Margaret Montgomery is a staple in this town. She’s a filthy-rich widow who grew up in Candy Cane Key. She’s respected by all who know her, and deservedly so.
Most people hear filthy rich widow and assume she inherited her wealth from her late husband. But that guy was lucky to have landed her.
Margaret’s a classy lady who comes from old family money. Most of her relatives had packed up and moved to Miami, Palm Beach, or Boca Raton by the time she settled down. Whichever location they felt was the right fit for their social class. Word was, the family patriarch made his millions as a tirelessly industrious shipping tycoon. The rest of them only seemed to work hard at managing their investment portfolios.
But Margaret used a percentage of her personal fortune to createa charitable organization benefitting those impacted by the severe tropical weather in our area. My dear friend Harrison owns Hightower Construction. His company has partnered with her on many a project. This selfless, affluent woman has taken on a role in service to others. May not be nursing or the like, but she has spent her life giving back. The least I can do is offer her an ounce of peace before dealing with the town’s officials, all clamoring for more of her generosity year after year. Not to mention the riffraff, as she refers to them. Those classless people who cozy up to her, merely for the opportunity to gain a handout.
Norma looks down at her watch. “Okay. Guess we better raise the sails,” she singsongs, tugging up the blinds before flashing a sarcastic smirk over her shoulder. “Time to get to work, bitch.”
My ears turn red at the Britney Spears reference, realizing I haven’t hidden my crazy morning antics well. Blinds or no blinds.
Good gravy. How embarrassing.
“Don’t sweat it, doll. I think it’s great what you’ve created here. And not just because it keeps my paycheck coming. You should be really proud of yourself.”
My shoulders relax. She’s right. If Norma Jean only knew how much I’ve had to overcome to get to this place in my life. “Thanks, babe.”
She gives me a reassuring wink before turning back to flip the lock long enough to usher Margaret in. “Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Good morning, Norma Jean. Good morning, Charlene. How are my favorite ladies today?” She strolls into the salon with an air of sophistication befitting a duchess. I can’t help picturing the older woman trussed up in a wool, columnar dress accessorized with a bejeweled hat and gloves befitting an episode ofDownton Abbey.
I shake my head at the vision. “Couldn’t be better,” I answer. “Come on over and have a seat. Just how sassy do you want to feel for this meeting?” I chuckle, handing her the coffee Norma Jean so generously brought for her. “Compliments of my partner in crime.”
“Why, thank you, Norma Jean. You’re too good to me.” She takes a careful sip. “Perfect. I’ll take classy sassy today, my dear. They’ve already managed to get me to donate the grand prize for this year’s Christmas in July festival. No telling what’s on their agenda next. Ha. They probably want me to underwrite the renovation of the town hall.”
Norma balls her fists onto her hips. “Well, I’ll be a possum in a punchbowl. That grand prize is worth $25,000. This meeting should be about declaring a town holiday in your honor.”
I let out a snort before I can stop myself. Where does this girl come up with these sayings? Reaching for a round brush and some styling gel, I start to work on Margaret’s hair when I see Fancy stroll up to the front door. “Ugh. Already? I knew we should’ve left the blinds down a little longer,” I grumble. “That girl likes to stir the pot and then acts shocked when it boils.”
“You’re right. Every time Fancy opens her mouth, a group chat starts.” Norma shakes her head in disgust. “I can just tell her to come back later.”
“If we turn her away, she’ll only use this as an opportunity to tell everyone who’ll listen that we’ve got Margaret on our payroll.” Margaret dips her head in agreement. “That’s just how she is. Loud, wrong, and real confident about it,” I add. “Just let her in.”
“Riffraff,” Margaret whispers as she takes another ladylike sip from her cup.
“Well, good morning, everyone. Didn’t realize you were opening up early today, or I would’ve made an appointment.” Fancy deposits herself into the pink velvet chair at the manicure station.
“Like you’d ever make an appointment,” Norma grumbles.
“What? Like I need one?” She gazes about the place dramatically.
Margaret and I share a look in the mirror and simultaneously roll our eyes.
Lifting a brightly colored bottle of polish, Fancy reads the label. “I think I’d like candy apple red today. Oh, did you hear?”
“Here we go,” Margaret mutters.
“That jezebel, Lorraine, has done left her husband. I blame you, Charlene.”
Frozen in place, my eyes snap over to Fancy. “Me?”
“Yes. Ever since you colored her hair and gave her bangs, she’s lost her mind. She’s strutting around town like thatFifty Shadesactress, Dakota something.” Fancy extends her hand to examine her nails, all the while taking a much-needed inhale so she can continue her chin wagging. “I think Lorraine’s going through a midlife crisis or somethin’. I heard she met some guy named Moose at The Wild Shrimp. Joanne saw her on the back of his Harley one night. When she asked about it down at the market, Lorraine said they were just friends. But I said, no, ma’am. Friends don’t cover you in hickeys.” Fancy stops blabbering long enough to purse her lips, looking down her nose like the judgmental shrew she is. “I shoulda’ seen this comin’. I mean, that girl would fall for a cardboard cutout if it told her she was pretty.”
Bzzz. Bzzz.
I glance over to where my phone is dancing across the counter, sweet Ellie’s face lighting up the screen.
“Oh, is that Ellie calling?” Margaret steeples her hands together, a broad smile stretching across her face. “Please do tell her I said hello.”
