stubby fingernail. Wood rot. She glanced up. The gutters sagged and buckled. Any time it rained, the water was hitting the ground and splashing against the carriage house, rather than flowing away from the building.

Lord a mercy, next thing she’d find a mound of termites had taken up residence. What was Lillian thinking
, to let the place go like this?

Maggie frowned at the sight of the paint flaking from the white clapboard exterior.

What in the name of Pete?

She’d already noticed several things in the main house that begged for her attention.
Baseboards needing a coat of paint. A sticky bathroom door. And those were just the simple things she and Lil should be able to handle themselves. Surely, neither of them were spring chickens, but even if Lillian couldn’t fix things around Summer Haven, she could hire someone to help her.

Goodness, maybe Lil’s eyesight was going.
Since they were living together again, it still felt like they were two besties back at William & Mary. It was a tough pill to swallow, getting older.

She pushed away from the building with a grunt. Her knee gave a creaky-pop as she stepped over the flowers and headed to the door. Maybe she needed to start downing those glucosamine drinks that TV doctor was always preaching about.

This was a new start, a new life, and darned if Maggie was going to let something like stubborn joints get in her way. Exercise, fresh air, healthy food. She’d already negotiated a deal with one of the church ladies to get a row garden tilled up in exchange for Maggie replacing the toilet the woman’s husband never got around to fixing.

Lillian was meticulous about any change to Summer Haven.
Mental note: tell Lillian about the garden before Roscoe gets over here with the tractor. Hope she doesn’t have a hissy fit about that.

Maggie pulled on the leather gloves she’d tucked into her waistband next to the pouch holding her duct tape. A small shiver of anticipation ran through her. If Summer Haven needed this much work, she’d need to pull out her full-fledged tool belt and some power tools.

She carefully positioned the cutters around the shackle of the lock so as not to damage the door when she heard a shout behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to find Lillian scurrying up the path toward her.

“Just what in blue blazes do you think you’re doing, Margaret Evelyn Stuart Rawls?”

Maggie froze. Darn. It was so much easier to beg forgiveness than it was to ask permission. She slowly turned to face Lillian. “I’m opening up the carriage house.”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

“Because, Lil, I can’t stay in the big house forever.” She swung the bolt cutter down to her side.

Lillian’s face seemed to sag. “Sure you can.”

“I appreciate you inviting me to live here with you, but I thought we agreed this was a chance for me to start over. God knows I loved George, but I went from my daddy’s house to college straight to George’s house. Women these days get to be themselves and I want that too. I don’t mean alone-alone, but I need to strike out on my own and have a little space that’s just mine. Please, Lil, you have to understand.”

“Big as the house is, we barely see one another now.”

Reaching out to grasp Lillian’s hand, Maggie said, “Hon, that’s not the issue. You know I love you and I want to see you every day. But I need my space, my own place. Can you understand that?”

“But this crummy old carriage house?
It’s too little. You’ll go crazy in there.”

Sure, like Lillian thought there was one crummy thing about Summer Haven. But Lil was staring at the small building like it was a skunk slinking across her back lawn with its tail pointed to the sky, which meant something was on her mind. Something she wasn’t sharing.

“What’s this all really about? I promise I won’t throw out any of Harlan’s things if you don’t want me to. Maybe I could just store them in the house’s attic.”

“I don’t give a hoot or holler what you do with anything of Harlan’s except what’s inside there.” Lillian’s hand shook as she pointed at the door.

When had Lillian’s skin become so pale and thin? God, they were getting old. Maggie wasn’t ready to be old.

Maggie lifted the bolt cutters. “Look. It’s pee or get off the pot time. I’m
either cutting this lock and determining what needs to done or I’m moving out of Summer Haven.”

“No!” Lillian’s shoulders drooped.
“Fine. I’ve got the key up at the house, but if you have to see inside, just cut the darn lock off. Let’s get this over with.”

Maggie edged between Lillian and the door and positioned the bolt cutters. She felt the pull in her chest muscles as she squeezed the long red handles together. The sharp blades cut through the metal like a hot scoop through butter pecan ice cream.

The lock thunked to the ground, and the sound of it felt like the starting pistol at the beginning of a race.
Out of the gate!

By God, her body was still strong and she would have a mind and heart to match if she had anything to say about it.

