As they came closer to the group, Kate started picking out the particulars. Junior Greinwold, with his trusty blue cooler at his feet, was flipping through an aged three-ring binder while a guy and another woman Kate didn’t recognize were peering at it from either side of him. A liquor-tinged memory of a party in someone’s basement and a lot of really bad versions of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” came back to her.
Kate stopped dead. “Karaoke? No way!” Ella settled a hand on Kate’s arm and drew her to the edge of the room. “You wanted to know how to become part of the town again, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then rule in karaoke.”
“You’re kidding. I thought the only place you could still find it was in ratty college bars.”
“It’s become the favored competitive sport in Keene’s Harbor. See those chairs?” Ella pointed to three chairs lined up at the far edge of the dance floor in front of the stage. “Judges. Olympic scoring. The whole thing. Now, come on.”
Kate looked around. “Isn’t there an arm-wrestling or kielbasa-eating challenge I could do instead?”
“Just get on up there,” Ella said.
“What, alone? You’re going to make me do this and you’re not singing?”
“I still can’t carry a tune, but you can. Do this, Kate. I’m telling you it will help.”
When she’d asked Ella for help in being accepted as one of the locals, she’d been thinking of something that might have taken a bit less effort and potential for humiliation on her part. But she trusted Ella. And what had dignity ever gotten her, anyway?
“Okay, then. Just stick by my side until I get a song under my belt.”
“I’ll be your personal assistant, I promise,” Ella said. “Let me hold your drink for you.”
They joined the field of karaoke Olympians.
“No cuts,” said a woman at the back of the line.
Kate blew out a sigh. “No problem.”
Ella drew Kate back a few steps, her voice lowered. “That’s Deena Bowen. She’s about five years older than us, so you missed out on her when we were kids. She’s also the town’s undisputed karaoke queen, among a couple of other less perky titles.”
“Such as?”
“Psycho revenge queen. She’s always verbally gunning for Matt, and from what I’ve heard, they only had one date. Though I guess she lobbied long and hard even for that one.”
“She’s a little spooky. Do you think she’d ever do more than just bad-mouth him?” Kate asked Ella.
“I don’t know. She’s bitter, for sure, but I think she’s just acting out over a whole lot of bad stuff in her life.” Ella paused long enough to give her a teasing smile. “Why? Are you worried about being in the line of fire if you date him?”
“You don’t have to be dating a guy to want to see him stay in one piece.” She inclined her head toward Deena. “And you have to admit she’s somewhere south of hostile. It rolls off her in waves.”
Ahead of Deena, Junior was pacing back and forth, shaking his arms and repeating “ma, me, mi, mo, mu” as his apparent warm-up exercise. Deena hissed at him to shut up before she had him sedated. Junior picked up his cooler and walked away from Deena to practice next to Kate.
“How’s it going, Junior?” Kate asked.
Junior glanced at Kate and hugged his cooler. “Fine.”
“Don’t you want to know how things are going for me?”
Junior hugged the cooler even tighter. “I guess so.”
“Well, I’m glad you asked. I’ve been trying to call you for two days. The ‘improvements’ you made to my toilet and shower leaked all over my entire house. The contractor was there today. Do you know what he found when he pulled up the floor?”
Junior looked a little ashamed. Kate suspected it wasn’t his first plumbing disaster. “Dooky.”
“That’s right. Lots of dirty dooky and mold. There were guys in hazmat suits in my house for eight hours containing the ‘affected’ area with plastic sheeting and setting up negative air blowers to suction all the mold outdoors.”
Junior bit his lower lip and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I heard they can be a little noisy.”
Kate’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. “It sounds like a hurricane is blowing through my house.”
“Everyone, come line up back here,” Marcie said from the stage, rescuing Junior and gathering the group behind a white wooden latticework screen that had been decorated with plastic ivy.
Not the most attractive ivy Kate had ever seen, but she was glad for whatever cover from the audience she could find. She needed to get her stuff together before facing them.
“For the benefit of the new entrant, I’m going to repeat our standing rules,” Marcie announced.
Kate gave a quick wave in acknowledgment to the other contestants now scoping her out. Happily, only Deena looked like she meant to inflict bodily harm. Everyone else nodded or waved back.
“There are six of you singing. We will determine the order of competition in the first round by pulling numbers from the bingo cage.” She patted the cage in question, and the balls in it quivered. “Lowest number goes first. Two competitors will be eliminated in each of the first two rounds, leaving two finalists for the kamikaze challenge.”
Kate raised her hand like the obedient student she’d never quite been.
“In a moment, Kate,” Marcie replied. “The judges’ scores are final. No bribes will be accepted or threats tolerated.” She said the last with a pointed stare at Deena. “And tonight’s winner will receive the grand prize of five pounds of venison burger provided by Harley Bagger.”
If Kate was going to sing for her supper, she would have appreciated something non-Bambi-like, but she wasn’t here for the chow.
“You had a question, Kate?” Marcie asked.
“What’s the kamikaze challenge?”
“In the final round, a song will be selected at random for you from the playlist.”
