Authors: Ginny Aiken

Tags: #ebook, #book

A Cut Above (29 page)

A weird thudding comes from inside the house, rhythmic and steady. And then, to my horror, the Duo appears behind Creepella, their duct tape accessories still in place. Before I can do anything, they look at each other, nod, and hurl themselves at Creepella. The three seniors tumble down the five front steps in a tangle of limbs.

What to do, what to do?

Do I check on the Duo? They are elderly, after all. Or do I go help Max, who’s getting beaten and is beating his fists to a pulp?

I glance at the three women. Aunt Weeby’s rolling over. Miss Mona’s fighting to sit. Creepella’s flat out and motionless on a bed of weeds. Then I look at the men, still tangled in a fight to the finish.

No contest. I gotta help Max.

So I run to the men . . . and stop. I look at my hands. Spittoon . . . gun. Gun . . . spittoon.

Again, no contest.

I drop the gun, raise my spittoon-armed hand, and bring the heavy brass bucket down on the crook’s head. The sound isn’t quite as crisp as that of an orchestra’s cymbal, but it does ring out like a bell.

The man stops, fist in midair, then glances over his shoulder, a somewhat dazed look on his face. Max takes advantage of his opponent’s distraction and whams him in the gut.

A tortured “Ooof!” bursts from the man’s mouth. For good measure, I wield my musical masher against his head again, and Max delivers the final blow to the underside of the man’s chin. He crumples like the payload from an overspun roll of toilet paper.

In the background, Chief Clark’s sirens sound a welcome serenade. Too bad he didn’t arrive five minutes earlier. I could’ve used the help.

But at least he’s here now. His men run to help Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby and to clap cuffs on Creepella’s wrists. Another couple of cops hurry to the rousing creep on the ground.

Max stumbles to my side, hand held out.
“Take my hand,
I’m a stranger in Paradise . . . ”

As he sings the first few lines of the song, I take hold, and then collapse into his arms. I finish the verse.
“. . . a stranger
no more.”

Then he kisses me.

Long and hard.

On the lips.

Oh my . . .

“Woo-hoo! Didja hear that, Mona? There’s wedding bells and babies in our future.”

“Hallelujah, let’s go shopping!”

Epilogue

Five days after the schoolyard brawl, we’re all sitting in Miss Mona’s gorgeous living room. Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby are enthroned in matching wing chairs, Laura is tucked in under a quilt on a chaise, and Max and I are shoulder to shoulder on the sofa, our hands clasped, fingers woven together.

I let a lot of the chatter go over my head. What girl wouldn’t? I mean, really. With the most spectacular mandarin-orange spessartite garnet, surrounded by a crown of diamonds, sitting snug on my left-hand ring finger, I’m a happily engaged woman. It’s especially exciting to see that symbol of the promises Max and I have made when his stronger fingers are laced with mine.

“Earth to Andie!” my fiancé—get that? I have a fiancé— says, humor in his voice. “Miss Mona wants to know when you scheduled Laura’s next appointment with the orthopedic surgeon.”

“It’s a week from tomorrow. Next Thursday.” I look at my boss. “I’d really appreciate it if you have the producers schedule our show around the appointment. I want to go with her.”

Aunt Weeby sniffs. “I’ll have you know, we’ll be taking care of our girl. Mona and I are her legal guardians now, while Rodolfo recovers, and when he goes back to Colombia—and don’t you go forgetting it.” She turns to Laura. “We’re gonna be having us such a big ol’ barrel of fun, sweetie-pie!”

I groan.

Aunt Weeby sniffs again. “You have a job to do, Andie, what with all your fighting and making up with Max on-screen. And a wedding to plan.”

Miss Mona frowns. “But not without us, she’s not planning that wedding. She can’t. In the first place, she wouldn’t even be heading up that aisle if it hadn’t been for us.”

I shake my head. Oh boy. “Laura, honey, are you sure you know what you’re getting into with these two?”

From the twinkle in the teen’s eyes, I think she’s looking forward to the impending madness. “They need me to keep them out of trouble,” she says.

“Uh-oh,” Max murmurs into my ear.

I sigh. “My feelings exactly.”

Who can stop a tide? And let’s face it, my aunt and her best friend are a whole tidal wave unto themselves. “Let’s make sure your father really wants to leave you here when he goes back to Colombia. I still think the pain meds scrambled his brains enough to get him to agree to that lunacy.”

A brilliant smile lights up Laura’s face. “He’d wanted to send me to America to finish school, and then to attend college. Now Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby have offered me a home—”

“A family!” Aunt Weeby cries. “We’re an all-girl family—”

“Ahem.” My fiancé arches a brow.

Aunt Weeby sends a glance ceiling-ward and shakes her head. “All-girl plus Max. That’s what we are, sweetie-pie. And don’t you go forgetting that, you hear?”