Lillian elbowed around Maggie before she could reach for the knob to open the door. She leaned against the door, putting all her tiny self into it.

“What’s your hurry?” The door hadn’t opened but maybe a foot when Maggie heard something slowly slide across the floor inside. What in tarnation—were they dealing with a vermin infestation too?

Lillian turned sideways and shimmied through the narrow opening with ease.

Maggie tried to follow, but she had to wiggle like a trapped snake to get her generous bust and behind through the crack. Junk in the trunk, that was what the young gals down at the fitness center called it. Well, she had so much junk in her trunk that she felt like she needed to hold a garage sale. George had always claimed he liked a full-figured woman, but she was out of breath by the time she squeezed her way inside the carriage house.

And what she saw didn’t help her catch it again.

Trash bags. Too darn many to count in a single glance. Heavy-duty black trash bags stacked one on top of the other, leaning against walls, crammed cheek by jowl. The carriage house wasn’t all that big to begin with, but there was barely room to turn around in it now.

Maggie gasped. “Harlan was a hoarder?”

Lillian looked around. “Not exactly.” She flipped the light switch on, but in the room full of black bags it didn’t do much good.

A bag tumbled from its perch and caught Maggie on the shoulder. She spun around and wedged it between two of its brethren.

“Then what in the world is all this?” She waved a hand, barely missing taking down a whole wall of the bags. “It’ll take us days to burn all this garbage.”

Lillian sighed like a balloon losing its helium. “No, we can’t burn them.”

“Lillian, I understand you loved the man, but keeping his trash?” Maggie started to raise her finger and twirl it by her temple, but her arm froze halfway to her head. Oh, Lordy, what if Lillian was going a little…soft…in the head? An ache set up housekeeping in Maggie’s chest.

“Probably be easier if they were filled with trash. Then at least I could smell the stink instead of imagining it.” Lillian’s tone was more vinegary than that dandelion wine Winnie down at the Love ’Em or Leave ’Em Florist had tried to make last week. Maggie’s lip puckered just thinking about that
godawful stuff.

Claustrophobia suddenly pressed in on Maggie. The carriage house was stuffy with all that plastic and no ventilation except for the front door.

“Geez, Lil, it’s like these bags are multiplying as we’re standing here. Let me go get the wheelbarrow. Or you can leave and I’ll take care of it for you. Honey, everyone has a bad habit. If this is the worst thing Harlan did, it’s not really all that terrible.”

“I’ll agree to getting rid of this stuff, but not until we open every single one of these bags and search through the contents.”

“Why?”

Lillian slid one of the bags closer and untwisted the tie. She stretched the mouth of the bag wide and dipped her hand inside. “Here’s why.” She lifted a handful of cards and held them under Maggie’s nose.

“Lottery tickets? Is that what’s in all these bags?” Maggie could barely form words as she slowly processed the potential volume and dollars this many bags of lottery tickets represented. “No way.”

“Yes, ma’am.
Every last one of them. My Harlan had a problem.”

Maggie shook her head.
“A Hefty problem by the looks of things.”

“I didn’t realize it until he was dead and gone.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Because we’re best friends. Because it had to have made you madder than a cat in a creek.” She swept her arms up in the air. “Because you’re not going to get through these by yourself. Are you sure they’re all full of scratchers?”

“See for yourself.” Lillian yanked another bag down and let it plop between her and Maggie. She bent and grappled with the tough plastic, her hands like claws. “Why couldn’t he be satisfied with the Walmart brand bags? No, Harlan always had to have the best.”

“Got that right.” Maggie pulled another bag down. “These are 4 mil contractor bags.”

“Don’t be talking all hardware on me,” Lillian said.

Maggie took hold of one side and they each pulled. One, two, three…the bag split and bits of paper exploded out like confetti from a piñata. She and Lillian stumbled apart and Maggie gawked at the lottery scratch-off tickets all around them.

Maggie picked one up.
Then another. And another. “They’re all already scratched. And none of these are winners. And, hon, most of these tickets are expired anyway.”

“A couple of the games are still going and Harlan loved those.” Lillian’s mouth pulled down and she suddenly looked every one of her seventy-two years. Her gaze lit with a combination of fire and desperation. “What if he missed a winner?”

Suspicion swarmed Maggie. “There were more bags, weren’t there?”