Ladies' Night, Andrews, Kay [best time to read books .txt] 📗

“Oh, hi, Sheldon,” she said, favoring him with a smile. “I’m so glad you’re on duty.” She held up her key card. “I’m Grace Stanton. My key card won’t work. Can you fix it for me?”

He frowned slightly, taking the card, turning it over and over to examine it closer. “Looks okay.”

“I know, but it won’t work,” Grace said.

“Hang on a minute,” Sheldon said. He stepped back into the guard booth and closed the door. A mosquito buzzed around her face, and she swatted it away. The sun beat down on her head, and she was sure she was about to melt.

The door opened, but only an inch or two. The security guard’s friendly smile had vanished. Now he glowered at her. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

“What?” Grace said, startled. “Why not?”

“I can’t discuss it,” Sheldon said, and he started to close the door again, but before he could, Grace grabbed the doorknob.

“Wait a minute,” she said, feeling her face growing redder by the moment. “What’s going on here? Why won’t you fix my key card?”

He glanced around, to make sure he couldn’t be overheard. As if!

“I can’t help you because your card has been deactivated.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Grace said. “Is this because of … my marital situation? Did my husband call up here and tell you people to keep me out? He has no right! I live here. At 27 Sand Dollar Lane.”

“I don’t make the rules, ma’am,” Sheldon said. “All’s I know is, according to the computer, you are no longer listed as a resident of Gulf Vista.”

“He can’t do that,” Grace said, her teeth gritted. “Please! Look, I don’t want to make a scene…”

“Then don’t,” Sheldon said. He held up a walkie-talkie. “My supervisor told me to tell you that if you have a problem with the card situation, you should contact an attorney. Until we have some kind of a legal document stating otherwise, I can’t let you in.” He reached around and gently removed Grace’s hand from the doorknob. “Sorry.”

Grace heard a light beep of a car horn. A white Lincoln rolled up beside her and the passenger-side window slid down. Anita McKenna, an older woman she knew slightly from the country club, gave her a friendly smile. “Hi! It’s Grace, right? Are you having car problems? Anything I can do to help?”

“Anita! Hello,” Grace said eagerly, stepping closer to the car. “Actually, I am having a little issue…”

There was a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Sheldon standing directly beside her. “Mrs. Stanton? My supervisor thinks it would be a good idea if you would just move along now.” He held up his walkie-talkie again.

Grace felt her spine stiffen. “I was just…”

Anita McKenna looked from Sheldon to Grace. “Oh,” she said. “My goodness. I didn’t realize.” The window slid up again, and the Lincoln breezed through the gate.

*   *   *

She called Dickie Murphree’s office twice more on her way to back to Cortez. Finally, his receptionist allowed her to leave a voice mail message.

“Dickie,” she said, fighting back tears. “It’s Grace Davenport. I’ve been calling and calling. I really need to talk to you. I’ve left Ben. Maybe you saw it on the news? Now he’s frozen our bank accounts, cut off my credit cards—he’s even fixed it so I can’t get back to our house to pick up my clothes and things. Please, Dickie. Please call me.”

Grace was pulling into the crushed-shell parking lot at the Sandbox when her cell phone rang. She saw that the caller was Murphree-Baggett-Hopkins.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, Gracie,” Dickie said. “I just got your message. Sorry it took me so long to call you back. I’m in trial this week, and the damned judge just now cut us loose for a lunch break. How’s your Uncle Dennis?”

“He’s fine,” Grace said. “He sends his best. Look, Dickie, if you listened to my message, you know I’m in big trouble. When can I come see you? To talk about my situation?”

“Welllll,” Dickie drawled. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Grace asked, stunned. “Uncle Dennis said you’re the best divorce lawyer in town.”

“Hell of a guy, your uncle,” Dickie said, chuckling. “He sure gets himself in some damned interesting jams, doesn’t he?”

“Why isn’t it a good idea for me to come see you?”

“Awwww, Grace,” Dickie drawled. “You know I think the world of you, don’t you? We had some good times, way back there in high school, didn’t we? You broke my heart when you threw me over for that basketball player, sophomore year. What was that guy’s name? He went on to play college ball at FSU, didn’t he? It was years before I got over you.”

“That’s sweet, Dickie,” she said impatiently. “His name was Calvin Becker. Could we discuss current affairs? Like my divorce?”

“The thing is, we can’t talk, Grace,” Dickie said. “It ain’t even really proper for me to be talking to you right now, but I figured I owe you an explanation.”

“What are you explaining?” Grace asked.

“That I can’t represent you. Because I already agreed to represent Ben.”

Grace put the phone down in her lap. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the steering wheel, utterly defeated.

“Grace?” Dickie’s voice rose faintly from the phone. “Grace? Are you there?”

She pushed the disconnect button.

5

“I take it things didn’t go well with the asshole,” Rochelle said, pouring her a large glass of iced tea and pushing it across the bar. “Drink that. It’s sweetened. You’re losing weight so fast it’s starting to scare me.”

Grace took a sip of the tea and sucked on an ice cube. “I never got to see Ben. I couldn’t get through the security gate. He had my key card deactivated.”

“Bastard,” Rochelle said, pouring her own glass of iced tea. The lunch-time rush hour was over, and only two people remained at opposite ends of the bar, one watching the Rays game on the TV, the other staring intently down at his smartphone.

“Did your uncle’s lawyer ever call you back?” Rochelle asked.

Grace stirred her