Last Chance Knit & Stitch Read online

  “Wait a second, are you talking about the Shelby?”

  “What is a Shelby?”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “A very valuable automobile. My father gave Molly space at the dealership to restore this car. She made a point of telling me about it on the day of my father’s wake. She wanted to make sure I didn’t get any ideas about trying to take it from her, just because it was there at the dealership.”

  “Well, apparently your uncle Ryan is trying to take it away. I heard that this car might be worth one hundred thousand dollars. Is this true?”

  “It may be worth more than that.”

  “Wow. No wonder your uncle wants the car.”

  “Well, it’s not his to take.” Simon turned away and looked out at the traffic passing on Palmetto Avenue as he tried to tighten his internal tourniquet. No matter how hard he tried to hold it back, anger bled through him.

  Angel continued on. “Everyone in town thinks that he can take the car. Everyone is talking about it. They are also saying that you rented this space even though Molly wanted it.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Simon asked, his voice small and cramped.

  “I am not on any side. I am just reporting what I hear. This is a very interesting town, Simon.”

  “Well, don’t believe everything. There’s a gossip on every street corner.” He threw his half-eaten sandwich into the trash bin. He had suddenly lost his appetite. “You stay here. I’ve got something I need to do.” He headed toward the door.

  “Simon, the only thing you need to do is finish the painting.”

  “Not before I have a chat with Uncle Ryan about a car.”

  For a small-town banker, Uncle Ryan sure did have one heck of a fancy office, complete with cherry paneling and a desk as big as an aircraft carrier. Simon took a seat in the burgundy leather chair in front of the massive and surprisingly uncluttered desk. He felt diminished, as if the desk had been put up on a platform and the legs of the chairs shortened just a bit.

  “So you’re finally showing some interest in your father’s affairs. It’s about damn time.” Ryan steepled his fingers and leaned back in his swivel chair. He looked satisfied, as if he thought he’d won a round in a game of high-stakes poker.

  Simon drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing his emotions to still. In the walk from the Coca-Cola building, he’d let his anger overwhelm him. Now he needed to gain some control.

  For all his efforts to stay calm, Simon still wanted to rage at the man. He didn’t quite understand why the whole Shelby situation had angered him so deeply. But it had.

  “I came here to tell you to give Molly Canaday her car.”

  “Why should I do that? She owes the dealership rent on the space she was using.”

  “You know good and well that Daddy wasn’t charging her rent for that space.”

  “Well, speaking as his banker, he should have been.”

  “You can’t change the rules on Molly like that. It’s not fair, and it’s not legal. She didn’t sign a lease or anything. You don’t have a leg to stand on. And you’re just using your position and your wealth to bully her. It’s not right.”

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. If she wants the Shelby back, let her get a lawyer and fight for it.”

  “She can’t afford a lawyer.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Well, that’s her tough luck, because I believe I already have a buyer for the Shelby, and you’ll be pleased with the amount. Even unrestored and in pieces, the buyer is willing to pay a hundred grand for it. That will clear a lot of your father’s debt.”

  “That’s bull. You can’t sell it without a title, and the title isn’t in the dealership’s name. Ryan, don’t be a jerk. Give her back the car.”

  Ryan leaned forward. “Why do you care?”

  “Because it was my father’s business, and Daddy was trying to help Molly. He wouldn’t be happy with this situation. Who are you to come in and make her life miserable?”

  “I’m your daddy’s banker.”

  This back-and-forth made Simon antsy and uncomfortable. He wasn’t going to win this argument. Shooting verbal missiles at Ryan and ducking when he fired back would never solve Molly’s problem. He’d learned a long time ago that arguments settled nothing. It was a man’s actions that made the difference. So he stood up and stalked to the door.

  But he couldn’t resist one last barb. He was so furious that the words escaped him even though he knew they would do him no earthly good. “You’re an asshole, you know that, Uncle Ryan? You’ve always been an asshole.”

