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“Maybe we can sic your mean old parole officer on Foley.”
Stormy gave Tyler a fleeting smile. “No. Mrs. Lowery is nice really—considering.”
“Are we still on battle stations?” he asked tenderly.
Stormy’s resistance collapsed. It was disheartening to have to admit her life and love could only be lived by the grace and favor of the state of Florida but, on reflection, taking her anger out on Tyler was as unfair to him as Nina was to her. Besides, what they had shared last night didn’t deserve a mantle of shame and guilt and anger.
“I guess not,” Stormy said as coolly as possible, clinging to that coolness because she still had no idea if he meant to exit her life at any moment now.
“Good, because I’d hate to be run off before we eat. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever.” He moved in and put his hands on her waist, holding her that way a moment before he slid his hands around her hips and pinned her to him.
She tilted her head upward. “Oh, God, Tyler, I had such high hopes.”
“I know you did, sweetheart. Look, I’ll suggest to my clients that we do some more checking on Foley.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, planting damp kisses all over his face and neck. She stopped suddenly. “Who made your last home-cooked meal?”
“My mother.”
“Oh. Is she nice? Your mother?”
He brushed Stormy’s lips with his. “She has the temperament of a rattlesnake.”
“You inherited it, then.”
“A minor genetic flaw,” he said, taking her mouth as if he’d just invented the kiss and had to keep practicing until he got it right.
13
Sandy stood before Stormy, a gleam in her eye as if she’d just won the lottery.
The woman reverently tapped the pocket that held her share of Easter Sunday’s earnings. “I have ideas going six ways to a dozen, Stormy. My brain just doesn’t want to stop! I have to work three days to earn this much at the plant. Not only that, but my boss also knows I’m on probation. He knows I have to work, so I’m the one who’s always asked to come in early or stay late. You should’ve seen the look on his face when I told him I was taking the afternoon off.”
“The power of money,” Stormy proclaimed, passing Sandy another of the copper candle molds to dry.
“Well, it ispower, of sorts. I mean, if a person has money in the bank or owns a piece of property, they’re treated with respect. I’m putting aside some of what I earn flea marketing toward buying a little house.” Sandy paused. “But you know what I’m going to buy first, even before new underwear or shoes?”
“I can’t guess.”
Sandy held out her hands. “See these nubby fingers? Tomorrow I’m going to Perfect Ten to have my nails done. I’m going to stop thinking poor and start thinking elegant. Just because we’ve been in jail doesn’t mean we have to be second-class citizens forever.”
“Getting your nails done is going to change all that?”
“Can’t hurt. I’m registering to vote, too. Family court judges in this county are elected. The next time I take Bennie into court, I won’t be a scared little mouse. I’m stretching my muscles and expanding my horizons.”
Stormy rinsed the soap off another mold and passed it to Sandy. “Your strategy sounds good to me.”
“More than that, Ned and Terry Jean don’t like Bennie’s new wife. They’re not allowed to sit on the furniture in the living room. They eat dinner alone in the kitchen. Eventually, they’ll be allowed to stand up in court and speak for themselves.” Eyeing Stormy, Sandy dried another mold. “I don’t mean to pry, but your enthusiasm doesn’t seem up to par. Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?”
Stormy paused, her hands soaking in the sudsy water. “I’ve got a bad feeling. It’s gnawing at me. Scaring me if you want to know the truth.”
“We’re not supposed to project. We’re supposed to have the confidence that we can cope with whatever lands on our doorstep.”
My worry is more than just on my doorstep, Stormy mused. It was living in the same house with her. But the old adage about hanging out the family’s dirty laundry prevented her from discussing her sister.
Instead, she said, “Well, one of my worries has a name—H. B. Foley.” She highlighted the situation, ending with a wave of her hand toward Foley’s file on the table in the alcove. “On paper, the man is perfect. Not even a breath of suspicion.”
“Maybe you and Tyler are too close to it. Suppose I read Foley’s file. I might find something.”
