IN FOR A PENNY (The Granny Series) (12 page)

Okay, now Lillian’s spine was a flagpole.

“Why you want to go hating on a woman who’s old enough to be your grammy?”

“Wait a minute—” Lil started.

“You may be too stupid to recognize breeding, Dixieland. But women like Grammy Lil here? They can snatch away everything you got just like that.” Big Martha snapped her fingers in front of Dixie’s face. “You mark my words. Both of you.”

The tight feeling in Lil’s chest eased marginally as Big Martha strode away. She turned to Dixie. “What did you say that woman is in for?”

“I heard she was some kinda procurement specialist. This time she’s up for some computer hacking scheme, I think.”

“Procurement specialist.
What does that mean exactly?”

“It means, one way or another—” Dixie stabbed at her peas, “—that whatever Big Martha wants, she gets.”

Chapter Thirteen

Maggie pulled her hair back into a ponytail and plopped down on the floor in front of the old porcelain farm sink.

Since Lillian wasn’t around to sidetrack her, Maggie had been able to check a few tasks off that long list of things that needed attention around Summer Haven. Of course, her prioritization of that list and Lillian’s were not a match, and she’d already added as many new things as she’d marked off it. She could only venture to guess what would be most important to Angelina Broussard’s so-called committee, but she could only worry about one thing at a time.

At least this one wouldn’t cost much.

She made quick work of fixing the leaky faucet. It must have been dripping for a good long while. The tall stockpot was over half-full of skanky water. With a final twist of her wrench, she tightened the coupling and then slid the pot out from under the sink. As the stagnant water sloshed, a horrid smell filled her nose, almost making her gag.

Maggie clambered to her feet and flipped the faucet knobs. With the water flowing full blast, she pulled a penlight from her tool bag and looked for more leaks.

“Good as new.” She wiped down her tools and placed them back in her handy tool tote.
A place for everything and everything in its place.

Sera was
still upstairs getting her shower. That girl took way too long in the shower. If she had any idea just how many gallons of water and kilowatts of power she was using, that yoga-drunk eco-lovin’ weed of a woman would probably fall out. Maggie was tempted to install one of those shower timers that cut the water off after eight minutes.

She crossed to Lil’s desk in the kitchen. The binder Lil had left her had so much stuff in it that she hadn’t gotten past the list of
to-dosyet. She checked off the line ite
m
REPAIR LEAKING KITCHEN SIN
K
with a feeling of satisfaction. Much better than when she’d scratched throug
h
PAY OFF SUMMER HAVEN’S ACCOUNT AT HARDWARE STOR
E
. That had taken most of the money Lil got for the Jenny Lind chest.

One more down.

She flipped the binder closed and stood it up to slide it between a set of bookends on the edge of the desk. As she wiggled the binder between the dictionary and Lillian’s precious autographed copy of
Gone With The Wind,
something crinkled against the binder. Maggie reached for the slip of paper.

The yellow customer copy of the receipt was similar to the carbonless forms she and George had used in the hardware store. The familiar texture of that paper made her miss him a little.
As she reached to tuck the receipt in the drawer, her eyes caught the merchant name J&R’S PAWNSHOP.

Now, why in the world would Lil have a pawn receipt?

She pulled her glasses from the top of her head and leaned back to get a better look.

Her hand went to her chest. “No.”

The ticket detailed the item pawned: One 1.6 ct emerald-cut diamond w/ 4 1/3 ct baguettes, platinum setting.

“Lil, your
wedding ring?” Maggie sat there staring at that slip of paper. She knew what that ring meant to Lillian. She must have been desperate to hock it for a measly three thousand dollars, because it was worth about ten times that amount.

Then she spotted the pawn date. April 10.
Weren’t pawned items usually sold after about ninety days? If that were the case—her heart squeezed—she’d come across this ticket four days too late.

Maggie snatched up the phone and dialed the pawnshop.

“J&R’s Pawn. This is Rick.”