Deena snickered. “As if you have to worry.”
Marcie gave Deena a glare. “And no sabotage, either. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She walked back out to the microphone, leaving Kate and the other singers hidden behind the plastic jungle.
“And tonight’s judges, chosen at semi-random from among our guests, will be…” She looked down at a sheet of paper. “Starflower Creed, Shay VanAntwerp … and Matt Culhane.”
SEVEN
Matt flipped through a stack of albums being offered in the town’s garage sale of a silent auction. Actually, if he thought he could consistently find a stash of music like this in local garages, he’d be joining his mom on the Saturday morning circuit. Next to him stood Lizzie. She must have pulled the short straw in the “keep Matt here” challenge, because she hadn’t left his side in the past ten minutes. And somewhere at the very back of the room, Marcie Landon was calling names over the sound system.
Matt picked up his head at the sound of something all too familiar.
“Did I just hear my name?” he asked Lizzie.
“I don’t know. Did you?” His sister’s smile was nothing short of smug. This was never a good sign.
Again his name drifted above the crowd. “Matt? Matt Culhane?”
“That’s definitely your name,” Lizzie said.
“It is. But I have the option of ignoring it,” he said, testing Lizzie’s level of investment in whatever was going down.
His little sister tried to hip check him away from the album collection. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go see. Maybe you’ve won something.”
He held her off long enough to write a bid on the vinyl collection big enough to scare off competitors. He knew that wasn’t the silent auction spirit, but he wasn’t messing around. There were a pile of Doors and Jefferson Airplane in that stack.
Marcie waved her hand, urging him toward the stage. “Matt, there you are!”
“What am I here for?”
She laughed as though he’d made a joke. “Ladies and gent
lemen, our third judge is now taking his seat. Let the karaoke competition begin!” she said with a flourish and hurried back behind the screen.
“You set me up,” Matt said to Lizzie.
“Fact. But think of judging as an exercise in civic duty. We all have to do it. It’s your turn, and now that you’re trapped, I can go have fun.”
While thinking of a fitting revenge to eventually spring on his sister, Matt made his way to the open judge’s chair. He settled between Starflower and Shay.
Starflower, one of the silver-haired elders of the Creed Commune outside of town, said, “Remember, Matt, peace comes from within.”
She didn’t generally offer up platitudes without a purpose.
“I take it you’ve judged these before?” he asked.
She gave a slow nod of her head, closed her eyes, and began humming to herself. Matt wondered if he was catching a whiff of something less legal than the scent of Starflower’s lavender oil, which she sold in a shop the commune owned in town. Matt preferred to find his inner peace the way he’d been raised—family, friends, and hard work.
To his right, Shay VanAntwerp flicked her perfectly straight and shiny blond hair over her shoulders. “I was told we’d be up on the stage. That’s the only reason I agreed to judge.”
At least she’d been given a choice.
Besides, Matt understood Shay’s stage addiction. She’d been Little Miss Keene’s Harbor for four years running when they were kids. After that, Shay had been hooked. If there was a sash or crown to be won, she was in the race. Matt had always thought that if Shay redirected all that energy and determination, she could govern a small nation. Kind of like Kate. He wondered what she was making of this whole scene. If it was odd to him, it had to be downright surreal to her.
* * *
DEENA BOWEN was truly psycho.
“You cheated,” Deena said.
“How could I cheat? Marcie drew the numbers,” Kate replied.
“You came in here earlier and rigged it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because everybody’s out to beat me. But just because you get to sing first doesn’t mean you’re going to win. It doesn’t give you any advantage,” Deena said.
“Another good reason I wouldn’t come in and play with a bunch of bingo balls, don’t you think?”
Deena’s hostility aside, Kate was looking forward to getting this first number done. She hadn’t sung in front of strangers since she was sixteen, and the idea of doing it now had her a little rattled. And the idea of having Matt judge her was even more uncomfortable.
“Ready?” Marcie asked.
Kate nodded. Because her mouth was as dry as the dunes overlooking Lake Michigan, she poked her head out from the far side of the jungle screen and signaled Ella for the punch. Kate chugged half and winced. The concoction was so sweet that she swore her blood had just turned to syrup.
Ella gave her a weird look as she took back the cup.
“What?” Kate asked.
“You feel okay?”
“Nervous, and now probably borderline diabetic.”
Ella waggled the cup. “That’s okay. You won’t be feeling anything very soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is trash-can punch. Beneath all that sugar is enough overproof rum to pickle a sailor. All I can say is good thing I drove.”
“Thanks for sharing. If I’d known about the punch, I’d have started drinking earlier.”
“Kate,” Marcie said. “Curtain time.”
Except for the crucial lack of a curtain.
Palms clammy and heart slamming, Kate stepped out from behind the latticework jungle and walked tentatively to the microphone. She allowed herself a glance toward Matt, then wished she hadn’t. As surprise and then pleasure paraded across his face, Kate had to quell a truly chicken-feathered urge to jump from the stage and chug the rest of that overproof courage. But if this was what it took to be initiated into Keene’s Harbor, no way was she going to back down.
