Thirty-Three and a Half Shenanigans

• THIRTY-THREE AND A HALF SHENANIGANS
  
  • Chapter One
    
  • Chapter Two
    
  • Chapter Three
    
  • Chapter Four
    
  • Chapter Five
    
  • Chapter Six
    
  • Chapter Seven
    
  • Chapter Eight
    
  • Chapter Nine
    
  • Chapter Ten
    
  • Chapter Eleven
    
  • Chapter Twelve
    
  • Chapter Thirteen
    
  • Chapter Fourteen
    
  • Chapter Fifteen
    
  • Chapter Sixteen
    
  • Chapter Seventeen
    
  • Chapter Eighteen
    
  • Chapter Nineteen
    
  • Chapter Twenty
    
  • Chapter Twenty-One
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Two
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Three
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Four
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Five
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Six
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Seven
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Eight
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Nine
    
  • Chapter Thirty
    
  • Chapter Thirty-One
    
  • Acknowledgements
    
  • About the Author
    
  • Other books by Denise Grover Swank
    

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

Denise Grover Swank

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Preview of THE SUBSTITUTE

Acknowledgements

About the Author

One rule I’d learned was that when things were going well, trouble was bound to roll in and upend the apple barrel.

Bruce Wayne and I stood in the brand spanking new office of RBW Landscaping staring at a dead computer monitor.

“Neither one of them is working,” I groaned. “I got duped.”

He shook his head with a smirk. “I warned you not buy used computers from Roger Ditmore. His deals are too good to be true for a reason.”

I shot him a scowl. “‘I told you so’s’ won’t help right now, Bruce Wayne. It might be nearly lunch time, but it’s too early in the day for nonsense.”

He crawled under one of the two desks in our tiny office. We didn’t have a lot of money for splurging, so we’d found one of the wooden desks in a thrift store and made the other from a couple of saw horses and an old door I’d found in the barn behind my house. After jiggling the monitor plug with no luck, he plugged a lamp into the outlet. It didn’t turn on either.

“See there,” I said smugly, my hands on my hips. “It’s not the computers after all.”

Just then my head tingled, and my peripheral vision began to fade. I would have groaned in frustration, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I’ve been plagued with visions since I was a little girl. I always see something in the future of a person who’s physically close to me through his or her eyes. They can’t be stopped or controlled. They just burst out of nowhere, and once one takes hold, I can only ride it out.

Our office suddenly disappeared, and I was in Henryetta’s Piggly Wiggly, looking at the cheap Christmas stockings they had for sale in the seasonal aisle. I grabbed two off a hook and stuck them in my cart. Then, just as quickly, I was back in our office, staring at Bruce Wayne. “You’re gonna buy Christmas stockings at Piggly Wiggly.”

He scooted out from under the desk, his eyes slightly wider than normal. He was the only person who’d ever guessed my secret without being told. He said I get a strange, vacant look in my eyes when I’m having a vision, and besides, I always seem to know things I shouldn’t. But while he was one of a handful of people who knew about my talent, I was sure he’d never get used to me blurting out what I’d seen. Especially when it was about him.

He scratched his head with an embarrassed grimace. “I’ve been thinkin’ about getting some for David and me. We’ve never decorated before, but this year feels different.”

“Don’t get them at the Piggly Wiggly. Those things look nasty. I’m pretty sure Violet has some that didn’t get destroyed when the store was vandalized. Let me check first.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, his face turning pink, although I wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed by the offer, or because I knew he wanted to decorate for Christmas. “Let me check the fuse box in the back,” he said, starting to get up, but my little dog Muffy scampered over to see what the fuss was about and jumped on his chest. He rubbed her head and set her on the floor. “It’s an old building, Rose. The wiring’s probably bad.”

I glared down at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He chuckled as he got to his feet. “At least your landlord will be responsible for fixin’ it.”

“Hmm.” I pressed my lips together. “What’s worse? Getting ripped off by the guy who sold me the computers or our office burning down?”

“Is that a trick question?” my boyfriend, Mason, asked from behind me. I hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Mason!” I shouted as I spun around in surprise, my crankiness slipping away. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Well . . .” he drawled as he waved to his leg. “I wanted to show you my good news.” He stood in the doorway on his own two feet, without the cane he’d been toting around for two months.

“You’re not wearing your leg brace!”

His grin spread. “I’m a free man.”

I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and planting my mouth on his.

He stumbled backward into the doorframe, then slid his arm around my back and pulled me close. “Be careful, or you’re going to re-break my leg,” he chuckled.

“God forbid,” I murmured against his lips. “I have plans for you later.”

His hold tightened as he grinned down at me.

Muffy barked at my feet. “Not now, Muffy.”

Bruce Wayne released a fake cough. “I’m gonna go check on that fuse. Come on, Muff.” My little dog took off after him without a backward glance, as if she was just as embarrassed as my business partner.

