Chapter Seven
March 15th. 2009© 2009 Kimberly J. Fish
Chapter Seven
Lacy watched Theresa O’Banshee fluff her long, dark curls. The woman turned a simple repair of hat hair into something fit for late-night television. Glancing again at Henry, Lacy wondered what her nemesis thought of this exercise in feminine appeal. Maybe he was disguising a healthy interest in Theresa’s form-fitting, Dairy Queen uniform, or maybe he was laughing at the antics of two rivals. Either way, if she didn’t get out of this Dairy Queen parking lot she was doomed to reveal the worst side of her character.
“So where are you two going in such a hurry,” Theresa asked.
“IRS headquarters,” Lacy answered.
“The Lock and Store off Highway 87,” answered Henry.
Lacy burned him with her gaze. Theresa did not need to know the details of their antique hunt. Judging by the way Henry leaned against the hood of his Suburban and scooped frozen M and M’s from her Blizzard cup, he didn’t seem fazed. Subtlety was lost on Henry Robinson.
Jerking her cup away from his reach, Lacy turned to face the woman who was searching through her luggage-sized purse for car keys. “Theresa, so sorry to hear about that unfortunate run-in with the District Attorney. You’ve got to be so frustrated that Michael finally turned you in for chronically running the four-way stop.”
Theresa shrugged. “Daddy paid my fine, but told me I had to work it off in hours to the store. Normally, I wouldn’t be wearing a uniform, but with winter coming on there’s not a lot of call for ice cream, so no one important should see me in polyester. Oh, wait, you stopped by today. I guess wonders will never cease.”
Lacy bit the inside of her mouth because Henry was suddenly interested in the conversation that had developed on the front lot.
“And this was really the last straw for Michael and me. I just can’t date a man who has such an unreasonable attachment to the law.”
“He’s a deputy, Theresa. They pay him to be attached.”
Theresa pursed her ruby lips. “Well, this felt kind of personal to me. I think Deputy Michael has anger issues related to the way you broke up with him and he’s taking out his aggression on all women.”
Lacy absolutely would not look at Henry though she could feel his gaze boring into her profile. She walked over to the trash can and dumped her half-eaten Blizzard. “Well, not that this hasn’t been fun catching up on old news, but I have to get Henry back to the Bus Depot. He’s working his way through South Texas. No time to linger.”
“Theresa, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about artists in the area, would you? I’ve got this little closet fascination with artwork and if you knew of some undiscovered talent, I’d be very grateful for the information.”
Theresa looked at Henry like he was the last filet in a beef restaurant. “How grateful?”
“Very.” Henry smiled.
Lacy wanted to bang her head on his Suburban. No wonder Henry’s profile in the Dallas Morning News article about up and coming city shakers listed him as one of the fastest growing art dealers in the southwest. He was a con artist. Granted, she hadn’t seen a lot of the ‘con’ part yet, but she wasn’t putting anything past him. This is a man who was out to rob her of her very best antique client, and any subsequent valuables, so she wouldn’t be surprised if he started whipping out thousand dollar bills just to grease Theresa’s memory.
“I thought Lacy said you worked for the IRS?”
“Lacy has a short-term memory problem where I’m concerned, but I’ve been promised its temporary.” Henry tossed his chili fries container into the Dairy Queen courtesy trash can before reaching in to his pocket to withdraw a business card. “Call me if you think of any artists I might like to meet. I always like to ask everyone to help me discover new talent. You’d be surprised how many great painters are grandparents or aunts who work after-hours in their garage.”
Theresa read the fine print. “You’re an art and antiques dealer and you’re from Dallas.”
“Score one for the Comfort public school system,” Lacy mumbled almost under her breath.
Henry glanced at her with a brow quirked over his eye.
Of course he didn’t understand her anathema, what man saw two women and ever understood the undercurrents of back story and history? Even Lacy didn’t understand why she and Theresa never got along, but she suspected it had a lot to do with the two-to-one female-to-male ratio in Comfort’s Chamber of Commerce meetings. And dating the same deputy didn’t help. Regardless, the longer she stood here, the quicker Theresa would sink her talons into fresh male meat. A man, that for some reason, she wanted to keep very far away from the Dairy Queen. She glanced at her wrist. “Oh, look at the time, Henry. Your bus should be here any minute.”
Theresa was not known to ever let an opportunity slip by unscathed. “So if you’re going to the Lock and Store you must have sniffed out someone’s secret art treasure. And to think people in Comfort were hoarding things.”
”That’s not such a stretch to imagine.” Lacy and most women who shopped at Ola Langford’s Comfort Shoes had heard about the O’Banshee women’s heel fetish. Ola liked to hold Theresa and her mother up as role models. “But no one would store something valuable at an un-air-conditioned metal storage facility. That would ruin things.”
Henry harrumphed. “Spoken like a true novice.”
Lacy ignored her unasked-for-tutor. “I guess you could say we’re just going sight-seeing. Henry doesn’t get out of the city often and he’s in desperate need of fresh, country air.”
“To aid my digestive problems.” He twirled his key ring around his finger, showing off his gym membership along with his grocery store discount card.
Lacy’s gaze locked on the card advertising the organic, grocery store chain and she nearly groaned. One of her life goals, right up there near world peace, was to live in a city where she could shop high-end, organic-oriented grocery stores and partake in the sophisticated lifestyle she associated with urban living. How she’d managed all these years with a small grocery store, a farmers market and a local butcher shop was a testimony to her self-imposed creativity and her willingness to take the flack that came with recycling cotton totes during each shopping visit.
That Henry lived her lifestyle was one more reason to despise him.
“Theresa, you’re welcome to come along.” Henry walked to the driver’s side and opened the door. “We could probably use your help with the heavy lifting.”
Theresa’s face blanched. She glanced at her artificial nails. “Thanks for the offer, but I have to hang around here to make sure those high school kids show up for the next shift. Help these days is kind of unreliable.”
With a relief she didn’t want to explore too carefully, Lacy pranced toward the passenger side. “Well, good luck with your two-for-one onion ring sale. I heard some of the guys talking about it at Joe’s coffee shop so you may get a run on them after the annual Freeze Your Fanny Dirt Bike event. Seems fried food is a favorite way to cap off mud, sweat and bruised body parts.”
Theresa tapped her forehead. “I’ve just had a brain storm.”
Lacy’s shoulders stiffened. The last time Theresa had a brain storm, the Chamber of Commerce meeting spent two hours discussing the merits of a charging each new business owner a ten percent tax if they didn’t change the façade of their store to blend in with the new village look. Of course, this was the same day Lacy had placed on the chamber agenda an announcement of her new business venture, Comfortable Antiques. She didn’t have the extra fifty thousand dollars necessary to replace the awnings, windows and roof lines so her grand opening had been delayed two months until the chamber revisited their brain storm idea.
“If you two are sneaking around town trying to find undiscovered treasures, you probably need a witness to validate that you’re not stepping over any trespassing laws.”
Lacy stared at Theresa. “I thought you didn’t appreciate people with unreasonable attachments to the law?”
Theresa shrugged. “That’s when it applied to me. If it applies to you, I’m all for it.”
Lacy climbed into the passenger’s seat and glanced at Henry. “Floor it, bucko. She’s about to phone her old boyfriend and sic him on us.”
To be continued.