Page 38 of Story of My Life
“I need a deadbolt and one of those video doorbell security things,” I said as we inched our way to the foyer.
“And better weapons.”
Another round of knocking began. I took a breath. “Okay, I’ll open the door and you stand by with the piano leg.”
Zoey nodded and stepped behind the door, holding her makeshift club at the ready like a batter at home plate.
“One…two…three!” I yanked on the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Well, there goes the element of surprise,” Zoey observed.
It took the two of us almost twenty seconds to wrestle it open.
Zoey immediately re-teed the piano bench leg.
“Yes?” I panted to the grizzled bear of a white guy on my front porch.
He was only an inch or two taller than me but had a chest like a barrel and shoulders like two linebackers smushed together. His beard came down to his sternum, and he wore suspenders over aStory Lake Ultimate Bingoshirt.
He gave us both the once-over and I swore I heard him mutter something likecity weirdosbefore glancing down at his grease-stained clipboard.
“Hazel Hart?” he said gruffly in a vague kind of accent that had me picturing gumbo and bayous.
“Uh. Maybe?”
He stared at me for one long annoyed beat. “I’m Gator. Got your car and your stuff out front,” he said finally, hooking his thumb toward the street.
I peered over his massive shoulder and spotted my mangled rental behind a Gator’s Towing truck. An aggressive-looking, scaly reptile was painted down the entire length of the vehicle.
“You wanna try to beat me unconscious with a purse and a chair leg or you wanna sign this paper so I can go home for the day?” he asked, shoving the clipboard at me.
“Actually, it’s a piano bench leg,” Zoey supplied. “And I’m extremely hungover, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me hurt you.”
“Sorry. Can’t be too careful these days.” I reached for the clipboard.
“Hold on. As your agent, I can’t let you sign anything without at least pretending to read it,” Zoey said, taking it from me.
Gator rolled back on the heels of his filthy work boots and shook his head. “Cam warned me. But did I listen? No siree.”
I was not interested in hearing anything Campbell Bishop had said regarding me, my driving skills, or my big-city-ness. But I also didn’t want his first impression of me to be the entire town’s. “Sorry, Mr.Gator.It’s our first night in a new place, and we’re a little nervous.”
“Get a lotta murderers knockin’ at your door?” he quipped.
In my building, it was more like neighbor kids selling stupid things like wrapping paper and minuscule amounts of frozen cookie dough for school fundraisers. But I didn’t want to open the door to them any more than I did a murderer.
“Here.” Zoey thrust the clipboard at me.
“Is it okay to sign?”
“Honestly, this hangover is just making the words swim around on the page like a toddler aquatics class. But I’m sure I can get you out of it if necessary,” she admitted. “You’re not trying to screw over my friend here, are you, Gator?”
“Only one way to find out.”
With an eye roll, I scrawled my signature on the form and handed the clipboard back to Gator.
He dangled my key fob in front of my face with fingers the diameter of hot dogs. “You can get your stuff out of the car before I take it to my garage.”
But when I reached for the keys, he pulled them away. “I would be remiss in my duties to this town if I didn’t strongly suggest that you treat this house better than you did our sign and our eagle.”
