Rules of Lying (Jane Dough Series) (12 page)

I figured I should set her straight.

“His name is Hank, Granny. He’s moved into the house at the other end of my street. Remember, I told you they were looking for a renter? Well, Hank here is as nice as can be and when I went outside and found my tire flat, he offered to drive me.”

She looked him up and down. “Hank, huh? Well,
Hank,
you won’t mind if I call you John will you? You remind me of someone I used to know.”

Her eyes twinkled at Hank, and I could have sworn that I saw him wink back. I was a little bit jealous that neither of them seemed to notice I was still there.

“Ahem,” I said, clearing my throat. Hitching a ride with Hank might not have been a good idea, after all. I wanted to talk to Granny about Richard, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that now. And since Hank was a man, there was no chance in hell he would figure that out.

Hank’s eyes met mine. “I think I’ll go out front and flirt with the staff for a spell,” he said. “Jane probably has some talkin’ to do.”

You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.

Granny grinned at Hank and then patted the seat beside her. I sank into the blue and white chintz-covered chair and let my eyes drink in the room. Visiting Granny was like coming home. The sturdy but pretty maple furniture, the Norman Rockwell paintings, the Royal Doulton figurines I played with as a child, the beautiful quilts Granny had made years ago. She had only a studio apartment and yet she’d managed to furnish it with a lifetime of memories, both hers and mine.

Granny slid a thick scrapbook from the table onto her lap. I knew it was a scrapbook of me because I’d seen it plenty of times. She opened it up to the last article she’d cut out of
Palmeroy Times,
the one about the python.

“So, did you ever find out where the snake came from?”

“No idea unless it came from that van I told you about. I’m thinking they let it go. I’m pretty sure someone did.”

“On purpose? That should be against the law. Why would they do such a stupid thing? Why, I read on the Internet that those things breed like rabbits. Can you imagine being overrun with pythons?”

A shiver raced down my spine because I
could
imagine it, just as I could imagine grabbing what I could carry in one bag and fleeing to freezing North Dakota one second after I learned pythons were taking over hot, humid Florida.

“So, tell me what’s happening on the husband-hunting front.”

We’d already talked on the phone about Bryan Rossi—she called the instant she saw the article—so she knew nothing was going on there, though she’d said I should keep that option open.

I told her about Richard, including that I’d sort of agreed to his suggestion without telling him I wasn’t planning to get married. She just nodded until I was done.

“I wonder why he’s making it so easy for you. It seems strange that he would put so much work into your property with no guarantee of getting anything back.”

“I know, except he thinks I’ll do the right thing and marry him if it works out.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but let’s think about it for a minute. What if it did work out? What if he helped you get the property all fixed up and you liked him well enough. Do you think you could marry him?”

“I don’t see how. I mean, there’s no spark. He said he wouldn’t want a marriage in name only. I don’t think I could be intimate with someone if there wasn’t a spark.”

Granny’s smile was rueful. “You always had a spark with the wrong type of guy, the kind who doesn’t want to settle down with one woman. What about this Hank? Seems like there’s a spark big enough to catch this room on fire, yet you never mentioned him to me.”

I fought a blush, yet I couldn’t help but laugh. “What was I supposed to say? Oh, by the way, a hunk named Hank moved into the neighborhood?”

“Why not? Seems to me he’d make for interesting conversation.”

I told her of Hank’s offer to help me out until I found my husband.

“So he doesn’t know the truth.”

I shook my head. “I can’t tell everyone the truth, and it’s really none of his business.” It was okay to lie to someone about a private matter that wasn’t any of their business to begin with, and no one could dispute that rule. Reminding myself of it didn’t make me feel any better about keeping the truth from Hank though.

“He doesn’t think I should marry Richard, or anyone else, for that matter. He thinks it’s ridiculous to marry someone I barely know. I do too, and I feel guilty that I’m pretending otherwise. I don’t know. Maybe I should just give up and sell my house like my sisters say.”

