“No.”
“Yes.”
“Rothswyler?”
“Yes.”
“Has he ever had sex? I mean, it’s none of my business, but…I just can’t picture him doing something so undignified.”
“Please don’t. There’s no way I want to think of those two words in the same sentence.” Rothswyler is like an uncle to me. An old, stuffy uncle.
“Did your neighbor apologize, at least?”
“He tried to.” Though they felt like pathetic attempts.
“Tried?”
“I wasn’t in the mood to hear the sad attempts of him rationalizing his actions. He thought I was sleeping with Rothswyler for money and treated me rudely all this time because of it. I don’t need a man like that in my life.”
“You certainly don’t. You’ve had enough of jerks. Maybe you should move closer to me. We could probably persuade one of my neighbors to sell.”
Persuade means pay. And I don’t doubt Cordelia would do that for a second. “I like my house, and I’m not letting that man push me out of my own home.” Darrel did that.
Cordelia nods. “I still think we should tell Winnie. Maybe she’ll just rough him up a bit.”
“I never knew you were so bloodthirsty.”
Cordelia gets a wicked grin. “Who, me? So is there anything else going on in your life?” She glances down and gasps.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” Cordelia carefully reaches down and plucks the piping bag out of the mess, somehow avoiding getting anything on her gloves. But then Cordelia is one of those cooks whose kitchen is always clean, regardless of what she’s doing. “So?”
Do I tell her? It’s not really a job, but it sort of feels like one. “I got a job.”
“You? Greer Hestons got a job that might take money from someone who needs it.”
She knows me so well. “It’s more like volunteer work.”
“That makes more sense.”
“I’m planning a winter festival for the local biker gang.”
“They prefer motorcycle club.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re a biker gang.”
Cordelia smiles. “No, it doesn’t. And they’re all pretty fine. Wait until you see Dylan’s guy. Her new husband is smoking hot. Though I think some of it is his beard. There’s something about a tattooed man with a beard.”
“Tell me all about him…”
***
Before I call Kia, I need to make sure that I have a space for her to perform. Even the park would work if we could gate it. People could spread blankets on the ground or bring lawn chairs to listen.
Time to go talk to the mayor of this small town and see what I can get done.
It shouldn’t surprise me that there is a motorcycle parked in front of City Hall.
