(Don't Mess With) Clear Lake Women Read online

  (DON’T MESS WITH) CLEAR LAKE WOMEN

  by

  Linda Hadaway

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Linda Hadaway

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-61160-331-6

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Harris Channing

  Editor: Marsha Briscoe

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to women everywhere. Women who have loved the wrong man, (or woman) and/or struggled through a maze of wrong ones—to find the right one; for women who have been abused; for women who help other women; for our loving nature, our creativity, and sometimes our devious minds.

  I’d like to give a special thanks to Brandy Lanning and Liza VanPelt for helping me create a couple of my characters as well as editing. Also, a special thanks to Kelly Hayter for her editing and suggestions. They are wonderful friends and were the “seed” for the story.

  I want to thank my mother, for her gentleness, wisdom, and grace; her strength and uncountable hardships in her life. We all miss you, Mom.

  I need to thank my sisters: Kathy Taylor and Vicki Baumgardner for our childhood stories, both funny and sad; for their humor and continual support and love! Meg too.

  Of course, none of this would be possible without Whiskey Creek Press and their great staff: Steve Womack, Melanie Billing, and Marsha Briscoe, for their editing and suggestions and to Harris Channing (artwork!) for bringing the cover “to life.”

  Prologue

  Clear Lake is a small town nestled quietly in the beautiful Skagit Valley, Washington. In the early 1900’s, it was a large booming logging town with several hotels, a meat market, church, school, and even their own telephone company. However, in 1925 the logging mill folded, and brought down many of the town’s businesses with it. People moved on.

  Old concrete structures, like skeletons of the logging past, could be found within the woods around the picturesque lake until the late 1970’s when they were torn down, making way for development of new houses.

  However, many of the families have lived there for generations. Residents attend the same grade school their parents went to, and their parents before them. School buses, to this day, still transport the children to Sedro Woolley, a nearby town, in order for them to attend junior high and high school. Extended family members web through the tiny town, interweaving the lives that reside in Clear Lake. Some people continue to live in the same house they grew up in.

  It’s a town where you nod “hello,” and smile when you pass each other. It’s a town that has a strong community bond, which goes beyond residing there. Clear Laker’s have roots, deep because of their family generations who have lived and loved, and died in that area. They feel responsibility for their town and the people who live there. They carry an “accountability” for their community that is rare these days.

  This story is about a handful of women. Their bond of family and friendship is tightly woven from the strings that began from generations back. They don’t take friendship or loyalty flippantly; neither do they take betrayal lightly, or harm to a loved one. It’s about their hopes, and dreams, the relationships they are involved in, and...hidden secrets of the past. It’s about the women’s true friendship that holds no boundaries except their love and devotion for one another.

  Chapter 1

  Madison eased the bedroom door shut and walked quietly back into the kitchen.

  Jacki met her eyes. “Is she still sleeping?”

  Madison nodded. Sitting down, she picked up her wine glass, only half full now, and took a sip. She was an attractive, full figured young woman. Her face was accentuated with dimples and framed by her dark blonde highlighted hair that hung in curls down the middle of her back.

  Roxy glanced from one woman to the other, before hissing between her clenched teeth, “The bastard oughta be shot.”

  Jacki piped up, “I don’t think you’ll get any argument out of us.” She paused for a moment. “I’m just so afraid one day he’ll end up killing her.” Her blue eyes narrowed.

  A light scratching noise came from the hallway.

  “LP!” Madison whispered loudly. The miniature dachshund came trotting quickly to Madison and jumped up on her, lavishing her neck with kisses. Madison cupped her little face and said, “You need to be quiet and let Sunday sleep.”

  LP turned in a circle before she settled on Madison’s generous lap.

  Roxy reached up and wiggled the silver ring in her left eyebrow.

  Madison watched Roxy and winced. It was a new piercing; the skin around the ring appeared angry red.

  “We could hire a hit man,” Roxy noted, tipping her wine glass to her lips.

  Jacki smiled. “Ya. Maybe your little brother, Cory, could find someone. I’m sure we wouldn’t get caught.” Her cynical tone didn’t go unnoticed.

  Roxy frowned. “Maybe one of your lesbo friends?”

  Jacki stuck her tongue out at her in response.

  “You wish,” Roxy retorted.

  “If she didn’t have her mother in the rest home, maybe she would leave the state,” Madison conveyed.

  “Maybe her mom will die soon.” Roxy replied.

  Jacki frowned. “Now, Roxy, that’s a happy thought. Did you want to take her out? After all, she is your aunt.”

  Roxy gazed out the window as if she were contemplating that plot. A moment later, she spoke up again. “No, we would have to have a great plan. Like maybe each of us having a part to play. Each of us not knowing what the other is supposed to do.”

  Jacki laughed. “Oh, I see.” She emptied the wine bottle into her near empty glass. “We could make a plan, then write out each little event, put it on paper, cut them up, then throw them in a bowl and we take turns picking out our parts to do?”

  Madison smiled; her eyes glanced to the ceiling. “We could entice Duffy to come over here and then shoot him. As long as he was inside the house, maybe we could get away with it.” She was beginning to enjoy the sick game.