“No! You have a beautiful home; don’t you dare give it up now. Maybe you should just go with the flow and see what happens. Take Richard up on his offer, and if you don’t want to marry him when the time comes, don’t. He’s given you the out, and remember he’s got one too. I’m thinking there must be some reason he’s planned it this way. I can’t imagine that he isn’t attracted to you.”

“That’s because you love me,” I said. “Will you still love me if I let Richard help me and he wants to get married and I say no, pretending I’ve come to realize I can’t be intimate with him, even though I knew it all along?”

“I’d be a lot more forgiving of you than you would be. That’s the question you have to ask yourself: can you still like yourself if you do that? And then no matter what the answer is, talk yourself into it being
yes.
Because I think something’s off with Richard’s proposal, and if he’s somehow trying to take advantage of you, then all you’re doing is not letting him. At least that’s what I hope.”

“What do you mean? If I don’t marry him and sign over half the deed to him, how could he be taking advantage?”

“That’s what I don’t know, so be careful. Don’t give him a key; don’t leave the house unlocked. Maybe he’s really a reporter trying to get some kind of scoop. It wouldn’t be the first time someone deceived you.”

I’d have to consider this conversation more carefully because Granny was usually right. I changed the subject so I could catch up on her goings-on. Every time we spoke on the phone, she was involved in something new. If they’d had a ball at the retirement home, she’d be the belle of it. I’d never realized what a social person she was, probably because she was too busy straightening out our messes to have a life of her own, but she was in her element here.

She was on the holiday decorating committee, the get-well committee, and, most recently, a new resident committee that was meant to help new residents acclimate to Belle Vista. She was especially involved in the latter group, which she formed after a despondent resident, who’d been dumped there by her family, made a half-hearted suicide attempt. Her first act as head of the committee had been to press Gladys, the previously depressed new resident, into service as co-head of the committee, stating that no one would know better what needed to be done.

It had certainly worked for Gladys, who said she had a new lease on a life she’d never even started to live previously since she’d given all her time to a family that, as it turned out, didn’t care much about her. I was proud of Granny for making such a difference in someone’s life. She hadn’t done it because she wanted to feel good about herself, about what she’d done. She thought only of Gladys. And now, because of Granny’s compassion, there was a committee that would make a difference in a lot of people’s lives.

Granny finished bringing me up to speed and then, quick as lightning, turned the conversation around. “Now, what’s the real reason you came?” she asked. “We could have had these talks on the phone. What’s up?”

I gave her a sheepish look. “No matter what, you always know, so I won’t pretend. I’m worried that my problems are causing you stress,” I said with a watchful eye, determined to catch anything she tried to hide. “I want to know if I should keep things from you and pretend everything is hunky-dory all the time.”

She chuckled at my use of one of her favorite phrases. “What? Are you afraid I’ll worry myself into a heart attack or stroke? Because I won’t. Sure, I love you, so I want you to be happy. But being happy doesn’t mean being problem-free. We weren’t put on this earth to skate along, free and easy. We’re supposed to have problems; it’s how we solve them that shows our mettle. Anyone can live a great life if they never have problems. I’m proud of you, sweetie, because you just keep going on. You’re like that bunny from those old commercials. You keep going and going and going. I know you feel despair sometimes, but that’s what the rest of us are here for. To pump you back up so you get going again. The fact that you have problems doesn’t upset me; what would upset me is if you gave up.”

A lump of tears settled in my throat. I hoped they were tears of joy because Granny’s love for me was so strong, but I was afraid that wasn’t it. When she said, “that’s what the rest of us are here for,” who did she mean? Not the rest of my family. They obviously weren’t trying to pump me up so I could get going again. They wanted me to give up.

No, I was afraid the only person truly there for me was Granny. I loved her and I never wanted to lose her, but she couldn’t live forever. At some point I’d have to learn how to keep going without anyone else pumping me up because someday I’d truly be on my own.

A
ctivity in the tropics was heating up but, surprisingly, Arlene, the first hurricane of the season, didn’t come across the Atlantic from Africa. It formed off the coast of South Carolina, missing Florida altogether. I hoped this was a positive sign for Florida, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Good thing, because I would have suffocated.

