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    Bed 4 Sale, But Integrity Isn't
    Bed 4 Sale, But Integrity Isn't
    Bed 4 Sale, But Integrity Isn't
    Ebook737 pages13 hours

    Bed 4 Sale, But Integrity Isn't

    By B.L Wilson

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Sergeant Samantha Brown moves from New York City to small town America to start what she hopes will be a new life. She and her nieces, nine-year-old Beatrice (Bea Bee) and three-quarters grown twelve-year-old Antonia, leave the big city they’ve known all their lives to start fresh after Samantha’s older sister dies suddenly of a brain aneurysm.

    In Potterville, Sheriff Elizabeth is returning from eight months of family leave taken after her twin sons died in a school bus accident. As part of her trauma recovery, she advertises her sons’ things for sale, beginning with their beds. Samantha answers her ad, thinking the beds would be perfect for her nieces. When she arrives two hours late to Elizabeth’s home, she finds a quiet, sad woman that she tries to cheer up. One thing leads to another and she fixes Elizabeth lunch. Lunch leads to conversation. Conversation leads to the bedroom and a delightful reaffirmation of desirability for Elizabeth and Samantha.

    Fate shows its ironic side. The following Monday, Elizabeth’s first day back to work is also Samantha’s first day on the same job. They discover their official roles when Elizabeth greets her newest employee during a typical new employee meet the boss interview. This is new ground for both women. How are they supposed to act? On the job, can they acknowledge each other as supervisor-employee, sheriff and sergeant, and nothing more? Outside of the job, should they continue to see each other or end the relationship?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherB.L Wilson
    Release dateOct 2, 2017
    ISBN9781370788521
    Bed 4 Sale, But Integrity Isn't
    Author

    B.L Wilson

    B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

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      Bed 4 Sale, But Integrity Isn't - B.L Wilson

      CHAPTER ONE: Hello Potterville; Goodbye Big Apple

      Quinn Patterson’s lean face issued a broad grin and his green eyes sparkled, giving him the appearance of a wolf in human form. He raised a glass of foamy beer in a toast. He looked around the table in the rear of O’Leary’s Bar & Grille, one of the oldest establishments in Potterville. He received a consenting nod from Scotty Keegan, Ryan Egan, Cullen Finney, and Timothy Rockland, who was still in his beige and navy uniform.

      Here’s to you, Asshole. Happy freaking birthday, Dewey. May you live long enough to collect all the shit due you!

      Amen to that shit, Scotty Keegan added, holding up his beer stein.

      Ryan Egan nodded and raised his half-full glass. That goes for me too.

      Finney and Rockland joined Patterson in raising their glasses as well. Yep, that goes ditto for us.

      Patterson studied Rockland and shook his head. I thought I told you. Wear street clothes only, Rocky. We don’t want to call attention to us tonight.

      Yeah, Q, I know, but I had a little trouble with the product. The shit couldn’t get a five-year-old’s dick hard. I had to explain the facts of life to the cook. I didn’t have time to change into street clothes.

      Patterson groaned. Cold green eyes studied the young man until he dropped his eyes. Shit! Rocky, how many times do I have say it? No business in here. The owner doesn’t like it. Did you at least go alone? I mean, without that stiff dick shadow of yours?

      Rockland shrugged. He’s cool about my shit, Q. I don’t think we have anything to worry about with him.

      Green eyes grew darker and colder as they studied the man across the table from him. Before anyone could stop him, Quinn Patterson had yanked Rockland halfway across the table and put a gun to his temple. You don’t think, Mofo. That’s what’s wrong with your ass. You don’t think, Shithead, he said in a low, deadly calm voice as he cocked the trigger. He sniffed the air and frowned in disgust. He put his gun back in his shoulder holster. He wiped invisible lint from the front of Rockland’s beige shirt, then laughed. Made you piss your pants, huh, Kid?

      Rockland’s ashen face returned to its normal tanned color as birthday boy Dewey Owen helped him down from the table. You’ll be fine, Dude. Go to the bathroom and clean up.

      The server, who had seen everything tonight at Patterson’s table and much worse in her forty-five years, smiled at the table full of cops. They were big tippers. After what she just saw, her tips would be even larger tonight. Why mess up a good thing by demanding they pay for the broken plates and glasses before they left?

      Guys, can I get you another round while I send the busboy to clean up?

      Patterson grinned, then slipped two twenties under her pad. Yeah, bring us another round. That’s for you, Beautiful. How about bringing us some of those famous hot wings and a slice of cake for the birthday boy over there? He pointed to Dewey Owen. That’s him right there.

      The server caught his eye as she slipped the money into her forty double-D bra and winked. Sure, sure, I’ll go see what we have in the back. You want chocolate, carrot, vanilla lemon, or something else?

      Green eyes studied the server, looking her up and down, taking in the big tits and her neat little ass. It left him wondering what she was into. She looked old enough to have tried everything at least once. That was his kind of woman. I want something else, but you’d better bring him vanilla or carrot cake. His wife has a celebration planned for later tonight. She doesn’t like us and so we weren’t invited to the party. Then we thought, let’s give the bastard a real send-off, get him too drunk to fuck her tonight. He grinned at the server.

      Bet you never get too drunk to do that, Officer.

      Patterson chuckled at her remarks, then looked around the table, catching everybody’s attention but the birthday boy’s. Hey, guys, she thinks we’re cops. That’s a real laugh.

      Dewey grinned. Nah, we work security at the casino on the rez off 480.

      Patterson dismissed Dewey’s response with a flick of his hand. Forget about that, Beautiful. You asked me a question. You’d be right. I’m a great admirer of the female species. I believe in giving a woman what she wants in the bedroom as many times as she can stand it.

      The server tapped her upper lip, noting his lean shape and muscular arms. Hmm, I bet you do.

      The cook called out from the kitchen, Jeannine, pick up for Table Five.

      Coming, Cookie, I’m coming. Jeannine smiled at Patterson. Duty calls and I have to go, Sugar. See you later?

      Is ten good for you?

      Come on, Jeannine! Pick up for Table Five before the food gets cold.

      Nine thirty works better for me, Sugar.

      Patterson nodded. See you at nine thirty.

      Dewey leaned over to elbow Patterson in the ribs. Bet your wife will cut your balls off if she finds out.