  Roxy shook her head. “No. It would need to be planned well in advance. You would have to call the police a few times, complaining of a burglar.” Roxy glanced up at the large five-point deer head trophy on the living room wall. “You could do it. You’re a great shot.”

  Madison stood up. “More wine?” The women shook their head “no” in unison. She picked up the empty bottle and placed it in her glass recycling bin.

  A moment later, Madison sat back down. Her eyes went directly to the salt and pepper containers which normally sat in the middle of her table, but had been moved. She arranged them neatly back in their place. “Don’t do that, Roxy,” she scolded. Roxy grinned and glanced at Jackie who frowned in return, shaking her head in dismay.

  Roxy tur
ned up her hands. “It is so easy to mess with you. I can’t help it.” A couple minutes of silence passed as Madison thought about her friend, who, for the moment, was sleeping peacefully, unaware of their imaginative schemes.

  “We gotta do something,” Roxy stated. “But we can’t talk to each other about it...ever! No phone calls, no texting. No e-mail. As long as we don’t know, we can’t tell. Even if we are tortured,” she said dramatically.

  Madison pursed her lips and stared at her friend. Roxy’s expression was serious, yet with her bleached blonde/ red tipped spiked hair, nose piercing, a small silver ring in her lower lip and now her eyebrow, it seemed difficult to imagine her contemplating a murder.

  Jacki beat her to the punch. “Roxy, you can’t even keep your check book balanced. LP is more organized than you.”

  Madison laughed. She leaned her head down and petted her dog. “Are you listening to this, Little Princess?”

  Undeterred, Roxy leaned in on the table. “We could do it you know. He’s never going to leave her alone. He will hunt her down and kill her. That’s all that he knows!”

  Madison was sure that was a line from The Terminator, one of Roxy’s favorite movies, yet she was right. Duffy had been with Sunday for ten years now, the abuse escalating. The times Sunday had tried to leave, he coaxed, threatened, did whatever he could, until she was back under his roof.

  The phone rang and all three women jumped from the unexpected intrusion. It was two o’clock in the morning. They all waited for the answering machine to kick in. Duffy’s voice came over the line. “Madison! I want to talk to Sunday. I know she’s there.” A deep inhale. “You have her call me. I mean it, Madison. Don’t fuck around with me.” Click.

  “He sounds like a happy camper.” Jackie sighed.

  A short while later, Jackie walked home. It was only a few blocks away and the night was clear. Roxy slept in Madison’s bed, with Little Princess between them on the pillow.

  * * * *

  The next morning, despite her friend’s concerns, Sunday returned home to her husband. Madison wished she could do more for her. It seemed like a hopeless battle with Sunday returning to him time after time.

  * * * *

  Monday morning Madison hurriedly stepped out her back door to the garage. She walked around to the driver’s side, clicked her key pad to unlock the door and slid onto the seat. Sticking the key into the ignition, she glanced up, and noticed the window in the garage was broken. Madison turned off the car, got out, and walked toward the broken window. Glass lay on the floor, while some broken shards remained in the frame. She looked around on the floor, looking for a baseball or perhaps a rock. Nothing. She walked outside the building and around to the broken window. It seemed to her someone had deliberately broken it. Were they trying to get access into the garage? Not likely since it was a small window. “Damn it!” She pulled out her cell and dialed 911. As the operator answered, she began, “I want to report a...” She suddenly remembered parts of the conversation with her friends. She had drunk too much wine and slices of the evening came to her in blurry recall. She frowned, thinking of the implications...felt a second of panic...then continued on. “A burglary.” She walked back into her garage, answering the routine questions. “Actually, I don’t think anything is missing. Perhaps it was just a case of vandalism.” More questions. “I have to go to work right now....can the sheriff come over after I get home?”

  Chapter 2

  Madison slowly backed her car out of the driveway; however, just before she pulled on the highway, she paused.

  Did I lock LP’s cage? She thought for a moment. I’m sure I did. But what if there was a real burglar and he’s hiding in the house? Madison turned the ignition off and walked to her front door. She unlocked it and walked in cautiously. “LP?”

  A whine confirmed that LP was still locked securely in her dog cage. Still, Madison checked the latch before walking cautiously from room to room and peeked inside the closet in the spare bedroom. She checked the burners on the stove. “Everything is off. I can go to work now,” she spoke out loud.

  She returned to her Ford Mustang, got in and fastened the seat belt. The gnawing voice in the back of her mind asked, “Is the furnace turned down?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m going to work now.” As she pulled out onto the highway, she glanced at her watch and knew she was going to be late again. The incessant thought returned and she pictured LP’s cage door. “It’s fine,” she reassured herself, clutching the wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white. Madison knew leaving home was a key trigger for her, whether it was going to work, or anyplace for that matter. It was an ugly cycle with anxiety feeding her Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, which caused her to be more anxious, which heightened her OCD. The more she worried about worrying, the worse it got. Madison tried to take her mind off her ruminating thoughts by picturing Sunday. She decided to call her later in the day to see how she was doing.