  Ryan stood up and looked down his long, frugal nose. “And you are a no-account loser. Sort of like your daddy was. It’s a damn shame my sister married your father. He was beneath her. And like him, you’ll never amount to anything. You’re almost forty and look at you—you dress like a queer, you’ve got hair like a hippie, and you’re just scraping by. It was no loss when you left this town, and no one will care when you leave it again.”

  Simon stood there staring at his uncle. This was nothing less than what Mother had said on the night Simon had told his parents that he was giving up medicine in order to pursue his dream of becoming an artist. And Daddy, who used to argue with Mother from sunup to sundown, had stood there and let her say it. The last thing Daddy wanted was a son who wanted to paint for a living.

  So there wasn’t much new in Ryan’s cruel words. And still, after all these years, Simon wished he could spring across the room and pop his uncle right in that long nose of his. But letting anger escalate to violence had horrible consequences, and it wouldn’t get Molly her car. The braver man walks away. The wiser man finds an alternative.

  “Give the car back to Molly,” Simon said, forcing his voice to go low and almost soft.

  “When hell freezes over.”

  Ricki hugged Muffin to her chest and walked down the sidewalk, trying as hard as she could to keep her head high and the tears from her eyes.

  Deep within the rational folds of her mind, she knew that T-Bone couldn’t take her back as a waitress because then Floretta would be out of a job. And besides, Ricki didn’t really want that waitress job anymore. She was tired of being on her feet all day, and when she worked at the Knit & Stitch, she could have Muffin with her.

  And that was important. Because even in the space of a few days, Muffin had become her best friend. She had fallen in love with that poor, pitiful dog. They were kind of alike. Someone had gotten tired of Muffin, just like Randy had gotten tired of her.

  They had both been thrown away by someone they loved.

  But she needed a job, even if it meant leaving Muffin at home. She couldn’t pay the rent on the apartment she leased from Dot Cox without a job. And owning a dog required additional expenses. She’d already had Charlene Polk give Muffin a complete checkup and all her shots and a bunch of lab work. Her free dog had cost her a hundred dollars that she’d put on her nearly maxed-out credit card.

  She stalked into the garage area of Bill’s Grease Pit, where Bubba Lockheart was bent over the open hood of a car. “Where the hell is he, Bubba? I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Who?” Bubba asked.

  “Who do you think? I’m looking for Les.”

  Bubba’s eyes widened as he took in her leopard-print Michael Kors knockoff dress, her little red strappy shoes, and Muffin’s matching leopard dog collar.

  “What do you want Les for?” Bubba asked.

  “It’s none of your business,” she replied.

  “Hey, Ricki.” The voice came from under the car in the adjacent service bay. She bent over and found Les, looking all greasy and masculine, peering at her from the service pit from whence Bill’s place got its name.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said.

  He dropped the tool he was holding and headed up the ladder at the end of the pit. A moment later he appeared around the end of the car, using a rag to wipe off his hands.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked, cocking his head a little
and giving her the same once-over inspection she’d just gotten from Bubba. His gaze unleashed a torrent of lust that was just wrong.

  Leslie Hayes was a boy. And besides, he was Molly’s boy.

  She stroked Muffin’s head and tried to calm herself and the dog. The dog was shivering real bad now. Muffin only did that when she was scared. And she only got scared when Ricki lost her cool. Like the other day when Jane went into labor.

  She pulled her mind back to the issue at hand. And steeled her body against its suddenly raging hormones. She was too old to have hormones. She needed to get a grip.

  “How could you take Molly’s job?” she asked.

  “Because I needed a job. I mean, I didn’t know LeRoy was going to fire Molly when I took the job. But hell, Ricki, I need the work.”

  “So do I, and now that Molly has lost her job, she has no choice but to work at the yarn shop. Which means she can’t afford to keep me on.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s okay. T-Bone will take you back.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “What?”

  “If he took me back, then Flo would lose her job. He’s not going to take me back. And besides, I don’t want to go back. And Molly doesn’t want to work at the Knit & Stitch.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t want to be unemployed.”

