Page 19 of Brewbies
The lull in the conversation that followed seemed to stretch on forever.
This was her opportunity. The moment she’d been waiting for. Phase one of her carefully constructed plan.
So…why wasn’t she doing it?
Why wasn’t she telling them how their beloved, feline-rescuing sheriff had torn the strap of her vintage cocktail dress with his teeth and sent her buttons scattering across his four-star stabbin’ cabin? How he’d made her come before they’d even hit the first horizontal surface? How he’d—
“Sorry I’m late.”
In her vivid fantasizing, Darby had somehow missed Myrtle’s approach. Quite a feat, considering the vociferousness of the old building’s components.
“It’s pissin’ down rain out there, and of course Roy parked that big-ass Buick of his right in the best spot.”
Gemma took the reusable grocery bags from Myrtle and set them on the table before helping the older woman out of her bright yellow rain slicker.
The outfit beneath was no less flashy.
Hot-pink leopard-print leggings, a cotton-candy-pink oversized sweater, and pink paisley scarf. A hand bearing bright fuchsia nails parked itself on Myrtle’s bony hip as she assessed Darby. “Well, catch me up.”
“First things first. Would you like some wine?” Cady offered.
“Wine nothin’.” Myrtle shuffled over to the table, her wispy white hair poking up like wet feathers. “I brought us a real drink.”
“It’s not more of your skunk beer, is it?” Gemma’s porcelain skin took on a grayish cast. “Last time we drank that, I lost three hours and woke up in bed with a Cady’s stuffed capybara.”
“I still say you two make a lovely couple.” Reaching into one of the bags, Myrtle pulled out a plastic jug full of magenta liquid. “These are pink ladies. Without the egg whites. The only protein I’m swallowing these days is—”
“Is it grenadine that gives it that color?” Cady cut in, trying to steer the conversation away from wherever Myrtle was attempting to take it.
Darby could have saved her the trouble. Having stage-managed the Boston Fetish Ball on several occasions, there was very little in terms of protein or various other fluids that could make her squeamish.
“So,” Myrtle said after pouring herself a very generous drink and settling into one of the oversized leather armchairs. “Catch me up.”
Gemma did the honors, quickly summing up everything Darby had shared with her about her run-in with Sheriff Townsend.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Myrtle said, already halfway through her beverage by the time Gemma had finished. “So what’s our game plan?”
Now.
Now was the time for Darby to tell them that she didn’t need their help. That she already had a plan of her own and more than enough resources to execute it.
Thanks, but no thanks. All stocked up on strategy. Offer appreciated but unnecessary.
But once again, her tongue refused to tear itself away from the roof of her mouth. Her careful contrivances buzzed around her brain like bees in a bottle.
What the shit was wrong with her?
“The way I figure it, we have two options.” Gemma set aside her knitting needles to pick up her glass of wine. “Get the city council to reverse their ruling or get the county to go over their heads and throw it out.”
Cady sagged back in her chair. “There’s got to be another way. You do remember what an absolute nightmare it was when they tried to take the building from me?”
“It wasn’t they, it was Caryn,” Gemma pointed out.
“A Karen tried to take your building?” Darby asked, feeling a prickle of irritation on Cady’s behalf.
“NotaKaren.TheCaryn,” Myrtle said with the wary gravitas typically reserved for creatures who terrified the peasants of medieval villages.
“Townsend Harbor’s former first lady and Ethan’s mother,” Cady said, shifting in her chair to tuck socked feet beneath her bottom.