As Arlene strengthened to a Category 2 hurricane and came within ten miles of the Outer Banks of North Carolina, another tropical wave approached the Lesser Antilles. It weakened over land, dissipated, regenerated, and headed westward, becoming Tropical Storm Bret in the Yucatán Channel. It headed up the Gulf and made landfall in the Florida Panhandle.

Now we’d had a storm above Florida and one that had gone below and then up the western side. I wasn’t happy about that because this absence of pattern didn’t conform to my logic-based assumptions about the hurricane season. It seemed to me that the hurricanes generally went in the same direction for a season once they got going, usually because of other elements such as a high or low that steered them around Bermuda. The previous year they’d all pretty much come in the direction of Florida but then veered northward before they got too close. I was looking for a pattern this season that would make me breathe easy, but there wasn’t a pattern to be had.

Now there was a new tropical storm in the Caribbean—Cindy—and some were forecasting it to come our way. There wasn’t much I could do about that. I’d just have to work on the yard as much as I could and hope the hurricane season didn’t screw with my plans.

The night after we visited Granny, Hank showed up to help in my yard. I was on my cell phone on hold with Animal Control; I’d called them about the alligator, and they’d finally called me back.

As I waited for someone to pick up the line again, I watched Hank saunter toward me, wondering about him, about his story.

Who was he really? Did he have a job? Was he on vacation? He said he’d been successful in his ventures, but what were those? Maybe he was a writer too, renting that house while he finished a book.

As soon as he strolled into the driveway, I knew something was up, but a woman from Animal Control had finally picked up the line, so I couldn’t stick my nose into Hank’s business just then. I put my cellphone on speaker. I figured that way I wouldn’t be rude to Hank.

“Yes, hello,” I said. “I’m calling to report an alligator in my pond.”

“What’s the problem? Is it sick?”

“Sick? How would I know? I don’t know how they’re supposed to act, one way or the other.”

The woman on the other end of the phone fell silent. Then she said, “Ma’am, what are you calling about if it’s not acting sick?”

“I’m just reporting it. I mean, it’s in my pond which is in a regular neighborhood. That’s dangerous, right?”

“So it’s really big, like twelve feet or something?”

Twelve feet! I started to feel light-headed. I must have looked a little weird too because Hank grabbed my arm and held me steady.

“No, it’s not twelve feet. The guy who saw it said it was about four and a half feet.”

“So
you
never saw it?”

“No. And I don’t ever want to. That’s why I’m calling.”

Silence played across the line again. But I thought I heard a laugh being smothered.

“Well, ma’am, this is Florida. There’s at least one alligator in every body of water, and they got as much right to be there as you do. We can’t send someone out about an alligator you never saw. Your friend could be kidding or lying or just plain wrong. Maybe he saw a log. Even if he did see an alligator, we wouldn’t do anything unless it’s a nuisance. If it eats your pet, we’ll send someone out to take a look.”

“If it eats my cat, I’ll sue!” Little Boy! When did I last see Little Boy? Now I was upset. Maybe Little Boy was already gone, eaten by an alligator.

“You can’t sue over that. In fact, it’s against the law to let your cat run around outside. There’s a two-hundred-and-seventy-dollar fine for that. What’s your address?”

I punched off my phone and grimaced at Hank. If there was one thing I didn’t need it was a two-hundred-and-seventy-dollar fine. Mostly because I couldn’t pay it, so I’d end up in jail.

“You okay?” Hank asked.

“Yeah, unless I see that alligator.”

We both pivoted toward the mucky swamp and stared.

“I don’t think there’s an alligator in that,” Hank said. “The water’s not deep enough for an alligator to live in, and there’s really not any food around.”

Except Little Boy. I put that thought out of my mind. Little Boy had to be somewhere. Surely he hadn’t been eaten by an alligator. I glanced back at Hank. He still had that funny look on his face, like he had something to say.

“What?”

“My house got tossed last night,” he said, “while we were at Belle Vista.”

“Tossed?”

