Page 39 of Open Season

“Oh, I’m not planning on using them. I knew Barbara would get the word out I’d bought them, and then some of the single men in town would find out I’m available, and modern, and things like that, and they’d be interested enough to at least check me out. That’s how it worked in theory,” she said glumly. “In reality, the chief ruined everything. Now I’ll have to concentrate on the nightclub men.”

“Are you going out tonight?” he asked.

“No, there’s too much to do getting my house ready. Buck Latham is finished painting, so now I have to clean and look for furniture, buy appliances, that sort of thing.”

“What style of furniture are you looking for?”

“Well, the house is small, so I’m aiming for cozy and comfortable. Whatever style that is, that’s what I want.”

“Does it have to be new? Or would you like some individual older pieces? We can pick those up at auctions for a fraction of what you would pay in a furniture store for something new.”

The idea of saving money always interested Daisy. “I’ve never been to an auction. Where is one, and when?”

“Everywhere, and always,” he drawled. “I’ll find one for tomorrow night, and we’ll have that house decorated before you know it”

Daisy moved into her little house on Friday, after a whirlwind of preparations that left her no time to fume about the way Chief Russo had sabotaged her condom plan. She was so busy she didn’t really mind the way some people whispered behind their hands when they saw her. This was the twenty-first century, after all; it was no big deal to buy condoms, even in Hillsboro. A lot of people did, or Cyrus Clud wouldn’t carry such a large supply.

For the most part, she didn’t have time to think about anything except the herculean task of moving. She had never let herself buy things to put away for when she got married and had her own home, because that would have been like admitting she wasn’t satisfied with her life. Well, she wasn’t satisfied, but now she was admitting it—and doing something about it.

She still wasn’t married, but she had her own house. So what if it was a tiny rental in a run-down neighbor-hood? It had a fenced backyard, she was going to get a dog, and it was her very own place. Unfortunately, because she’d never bought any household things beyond her own bed linens, that meant she had to endure some shopping marathons to get stocked up on the thousand and one items needed to set up house-keeping.

She bought curtains and cookware, stocked up on groceries and household items, bought brooms and a vacuum cleaner and a dust mop—her own vacuum cleaner! She was ecstatic—and worked every spare hour cleaning and getting things put away.

When she wasn’t doing that, Todd kept her busy looking for furniture. She was a little surprised but deeply grateful that he exhibited such interest in her new life, because his aid was invaluable. He took her to a couple of auctions, and she discovered the joy of simply nodding her head until her competitors for any certain piece gave up and dropped out of the bidding; then she’d hold up a numbered card and the lamp or the rug or the end table would be hers. Winning gave her a thrill, so much so that Todd watched her with amusement whenever she decided to bid on a piece.

“You’re like a shark going after raw bait,” he said lazily, smiling at the color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

She immediately blushed. “I am? My goodness.” She folded her hands in her lap as if to keep them from flashing that little numbered card again.

He laughed. “Oh, don’t stop. You’re having more fun than I ever do.”

“It is fun, isn’t it?” She eyed the tea cart being offered for sale. She didn’t have much room, and if she bought everything she liked, she wouldn’t have room for the necessities, such as furniture. On the other hand, the tea cart would look wonderful in the corner of the living room, with plants on top of it and maybe photographs on the lower shelves . . .

Several minutes of furious bidding later, the tea cart was hers—along with a cozy little table and two chairs, a pair of lamps with translucent pink bases and creamy shades, a dark sage green rug, a big, squashy easy chair that rocked and was upholstered in dusty blue with cream pinstripes, and a small cabinet for her television. When they were ready to leave, Todd looked over her booty and said, “I’m glad we borrowed a pickup; that big chair would never wedge into the trunk of your car.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she said blissfully, already imagining herself curled up in it.

“It certainly is, and I know just the piece to go with it. It’s new, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “But it’s a perfect sofa, I promise.”

The perfect sofa was covered with the most impractical cabbage roses on a dusty blue background that very nearly matched the blue of her big chair. She considered the sofa outrageously expensive, but fell in love with it on sight. No drab brown upholstery for her, no sir! She wanted the cabbage roses. And when everything was arranged in her little house, the effect was even cozier than she had imagined.

Friday night, Daisy’s little house was full of people and furniture and boxes.

Evelyn and Beth and Aunt Jo were sorting things out, putting boxes in the rooms where the contents would go but not unpacking them, because if they did, Daisy wouldn’t know where anything was. Todd was putting the finishing touches on the decoration, hanging some prints, helping her arrange the furniture just so, and providing some much-needed muscle for the heavier pieces. Her clothes were in the closet, the curtains were all hung, her books were in the bookcase, food was in the refrigerator—everything was ready.

The house was a testament to what could be accomplished when some very determined women—and one antiques dealer—worked at it. Neighbors had been pressed into service moving her bedroom furniture over; the local appliance store had delivered and installed her stove, refrigerator, microwave, and washer and dryer the same day she bought them. She thought, considering the money she had spent, same-day delivery was the least they could do.

Evelyn had prepared a pot roast and brought it over for Daisy’s first real meal in her own home. Daisy put her mother and Aunt Jo at the tiny table she’d bought, and she, Beth, and Todd sat on the floor, laughing and talking the way people do when they’ve accomplished something herculean.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, unable to stop beaming as she looked around her kitchen. “All of this has happened in only two weeks!”

“What can I say?” Todd drawled. “You’re a slave-driver.” He took another bite of roast and sighed with delight. “Mrs. Minor, you should open a restaurant. You’d make a fortune.”

“I already have a fortune,” she said serenely. “I have my family, and I’m healthy. Everything else is just work.”

“Besides,” Beth said, “I’m just now getting over the shock of how Daisy’s changed her looks. Give me a little while before you start turning my mother into a food mogul.”

They all laughed, because after her stunned reaction on Sunday, Beth had been as enthusiastic as everyone else about Daisy’s improvements. Evelyn had been greatly relieved, because she’d worried about her younger daughter’s ego. Beth was a Minor, though, and the Minor women were made of stern stuff. Besides, Beth and Daisy truly loved each other and had always gotten along.

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