  * * * *

  Jacki parked her truck in the back of a large lot of an upscale housing community. The Larsens had recently moved in and hired her to landscape their yard. She had brought the sod in last week, laying each layer of grass carefully, and checked frequently on the watering. She was meeting with Susan Larsen this morning to go over a few changes she wanted to make. Although Jackie understood it was part of the business, it still irritated her when she had already spent a lot of time pricing what Susan had wanted, and had the plans drawn out, ready to go. As she got out of her truck, she grabbed her gloves and tucked the ends in the back of her jeans pocket. She walked to the back of the house and rang the door bell. While she waited, she reached back and stuck her fingers in her back pockets and gazed across the street at a hot little red 56’ Chevy Corvette. “I’d give my left nut for that, if I had one,” she mumbled quietly to herself.

  Susan opened the door, smiling. Jacki noted it was a Hollywood smile: showing off lips full of Botox and teeth so perfect, they would be a wet dream for any dentist.

  “Hi, Jacki. Right on time as always.” Susan opened the door and waved ahead of her. Jacki wiped her booted feet on the mat and was reluctant to enter; however, she walked cautiously to the kitchen nook, where they usually sat to go over the plans. Jacki could visualize little clumps of dirt falling off the bottom of her boots with every step. She took the closest chair and sat down, pulling her feet in close together.

  “Coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I just finished a cup.”

  Susan brought over her mug and sat down beside Jacki. She sat the latest plans on the dinette table and began to show Jacki what she wanted changed. Jacki pulled a pen out of her pocket and began to make notes.

  “I’m thinking I would like the flowering willow over here.” She pointed to the paper. “But I’m not sure. What do you think?”

  Just as Jacki began to answer, she was interrupted by a knock on the back door.

  “Just a second,” Susan said, standing up.

  Jacki studied the new plans. Her thoughts were quickly distracted as she heard Susan say, “Oh Elvira, this is my landscaper. The one I was telling you about.”

  Jacki turned and met piercing violet eyes. A handful of dangling silver bracelets reached out to her. Jacki took her hand and gave her a customarily firm handshake. However, as she pulled away, the warm hand held on for a couple of seconds before letting her go.

  “Jacki, meet Elvira. She lives down the street. She liked what you were doing to the yard and wanted to meet you.”

  Jacki, not able to find her voice, only nodded in return. Who was this incredible being in front of her? She looked like some beautiful dark goddess; her hair black as a crow’s feathers and her eyes dark and enticing. Elvira smiled; her lips were perfect. Jacki’s eyes quickly took in her whole body: small breasts, tiny waist, and slim legs covered in tight jeans.

  Jacki felt her face grow hot and turned back to the plans.

  “We’re almost done,” Susan stated. “I can point out your house.”
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  “Do you have time to stop by?” Elvira asked. Her voice almost purred.

  Jacki nodded and seemed to speak into the table. “I’ll come over as soon as we finish up. Nice meeting you.”

  Jacki heard the women say their goodbyes and sighed with relief. She had never had a reaction like that before. Her body tingled in anticipation at the thought of seeing her again.

  Susan sat down to finish with her project changes; however, Jacki found it difficult to remain on track; her mind kept returning to Elvira.

  * * * *

  Roxy pushed the heavy motel cleaning cart down the carpeted hallway and into the utility room. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, grateful to be done. Usually, she cleaned with Ebby, except she had left early to go to a doctor’s appointment, leaving Roxy to finish up the afternoon on her own. She took the elevator to the bottom floor and let Natalie, the head housekeeper, know she was leaving for the day.

  Roxy walked to her elderly Ford Aspire, still wondering how it managed to stay on the road. The speedometer had stopped at 183, 428.7 miles, and that had been a few years ago when the cable had broken. The seat belt had given up too, but there had been only a few years the cars were made, and she was unable to buy one, even from the company in Milwaukee. Still, her car was paid for, and she had it for so long it seemed like an old friend. She turned the key in the ignition and it started right up. She figured the car was more loyal to her than the men in her life had ever been.

  Roxy glanced in the mirror and tugged on her spike bleached blonde/ red tipped hair, causing it to stand a little straighter. A short time later she drove in her driveway. The cottage sat on a small lot amongst bigger lots and bigger houses. The house had been owned for many years by an elderly lady and when she passed on, the house went to her nephew, John, who rented it to Roxy. She loved the little place and wanted to buy it, yet unless she won the lottery, that wasn’t going to happen. She parked her lavender car, got out, and went to her mailbox. Grabbing what was there, she flipped through the envelopes and sales papers as she headed towards her front door. She reached up and took a hold of the screen door, when her eyes caught the corner of the last envelope. Roxy stopped short. A wave of panic swept over her. The bank! She unlocked her door and continued inside, sitting down at the table, starring at the envelope for a minute. Then she sighed before she ripped it open. She read the form and laid it on the table. She was overdrawn one hundred twenty-six dollars and two cents. Jacki was right. I can’t even balance my check book. What the hell am I going to do about this?