      Patterson watched the server wiggle-walk to the pickup window in front of the kitchen as if she knew he was watching her ass move. He grabbed Dewey and placed his head in a playful headlock, then rubbed his knuckles against the thick curly hair. And that’s why she’ll never find out. I need my balls to fuck and kick your ass, Birthday Boy.

      Dewey chuckled. That kid, Rocky; don’t be so hard on him, Q. He’s an idiot and braggart, but we need him. He’ll do anything and say anything we want.

      Yeah, but the bastard is green and stupid…a bad combination for us.

      So we set him up after this last shit. He dies and takes his partner with him.

      Patterson studied his best friend and then chuckled. You’re getting to be a badass in your old age. I like it!

      Dewey held a full beer glass up as a toast. Fuck you too. He followed the direction of Patterson’s gaze. They both watched the server with the big tits deliver a meal to Table Five, then leaned over the man of the table to offer more soda and beer. Her full, succulent breasts and hard nipples pressing against her too-tight T-shirt were in their glory. The man’s eyes were popping out of his head by the time his wife kicked his ankle under the table and he howled. Hey, Q, think she has a sister?

      Lord, I hope so. Two bitches jacking a man off are always better than one.

      Dewey Owen, Scotty Keegan, Ryan Egan, and Finney laughed at Patterson’s gutter humor. They’d better, since he was large and in charge.

      Samantha Brown placed hands the color of dark toffee on jean-clad hips. She studied the empty bedroom that used to belong to her. She smiled when she ran a booted foot over the sleek, satin smooth maple-colored parquet floor and thought, Nice job. She loved the light and dark inlaid wood stripes and checkerboard-patterned borders in each of her two bedrooms. The border changed into simple stripes of dark oak mixed with light oak around the perimeter of the living room and then the checkerboard border around the edge of the dining room. Her kitchen and bathroom still had the original tiny white and black ceramic tiles from the twenties. She knew because she’d looked up the information when she decided to re-surface the battered-looking floors fifteen years ago.

      Her proprietor was getting a good deal now that she had decided to move out. She’d also installed a new stainless steel sink with two deep tubs to replace the cheap one the super had in mind. She nearly busted a gut laughing when she saw the new sink he carried into her apartment until she realized he was serious about installing it. The damned sink couldn’t hold more than one dinner plate, one teacup, and one set of silverware. She walked down her apartment’s hallway for the last time. She smiled as she looked down at the resurfaced, honey-colored oak wood floors. Yep. She did do a nice job on the hallway floors too.

      She looked in the second bedroom that her two nieces shared and sighed. She’d paid the super fifty bucks to cart the cheap bright red bunk beds, the dresser, and study tables made of fiberboard to the trash in the basement. They were still in the room. She opened the closet to check for clothes the girls had left. Good. The closet was empty. She walked to her sunny pale yellow kitchen and opened all the cupboard doors painted in bright primary colors. They were empty too. She sighed. It was hard to say goodbye to the city life she’d known for thirty-six years, but she’d made that decision when the new job offer finally came through.

      She heard the front door open slowly, then somebody skipped down the hallway to the kitchen. Her youngest niece, Beatrice, tugged on the sleeve of her lightweight summer jacket until she stooped down to her niece’s eye level and put an arm around her shoulder. Aunt Sammy, Toni wants to know when we leaving. She say parking is off in five minutes an’ we gonna get a ticket if we don’t leave now.

      Dark eyes looked into dark eyes that were trying to remain serious. It didn’t work. Samantha grinned, then rubbed noses with her nine-year-old niece, who giggled, then squeezed her neck hard.

      Whatcha doing in the kitchen, Aunt Sammy?

      Wanna piggyback ride, Bea Bee? Samantha watched Beatrice grin and nod. She knelt down in front of the girl. Well then, climb aboard, Kiddo. She allowed Beatrice to hop onto her back and then she stood up. I decided to say goodbye to my kitchen since it’s the room I’ll miss the most. I made some pretty good meals in here.

      She patted the old-fashioned white porcelain, four-burner gas stove that required a match to light. Yep, I’m gonna miss it. She stood at the window, studying her neighbors’ apartments across the courtyard until she felt her youngest niece impatiently wiggling and jiggling against her back and bumping into an old injury. She tapped a jean-clad leg wrapped around her waist. Hey, hey, quit wiggling back there. When Beatrice continued to bounce up and down on her back, Samantha knelt down and pulled her off, then rubbed the sensitive spot in her back until it felt better.

      Beatrice yanked on her free hand to capture her attention again. Come on, Aunt Sammy, let’s get going. I wanna go see Potterville an’ my new school an’ our new little house. I wanna cat from next door too. You said I could have animals when we got there, right, Aunt Sammy?

      Samantha grinned. Just let me lock the door and drop the keys in the super’s box and we’re off.

      I seen him already today, Aunt Sammy. He’s at the car waiting for you.

      Samantha smoothed the loose strands of her niece’s hair back into one of three thick braids. I can always count on you to know where my neighbors are, can’t I, Kiddo?

      Beatrice nodded, then tugged her to the elevator. Come on, Aunt Sammy. We gotta go so I can get my cat. She pressed the down button, then hopped on one foot, waiting for the elevator to arrive. When the elevator arrived, she pulled her solid aunt into it, then pressed the silver button for the first floor.

      Samantha hid a smile behind her hand as she listened to her niece’s wild expectations for their move into Potterville. She hoped Antonia didn’t share her kid sister’s viewpoint. Now that she thought about it, she hoped Antonia did have high expectations too. Her twelve-year-old niece was far too serious for her age.

      She and Beatrice walked outside and around the corner to the side of the building. She spotted the super sweeping the sidewalk next to her gray mini-van and the U-Haul trailer attached to it. She traded her apartment key for the return of her security deposit check, then stayed to talk to the super for five minutes, telling him where to send the mail and discussing the best route take to Potterville, Ohio. As she crossed the George Washington Bridge and headed for New Jersey and Route 80 West, she felt a sense of dread and happiness rolled into a large queasiness in the pit of her belly.