“Yeah, you know, drawers and closets rummaged through, things moved around. Not careful-like either.”

I gasped. “Why? What do you think someone was looking for? Was anything damaged or stolen?”

He shook his head. “Nothin’ stolen. Nothin’ hurt beyond repair. I just can’t figure out why someone would search my house.” He stared at me, his dark eyes steady and thoughtful. “You haven’t mentioned me to anyone, have you?”

“Me? Why would I mention you to anyone?” That was what I asked, but what I was thinking was,
Why do I get blamed for everything?

“It could have been an innocent conversation. I’m not accusin’ you of anything. Just think about whether or not I’ve come up in any conversations. I need to know.”

“Well, yeah. I mean Sue and I discussed your, um,
attributes.
” Heat flowered in my chest. “But she wouldn’t toss your house.”

The corners of Hank’s mouth twitched from a suppressed smile. “Nothin’ else? You didn’t mention me to Richard?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have any reason to.” And then it hit me. I
had
mentioned him to someone else.
Mr. Carlson.
When I told him my new neighbor, Hank Tyler, had a friend in the land clearing business. I tried to imagine Mr. Carlson tossing someone’s house and absolutely could not.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. I mean, it’s got to be nothing.”

Oh dear. How could I admit to lying about Hank without sounding like a jerk? I tried to smile, but my mouth trembled. I liked Hank more and more every day—even if he might be running from the mob or some other criminals who were tossing his house—and I didn’t want to drive him away.

“Um, I told Mr. Carlson you were planning to help me with my yard.” I couldn’t meet Hank’s eyes. “My exact words might have been that my new neighbor, Mr. Tyler, had a friend in the land clearing business who wasn’t charging me a cent. Or something like that.” I looked up, expecting to see his face set in anger over my lie. He wasn’t. Angry, that is. He still looked thoughtful, but a little more concerned.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That I can’t be trusted?” I asked, feeling rather small. “That I’m childish and a liar and …”

That drew a smile. “Sure, maybe those things, but also that Carlson isn’t who you think he is. What kind of homeowners’ association president has a house tossed to check into a guy who wants to help someone like you? I don’t wanna mess in your business, but I’d look into this joker if I were you.”

Oh brother. Why would Carlson care if someone helped me out? What was it to him? He was a bank president, for God’s sake. Maybe Hank was one of those paranoid conspiracy people, hiding out from the government. Or maybe he had a reason to be paranoid, like maybe he was running from the law. I’d read that at any given time, five of the ten most wanted men on the FBI list were hiding out in central Florida. I didn’t really know anything about Hank. Wasn’t it just as likely that
he
knew some house-tossing people?

“Why can’t your house-tossing have to do with someone
you
know? Or maybe it was a burglar.”

Hank shrugged. “I don’t know anyone except you, and it wasn’t a burglar. They didn’t take anything of value, not even the money that was lyin’ around. I left four hundred dollars on the kitchen table, and it wasn’t touched.”

Wow. Four hundred dollars just lying around. Maybe Hank was a rich Texas oil man. I glanced down the street at the old Chevy truck parked in his drive. Maybe not.

Somewhat subdued, we got to work. Because I was distracted I failed to warn him about the poison ivy until he’d already grabbed it.

“What,
this?”
Hank said, yanking the vine. “This is grape leaf, and it’s just about everywhere in Florida.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah. Haven’t you heard that rhyme,
leaves of three, let it be?
Poison ivy comes in leaves of three.”

I looked down at my arms, which were still rash-free. They’d itched like the devil, but evidently for no reason. Richard had seemed positive, had said he was sure. That made me a little suspicious about Richard, which made me feel a little less guilty about the decision I’d made to take him up on his offer when I knew I wouldn’t marry him. It also made me feel like an ass since my arms had itched like crazy. Thankfully, I was just an ass in private. No one had seen me scratching and smearing on that calamine lotion but me.

That gave me pause. Maybe Richard had made up the alligator too. Maybe he was trying to drive me crazy. Then I thought maybe
I
was the paranoid conspiracy nut and I just didn’t know it. Then I made myself stop thinking.

