Page 122 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“Indeed!” Murielle shouted. “What can I bring? And don’t you dare saynothing. No good Southern girl shows up emptyhanded.”

“Dessert?” Blake asked.

“Great! Lemon ice box and black bottom pie it is. What time?”

“The ribs have been in the smoker all morning. How about 7:30? That too late? I want to give you time to find?—”

“Find? Bless your heart. I’m in one of those extended stay hotels—I got me a full kitchen. That’s perfect. I’ll see you at 7:30.”

She still had our address from sending over those papers regarding Raymond Hill.

“You invited her over for dinner,” Blake said.

“It seemed like the thing to do. She’d helped us once already, and now, she clearly has something else to share. Don’t you think that deserves a nice meal?”

“It does.” He shook his head. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

“It took me a second, but yeah, I did.”

“She usually sends me updates through email. This is the first she’s asked to come to the house.”

“We might be free of this soon.”

“Or you could get hurt again.”

I pressed my cheek to his arm, hugging him. “I won’t get hurt. You won’t let me.”

“No. Never again.”

About a quarter after seven, Maisie opened the door to Murielle standing with a pie plate in each hand. Georgie Boy lifted his head from where he lay on his doggy bed to get a look, barked his ‘hello’ and went back to lounging. Princess Miranda joined us from the kitchen, hopping up onto the arm of the sofa where she perched herself, carefully assessing the newcomer. All I could think was,How did she ring the doorbell?

She looked past Maisie to me and because she’d clearly read my mind, said, “Elbow.”

In that minute, I knew she and I would be friends. The real kind. Especially when she looked back at Maisie to introduce herself. “I’m Murielle Colgate.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Maisie replied. “I’m Maisie, the Parkers’ housekeeper.”

“Bzzz,” I shouted, and they both looked at me, Murielle laughing, Maisie, confused. “You said you’re our housekeeper.”

“I a?—”

I cut her off, saying to Murielle, “Because she works here, Maisie tends to forget she’s family.” I didn’t give a flying flip if she kept our home for us. Her place here went so far beyond that.

“Is your husband around?” Murielle asked. “I think I should?—”

“Nope.” I cut her off again. A bad habit. Fine. But we had good food and I wanted us to enjoy it. “He’s out back at the smoker. We’re eating first. Then news that’ll piss us off.”

“Sugar, I think we’re gonna be friends.” Murielle winked at me, handing off the pies to Maisie.

I thought so too.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Are you sure you ain’t from the South?” Murielle asked as she walked back over to the grill on the stove in our kitchen for her third serving of short ribs. “Because I just don’t know how a Michigan woman who spent her whole life in books could manage this.”

“I have a Southern soul,” I replied, laughing.

“No truer words, sugar.”

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