      Nine hours and forty-nine minutes later, Samantha checked the rearview mirror to see if Bea Bee was still asleep. She need only turn her head slightly and she’d see Antonia’s forehead leaning against the window in the front seat, sound asleep. She exhaled as she pulled slowly into the gravel driveway, parking as close to the front door of the house as she could. It had been a long, difficult ride for all of them, nearly two hours longer than it should have taken, according to the trip system she designed. She frowned. With all the stops, delays, and detours for road construction in Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, she was surprised they made it at all.

      She could let the girls sleep while she moved the air mattresses and a few essentials into the living room tonight. She studied the new battery-powered lights she’d brought just in case and stored underneath the front seat. The power company claimed they couldn’t turn on lights and electric to an empty house. Her new landlord promised he’d try, but she should come prepared for no service. She stuck a penlight in her mouth, flashed it on the rear door of the U-Haul to unlock it, then hauled the air mattresses and a pump into the house. What the hell, she thought, dropping the stuff she carried near the first light switch. She flipped it. Light flooded the hallway. And then there was light! she whispered, laughing with delight.

      She turned on the porch light to carry a sturdy card table and four folding chairs into the living room, then returned with several sheets and pillows and stacked them on the table. The next items she carried into her new home were several suitcases and two backpacks belonging to the girls. A television and a stereo soon followed the rest of the items. She decided to leave her disassembled king-size bed, her bedroom furniture, and the restored kitchen table with the six matching chairs in the U-Haul trailer. Pots and pans, brooms, mops buckets, and cleaning supplies could wait until tomorrow when she wasn’t so stiff and tired. She sat down in one of the folding chairs with the best of intentions. She meant to fill the two air mattresses, but her weariness kicked in and she fell asleep.

      She woke up when Beatrice tapped her knee and then shyly stood in front of her. Aunt Sammy, me an’ Toni blowed up the mattresses. We put sheets an’ blankets on them. We brung pots and pans into the kitchen. Then we brung the kitchen table an’ the chairs to the kitchen too. The old lady with all the cats helped us carry the table into the kitchen. She says if you need a sitter, you can count on her. Can we go see her cats, Aunt Sammy? She says I could pop over anytime. Beatrice frowned. What does ‘pop over’ mean, Aunt Sammy?

      Samantha rubbed weary eyes, then yawned. She stood up and caught Antonia’s eye. Thanks, Kiddo. I appreciate you two bringing the kitchen furniture inside. Did you lock the van and trailer?

      Yes, we did. She pointed to the keys on the card table. We left them right there. Now, can we bathe tomorrow? I don’t want to go upstairs. It’s too dark up there, Samantha.

      Samantha groaned when she heard her first name coming out of her niece’s mouth as if they were equals. We’re making a new start, so how about a new name, Toni. Call me Aunt Samantha, okay?

      Antonia’s arms folded over a stubborn chest, and she studied her aunt with narrowed eyes. Humph! I didn’t want to come here, Samantha. I was perfectly content to live among city dwellers until I reached the age of consent. Then I’d make the decision at that time whether to stay in the city or go live in the boonies with you and that child.

      Samantha rolled her eyes to the heavens and then covered her ears. Christ, Toni, give your old aunty a break tonight and just shut up.

      Technically, you’re not considered old until you’re beyond middle age, which is between fifty-five and sixty. You have at least twenty years to get there, Samantha.

      I’m tearing up your library card and putting a parental block on my desktop, Samantha remarked with good-natured humor as she studied her eldest niece, the constant thorn in her side.

      Antonia frowned at her aunt, then sucked her teeth. Humph! I bet they don’t even have a library in this little hick town. They probably don’t even know what hot spots and Wi-Fi are either! Why didn’t you ask us where we wanted to live, Samantha, instead of disrupting our perfectly normal lives and moving us away from all of our friends? I, for one, would have voted no if I’d been given a vote. She turned to look at her kid sister. What about you, Bea? Didn’t you whine about moving away from the park and all your little annoying friends?

      Beatrice’s eyes darted between her sister, who looked ready to explode, and her aunt, who really looked annoyed. She sighed and shrugged chubby shoulders, then stuck a thumb in her mouth, sucking contentedly on it.

      Samantha rubbed her chin as she looked at her two nieces. Well now, why don’t we all go to bed and take this up in the morning?

      Humph, I’m not sleeping with the thumb sucker, Samantha. She likes to kick and wiggle in her sleep. I can’t tell you how many times she…

      Samantha walked over and covered her niece’s mouth with a broad hand. Enough already, Kiddo, you’ve made your point. Don’t belabor it, okay? She sighed when her niece jerked away. Come on, Bea Bee, get into your… She stopped speaking to grin as she noticed for the first time her nieces had changed into pajamas. Hmm, never mind; you two already did it. Save the double bed for me and Bea Bee. Toni, I’ll be back in a minute.

      She left the living room to make sure the front door was locked and then walked back to check the back door off the kitchen. She looked into the darkness of the backyard and turned the yard light on, then grinned. She actually had grass back there. It was scarce but still there. She was excited to try her hand at growing something outdoors. She brought a couple of houseplants, a super-sized aloe and three cactus plants, ivy, two snake plants, and a cane plant.

      Now, with a backyard, she had the opportunity to see if she really had a green thumb. She rubbed her hands together in delight and grinned. Oh yeah, this was a good move, she muttered. She just needed to convince her little rebel. She turned off the outside lights and walked back to the living room lit by a single glowing lamp. She’d have to remember to buy some nightlights for the house. Her house, rented or not, was hers now.

      CHAPTER TWO: Have a happy birthday, Dewey?

      Four of the five men at the table were clapping loudly, then stomping their feet and drawing the attention of other patrons. When they started whooping and then hollering words of encouragement, some of the bar’s patrons came over to watch their antics. Dewey had downed several boilermakers, beers that Quinn Patterson dumped a shot glass of hard liquor into each beer stein. Dewey’s buds could still see the shot glass floating in the top of the stein he was holding up in a drunken salute to his mother for popping him out quickly into the world.

      Oh yeah, Mom said I come out ready to fuck an’ fight. The tough old broad said didn’t matter which one I did, I’d better do ‘em both right. Here’s to ya, you old bitch! He raised the beer stein in the air above him. He brought the glass down to his lips, then gulped the golden liquid down without stopping.

      They banged on the table with hands balled into fists until the table rattled and shook. Go, go, and go.