  “Leslie, you’re an idiot. Don’t you know that Molly loves you? How could you do this to her?”

  “No, Ricki, she doesn’t love me. She’s made that abundantly clear.”

  “Well, of course she has. You just took her job. That’s not a very good way to say I love you. I want my job at the Knit & Stitch back.”

  “But you weren’t very good at your job at the yarn store. I mean, I heard that Molly was always running up there to get things untangled.”

  She stood there holding a dog who was one second away from totally freaking out. She felt useless as she stared down Leslie Hayes, who had only pointed out the obvious: Ricki wasn’t good at anything. Once, when she was young, she’d been good at being pretty. But that didn’t cut it anymore. And more than anything, Ricki wanted to feel competent.

  “I’m learning to knit, same as I learned how to wait tables. I’m not stupid.” Her words were like a declaration or something.

  Les’s face turned kind of red underneath all that grease. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I liked my job.” Her lips started to quiver. Tears filled her eyes, and these were genuine tears, not the kind of tears she’d once used to keep Randy in line. “And Molly never once told me she was unhappy with me. Not once. She was teaching me.” The tears rolled down her face.

  “Uh, Ricki, don’t cry, honey. Maybe I could talk to Molly.” Les checked his watch. “It’s almost quitting time. Maybe we could go up to the Knit & Stitch and talk to her right now. Okay?”

  “Now?”

  “Sure. I’ll just go wash up a little, and we’ll see if we can get Molly to take you back.”

  His smile made everything seem like it was going to be okay. “All right,” she said through a sniffle. She reached into her purse, pulled out a tissue, and blew her nose. Her mascara must be a complete mess. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, honey. Let’s see what we can do.”

  Molly sat at the little table in the Knit & Stitch, the Purly Girls surrounding her. They were all busy knitting away at prayer blankets in various shades of Red Heart basic acrylic yarn. A box of red velvet cupcakes sat in the middle of the table. Angel had brought them along with a note from Simon to his mother, who’d come today on the senior center’s bus. Molly thought Simon was sweet to remember that the girls liked to have refreshments when they came to knit. Angel said Simon himself had bought the cupcakes at the bakery in Allenberg this morning when he’d dropped his mother off at the senior center.

  Molly was finding it difficult to stay angry with Simon. He was so thoughtful. And his assistant was a good teacher and extremely patient. So all in all, this week’s meeting was coming off without a hitch, in stark contrast to last week’s complete disaster.

  “I think Russell is having an affair,” Luanne Howe said in a quavery voice. She was knitting her blanket in the variegated colorway called Favorite Jeans.

  “Really?” Mary Latimer responded. Mary might be almost eighty-five but she still had a surprisingly girlish voice. She leaned forward, never missing a stitch, ready to get the juicy gossip. “What tipped you off? Did you find someone else’s underwear in his car or something? You know that happened to Grace Watkins. That man of hers was fooling around something terrible.”

  “No,” Luanne replied, “it’s nothing like that. It’s just that he’s been ignoring me.” She turned to Miriam Randall, who wasn’t knitting because her hands were badly afflicted with arthritis. “Do you think I should hire a private investigator?” Luanne asked.

  “I don’t know. That can get expensive,” Miriam said. Thank goodness she didn’t remind Luanne that her husband of forty years, who had been the morning voice of WLST, the local radio station, had died last spring. All the members of the Purly Girls were widows. It was kind of sad, really. And Luanne missed Russell something fierce. This idea of him cheating on her wasn’t anything new.

  Miriam picked at her red velvet cupcake. The old lady had been off her feed recently. Miriam had lost her husband just a few months ago, too.

  Mary Latimer leaned toward Luanne. “Well, I say you should definitely hire a private eye. You don’t want to end up like Grace.”

  “How did Grace end up?” Angel asked.

  Mary blinked a few moments. “I don’t remember.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, she ended up divorced. But she got her revenge. She got the house and the car and the dog,” Charlotte said. “And then she went off and got a boob job.”

