Page 6 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“Oh, hi.”

Repressing a sigh, she turned toward the friendly female voice to her left.

“You’re the new girl. Oh, my goodness, so adorable.”

The woman who spoke was fairly adorable, too, with blond hair, sparkly aqua eyes, and honest to goodness dimples. She looked older than Celeste, so homogenously older that Celeste couldn’t calculate her true age. Older but well preserved in that middle-aged wealthy white woman way that spoke of serums and face oils. “I’m Maybe Montgomery.”

Celeste quirked an eyebrow at her. “Maybe. You’re not certain?”

“I’m definitely Maybe. It’s short for Maybelle, but tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

“I highly doubt that,” Celeste said, making sure to keep her tone even.

“Do you like beef?”

Celeste blinked at her with no idea how to answer. It was, hands down, the first time someone had ever asked her for a meat preference.

“If not, you’d better or they’ll find you.”

Celeste tensed. “Who?”

“The cowboys. Oh, I’ll give you a list.”

“What list?” A hit list? Certainly they couldn’t know her proclivities.

“A list of which ones are datable and which ones to avoid. Here’s a hint.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and spoke in a loudly whispered aside, exactly as Tony had done. Celeste wondered if it was a bit they’d tag-teamed. “If the teeth are black, take a step back.”

Celeste blinked at her, wondering how best to make her disappear. “Beef good, black teeth bad. Got it.”

She must have because Maybe beamed at her. “You’re all caught up. Welcome to Paradise. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Her glance fell to the shelves of books. “Were you hoping to check something out?”

“Yes?” Celeste said, but it came out like a question.

“Did you bring mail?”

“What?” Was this woman on crack? Was the entire town insane? All signs pointed to yes so far.

“Mail,” Maybe reiterated. “They won’t let you get a library card without mail to confirm your identity. But, hey, use mine. Just tell them Maybe said you could.”

“They won’t let me get a card, but they’ll let me use yours?”

“Sure, they know me.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, no. I was supposed to pick up my granddaughter fromTwinkle Toes.”

“This town has a dance studio?” Celeste blurted.

“Lassoing school,” Maybe explained. “The twinkle toes designate the lassoed calf.” She raised her two hands, mimicking hooves, pawing them in the air. “Twinkle, twinkle, moo, moo, moo.”

Celeste blinked at her, unable to fathom a hasty reply. “You look freakishly young to be a grandma.”

“Had her mom when I was eighteen,” Maybe explained.

“Is that a prerequisite in this town?”

“I’m not a local. I’m adopted, like you.”

Before Celeste could contradict and say she was absolutely nothing to the town, nor would she ever be, Maybe began walking backwards, still talking. “Make sure and stop by the store. Elena can design your house, she’s chomping at the bit.”

And then she was gone, leaving Celeste by herself in stunned dismay. “Who is Elena?” she muttered.

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