      Dewey, drink that son of a bitch down.

      Yeah, show ‘em what a real hooligan can do.

      Come on; you can do it.

      Drink it, you mother.

      Drink it. Don’t think it.

      Do it!

      Do it!

      Do it, Dewey. Four more and you’ll break your own record! Patterson called out, joining the others in urging his friend to drink up. He’d just finished lining up four more beer steins and dumped hard shots into each one. He was spoiling Dewey’s night of love any way he could. Bitch didn’t know what bastard she was messing with, but she would after tonight. He grinned, watching Dewey take a deep breath, then down another beer, then another. He finished the last four drinks before he passed out underneath the table with a grunt and loud funky farts. He lay on the bar’s wooden floor with eyes closed, a wide smile on his lips, and his hands covering his fly. The show was over. His fan club of bar patrons drifted back to the bar to order more drinks.

      Finney and Keegan covered their noses and breathed through their mouths. Egan waved the horrid smell away with a hand. Goddamn it, Dewey! Your farts smell like something in your ass died.

      When the rumbling farts exited, Keegan pushed at Dewey’s limp body with the toe of his boot. Shit, man, stick a cork in your butt before I do.

      Dewey groaned. His hands pressed against his fly. Gimme ‘nother minute, Baby. The Irish Stallion needs to recuperate.

      Christ, you faggot, this is me, not your wife.

      Dewey nodded and moved one of his hands up and down his fly. Okay, Mama, gotta pee. Dewey have to piss first. Let me take a piss, then we’ll do it again. He moved his hands away from his fly and then grinned when the fabric suddenly turned darker. Ah, that’s better. Got me some more room for ‘nother beer. He sighed and began to snore loudly.

      Quinn Patterson squatted down next to Dewey’s head. Ignoring the strong odor of urine, he started laughing as he patted his friend’s shoulder. You never could hold your liquor. Dew Boy, a man like you shouldn’t be anywhere near a beer or a bar. He looked up from the floor where he’d squatted and caught Keegan’s attention, then raised an eyebrow.

      Shit, Q! Why do I have to drive the bastard home? He smells like piss and shit. He’ll stink up my car for years.

      Patterson shrugged. I ain’t asking for that, Asshole. Help sit the bastard up so we can get him out of here before the owner tries to make a deal with us for this instead of the usual.

      Rockland sighed, then walked around the table to squat down next to Patterson. I got him, Q. He sat Dewey up, then leaned under his upper torso and allowed him to flop over his shoulder. Tell me where to take him.

      Patterson grinned. Hey, Rocky?

      Yeah?

      You are good for something tonight. Follow me. I’ll show you where drunk ass lives. When we get there, I want you to dump him at the front door and leave. I’ll handle his wife, okay?

      Okay, Q.

      Patterson left a generous tip for Jeannine and a short note that read, I’ll be back at 9:30.

      Eleven minutes later, he rang Dewey’s doorbell after watching Rockland drive away from the red brick and limestone ranch-style home that Dewey and his wife owned. He’d leaned Dewey against the wall next to the front door as Patterson instructed. Patterson grinned when he heard people telling each other to be quiet and hide. Ah, it’s a surprise party for the birthday boy. This was gonna be better than he hoped. He heard the click of heels against the marble and wood floor coming closer. They stopped at the curtains covering the vestibule window, which moved slightly. Wide brown eyes stared at him. The face they were in barely held back a grimace.

      What do you want, Quinn? He’s still not here yet. You know we’re having a party for his fortieth birthday and you’re not welcome.

      Patterson looked her up and down, green eyes settling on her ample bust. Yeah, I know. Thought you might want the special delivery package I brought.

      What package? Dewey’s wife opened the door to peer outside, looking at Quinn and seeing nothing until he hauled her husband’s dead weight under the porch light.

      Dewey recognized his wife as he swayed back and forth. Hey, Baby. How ya doing? It’s the day of my birth. His right hand reached down to grab his piss-stained crotch and he farted at the same time. Wanna fuck you, okay? He lurched forward, almost falling until Patterson caught him.

      Easy now, Tiger. She’s not ready yet, are you, Sweetheart? Patterson caught her eye and winked.

      Quinn, you freaky bastard! Dewey’s wife hissed and then ran a hand through her auburn hair. You knew what I had planned for tonight.

      Aw, Baby, don’t be mad. Me an’ the boys did little celebrating is all, Dewey remarked. He stroked his fly, playing with a semi-hard erection through the fabric of his slacks. Look what I got for you, he said proudly.

      His wife inhaled, then grimaced. Christ, he smells like piss and shit. I could kill you, Quinn!

      Stand in line, Bitch! Patterson remarked, laughing as cold green eyes assessed him. Take your husband, Sweetheart. Next time, you’ll remember who his friends really are and invite them to the party too.

      She stepped outside on the front porch to put Dewey’s arm around her neck. She grabbed his waist, preparing to guide his inebriated ass inside. Fuck you, Quinn.

      Patterson stepped closer to run a hand up and down the back of the red dress he knew she chose for especially for Dewey. No, Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you one of these days and you’ll like it too.

      That’ll only happen in your goddamned dreams, Quinn! You know I love this bastard as much as you do, so back the hell off of me.

      Patterson snorted. You’re the only woman I let talk to me like that. If it were any other woman, I’d beat the shit out of her, then fuck her.

      Dewey’s wife rolled her eyes. You mean assault or rape, don’t you? Go home and play with yourself, Quinn. Let me and my husband have one night without thinking about your ugly ass.

      Quinn Patterson roared with laughter as he walked down the porch stairs to his Mustang. He had a woman to see about laying some pipe tonight.

      CHAPTER THREE: Two beds for sale and more

      Okay, girls, remember what we said yesterday? Samantha watched both of her nieces nod. They stuffed homemade pancakes into their mouths until she thought they would explode in front of her. I’m going to pick up the beds for your room today. We’ll put them together over the weekend.

      Antonia swallowed her mouthful first. Good, I can finally get some alone time again. I’m tired of sleeping with her. She thumbed at her sister as if she were hitching a ride with something disgusting. I’m a young woman, Samantha. The last thing I need is to be tied down with childcare. I need my privacy.

