Page 67 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

Who the devil had called?

“Guess who came into the shop yesterday?” Cricket asked, completely oblivious to Sugar’s panic attack. She kicked off her sandals as the microwave dinged.

“Who?”

“Hannah-friggin’-Montgomery, that’s who.” Sugar’s stomach knotted. As it always did when she thought of the Montgomerys.

Cricket chuckled as she grabbed her cup and padded barefoot to the back door. “I guess Hannah didn’t know that I’d switched over to Maurice’s.”

Sugar grabbed a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper, whistled to the dog and followed Cricket to the porch. Dickie Ray had rigged up a ceiling fan a couple of years back. Sugar switched it on while the dog walked down the wooden steps to nose around the fence line and scared up a couple of startled birds.

Sampling her coffee, Cricket took a seat in the flimsy chaise, a relic from a particularly bountiful garage sale spree. “Hannah nearly fell off Donna’s chair when she saw me.”

“What did you do?”

“Made monkey faces at her in the mirror the entire time she was getting her foil weave.” Cricket slid a glance at her older sister to see if she was buying her story. Sugar wasn’t. “Okay, so I said ‘hi’ and ignored her for the rest of the two hours. What did you expect me to do?”

“Make monkey faces,” Sugar joked.

“I should have, but I don’t want to lose this job. As it is

, I probably cost Donna a major client. Got a cigarette?”

“I thought you quit.”

“I did. Mostly. But I’m tired and I could use a buzz.”

“Have more coffee.”

Cricket scowled into her cup. “It’s not the same.”

“You’ll survive,” Sugar predicted and glanced at the weed-choked yard. The wheelbarrow was where she’d left it two days ago, half full of weeds, the bark dust thin around the shrubbery flanking the house.

Curling one leg under her, Cricket asked, “You see him last night?”

“Who?”

“You know who. And don’t look so surprised. I figured it out on my own.” Cricket took a long drink, but her gaze was fixed steadily on her sister’s face. When Sugar didn’t answer, she added, “He’s using you, you know. If you think he’s gonna come in here and sweep you away and marry you, you’ve got another think comin’.”

That much Sugar knew. “At least I was home last night.”

“Too bad.” She ran a hand through her hair and grimaced. “I’m gonna shower and get down to the shop. Did I get any calls?”

“No one who left his name.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’re getting more and more hangups.”

“Wrong numbers?”

“Maybe . . . some of them, but . . .” Sugar lifted a shoulder and decided not to worry her baby sister about the recent call that had made her skin crawl. “It’s probably nothing.”

“I’ll bet it’s a weirdo from the club. You don’t exactly get the highest class of ‘clients’—isn’t that what you call ’em?—down at Pussies In Booties.”

Sugar bristled. Felt that same old knife of shame, but pushed it down deep. “It pays the rent and puts money in the bank.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before.” Cricket drained her cup and forced herself to her feet. “Someday I’m going to have clients who tip me a hundred dollars, and I won’t have to take off my clothes to do it.”

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