“Rick, thank goodness. This is Maggie. Margaret Rawls.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, but you know Lillian Fairview, don’t you?”

He was quiet for several seconds. “I don’t discuss my clients’ business with other folks.”

“Listen up, Rick. If you’ve sold Lillian’s wedding ring set, I’m going to drive directly to Atlanta, wrap my hands around your neck and wring it.”

“Ma’am, there’s no need for that kind of violent talk.”

“Because you’ve already sold them?”

“No, because I gave Lillian an extra thirty-day grace period. I know how much that ring means to her, and it’s not my intention for her to lose them. That being said…”

“You need the loan repaid.”

“There’s no help for it. I need the money no later than August tenth.”

“I swear on my husband’s grave that you’ll have it.” Maggie hung up and tears filled her eyes.

How can I handle all this? I can’t. I just can’t.
She swept at the tears and sniffled as she smoothed the receipt and put it in the front of the binder, then added one more thing to the list.

Get Lil’s ring
back.

The fancy envelope from Angelina Broussard sat on the desk’s corner. Maggie pulled out the letter and read it…twice. The committee consisted of Angelina, Nash Talley and Darrell Holloway. That was it. Three people were going to decide if Summer Haven was worthy of its historic designation, and one of them was the hardware store owner. Talk about a conflict of interest. Maggie didn’t even bother putting the letter back in the envelope. Feeling the pressure from all sides, she chucked it in the center drawer.

Now, just how the heck she’d ever keep things afloat while Lil was gone was a whole other issue, but if she stopped to think about that right now she might just start crying and never stop. Her only idea for raising enough money to repay that loan was those doggone trash bags.

Alright, Harlan.
You screwed up in a big way. Help me make some of it right, buddy.

While Sera
was in the shower, Maggie trudged to the carriage house and grabbed another bag of lottery tickets. She schlepped the bag across the yard toward the porch, wishing she could bring herself to just burn the whole blessed pile of bags and be done with it. But now that she understood just how desperate for money they were, she couldn’t chance giving away a windfall.

Maggie heaved the bag up the last step and grunted in relief. Those little lottery tickets added up to
a lot of pounds when you had a giant bag of them. Too bad she couldn’t get big dollars for recycling them.

She settled into a rocking chair, but rather than riffling through the bag, she sat there in a stupor. Not sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream like a stark raving lunatic, she did something she hadn’t been doing enough lately. Pray.

Dear Lord, help me find the strength to take care of Summer Haven for Lil. Not only that, but if you’d toss a few bucks down from heaven, I promise to do my best with them. I’ve got willing hands and a willing heart.

Wait a second.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Summer Haven was the key to its own upkeep. If everyone in Summer Shoals loved the estate, maybe other folks—cash or credit card-carrying folks—might love it too.
Might shell out a few dollars to look around the place. Heck, just a peek at the fountain was worth a fiver.

That thought brought Maggie to her feet and she danced a little jig right there on the porch. No sooner than she’d executed a technically perfect shuffle-ball-change, a crash came from inside the house, followed by a screeching holler.

“Sera?” Maggie raced inside, leaving a flurry of scratchers behind her. “Sera? Are you okay?”

“Help me! Call 9-1-1!”

Maggie lunged for the phone on the desk and dialed.

“Your emergency?”

“We’ve had an accident out here at Summer Haven. Quick! Send help.” She dropped the phone and ran up the stairs. Gasping like a fish out of water, she pounded on the bathroom door.

“Open up, Sera!”

“I can’t.”

Maggie twisted the door handle and raced inside the bathroom.
Then froze. Where the toilet used to sit—right there to the left of the sink—there was nothing but a giant hole. Open copper pipes protruded from the wall, spilling water onto the tile and through the subfloor.

After hunkering down to crank the stubborn turn-off valve, Maggie knee-walked through the spreading puddle, braced
herself on all fours and looked down. Sera sat in a crumpled heap with her skirt all hiked up around her middle-parts and her leg splayed in opposite directions.