      Samantha eyed her eldest niece with an annoyed glance while she sipped her morning coffee. Well, Kiddo, I highly recommend you call me Aunt Samantha before I paddle your almost woman butt. As for privacy, if you think you’re going to have total privacy, think again. I counted two bedrooms in this house, not three. Somebody will be sharing space with her kid sister.

      Damn it, why do I have to do that? Why can’t little fart face sleep with you? Your room looks big enough for two people. Why do I have to share and you don’t?

      Samantha nearly choked on her last mouthful of coffee, coughing hard and making her face turn a deep painful red. Beatrice popped up from the table to stand behind her, pounding on her back. All that hitting made her feel worse, as if the kid was knocking the coffee back into the space in her throat that she’d just cleared. She raised a hand. Okay, okay, Bea Bee. I’m fine. Honey, go sit back down and finish your breakfast. She rose from the oval-shaped kitchen table she’d rebuilt piece by loving piece to glare at her eldest niece. Antonia Lee Brown, front and center!

      Antonia groaned, then sucked her teeth, but followed her aunt into the small cozy space that served as a combination living and dining room. Samantha pointed to one of the folding chairs. Take a seat and tell me what’s going on with you, Toni.

      First off, stop calling me Toni. It’s a nickname that I’d prefer to forget. Antonia suits me better now that I’m almost a woman.

      Samantha rubbed the back of her neck. I thought your mom used to call you that.

      Antonia sighed and then wiped at her eyes. She sniffed at her tears. Why did she have to die, Aunt Sammy? I miss her so much. I wanna go home to the city. I hate this stupid place! The people are stupid hillbilly hicks and I hate them all. Can’t we go home?

      Samantha bent down to face her niece. She looked so much like Janice sometimes she wanted to cry when she realized it wasn’t her sister. When she opened her arms, Antonia stepped into her embrace and stayed here. She stroked her relaxed hair. I know, Honey. When school starts next week, it’ll be better. You’ll see. You’ll meet kids your own age and make new friends.

      Beatrice peeked out from the kitchen and then shyly came over to join her sister. I miss her too, Aunt Sammy. How come people like Mommy gotta die?

      Samantha wiped at her tears and accepted the wad of tissues Bea dug out of a pocket of her jeans. She looked down at them and tried not to frown. They looked wrinkled and slightly shredded. Thanks, Kiddo, I can really use these. She rubbed Bea’s back and then hugged her. She rose and squeezed her nieces’ shoulders as she sniffed back more tears. God, she hadn’t cried this much since she couldn’t remember when. She wasn’t a cry-your-head-off kind of woman. She kept those feelings deep inside, letting them out around people she trusted. She sighed. Come, girls. Let’s get your stuff together to go next door.

      Beatrice frowned. That old lady’s house don’t smell so good, Aunt Sammy. I think she got too many cats. Can I ask her for two of them? She has two little babies. They are so-o-o cute. They both have white feet an’ pretty green eyes. They’re all black. The mommy lets me play with them. Can I have them, Aunt Sammy, please?

      Samantha sighed. Remember what we said. No pets until we settle in first. We still need beds for you two, a couple of dressers, and lamps. The living room needs a couch, some end tables, and lamps too. I’d like a stereo and maybe an entertainment center.

      Could we buy a big screen TV, and maybe buy two decent computers? Antonia asked.

      An’ I get two cats, okay, Aunt Sammy?

      Samantha groaned. Did her nieces ever listen to her? They could be so damned stubborn at times. She glanced at her watch and sighed. If she didn’t leave in the next five minutes, she’d be late for the ten o’clock bed pickup. Come on, girls. Get your stuff while I get my toolbox and lock up.

      Five minutes later, she watched her two nieces go next door. Mrs. Potter greeted her girls with big hugs, which neither girl appreciated. They dodged and ducked underneath her flabby arms, trying to evade her warm embrace. Watching them, Samantha chuckled as she backed out of the gravel driveway in her gray minivan. Her girls provided comedic relief for her in ways she didn’t think possible six months ago. She sighed as she stopped at the first light. A year ago, her sister Janice was still alive and her girls were living perfectly fine with her. Nobody knew an aneurysm building inside her sister’s head would decide when and where it would kill her seven months later.

      She gave her head a mental shake. Now was not the time or place for sadness. She had two beds to disassemble and cart back to her new home before noon. She had a list of things to buy too. She needed sheets for the new beds and groceries for the dilapidated refrigerator that she’d need to replace before too long. The stove looked almost new, as did the washer and dryer set. Three money-suckers that she wouldn’t have to do more than maintain and not replace, thank God.

      Okay, let’s be on our way, she muttered, making a left to follow the sign to the highway. Once on the highway, she searched the front seat for her portable GPS, then shot a glance at the rear seats, even playing with the rearview mirror to scan the seat. Damn it! she cursed, remembering she’d showed Bea Bee how to read the map and then allowed her to test it last night. That was where she’d left the palm-size locator instead of putting it back in the van. She glanced at her watch and groaned. It was nine fifty. She was too far away to go back and pick it up without being late. She hated being late for anything. She read late-comers as showing signs of disrespect. She groaned, realizing she was joining their ranks today.

      Fifty minutes passed as she drove from gas station to gas station asking for directions and being misdirected each time. Damn it! How could I not bring the damned GPS? she fussed at herself inside the empty car. She sighed as she got out of the car at the fifth gas station. She marched inside. How do I get to this address on Maple Street, Maple Avenue, or Maple Road? she asked the gum-chewing young man behind the cash register, noting the bulletproof cage he worked in.

      After cracking a large wad of gum, then blowing a bubble, which Samantha wanted to poke with a big stick, he grinned. He studied the address and then her face, his sky blue eyes twinkling. You must be new, huh?

      Samantha nodded. Yeah, I just moved here. I’m running late too.

      Well, you’re in luck, Miss. It’s not too far from here and it’s Maple Road.

      Samantha groaned. I’ve heard that line for the last ninety minutes.

      He pointed north. Go out to the first stop light and make a left. It’s two more lights. Make a right. It’s two houses from the corner.

      Samantha nodded. Thanks. I sure hope you’re right about this.

      The young man blew another bubble, then popped it. I am. If you get lost, come back and get a sandwich and free soda on me.

      He watched Samantha smile, then remark as she left. If I can find my way back here, you got a deal.

