Page 72 of Blame it on the Bet
I snort at the idea of Winston Churchill and his hairball. Clearly he hates the lace as much as I do. Next come three voicemails in a row from Helen.
Hi, Bryan, I just wanted to let you know that Jess from the First National Bank says you’re good to go. Call me later. Bye.
That’s Helen letting me know that our Iowa project is ready to go to contract. Her next message came last night while I was mid-quiz.
Bryan, Clara Broadmore called three times for you. I told her you were out of town and unavailable, but she kept calling, asking me to get in touch with you. I promised her I would pass on the messages. Bryan…she sounds really… scared. I hope you’ll consider calling her. Okay. Bye.
That’s Helen letting me know that my mother is looking for me. Again. I’m not sure I even want to hear her last message because I’m sure it must be a lecture about how I really should return her calls. But I hit play anyway, and discover that I’m wrong. This isn’t a lecture at all.
Bryan, Clara Broadmore rang again. She wants me to let you know that her husband has died. She didn’t want to leave any details about a service. I’m sorry—I hope that’s not someone you’re close to. Let me know if you need travel arrangements. Okay, then, I’ll wait to hear from you. Please
call me…I worry about you. Bye.
And that’s Helen letting me know that my father is dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HENNESSY
“Jameson! You owe me twenty-two bucks. Little Man in there used my eyeliner like a Crayola. Again!” Walker squawks.
“Oh, stop complaining. I told you I’ll replace it,” Jameson says, rolling her eyes.
“That was the last one. I got a new one yesterday, and he’s demolished it…”
“Jeez, Walker, twenty-two bucks? What’s it made of? Gold?” I pipe in with a chuckle.
“Says the woman who looks like a model when she rolls out of bed in the morning,” my younger sister grumbles.
“Please,” I object. “We all know you’re the dramatic, edgy, exotic one. If anyone could be a model, Walker, it’s you.”
She looks at me, eyes narrowed, as if searching for a joke in there somewhere. But she won’t find one.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re all pretty,” Bailey mutters from the couch where she’s glued to her phone. “Can we please just get on with this? I have plans later.”
“Not until we get the latest on Henny’s hookup,” Walker says and is greeted with an evil eye from me. “What? Dude, I’m a bartender. I hear everything.”
“Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share that information with anyone,” I reply.
“I think that horse has left the barn,” she informs me with a snort. “It’s all anyone can talk about at the pub. I mean, he’s been parked out back overnight three times this week. What the hell, Henny? I understand you not hating the guy anymore but…this? Last time I checked, he was still out to turn our pub into a mega-multi-screen monstrosity! And now everyone in town knows you two are hooking up,” she grumbles. So much for getting all of my sisters on board with this new development.
“It’s not that bad,” Bailey says. “People around here are really starting to like Bryan.”
I lift my head up again. “Really? They are?”
She nods. “Yeah. He went ice fishing with a couple of guys from the factory last week, and he spoke with Lydia Mack’s eleventh-grade economics class about his job. He even agreed to write a guest column for the Gazette. Something about being a newcomer to Mayhem.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone thinks he’s Mr. Wonderful,” Walker informs us. “The Tuesday night darts league is convinced he’s just using you to get the property for a good price. And the guys over at the Elks lodge?—”
“Okay, Walker, that’s enough,” Jameson cuts her off.
I sink heavily into a chair and sigh.
“Look… I think he’s a pretty good guy. I wouldn’t be… you know…with him if he weren’t.”
“But…” Jameson says, sensing my uncertainty.
“But what if we can’t come up with the money and I have to sell the pub to him? He’s going to raze it. No one will be liking him much then,” I predict. “Including everyone in this room.”
