Soft Sounds of Pleasure (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

So far, it had been a horrible birthday, Lila thought as she turned into her driveway. First Van and then two other bankers had suggested she sell the house. Pete had told her not to sell the house. Charlie hadn't called yet, but maybe he'd remember her birthday. Right, the war against terror would just stop because Lila had turned forty-one and the Commandant of the Marine Corps himself would jog into the desert and hand Charlie a sat phone so he could call his mommy.

She stopped and got the mail, hoping he'd sent a card. Nope. Joan, the ogre-in-law, had mailed her one. It said "Happy Birthday, Jesus Loves You," but Lila figured it probably meant "Why are you alive when my son is dead?"

She dropped the mail into her purse and pulled to the house. She had a few hours before it was time to meet the girls, might as well change and get back to the breakfront job. She was so sick of orange she'd switched to white grapefruit juice and was avoiding carrots, one of her favorite foods. The end was in sight, though, at least the stripping part.

The light on her answering machine was blinking, but the messages were from Susan and Lorie, both of whom were confirming for tonight. Her hopes were pinned on the last one. Not Charlie, but it was from Colton, and he actually had a decent singing voice. "Have fun and behave tonight, gorgeous," was how he ended the call.

The message made her smile. He thought she was gorgeous?

She changed quickly and headed out to the garage, raising the door to allow the fumes from the stripping chemical to escape.

An unfamiliar maroon car turned into her driveway just as she got started. She stared as it pulled in, shielding her eyes as she squinted into the blinding glare off the windshield. Most of her dealers drove trucks. The car still had the sticker in the window, she realized, as the driver pulled right up to the garage door, and the shadow cast by the house allowed her to see into the car. Lila recognized Joan behind the wheel. Where was her mother-in-law's old silver Buick? She stifled a groan.

"Hi," she said, steeling herself as her mother-in-law entered her garage. "Whose car are you driving?"

"It's mine, come look," Joan replied.

Lila dutifully admired the new Buick. It had more options than were typical for Joan. In fact, she couldn't think of one it didn't have. Pete's folks were conservative, the preacher's salary and Joan's secretarial job allowed for comfortable, but not top-of-the-line. They typically bought newer used cars. Her father-in-law had died a few years before Pete, limiting Joan's resources, too. "Sweet," she said, feeling a bit envious. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," Joan replied, gazing now into the garage. "I know Pete would have wanted me to do something for myself with the money from his insurance policy."

Lila stared at Joan in stupefaction, thinking that the woman knew how to deliver a punch.

"What insurance policy?" Lila demanded.

Somehow, her monster-in-law had collected on a small life insurance policy she had taken out when Pete had been born, and Joan was oblivious to the impact of her announcement on her daughter-in-law, telling her triumphantly that the coroner had ruled Pete's death accidental, meaning Joan collected double on the sort of policy most parents cashed in to help their children with the down payment on a home.

Lila felt numb as she listened to the tale. Somehow the Coroner's Office had given Joan a certified copy of Pete's death certificate without notifying Lila the results were back. Nearly a month ago, according to Joan, who apparently called their office once a week. Lila had assumed they would call her when the results came back.

Joan hadn't bothered to tell her. Lila knew she should feel relief, but what she was feeling was a lot closer to rage. "Thanks for letting me know," she said abruptly. "I need to get back to work."

"Are you looking for a job yet?" Joan asked.

Lila jerked her thumb at the pieces of cabinet covering the garage. "That is a job, one I need to get back to."

"I mean a real job, since Pete scrimped and saved to pay for your last year of college, Lila. The least you could do is to honor his memory by using it, since because of you, he never went himself."

Ricin might be an idea
, Lila thought murderously as she splashed the stripper into a bowl, uncaring of her mother-in-law's sensible navy pumps. If she could slip it in with that face powder Joan used far too liberally, maybe the witch would finally die. "I like what I'm doing," she said through gritted teeth. Joan would likely find a way to thrive on Ricin.

"Well, anyway," Joan said, "I really came about the clock."