      Samantha arrived at the address two hours late. She passed by several apartment complexes, a small farm, and two unfinished rows of townhouses on the way. The kid at the gas station was right. The address wasn’t that far from the gas station. When she found the address, the wonderful house surprised her. She expected more prefabricated homes similar to the ones she’d passed. Instead, she saw something better … much better. The house was a three-story red brick affair trimmed in light gray-beige limestone, built when bricklayers knew how to lay bricks and not use the fake brick some of today’s homebuilders used. It sat in the middle of a hill. There was another brick house, also three stories, at the top of the hill and another brick home in a ranch style in the valley of the hill.

      All three homes looked at least sixty to seventy years old, Samantha thought, admiring the homes through the windshield of her van. She drove down the long gravel driveway and then stepped out of her van. She wondered who lived in such a great space. She rang the doorbell and stepped back on the front cement porch where the homeowner could see her. A brown-skinned Black woman a little darker than she was greeted her through the locked front door. All she could see was the woman’s annoyed face through the door glass.

      Yes? What is it?

      Samantha grinned broadly, putting on her best face. This is gonna sound a little strange if I have the wrong place, but here goes. I was supposed to pick up two beds at this address two hours ago. Does that sound familiar? She watched the woman watch her. She smiled wider until her lips nearly split at the corners. I’m so sorry for being late. I got lost. I’m not familiar with your neighborhood, which is why I got lost today.

      The woman looked unmoved by her story and so Samantha cleared her throat. Look, Ma’am, I realize I don’t have the right to impose on you like this, but I need those beds. If this is the correct place, could you just nod or something? I’ll go get my toolbox. I’ll disassemble the beds and be out of your hair before you can spit on the sidewalk. She watched the woman’s right eyebrow rise in puzzlement or disgust. She couldn’t tell which one and then the woman surprised her.

      I guess you’re harmless, she remarked, unlocking the front door, opening it, and stepping aside. Wipe your feet on the mat. The beds are in the bedroom.

      It makes sense to put beds in the bedroom, Samantha remarked, smiling at the woman who ignored her friendly attempt at humor to turn around and head back into the house. Ah, wait a minute, Miss. I need to get my toolbox.

      The woman waved her on and then rubbed her temples. Go get it. I’ll leave the door open. Lock it after you come inside and wipe your feet too.

      Two minutes later, Samantha lugged her toolbox into the house and locked the door behind her. While it was daylight outside, the house felt dark as if someone had wrapped the woman’s home in a film of dark gray gauze. She stopped in the hallway, unsure of which way to go.

      Hello? Where are you? I brought my toolbox from the car.

      I’m right here, the woman said from somewhere in front of her. She was sitting on the second step of the staircase, quietly waiting for her.

      Once her eyes adjusted to the darkened space, Samantha nodded. You lead and I’ll follow you.

      The beds are upstairs.

      Yes, you said that before. I said that’s where beds belong, in a bedroom. But you didn’t say anything else.

      The woman sighed. And so you did. She trudged up the stairs, gripping on to the handrail and pulling her body upward, step by step as though her life depended upon it.

      Ten minutes later, the woman watched the big woman use her cell phone to snap pictures of the bed and the room. Why was she doing that? She suddenly regretted inviting a complete stranger into her home to remove the two beds. For all she knew, the stranger could be setting her up for something horrible. She was too far away from her wall safe and the gun it held. She could and should confront the woman and let her know what she thought of the privacy invasion.

      Do you always take photos of bedrooms without permission from the owner?

      Samantha’s face reddened. She set the camera down on top of one of the sheet-less mattresses. She stood up and brushed off her overalls. She walked over to the woman standing nervously in the hallway, realizing how much she towered over her. Sorry, I should have asked you for permission. She ran a hand through a short-cropped haircut. I’m taking pictures so I’ll remember how to put the beds back together when I get them home.

      The woman frowned. That explains six pictures of the bed. Why were you taking pictures of my sons’ … I mean, of the entire room?

      Samantha grinned, then turned around to scan the area and spread her arms out. It’s a great room, Miss. I like how it’s set up. The arrangement for the books, the study tables, and the space for their toys; it’s just a great space for kids. Your boys’ room is giving me ideas about children’s rooms. I bet your sons love the room. How old are they? she asked, turning around to face the woman.

      She noted the dark circles under the woman’s eyes as though she hadn’t been sleeping well recently. When she looked into light brown eyes, she saw dullness as if the lights had gone out for a moment, then sadness drifted into them. She wondered about the reason for it. Miss, ah, you didn’t tell me your name and I forgot to look at the name on the mailbox. You don’t look so well. Why don’t you sit down in here? She placed firm hands on the woman’s arms to steady her when she wobbled. She attempted to guide her into the children’s bedroom, but the woman froze just outside the doorway.

      No! I can’t do this, the woman whispered. Take me to my room.

      Samantha nodded. Her hands were still resting on the woman’s arms. Sure thing, Ma’am. I’ll take you, but I don’t know where that is.

      My bedroom is at the end of the hallway opposite the bathroom. She closed her eyes and stumbled against Samantha. Please! Take me. I can’t stand being in here. It’s too sad for me.

      Sure. Samantha steadied the woman again when she nearly bumped into the wall, then sighed. I hope you don’t mind, but I think this might be easier if I carried you there. Before the sad woman could protest, Samantha leaned down and simply lifted the woman into her arms to carry her down the hallway. She smiled when the woman snuggled into her chest just as her nieces did when she carried them to bed at night. What was it about being carried that seemed to bring out the need to cuddle in some people? Ma’am, you still haven’t told your name, she reminded once she reached the closed door. The door is closed. Is it okay to enter? she asked.

      The woman sighed, raising her head from Samantha’s chest to look around. Yes.

      Samantha pushed the door open with a booted foot and then walked over to the bedroom, carefully placing the woman on the edge of the bed. She stood over the woman, taking in her outfit. She had been in such a hurry to explain her lateness she hadn’t noticed the woman’s flannel pajamas and flip-flops on her feet. She squatted down in front of the woman, then tilted her face to study her dull eyes and sagging shoulders. You didn’t take any pills to hurt yourself, did you?

      The woman exhaled deeply. No, I’m just tired, very tired.

