Page 24 of The Proposal Pact
“Oh, fine.” Fanny throws her hands up. “Have it your way and I hope you remember later on that I did offer you a peaceful way from early on. Now, onto the next subject,” she says before I can add anything else. “I’ve brought some pictures.” She bends down once again.
“What pictures?”
“Of suitable matches. See, aren’t we nice, giving you all the options before we start the process.”
“Dear Lord.” I rub a hand over my face. “Fanny, it is way too early for your shenanigans.”
She huffs. “There are no shenanigans! We’re talking about your future wife.”
“I’m not looking at any pictures and you’re not pulling any crap with my love life.”
“I’ll leave these here for you to look through. We even wrote their top qualities and occupations on the backs.” She keeps on as if I didn’t just say, no.
“What are you? A local pimp?”
“If you don’t like these, we’ll go back to the drawing board. Don’t worry, Cake pop, we’ll find you the right match.” She pats my arm.
“It’s as if I’m talking to a wall.”
“Sheriff, we got a call,” Leo calls out, but the fact that he doesn’t go into description right away tells me it’s one ofthosecalls.
“Already?” I frown. “What could they possibly get into this early in the morning?”
“Apparently, Suzie Walker and Matilda Loves both showed up wearing the same outfit this morning to the town workout. They found it funny and got talking and—”
“Oh, crap-on-a-cake!” Fanny shoots up from her chair, interrupting Leo.
“Fanny,” I say, slowly. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“Psh, that’s like everything, Cake pop, but in this case, Suzie has been sleeping with Doug.”
“Doug? Wait, Doug Loves?”
“Bingo!” Fanny picks up her bag in a haste and starts moving toward the door. “And apparently the old fool didn’t even bother to buy them different gifts.”
“Wait a minute! Where do you think you’re going?”
“To make sure Linda doesn’t show up in the same outfit too. You sit back, look through the pictures and relax, Mr. Sheriff. Fanny’s got this,” she says and disappears.
It takes me a second to process what she just said and then I look to Leo who is just as stunned. “Isn’t Mr. Loves like eighty-three?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Damn, I want to be Doug Loves when I grow up,” Leo adds after a beat.
Fucking hell, we are about to have an all-out-war of hip replacements out there right now. Quickly, I scramble off my chair, grab mygun and three additional sets of handcuffs. I have a feeling I’ll need them shortly. “Call for backup!” I holler to him before running out.
To say I’m not surprised to see what I see when I get to the main square where our town holds workouts every morning, is not to say anything.
Honestly, I didn’t expect anything less.
There are five hundred or so people—ninety percent of who are very much seniors—forming a circle full of neon colors, with money, jewelry or flasks with God-knows-what-in-them, waving in the air as they shout everything from “Fight! Fight! Fight!” to “Suzie! Suzie! Suzie!” to “Matilda! Matilda! Matilda!” to “Make love not war!”
“A hundred on Matilda!” someone shouts.
“My collection of Beatles on Suzie! Matilda just had a hip replacement last fall.”
Jesus Christ! I throw myself into the circle of neon hell, trying to get to the front.