“You do that,” I said, staring up into Mason’s beaming face. I tugged on his hand and shut the door, just then realizing how cold it was outside. “I’m surprised to see you,” I said. “I thought you had a busy schedule today.”

“I do.” He interlaced his fingers with mine and walked to the center of the room. “But the beauty of having your new office on the same square as the courthouse is that I can drop by when I leave my own office.”

I gave him a sly grin. “I confess that might have had something to do with my decision to rent the space.”

Bruce Wayne emerged from the back room, Muffy trailing behind him like he was the Pied Piper. “The cheap rent didn’t hurt either. Which is why half of our fuse box is dead. Rose, I’m sorry to say it, but this place is falling apart.”

“I’m having to cover two locations with the same amount of income,” I said, a knot growing in the pit of my stomach. “We couldn’t afford anything fancy.”

Our new office was anything
but
fancy. The space had gone unused for a couple of years because it was too small to be an effective retail space, but mostly because Mr. Darby was a notoriously bad landlord. But we’d gotten it dirt-cheap, and it was tiny enough for the utilities to be affordable on our miniscule budget. It just needed a little TLC.

We’d painted the walls a soft off-white and scrubbed the dark wood floors. They were still a disaster, but the rustic desks made the old floors work, especially with the wool rug I’d found in the attic at my farmhouse. My other attic finds included a couple of stuffed chairs and an end table that we’d placed in front of the window. In the back of the room, we’d arranged a thrift-store-purchased small wooden kitchen table and four chairs, creating a designated space for client meetings. Photos of our landscaping jobs were framed on the wall. The end result was homey, and it felt comfortable.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Bruce Wayne said. “You know I don’t do fancy. I’m only pointing out that sometimes you get what you pay for. We’ll make it work.”

I sighed. “I guess we’ll have to call Mr. Darby. Again.”

“Which means the electricity will get fixed next week,” Bruce Wayne grumbled.

“Do you want me to call him?” Mason asked. “Nothing like a call from the Assistant DA to light a fire under someone’s ass.”

It would have made my life easier, but I was determined to stand on my own two feet when it came to the business. “No.”

“Yes!” Bruce Wayne countered. “Sorry, Rose, but I’m outvotin’ you on this one. He’s a lot more likely to respond to a county official capable of bringin’ charges against him for flakin’ out.”

“We don’t even know he’s goin’ to flake out,” I grumbled. “We don’t want to tick off our landlord before we even open up shop.”

“How about this,” Mason said in a good-natured tone. “Why don’t you call him now, and if he doesn’t have an electrician here by tomorrow to fix it, I’ll follow up?”

“Sounds great,” Bruce Wayne said before I could say anything.

I shot him a scowl, but he just laughed. What happened to the meek guy I’d hired? He’d become a different man since our meeting with Skeeter Malcolm three weeks ago. No, he’d become a different man since I’d offered to make him my partner.

“I
do
have an official reason for being here,” Mason said, lifting the leather satchel off his shoulder and moving to the table in the back. “Your business papers are ready for you to sign.”

I glanced at Bruce Wayne, and his smile fell, a serious look taking over his expression.

Mason pulled some papers out of his bag and laid them out on the table. “It’s all pretty cut and dry. You are both equal owners of the landscaping business, but Bruce Wayne’s ownership doesn’t extend to the nursery.” He glanced up at me. “As we’ve discussed, the ownership of the nursery is more complicated now.” He didn’t sound happy about that, not that I blamed him. The main complication was my ex-boyfriend Joe, who had managed to insinuate himself into a part-ownership. “But basically, there are three entities: an overseer corporation and two sub businesses—the landscaping business and the nursery. Right now, we’re dealing with just RBW Landscaping. The overseer corporation will be owned solely by Rose, but all profits will be returned to the two businesses.”

Bruce Wayne grabbed a pen off his desk and joined Mason at the table.

“Bruce Wayne.” Mason leveled his gaze with my new co-owner. “I know we’ve already discussed this, but I feel it necessary to reiterate that you have the option to have this contract reviewed by your own attorney before you sign it.”

“Mason,” Bruce Wayne said slowly, “I didn’t put nothing down on this place. I don’t have a right to any of this. It’s only because of Rose that I’m here at all.”

“You have to stop saying that, Bruce Wayne,” I protested. “We’ve been over this a half dozen times.”

“I trust you and Mason,” he continued. “The day I can’t trust either of you is the day I run off and join the militia group livin’ in the backwoods. Because if you two cook up some way to trick me, then the world is surely comin’ to an end.” He swallowed. “And anything I get from this business is way more than expected.”

Mason stepped to the side. “Okay. Then let’s sit down and have a look.” We all sat down around the table, and he went through the contract, explaining everything and telling Bruce Wayne and me where to initial and sign. When we were done, Mason turned to both of us with a grin. “Congratulations. RBW Landscaping is now official. I’ll have my secretary get the DBA paperwork sent to the state, and you should be ready for your new grand opening after the first of the year when you have your re-opening open house.”