“I hear.” It’s great to see Laura’s cheeks wear a rosy tint, look normal. “But you know,” the teen adds, “I don’t want to go back to Colombia. At least, not right now. All this . . .”

I shudder. The girl doesn’t need to say much more. “It’s been awful, hasn’t it?”

Everyone murmurs agreement. Then I remember something. “Did you know Doña Rosario was once married to your father?”

Laura shakes her head. “I knew my mother was his second wife, and that she was many years younger, but he never talked about his first wife. I knew it had been bad, but not how bad.”

“It must have been pretty bad,” Miss Mona says. “Rosario was always a bit snooty in school, but I got along with her well enough. I can’t believe she went criminal over the years.”

“People change,” I say. “Maybe years behind bars will make her think and change again.”

Miss Mona shrugs. “We can pray.” She takes a deep breath. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you about Livvy’s and my newest project.”

Uh-oh. “There’s more?”

She smiles. “This is good. Your auntie and I have been fixing up the school on the quiet—didn’t really want to make waves before we were ready—and thinking up what to do with the place. It’s too big for a home, but I think it’ll make a perfect place for teens who might be wanting to turn their lives around.

Kind of a training center and counseling center all in one.”

I nod. “Taking it back to what it once was, but with a twist.”

Miss Mona smiles. “The twist of helping girls who don’t want to end up like Rosario, betraying her husband and a former friend, and breaking all kinds and flavors of laws.”

Aunt Weeby tilts her nose up. “Humph! I don’t cotton to no crooks, thieves, divorces, or nothing like that, really. The Good Lord does say marriage is ‘until death do us part’ and I listen to ’im, but I guess I can’t blame Rodolfo too bad for dumping her way back when.”

Miss Mona shrugs. “Rosario started stealing stones from him to sell on the black market. What kind of wife does that?”

My aunt does a classic finger waggle. “A rotten, greedy one’s what I say. Not the kind Andie’s gonna make our boy, Max, here.”

He squeezes my hand.

I squeeze back.

“I know!” Miss Mona bursts out of her chair. “I have the perfect idea. Why don’t we have us a wedding on-screen? We’ll have our customers join us, and it’ll be such fun. They love you and Max, you know.”

“NO!” I cry. “How can you even suggest that? It’s my wedding. I want a small group of friends and family. Not something with ratings and sales and phone calls and whatnot.” What a nightmare that would be.
Quick, quick! Think
of something better to catch their imaginations.
“Maybe we can time it for Mom and Dad’s next furlough—”

“Speaking of that brother of mine,” Aunt Weeby says with a canary-feathered grin. “You’d better have cleared your calendar for tonight like I toldja.”

I pop up to my feet. “Do you mean . . . they’re coming?” She nods and beams.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t
they
tell me?”

“We all of us wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, I’m surprised, all right.”

“Oh, and there’s more to come,” Miss Mona chirps in. “This one’s big, a whopper, I tell you.”

Something about the glint in her eyes gives me a shaky feeling in the gut. I sit back down, clutching Max’s hand for strength. “So break it to me gently.”

She reaches for an envelope on the round side table between her chair and Aunt Weeby’s. “We have an invitation here, for you, Max, and the channel.” She waves the invitation.

I wait, frozen with dread. This is Miss Mona, you know.

She goes on. “I can hardly believe it. We’ve been invited to go see the tanzanite mines in Tanzania!”

Max and I jerk our heads toward each other. We spin back to Miss Mona.

“Nooooo!” we both yell.

“Why, yes, my dears,” our boss says, ignoring our objection. “Of course, it’s true. And so splendidly marvelous! Just think about it. We’re going to Tanzania. Start packing your bags.”

I collapse against the couch. “Why, Lord? Why are you letting this happen again?”

But he doesn’t answer. Not right away.

With a sigh, I settle back to wait. And to see what the Father’s got in store.

Tanzania?

Ginny Aiken
, a former newspaper reporter, lives in Pennsylvania with her engineer husband and the youngest of their four sons—the oldest is married, the next is in grad school, and the third’s headed there too. Born in Havana, Cuba, and raised in Valencia and Caracas, Venezuela, Ginny discovered books at an early age. She wrote her first novel at age fifteen while she trained with the Ballets de Caracas, later to be known as the Venezuelan National Ballet. She burned that tome when she turned a “mature” sixteen. An eclectic list of jobs—including stints as reporter, paralegal, choreographer, language teacher, retail salesperson, wife, mother of four boys, and herder of their numerous and assorted friends, including soccer teams and the 135 members of first the Crossmen and then the Bluecoats Drum and Bugle Corps— brought her back to books in search of her sanity. She is now the author of thirty published works, but she hasn’t caught up with that elusive sanity yet.

Stunning jewels, endless shopping,
exotic travel—
what woman could resist?