She’d managed to calm Tanyalee enough to explain to her what Purnell had done to their parents. She’d cried like Cheri had never seen a person cry. At one point Cheri had held Tanyalee’s head in her lap as she sobbed. Strangely enough, it was the only time Cheri could remember ever feeling like a real big sister.
It had taken forever to shoo the Bubbas—as Tanyalee had called them—off her property, however. Candy sent them off by telling them they could take the remaining keg of beer and enough leftover barbecued chicken to choke a horse.
Everyone else had gone when the lightning started coming too fast to count to one one hundred.
And now, she and Candy sat at opposite ends of the couch, their feet propped up, a half-empty bottle of José Cuervo between them, a fire going in the fireplace.
“I prefer to see it as half full,” Candy said aloud. “I’m an optimist at heart.”
Cheri snorted.
“You should answer your phone. You know J.J. wants to talk to you.”
“Who cares? I don’t want to talk to him.”
“You don’t love him anymore?” Candy tried to refill her plastic beer cup with tequila but was having trouble navigating the individual actions required. Cheri helped her.
“I still love him,” she admitted. “I just can’t trust him.”
“He did it because he wanted to help.”
“But don’t you see?” Cheri was starting to feel a little nauseous. Maybe beer and tequila weren’t supposed to be consumed together under duress. “He had to have been collecting information on me for a long time to know all that shit about eBay and our garden gnomes!”
Candy nodded. “You’re right. But it could have been a good-hearted kind of stalking, Cheri.”
Cheri hiccupped.
“So I can call you Cheri now? For real? You’re not gonna knock me upside my head?”
“Sure. Go ahead. Whatever.”
“Oh, thank God. I hate callin’ you Cherise. I’ve hated it for over five damn years.”
Both of them cocked their heads at the sound of a car coming down the lane. “What now?” Cheri moaned.
“What if it’s the Bubbas?”
“Oh! I’ve got a gun!” Cheri hopped up and headed down the hall.
“Oh, shit—wait!” Candy called out. “I think combining guns with tequila is frowned upon!”
When Cheri returned to the living room not thirty seconds later, she was greeted by the oddest sight: Wim Wimbley stood over the couch, a hand slapped over Candy’s mouth and a gun pointed at her head.
* * *
“Look, it’s the Rags to Bitches!” Wim said, laughing. “Back together again for a limited time—and I do mean limited—and they’ve brought along Tanyalee, Bigler’s most infamous gold-digging ho! She’s flat on her back even as we speak!”
He was a little surprised to see Cheri’s arm swing up, a gun pointing at him. “Rrriiight,” he drawled. “I’m stone-cold sober, Cheri, and you’re not. My reaction time is quicker than yours, so Candy here will be dead before your finger touches the trigger.”
“Git out!”
“You know, it’s funny, but I’m noticing that your accent has come back.”
“I’m warning y’all.”
“Oh, God, just shut the fuck up, would you?” Wim straightened, leaned in, and acted like he was going to pull the trigger. Cheri dropped the handgun on the floor and shrieked. This was just too damned easy.
“Move.” He grabbed her by her wrist and threw her down on the couch next to Candy. “Now here’s how it’s gonna be…” Wim untucked his shirttail and used it to pick up the tequila bottle. He splashed a little on Candy’s blouse. “It’s a good look for you,” he said, laughing as he turned the bottle on its side on the coffee table.
“This is going to be a murder-suicide thing.” He put Purnell’s useless, piece-of-shit gun in his pocket, retrieved Cheri’s gun from the floor, and wiped his prints from it as he explained. “Cheri, I’m going to put this in your hand and make you shoot Candy, then you’re going to turn the gun on yourself. Just another failed business partnership that ends in tragedy.”
“And who gets to shoot the hairspray off your pinhead?” Candy asked.
“Hilarious. You haven’t changed at all, Candy Carmichael—still more boobs than brains. And from what I can tell, you’ve had about as much luck holding on to businesses as men lately.”
