A Broom With a View (10 page)

It
didn’t take much for Liza to talk Jimmy Dean (an ancient man with unnaturally bright dentures and a shock of white hair) into dropping her off at her building. After all, it was only three blocks from the garage.

“Just come up here in about an hour or so and I’ll try to have an answer for you,” he promised as she hopped out of the cab.

She was hoping that not only would he have an answer, but that he would tell her the car was ready.

“Please let it be something like a bad battery,” she prayed aloud as she dug around for the keys and attempted to let herself into the building.

She’d underestimated how depressing going back into work was truly going to be, however.

Her business was a mess. She’d tried to convince herself that it would somehow be better today, that she’d exaggerated it in her mind. That when she actually saw it, it would be fine.

She’d been right the first time. It was a disaster.

After walking around and letting out a string of expletives that would’ve made sailors run from a bar, and stomping her feet a few times, Liza sat down on her settee (surprisingly unharmed) and screamed as loud as she could.

That actually felt pretty good.

There was no doubt about it. She’d need some professionals to help with some of the bigger things. She could only magically fix things that she knew something about. She could, for instance, straighten a post on her front porch but she couldn’t exactly build a porch herself.

For the next hour she sifted through the debris and threw away the items that couldn’t be fixed: broken glass from candle holders, shreds of paper from flyers and brochures, and crushed light bulbs.

There were some things she was able to fix with a little willpower and inner magic: her torn afghan, a broken chair that was only missing a leg, a few floorboards that had only been partially pulled up…

By the time she was finished, her business was still a mess but looked far more presentable than it had when she walked in. But she’d need someone else to do the rest of the work. Things she didn’t know about.

Liza was on her laptop (thankfully she took it home with her every night so nobody had bothered
it
) when the door opened. Liza looked up in surprise; everyone knew she was closed. She’d called and rescheduled every client who had an appointment for the next week.

Taffy entered, however, with flushed cheeks and a red nose, bringing a tuft of cold air in with her.

“Did you hear the news darlin’?” she asked in excitement before she’d even reached Liza Jane. “Did you hear it? It’s all over town.”

“Hear what?” Liza asked. She’d been on her computer for the past half-hour, making a list of items lost for insurance purposes. And before
that
she’d been cleaning. She hadn’t seen or heard from anyone all morning, save her sister, the telephone operator, and Jimmy Dean.

“Cotton Hashagen,” Taffy cried, eyes glistening.

“Did he get arrested?” Liza asked with glee, rubbing her hands together. Maybe she’d been wrong, maybe there was some justice in Morel County.

“No, oh no,” Taffy replied, leaning in close to Liza. With her head lowered and her breath coming out in short bursts she whispered, “He’s
dead
!”

Liza jumped back nearly a foot into the air. “He’s what!?”

“Dead!” Taffy cried again. “Found him this morning. Dead as a doornail. Everyone heard what you said to him last night at the store. I don’t know how you did it, dearie, but you sure fixed his little red wagon, didn’t you?”

“
Are
you
kidding
me?” The look of horror on Liza Jane’s face must have tugged at the old man’s heartstrings, or at least his conscience, because he had the decency to look embarrassed.

He also looked a little nervous. As Jimmy Dean began to explain what was wrong with Christabel, he took a few steps backwards, moving until his backside hit his messy desk. “Sorry ma’am, but the transmission ain’t no good and has to be replaced,” he said, subdued. He gave his cigarette a flick and Liza watched as it sailed through the air and landed dangerously close to a red plastic container that smelled of gasoline.

“But–,” she stammered, trying to pull herself together. “Are you sure? It’s going to cost me $1500?” She was still hoping she’d misunderstood him. It was possible, after all. Between his thick accent and the wad of chewing tobacco he’d kept tucked in his cheek before replacing it with the cigarette she’d only been able to understand half of what he’d said all day. At first she’d actually thought he was telling her she’d need to make a new “transition.”

“Yep, and that’s the lowest quote you’re gonna get ‘round here,” he told her. “I’d barely be charging you for my labor at all.”

Liza knew little about cars. She had no idea if that was a good deal or not. The only thing she knew about car salesmen and mechanics was that they were meant to be slimy lowlifes who liked to pretend to be sympathetic and your buddy while they took you for a ride.

She could at least put those fears to rest, though.

Liza let her eyes go glassy as she pulled herself out of her own mind she stretched the difference between them, until she reached into his thoughts and pressed. He flinched from the invasion and rubbed at his eyes, as though trying to get rid of a stray eyelash, but he’d have never known someone was invading his privacy like that.

Liza let herself be absorbed in the foreign mind of the old man for several seconds and then gently lifted herself out and snapped back like a rubber band. She’d seen and heard everything she needed.  Jimmy Dean might have been a little scratchy and irritating, but he was telling her the truth.

Damn
.

“Okay. Well. If you have to do it then I guess we have to do it. Just…” she paused and closed her eyes. The thought of spending that much money on a car that was already ten years old hurt? It hurt real bad. “Just let me go outside and think for a minute.”

“Yep, go right ahead. I gotta make a call anyway,” he shrugged. “Ain’t like you’re gonna take off and go nowhere.”

There was an old metal bench next to an overflowing garbage can outside the shop. She sat down on the edge, keeping her feet far away from the brown patch of tobacco juice that had puddled on the ground.

She was lost in her own thoughts, bent over with her head buried in her hands, trying to tally up the costs and subtract it from the money she’d allotted herself for “incidentals” when the pick-up pulled up alongside of her.

“Hey, you okay?”

