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“Who sentcha?” Hubert asked.
“Your aunt Ginger,” Jed said.
Hubert’s eyes narrowed. “She say anything about the credit cards? ’Cause it’s not our fault she left that application on the counter. Anybody could have picked it up.”
“No, just the wedding present,” Jed assured him.
After establishing that we were not door-to-door evangelists or salesmen, Hubert ushered us through the front door and pushed us onto the green velour couch. The key design element of the living room seemed to be the deer’s head mounted on the wall, with some sort of cheap garter around its nose. The garter had a little tag that read, “Helton High School Prom, 1992.” This seemed disrespectful both to deer and to cheaply made underwear.
Hubert’s wife, Mindy, was a tiny powerhouse of a woman with a halo of wild blond hair and eye makeup so complex it took me a while to locate her pupils. She was clearly the brains of the operation, such as it was. And I was distinctly uncomfortable with the way she was eyeing Jed. But I was starting to think her threats to sell the plaque on eBay were a bluff, because they didn’t appear to have a computer. And given the length of Mindy’s nails, I doubted she spent much time typing sales information.
“Can I get y’all anything?” she drawled, her voice smooth and silky as custard.
“I’d appreciate a sweet tea, ma’am,” Jed said, plucking at the hat in his hands. Mindy turned to me, expectant.
“Oh, please don’t go to any trouble,” I said, trying like mad to keep the grimace from crinkling my face at the thought of liquid diabetes.
“No trouble at all, shug,” she said, teetering toward the kitchen on see-through plastic wedge heels. Hubert gave us an awkward smile, settling back into his Barcalounger.
“What did she call me?” I muttered out of the side of my mouth.
“Shug,” he said. “It’s short for ‘sugar’; it means she likes you. Or, at least, she likes the money you’re about to pay her. If she called you by your first name, she’d be indifferent. If she called you Miss Leary, she’d have already written you off.”
“Good to know.”
Mindy came toddling back into the living room with two hot-pink plastic tumblers of iced tea. She put a little extra wiggle in her step when she served Jed’s. He offered her a bland smile and took a long drag from his glass. How was he able to do that without gagging? But I was ever so grateful that her attention was directed otherwise, because it meant no one noticed when I poured my tea into her potted plant. Which turned out to be plastic.
Mindy shot a sultry look over her shoulder as she disappeared into the back of the house.
“Well, we’re real grateful to you for being so understanding about Mama Ginger’s wedding gift,” Jed said carefully as Mindy carried a gift bag with a cabbage rose pattern into the living room.
“You’re lucky you called when you did, ’cause we were going to use this as a backup ashtray when Mindy’s mama comes to visit,” Hubert said, his tone magnanimous.
I nodded. “I appreciate your restraint.”
“Course, I couldn’t just hand it over,” Mindy said pointedly. “Not without some sort of fair trade. After all, it was a wedding present. There’s sentimental value.”
“Right, sorry,” I said, digging into my purse. I handed her the envelope of cash I’d prepared to save myself the awkwardness of counting it out. I pressed the envelope into her hand. Meanwhile, Jed started a conversation with Hubert about “the Dawgs” and their chances in the playoffs. I didn’t know what sport they were referring to, but Hubert lit up at the chance to discuss his beloved Dawgs and engaged in a spirited debate. Mindy’s attention could not be swayed.
“Of course, with you payin’ us, that would only mean we broke even. Still leaves us without a wedding gift.”
“You want me to buy you a blender?” I asked. I was grateful to get the plaque back, but these people were getting on my last nerve.
“No, at this point, we’ve got the whole house set up,” Mindy said. “It would be nice to have a little extra cash, in case we wanted to splurge a little.”
“Would a hundred be enough?” I asked flatly as I plucked a bill from my wallet.
“Well, we are pretty close to Aunt Ginger,” Hubert hedged. “She’d probably want to give us at least two hundred.”
I slapped the two extra bills into Mindy’s hand with a humorless smile and took the bag from her hand. The plaque tumbled into my hands, wrapped in a wad of pink tissue paper. I had a hard time containing my giggle. I didn’t want Mindy to decide I was too happy with my purchase and owed her another hundred.
The cool weight of the plaque was wondrously solid against my palm. Jane was right; it was rather blobby. The acorn-cap pattern barely stood out under the patina of aged clay. But even if it smelled of old pennies, it was unchipped and intact. That was all I cared about. I whispered, “Thank you.”
“Happy to help.” Mindy smiled, tucking the cash into her bra. “Y’all are welcome to stay for supper, if you’d like.”
I frowned at the display of cleavage and the implications of staying for “supper.” Oh, I could only imagine the extravaganza of hospitality that would await us, right down to Mindy changing into something “more comfortable.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am. But we have to drive home yet tonight,” Jed said. “Work, you know?”