Wim took great pleasure in watching Candy’s pretty bow-shaped lips lose their smirk. “What? No snappy comeback? Come on now. It’ll be your last, so make it a good one!”
Suddenly, Cheri gasped and lowered her gaze to the floor near the open front door. Wim knew it was some kind of trick, so he didn’t bother to look behind him.
“Oh, please, Cheri. You think I’m that stupid? You think you’re going to distract me so you can try something? You Newberrys have always underestimated us Wimbleys.” He grinned. “But not today, right?”
Cheri then quickly glanced toward Tanyalee’s lifeless form.
“Oh, God. This is pathetic.” Wim began to laugh, but stopped when he heard some kind of strange, high-pitched chit! chit! sound coming from behind his head. Suddenly, he felt a painful pinprick in his shoulder. He twisted around to see that he’d been attacked by a fucking squirrel!
“What the—?” He tried to brush it off, but its teeth were buried in his flesh. He grabbed it by the tail and pulled. “Help! Somebody help get this thing off me!”
“Now!” He heard Cheri scream. “Do it now!”
* * *
Those few seconds raced by in a horrible blur. Cheri watched Artemis leap into the air and sink her teeth into Wim’s dress shirt, causing him to spin around wildly and wave the gun in the air. Candy jumped up from the couch and tackled him around his knees just as Tanyalee rose from the floor and bashed him over the head with the tequila bottle.
That’s when Wim crumpled, hit his forehead on the corner of the coffee table, and the gun went off.
At exactly that moment, Turner and J.J. busted into the room. Turner threw himself over Wim and J.J. collapsed on his knees next to Cheri.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded.
J.J. grabbed her. “Oh, my God, sweetheart. Oh, my God.”
“Anybody hit?” Turner asked, looking from Tanyalee to Candy to Cheri.
“I’m fine,” Cheri said. Tanyalee wobbled a bit and then fell to the floor in a cross-legged position, but gave a thumbs-up. Candy remained propped against the couch, breathing hard.
“Candy?” Turner’s eyes burned with intensity. “Are you wounded?”
She shook her head. “Just my pride.”
Turner’s body loosened with relief. Cheri thought he even laughed a little as he cuffed Wim, holstered his weapon, and called for backup.
Epilogue
“You better let me fill ’er up, because we’ve got a lot to toast to tonight.”
Cheri giggled and held out her champagne glass, pleased that the full moon had provided the finest romantic lighting available anywhere. And all she’d had to do was get in her own little rowboat and head out to the center of her own family’s lake.
She sighed, absolutely content.
“First, to us,” J.J. said, raising his glass to clink with Cheri’s. “To forgiveness and patience and love—and sex hot enough to melt house paint.”
“I’ll drink to that. And to living together,” Cheri added. “To the happiness found in waking up with and falling asleep with the one you love.”
“Amen to the Bugle,” J.J. said. “To its remarkable publisher and to continuing growth in its sales, revenue, and excellence in news reporting.”
“And to Tanyalee,” Cheri said.
J.J. lowered his chin and sighed. “Here we go.”
Cheri laughed as she watched J.J. steel himself for the jab he knew was on its way. “Well I’m sorry, but you guys took your sweet damn time rescuing us, so here’s to Tanyalee and her tequila bottle!”
“And for c
hecking herself in to rehab!”
Clink. They each took a sip.
Everyone knew it had taken a lot of courage for Tanyalee to make the decision to seek inpatient treatment for compulsive stealing, codependence, and a few other “issues” she didn’t want to share. Granddaddy said he didn’t need to know the details, then whipped out his checkbook.
“To the memory of brave Artemis.”
“Of course.” Cheri sniffled. It still hurt that her friend had died protecting her home, her friends, and her babies. They found the squirrel shot through near the fireplace, the night’s only victim, killed when the gun in Wim’s hand discharged. Cheri and J.J. had been hand-raising her babies in the week since, but knew they’d need to send them out into the world eventually.
“To my debt repayment plan.”
J.J. smiled. “To your courage.”
