Last Chance Book Club(22)
Author: Hope Ramsay

But it was almost Easter time. There weren’t any mangers around.

He stood in the dark for the longest time, watching the lights come on inside the houses on Maple Street. He couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door.

He was about to turn away and go back to his truck when the front door opened. “I declare, Zeph Gibbs, is that you standing there still as a statue?”

Nita came out onto her porch. She was dressed in a real pretty yellow dress. She kind of looked like spring in that dress. Like the jonquils that were blooming out on Bluff Road. “Ma’am,” he said. His voice sounded rusty, and behind him, he could almost hear the ghost laughing at him.

“What you got there?” she asked.

Zeph screwed up his courage and crossed the street. He stopped at the edge of Nita’s lawn. “It’s a kitten, ma’am.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Zeph, you and I went to high school together. Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am, I mean Miz Nita.”

“Well, bring that kitten over here.”

He stepped up onto the lawn, conscious of the ghost waiting behind him. He sure hoped Nita couldn’t see that haunt. She might get scared. He didn’t want to scare Nita.

He got as far as the porch steps and held out the kitten. “It’s a little calico stray. Someone dumped her in the swamp a few days ago.”

Nita looked down at him from the porch, and he lost himself for a little while in her dark, kind eyes. She came down the porch steps and took the kitten from his outstretched hand. And just like that, the little critter quit trying to get away.

But then Zeph knew that would happen. He didn’t exactly know how he knew, but he knew. This one was for Nita.

“Aw, he’s adorable. Is it a he?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nita frowned at him. “I told you I don’t want to be called ma’am.”

He nodded. “I thought you might like a cat.”

“Is that why you were standing across the way like that?”

“You saw me?”

“I did. I was scared for a minute until I realized it was you. You looked like a ghost standing there so still. How have you been, Zeph?”

“I been fine, Miz Nita.” He felt a little odd calling her by her first name. She was the finest lady in all of Last Chance.

“You still living out in the swamp?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t live in the swamp. I built me a very nice house right off of Bluff Road. Near the Jonquil House. The flowers are in bloom. It’s right pretty out there this time of year.”

“I’m glad to hear you aren’t camping out. What have you been doing lately?”

“Oh, I work for Mr. Dash up at the stables, when I’m not fishing or hunting.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m glad to hear you have a real job.”

“You want to keep the cat?”

Nita looked down at the calico. “I’ve been thinking about getting a cat. Did you know that?”

Zeph smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

She frowned at him again.

“I mean Miz Nita,” he added hastily.

“How did you know I was thinking about getting a cat?”

He shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but I saw that critter and I said to myself he was perfect for you.” He needed to change the subject and fast. He didn’t want anyone to know how the ghost was always telling him what to do with strays. It was kind of uncanny the way the strays always came to the ghost.

He took a step back. “So, how did the ladies like Pride and Prejudice this Wednesday? If you want to know the truth, I liked Emma a whole lot better.”

Her frown deepened. “You’ve read those books?”

“Yes, Miz Nita. I read a lot of books. I get them down at the thrift shop, and when I finish them, I trade them in for more.” He backed up a little bit more. The ghost behind him was getting restless.

“I need to go,” he said.

“Zeph, if you like to read, you should come in to the library. Don’t you have a library card?”

“No, Miz Nita.”

“Well, you must get one. And if you like Jane Austen, why don’t you join the book club?”

He shook his head as he backpedaled, “Oh, no, Miz Nita, I couldn’t do a thing like that. No, ma’am. I have too much to do in the evening.”

Like walking the streets and keeping the ghost in line.

Chapter 11

On Saturday, Savannah put on her oldest jeans, a flannel shirt that had once belonged to Greg, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves.

She opened the door to The Kismet and hauled in a load of cleaning supplies from the bed of Uncle Harry’s truck, which Dash had magnanimously loaned her for the day.

Angel Development was going to have a check ready for her to deposit by the middle of next week, and she was scheduled to meet with several architects and contractors on Thursday. But in the meantime, she was antsy. She would have to hire a professional cleaning crew, but her goals today were simple. First, she wanted to see if any of the woodwork in the lobby could be salvaged. It would be a shame if she lost all that intricate carving on the columns and the candy counter. And second, she wanted to assess the state of the small apartment above the theater. She needed to figure out a plan to revive that, too.

She stood in the middle of the lobby feeling overwhelmed. The place was falling down around her ears. It was ridiculous to think she could accomplish anything by herself.

She pushed that negative thought to the side. She was trying not to listen to that little party pooper who lived in her head.