Even over what sounded like the death rattle of the truck, Liza recognized the friendly voice. When she looked up, she was met by the sunny, friendly smile of a Mr. Colt Bluevine. He was driving a dark blue Chevy with mud-caked tires and wore the same baseball cap. She was almost sure it was the same white T-shirt, too, unless he bought them in bulk and had one for every day of the week.

“You having a bad day?” he asked, this time with more concern. Liza was slightly embarrassed to have been caught looking depressed. She should’ve gone to the bathroom to do her deliberating.

“I’ve had better. You?”

He shrugged. “Just driving into town for some fertilizer. Seen you sitting here looking kinda lost. Can I help?”

“What’s the fertilizer for?” she asked, curious.

“Dinner,” he deadpanned.

Liza Jane’s mood wasn’t sour enough that she couldn’t laugh at a joke.

“Seriously, though, it’s for the trees,” he smiled.

“What kind of trees?”

“Norway, white spruce, blue spruce. White pine…you know, Christmas trees. I’m a tree farmer, in a nutshell anyway,” he replied.

“You grow Christmas trees?” she asked dreamily. She loved Christmas. She envisioned him out in the snow, cutting down a tree in his Carharrt jacket (she assumed he had one) and overalls.  Walking down the side of the mountain with it balanced over his shoulder…“I love live trees.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to come out in a few weeks. I have a day where I bring in the horse and sleigh. I give rides around the farm, Mama and my sisters make hot chocolate for everyone, Santa comes for the kids…and you get to cut your own tree, of course.”

Liza sighed. It sounded wonderful. “I’d like that a lot. Right now, though, I wouldn’t have a way to get there.”

“You got car trouble?” The concern on his face
looked
genuine enough.

“Yeah, a bit.”

With one fluid movement he had his engine off and was out of his truck and standing in front of her. “What can I do to help?”

Liza was both flustered and a little embarrassed. She wasn’t exactly a damsel in distress, after all. “Oh, nothing really. Just trying to figure out if I can really afford to spend $1500 on a new transmission.”

“You talk to Jimmy Dean?” He gestured to the body shop window where they could both see the old man on the phone, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Yeah,” she answered. “He cut me as good of a deal as he could.”

“Let me see what I can do. He’s my uncle, Mama’s brother. Might help.”

He was already to the door and swinging it open before Liza could rise from the bench. “But–but,” she stammered, jogging after him. “Shouldn’t you at least take the keys from your ignition?”

Colt paused and looked back at his truck. “Why?” he asked at last, eyes raised. “Nobody would steal it. Everyone in town knows it’s mine.”

S
eriously, it is really nice of you to give me a ride home,” Liza Jane said for the third time as they traveled down Main Street.

For a farmer, Colt’s truck was surprisingly clean. It might have been covered in mud on the outside, but on the inside it was tidy, smelled good, and it even looked like he’d vacuumed recently. Her own car was a disaster area.

“Well, I couldn’t leave you stranded there in town. We don’t have but one motel in Kudzu Valley and it’s the kind that rents by the hour. Unless, you know, you’re wanting to earn a few extra bucks,” he teased her, casting her a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, well, at the price I was going to have to pay for the transmission it wouldn’t have been a bad idea.”

“So I’ll come by in the morning, around ten, and pick you up?” he asked.

Although Colt had not been able to bring his uncle down on the price, he
had
been able to talk him into doing a trade. As it turned out, Jimmy Dean also owned the used car lot next door. Liza had taken a look around with Colt and already picked out a few that didn’t make her want to scream. She was attached to her car, but it was old and time for a new one. She knew it. And after being there for a while she’d already seen how necessary it was going to be to have a four wheel drive.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” Liza asked abruptly. “I don’t want to sound like I’m gossiping or anything but…”

“Shoot. What is it?”

“I ate at this restaurant, a buffet, and the waitress was really rude. Wouldn’t even wait on me.”

“Pregnant?” Colt asked. 

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Athalie McClure. Kind of a whack job. I dated her for awhile in high school. Until she, uh, cheated on me. I guess you could say.” He blushed, something Liza found endearing. “With a couple of different fellows. At the same time.”

“Damn. That stinks. Don’t know what she had against me. But yeah, I’ll be ready in the morning. And I really appreciate you doing this,” she said again.

“Well, I don’t mind. Maybe you can repay me with dinner or something one night,” he suggested casually.

She tried to ignore the wave of soft heat that passed between them and wondered if he could feel it as well.

“You wouldn’t say that if you tasted my cooking,” she chuckled. “It wouldn’t be much of a repayment.”

“Well maybe I wasn’t talking about
you
,” he retorted. “I was talking about me cooking you dinner. Sometimes I don’t like eating alone. Company would be a nice repayment.”

“You cook?” she asked with surprise.

“Yep. I have three sisters and a mama and not a one of them would let me out on my own without at least knowing how to make a decent pot of chili and spaghetti.”

She could see it then, a country kitchen full of teenagers. A middle-aged woman standing over a boiling pot while three girls piled around the table, rolling dough. And a teenage boy, Colt she assumed, stirring something in a bowl. There was music coming from a radio, something fast with a lot of fiddles, and it mixed nicely with the comfortable sounds of chattering and laughter.

It was a scene she found herself wanting to step in and join very much. 

“So what do your sisters do?” she asked.

“Well, Filly is a junior in college. She’s a cheerleader,” Colt answered. “Mare is a realtor over in Pinkham County and Bridle was a school teacher. She’s not working at the moment.”

“Wait,” Liza said, trying to suppress laughter. “Your sisters are Bridle, Mare, and Filly? And you’re–“

“I know, I know,” he sighed with a grin. “We’re all named after horses. Mama does love to ride.”

“What’s her name?”

Colt paused before answering, “Whinny.”