to feeding his sister, he heard Mims announce the next date being offered: “Lola Williams.”
Catcalls and hollers of appreciation practically raised the roof.
Lola stepped into the spotlight, wearing a shimmery white cocktail dress and high-heeled white sandals that weren’t made for walking. Her long brown hair fell in lustrous waves over her shoulders. She looked like an angel, until you saw the fire in her eyes.
Buy her, a voice in Drew’s head said, probably because he valued keeping the peace, and the expression on Lola’s face was anything but peaceful.
“I’ll tell them about me.” Lola grabbed the microphone from Mims. There was a Watch-Out-World edge to her voice. “I’m Randy Williams’s wife. He used to run Your Second Husband Handyman Service.”
The crowd quieted, either because they were stumped that a woman in the date auction claimed to be married or because they saw the wild look in her blue eyes and weren’t sure whether it was a good wild or a bad wild.
Bad. Definitely bad.
Drew swore and hopped off the barstool, pushing his way through the crowd. Passing Paul, who was waving fifties in front of his face like a fan. Passing Jason, who was grinning up at Lola. Passing a cowboy who raised his glass in Lola’s direction and spilled beer on Drew’s arm.
Drew was only halfway to the stage when Lola said, “Randy’s dead, but I want to know who my husband was handy with besides me.”
The energy in the crowd shifted from wary to predatory, like a watchful cat who’d spotted an unsuspecting mouse and was preparing to play with it before moving in for the kill.
Lola was oblivious to the target being painted on her. “Randy was handy with another woman. Or maybe another man…” She looked bewildered by this statement, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.
Had she been drinking? Drew couldn’t tell. She didn’t slur her words. She hadn’t stumbled across the stage.
The men on the dance floor had been drinking. The volume in the peanut gallery increased as ribald comments were tossed about like volleyballs at the beach on a holiday weekend. The crowd’s need for spectacle wrapped around Drew’s chest and squeezed. He worked harder at reaching the stage, hoping to keep his landlady from starting a riot.
Off to the side, the Widows Club board was in urgent conference. Bitsy looked up and caught sight of Drew. She nudged Mims. When Mims saw him, the apprehension on her face morphed to relief and then, as she took a glance toward Lola, to calculation.
Drew didn’t like that look. Especially when he saw Wendy in the wings wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a frilly pink blouse buttoned to her neck.
“Please. I need to know.” Lola closed her eyes, as if she didn’t really want to know the truth. “Why was my husband unfaithful?”
The crowd drained of energy.
Some of the fight seemed to drain from Lola too.
Mims took advantage and reclaimed the microphone. “We’re ready to bid. Remember, Lola isn’t your average local. She’s from New York City. She does hair and makeup professionally. We’ll start the bid at one hundred dollars.”
Lola froze, staring above the crowd as if wishing she were above the mess she’d made.
Drew finally reached the stage. From his vantage point, his landlady’s legs looked incredibly long. Distractingly long.
With a raucous crowd at his back, Drew couldn’t afford to be distracted. “Lola.” He reached for her. “Come down.”
She was coming down all right. She was coming down from Watch-Out-World mode and sliding into Woe-Is-Me territory. She blinked watery eyes. “Sheriff?”
“How about seventy-five?” Mims didn’t seem to be working the crowd as much as she was working Drew. She smiled down at him. “Do I hear fifty?”
Lola’s brow furrowed. “I’m being marked down?”
“For God’s sake, Mims.” Drew hopped onto the stage. “We made a deal.” That the widows wouldn’t bamboozle Lola into participating.
“Sold!” Mims grinned triumphantly. “For fifty dollars to Sheriff Drew Taylor.”
“I didn’t bid,” Drew snapped. He took Lola’s arm and turned her toward the stairs, catching a whiff of alcohol on her breath. He nearly ran into Wendy waiting in the wings. Her gaze dropped to the floor, along with his hopes that she might be his best defense against Jane.
“Rules are rules, Sheriff.” Mims tsk-tsked into the microphone. “Fifty dollars is a bargain and for a worthy cause. Please pay the cashier.” She gestured toward Clarice. And then she lowered the microphone, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd. “We didn’t break our agreement. Lola