She firmed her resolve and started by setting up a few humane mousetraps around the perimeter of the lobby, then she rolled up her shirtsleeves and headed to the janitor’s closet. She had spoken with the water company on Friday, and to her delight, there was cold water available in the old slop sink. She filled a bucket and dumped in some Murphy Oil Soap.

She set to work wiping down the grime on the candy counter. She’d been at it for about twenty minutes when she became aware of a high-pitched squeaking sound.

She soon discovered that the noise was coming from one of her traps. She stood there looking down at the cutest little gray mouse. He (or she?) had eaten the saltine cracker bait, and now the poor thing was caught in the green plastic box and wanted to get out.

Uh-oh. Her humane trap posed some pretty big issues that she hadn’t considered before. If she released the mouse into a field outside town, would it find its way into some farmer’s barn only to be killed by a cat, or a hawk, or an owl?

And what about the mouse? Did it have a mate? Little baby mice?

Then there was the much more practical issue—to save the mouse’s life she would have to pick up that box—and do something with it. Eeeek.

She closed her eyes and prayed for guidance.

“Hey, princess.” Dash’s deep baritone pulled her right from her mouse-induced moral dilemma. She opened her eyes and turned toward him.

In addition to his ball cap, white T-shirt, work boots, and faded jeans, the man had a serious-looking tool belt strapped across his lean hips.

“Hey,” she said out of a suddenly dry mouth. He was devastatingly sexy.

He sauntered over and looked down at the frantic mouse. “Honey, why’d you buy one of those traps? You’d be better with poison. Although with poison, the critters crawl off into the walls and die and start stinking to high heaven. My own preference is the old-fashioned mousetrap that kills them dead.”

She stared at him. He was teasing her, wasn’t he? Sometimes, with Dash, it was hard to tell. She decided not to rise to his bait this time. “I wanted to be humane.”

His lopsided grin appeared. “Uh-huh. You know mouse droppings cause all kinds of disease.”

“I’m just now realizing that humaneness is a complex issue.”

He snorted a laugh as he picked up the box. He turned and strolled out of the theater. He returned two minutes later, without the box or the mouse.

“I have a feeling I don’t want to know what you did with that mouse.”

“You can rest assured that I took care of it.” He looked at the other mousetraps she’d set out. “These have to go. With these traps, you’d just be fighting a losing war.”

He scooped all of them up and dumped them in the big plastic trash can that she’d brought for debris. “You need a cat,” he pronounced.

“I already have a dog I don’t want.”

“That dog isn’t yours. He’s Todd’s.”

“Right, and when Todd forgets to take care of him, who is going to take him for walks?”

“Well, so far, it’s been me. So I reckon Champ is closer to being my dog than yours. But we’re not talking about Todd’s dog, so don’t change the subject. You need a serious mouser for this theater. You get a cat and your mouse and snake problem will disappear. I seem to recall that your granddaddy had a long succession of theater cats.”

“I don’t have a snake problem. You’re just trying to scare me, and I’ve decided not to behave like I did when I was ten. I’ve grown up some since then.”

He swept his gaze over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She had seen that kind of look before, whenever she decided that her love life needed a boost and she went out to a bar with her girlfriends. That look was very close to an ogle. And for some reason, having Dash ogle her wasn’t bad. It was kind of okay, actually.

“You sure have grown some,” he drawled, his gaze glued to her bustline.

“That’s right, I have. I know we don’t have snakes in this theater.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way, princess. You usually do. But in my opinion, you need a mouser.”

He strolled over to the candy counter. “This old woodwork is real pretty, isn’t it?” He was clearly changing the subject. Good. She could chalk this round up to her being mature and recognizing when Dash was teasing… or ogling.

“The wood’s damaged in places,” she said. “It needs to be refinished, and there are parts that need replacing. I have no idea where I’m going to find someone who can do it justice.”

“Probably the same place as you’ll find the cat.”

She turned and frowned. “Will you stop with the cat, please?”

“Sorry, princess. I was just thinking that Zeph Gibbs might be the answer to your problems.”

“Who is that?”

He smiled. “He’s a little bit of a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“Not really. He’s a little shy. He came back from Vietnam a changed man. I hired him as a hand at the stables and discovered that he’s a master carpenter. He also has a thing for cats and has kept me supplied with excellent mousers. Because the last thing I want in my barns is a snake. I’ll talk to him about your woodwork and your mouse problem. If he decides he wants to help, you’ll save a lot of money, not to mention mouse aggravation.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure I can find a real professional to do the work. What are you doing here?”