Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
He stared down at the bread like I wasn’t offering him a scrumptious loaf of homemade sourdough, but instead, I’d baked a pile of Tonks’s offerings to nature and wrapped them in Saran Wrap.
“I don’t eat white bread,” he said.
I was shocked.
“You don’t eat white bread?”
He looked from the bread to me. “You speak English, do you understand it?”
Do not ever forget, Mabel, he’s a big, old jerk!
“Never?” I pressed. “You never eat white bread?”
“I eat clean.”
“What’s clean?”
“Lean meats, lots of vegetables, some fruits, and when I get my carbs, they’re whole grains, beans or starchy vegetables.”
“You never cheat?”
“If I cheat, it’ll be on a beer, bourbon or a good whiskey.”
Okay, his body said this was the gods’ honest truth.
But…
Whoa.
“I, well…”—I hugged the loaf to my chest—“I’m impressed.”
Something came over him, maybe surprise, maybe skepticism, before he asked, “You’re impressed?”
I shrugged. “I like food. Food is yummy. I like cooking it, baking it and eating it. But I still can be impressed someone makes the lifestyle choice, and sticks to it, to be that healthy.”
He studied me closely, muttering, “Right.”
Tonks lost her mind barking and howling.
Both Hutch and I moved to the window Tonks was barking at and peered out.
A shiny, black, dual cab Ram truck was pulling into the front of the house.
And in it, I saw my landlord and both her grandsons.
In all that was happening, I’d forgotten that Hutch told me he’d “deal” with Mrs. Matthews.
I had a feeling he’d “dealt” with Mrs. Matthews.
And now I was going to deal with her.
TEN
Mrs. Matthews
Mabel
“Let me guess,” I said to the window. “You called Mrs. Matthews.”
I looked up at him as he replied to the window, “Forgot to mention, David Ashbrook is coming tomorrow morning at eight to install your motion sensor lights.”
“That’s quite something to forget.”
When his brown eyes came down to mine, he didn’t have the grace even to look sheepish.
Tonks went wild when there was a knock at the door.
Then, get this, Hutch…Hutch… sauntered to the door and opened it like the man paid rent.
I followed him to see Mrs. Matthews staring up at him, blinking.
I also saw on her dome of short, gray, set curls, she was wearing a little black felt pillbox hat with a dent in it that was supposed to be there and a bunch of netting that didn’t look like it was.
My guess, vintage ’50s, maybe ’60s.
She was also wearing a big black wool overcoat with a wide glossy black fur lapel, which I would only forgive her for because that coat was no doubt made in the ’70s. It went to her ankles so she could show off her sensible black pumps.
She looked like the next errand on her schedule was to go back in time to attend JFK’s funeral.
It was chilly outside, though not that cold.
To each their own.
“Quiet,” Hutch ordered a still-howling Tonks with so much authority in his tone, even I was thinking I wouldn’t utter a word for the next two days.
For sure Tonks shut up and sat down.
“You have a pet?” Mrs. Matthews asked imperiously.
Oh dang.
I should probably have called her.
“Yes,” I told her. “Actually two. I also adopted a cat. I checked my rental agreement. There isn’t any stipulation against them, or deposit required.”
She moved forward, nearly bowling over Hutch, as she walked in like what was true: she owned the place.
Hutch was looking out the door.
I leaned in to see what caught his notice, and I saw Brooks, the grandson I’d met during my plumbing repair, wandering in the forest to the south of the property, with his brother, who I hadn’t officially met, doing the same several yards away.
Hutch and I pulled out of the door, he shut it, and we turned to Mrs. Matthews.
“Of course I don’t require a pet deposit,” she decreed when she got our attention. “Pets are family. I wouldn’t require a deposit for a child.” She said those last two words like doing such a thing should be added as the eighth deadly sin. “And you paid a deposit. They do damage, you don’t get your deposit back.”
“Right,” I whispered, attempting not to laugh, because this woman was one hilarious trip.
“Brooks and Ellis are checking to see if those Waco whackos are using my land to do their peeping Tom routine,” Mrs. Matthews announced.
Seemed Hutch had been more forthcoming than perhaps he needed to be.
Therefore, I screwed up my face and aimed it at Hutch.
He didn’t even look at me.
He told Mrs. Matthews, “They are.”
“Well!” Mrs. Matthews exclaimed, like they were peeping on her. She turned her focus to me. “I’ve approved David coming tomorrow to install the lights. I’ve spoken to him directly, and he’s also installing one of those doorbell camera doohickeys. One at the front and one in the car port.”
Before I could say anything, Hutch said, “Great idea.”