Hank and I pulled and cut the grape vines off trees, shrubs, and structures. When we’d finished with that, we began cutting back the brush and hauling it to the curb.

When it was almost dark, we finished up and parted company for the night. Hank said he’d swing by the next day and pick up the yard trash and take it to the dump, and I was happy to let him do it.

*****

Two days later, Hurricane Cindy was upon us. The National Hurricane Center had predicted Cindy would make landfall as a Category 2 hurricane in Tampa, but Cindy had a mind of its own. It underwent rapid intensification and made landfall south of Tampa as a Category 4 hurricane on Friday the 13th, but nobody was making any jokes about bad luck. At least I wasn’t. I’d always been superstitious. One remark by me about bad luck might ruin Florida for good.

We’d been given Friday off just in case we had to take care of any hurricane-related tasks. Prior to Cindy’s landfall, I hunted all over for Little Boy but couldn’t find him. I finally gave up but periodically, after the high winds started that evening, I went from front window to French doors, looking for him. In between trips, I lay in bed listening to the shrieking wind, wondering if my windows would hold. I couldn’t believe that a hurricane on the other side of the state was causing such a howling of wind on this side.

The next thing I knew, it was morning and I still had power. I turned on the television news and was shocked to see the destruction Cindy left in its path. Being ninety miles south of its Daytona Beach exit point, we were close enough to experience plenty of damage, so I added socks and rubber boots to my typical shorts and halter top. I slathered my face with sunscreen, followed that with mosquito spray to the rest of me, slid a visor and sunglasses on, and went outside to take a look.

Branches were down everywhere, but it wasn’t that bad, considering. The worst damage was to a wax myrtle that had split apart on my fourth lot. It hadn’t been in good shape to begin with, and the high winds had finished it off. Now I’d have to cut it up.

I trekked around my property taking a good second look, with a view toward finding trees that were damaged enough that they would fall apart during another storm, because I had a bad feeling we would have some more. It wasn’t yet the height of the tropical season, after all. Many of my trees had branches that should be cut before a hurricane cut them for me.

On Saturday morning, Hank showed up with bagels and coffee, which I lingered over for as long as I could. Not so much because I didn’t want to get to work, but mainly because staring across the table at Hank while we made small talk was an activity that basically couldn’t be beat. Well, it could be beat by one thing, but I wasn’t sure my relationship with Hank would evolve into that. As Granny had noticed, there was definitely a spark, but Hank didn’t seem inclined to fan the spark into a flame.

We worked that entire weekend, Monday after work, all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and then Thursday and Friday after work. The following weekend we were back at it again, this time with a little enthusiasm since we knew we could finish off the fourth lot completely. Of course, the fourth lot was the easiest. Although there was one tree to cut down, there weren’t any structures to pulverize or weeds to yank out by hand. And the fourth lot wasn’t possessed by a swamp.

By Sunday afternoon the clean-up had gone so well, I decided I could do most of the work on the other three lots by myself. I felt a burst of elation at the thought that I wouldn’t have to work too much with Richard. For some reason, I wasn’t looking forward to working with Richard. Then I remembered that some of the clean-up required power tools, which I didn’t know how to use.

I glanced over at Hank, who was carrying the weed trimmer toward the weeds that ran the length of the fence. I could learn how to use that power tool. In fact, I could start my education immediately.

“I’d like to try that,” I said, closing in on Hank.

“Why?”

“I want to see if I can do it.”

A corner of Hank’s mouth tipped up in a quasi-smile. For some reason, I was reminded of my mother’s smirk, probably because her smirk always started at one corner of her mouth. And probably because she smirked whenever I presumed to think I could do something.

I immediately went on the defensive. Hank didn’t think I could do it?

I put my hands on my hips. “What? How hard can it be? You’re just walking around holding that thing in front of you. I know how to walk and I know how to hold. I can even do both at the same time.”
Because I’m a woman,
I wanted to add,
and everyone knows women can multi-task. Unlike men.