      Samantha cleared her throat. You don’t look well. Are you sure you didn’t take anything? She didn’t trust the woman’s answers. She rose and made her way over to the woman’s dresser, giving it a cursory search for pill bottles and not finding any. She checked the two wastebaskets and found them filled with used tissues, candy bar wrappers, and empty cheese doodles and potato chips bags. Feeling the woman’s eyes on her activities, she grinned and turned around to stride back to the bed. I see somebody has a sweet tooth and a hankering for munchies. She squatted down in front of the woman again, allowing her hands to hang loosely down between her thighs, touching the carpet. When was the last time you ate a real home-cooked meal, Ma’am?

      The woman sighed, then looked up at Samantha. It’s not Miss or Ma’am. Once upon a time, it used to be Elizabeth St. James-Holder. Now it’s just plain old Liz St. James.

      Samantha studied the pretty, oval-shaped, cinnamon-colored face framed by short neat twists or dreads. The woman also had great cheekbones and nice eyes, even when they were so sad. Her full lips looked kissable if they weren’t turned down in gloom. She couldn’t tell or didn’t remember what the woman’s shape looked like, which was odd since she’d carried her into the bedroom. She caught the woman’s eyes and grinned. I don’t think there’s anything plain about you, Liz St. James, not by a long shot. She stood up, towering over the woman as she rubbed her growling belly. I’m hungry. I bet you are too. She cleared her throat. Tell me if I’m being pushy, but I bet you have a fridge full of food for you and the boys. I could whip up something tasty for us in about two seconds.

      Elizabeth reached out to grab Samantha’s hand, tugging on it hard, then applying pressure by twisting her wrist. No, don’t go!

      Samantha grunted, trying to pull away from her painful grip. Okay, okay, Lizzie, I’ll stay. Let go before you break my damned wrist! She exhaled when the woman released her wrist. Shit! Why did you do that? she asked, rubbing her wrist as she looked into blank eyes and then decided to sit down next to the distraught woman. Something in the woman’s actions made her curious. Who in their right mind would take on a woman as big as she was? Then she wondered if the St. James woman was in her right mind. You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to help you. What can I do to make you feel better?

      Elizabeth frowned. What makes you think I’m sick?

      Samantha smiled. You are kidding, right?

      No, I’m not.

      Samantha held an arm out to check her wristwatch. "Well, let’s see. It’s afternoon and you’re still in your pajamas and flip-flops when we had an appointment for me to pick up the beds this morning. You don’t seem like somebody who could do that regularly; not with kids around, you can’t. The bags and dark circles under your eyes say you haven’t been sleeping well. The used tissues filling both wastebaskets say you’ve probably been sick. You’re extremely uncomfortable in your sons’ room for some reason. That says something happened in there that wasn’t positive.

      Finally, I’m a big girl. I picked you up without a major problem, yet you just tried to break my wrist. Why would you take me on when I could wipe the floor with you? All of that says something is wrong. You’re acting odd for some reason. I didn’t find any empty pill bottles that might account for your behavior. She held up a finger. Ah, there’s one more thing. When I first arrived, you looked pissed I was late, yet you didn’t say a darned thing to me. Why is that?

      Elizabeth rubbed her temples, then frowned. My God, you are observant, aren’t you? She sighed as Samantha continued to stare at her. And you want answers, don’t you?

      It would be nice if you talked to me. If you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you, get dressed and show me your kitchen. My belly is hollering, ‘Feed me or I’ll make you sorry.’ You don’t want to see me when that happens. I’d have to take up residence in your bathroom for the rest of the day into the night, Lizzie St. James. Samantha chuckled at her own joke.

      Hey? I didn’t say you could call me Lizzie. Only my friends call me that, Ms.... what did you say your name was again?

      Samantha patted a sturdy chest as she caught Elizabeth’s eye. Well, you can call me Sam if you’d like, but nobody calls me Ms. Brown. Want me to wait outside while you change into street clothes?

      That name sounds familiar for some reason.

      Brown is a common name. Samantha shrugged and then grinned. Want me inside or out in the hallway?

      Elizabeth studied Samantha for a moment. Outside for now, I think. Something about you says I should keep my distance from you. The kitchen is on the first floor. It’s on the left as you come through the front door and all the way in the back of the house near the garage.

      What makes you trust me to walk through your home? How do you know I won’t steal something or come back to hurt you? Samantha asked as she rose and walked to the door.

      You were concerned enough about my condition to carry me in here. Then you offered to make me feel better by fixing me something to eat. Those aren’t things a sociopath or psychopath would do.

      I could be trying to win you over so I could bring my gang over to rob your home later.

      Elizabeth giggled, revealing even teeth and two deep dimples. Thieves generally don’t get lost on the way to their victims’ houses. They stake out places for weeks before they strike.

      Samantha returned her smile and leaned against the doorframe. You look a million times better when you smile. I like dimples on a woman. You have two of the best ones I’ve seen since I arrived.

      Humph! I hope you don’t think I’d fall for a stupid line like that. How do you know I even like women?

      Samantha pointed to her chest. The rainbow necklace around your neck says that, unless you just like the pretty colors. She folded her arms across her chest and then scanned the room. I don’t see evidence of a man living here in your bedroom either. I bet you like women as much as I do. Could be the job you have says you can’t show it or you can’t admit it to yourself yet. That’s just a guess on my part. I don’t know anything for sure, since I just met you. She stopped leaning against the doorframe and straightened up. See you in the kitchen in about ten minutes. Take any longer and I get dibs on everything that’s eatable in your fridge. She rubbed her grumbling belly. I’m a big girl and I have a huge appetite.

      Elizabeth looked Samantha up and down with a calculated look in her eyes. She smiled again. I’ll just bet you do. What do you like to eat for lunch?

      Samantha spotted the new sparkle in Elizabeth’s eyes and she started to step back into the room, but Elizabeth surprised her. She rushed over to shut the door. Her laughter drifted outside through the closed door. Never mind. I think I know one thing you like, Samantha.

      Elizabeth passed the mirror on her way to the private bathroom behind her bedroom and stopped. She was puzzled to see the smile on her face. She hadn’t been smiling very much recently and she was surprised to see she could still do it. Then she wondered what magic the tall woman who answered her ad worked on her psyche today. Who was she and what did she need the beds for? How did she know how to analyze a stranger in an unfamiliar home like it was a daily occurrence?

