Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [94]
“Hey, congrats, Winnie gal. I just heard. You need help with anything at the cottage let me know. I’m a handy guy. Electrician, plumber, carpenter, painter, Jack-Of-All-Trades . . . that’s me. I work cheap, too.” He followed her down the long aisle to the glass porch, discussing what needed to be done for her to settle in. “My cousin in Leesburg has a furniture store. I can get you wholesale on anything you need.”
Jago snatched up his glass of tea and kissed Asha on the cheek. “I’m off to borrow your office. You get lonely, come on back, lock the door, and we’ll discuss your passion for maraschino cherries.”
“You wish,” she chirped.
He smiled, gave her a pat on the fanny. “Damn straight I do.” Then he vanished into the dark-paneled room.
As the door closed, Derek stormed behind the counter. “What’s Winnie doing here?”
“She’s my new waitress. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told her—I don’t want any trouble between you two.”
“Then you shouldn’t have hired her. Winnie’s crazy. She hounds me everywhere I go. This is the one place she’s left me alone; she knows you won’t put up with her nonsense,” Derek argued.
“Which is precisely what I told her, and I mean it. If there is any trouble, I’ll let her go.” She cautioned, “There won’t be trouble. Right?”
Colin returned and started changing out the stool that was wobbling.
“Then let her go . . . now,” Derek insisted.
Pausing from unscrewing the stool’s padded seat, Colin frowned. “Ah, ease up, Beau Derek Two, you’re just grouchy because you sold the Shelby. Winnie’s a good kid. And frankly—if you were to ask my opinion—”
Derek snapped, “I didn’t.”
Colin ignored him. “—I think your imagination and ego are working overtime about her hounding you. There aren’t many places to go around here. I see you more than she does and I’m not stalking you. She needs the money. They cut her hours nearly in half at the Dish Barn.”
“What would you know about it, Oo-it?” Derek sipped his beer and glowered.
Asha sighed. “I’m saying this once. I won’t stand for bickering—from anyone. I want peace and quiet around here.”
The Wurlitzer suddenly cut loose with a very noisy song from The Trashmen: “Surfin’ Bird.”
“A-well-a everybody’s heard about the bird . . . B-b-b-bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word.”
They all stared at the jukebox with mouths open.
Asha groaned. “Damn thing! It’s too early in the day for this nonsense.”
“I’m getting a headache. Think I will take two aspirins and clock in.” Derek dropped his empty beer bottle in the trash bin. “Dishwashing will look good after ten minutes of ‘bird is the word.’”
“Colin, do you own a sledgehammer?” Asha rounded the counter to stare at her haunted jukebox.
“Hey, why don’t you call up the Sci-Fi Channel and tell them about it. They could do one of the ‘Ghost Hunters’ shows on it.” Colin leaned forward, and lifted Asha’s hair away from her neck with the end of his screwdriver. “Wow, did you ever get nailed—euphemistically and literally. By what? A giant leech? Man, that’s some hickey. Could be the grandfather of all hickeys. Hey, you recall that old movie Attack of the Killer Leeches? Actor Leo Gordon did the screenplay for it. I gotta get that one for the drive-in. It was so low rent it wasn’t even a B movie. Maybe a D movie . . . ha ha ha.”
“Colin, now isn’t a good time.” Asha tapped her foot in impatience.
“Anyway . . . these giant leeches were in this swamp of some nowhere spot in Louisiana, and they went around putting some major suction on their victims. I think Jago must be one of them leeches in disguise. If you ask me—” Colin turned around and, not watching where he was going, slammed hard into Jago, who had come from the office. He grinned sheepishly. “Oh ho, thought you were on the phone, Jago. Lovely weather we’re having, eh? Found your costume for the Halloween bash yet?”
“Not yet. I was searching for a killer leech costume—they’re fresh out.” Jago’s eyes twinkled with a suppressed smile as he reached out and pulled the unlit cigarette