“I’m going to give you a little ‘Crimson and Clover’ … Joan Jett style,” she said into the microphone.
Kate didn’t care that half of the hall still talked and laughed as the music started. All that mattered was reaching the end of the song. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Ella she hadn’t been singing, but more than the chilly shower had been stopping her. In the space of one year, she’d lost her marriage, her home, her dog, and her job. She wasn’t exactly depressed, but she was just flat-out busy trying to rebuild her life and her identity. Most of the time, she just felt too tired to sing.
But as she eased into the song, Kate recalled one cool thing about singing. When singing, she didn’t have to be Kate of the somewhat screwed-up life. She became whatever character she chose to take on. And tonight, she chose to be a rocker seductress.
Kate let herself go with the song’s sensual sway and began to kick out the lyrics with conviction. This wasn’t about winning Bambi meat or even town approval. It was about living in this moment. It was about feeling the slow, sexual surge that made her grip the microphone stand with both hands and make love to the crowd.
When the song finished, Kate dropped her gaze to the plywood stage and blew out a sigh of relief. She was fairly certain she hadn’t sucked. Except the hall remained weirdly silent. Okay, maybe she was delusional. Maybe she really had sucked. Just when she was sure that was true, applause and a couple of whistles and howls kicked in.
Kate smiled at the crowd and said her thanks. Then she caught Matt looking at her with an intensity she’d never gotten from any other man. Not even from Richard. She felt as though the stage was rocking and rolling beneath her feet. It wasn’t the not-so-grandma punch, though. This was a punch of another kind, one of sheer hunger and absolute sexual certainty.
Matt wasn’t messing around.
Now Kate got why women trailed after him as though they’d lost their favorite plaything. Still, she refused to fall for him, no matter how hot that landing might be. Without even looking at the scorecards the judges now held aloft, Kate escaped the stage while her legs could still carry her.
* * *
MATT WAS a goner. He was ready to serve himself up to Kate however she wanted him. Preferably naked. And even more preferably, tonight.
Matt listened to a damn fine version of “My Wild Irish Rose” by Junior and an equally scary rendition of “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” by Deena. But all of that was second to wondering how he could get Kate alone. He really liked her. Ironically, that made things more complicated. Not that he was going to let that stop him. Or even slow him down.
Marcie stepped onstage, aligned the microphone to her satisfaction, and announced the second round finalists. Kate had made the cut.
Starflower leaned over to speak to Matt. “We get a ten-minute reprieve before they start the next round.”
“You mean a break?” Matt asked.
“No. Definitely a reprieve,” she said. “I’m stepping outside to meditate and make myself one with the evening peace.”
Or peace pipe.
As for Matt, he planned to meditate on how to make progress with Kate.
* * *
THE OVERPROOF rum had kicked in and was burning through Kate like jet fuel. She didn’t feel buzzed so much as energized. Sometime around midnight, when both the alcohol and the sugar had wreaked their havoc, she knew she’d be parched and cranky. And no doubt still sleepless. Too late for regrets, though. She looked out at the people gathered behind the judges, and Kate the Performer took over. It was round two of the Great Karaoke Olympics, and Kate was into it.
“Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing,’” she said into the microphone.
* * *
KATE RIPPED into the song, enjoying her time in the spotlight, loving the lyrics, loving the music, thinking that life was full of moments just like this. Unexpected, surprising moments. And Kate realized that unless you put yourself out there, you could very easily miss them. May
be it was time to take some more risks with her life.
A low howl drifted into the room from somewhere outside. The sound slowly raised in both pitch and volume, and people began to turn and head toward the door. Kate knew her voice wasn’t chasing them off. She’d witnessed this scene before at Bagger’s Tavern. The place could go from full to empty in sixty seconds flat when the town’s volunteer firefighters heard the alarm sound.
“Fire,” Ella mouthed from the base of the stage. She pointed toward the door, and Kate nodded in acknowledgment. Ella was one of the handful of women who served on the town’s fire department.
More people filed out, but Kate kept singing. Now she knew how the band on the Titanic had felt. A woman who looked kind of like Matt leaned over his shoulder and said something to him. He stood. Kate didn’t like the grim look on his face. She finished, skipped her bow, and made a moderately graceful jump from the low stage.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s a fire at the brewery,” Matt said. “Could you come with me?”
“Of course,” she said, because she’d decided not to let herself lust after Matt Culhane, but she darned well liked him.
* * *
MATT LOOKED at the crowd gathered in his parking lot. In Keene’s Harbor, the only thing that drew a bigger crowd than a Friday night fund-raiser was a good, old-fashioned Dumpster fire. There was such a weirdly festive atmosphere that he half expected to see the spectators pull out marshmallows and start toasting them. Of course, the spectators would have to fight their way through the most massive contingent of first responders that Matt had seen since the Independence Day fireworks debacle of ’90. Since he’d been intimately involved in the accidental early start to that annual celebration, he’d watched that group from afar.
“Is the whole town here?” Kate asked.
“More or less.”