Page 101 of Small Town Hunter

“Yes.”

The sweet act drops at the speed of light. “Your grandmother isn’t answering her phone,” she snaps. “I had to get Mrs. Atherly to give me a ride over here. This is unacceptable. Where is your grandmother?”

“She’s asleep, mother.”

“I need to ask her about the mortgage payment. You know, since your daddy ran off I don’t know where I’m going to stay, and the guest house at the lake just won’t cut it for me. It’s too small and hasn’t been renovated since before you were born. I know she doesn’t expect me to live there.”

So many things I want to tell her come boiling up my throat. But she taught me how to be a lady.

I’m a lady.

“Why don’t you wait downstairs, Mama? I’ll make sure she comes to talk to you as soon as she wakes up. I’ll get someone to bring you a coffee. Or you can come back tomorrow before we leave, in the morning.”

Mama’s smile is brittle. “Why don’t you go wake her up right now? You think I have all day to wait around?”

“All you have is audacity,” I tell her, and try to shut the door.

Her foot shoots out. “You’re nothing but a lowdown tramp, Trina Marie. Don’t go lording over me like you’re something. You’re just a pathetic — ”

I hear Crash getting up. Time to end this. I shove her foot hard enough to make her squeak and slam the door in her face.

“Bitch!” She screeches as I throw the lock.

Guess I’m feeling petty. I march past a bemused Crash straight to the room’s telephone. I call the front desk.

“Hello, Miss Whiteleaf? How may we assist you?”

“Hello. Can you escortMrs.Whiteleaf from the premises? She is disturbing my grandmother.”

“Um…Mrs. Whiteleaf? She was just — oh, yes, Miss Whiteleaf. I see. Please tell your grandmother we are so very sorry,” the receptionist squeaks. “It won’t happen again — um...”

I hear her talking to someone off the phone.

“Would your grandmother like a gift basket?” The receptionist adds breathlessly. “As a sign of our deepest and most heartfelt regret?”

The devil’s horns give me a nudge.

“Yes Ma’am,” I tell her. “Please send it up to room 43.”

“Right away, Miss Whiteleaf. Security is on his way to remove — oh, there she goes. We are so terribly sorry again, Miss Whiteleaf. Rest assured it won’t happen again. Have a wonderful evening.”

I hang up and look at Crash, feeling bad for accepting the gift basket, bad for kicking Mama out and bad for making this poor girl at the desk think Mamie was going to wring her neck.

“Everybody’s scared of Mamie,” I tell Crash, struggling with a secret amusement above all of that.

“I wonder why,” he says dryly. “Did I imagine her shooting the Reverend to death?”

“She didn’tkillhim. He’s just in a small coma, that’s all.”

“Right. Just a small coma.”

“The Sheriff patched it up. He never liked the Reverend anyway and he’s dead gone on Mamie. Along with everybody else.”

Crash’s raised eyebrow makes me giggle. I explain, “Since she came here she’s had four marriage proposals.” And about ten death threats, mostly from the Wilson family.

“I see,” says Crash. “Rich old lady, single…”

“Exactly.”

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