Cheri shrugged. “Oh! And to Wim.”
J.J.’s laugh echoed across the lake and was answered by at least three loons. “May he enjoy his three-hots-and-a-cot while awaiting trial.”
“Which one?” Cheri asked.
“All of ’em,” J.J. said.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Wim was being detained in Charlotte on federal kidnapping charges for holding the women at gunpoint at the lake house, but according to Turner, he also would face a federal grand jury on multiple blackmail and extortion charges.
“Oh, and we can’t forget to toast Candy.” Cheri raised her glass high. “To my best friend and her willingness to stay in Bigler and keep me company—at least temporarily.”
J.J. giggled. “For as long as she can stand rooming with Gladys, you mean.”
“Yes, there’s that,” Cheri acknowledged.
Candy had chosen Gladys’s offer of housing over Aunt Viv’s, but was beginning to regret it. “She keeps borrowing my clothes without asking,” Candy reported just the other day. “It’s disturbing.”
“And to the memory of Barbara Jean,” J.J. said.
“And to Carlotta and her brighter future,” Cheri added.
They clinked their glasses, but Cheri hesitated before taking another sip.
“J.J.,” she said. “I think what we’re toasting tonight is the truth, making things right. You know what I mean?”
He smiled at her then, the moon bright in his dark eyes, and he leaned closer and tugged on her free hand. The boat began to rock. A bit of champagne splashed from Cheri’s glass.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, planting a kiss on her lips. “Now, I got a little surprise for you. Here, give me your glass.”
J.J. poured what remained in both glasses into the lake, put them aside, then began to roll up the sleeve of his denim shirt.
“What in the world are you doing?” Cheri asked, giggling.
“I think the moon’s bright enough for you to read this.”
Cheri burst out laughing. Written in big bold letters along the inside of J.J.’s forearm were the words, “I’ll love you forever, CNN.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” she said, shaking her head and smiling.
“It’s in permanent marker, and that means it’s forever.” J.J. flashed a devilish smile as he began to roll the sleeve up even further. “Just like I hope this will be.”
Cheri leaned forward in the moonlight, not sure she could trust her eyes. It almost looked as if J.J. had taped a ring inside of the crook of his arm.
It dawned on her that she’d seen correctly as he pulled off the tape and slipped the ring on her finger.
“Say yes,” J.J. whispered, cradling her hands in his. “Say yes to putting things right with the world and with us. Once and for all.”
She gazed at the sparkle on her left hand and then at the sparkle in J.J.’s eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Read on for an excerpt from Susan Donovan’s next book
I WANT CANDY
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
It took a few attempts, but the gearshift eventually slipped into reverse, and the car began to lurch down the driveway. Candy bit her lip in concentration and craned her neck out the window. This was going to be a challenge, she knew. The driveway wasn’t straight, and it was lined with boxwoods. Plus, it was the dead of night, and she’d opted to forgo the headlights so her escape wouldn’t be detected.
No, this wasn’t the most mature way to deal with a roommate conflict. There was just no way Candy could handle another scene with eighty-year-old Gladys. The old gal had been kind to take her in rent-free when she came back to town, but when she’d started to “borrow” Candy’s lingerie, it was time to hit the road.
Almost there.
She squinted into the dark, delicately adjusting the car’s course as it scraped against the bushes. Not that anyone would notice additional scratch marks on this beast, a 1997 discarded police cruiser she’d bought at auction with her last three hundred bucks. Candy sighed. Sometimes she couldn’t even believe how fast—and how spectacularly—her perfect life had imploded.
Just a few more feet.
Slowly, the Chevy’s rear end slid onto the dark country road. Candy wrestled with the gearshift until it slipped into drive. She carefully pressed down on the gas. If she could just make it to the state highway before the thing backfired …
Bam!
“Shee-it.” Candy floored it. The old car’s worn tires screamed against the asphalt as they fought for traction, just as the engine released a series of cannon-fire belches, each one more obnoxiously earth-shattering than the last.