Her temper was up and she could feel the flush rising up her throat. "What clock?" she asked through gritted teeth. Lila had given Pete several antique clocks for birthdays and anniversaries, and he'd added a few to his collection on his own, but those were Lila's now.

"Come, I'll show you," Joan said, unperturbed by Lila's warning tone as she sailed up the step and into Lila's house like she owned it.

Fuck Ricin
, Lila decided. She would just hold the bitch down and pour the stripper down her throat. Joan waltzed into her living room like she owned it and opened the glass-fronted cabinet that held several of Lila's cranberry glass treasures, along with a clock that had belonged to Pete's father. Joan had given it to Pete after his father had died.

"This clock," Joan said, taking it from the cabinet as if she had every right to do so while Lila clasped her hands behind her back in double fists to keep from smacking the old bitch silly. "My father gave it to my husband in the first place, and I gave it to Pete."

"What about Charlie?" Lila demanded. "I was going to give him all of Pete's clocks someday, Joan."

"I might give it to him, but I've thought about it, and it never really belonged to you, Lila. I just came to pick it up. Where's the key?"

"It never had a key," Lila growled. Should she ask for the money she'd spent to make the damn thing work again? Give Joan a bill for the work she had done to repair and refinish the case? The clock had been in a terrible state when Pete dragged the ugly thing home.

Joan fixed her with that look, the one she used that said she thought Lila was lying. But she wasn't lying, in fact, she never lied to Joan, she left that for Pete to do. Pete, who wanted to ignore his strict upbringing and drink the occasional beer or whatnot, but let his mother believe it was Lila alone who put beer in the refrigerator or a decanter of liquor on the sideboard.

"It has no key," Lila assured her. It hadn't had a key when Pete had brought it home. Lila had found one for it, but she'd be damned if she was just going to hand it over to Joan, and if her decision was petty then that's what it was. "But since you brought up what's mine and what's not, this is my house and I've never actually cared for the way you just drop by and walk through the door like you own the place. So, you have the clock, and from now on, I have my privacy. Do not come without calling ahead to be sure it's okay. That sounds like a great trade to me."

Of course Joan debated. "You do that at my house, just show up and walk in. You have for two decades."

Lila had to be dragged to Joan's house, kicking and screaming. "Not me; that was Pete. If you'll think about it, I've never once dropped in on you since the funeral. But you've driven home the fact that he's no longer the tie that binds here, Joan. No more dropping by unannounced. And as I was saying, I'm busy."

Joan narrowed her eyes like the predator she was, readying for the kill. "Are you sleeping with another man in my son's house already, Delilah Carter Walker?"

That's when Lila recalled that the folks who had recently bought the house two doors down were the son-in-law and daughter of one of Joan's longtime friends at church. And that the lady across the street loved to talk.

Pete was dead, God rest his soul, Lila thought as her nails bit into her palms. Really and truly dead. And she was sick of this woman's manipulative bullshit. "Get out, Joan. You have no right to ask such a question. And according to the State of South Carolina, this is my house. Pete made out a will that gave it to me. You don't need to worry about my job, or my drinking, or my sexual habits any more. Oh, and you can strike my immortal soul off your prayer list, too."

"It's all over my church!" Joan yelled, her tears making unattractive tracks through the too-light powder she wore. "How could you have sex with another man in my son's house? If you can do this, you never loved him."

The hell she hadn't. She'd loved him enough to put up with this woman's shit for over two decades, never mind all the problems once he'd been hurt. Lila pried open her fists, drove her fingers into Joan's elbow and all but dragged her out of the house.

"You want to think before you run that mouth, Joan. Pete isn't around to keep me off you now. Get the fuck out. I do not answer to you. And you can tell your fellow Christians that I held up my end of the till-death-do-you-part part, unlike those two other bitches you whelped." It gave Lila a lot of satisfaction that Joan's two perfect daughters had both called their marriages quits after ten years apiece. Not that Lila cared, but what had these church members said then? Joan blamed the out-laws for those failures, of course, but she hadn't been able to get rid of Lila, the heathen that married her only son.

"You can't speak to me like this. You know how I feel about that language, Lila Walker."