  “You think I need a boob job?” Luanne asked.

  “Hush up. Your boobs are just fine,” Mary said. “If Russell doesn’t know a good pair of boobs, he’s blind.”

  “Well,” Luanne said, “he’s been having some trouble with his eyesight, you know.”

  “Well, he doesn’t have to look at them. I mean, it’s all about—”

  The front door opened, thankfully cutting short Mary’s discussion of breast enhancement in the older generation. The girls stopped talking as Les and Ricki strode into the store. Les looked out of his element standing amid the shelves of yarn, wearing his greasy coveralls. And Ricki looked like a slightly trashy fashion plate who, judging by her messy mascara, was about to come apart at the seams. Her dog looked exactly like that, too.

  “Hey,” Molly said getting up from the table. She braced herself for what was surely going to be an unpleasant conversation.

  “You have to take Ricki back,” Les said.

  “I don’t have to do anything.”

  “But if you don’t, she’s going to be unemployed.”

  Molly was about to point out that technically she, herself, was unemployed. Then Ricki said “please” in a whiny voice. And her little dog started whining, too.

  “We all thought T-Bone would take her back, but he won’t,” Les said.

  “We all who, Les?”

  Her best friend hung his head. And it was kind of impossible to be all that angry at him. He thought he and LeRoy had it all worked out. Typical.

  What the heck was Molly supposed to do now? Momma would be so calm in a situation like this. But all Molly wanted to do right now was scream.

  Angel came to her rescue. “Um,” he said rising from his seat at the table, where he’d been finishing up his gorgeous sweater, “I don’t mean to interrupt this discussion, but what Ricki just said is not exactly true.”

  He came to stand beside Molly and continued, “I think T-Bone would take Ricki back, but Ricki wants to bring Muffin to work with her.” He smiled at the dog.

  And damned if the dog didn’t stop shivering and smile back.

  And then she defected. She launched herself out of Ricki’s grasp and right at Angel. Good thing
he had skills as a dogcatcher.

  The pooch immediately settled into his arms, while the man began to croon baby talk to her. It was a clear case of love at first sight.

  “That’s my dog.” Ricki’s voice sounded brittle.

  “I know. But you can’t take her to work at the Kountry Kitchen. It would be a health code violation,” Angel said in what Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, would probably call a calm, assertive voice.

  Les turned toward Ricki. “You said T-Bone didn’t want you back.”

  “Well, not on the terms I wanted. I can’t leave Muffin alone.” She gave the dog a desperate look. “She chews things when I’m not looking. She destroyed my only pair of Fendis. But without her, I …” Ricki almost choked. It was clear that despite the dog’s misbehavior, Ricki loved Muffin.

  “Well,” Les said, completely missing the emotionally charged moment, “you’re not really unemployed then. You can confine her in your apartment’s kitchen until she’s housebroken, and you can walk her on your breaks or something.”

  “But she’ll be lonely.” There was such aching sadness in Ricki’s voice.

  “Oh, that is no problem. I have a perfect solution,” Angel said.

  “You do?” Les, Ricki, and Molly practically spoke in unison. Meanwhile, the Purly Girls were knitting like a bunch of Madame Defarges at a public execution.

  “Of course,” Angel said. “I will babysit Muffin.”

  Ricki’s gaze bounced from Angel to Muffin and back again. She burst into tears. And before anyone could say another word, she ran right out of the yarn shop. Molly was impressed by how fast Ricki could move on those spike heels.

  But that wasn’t nearly as impressive as the way Les took off after her.

  “And so it begins,” Miriam said.

  “What begins?” Angel asked, turning toward Miriam.

  Miriam gave him a long, assessing look from behind her rhinestone-studded trifocals. “Your love affair with Muffin,” she said.

  Luanne giggled like a schoolgirl, but Angel seemed not at all perturbed as he stroked the head of the little, useless dog. “I have wanted a dog for a long time. Alas, Rodrigo is not a dog person.”