Maggie stuck her head in the hole for a better look. “Oh, Lord, are you hurt?”

“Bit my tongue on the landing and my tailbone is still in shock, but other than that I’m in one piece.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I was just sitting there doing my business and saying a little mantra, and next thing I knew it was like I was on the water flume.”

A wild—and completely inappropriate—laugh bubbled up in Maggie’s chest. “What the heck have you been eating?”

“Quit that. You know it wasn’t that. Come help me.”

Maggie inspected the area where the floor had given way. Years of water damage had taken its toll.

One more thing to add to the list. She got to her feet, grabbed a towel and ran downstairs to help Sera.

Maggie whipped around the thick wooden box newel at the bottom of the staircase, almost losing her footing in the toilet water stream her wet clothes were creating.
“Sera? Where are you?”

“Here! I sure as hell haven’t gone anywhere.”

Maggie followed the frantic call to the parlor. That laughter in her chest broke free at the sight of Sera.

“Are you laughing at me? Don’t you laugh at
me.” Sera tugged on her skirt, her feet flipping in the air with each word.

“I always thought having another toilet down here off the parlor would be convenient, but that was the fastest demolition I’ve ever witnessed.”

Sera reached a hand toward Maggie. “This isn’t funny.”

No, it wasn’t. Heart sinking in her chest, Maggie grasped Sera by the wrist and tugged her to her feet. There was no way they could charge people to see inside a house with a toilet smack dab in the middle of the parlor, yet she needed money to fix the bathroom. Not only had her repair list become longer and more urgent, but her last hope of moving into the carriage house
had just been flushed as surely as if she’d pulled the toilet handle herself.

“This is going to leave a bruise,” Sera said.

“I’m sure it will, but if that’s all you get out of that wild ride, it’s a blessing.”

A clatter of stomping feet raced through the open front door.

Maggie whipped around to see two EMTs running toward them.

Sera wiggled her panties up. “I’m sticking to bathing and doing my business in the creek from now on.”

A siren wailed outside.

Maggie wished now that she’d checked out the situation before calling 9-1-1.

“I’m fine.” Sera swatted the EMT away from her as she carefully stepped between the wood, plaster and broken porcelain.

Then, a familiar voice boomed behind them. “What the…?”

Sera and Maggie spun around.

Teague pulled off his mirrored sunglasses and assessed the damage. “Now, that’s going to cost a pretty penny to fix.”

Pennies, pretty or otherwise, were the one thing she didn’t have plenty of.

Sitting outside the warden’s office brought back childhood memories of waiting on the wooden bench outside the principal’s office back in Summer Shoals Elementary School the time Lillian had been caught selling lipstick to the girls in the lunch room. Only this time she
wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong. Unless Martha was making good on that promise to cause her trouble.

Her insides spun. What if they wouldn’t let Maggie visit her anymore? She looked down at her feet. Her toes still throbbed every time they so much as grazed the ends of her shoes. She
was forced to hobble around, and her skin had taken on the consistency of alligator hide. Beautiful on a handbag, not so lovely on her legs. She balled her hands into fists, trying to ease the ache caused by all that toilet scrubbing. Some decent shampoo and body lotion would be wonderful about now, but she hadn’t had the heart to ask Maggie to deposit money into her commissary account. Summer Haven needed every measly dollar Lillian had left behind.

The warden’s assistant poked her head into the locked waiting area. “The warden will see you now.”

“Thank you, dear.” Lillian pushed herself up from the chair and walked into the warden’s office.

Nell Proctor was a handsome woman, with square shoulders and a wide face. Although she
was seated, it was easy to see she was tall.

Warden Proctor’s face softened when she looked up and saw Lillian walk in. “How are things going for you here?”

Lillian took a seat in the straight back chair across from the warden. “I’m fine, thank you.”

The office was in sharp contrast to the rest of the facility. In here the windows
were softened with flowered valances and framed artwork. Even the ink pen in the warden’s hand was snazzy.