She fought for control of the wheel as the car careened forward, an automotive version of the 1812 Overture providing the soundtrack for her escape. A peek over her shoulder revealed that Gladys’s bedroom light had just come on.
Candy hunkered down, put the pedal to the metal, and headed toward Highway 25. She took a right at the stop sign, careening away from the Town of Bigler, proper. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands shook. And suddenly, it occurred to her that she was having difficulty seeing. Well, duh! She’d forgotten about the headlights! With a groan of frustration, she turned them on. That’s when red and blue flashing lights appeared in her rearview mirror.
“Shee-it,” she said, louder this time. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Candy’s gaze darted from the alarming swirl of color in her mirror to the contours of the winding country road. Where was she supposed to pull off? It was guardrail and woods as far as the eye could see. The quick blast of the siren made her jump in her seat.
“OK! OK!” she yelled out. “I’m fixin’ to pull over, you idiot! God! Give me a freakin’ break!”
Suddenly, in her peripheral vision, she noticed an open patch by the side of the road. It happened to be on the other side of the side of the road, but she decided it was still her best bet, and whipped the car around to a skidding stop. Unfortunately, all the whipping and skidding hadn’t set well with the engine, which began to spew smoke into the air along with another volley of backfires.
“Uh-oh,” she whispered. It seemed the officer wasn’t happy with all the commotion either, and the large, black SUV did a U-turn, the siren now whoop-whooping, and slammed to a stop in front of her, blocking any attempt she might make to get back on the road. Then a spotlight flashed on, so blindingly bright she had to shield her eyes.
Briefly, Candy thanked God for small favors. At least this wouldn’t be Turner Halliday pulling her over. He was the actual sheriff in Cataloochee County, and the sheriff didn’t work nights. He had deputies to take those less desirable shifts. So at least Candy would be spared the additional misery of being pulled over in the middle of nowhere at four in the morning by her childhood friend, especially since they were supposed to get together that night with Cheri and J.J. out at the lake house, and, boy, wouldn’t that make for some interesting dinner conversation.
The siren went silent. Candy heard the door of the SUV slam shut, and she blinked against the intense lig
ht. She could barely make out the figure of a man advancing toward her, but she heard him cough and saw him wave his hand in front of his face, chasing away the smoke. She cut the engine, thinking … wondering …
Since this wasn’t going to be Turner strolling up to her window, she might be able to buy herself some mercy. She decided to get out the big guns. Shameless? Absolutely. But what choice did she have? Candy began undoing two additional buttons of her blouse and arranged her weapons to their best advantage. Then she fluffed her hair and licked her lips. She hated to do this, but she didn’t have the money to pay for a simple parking ticket, let alone a moving violation. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the dumb-blonde-from-out-of-town defense.
That’s when the officer reached the driver’s-side window, leaned in, and grinned at her.
“License and registration, ma’am,” Turner said, his eyes and smile gleaming in the spotlight. “And you can put your ta-tas away. They’re not gonna do you much good in this particular situation, and besides—I’m more of an ass man, myself.”
Candy groaned and fell back against the driver’s seat. “Ah, come on, Turner. Have mercy on me.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Candy Carmichael, this car you’re driving is a public safety hazard of the first degree—and that’s with the lights on! Lord have mercy, girl! What are you doing driving around in the dark in this piece of shit with no headlights? You could’ve killed someone, or gotten yourself killed!”
She sighed as she reached up to button her shirt. “Yeah. I know. Sorry. I was trying to escape Gladys and forgot to turn on my lights once I hit the main road.”
Turner laughed again and leaned an elbow on the open window. “She finally scare you off?”
Candy rolled her eyes. “I had to get out of there. She’s a nice old lady, but she has absolutely no respect for my personal space. Thirteen days was all I could take.”
Turner made a soft humming sound in his throat and looked away, nodding all the while. It seemed to Candy that he was contemplating her dilemma, and her heart leapt at the thought that he’d decided to take pity on her. Then she noticed that Turner had been scribbling on an official-looking pad of paper all the while.