Lila shook with rage, but she had to laugh. Jerking open the door of the shiny new Buick she fixed the ogre with a look, bending down so they were nose to nose. "Go pray about it then, but do it somewhere else."

"I expect an apology," Joan sobbed. This was her tactic with Pete whenever Lila didn't jump to Joan's tune. Fake, righteous tears. Somehow, the man had never seen through them.

"You'll get my apology, just as soon as they have ice cream on the menu in Hell."

"You'll be the one eating that," Joan snapped, abandoning the tears Lila had known all along were part of the act.

"Good thing I like it, then. You hold out for the manna. Bye-bye now," she said, turning her back before she actually did choke the bitch. "Don't come back."

She closed the garage door in the still-shrieking harpy's face.

There was only one thing to do now, she decided as she covered the stripper and cleaned off her tools, fury burning through her like a lance.

* * * *

"Will you stop that?" Eric demanded. Colton had turned up on his doorstep, looking like a stray puppy, around seven, and they'd gone out together, first to grab something to eat, and then to play a few games of pool. But Colton didn't have his head in the game. Eric watched disgustedly as the cue ball barely grazed the eight ball before rolling into the corner pocket. Third time tonight Colton had scratched. Colton never scratched.

Winning was good, but not when the competition handed him the game. He glared at his baby brother. The first time they'd hung out in weeks and C's head was anywhere but with Eric.

Colton threw down the stick, looking disgusted. "This is just not where I wanted to be tonight."

"Well excuse me, where do you want to be?" Eric had had a bad afternoon, and spending time with Colton, just hanging out, wasn't turning out to be the good time he needed to take his mind off his failure.

"Let's get out of here. I want to go to Lila's little birthday thing. It's at The Crab Corner, her and the girls. Let's go buy them a round."

Eric figured he could wait the rest of his life to see "the girls", but Colton was already halfway to the door. This was the last time he let C drive, he decided, knowing he had little choice in the matter. He didn't like the coolness that lay between them since the day Colton had grabbed him by the shirt. If it killed him, he'd try to be nice to Lila.

Even if she was one of C's bigger mistakes.

Eric flinched from the memory of the superior look on the rich banker's face as he denied Eric's loan application, remarking that both Eric and his baby brother seemed to be reaching for things that were simply out of their league. According to the smug Westbrook prick, Eric wasn't capable of meeting the commitment he was asking the bank for any more than Colton was a fit place for Lila Walker to wipe her feet.

They stood just inside the restaurant door, dodging the people coming in and going out, as Colton looked around. The place was full, mostly a younger crowd, Eric noticed. "There she is, that table over by the bar," Colton said, pointing.

He followed his brother as he threaded eagerly past crowded tables, eyes rounded in disbelief. For starters, tonight Lila looked like a woman he might have hit on, with her hair down and a red dress that showed off a rack E had to admit was world-class. With her were three other women and not a damn one looked bad. Three blonds and one brunette appeared to be having the time of their lives and not one but two waiters were hovering nearby. Eric knew flirting, and the attentive male attendants were flirting. With Lila.

"Put it on, I dare you," Eric heard someone say. As they wound their way across the last few feet of crowded restaurant, he saw Lila snatch something shiny out of the brunette's hand.

* * * *

A tiara. Lila glared at Amy and stuck the damn thing on her head. "I look like a fool, happy now?" she asked, fluffing her hair and striking a pose. Amy had been hounding her for this all night. Lila despised having her picture taken.

"Not yet," Susan said, reaching to straighten the tiara. "Okay, Amy now take the picture." Amy held up her cell phone and quickly took the photo while Lila tried to decide which of her friends to throw the crown at first as she reached to pull it from atop her head.

* * * *

Colton looked over the brunette's shoulder, briefly scrutinizing the image in her cell phone as he made his way around to Lila, resolved to ask later if she'd forward the image to his cell phone. But first things first. "Happy birthday, Princess. You ladies mind if we entertain you a while?"

The blonde with the shortest hair blinked at him fuzzily. "You hired strippers?" she squealed. "Oh, cool."