      After a quick shower, Elizabeth walked into her bedroom with a beach towel wrapped around her chest. She loved the way a beach towel covered her completely from her tits to her ass and beyond down to her bare toes. Hello? she called out just in case the woman with the observant manner and the empty belly decided to show her something not on the luncheon menu. The woman had the eyes of a cop. She sighed. Everybody she knew had those same eyes.

      She dried off quickly and applied lotion all over with an extra layer on her butt, legs, and thighs. She sucked her teeth when her hands smoothed down her thighs and legs. Why couldn’t she lose weight from her butt down to her toes? They always looked too thick and heavy to her. She wanted slender, muscular runner’s legs like she’d seen on some of the women at work. She slipped into her underwear—bright blue panties and a matching bra—and smiled. She loved the feel of silk against her skin. She decided to pull on oatmeal gray sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. It was warm, bulky, and covered her too-large legs and chubby ankles.

      She walked down the hallway, checking her watch. Fifteen minutes passed since the solid woman with the twinkling eyes and throaty laugh said she could fix a meal in two seconds flat, then threatened to take ownership of everything in the fridge. She made it halfway down the staircase before she smelled something delicious wafting out of her kitchen. God, it had been months since anything that appetizing drifted into her hallway. She inhaled as she strode into the kitchen to find Samantha wearing one of her aprons while she stood at the stove, peeking under a pot lid.

      Hmm, something smells great, Elizabeth remarked, discovering the marvelous smells were coming from her very expensive built-in oven. She decided to open it.

      No, don’t open … it. Samantha sighed as she watched the small browning tent flatten like a pancake. Okay, it’s no soufflé for you today, Woman. You’ll have to make do with a flat omelet. I wanted to impress you with my cooking skills this afternoon, but you kind of spoiled that. She wiggled her eyebrows at Elizabeth. We could finish our discussion about luncheon menus and such.

      Elizabeth giggled at Samantha’s attempts to mack her. You are a funny woman.

      Samantha raised a hand to protest. She patted her chest with a broad, strong-looking hand, which Elizabeth’s eyes locked on. Hey? Nobody has ever complained about my technique on a date.

      Elizabeth laughed again. When was the last time you had one?

      Samantha turned around to walk over to the oven, pulled on oven mitts, and carefully lifted the pan out of it. She set the hot pan on the countertop while Elizabeth sat down at the table, watching the big woman move around her kitchen as if she’d been there before. I like your laugh. It’s an honest from-the-gut laugh. She turned around to face Elizabeth with a plate in her hands. Let’s see, I like your smile, especially your dimples. Your laugh is great too. Makes me wonder what else I might like about you. She reached in the pockets of the apron and pulled out one fork, one knife, and one spoon, then set them on the colorful place mats.

      That was a nice dodge, Samantha Brown, but you still didn’t tell me the last time you had a date.

      Samantha shrugged, then turned around and pulled out some drawers, looking for napkins. She decided to lie. Okay, it was about ten years ago.

      Elizabeth chuckled. That would make you about twenty-four or twenty-five at the time. Wow! Your pimp juice must truly be dammed up by now.

      Samantha kept looking through drawers and not finding any napkins. My, what did you call it? Did you say pimp juice? She felt someone standing directly behind her, then felt warmth against her back as Elizabeth reached around her to open the top drawer and pull out napkins.

      Yes, I said pimp juice. It’s the juice that grocery stores don’t sell, but street corners and bedrooms do.

      Samantha turned around quickly before Elizabeth could move her arms away. Yes, I’m familiar with the term. I’m surprised that you are. She liked the feel of Elizabeth’s arms around her if only for a moment until she blushed and stepped away. Aw, Lizzie, don’t move away from me. After all, you’re the one who started this conversation with your pimp juice remark. Or maybe it started with your implied threat of a different meal than this one.

      She watched Elizabeth walk around her to take a fork and stick it into the collapsed soufflé to cut a piece. She smelled it first, then smiled as she stuck a large piece in her mouth and closed her eyes.

      Hmm, this is so-o-o good. You are a great cook.

      Samantha shook her head. There’s sauce for it on the stove. I’m not a great cook. This is the extent of my gourmet recipe book. I make great peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and tuna and bologna sandwiches.

      Elizabeth chuckled. I hope you don’t put all those ingredients into one sandwich.

      Samantha grinned, brought the pan over to the table, and sat down across from Elizabeth. Nope, as I said before, you wouldn’t like me when my belly starts being mean to me. She sighed and looked at the collapsed soufflé. I wanted to put a few leaves of parsley around each plate to add a little color and flavor to the bland eggs, but I couldn’t find any. She watched Elizabeth eat most of the cheese soufflé with a great deal of enjoyment.

      This is so good. It doesn’t need salt, pepper, or anything, including parsley leaves or sauce. She wiped her mouth, then drank the tea Samantha placed next to her right hand. She peeked at Samantha over the top of her cup and found curious dark eyes studying her. She set her nearly empty mug down on the colorful placemat. What?

      Oh, I was wondering how long it’s been since you had a date. You know my story. What’s yours?

      Elizabeth sighed, then used a fingertip to play with the rim of the mug. I don’t have a story. I’m just plain old Elizabeth St. James.

      So what do you do for a living, plain old Elizabeth?

      Elizabeth hated this part in any potential relationship. It was the part where she said what she did for a living, and whatever woman she was with smiled politely, then scooted out the door at the first opportunity. Today, she was enjoying the company too much tell the truth, so she got creative with her job description. I help people find stuff and protect it.

      Samantha frowned, then rubbed her chin. Okay, sure. I don’t know what that means, but I’ll let you slide for the time being.

      Hey, you didn’t eat anything.

      Samantha rubbed her full belly and then grinned. Who says that was the first soufflé I made? She rose from the table and put the dishes in the sink. Show me where the detergent is and I’ll wash them for you.

      Ah, but you cooked. I can wash, but I don’t have to do that either. She bumped Samantha with a well-aimed, deliberate shove of her hip. Move over, please, so I can open the dishwasher. In fact, why don’t you get back to disassembling those beds while I handle things down here?

      Samantha

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